"What is it?" asks he, quick to notice any change in her.
"Oh! haven't you heard?" cries she. "Sure the country is ringing with it. Don't you know that they tried to shoot Mr. Moore last night?"
Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind Mangle1 Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday.
"Yes, of course; but I heard, too, how he escaped his would-be assassin."
"He did, yes; but poor Tim Maloney, the driver of the car on which he was, he was shot through the heart, instead of him! Oh, Mr. Rodney," cries the girl, passionate2 emotion both in her face and voice, "what can be said of those men who come down to quiet places such as this was, to inflame3 the minds of poor ignorant wretches4, until they are driven to bring down murder on their souls! It is cruel! It is unjust! And there seems no help for us. But surely in the land where justice reigns5 supreme6, retribution will fall upon the right heads."
"I quite forgot about the driver," says Geoffrey, beneath his breath. This remark is unfortunate. Mona turns upon him wrathfully.
"No doubt," she says scornfully. "The gentleman escaped, the man doesn't count! Perhaps, indeed, he has fulfilled his mission now he has shed his ignoble7 blood for his superior! Do you know it is partly such thoughts as these that have driven our people to desperation! One law for the poor, another for the rich! Friendship for the great, contempt for the needy8."
"Who is uttering seditious language now?" asks he, reproachfully. "No, you wrong me. I had, indeed, forgotten for the moment all about that unfortunate driver. You must remember I am a stranger here. The peasants are unknown to me. I cannot be expected to feel a keen interest in each one individually. In fact, had Mr. Moore been killed instead of poor Maloney, I shouldn't have felt it a bit the more, though he was the master and the other the man. I can only suffer with those I know and love."
The "poor Maloney" has done it. She forgives him; perhaps because—sweet soul—harshness is always far from her.
"It is true," she says, sadly. "I spoke11 in haste because my heart is sore for my country, and I fear for what we may yet live to see. But of course I could not expect you to feel with me."
This cuts him to the heart.
"I do feel with you," he says, hastily. "Do not believe otherwise." Then, as though impelled12 to it, he says in a low tone, though very distinctly, "I would gladly make your griefs mine, if you would make my joys yours."
This is a handsome offer, all things considered, but Mona turns a deaf ear to it. She is standing13 on her door-step at this moment, and now descends15 until she reaches the tiny gravelled path.
"Where are you going?" asks Rodney, afraid lest his last speech has offended her. She has her hat on,—a big Gainsborough hat, round which soft Indian muslin is clinging, and in which she looks nothing less than adorable.
"To see poor Kitty Maloney, his widow. Last year she was my servant. This year she married; and now—here is the end of everything—for her."
"May I go with you?" asks he, anxiously. "These are lawless times, and I dare say Maloney's cabin will be full of roughs. You will feel happier with some man beside you whom you can trust."
At the word "trust" she lifts her eyes and regards him somewhat steadfastly16. It is a short look, yet a very long one, and tells more than she knows. Even while it lasts he swears to himself an oath that he never to his life's end breaks.
"Come, then," she says, slowly, "if you will. Though I am not afraid. Why should I be? Do you forget that I am one of themselves? My father and I belong to the people."
She says this steadily17, and very proudly, with her head held high, but without looking at him; which permits Geoffrey to gaze at her exhaustively. There is an unconscious meaning in her words, quite clear to him. She is of "the people," he of a class that looks but coldly upon hers. A mighty18 river, called Caste, rolls between them, dividing him from her. But shall it? Some hazy19 thought like this floats through his brain. They walk on silently, scarcely exchanging a syllable20 one with the other, until they come within sight of a small thatched house built at the side of the road. It has a manure-heap just in front of it, and a filthy21 pool to its left, in which an ancient sow is wallowing, whilst grunting22 harmoniously23.
Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together some yards from the cabin, whispering and gesticulating violently, as is "their nature to."
The man, seeing Mona, breaks from the woman, and comes up to her.
"Go back again, miss," he says, with much excitement. "They've brought him home, an' he's bad to look at. I've seed him, an' it's given me a turn I won't forget in a hurry. Go home, I tell ye. 'Tis a sight not fit for the eyes of the likes of you."
"Is he there?" asks Mona, pointing with trembling fingers to the house.
"Ay, where else?" answers the woman, sullenly25 who has joined them. "They brought him back to the home he will never rouse again with step or voice. 'Tis cold he is, an' silent this day."
"Is—is he covered?" murmurs26 Mona, with difficulty, growing pale, and shrinking backwards27. Instinctively28 she lays her hand on Rodney's arm, as though desirous of support. He, laying his own hand upon hers, holds it in a warm and comforting clasp.
"He's covered, safe enough. They've throwed an ould sheet over him,—over what remains29 of him this cruel day. Och, wirra-wirra!" cries the woman, suddenly, throwing her hands high above her head, and giving way to a peculiar30 long, low, moaning sound, so eerie31, so full of wild despair and grief past all consolation32, as to make the blood in Rodney's veins33 run cold.
"Go back the way ye came," says the man again, with growing excitement. "This is no place for ye. There is ill luck in yonder house. His soul won't rest in peace, sent out of him like that. If ye go in now, ye'll be sorry for it. 'Tis a thing ye'll be thinkin' an' dhramin' of till you'll be wishin' the life out of yer cursed body!"
A little foam34 has gathered round his lips, and his eyes are wild. Geoffrey, by a slight movement, puts himself between Mona and this man, who is evidently besides himself with some inward fear and horror.
"What are ye talkin' about? Get out, ye spalpeen," says the woman, with an outward show of anger, but a warning frown meant for the man alone. "Let her do as she likes. Is it spakin' of fear ye are to Dan Scully's daughter?"
"Come home, Mona; be advised by me," says Geoffrey, gently, as the man skulks35 away, walking in a shambling, uncertain fashion, and with a curious trick of looking every now and then over his shoulder, as though expecting to see an unwelcome follower36.
"No, no; this is not a time to forsake37 one in trouble," says Mona, faithfully, but with a long, shivering sigh. "I need see nothing, but I must speak to Kitty."
She walks deliberately38 forward and enters the cabin, Geoffrey closely following her.
A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is a large room (if so it can be called), possessed39 of no flooring but the bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, emitting the strong aromatic41 perfume that belongs to it. Near it crouches43 an old woman with her blue-checked apron44 thrown above her head, who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn breath—that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a desert shore—brings her old withered45 palms together with a gesture indicative of despair.
Opposite to her is a pig, sitting quite erect46, and staring at her blankly, without the slightest regard to etiquette47 or nice feeling. He is plainly full of anxiety, yet without power to express it, except in so far as his tail may aid him, which is limp and prostrate48, its very curl being a thing of the past. If any man has impugned49 the sagacity of pigs, that man has erred50!
In the background partly hidden by the gathering51 gloom, some fifteen men, and one or two women, are all huddled52 together, whispering eagerly, with their faces almost touching53. The women, though in a great minority, are plainly having the best of it.
But Mona's eyes see nothing but one object only.
On the right side of the fireplace, lying along the wall, is a rude stretcher,—or what appears to be such,—on which, shrouded55 decently in a white cloth, lies something that chills with mortal fear the heart, as it reminds it of that to which we all some day must come. Beneath the shroud54 the murdered man lies calmly sleeping, his face smitten56 into the marble smile of death.
Quite near to the poor corpse57, a woman sits, young, apparently58, and with a handsome figure, though now it is bent59 and bowed with grief. She is dressed in the ordinary garb60 of the Irish peasant, with a short gown well tucked up, naked feet, and the sleeves of her dress pushed upwards61 until they almost reach the shoulder, showing the shapely arm and the small hand that, as a rule, belong to the daughters of Erin and betray the existence of the Spanish blood that in days gone by mingled62 with theirs.
Her face is hidden; it is lying on her arms, and they are cast, in the utter recklessness and abandonment of her grief, across the feet of him who, only yesterday, had been her "man,"—her pride and her delight.
Just as Mona crosses the threshold, a man, stepping from among the group that lies in shadow, approaching the stretcher, puts forth64 his hand, as though he would lift the sheet and look upon what it so carefully conceals65. But the woman, springing like a tigress to her feet, turns upon him, and waves him back with an imperious gesture.
"Lave him alone!" cries she; "take yer hands off him! He's dead, as ye well know, the whole of ye. There's no more ye can do to him. Then lave his poor body to the woman whose heart is broke for the want of him!"
The man draws back hurriedly, and the woman once more sinks back into her forlorn position.
"Kitty, can I do anything for you?" asks Mona, in a gentle whisper, bending over her and taking the hand that lies in her lap between both her own, with a pressure full of gentle sympathy. "I know there is nothing I can say but can I do nothing to comfort you?"
"Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly66, I know," says the woman, wearily. "But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. He's dead, ye see!"
The inference is full of saddest meaning. Even Geoffrey feels the tears rise unbidden to his eyes.
"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace67, lets her head fall forward upon it.
Mona, turning, confronts the frightened group in the corner, both men and women, with a face changed and aged68 by grief and indignation.
Her eyes have grown darker; her mouth is stern. To Rodney, who is watching her anxiously, she seems positively69 transformed. What a terrible power lies within her slight frame to feel both good and evil! What sad days may rest in store for this girl, whose face can whiten at a passing grievance70, and whose hands can tremble at a woe71 in which only a dependant72 is concerned! Both sorrow and joy must be to her as giants, strong to raise or lower her to highest elevations73 or lowest depths.
"Oh, what a day is this!" cries she, with quivering lips. "See the ruin you have brought upon this home, that only yestermorn was full of life and gladness! Is this what has come of your Land League, and your Home Rulers, and your riotous74 meetings? Where is the soul of this poor man, who was hurried to his last account without his priest, and without a prayer for pardon on his lips? And how shall the man who slew75 him dare to think on his own soul?"
No one answers; the very moanings of the old crone in the chimney-corner are hushed as the clear young voice rings through the house, and then stops abruptly76, as though its owner is overcome with emotion. The men move back a little, and glance uneasily and with some fear at her from under their brows.
"Oh, the shameful77 thought that all the world should be looking at us with horror and disgust, as a people too foul78 for anything but annihilation! And what is it you hope to gain by all this madness? Do you believe peace, or a blessing79 from the holy heavens, could fall and rest on a soil soaked in blood and red with crime? I tell you no; but rather a curse will descend14, and stay with you, that even Time itself will be powerless to lift."
Again she pauses, and one of the men, shuffling80 his feet nervously81, and with his eyes bent upon the floor, says, in a husky tone,—
"Sure, now, you're too hard on us, Miss Mona. We're innocent of it. Our hands are clean as yer own. We nivir laid eyes on him since yesterday till this blessed minit. Ye should remember that, miss."
"I know what you would say; and yet I do denounce you all, both men and boys,—yes, and the women too,—because, though your own actual hands may be free of blood, yet knowing the vile82 assassin who did this deed, there is not one of you but would extend to him the clasp of good-fellowship and shield him to the last,—a man who, fearing to meet another face to face, must needs lie in ambush83 for him behind a wall, and shoot his victim without giving him one chance of escape! Mr. Moore walks through his lands day by day, unprotected and without arms: why did this man not meet him there, and fight him fairly, to the death, if, indeed, he felt that for the good of his country he should die! No! there was danger in that thought," says Mona, scornfully: "it is a safer thing to crouch42 out of sight and murder at one's will."
"Then why does he prosecute84 the poor? We can't live; yet he won't lower the rints," says a sullen24 voice from the background.
"He did lower them. He, too, must live; and, at all events, no persecution85 can excuse murder," says Mona, undaunted. "And who was so good to you as Mr. Moore last winter, when the famine raged round here? Was not his house open to you all? Were not many of your children fed by him? But that is all forgotten now; the words of a few incendiaries have blotted86 out the remembrance of years of steady friendship. Gratitude87 lies not with you. I, who am one of you, waste my time in speaking. For a very little matter you would shoot me too, no doubt!"
This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,—
"I don't think ye have any call to say that to us, Miss Mona. 'Tisn't fair like, when ye know in yer own heart that we love the very sight of ye, and the laste sound of yer voice!"
Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened88 by this speech, as might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, quench90 the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and passionate.
"Perhaps you do," she says, sadly. "And I, too,—you know how dear you all are to me; and it is just that that makes my heart so sore. But it is too late to warn. The time is past when words might have availed."
Turning sorrowfully away, she drops some silver into the poor widow's lap; whereon Geoffrey, who has been standing close to her all the time, covers it with two sovereigns.
"Send down to the Farm, and I will give you some brandy," says Mona to a woman standing by, after a lengthened91 gaze at the prostrate form of Kitty, who makes no sign of life. "She wants it." Laying her hand on Kitty's shoulder, she shakes her gently. "Rouse yourself," she says, kindly, yet with energy. "Try to think of something,—anything except your cruel misfortune."
"I have only one thought," says the woman, sullenly, "I can't betther it. An' that is, that it was a bitther day when first I saw the light."
Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side.
For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking at her, he discovers she is crying,—bitterly, though quietly. The reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks.
"Mona, it has all been too much for you," exclaims he, with deep concern.
"Yes, yes; that poor, poor woman! I cannot get her face out of my head. How forlorn! how hopeless! She has lost all she cared for; there is nothing to fall back upon. She loved him; and to have him so cruelly murdered for no crime, and to know that he will never again come in the door, or sit by her hearth40, or light his pipe by her fire,—oh, it is horrible! It is enough to kill her!" says Mona, somewhat disconnectedly.
"Time will soften89 her grief," says Rodney, with an attempt at soothing92. "And she is young; she will marry again, and form new ties."
"Indeed she will not;" says Mona indignantly. "Irish peasants very seldom do that. She will, I am sure, be faithful forever to the memory of the man she loved."
"Is that the fashion here? If—if you loved a man, would you be faithful to him forever?"
"But how could I help it?" says Mona, simply. "Oh, what a wretched state this country is in! turmoil93 and strife94 from morning till night. And yet to talk to those very people, to mix with them, they seem such courteous95, honest, lovable creatures!"
"I don't think the gentleman in the flannel96 jacket, who spoke about the reduction of 'rints,' looked very lovable," says Mr. Rodney, without a suspicion of a smile; "and—I suppose my sight is failing—but I confess I didn't see much courtesy in his eye or his upper lip. I don't think I ever saw so much upper lip before, and now that I have seen it I don't admire it. I shouldn't single him out as a companion for a lonely road. But no doubt I wrong him."
"Larry Doolin is not a very pleasant person, I acknowledge that," says Mona, regretfully; "but he is only one among a number. And for the most part, I maintain, they are both kind and civil. Do you know," with energy, "after all I believe England is most to blame for all this evil work? We are at heart loyal: you must agree with me in this, when you remember how enthusiastically they received the queen when, years ago, she condescended97 to pay us a flying visit, never to be repeated. And how gladly we welcomed the Prince of Wales, and how the other day all Ireland petted and made much of the Duke of Connaught! I was in Dublin when he was there; and I know there was no feeling towards him but loyalty98 and affection. I am sure," earnestly, "if you asked him he would tell the same story."
"I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with empressement. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer to you."
"We should be all good subjects enough, if things were on a friendlier footing," says Mona, too absorbed in her own grievance to notice Mr. Rodney's suppressed but evident enjoyment99 of her conversation. "But when you despise us, you lead us to hate you."
"I never heard such awful language," says Rodney. "To tell me to my face that you hate me. Oh, Miss Mona! How have I merited such a speech?"
"You know what I mean," says Mona, reproachfully. "You needn't pretend you don't. And it is quite true that England does despise us."
"What a serious accusation100! and one I think slightly unfounded. We don't despise this beautiful island or its people. We even admit that you possess a charm to which we can lay no claim. The wit, the verve, the pure gayety that springs direct from the heart that belongs to you, we lack. We are a terrible prosy, heavy lot capable of only one idea at a time. How can you say we despise you?"
"Yes, you do," says Mona, with a little obstinate101 shake of her head. "You call us dirty, for one thing."
"Well, but is that altogether a falsehood? Pigs and smoke and live fowls102 and babies are, I am convinced, good things in their own way and when well at a distance. But, under the roof with one and in an apartment a few feet square, I don't think I seem to care about them, and I'm sure they can't tend towards cleanliness."
"I admit all that. But how can they help it, when they have no money and when there are always the dear children? I dare say we are dirty, but so are other nations, and no one sneers104 at them as they sneer103 at us. Are we dirtier than the canny105 Scots on whom your queen bestows106 so much of her society? Tell me that!"
"What a little patriot108!" says Rodney, pretending fear and stepping back from her. "Into what dangerous company have I fallen! And with what an accent you say 'your queen'! Do you then repudiate109 her? Is she not yours as well? Do you refuse to acknowledge her?"
"Why should I? She never comes near us, never takes the least notice of us. She treats us as though we were a detested110 branch grafted111 on, and causing more trouble than we are worth, yet she will not let us go."
"I don't wonder at that. If I were the queen I should not let you go either. And so you throw her over? Unhappy queen! I do not envy her, although she sits upon so great a throne. I would not be cast off by you for the wealth of all the Indies."
"Oh, you are my friend," says Mona, sweetly. Then, returning to the charge, "Perhaps after all it is not so much her fault as that of others. Evil counsellors work mischief112 in all ages."
"'A Daniel come to judgment113!' So sage114 a speech is wonderful from one so young. In my opinion, you ought to go into Parliament yourself, and advocate the great cause. Is it with the present government that you find fault?
"A government which, knowing not true wisdom,
Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?"
says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it,
'A council made of such as dare not speak,
And could not if they durst,'
because your part of it takes care to make itself heard."
"How I wish it didn't!" says Mona, with a sigh.
The tears are still lingering on her lashes115; her mouth is sad. Yet at this instant, even as Geoffrey is gazing at her and wondering how he shall help to dispel116 the cloud of sorrow that sits upon her brow, her whole expression changes. A merry gleam comes into her wet eyes, her lips widen and lose their lachrymose117 look, and then suddenly she throws up her head and breaks into a gay little laugh.
"Did you see the pig," she says, "sitting up by the fireplace? All through I couldn't take my eyes off him. He struck me as so comical. There he sat blinking his small eyes and trying to look sympathetic. I am convinced he knew all about it. I never saw so solemn a pig."
She laughs again with fresh delight at her own thought. That pig in the cabin has come back to her, filling her with amusement. Geoffrey regards her with puzzled eyes. What a strange temperament118 is this, where smiles and tears can mingle63!
"What a curious child you are!" he says, at length. "You are never the same for two minutes together."
"Perhaps that is what makes me so nice," retorts Miss Mona, saucily119, the sense of fun still full upon her, making him a small grimace120, and bestowing121 upon him a bewitching glance from under her long dark lashes, that lie like shadows on her cheeks.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
mangle
|
|
| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
inflame
|
|
| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
reigns
|
|
| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
needy
|
|
| adj.贫穷的，贫困的，生活艰苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
descends
|
|
| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
steadfastly
|
|
| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
hazy
|
|
| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
harmoniously
|
|
| 和谐地，调和地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
sullenly
|
|
| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
murmurs
|
|
| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
eerie
|
|
| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
skulks
|
|
| v.潜伏，偷偷摸摸地走动，鬼鬼祟祟地活动( skulk的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
follower
|
|
| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
forsake
|
|
| vt.遗弃，抛弃；舍弃，放弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
aromatic
|
|
| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
crouch
|
|
| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
crouches
|
|
| n.蹲着的姿势( crouch的名词复数 )v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
etiquette
|
|
| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
impugned
|
|
| v.非难，指谪( impugn的过去式和过去分词 )；对…有怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
erred
|
|
| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
shroud
|
|
| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
shrouded
|
|
| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
smitten
|
|
| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
mingle
|
|
| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
conceals
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
solace
|
|
| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
grievance
|
|
| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
dependant
|
|
| n.依靠的，依赖的，依赖他人生活者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
elevations
|
|
| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
riotous
|
|
| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
slew
|
|
| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
shameful
|
|
| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
shuffling
|
|
| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
nervously
|
|
| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
ambush
|
|
| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
prosecute
|
|
| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
persecution
|
|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
blotted
|
|
| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
quench
|
|
| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
lengthened
|
|
| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
flannel
|
|
| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
sneers
|
|
| 讥笑的表情（言语）( sneer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
canny
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
bestows
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
malicious
|
|
| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
patriot
|
|
| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
repudiate
|
|
| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
detested
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
grafted
|
|
| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
sage
|
|
| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
lashes
|
|
| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
dispel
|
|
| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
lachrymose
|
|
| adj.好流泪的，引人落泪的；adv.眼泪地，哭泣地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
saucily
|
|
| adv.傲慢地，莽撞地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
bestowing
|
|
| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |