Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the vengeance1 of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance3 to the task which was enjoined4 me. I found that I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study and laborious5 disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence6 of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an undertaking7 whose immediate8 necessity began to appear less absolute to me. A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating9 the remains10 of my melancholy11, which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring12 blackness overcast13 the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in the most perfect solitude14. I passed whole days on the lake alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the rippling15 of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful heart.
It was after my return from one of these rambles16 that my father, calling me aside, thus addressed me,
“I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still unhappy and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in conjecture17 as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me, and if it is well founded, I conjure18 you to avow19 it. Reserve on such a point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery20 on us all.”
I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued —“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your earliest infancy21; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions22 and tastes, entirely23 suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any wish that she might become your wife. Nay24, you may have met with another whom you may love; and considering yourself as bound in honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant25 misery which you appear to feel.”
“My dear father, reassure26 yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration27 and affection. My future hopes and prospects28 are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
“The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us. But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate. Tell me, therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn30 us from that everyday tranquillity31 befitting my years and infirmities. You are younger; yet l do not suppose, possessed32 as you are of a competent fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere33 with any future plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate34 happiness to you or that a delay on your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and sincerity35.”
I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable36 of offering any reply. I revolved37 rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas38! To me the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries39 might not impend40 over me and my devoted41 family! Could I enter into a festival with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from which I expected peace.
I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory42 and unsatisfactory; besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my loathsome43 task in my father’s house while in habits of familiar intercourse44 with those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled, the monster would depart forever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my slavery forever.
These feelings dictated45 my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visit England, but concealing46 the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under a guise47 which excited no suspicion, while I urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that resembled madness in its intensity48 and effects, he was glad to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, and he hoped that change of scene and varied49 amusement would, before my return, have restored me entirely to myself.
The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or at most a year, was the period contemplated50. One paternal52 kind precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without previously53 communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasbourg. This interfered54 with the solitude I coveted55 for the prosecution56 of my task; yet at the commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between me and the intrusion of my foe57. If I were alone, would he not at times force his abhorred58 presence on me to remind me of my task or to contemplate51 its progress?
To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father’s age rendered him extremely averse59 to delay. For myself, there was one reward I promised myself from my detested60 toils61 — one consolation62 for my unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect29 of that day when, enfranchised63 from my miserable64 slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and forget the past in my union with her.
I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me which filled me with fear and agitation65. During my absence I should leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and unprotected from his attacks, exasperated66 as he might be by my departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in itself, but soothing67 inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends. I was agonized68 with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend would follow me and exempt69 my family from the danger of his machinations.
It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native country. My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth therefore acquiesced70, but she was filled with disquiet71 at the idea of my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval — and yet a man is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth72 a woman’s sedulous73 attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent farewell.
I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish74 that I reflected on it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with me. Filled with dreary75 imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic76 scenes, but my eyes were fixed77 and unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.
After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasbourg, where I waited two days for Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was alive to every new scene, joyful78 when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy when he beheld79 it rise and recommence a new day. He pointed2 out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and the appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live,” he cried; “how I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful!” In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a miserable wretch80, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment81.
We had agreed to descend82 the Rhine in a boat from Strasbourg to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping83 for London. During this voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns. We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from Strasbourg, arrived at Mainz. The course of the Rhine below Mainz becomes much more picturesque84. The river descends85 rapidly and winds between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles standing86 on the edges of precipices87, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible89. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a singularly variegated90 landscape. In one spot you view rugged91 hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory92, flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering93 river and populous94 towns occupy the scene.
We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the labourers as we glided95 down the stream. Even I, depressed96 in mind, and my spirits continually agitated97 by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man. “I have seen,” he said, “the most beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly98 to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance were it not for the most verdant99 islands that believe the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche100 and where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud; but this country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a charm in the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice88; and that also on the island, almost concealed101 amongst the foliage102 of those lovely trees; and now that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village half hid in the recess103 of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who pile the glacier104 or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country.” Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently105 deserving. He was a being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed106 with ardent107 affections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous108 nature that the world-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour:—
Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to him
An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrow’d from the eye.
[Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”.]
And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost forever? Has this mind, so replete110 with ideas, imaginations fanciful and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator; — has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought111, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend.
Pardon this gush112 of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe113 my heart, overflowing114 with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will proceed with my tale.
Beyond Cologne we descended115 to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the stream of the river was too gentle to aid us. Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene; they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the Spanish Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich — places which I had heard of even in my country.
At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
1 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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2 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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3 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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4 enjoined | |
v.命令( enjoin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 laborious | |
adj.吃力的,努力的,不流畅 | |
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6 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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7 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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8 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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9 eradicating | |
摧毁,完全根除( eradicate的现在分词 ) | |
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10 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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11 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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12 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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13 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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14 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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15 rippling | |
起涟漪的,潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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16 rambles | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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17 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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18 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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19 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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20 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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21 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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22 dispositions | |
安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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23 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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24 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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25 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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26 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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27 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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28 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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29 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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30 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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31 tranquillity | |
n. 平静, 安静 | |
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32 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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33 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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34 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
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35 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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36 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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37 revolved | |
v.(使)旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 );细想 | |
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38 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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39 miseries | |
n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 );痛苦的事;穷困;常发牢骚的人 | |
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40 impend | |
v.迫近,逼近,即将发生 | |
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41 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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42 dilatory | |
adj.迟缓的,不慌不忙的 | |
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43 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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44 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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45 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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46 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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47 guise | |
n.外表,伪装的姿态 | |
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48 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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49 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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50 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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51 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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52 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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53 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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54 interfered | |
v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 );调停;妨碍;干涉 | |
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55 coveted | |
adj.令人垂涎的;垂涎的,梦寐以求的v.贪求,觊觎(covet的过去分词);垂涎;贪图 | |
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56 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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57 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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58 abhorred | |
v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 );(厌恶地)回避;拒绝;淘汰 | |
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59 averse | |
adj.厌恶的;反对的,不乐意的 | |
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60 detested | |
v.憎恶,嫌恶,痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 toils | |
网 | |
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62 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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63 enfranchised | |
v.给予选举权( enfranchise的过去式和过去分词 );(从奴隶制中)解放 | |
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64 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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65 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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66 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
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67 soothing | |
adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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68 agonized | |
v.使(极度)痛苦,折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 );苦斗;苦苦思索;感到极度痛苦 | |
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69 exempt | |
adj.免除的;v.使免除;n.免税者,被免除义务者 | |
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70 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 disquiet | |
n.担心,焦虑 | |
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72 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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73 sedulous | |
adj.勤勉的,努力的 | |
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74 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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75 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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76 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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77 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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78 joyful | |
adj.欢乐的,令人欢欣的 | |
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79 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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80 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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81 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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82 descend | |
vt./vi.传下来,下来,下降 | |
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83 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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84 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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85 descends | |
v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 );下去;下降;下斜 | |
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86 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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87 precipices | |
n.悬崖,峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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88 precipice | |
n.悬崖,危急的处境 | |
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89 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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90 variegated | |
adj.斑驳的,杂色的 | |
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91 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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92 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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93 meandering | |
蜿蜒的河流,漫步,聊天 | |
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94 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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95 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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96 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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97 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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98 perpendicularly | |
adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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99 verdant | |
adj.翠绿的,青翠的,生疏的,不老练的 | |
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100 avalanche | |
n.雪崩,大量涌来 | |
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101 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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102 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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103 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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104 glacier | |
n.冰川,冰河 | |
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105 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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106 overflowed | |
溢出的 | |
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107 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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108 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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109 cataract | |
n.大瀑布,奔流,洪水,白内障 | |
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110 replete | |
adj.饱满的,塞满的;n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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111 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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112 gush | |
v.喷,涌;滔滔不绝(说话);n.喷,涌流;迸发 | |
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113 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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114 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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115 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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