THE road from Taahauku to Atuona skirted the north-westerly side of the anchorage, somewhat high up, edged, and sometimes shaded, by the splendid flowers of the FLAMBOYANT— its English name I do not know. At the turn of the hand, Atuona came in view: a long beach, a heavy and loud breach1 of surf, a shore-side village scattered2 among trees, and the guttered3 mountains drawing near on both sides above a narrow and rich ravine. Its infamous4 repute perhaps affected5 me; but I thought it the loveliest, and by far the most ominous6 and gloomy, spot on earth. Beautiful it surely was; and even more salubrious. The healthfulness of the whole group is amazing; that of Atuona almost in the nature of a miracle. In Atuona, a village planted in a shore-side marsh7, the houses standing8 everywhere intermingled with the pools of a taro-garden, we find every condition of tropical danger and discomfort9; and yet there are not even mosquitoes — not even the hateful day-fly of Nuka-hiva — and fever, and its concomitant, the island fe’efe’e, are unknown.
This is the chief station of the French on the man-eating isle10 of Hiva-oa. The sergeant11 of gendarmerie enjoys the style of the vice13 — resident, and hoists14 the French colours over a quite extensive compound. A Chinaman, a waif from the plantation15, keeps a restaurant in the rear quarters of the village; and the mission is well represented by the sister’s school and Brother Michel’s church. Father Orens, a wonderful octogenarian, his frame scarce bowed, the fire of his eye undimmed, has lived, and trembled, and suffered in this place since 1843. Again and again, when Moipu had made coco-brandy, he has been driven from his house into the woods. ‘A mouse that dwelt in a cat’s ear’ had a more easy resting-place; and yet I have never seen a man that bore less mark of years. He must show us the church, still decorated with the bishop’s artless ornaments16 of paper — the last work of industrious17 old hands, and the last earthly amusement of a man that was much of a hero. In the sacristy we must see his sacred vessels18, and, in particular, a vestment which was a ‘VRAIE CURIOSITE,’ because it had been given by a gendarme12. To the Protestant there is always something embarrassing in the eagerness with which grown and holy men regard these trifles; but it was touching19 and pretty to see Orens, his aged20 eyes shining in his head, display his sacred treasures.
AUGUST 26. — The vale behind the village, narrowing swiftly to a mere21 ravine, was choked with profitable trees. A river gushed22 in the midst. Overhead, the tall coco-palms made a primary covering; above that, from one wall of the mountain to another, the ravine was roofed with cloud; so that we moved below, amid teeming23 vegetation, in a covered house of heat. On either hand, at every hundred yards, instead of the houseless, disembowelling paepaes of Nuka-hiva, populous24 houses turned out their inhabitants to cry ‘Kaoha!’ to the passers-by. The road, too, was busy: strings25 of girls, fair and foul26, as in less favoured countries; men bearing breadfruit; the sisters, with a little guard of pupils; a fellow bestriding a horse — passed and greeted us continually; and now it was a Chinaman who came to the gate of his flower-yard, and gave us ‘Good-day’ in excellent English; and a little farther on it would be some natives who set us down by the wayside, made us a feast of mummy-apple, and entertained us as we ate with drumming on a tin case. With all this fine plenty of men and fruit, death is at work here also. The population, according to the highest estimate, does not exceed six hundred in the whole vale of Atuona; and yet, when I once chanced to put the question, Brother Michel counted up ten whom he knew to be sick beyond recovery. It was here, too, that I could at last gratify my curiosity with the sight of a native house in the very article of dissolution. It had fallen flat along the paepae, its poles sprawling27 ungainly; the rains and the mites28 contended against it; what remained seemed sound enough, but much was gone already; and it was easy to see how the insects consumed the walls as if they had been bread, and the air and the rain ate into them like vitriol.
A little ahead of us, a young gentleman, very well tattooed29, and dressed in a pair of white trousers and a flannel30 shirt, had been marching unconcernedly. Of a sudden, without apparent cause, he turned back, took us in possession, and led us undissuadably along a by-path to the river’s edge. There, in a nook of the most attractive amenity31, he bade us to sit down: the stream splashing at our elbow, a shock of nondescript greenery enshrining us from above; and thither32, after a brief absence, he brought us a cocoa — nut, a lump of sandal-wood, and a stick he had begun to carve: the nut for present refreshment33, the sandal-wood for a precious gift, and the stick — in the simplicity34 of his vanity — to harvest premature35 praise. Only one section was yet carved, although the whole was pencil-marked in lengths; and when I proposed to buy it, Poni (for that was the artist’s name) recoiled36 in horror. But I was not to be moved, and simply refused restitution37, for I had long wondered why a people who displayed, in their tattooing38, so great a gift of arabesque39 invention, should display it nowhere else. Here, at last, I had found something of the same talent in another medium; and I held the incompleteness, in these days of world-wide brummagem, for a happy mark of authenticity40. Neither my reasons nor my purpose had I the means of making clear to Poni; I could only hold on to the stick, and bid the artist follow me to the gendarmerie, where I should find interpreters and money; but we gave him, in the meanwhile, a boat-call in return for his sandal — wood. As he came behind us down the vale he sounded upon this continually. And continually, from the wayside houses, there poured forth41 little groups of girls in crimson42, or of men in white. And to these must Poni pass the news of who the strangers were, of what they had been doing, of why it was that Poni had a boat — whistle; and of why he was now being haled to the vice-residency, uncertain whether to be punished or rewarded, uncertain whether he had lost a stick or made a bargain, but hopeful on the whole, and in the meanwhile highly consoled by the boat-whistle. Whereupon he would tear himself away from this particular group of inquirers, and once more we would hear the shrill44 call in our wake.
AUGUST 27. — I made a more extended circuit in the vale with Brother Michel. We were mounted on a pair of sober nags45, suitable to these rude paths; the weather was exquisite46, and the company in which I found myself no less agreeable than the scenes through which I passed. We mounted at first by a steep grade along the summit of one of those twisted spurs that, from a distance, mark out provinces of sun and shade upon the mountain-side. The ground fell away on either hand with an extreme declivity47. From either hand, out of profound ravines, mounted the song of falling water and the smoke of household fires. Here and there the hills of foliage48 would divide, and our eye would plunge49 down upon one of these deep-nested habitations. And still, high in front, arose the precipitous barrier of the mountain, greened over where it seemed that scarce a harebell could find root, barred with the zigzags50 of a human road where it seemed that not a goat could scramble51. And in truth, for all the labour that it cost, the road is regarded even by the Marquesans as impassable; they will not risk a horse on that ascent52; and those who lie to the westward53 come and go in their canoes. I never knew a hill to lose so little on a near approach: a consequence, I must suppose, of its surprising steepness. When we turned about, I was amazed to behold54 so deep a view behind, and so high a shoulder of blue sea, crowned by the whale-like island of Motane. And yet the wall of mountain had not visibly dwindled55, and I could even have fancied, as I raised my eyes to measure it, that it loomed56 higher than before.
We struck now into covert57 paths, crossed and heard more near at hand the bickering58 of the streams, and tasted the coolness of those recesses59 where the houses stood. The birds sang about us as we descended60. All along our path my guide was being hailed by voices: ‘Mikael — Kaoha, Mikael!’ From the doorstep, from the cotton — patch, or out of the deep grove61 of island-chestnuts, these friendly cries arose, and were cheerily answered as we passed. In a sharp angle of a glen, on a rushing brook62 and under fathoms63 of cool foliage, we struck a house upon a well-built paepae, the fire brightly burning under the popoi-shed against the evening meal; and here the cries became a chorus, and the house folk, running out, obliged us to dismount and breathe. It seemed a numerous family: we saw eight at least; and one of these honoured me with a particular attention. This was the mother, a woman naked to the waist, of an aged countenance64, but with hair still copious65 and black, and breasts still erect66 and youthful. On our arrival I could see she remarked me, but instead of offering any greeting, disappeared at once into the bush. Thence she returned with two crimson flowers. ‘Good-bye!’ was her salutation, uttered not without coquetry; and as she said it she pressed the flowers into my hand — ‘Good-bye! I speak Inglis.’ It was from a whaler-man, who (she informed me) was ‘a plenty good chap,’ that she had learned my language; and I could not but think how handsome she must have been in these times of her youth, and could not but guess that some memories of the dandy whaler-man prompted her attentions to myself. Nor could I refrain from wondering what had befallen her lover; in the rain and mire67 of what sea-ports he had tramped since then; in what close and garish68 drinking-dens had found his pleasure; and in the ward43 of what infirmary dreamed his last of the Marquesas. But she, the more fortunate, lived on in her green island. The talk, in this lost house upon the mountains, ran chiefly upon Mapiao and his visits to the CASCO: the news of which had probably gone abroad by then to all the island, so that there was no paepae in Hiva-oa where they did not make the subject of excited comment.
Not much beyond we came upon a high place in the foot of the ravine. Two roads divided it, and met in the midst. Save for this intersection69 the amphitheatre was strangely perfect, and had a certain ruder air of things Roman. Depths of foliage and the bulk of the mountain kept it in a grateful shadow. On the benches several young folk sat clustered or apart. One of these, a girl perhaps fourteen years of age, buxom70 and comely71, caught the eye of Brother Michel. Why was she not at school? — she was done with school now. What was she doing here? — she lived here now. Why so? — no answer but a deepening blush. There was no severity in Brother Michel’s manner; the girl’s own confusion told her story. ‘ELLE A HONTE,’ was the missionary’s comment, as we rode away. Near by in the stream, a grown girl was bathing naked in a goyle between two stepping-stones; and it amused me to see with what alacrity72 and real alarm she bounded on her many-coloured under — clothes. Even in these daughters of cannibals shame was eloquent73.
It is in Hiva-oa, owing to the inveterate74 cannibalism75 of the natives, that local beliefs have been most rudely trodden underfoot. It was here that three religious chiefs were set under a bridge, and the women of the valley made to defile76 over their heads upon the road-way: the poor, dishonoured77 fellows sitting there (all observers agree) with streaming tears. Not only was one road driven across the high place, but two roads intersected in its midst. There is no reason to suppose that the last was done of purpose, and perhaps it was impossible entirely78 to avoid the numerous sacred places of the islands. But these things are not done without result. I have spoken already of the regard of Marquesans for the dead, making (as it does) so strange a contrast with their unconcern for death. Early on this day’s ride, for instance, we encountered a petty chief, who inquired (of course) where we were going, and suggested by way of amendment79. ‘Why do you not rather show him the cemetery80?’ I saw it; it was but newly opened, the third within eight years. They are great builders here in Hiva-oa; I saw in my ride paepaes that no European dry-stone mason could have equalled, the black volcanic81 stones were laid so justly, the corners were so precise, the levels so true; but the retaining-wall of the new graveyard82 stood apart, and seemed to be a work of love. The sentiment of honour for the dead is therefore not extinct. And yet observe the consequence of violently countering men’s opinions. Of the four prisoners in Atuona gaol83, three were of course thieves; the fourth was there for sacrilege. He had levelled up a piece of the graveyard — to give a feast upon, as he informed the court — and declared he had no thought of doing wrong. Why should he? He had been forced at the point of the bayonet to destroy the sacred places of his own piety84; when he had recoiled from the task, he had been jeered85 at for a superstitious86 fool. And now it is supposed he will respect our European superstitions87 as by second nature.
1 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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2 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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3 guttered | |
vt.形成沟或槽于…(gutter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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4 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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5 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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6 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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7 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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8 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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9 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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10 isle | |
n.小岛,岛 | |
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11 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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12 gendarme | |
n.宪兵 | |
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13 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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14 hoists | |
把…吊起,升起( hoist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15 plantation | |
n.种植园,大农场 | |
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16 ornaments | |
n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 );点缀;装饰品;首饰v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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18 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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19 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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20 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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21 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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22 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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23 teeming | |
adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
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24 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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25 strings | |
n.弦 | |
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26 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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27 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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28 mites | |
n.(尤指令人怜悯的)小孩( mite的名词复数 );一点点;一文钱;螨 | |
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29 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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30 flannel | |
n.法兰绒;法兰绒衣服 | |
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31 amenity | |
n.pl.生活福利设施,文娱康乐场所;(不可数)愉快,适意 | |
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32 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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33 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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34 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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35 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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36 recoiled | |
v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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37 restitution | |
n.赔偿;恢复原状 | |
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38 tattooing | |
n.刺字,文身v.刺青,文身( tattoo的现在分词 );连续有节奏地敲击;作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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39 arabesque | |
n.阿拉伯式花饰;adj.阿拉伯式图案的 | |
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40 authenticity | |
n.真实性 | |
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41 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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42 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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43 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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44 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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45 nags | |
n.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的名词复数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责v.不断地挑剔或批评(某人)( nag的第三人称单数 );不断地烦扰或伤害(某人);无休止地抱怨;不断指责 | |
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46 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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47 declivity | |
n.下坡,倾斜面 | |
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48 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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49 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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50 zigzags | |
n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路,曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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52 ascent | |
n.(声望或地位)提高;上升,升高;登高 | |
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53 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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54 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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55 dwindled | |
v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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57 covert | |
adj.隐藏的;暗地里的 | |
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58 bickering | |
v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 );口角;(水等)作潺潺声;闪烁 | |
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59 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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60 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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61 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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62 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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63 fathoms | |
英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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64 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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65 copious | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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66 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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67 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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68 garish | |
adj.华丽而俗气的,华而不实的 | |
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69 intersection | |
n.交集,十字路口,交叉点;[计算机] 交集 | |
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70 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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71 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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72 alacrity | |
n.敏捷,轻快,乐意 | |
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73 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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74 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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75 cannibalism | |
n.同类相食;吃人肉 | |
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76 defile | |
v.弄污,弄脏;n.(山间)小道 | |
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77 dishonoured | |
a.不光彩的,不名誉的 | |
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78 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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79 amendment | |
n.改正,修正,改善,修正案 | |
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80 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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81 volcanic | |
adj.火山的;象火山的;由火山引起的 | |
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82 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
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83 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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84 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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85 jeered | |
v.嘲笑( jeer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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87 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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