Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins1, but a weight of despair and remorse2 pressed on my heart which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief3 beyond description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed4 with kindness and the love of virtue5. I had begun life with benevolent6 intentions and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow beings. Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity7 of conscience which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt8, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe.
This state of mind preyed9 upon my health, which had perhaps never entirely10 recovered from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned11 the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude12 was my only consolation13 — deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
My father observed with pain the alteration14 perceptible in my disposition15 and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his serene16 conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude17 and awaken18 in me the courage to dispel19 the dark cloud which brooded over me. “Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your brother”— tears came into his eyes as he spoke20 —“but is it not a duty to the survivors21 that we should refrain from augmenting22 their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment23, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for society.”
This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if remorse had not mingled25 its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view.
About this time we retired26 to our house at Belrive. This change was particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at ten o’clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable27 reflections. I was often tempted28, when all was at peace around me, and I the only unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and heavenly — if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and interrupted croaking29 was heard only when I approached the shore — often, I say, I was tempted to plunge30 into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my calamities31 forever. But I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine. I thought also of my father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the malice32 of the fiend whom I had let loose among them?
At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not over and that he would still commit some signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface33 the recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear so long as anything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence34 of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed35, and I ardently36 wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed37. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred38 and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have precipitated39 him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might wreak40 the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head and avenge41 the deaths of William and Justine. Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe42 and tears she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence43 so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy44 of our future prospects45. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched46 her dearest smiles.
“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice24 and injustice47 that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now misery48 has come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor49 and friend, a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. Alas50! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on the edge of a precipice51, towards which thousands are crowding and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were assassinated52, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned53 to suffer on the scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a wretch54.”
I listened to this discourse55 with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish56 in my countenance57, and kindly58 taking my hand, said, “My dearest friend, you must calm yourself. These events have affected59 me, God knows how deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish60 these dark passions. Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost the power of rendering61 you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native country, we may reap every tranquil62 blessing63 — what can disturb our peace?”
And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked64 in my heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her.
Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of heaven, could redeem65 my soul from woe; the very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed66 by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate67. The wounded deer dragging its fainting limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.
Sometimes I could cope with the sullen68 despair that overwhelmed me, but sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine69 valleys, sought in the magnificence, the eternity70 of such scenes, to forget myself and my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. My wanderings were directed towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my boyhood. Six years had passed since then: I was a wreck71, but nought72 had changed in those savage73 and enduring scenes.
I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards hired a mule74, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive injury on these rugged75 roads. The weather was fine; it was about the middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of Justine, that miserable epoch76 from which I dated all my woe. The weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged77 yet deeper in the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices78 that overhung me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty79 as Omnipotence80 — and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less almighty81 than that which had created and ruled the elements, here displayed in their most terrific guise82. Still, as I ascended84 higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth85 from among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented86 and rendered sublime87 by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining pyramids and domes88 towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of another race of beings.
I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend83 the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque90 as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. The high and snowy mountains were its immediate91 boundaries, but I saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers92 approached the road; I heard the rumbling93 thunder of the falling avalanche94 and marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme95 and magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, and its tremendous dome89 overlooked the valley.
A tingling96 long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and recognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing97 accents, and maternal98 Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the kindly influence ceased to act — I found myself fettered99 again to grief and indulging in all the misery of reflection. Then I spurred on my animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, myself — or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and despair.
At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion100 succeeded to the extreme fatigue101 both of body and of mind which I had endured. For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid102 lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling103 sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.
1 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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2 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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3 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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4 overflowed | |
溢出的 | |
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5 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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6 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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7 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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8 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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9 preyed | |
v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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10 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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11 shunned | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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13 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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14 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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15 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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16 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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17 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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18 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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19 dispel | |
vt.驱走,驱散,消除 | |
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20 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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21 survivors | |
幸存者,残存者,生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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22 augmenting | |
使扩张 | |
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23 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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24 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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25 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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26 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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27 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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28 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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29 croaking | |
v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 );用粗的声音说 | |
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30 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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31 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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32 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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33 efface | |
v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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34 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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35 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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36 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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37 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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39 precipitated | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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40 wreak | |
v.发泄;报复 | |
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41 avenge | |
v.为...复仇,为...报仇 | |
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42 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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43 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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44 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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45 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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46 quenched | |
解(渴)( quench的过去式和过去分词 ); 终止(某事物); (用水)扑灭(火焰等); 将(热物体)放入水中急速冷却 | |
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47 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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48 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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49 benefactor | |
n. 恩人,行善的人,捐助人 | |
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50 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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51 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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52 assassinated | |
v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 );中伤;诋毁;破坏 | |
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53 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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54 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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55 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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56 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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57 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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58 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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59 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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60 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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61 rendering | |
n.表现,描写 | |
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62 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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63 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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64 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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65 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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66 encompassed | |
v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 );包围;包含;包括 | |
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67 penetrate | |
v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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68 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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69 alpine | |
adj.高山的;n.高山植物 | |
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70 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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71 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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72 nought | |
n./adj.无,零 | |
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73 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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74 mule | |
n.骡子,杂种,执拗的人 | |
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75 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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76 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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77 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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78 precipices | |
n.悬崖,峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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79 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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80 omnipotence | |
n.全能,万能,无限威力 | |
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81 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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82 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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83 ascend | |
vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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84 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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86 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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87 sublime | |
adj.崇高的,伟大的;极度的,不顾后果的 | |
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88 domes | |
n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 );像圆屋顶一样的东西;圆顶体育场 | |
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89 dome | |
n.圆屋顶,拱顶 | |
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90 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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91 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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92 glaciers | |
冰河,冰川( glacier的名词复数 ) | |
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93 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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94 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
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95 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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96 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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97 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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98 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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99 fettered | |
v.给…上脚镣,束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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101 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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102 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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103 lulling | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的现在分词形式) | |
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