He saw that when the Lady Maud accompanied him, they were wont1 to repair to the farthermost extremities2 of the palace grounds where, by a little postern gate, she admitted a certain officer of the Guards to whom the Queen had forbidden the privilege of the court.
There, in a secluded4 bower5, the two lovers whispered their hopes and plans, unmindful of the royal charge playing neglected among the flowers and shrubbery of the garden.
Toward the middle of July De Vac had his plans well laid. He had managed to coax6 old Brus, the gardener, into letting him have the key to the little postern gate on the plea that he wished to indulge in a midnight escapade, hinting broadly of a fair lady who was to be the partner of his adventure, and, what was more to the point with Brus, at the same time slipping a couple of golden zecchins into the gardener's palm.
Brus, like the other palace servants, considered De Vac a loyal retainer of the house of Plantagenet. Whatever else of mischief7 De Vac might be up to, Brus was quite sure that in so far as the King was concerned, the key to the postern gate was as safe in De Vac's hands as though Henry himself had it.
The old fellow wondered a little that the morose9 old master of fence should, at his time in life, indulge in frivolous10 escapades more befitting the younger sprigs of gentility, but, then, what concern was it of his? Did he not have enough to think about to keep the gardens so that his royal master and mistress might find pleasure in the shaded walks, the well-kept sward, and the gorgeous beds of foliage12 plants and blooming flowers which he set with such wondrous13 precision in the formal garden?
Further, two gold zecchins were not often come by so easily as this; and if the dear Lord Jesus saw fit, in his infinite wisdom, to take this means of rewarding his poor servant, it ill became such a worm as he to ignore the divine favor. So Brus took the gold zecchins and De Vac the key, and the little prince played happily among the flowers of his royal father's garden, and all were satisfied; which was as it should have been.
That night, De Vac took the key to a locksmith on the far side of London; one who could not possibly know him or recognize the key as belonging to the palace. Here he had a duplicate made, waiting impatiently while the old man fashioned it with the crude instruments of his time.
From this little shop, De Vac threaded his way through the dirty lanes and alleys14 of ancient London, lighted at far intervals16 by an occasional smoky lantern, until he came to a squalid tenement17 but a short distance from the palace.
A narrow alley15 ran past the building, ending abruptly18 at the bank of the Thames in a moldering wooden dock, beneath which the inky waters of the river rose and fell, lapping the decaying piles and surging far beneath the dock to the remote fastnesses inhabited by the great fierce dock rats and their fiercer human antitypes.
Several times De Vac paced the length of this black alley in search of the little doorway19 of the building he sought. At length he came upon it, and, after repeated pounding with the pommel of his sword, it was opened by a slatternly old hag.
“What would ye of a decent woman at such an ungodly hour?” she grumbled20. “Ah, 'tis ye, my lord?” she added, hastily, as the flickering21 rays of the candle she bore lighted up De Vac's face. “Welcome, my Lord, thrice welcome. The daughter of the devil welcomes her brother.”
“Silence, old hag,” cried De Vac. “Is it not enough that you leech22 me of good marks of such a quantity that you may ever after wear mantles23 of villosa and feast on simnel bread and malmsey, that you must needs burden me still further with the affliction of thy vile3 tongue?
“Hast thou the clothes ready bundled and the key, also, to this gate to perdition? And the room: didst set to rights the furnishings I had delivered here, and sweep the century-old accumulation of filth24 and cobwebs from the floor and rafters? Why, the very air reeked25 of the dead Romans who builded London twelve hundred years ago. Methinks, too, from the stink26, they must have been Roman swineherd who habited this sty with their herds27, an' I venture that thou, old sow, hast never touched broom to the place for fear of disturbing the ancient relics28 of thy kin8.”
“Cease thy babbling29, Lord Satan,” cried the woman. “I would rather hear thy money talk than thou, for though it come accursed and tainted30 from thy rogue31 hand, yet it speaks with the same sweet and commanding voice as it were fresh from the coffers of the holy church.
“The bundle is ready,” she continued, closing the door after De Vac, who had now entered, “and here be the key; but first let us have a payment. I know not what thy foul32 work may be, but foul it is I know from the secrecy33 which you have demanded, an' I dare say there will be some who would pay well to learn the whereabouts of the old woman and the child, thy sister and her son you tell me they be, who you are so anxious to hide away in old Til's garret. So it be well for you, my Lord, to pay old Til well and add a few guilders for the peace of her tongue if you would that your prisoner find peace in old Til's house.”
“Fetch me the bundle, hag,” replied De Vac, “and you shall have gold against a final settlement; more even than we bargained for if all goes well and thou holdest thy vile tongue.”
But the old woman's threats had already caused De Vac a feeling of uneasiness, which would have been reflected to an exaggerated degree in the old woman had she known the determination her words had caused in the mind of the old master of fence.
His venture was far too serious, and the results of exposure too fraught34 with danger, to permit of his taking any chances with a disloyal fellow-conspirator. True, he had not even hinted at the enormity of the plot in which he was involving the old woman, but, as she had said, his stern commands for secrecy had told enough to arouse her suspicions, and with them her curiosity and cupidity35. So it was that old Til might well have quailed36 in her tattered37 sandals had she but even vaguely38 guessed the thoughts which passed in De Vac's mind; but the extra gold pieces he dropped into her withered39 palm as she delivered the bundle to him, together with the promise of more, quite effectually won her loyalty40 and her silence for the time being.
Slipping the key into the pocket of his tunic41 and covering the bundle with his long surcoat, De Vac stepped out into the darkness of the alley and hastened toward the dock.
Beneath the planks42 he found a skiff which he had moored43 there earlier in the evening, and underneath44 one of the thwarts45 he hid the bundle. Then, casting off, he rowed slowly up the Thames until, below the palace walls, he moored near to the little postern gate which let into the lower end of the garden.
Hiding the skiff as best he could in some tangled46 bushes which grew to the water's edge, set there by order of the King to add to the beauty of the aspect from the river side, De Vac crept warily47 to the postern and, unchallenged, entered and sought his apartments in the palace.
The next day, he returned the original key to Brus, telling the old man that he had not used it after all, since mature reflection had convinced him of the folly48 of his contemplated49 adventure, especially in one whose youth was past, and in whose joints50 the night damp of the Thames might find lodgement for rheumatism51.
“Ha, Sir Jules,” laughed the old gardener, “Virtue52 and Vice53 be twin sisters who come running to do the bidding of the same father, Desire. Were there no desire there would be no virtue, and because one man desires what another does not, who shall say whether the child of his desire be vice or virtue? Or on the other hand if my friend desires his own wife and if that be virtue, then if I also desire his wife, is not that likewise virtue, since we desire the same thing? But if to obtain our desire it be necessary to expose our joints to the Thames' fog, then it were virtue to remain at home.”
“Right you sound, old mole,” said De Vac, smiling, “would that I might learn to reason by your wondrous logic54; methinks it might stand me in good stead before I be much older.”
“The best sword arm in all Christendom needs no other logic than the sword, I should think,” said Brus, returning to his work.
That afternoon, De Vac stood in a window of the armory55 looking out upon the beautiful garden which spread before him to the river wall two hundred yards away. In the foreground were box-bordered walks, smooth, sleek56 lawns, and formal beds of gorgeous flowering plants, while here and there marble statues of wood nymph and satyr gleamed, sparkling in the brilliant sunlight, or, half shaded by an overhanging bush, took on a semblance57 of life from the riotous58 play of light and shadow as the leaves above them moved to and fro in the faint breeze. Farther in the distance, the river wall was hidden by more closely massed bushes, and the formal, geometric precision of the nearer view was relieved by a background of vine-colored bowers59, and a profusion60 of small trees and flowering shrubs61 arranged in studied disorder62.
Through this seeming jungle ran tortuous63 paths, and the carved stone benches of the open garden gave place to rustic64 seats, and swings suspended from the branches of fruit trees.
Toward this enchanting65 spot slowly were walking the Lady Maud and her little charge, Prince Richard; all ignorant of the malicious66 watcher in the window behind them.
A great peacock strutted67 proudly across the walk before them, and, as Richard ran, childlike, after it, Lady Maud hastened on to the little postern gate which she quickly unlocked, admitting her lover, who had been waiting without. Relocking the gate the two strolled arm in arm to the little bower which was their trysting place.
As the lovers talked, all self-engrossed, the little Prince played happily about among the trees and flowers, and none saw the stern, determined68 face which peered through the foliage at a little distance from the playing boy.
Richard was devoting his royal energies to chasing an elusive69 butterfly which fate led nearer and nearer to the cold, hard watcher in the bushes. Closer and closer came the little Prince, and in another moment, he had burst through the flowering shrubs, and stood facing the implacable master of fence.
“Your Highness,” said De Vac, bowing to the little fellow, “let old DeVac help you catch the pretty insect.”
Richard, having often seen De Vac, did not fear him, and so together they started in pursuit of the butterfly which by now had passed out of sight. De Vac turned their steps toward the little postern gate, but when he would have passed through with the tiny Prince, the latter rebelled.
“Come, My Lord Prince,” urged De Vac, “methinks the butterfly did but alight without the wall, we can have it and return within the garden in an instant.”
“Go thyself and fetch it,” replied the Prince; “the King, my father, has forbid me stepping without the palace grounds.”
“Come,” commanded De Vac, more sternly, “no harm can come to you.”
But the child hung back and would not go with him so that De Vac was forced to grasp him roughly by the arm. There was a cry of rage and alarm from the royal child.
“Unhand me, sirrah,” screamed the boy. “How dare you lay hands on a prince of England?”
De Vac clapped his hand over the child's mouth to still his cries, but it was too late. The Lady Maud and her lover had heard and, in an instant, they were rushing toward the postern gate, the officer drawing his sword as he ran.
When they reached the wall, De Vac and the Prince were upon the outside, and the Frenchman had closed and was endeavoring to lock the gate. But, handicapped by the struggling boy, he had not time to turn the key before the officer threw himself against the panels and burst out before the master of fence, closely followed by the Lady Maud.
De Vac dropped the key and, still grasping the now thoroughly70 affrightened Prince with his left hand, drew his sword and confronted the officer.
There were no words, there was no need of words; De Vac's intentions were too plain to necessitate71 any parley72, so the two fell upon each other with grim fury; the brave officer facing the best swordsman that France had ever produced in a futile73 attempt to rescue his young prince.
In a moment, De Vac had disarmed74 him, but, contrary to the laws of chivalry75, he did not lower his point until it had first plunged76 through the heart of his brave antagonist77. Then, with a bound, he leaped between Lady Maud and the gate, so that she could not retreat into the garden and give the alarm.
Still grasping the trembling child in his iron grip, he stood facing the lady in waiting, his back against the door.
“Mon Dieu, Sir Jules,” she cried, “hast thou gone mad?”
“No, My Lady,” he answered, “but I had not thought to do the work which now lies before me. Why didst thou not keep a still tongue in thy head and let his patron saint look after the welfare of this princeling? Your rashness has brought you to a pretty pass, for it must be either you or I, My Lady, and it cannot be I. Say thy prayers and compose thyself for death.”
Henry III, King of England, sat in his council chamber78 surrounded by the great lords and nobles who composed his suit. He awaited Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, whom he had summoned that he might heap still further indignities79 upon him with the intention of degrading and humiliating him that he might leave England forever. The King feared this mighty80 kinsman81 who so boldly advised him against the weak follies82 which were bringing his kingdom to a condition of revolution.
What the outcome of this audience would have been none may say, for Leicester had but just entered and saluted83 his sovereign when there came an interruption which drowned the petty wrangles84 of king and courtier in a common affliction that touched the hearts of all.
There was a commotion85 at one side of the room, the arras parted, and Eleanor, Queen of England, staggered toward the throne, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
“Oh, My Lord! My Lord!” she cried, “Richard, our son, has been assassinated86 and thrown into the Thames.”
In an instant, all was confusion and turmoil87, and it was with the greatest difficulty that the King finally obtained a coherent statement from his queen.
It seemed that when the Lady Maud had not returned to the palace with Prince Richard at the proper time, the Queen had been notified and an immediate88 search had been instituted—a search which did not end for over twenty years; but the first fruits of it turned the hearts of the court to stone, for there beside the open postern gate lay the dead bodies of Lady Maud and a certain officer of the Guards, but nowhere was there a sign or trace of Prince Richard, second son of Henry III of England, and at that time the youngest prince of the realm.
It was two days before the absence of De Vac was noted89, and then it was that one of the lords in waiting to the King reminded his majesty90 of the episode of the fencing bout11, and a motive91 for the abduction of the King's little son became apparent.
An edict was issued requiring the examination of every child in England, for on the left breast of the little Prince was a birthmark which closely resembled a lily and, when after a year no child was found bearing such a mark and no trace of De Vac uncovered, the search was carried into France, nor was it ever wholly relinquished92 at any time for more than twenty years.
The first theory, of assassination93, was quickly abandoned when it was subjected to the light of reason, for it was evident that an assassin could have dispatched the little Prince at the same time that he killed the Lady Maud and her lover, had such been his desire.
The most eager factor in the search for Prince Richard was Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, whose affection for his royal nephew had always been so marked as to have been commented upon by the members of the King's household.
Thus for a time the rupture94 between De Montfort and his king was healed, and although the great nobleman was divested95 of his authority in Gascony, he suffered little further oppression at the hands of his royal master.
点击收听单词发音
1 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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2 extremities | |
n.端点( extremity的名词复数 );尽头;手和足;极窘迫的境地 | |
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3 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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4 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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5 bower | |
n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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6 coax | |
v.哄诱,劝诱,用诱哄得到,诱取 | |
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7 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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8 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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9 morose | |
adj.脾气坏的,不高兴的 | |
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10 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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11 bout | |
n.侵袭,发作;一次(阵,回);拳击等比赛 | |
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12 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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13 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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14 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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15 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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16 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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17 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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18 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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19 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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20 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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21 flickering | |
adj.闪烁的,摇曳的,一闪一闪的 | |
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22 leech | |
n.水蛭,吸血鬼,榨取他人利益的人;vt.以水蛭吸血;vi.依附于别人 | |
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23 mantles | |
vt.&vi.覆盖(mantle的第三人称单数形式) | |
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24 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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25 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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26 stink | |
vi.发出恶臭;糟透,招人厌恶;n.恶臭 | |
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27 herds | |
兽群( herd的名词复数 ); 牧群; 人群; 群众 | |
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28 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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29 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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30 tainted | |
adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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31 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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32 foul | |
adj.污秽的;邪恶的;v.弄脏;妨害;犯规;n.犯规 | |
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33 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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34 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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35 cupidity | |
n.贪心,贪财 | |
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36 quailed | |
害怕,发抖,畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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38 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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39 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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40 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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41 tunic | |
n.束腰外衣 | |
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42 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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43 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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44 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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45 thwarts | |
阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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46 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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48 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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49 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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50 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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51 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
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52 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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53 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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54 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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55 armory | |
n.纹章,兵工厂,军械库 | |
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56 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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57 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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58 riotous | |
adj.骚乱的;狂欢的 | |
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59 bowers | |
n.(女子的)卧室( bower的名词复数 );船首锚;阴凉处;鞠躬的人 | |
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60 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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61 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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62 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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63 tortuous | |
adj.弯弯曲曲的,蜿蜒的 | |
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64 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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65 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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66 malicious | |
adj.有恶意的,心怀恶意的 | |
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67 strutted | |
趾高气扬地走,高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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69 elusive | |
adj.难以表达(捉摸)的;令人困惑的;逃避的 | |
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70 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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71 necessitate | |
v.使成为必要,需要 | |
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72 parley | |
n.谈判 | |
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73 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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74 disarmed | |
v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 );使息怒 | |
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75 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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76 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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77 antagonist | |
n.敌人,对抗者,对手 | |
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78 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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79 indignities | |
n.侮辱,轻蔑( indignity的名词复数 ) | |
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80 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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81 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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82 follies | |
罪恶,时事讽刺剧; 愚蠢,蠢笨,愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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83 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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84 wrangles | |
n.(尤指长时间的)激烈争吵,口角,吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵,争论,口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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86 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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87 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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88 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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89 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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90 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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91 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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92 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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93 assassination | |
n.暗杀;暗杀事件 | |
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94 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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95 divested | |
v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 );脱去(衣服);2。从…取去…;1。(给某人)脱衣服 | |
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