A dreadful quarrel which happened at the Inn where the company dined, with its bloody1 consequences to Mr Adams.
As soon as the passengers had alighted from the coach, Mr Adams, as was his custom, made directly to the kitchen, where he found Joseph sitting by the fire, and the hostess anointing his leg; for the horse which Mr Adams had borrowed of his clerk had so violent a propensity2 to kneeling, that one would have thought it had been his trade, as well as his master’s; nor would he always give any notice of such his intention; he was often found on his knees when the rider least expected it. This foible, however, was of no great inconvenience to the parson, who was accustomed to it; and, as his legs almost touched the ground when he bestrode the beast, had but a little way to fall, and threw himself forward on such occasions with so much dexterity3 that he never received any mischief4; the horse and he frequently rolling many paces’ distance, and afterwards both getting up and meeting as good friends as ever.
Poor Joseph, who had not been used to such kind of cattle, though an excellent horseman, did not so happily disengage himself; but, falling with his leg under the beast, received a violent contusion, to which the good woman was, as we have said, applying a warm hand, with some camphorated spirits, just at the time when the parson entered the kitchen.
He had scarce expressed his concern for Joseph’s misfortune before the host likewise entered. He was by no means of Mr Tow-wouse’s gentle disposition5; and was, indeed, perfect master of his house, and everything in it but his guests.
This surly fellow, who always proportioned his respect to the appearance of a traveller, from “God bless your honour,” down to plain “Coming presently,” observing his wife on her knees to a footman, cried out, without considering his circumstances, “What a pox is the woman about? why don’t you mind the company in the coach? Go and ask them what they will have for dinner.” “My dear,” says she, “you know they can have nothing but what is at the fire, which will be ready presently; and really the poor young man’s leg is very much bruised6.” At which words she fell to chafing7 more violently than before: the bell then happening to ring, he damn’d his wife, and bid her go in to the company, and not stand rubbing there all day, for he did not believe the young fellow’s leg was so bad as he pretended; and if it was, within twenty miles he would find a surgeon to cut it off. Upon these words, Adams fetched two strides across the room; and snapping his fingers over his head, muttered aloud, He would excommunicate such a wretch8 for a farthing, for he believed the devil had more humanity. These words occasioned a dialogue between Adams and the host, in which there were two or three sharp replies, till Joseph bad the latter know how to behave himself to his betters. At which the host (having first strictly9 surveyed Adams) scornfully repeating the word “betters,” flew into a rage, and, telling Joseph he was as able to walk out of his house as he had been to walk into it, offered to lay violent hands on him; which perceiving, Adams dealt him so sound a compliment over his face with his fist, that the blood immediately gushed10 out of his nose in a stream. The host, being unwilling11 to be outdone in courtesy, especially by a person of Adams’s figure, returned the favour with so much gratitude12, that the parson’s nostrils13 began to look a little redder than usual. Upon which he again assailed14 his antagonist15, and with another stroke laid him sprawling16 on the floor.
The hostess, who was a better wife than so surly a husband deserved, seeing her husband all bloody and stretched along, hastened presently to his assistance, or rather to revenge the blow, which, to all appearance, was the last he would ever receive; when, lo! a pan full of hog’s blood, which unluckily stood on the dresser, presented itself first to her hands. She seized it in her fury, and without any reflection, discharged it into the parson’s face; and with so good an aim, that much the greater part first saluted17 his countenance18, and trickled19 thence in so large a current down to his beard, and over his garments, that a more horrible spectacle was hardly to be seen, or even imagined. All which was perceived by Mrs Slipslop, who entered the kitchen at that instant. This good gentlewoman, not being of a temper so extremely cool and patient as perhaps was required to ask many questions on this occasion, flew with great impetuosity at the hostess’s cap, which, together with some of her hair, she plucked from her head in a moment, giving her, at the same time, several hearty20 cuffs21 in the face; which by frequent practice on the inferior servants, she had learned an excellent knack22 of delivering with a good grace. Poor Joseph could hardly rise from his chair; the parson was employed in wiping the blood from his eyes, which had entirely23 blinded him; and the landlord was but just beginning to stir; whilst Mrs Slipslop, holding down the landlady’s face with her left hand, made so dexterous24 an use of her right, that the poor woman began to roar, in a key which alarmed all the company in the inn.
There happened to be in the inn, at this time, besides the ladies who arrived in the stage-coach, the two gentlemen who were present at Mr Tow-wouse’s when Joseph was detained for his horse’s meat, and whom we have before mentioned to have stopt at the alehouse with Adams. There was likewise a gentleman just returned from his travels to Italy; all whom the horrid25 outcry of murder presently brought into the kitchen, where the several combatants were found in the postures26 already described.
It was now no difficulty to put an end to the fray27, the conquerors28 being satisfied with the vengeance29 they had taken, and the conquered having no appetite to renew the fight. The principal figure, and which engaged the eyes of all, was Adams, who was all over covered with blood, which the whole company concluded to be his own, and consequently imagined him no longer for this world. But the host, who had now recovered from his blow, and was risen from the ground, soon delivered them from this apprehension30, by damning his wife for wasting the hog’s puddings, and telling her all would have been very well if she had not intermeddled, like a b — as she was; adding, he was very glad the gentlewoman had paid her, though not half what she deserved. The poor woman had indeed fared much the worst; having, besides the unmerciful cuffs received, lost a quantity of hair, which Mrs Slipslop in triumph held in her left hand.
The traveller, addressing himself to Mrs Grave-airs, desired her not to be frightened; for here had been only a little boxing, which he said, to their disgracia, the English were accustomata to: adding, it must be, however, a sight somewhat strange to him, who was just come from Italy; the Italians not being addicted31 to the cuffardo but bastonza, says he. He then went up to Adams, and telling him he looked like the ghost of Othello, bid him not shake his gory32 locks at him, for he could not say he did it. Adams very innocently answered, “Sir, I am far from accusing you.” He then returned to the lady, and cried, “I find the bloody gentleman is uno insipido del nullo senso. Dammato di me, if I have seen such a spectaculo in my way from Viterbo.”
One of the gentlemen having learnt from the host the occasion of this bustle33, and being assured by him that Adams had struck the first blow, whispered in his ear, “He’d warrant he would recover.” — “Recover! master,” said the host, smiling: “yes, yes, I am not afraid of dying with a blow or two neither; I am not such a chicken as that.” — “Pugh!” said the gentleman, “I mean you will recover damages in that action which, undoubtedly34, you intend to bring, as soon as a writ35 can be returned from London; for you look like a man of too much spirit and courage to suffer any one to beat you without bringing your action against him: he must be a scandalous fellow indeed who would put up with a drubbing whilst the law is open to revenge it; besides, he hath drawn36 blood from you, and spoiled your coat; and the jury will give damages for that too. An excellent new coat upon my word; and now not worth a shilling! I don’t care,” continued he, “to intermeddle in these cases; but you have a right to my evidence; and if I am sworn, I must speak the truth. I saw you sprawling on the floor, and blood gushing37 from your nostrils. You may take your own opinion; but was I in your circumstances, every drop of my blood should convey an ounce of gold into my pocket: remember I don’t advise you to go to law; but if your jury were Christians39, they must give swinging damages. That’s all.” — “Master,” cried the host, scratching his head, “I have no stomach to law, I thank you. I have seen enough of that in the parish, where two of my neighbours have been at law about a house, till they have both lawed themselves into a gaol41.” At which words he turned about, and began to inquire again after his hog’s puddings; nor would it probably have been a sufficient excuse for his wife, that she spilt them in his defence, had not some awe40 of the company, especially of the Italian traveller, who was a person of great dignity, withheld42 his rage.
Whilst one of the above-mentioned gentlemen was employed, as we have seen him, on the behalf of the landlord, the other was no less hearty on the side of Mr Adams, whom he advised to bring his action immediately. He said the assault of the wife was in law the assault of the husband, for they were but one person; and he was liable to pay damages, which he said must be considerable, where so bloody a disposition appeared. Adams answered, If it was true that they were but one person, he had assaulted the wife; for he was sorry to own he had struck the husband the first blow. “I am sorry you own it too,” cries the gentleman; “for it could not possibly appear to the court; for here was no evidence present but the lame43 man in the chair, whom I suppose to be your friend, and would consequently say nothing but what made for you.” — “How, sir,” says Adams, “do you take me for a villain44, who would prosecute45 revenge in cold blood, and use unjustifiable means to obtain it? If you knew me, and my order, I should think you affronted46 both.” At the word order, the gentleman stared (for he was too bloody to be of any modern order of knights); and, turning hastily about, said, “Every man knew his own business.”
Matters being now composed, the company retired47 to their several apartments; the two gentlemen congratulating each other on the success of their good offices in procuring48 a perfect reconciliation49 between the contending parties; and the traveller went to his repast, crying, “As the Italian poet says —
‘Je voi very well que tutta e pace,
So send up dinner, good Boniface.’”
The coachman began now to grow importunate50 with his passengers, whose entrance into the coach was retarded51 by Miss Grave-airs insisting, against the remonstrance52 of all the rest, that she would not admit a footman into the coach; for poor Joseph was too lame to mount a horse. A young lady, who was, as it seems, an earl’s grand-daughter, begged it with almost tears in her eyes. Mr Adams prayed, and Mrs Slipslop scolded; but all to no purpose. She said, “She would not demean herself to ride with a footman: that there were waggons53 on the road: that if the master of the coach desired it, she would pay for two places; but would suffer no such fellow to come in.” — “Madam,” says Slipslop, “I am sure no one can refuse another coming into a stage-coach.” — “I don’t know, madam,” says the lady; “I am not much used to stage-coaches; I seldom travel in them.” — “That may be, madam,” replied Slipslop; “very good people do; and some people’s betters, for aught I know.” Miss Grave-airs said, “Some folks might sometimes give their tongues a liberty, to some people that were their betters, which did not become them; for her part, she was not used to converse54 with servants.” Slipslop returned, “Some people kept no servants to converse with; for her part, she thanked Heaven she lived in a family where there were a great many, and had more under her own command than any paultry little gentlewoman in the kingdom.” Miss Grave-airs cried, “She believed her mistress would not encourage such sauciness55 to her betters.” — “My betters,” says Slipslop, “who is my betters, pray?” — “I am your betters,” answered Miss Grave-airs, “and I’ll acquaint your mistress.” — At which Mrs Slipslop laughed aloud, and told her, “Her lady was one of the great gentry56; and such little paultry gentlewomen as some folks, who travelled in stagecoaches57, would not easily come at her.”
This smart dialogue between some people and some folks was going on at the coach door when a solemn person, riding into the inn, and seeing Miss Grave-airs, immediately accosted58 her with “Dear child, how do you?” She presently answered, “O papa, I am glad you have overtaken me.” — “So am I,” answered he; “for one of our coaches is just at hand; and, there being room for you in it, you shall go no farther in the stage unless you desire it.” — “How can you imagine I should desire it?” says she; so, bidding Slipslop ride with her fellow, if she pleased, she took her father by the hand, who was just alighted, and walked with him into a room.
Adams instantly asked the coachman, in a whisper, “If he knew who the gentleman was?” The coachman answered, “He was now a gentleman, and kept his horse and man; but times are altered, master,” said be; “I remember when he was no better born than myself.” — “Ay! ay!” says Adams. “My father drove the squire’s coach,” answered he, “when that very man rode postillion; but he is now his steward59; and a great gentleman.” Adams then snapped his fingers, and cried, “He thought she was some such trollop.”
Adams made haste to acquaint Mrs Slipslop with this good news, as he imagined it; but it found a reception different from what he expected. The prudent60 gentlewoman, who despised the anger of Miss Grave-airs whilst she conceived her the daughter of a gentleman of small fortune, now she heard her alliance with the upper servants of a great family in her neighbourhood, began to fear her interest with the mistress. She wished she had not carried the dispute so far, and began to think of endeavouring to reconcile herself to the young lady before she left the inn; when, luckily, the scene at London, which the reader can scarce have forgotten, presented itself to her mind, and comforted her with such assurance, that she no longer apprehended61 any enemy with her mistress.
Everything being now adjusted, the company entered the coach, which was just on its departure, when one lady recollected62 she had left her fan, a second her gloves, a third a snuff-box, and a fourth a smelling-bottle behind her; to find all which occasioned some delay and much swearing to the coachman.
As soon as the coach had left the inn, the women all together fell to the character of Miss Grave-airs; whom one of them declared she had suspected to be some low creature, from the beginning of their journey, and another affirmed she had not even the looks of a gentlewoman: a third warranted she was no better than she should be; and, turning to the lady who had related the story in the coach, said, “Did you ever hear, madam, anything so prudish63 as her remarks? Well, deliver me from the censoriousness of such a prude.” The fourth added, “O madam! all these creatures are censorious; but for my part, I wonder where the wretch was bred; indeed, I must own I have seldom conversed64 with these mean kind of people, so that it may appear stranger to me; but to refuse the general desire of a whole company had something in it so astonishing, that, for my part, I own I should hardly believe it if my own ears had not been witnesses to it.” — “Yes, and so handsome a young fellow,” cries Slipslop; “the woman must have no compulsion in her: I believe she is more of a Turk than a Christian38; I am certain, if she had any Christian woman’s blood in her veins65, the sight of such a young fellow must have warmed it. Indeed, there are some wretched, miserable66 old objects, that turn one’s stomach; I should not wonder if she had refused such a one; I am as nice as herself, and should have cared no more than herself for the company of stinking67 old fellows; but, hold up thy head, Joseph, thou art none of those; and she who hath not compulsion for thee is a Myhummetman, and I will maintain it.” This conversation made Joseph uneasy as well as the ladies; who, perceiving the spirits which Mrs Slipslop was in (for indeed she was not a cup too low), began to fear the consequence; one of them therefore desired the lady to conclude the story. “Aye, madam,” said Slipslop, “I beg your ladyship to give us that story you commensated in the morning;” which request that well-bred woman immediately complied with.
1 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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2 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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3 dexterity | |
n.(手的)灵巧,灵活 | |
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4 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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5 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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6 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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7 chafing | |
n.皮肤发炎v.擦热(尤指皮肤)( chafe的现在分词 );擦痛;发怒;惹怒 | |
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8 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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9 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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10 gushed | |
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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11 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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12 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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13 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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14 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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15 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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16 sprawling | |
adj.蔓生的,不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 );蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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17 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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18 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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19 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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20 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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21 cuffs | |
n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打,拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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22 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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23 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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24 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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25 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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26 postures | |
姿势( posture的名词复数 ); 看法; 态度; 立场 | |
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27 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
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28 conquerors | |
征服者,占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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29 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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30 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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31 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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32 gory | |
adj.流血的;残酷的 | |
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33 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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34 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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35 writ | |
n.命令状,书面命令 | |
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36 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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37 gushing | |
adj.迸出的;涌出的;喷出的;过分热情的v.喷,涌( gush的现在分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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38 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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39 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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40 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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41 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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42 withheld | |
withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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43 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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44 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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45 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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46 affronted | |
adj.被侮辱的,被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 );相遇 | |
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47 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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48 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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49 reconciliation | |
n.和解,和谐,一致 | |
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50 importunate | |
adj.强求的;纠缠不休的 | |
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51 retarded | |
a.智力迟钝的,智力发育迟缓的 | |
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52 remonstrance | |
n抗议,抱怨 | |
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53 waggons | |
四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 ); 铁路货车; 小手推车 | |
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54 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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55 sauciness | |
n.傲慢,鲁莽 | |
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56 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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57 stagecoaches | |
n.驿马车( stagecoach的名词复数 ) | |
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58 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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59 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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60 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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61 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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62 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 prudish | |
adj.装淑女样子的,装规矩的,过分规矩的;adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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64 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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65 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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66 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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67 stinking | |
adj.臭的,烂醉的,讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 );发臭味;名声臭;糟透 | |
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