Alone in his cell, Chanlouineau, after Marie-Anne’s departure, abandoned himself to the most frightful1 despair.
He had just given more than life to the woman he loved so fervently2.
For had he not, in the hope of obtaining an interview with her, perilled4 his honor by simulating the most ignoble5 fear? While doing so, he thought only of the success of his ruse6. But now he knew only too well what those who had witnessed his apparent weakness would say of him.
“This Chanlouineau is only a miserable7 coward after all,” he fancied he could hear them saying among themselves. “We have seen him on his knees, begging for mercy, and promising8 to betray his accomplices9.”
The thought that his memory would be tarnished10 with charges of cowardice11 and treason drove him nearly mad.
He actually longed for death, since it would give him an opportunity to retrieve12 his honor.
“They shall see, then,” he cried, wrathfully, “if I turn pale and tremble before the soldiers.”
He was in this state of mind when the door opened to admit the Marquis de Courtornieu, who, after seeing Mlle. Lacheneur leave the prison, came to Chanlouineau to ascertain15 the result of her visit.
“Well, my good fellow —” began the marquis, in his most condescending16 manner.
“Leave!” cried Chanlouineau, in a fury of passion. “Leave, or ——”
Without waiting to hear the end of the sentence the marquis made his escape, greatly surprised and not a little dismayed by this sudden change.
“What a dangerous and blood-thirsty rascal17!” he remarked to the guard. “It would, perhaps, be advisable to put him in a strait-jacket!”
Ah! there was no necessity for that. The heroic peasant had thrown himself upon his straw pallet, oppressed with feverish18 anxiety.
Would Marie-Anne know how to make the best use of the weapon which he had placed in her hands?
If he hoped so, it was because she would have as her counsellor and guide a man in whose judgment19 he had the most implicit20 confidence — Abbe Midon.
“Martial21 will be afraid of the letter,” he said to himself, again and again; “certainly he will be afraid.”
In this Chanlouineau was entirely22 mistaken. His discernment and intelligence were certainly above his station, but he was not sufficiently23 acute to read a character like that of the young Marquis de Sairmeuse.
The document which he had written in a moment of abandon and blindness, was almost without influence in determining his course.
He pretended to be greatly alarmed, in order to frighten his father; but in reality he considered the threat puerile24.
Marie-Anne would have obtained the same assistance from him if she had not possessed25 this letter.
Other influences had decided26 him: the difficulties and dangers of the undertaking27, the risks to be incurred29, the prejudices to be braved.
To save the life of Baron30 d’Escorval — an enemy — to wrest31 him from the execution on the very steps of the scaffold, as it were, seemed to him a delightful32 enterprise. And to assure the happiness of the woman he adored by saving the life of an enemy, even after his suit had been refused, seemed a chivalrous33 act worthy34 of him.
Besides, what an opportunity it afforded for the exercise of his sang-froid, his diplomatic talent, and the finesse35 upon which he prided himself!
It was necessary to make his father his dupe. That was an easy task.
It was necessary to impose upon the credulity of the Marquis de Courtornieu. This was a difficult task, yet he succeeded.
But poor Chanlouineau could not conceive of such contradictions, and he was consumed with anxiety.
Willingly would he have consented to be put to the torture before receiving his death-blow, if he might have been allowed to follow Marie-Anne in her undertakings36.
What was she doing? How could he ascertain?
A dozen times during the evening he called his guards, under every possible pretext37, and tried to compel them to talk with him. He knew very well that these men could be no better informed on the subject than he was himself, that he could place no confidence in their reports — but that made no difference.
The drums beat for the evening roll-call, then for the extinguishment of lights — after that, silence.
Standing38 at the window of his cell, Chanlouineau concentrated all his faculties39 in a superhuman effort of attention.
It seemed to him if the baron regained40 his liberty, he would be warned of it by some sign. Those whom he had saved owed him, he thought, this slight token of gratitude41.
A little after two o’clock he heard sounds that made him tremble. There was a great bustle42 in the corridors; guards running to and fro, and calling each other, a rattling43 of keys, and the opening and shutting of doors.
The passage was suddenly illuminated44; he looked out, and by the uncertain light of the lanterns, he thought he saw Lacheneur, as pale as a ghost, pass the cell, led by some soldiers.
Lacheneur! Could this be possible? He doubted his own eyesight. He thought it must be a vision born of the fever burning in his brain.
Later, he heard a despairing cry. But was it surprising that one should hear such a sound in a prison, where twenty men condemned45 to death were suffering the agony of that terrible night which precedes the day of execution.
At last, the gray light of early dawn came creeping in through the prison-bars. Chanlouineau was in despair.
“The letter was useless!” he murmured.
Poor generous peasant! His heart would have leaped for joy could he have cast a glance on the courtyard of the citadel46.
More than an hour had passed after the sounding of the reveille, when two countrywomen, who were carrying their butter and eggs to market, presented themselves at the gate of the fortress47.
They declared that while passing through the fields at the base of the precipitous cliff upon which the citadel was built, they had discovered a rope dangling48 from the side of the rock. A rope! Then one of the condemned prisoners must have escaped. The guards hastened to Baron d’Escorval’s room — it was empty.
The baron had fled, taking with him the man who had been left to guard him — Corporal Bavois, of the grenadiers.
The amazement49 was as intense as the indignation, but the fright was still greater.
There was not a single officer who did not tremble on thinking of his responsibility; not one who did not see his hopes of advancement50 blighted51 forever.
What should they say to the formidable Duc de Sairmeuse and to the Marquis de Courtornieu, who, in spite of his calm and polished manners, was almost as much to be feared. It was necessary to warn them, however, and a sergeant52 was despatched with the news.
Soon they made their appearance, accompanied by Martial; all frightfully angry.
M. de Sairmeuse especially seemed beside himself.
He swore at everybody, accused everybody, threatened everybody.
He began by consigning53 all the keepers and guards to prison; he even talked of demanding the dismissal of all the officers.
“As for that miserable Bavois,” he exclaimed, “as for that cowardly deserter, he shall be shot as soon as we capture him, and we will capture him, you may depend upon it!”
They had hoped to appease54 the duke’s wrath13 a little, by informing him of Lacheneur’s arrest; but he knew this already, for Chupin had ventured to awake him in the middle of the night to tell him the great news.
The baron’s escape afforded the duke an opportunity to exalt55 Chupin’s merits.
“The man who has discovered Lacheneur will know how to find this traitor56 d’Escorval,” he remarked.
M. de Courtornieu, who was more calm, “took measures for the restoration of a great culprit to the hand of justice,” as he said.
He sent couriers in every direction, ordering them to make close inquiries57 throughout the neighborhood.
His commands were brief, but to the point; they were to watch the frontier, to submit all travellers to a rigorous examination, to search the house, and to sow the description of d’Escorval broadcast through the land.
But first of all he ordered the arrest both of Abbe Midon — the Cure of Sairmeuse, and of the son of Baron d’Escorval.
Among the officers present there was one, an old lieutenant58, medalled and decorated, who had been deeply wounded by imputations uttered by the Duc de Sairmeuse.
He stepped forward with a gloomy air, and said that these measures were doubtless all very well, but the most pressing and urgent duty was to institute an investigation59 at once, which, while acquainting them with the method of escape, would probably reveal the accomplices.
On hearing the word “investigation,” neither the Duc de Sairmeuse nor the Marquis de Courtornieu could repress a slight shudder60.
They could not ignore the fact that their reputations were at stake, and that the merest trifle might disclose the truth. A precaution neglected, the most insignificant61 detail, a word, a gesture might ruin their ambitious hopes forever.
They trembled to think that this officer might be a man of unusual shrewdness, who had suspected their complicity, and was impatient to verify his presumptions62.
No, the old lieutenant had not the slightest suspicion. He had spoken on the impulse of the moment, merely to give vent3 to his displeasure. He was not even keen enough to remark the rapid glance interchanged between the marquis and the duke.
Martial noticed this look, however, and with a politeness too studied not to be ridicule63, he addressed the lieutenant:
“Yes, we must institute an investigation; that suggestion is as shrewd as it is opportune,” he remarked.
The old officer turned away with a muttered oath.
“That coxcomb64 is poking65 fun at me,” he thought; “and he and his father and that prig deserve — but what is one to do?”
In spite of his bold remark, Martial felt that he must not incur28 the slightest risk.
To whom must the charge of this investigation be intrusted? To the duke and to the marquis, of course, since they were the only persons who would know just how much to conceal66, and just how much to disclose.
They began their task immediately, with an empressement which could not fail to silence all doubts, in case any existed in the minds of their subordinates.
But who could be suspicious? The success of the plot had been all the more certain from the fact that the baron’s escape seemed likely to injure the interests of the very parties who had favored it.
Martial thought he knew the details of the escape as exactly as the fugitives67 themselves. He had been the author, even if they had been the actors, of the drama of the preceding night.
He was soon obliged to admit that he was mistaken in this opinion.
The investigation revealed facts which seemed incomprehensible to him.
It was evident that the Baron d’Escorval and Corporal Bavois had been compelled to accomplish two successive descents.
To do this the prisoners had realized (since they had succeeded) the necessity of having two ropes. Martial had provided them; the prisoners must have used them. And yet only one rope could be found — the one which the peasant woman had perceived hanging from the rocky platform, where it was made fast to an iron crowbar.
From the window to the platform, there was no rope.
“This is most extraordinary!” murmured Martial, thoughtfully.
“Very strange!” approved M. de Courtornieu.
“How the devil could they have reached the base of the tower?”
“That is what I cannot understand.”
But Martial found another cause for surprise.
On examining the rope that remained — the one which had been used in making the second descent — he discovered that it was not a single piece. Two pieces had been knotted together. The longest piece had evidently been too short.
How did this happen? Could the duke have made a mistake in the height of the cliff? or had the abbe measured the rope incorrectly?
But Martial had also measured it with his eye, and it had seemed to him that the rope was much longer, fully14 a third longer, than it now appeared.
“There must have been some accident,” he remarked to his father and to the marquis; “but what?”
“Well, what does it matter?” replied the marquis, “you have the compromising letter, have you not?”
But Martial’s was one of those minds that never rest when confronted by an unsolved problem.
He insisted on going to inspect the rocks at the foot of the precipice68.
There they discovered large spots of blood.
“One of the fugitives must have fallen,” said Martial, quickly, “and was dangerously wounded!”
“Upon my word!” exclaimed the Duc de Sairmeuse, “if Baron d’Escorval has broken his neck, I shall be delighted!”
Martial’s face turned crimson69, and he looked searchingly at his father.
“I suppose, Monsieur, that you do not mean one word of what you are saying,” Martial said, coldly. “We pledged ourselves, upon the honor of our name, to save Baron d’Escorval. If he has been killed it will be a great misfortune to us, Monsieur, a great misfortune.”
When his son addressed him in his haughty70 and freezing tone the duke never knew how to reply. He was indignant, but his son’s was the stronger nature.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed M. de Courtornieu; “if the rascal had merely been wounded we should have known it.”
Such was the opinion of Chupin, who had been sent for by the duke, and who had just made his appearance.
But the old scoundrel, who was usually so loquacious71 and so officious, replied briefly72; and, strange to say, did not offer his services.
Of his imperturbable73 assurance, of his wonted impudence74, of his obsequious75 and cunning smile, absolutely nothing remained.
His restless eyes, the contraction76 of his features, his gloomy manner, and the occasional shudder which he could not repress, all betrayed his secret perturbation.
So marked was the change that even the Duc de Sairmeuse observed it.
“What calamity77 has happened to you, Master Chupin?” he inquired.
“This has happened,” he responded, sullenly78: “when I was coming here the children of the town threw mud and stones at me, and ran after me, shouting: ‘Traitor! traitor!’”
He clinched79 his fists; he seemed to be meditating80 vengeance81, and he added:
“The people of Montaignac are pleased. They know that the baron has escaped, and they are rejoicing.”
Alas82! this joy was destined83 to be of short duration, for this was the day appointed for the execution of the conspirators84.
It was Wednesday.
At noon the gates of the citadel were closed, and the gloom was profound and universal, when the heavy rolling of drums announced the preparations for the frightful holocaust85.
Consternation86 and fear spread through the town; the silence of death made itself felt on every side; the streets were deserted87, and the doors and shutters88 of every house were closed.
At last, as three o’clock sounded, the gates of the fortress were opened to give passage to fourteen doomed89 men, each accompanied by a priest.
Fourteen! for seized by remorse90 or fright at the last moment, M de Courtornieu and the Duc de Sairmeuse had granted a reprieve91 to six of the prisoners and at that very hour a courier was hastening toward Paris with six petitions for pardons, signed by the Military Commission.
Chanlouineau was not among those for whom royal clemency92 had been solicited93.
When he left his cell, without knowing whether or not his letter had availed, he counted the condemned with poignant94 anxiety.
His eyes betrayed such an agony of anguish95 that the priest who accompanied him leaned toward him and whispered:
“For whom are you looking, my son?”
“For Baron d’Escorval.”
“He escaped last night.”
“Ah! now I shall die content!” exclaimed the heroic peasant.
He died as he had sworn he would die, without even changing color — calm and proud, the name of Marie-Anne upon his lips.
1 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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2 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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3 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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4 perilled | |
置…于危险中(peril的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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5 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
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6 ruse | |
n.诡计,计策;诡计 | |
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7 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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8 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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9 accomplices | |
从犯,帮凶,同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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10 tarnished | |
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
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11 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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12 retrieve | |
vt.重新得到,收回;挽回,补救;检索 | |
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13 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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14 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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15 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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16 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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17 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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18 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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19 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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20 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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21 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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22 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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23 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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24 puerile | |
adj.幼稚的,儿童的 | |
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25 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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26 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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27 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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28 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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29 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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30 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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31 wrest | |
n.扭,拧,猛夺;v.夺取,猛扭,歪曲 | |
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32 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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33 chivalrous | |
adj.武士精神的;对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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34 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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35 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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36 undertakings | |
企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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37 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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38 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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39 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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40 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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41 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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42 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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43 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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44 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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45 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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46 citadel | |
n.城堡;堡垒;避难所 | |
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47 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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48 dangling | |
悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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49 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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50 advancement | |
n.前进,促进,提升 | |
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51 blighted | |
adj.枯萎的,摧毁的 | |
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52 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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53 consigning | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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54 appease | |
v.安抚,缓和,平息,满足 | |
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55 exalt | |
v.赞扬,歌颂,晋升,提升 | |
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56 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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57 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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58 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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59 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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60 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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61 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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62 presumptions | |
n.假定( presumption的名词复数 );认定;推定;放肆 | |
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63 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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64 coxcomb | |
n.花花公子 | |
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65 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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66 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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67 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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68 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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69 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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70 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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71 loquacious | |
adj.多嘴的,饶舌的 | |
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72 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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73 imperturbable | |
adj.镇静的 | |
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74 impudence | |
n.厚颜无耻;冒失;无礼 | |
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75 obsequious | |
adj.谄媚的,奉承的,顺从的 | |
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76 contraction | |
n.缩略词,缩写式,害病 | |
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77 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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78 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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79 clinched | |
v.(尤指两人)互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 );解决(争端、交易),达成(协议) | |
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80 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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81 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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82 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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83 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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84 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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85 holocaust | |
n.大破坏;大屠杀 | |
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86 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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87 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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88 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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89 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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90 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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91 reprieve | |
n.暂缓执行(死刑);v.缓期执行;给…带来缓解 | |
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92 clemency | |
n.温和,仁慈,宽厚 | |
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93 solicited | |
v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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94 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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95 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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