THE port — the mart, the civil and religious capital of these rude islands — is called Tai-o-hae, and lies strung along the beach of a precipitous green bay in Nuka-hiva. It was midwinter when we came thither1, and the weather was sultry, boisterous2, and inconstant. Now the wind blew squally from the land down gaps of splintered precipice3; now, between the sentinel islets of the entry, it came in gusts4 from seaward. Heavy and dark clouds impended5 on the summits; the rain roared and ceased; the scuppers of the mountain gushed6; and the next day we would see the sides of the amphitheatre bearded with white falls. Along the beach the town shows a thin file of houses, mostly white, and all ensconced in the foliage7 of an avenue of green puraos; a pier8 gives access from the sea across the belt of breakers; to the eastward9 there stands, on a projecting bushy hill, the old fort which is now the calaboose, or prison; eastward still, alone in a garden, the Residency flies the colours of France. Just off Calaboose Hill, the tiny Government schooner10 rides almost permanently11 at anchor, marks eight bells in the morning (there or thereabout) with the unfurling of her flag, and salutes12 the setting sun with the report of a musket13.
Here dwell together, and share the comforts of a club (which may be enumerated14 as a billiard-board, absinthe, a map of the world on Mercator’s projection15, and one of the most agreeable verandahs in the tropics), a handful of whites of varying nationality, mostly French officials, German and Scottish merchant clerks, and the agents of the opium16 monopoly. There are besides three tavern17 — keepers, the shrewd Scot who runs the cotton gin-mill, two white ladies, and a sprinkling of people ‘on the beach’ — a South Sea expression for which there is no exact equivalent. It is a pleasant society, and a hospitable18. But one man, who was often to be seen seated on the logs at the pier-head, merits a word for the singularity of his history and appearance. Long ago, it seems, he fell in love with a native lady, a High Chiefess in Ua-pu. She, on being approached, declared she could never marry a man who was untattooed; it looked so naked; whereupon, with some greatness of soul, our hero put himself in the hands of the Tahukus, and, with still greater, persevered20 until the process was complete. He had certainly to bear a great expense, for the Tahuku will not work without reward; and certainly exquisite21 pain. Kooamua, high chief as he was, and one of the old school, was only part tattooed19; he could not, he told us with lively pantomime, endure the torture to an end. Our enamoured countryman was more resolved; he was tattooed from head to foot in the most approved methods of the art; and at last presented himself before his mistress a new man. The fickle22 fair one could never behold23 him from that day except with laughter. For my part, I could never see the man without a kind of admiration24; of him it might be said, if ever of any, that he had loved not wisely, but too well.
The Residency stands by itself, Calaboose Hill screening it from the fringe of town along the further bay. The house is commodious25, with wide verandahs; all day it stands open, back and front, and the trade blows copiously26 over its bare floors. On a week-day the garden offers a scene of most untropical animation27, half a dozen convicts toiling28 there cheerfully with spade and barrow, and touching29 hats and smiling to the visitor like old attached family servants. On Sunday these are gone, and nothing to be seen but dogs of all ranks and sizes peacefully slumbering30 in the shady grounds; for the dogs of Tai-o-hae are very courtly-minded, and make the seat of Government their promenade31 and place of siesta32. In front and beyond, a strip of green down loses itself in a low wood of many species of acacia; and deep in the wood a ruinous wall encloses the cemetery33 of the Europeans. English and Scottish sleep there, and Scandinavians, and French MAITRES DE MANOEUVRES and MAITRES OUVRIERS: mingling34 alien dust. Back in the woods, perhaps, the blackbird, or (as they call him there) the island nightingale, will be singing home strains; and the ceaseless requiem35 of the surf hangs on the ear. I have never seen a resting — place more quiet; but it was a long thought how far these sleepers36 had all travelled, and from what diverse homes they had set forth37, to lie here in the end together.
On the summit of its promontory38 hill, the calaboose stands all day with doors and window-shutters open to the trade. On my first visit a dog was the only guardian40 visible. He, indeed, rose with an attitude so menacing that I was glad to lay hands on an old barrel-hoop; and I think the weapon must have been familiar, for the champion instantly retreated, and as I wandered round the court and through the building, I could see him, with a couple of companions, humbly41 dodging42 me about the corners. The prisoners’ dormitory was a spacious43, airy room, devoid44 of any furniture; its whitewashed45 walls covered with inscriptions46 in Marquesan and rude drawings: one of the pier, not badly done; one of a murder; several of French soldiers in uniform. There was one legend in French: ‘JE N’EST’ (sic) ‘PAS LE SOU.’ From this noontide quietude it must not be supposed the prison was untenanted; the calaboose at Tai-o-hae does a good business. But some of its occupants were gardening at the Residency, and the rest were probably at work upon the streets, as free as our scavengers at home, although not so industrious47. On the approach of evening they would be called in like children from play; and the harbour-master (who is also the jailer) would go through the form of locking them up until six the next morning. Should a prisoner have any call in town, whether of pleasure or affairs, he has but to unhook the window-shutters; and if he is back again, and the shutter39 decently replaced, by the hour of call on the morrow, he may have met the harbour-master in the avenue, and there will be no complaint, far less any punishment. But this is not all. The charming French Resident, M. Delaruelle, carried me one day to the calaboose on an official visit. In the green court, a very ragged48 gentleman, his legs deformed49 with the island elephantiasis, saluted50 us smiling. ‘One of our political prisoners — an insurgent51 from Raiatea,’ said the Resident; and then to the jailer: ‘I thought I had ordered him a new pair of trousers.’ Meanwhile no other convict was to be seen —‘EH BIEN,’ said the Resident, ‘OU SONT VOS PRISONNIERS?’ ‘MONSIEUR LE RESIDENT,’ replied the jailer, saluting52 with soldierly formality, ‘COMME C’EST JOUR DE FETE, JE LES AI LAISSE ALLER A LA CHASSE.’ They were all upon the mountains hunting goats! Presently we came to the quarters of the women, likewise deserted53 — ‘OU SONT VOS BONNES FEMMES?’ asked the Resident; and the jailer cheerfully responded: ‘JE CROIS, MONSIEUR LE RESIDENT, QU’ELLES SONT ALLEES QUELQUEPART FAIRE UNE VISITE.’ It had been the design of M. Delaruelle, who was much in love with the whimsicalities of his small realm, to elicit54 something comical; but not even he expected anything so perfect as the last. To complete the picture of convict life in Tai-o-hae, it remains55 to be added that these criminals draw a salary as regularly as the President of the Republic. Ten sous a day is their hire. Thus they have money, food, shelter, clothing, and, I was about to write, their liberty. The French are certainly a good-natured people, and make easy masters. They are besides inclined to view the Marquesans with an eye of humorous indulgence. ‘They are dying, poor devils!’ said M. Delaruelle: ‘the main thing is to let them die in peace.’ And it was not only well said, but I believe expressed the general thought. Yet there is another element to be considered; for these convicts are not merely useful, they are almost essential to the French existence. With a people incurably57 idle, dispirited by what can only be called endemic pestilence58, and inflamed59 with ill — feeling against their new masters, crime and convict labour are a godsend to the Government.
Theft is practically the sole crime. Originally petty pilferers, the men of Tai-o-hae now begin to force locks and attack strong — boxes. Hundreds of dollars have been taken at a time; though, with that redeeming60 moderation so common in Polynesian theft, the Marquesan burglar will always take a part and leave a part, sharing (so to speak) with the proprietor61. If it be Chilian coin — the island currency — he will escape; if the sum is in gold, French silver, or bank-notes, the police wait until the money begins to come in circulation, and then easily pick out their man. And now comes the shameful62 part. In plain English, the prisoner is tortured until he confesses and (if that be possible) restores the money. To keep him alone, day and night, in the black hole, is to inflict63 on the Marquesan torture inexpressible. Even his robberies are carried on in the plain daylight, under the open sky, with the stimulus64 of enterprise, and the countenance65 of an accomplice66; his terror of the dark is still insurmountable; conceive, then, what he endures in his solitary67 dungeon68; conceive how he longs to confess, become a full-fledged convict, and be allowed to sleep beside his comrades. While we were in Tai-o-hae a thief was under prevention. He had entered a house about eight in the morning, forced a trunk, and stolen eleven hundred francs; and now, under the horrors of darkness, solitude69, and a bedevilled cannibal imagination, he was reluctantly confessing and giving up his spoil. From one cache, which he had already pointed70 out, three hundred francs had been recovered, and it was expected that he would presently disgorge the rest. This would be ugly enough if it were all; but I am bound to say, because it is a matter the French should set at rest, that worse is continually hinted. I heard that one man was kept six days with his arms bound backward round a barrel; and it is the universal report that every gendarme71 in the South Seas is equipped with something in the nature of a thumbscrew. I do not know this. I never had the face to ask any of the gendarmes72 — pleasant, intelligent, and kindly73 fellows — with whom I have been intimate, and whose hospitality I have enjoyed; and perhaps the tale reposes74 (as I hope it does) on a misconstruction of that ingenious cat’s — cradle with which the French agent of police so readily secures a prisoner. But whether physical or moral, torture is certainly employed; and by a barbarous injustice75, the state of accusation76 (in which a man may very well be innocently placed) is positively77 painful; the state of conviction (in which all are supposed guilty) is comparatively free, and positively pleasant. Perhaps worse still, — not only the accused, but sometimes his wife, his mistress, or his friend, is subjected to the same hardships. I was admiring, in the tapu system, the ingenuity78 of native methods of detection; there is not much to admire in those of the French, and to lock up a timid child in a dark room, and, if he proved obstinate79, lock up his sister in the next, is neither novel nor humane80.
The main occasion of these thefts is the new vice81 of opium-eating. ‘Here nobody ever works, and all eat opium,’ said a gendarme; and Ah Fu knew a woman who ate a dollar’s worth in a day. The successful thief will give a handful of money to each of his friends, a dress to a woman, pass an evening in one of the taverns82 of Tai-o-hae, during which he treats all comers, produce a big lump of opium, and retire to the bush to eat and sleep it off. A trader, who did not sell opium, confessed to me that he was at his wit’s end. ‘I do not sell it, but others do,’ said he. ‘The natives only work to buy it; if they walk over to me to sell their cotton, they have just to walk over to some one else to buy their opium with my money. And why should they be at the bother of two walks? There is no use talking,’ he added — ‘opium is the currency of this country.’
The man under prevention during my stay at Tai-o-hae lost patience while the Chinese opium-seller was being examined in his presence. ‘Of course he sold me opium!’ he broke out; ‘all the Chinese here sell opium. It was only to buy opium that I stole; it is only to buy opium that anybody steals. And what you ought to do is to let no opium come here, and no Chinamen.’ This is precisely83 what is done in Samoa by a native Government; but the French have bound their own hands, and for forty thousand francs sold native subjects to crime and death. This horrid84 traffic may be said to have sprung up by accident. It was Captain Hart who had the misfortune to be the means of beginning it, at a time when his plantations85 flourished in the Marquesas, and he found a difficulty in keeping Chinese coolies. To-day the plantations are practically deserted and the Chinese gone; but in the meanwhile the natives have learned the vice, the patent brings in a round sum, and the needy86 Government at Papeete shut their eyes and open their pockets. Of course, the patentee is supposed to sell to Chinamen alone; equally of course, no one could afford to pay forty thousand francs for the privilege of supplying a scattered87 handful of Chinese; and every one knows the truth, and all are ashamed of it. French officials shake their heads when opium is mentioned; and the agents of the farmer blush for their employment. Those that live in glass houses should not throw stones; as a subject of the British crown, I am an unwilling88 shareholder89 in the largest opium business under heaven. But the British case is highly complicated; it implies the livelihood90 of millions; and must be reformed, when it can be reformed at all, with prudence91. This French business, on the other hand, is a nostrum92 and a mere56 excrescence. No native industry was to be encouraged: the poison is solemnly imported. No native habit was to be considered: the vice has been gratuitously93 introduced. And no creature profits, save the Government at Papeete — the not very enviable gentlemen who pay them, and the Chinese underlings who do the dirty work.
1 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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2 boisterous | |
adj.喧闹的,欢闹的 | |
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3 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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4 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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5 impended | |
v.进行威胁,即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 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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7 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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8 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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9 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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10 schooner | |
n.纵帆船 | |
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11 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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12 salutes | |
n.致敬,欢迎,敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎,致敬( salute的第三人称单数 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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13 musket | |
n.滑膛枪 | |
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14 enumerated | |
v.列举,枚举,数( enumerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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16 opium | |
n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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17 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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18 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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19 tattooed | |
v.刺青,文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 );连续有节奏地敲击;作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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20 persevered | |
v.坚忍,坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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22 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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23 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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24 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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25 commodious | |
adj.宽敞的;使用方便的 | |
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26 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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27 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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28 toiling | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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29 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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30 slumbering | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的现在分词形式) | |
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31 promenade | |
n./v.散步 | |
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32 siesta | |
n.午睡 | |
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33 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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34 mingling | |
adj.混合的 | |
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35 requiem | |
n.安魂曲,安灵曲 | |
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36 sleepers | |
n.卧铺(通常以复数形式出现);卧车( sleeper的名词复数 );轨枕;睡觉(呈某种状态)的人;小耳环 | |
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37 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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38 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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39 shutter | |
n.百叶窗;(照相机)快门;关闭装置 | |
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40 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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41 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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42 dodging | |
n.避开,闪过,音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 );回避 | |
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43 spacious | |
adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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44 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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45 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 inscriptions | |
(作者)题词( inscription的名词复数 ); 献词; 碑文; 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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47 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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48 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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49 deformed | |
adj.畸形的;变形的;丑的,破相了的 | |
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50 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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51 insurgent | |
adj.叛乱的,起事的;n.叛乱分子 | |
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52 saluting | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的现在分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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53 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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54 elicit | |
v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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55 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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56 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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57 incurably | |
ad.治不好地 | |
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58 pestilence | |
n.瘟疫 | |
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59 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 redeeming | |
补偿的,弥补的 | |
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61 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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62 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
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63 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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64 stimulus | |
n.刺激,刺激物,促进因素,引起兴奋的事物 | |
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65 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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66 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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67 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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68 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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69 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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70 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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71 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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72 gendarmes | |
n.宪兵,警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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73 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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74 reposes | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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76 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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77 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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78 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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79 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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80 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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81 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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82 taverns | |
n.小旅馆,客栈,酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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83 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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84 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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85 plantations | |
n.种植园,大农场( plantation的名词复数 ) | |
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86 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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87 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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88 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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89 shareholder | |
n.股东,股票持有人 | |
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90 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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91 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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92 nostrum | |
n.秘方;妙策 | |
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93 gratuitously | |
平白 | |
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