Thus Maggie was introduced for the first time to the young lady’s life, and knew what it was to get up in the morning without any imperative24 reason for doing one thing more than another. This new sense of leisure and unchecked enjoyment25 amidst the soft-breathing airs and garden-scents of advancing spring — amidst the new abundance of music, and lingering strolls in the sunshine, and the delicious dreaminess of gliding26 on the river — could hardly be without some intoxicating27 effect on her, after her years of privation; and even in the first week Maggie began to be less haunted by her sad memories and anticipations28. Life was certainly very pleasant just now; it was becoming very pleasant to dress in the evening, and to feel that she was one of the beautiful things of this spring-time. And there were admiring eyes always awaiting her now; she was no longer an unheeded person, liable to be chid29, from whom attention was continually claimed, and on whom no one felt bound to confer any. It was pleasant, too, when Stephen and Lucy were gone out riding, to sit down at the piano alone, and find that the old fitness between her fingers and the keys remained, and revived, like a sympathetic kinship not to be worn out by separation; to get the tunes30 she had heard the evening before, and repeat them again and again until she had found out a way of producing them so as to make them a more pregnant, passionate31 language to her. The mere32 concord33 of octaves was a delight to Maggie, and she would often take up a book of studies rather than any melody, that she might taste more keenly by abstraction the more primitive34 sensation of intervals35. Not that her enjoyment of music was of the kind that indicates a great specific talent; it was rather that her sensibility to the supreme36 excitement of music was only one form of that passionate sensibility which belonged to her whole nature, and made her faults and virtues37 all merge38 in each other; made her affections sometimes an impatient demand, but also prevented her vanity from taking the form of mere feminine coquetry and device, and gave it the poetry of ambition. But you have known Maggie a long while, and need to be told, not her characteristics, but her history, which is a thing hardly to be predicted even from the completest knowledge of characteristics. For the tragedy of our lives is not created entirely from within. “Character,” says Novalis, in one of his questionable39 aphorisms40 — “character is destiny.” But not the whole of our destiny. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, was speculative41 and irresolute42, and we have a great tragedy in consequence. But if his father had lived to a good old age, and his uncle had died an early death, we can conceive Hamlet’s having married Ophelia, and got through life with a reputation of sanity43, notwithstanding many soliloquies, and some moody45 sarcasms46 toward the fair daughter of Polonius, to say nothing of the frankest incivility to his father-in-law.
Maggie’s destiny, then, is at present hidden, and we must wait for it to reveal itself like the course of an unmapped river; we only know that the river is full and rapid, and that for all rivers there is the same final home. Under the charm of her new pleasures, Maggie herself was ceasing to think, with her eager prefiguring imagination, of her future lot; and her anxiety about her first interview with Philip was losing its predominance; perhaps, unconsciously to herself, she was not sorry that the interview had been deferred47.
For Philip had not come the evening he was expected, and Mr. Stephen Guest brought word that he was gone to the coast — probably, he thought, on a sketching48 expedition; but it was not certain when he would return. It was just like Philip, to go off in that way without telling any one. It was not until the twelfth day that he returned, to find both Lucy’s notes awaiting him; he had left before he knew of Maggie’s arrival.
Perhaps one had need be nineteen again to be quite convinced of the feelings that were crowded for Maggie into those twelve days; of the length to which they were stretched for her by the novelty of her experience in them, and the varying attitudes of her mind. The early days of an acquaintance almost always have this importance for us, and fill up a larger space in our memory than longer subsequent periods, which have been less filled with discovery and new impressions. There were not many hours in those ten days in which Mr. Stephen Guest was not seated by Lucy’s side, or standing44 near her at the piano, or accompanying her on some outdoor excursion; his attentions were clearly becoming more assiduous, and that was what every one had expected. Lucy was very happy, all the happier because Stephen’s society seemed to have become much more interesting and amusing since Maggie had been there. Playful discussions — sometimes serious ones — were going forward, in which both Stephen and Maggie revealed themselves, to the admiration49 of the gentle, unobtrusive Lucy; and it more than once crossed her mind what a charming quartet they should have through life when Maggie married Philip. Is it an inexplicable50 thing that a girl should enjoy her lover’s society the more for the presence of a third person, and be without the slightest spasm51 of jealousy52 that the third person had the conversation habitually53 directed to her? Not when that girl is as tranquil-hearted as Lucy, thoroughly54 possessed55 with a belief that she knows the state of her companions’ affections, and not prone56 to the feelings which shake such a belief in the absence of positive evidence against it. Besides, it was Lucy by whom Stephen sat, to whom he gave his arm, to whom he appealed as the person sure to agree with him; and every day there was the same tender politeness toward her, the same consciousness of her wants and care to supply them. Was there really the same? It seemed to Lucy that there was more; and it was no wonder that the real significance of the change escaped her. It was a subtle act of conscience in Stephen that even he himself was not aware of. His personal attentions to Maggie were comparatively slight, and there had even sprung up an apparent distance between them, that prevented the renewal57 of that faint resemblance to gallantry into which he had fallen the first day in the boat. If Stephen came in when Lucy was out of the room, if Lucy left them together, they never spoke58 to each other; Stephen, perhaps, seemed to be examining books or music, and Maggie bent59 her head assiduously over her work. Each was oppressively conscious of the other’s presence, even to the finger-ends. Yet each looked and longed for the same thing to happen the next day. Neither of them had begun to reflect on the matter, or silently to ask, “To what does all this tend?” Maggie only felt that life was revealing something quite new to her; and she was absorbed in the direct, immediate60 experience, without any energy left for taking account of it and reasoning about it. Stephen wilfully61 abstained62 from self-questioning, and would not admit to himself that he felt an influence which was to have any determining effect on his conduct. And when Lucy came into the room again, they were once more unconstrained; Maggie could contradict Stephen, and laugh at him, and he could recommend to her consideration the example of that most charming heroine, Miss Sophia Western, who had a great “respect for the understandings of men.” Maggie could look at Stephen, which, for some reason or other she always avoided when they were alone; and he could even ask her to play his accompaniment for him, since Lucy’s fingers were so busy with that bazaar63-work, and lecture her on hurrying the tempo64, which was certainly Maggie’s weak point.
One day — it was the day of Philip’s return — Lucy had formed a sudden engagement to spend the evening with Mrs. Kenn, whose delicate state of health, threatening to become confirmed illness through an attack of bronchitis, obliged her to resign her functions at the coming bazaar into the hands of other ladies, of whom she wished Lucy to be one. The engagement had been formed in Stephen’s presence, and he had heard Lucy promise to dine early and call at six o’clock for Miss Torry, who brought Mrs. Kenn’s request.
“Here is another of the moral results of this idiotic65 bazaar,” Stephen burst forth66, as soon as Miss Torry had left the room — “taking young ladies from the duties of the domestic hearth67 into scenes of dissipation among urn-rugs and embroidered68 reticules! I should like to know what is the proper function of women, if it is not to make reasons for husbands to stay at home, and still stronger reasons for bachelors to go out. If this goes on much longer, the bonds of society will be dissolved.”
“Well, it will not go on much longer,” said Lucy, laughing, “for the bazaar is to take place on Monday week.”
“Thank Heaven!” said Stephen. “Kenn himself said the other day that he didn’t like this plan of making vanity do the work of charity; but just as the British public is not reasonable enough to bear direct taxation69, so St. Ogg’s has not got force of motive70 enough to build and endow schools without calling in the force of folly71.”
“Did he say so?” said little Lucy, her hazel eyes opening wide with anxiety. “I never heard him say anything of that kind; I thought he approved of what we were doing.”
“I’m sure he approves you,” said Stephen, smiling at her affectionately; “your conduct in going out to-night looks vicious, I own, but I know there is benevolence72 at the bottom of it.”
“Oh, you think too well of me,” said Lucy, shaking her head, with a pretty blush, and there the subject ended. But it was tacitly understood that Stephen would not come in the evening; and on the strength of that tacit understanding he made his morning visit the longer, not saying good-bye until after four.
Maggie was seated in the drawing-room, alone, shortly after dinner, with Minny on her lap, having left her uncle to his wine and his nap, and her mother to the compromise between knitting and nodding, which, when there was no company, she always carried on in the dining-room till tea-time. Maggie was stooping to caress73 the tiny silken pet, and comforting him for his mistress’s absence, when the sound of a footstep on the gravel74 made her look up, and she saw Mr. Stephen Guest walking up the garden, as if he had come straight from the river. It was very unusual to see him so soon after dinner! He often complained that their dinner-hour was late at Park House. Nevertheless, there he was, in his black dress; he had evidently been home, and must have come again by the river. Maggie felt her cheeks glowing and her heart beating; it was natural she should be nervous, for she was not accustomed to receive visitors alone. He had seen her look up through the open window, and raised his hat as he walked toward it, to enter that way instead of by the door. He blushed too, and certainly looked as foolish as a young man of some wit and self-possession can be expected to look, as he walked in with a roll of music in his hand, and said, with an air of hesitating improvisation75 —
“You are surprised to see me again, Miss Tulliver; I ought to apologize for coming upon you by surprise, but I wanted to come into the town, and I got our man to row me; so I thought I would bring these things from the ‘Maid of Artois’ for your cousin; I forgot them this morning. Will you give them to her?”
“Yes,” said Maggie, who had risen confusedly with Minny in her arms, and now, not quite knowing what else to do, sat down again.
Stephen laid down his hat, with the music, which rolled on the floor, and sat down in the chair close by her. He had never done so before, and both he and Maggie were quite aware that it was an entirely new position.
“Well, you pampered76 minion77!” said Stephen, leaning to pull the long curly ears that drooped78 over Maggie’s arm. It was not a suggestive remark, and as the speaker did not follow it up by further development, it naturally left the conversation at a standstill. It seemed to Stephen like some action in a dream that he was obliged to do, and wonder at himself all the while — to go on stroking Minny’s head. Yet it was very pleasant; he only wished he dared look at Maggie, and that she would look at him — let him have one long look into those deep, strange eyes of hers, and then he would be satisfied and quite reasonable after that. He thought it was becoming a sort of monomania with him, to want that long look from Maggie; and he was racking his invention continually to find out some means by which he could have it without its appearing singular and entailing79 subsequent embarrassment80. As for Maggie, she had no distinct thought, only the sense of a presence like that of a closely hovering81 broad-winged bird in the darkness, for she was unable to look up, and saw nothing but Minny’s black wavy82 coat.
But this must end some time, perhaps it ended very soon, and only seemed long, as a minute’s dream does. Stephen at last sat upright sideways in his chair, leaning one hand and arm over the back and looking at Maggie. What should he say?
“We shall have a splendid sunset, I think; sha’n’t you go out and see it?”
“I don’t know,” said Maggie. Then courageously83 raising her eyes and looking out of the window, “if I’m not playing cribbage with my uncle.”
A pause; during which Minny is stroked again, but has sufficient insight not to be grateful for it, to growl84 rather.
“Do you like sitting alone?”
A rather arch look came over Maggie’s face, and, just glancing at Stephen, she said, “Would it be quite civil to say’ve s’?”
“It was rather a dangerous question for an intruder to ask,” said Stephen, delighted with that glance, and getting determined85 to stay for another. “But you will have more than half an hour to yourself after I am gone,” he added, taking out his watch. “I know Mr. Deane never comes in till half-past seven.”
Another pause, during which Maggie looked steadily86 out of the window, till by a great effort she moved her head to look down at Minny’s back again, and said —
“I wish Lucy had not been obliged to go out. We lose our music.”
“We shall have a new voice to-morrow night,” said Stephen. “Will you tell your cousin that our friend Philip Wakem is come back? I saw him as I went home.”
Maggie gave a little start — it seemed hardly more than a vibration87 that passed from head to foot in an instant. But the new images summoned by Philip’s name dispersed88 half the oppressive spell she had been under. She rose from her chair with a sudden resolution, and laying Minny on his cushion, went to reach Lucy’s large work-basket from its corner. Stephen was vexed89 and disappointed; he thought perhaps Maggie didn’t like the name of Wakem to be mentioned to her in that abrupt13 way, for he now recalled what Lucy had told him of the family quarrel. It was of no use to stay any longer. Maggie was seating herself at the table with her work, and looking chill and proud; and he — he looked like a simpleton for having come. A gratuitous90, entirely superfluous91 visit of that sort was sure to make a man disagreeable and ridiculous. Of course it was palpable to Maggie’s thinking that he had dined hastily in his own room for the sake of setting off again and finding her alone.
A boyish state of mind for an accomplished92 young gentleman of five-and-twenty, not without legal knowledge! But a reference to history, perhaps, may make it not incredible.
At this moment Maggie’s ball of knitting-wool rolled along the ground, and she started up to reach it. Stephen rose too, and picking up the ball, met her with a vexed, complaining look that gave his eyes quite a new expression to Maggie, whose own eyes met them as he presented the ball to her.
“Good-bye,” said Stephen, in a tone that had the same beseeching93 discontent as his eyes. He dared not put out his hand; he thrust both hands into his tail-pockets as he spoke. Maggie thought she had perhaps been rude.
“Won’t you stay?” she said timidly, not looking away, for that would have seemed rude again.
“No, thank you,” said Stephen, looking still into the half-unwilling, half-fascinated eyes, as a thirsty man looks toward the track of the distant brook94. “The boat is waiting for me. You’ll tell your cousin?”
“Yes.”
“That I brought the music, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“And that Philip is come back?”
“Yes.” (Maggie did not notice Philip’s name this time.)
“Won’t you come out a little way into the garden?” said Stephen, in a still gentler tone; but the next moment he was vexed that she did not say “No,” for she moved away now toward the open window, and he was obliged to take his hat and walk by her side. But he thought of something to make him amends95.
“Do take my arm,” he said, in a low tone, as if it were a secret.
There is something strangely winning to most women in that offer of the firm arm; the help is not wanted physically96 at that moment, but the sense of help, the presence of strength that is outside them and yet theirs, meets a continual want of the imagination. Either on that ground or some other, Maggie took the arm. And they walked together round the grassplot and under the drooping97 green of the laburnums, in the same dim, dreamy state as they had been in a quarter of an hour before; only that Stephen had had the look he longed for, without yet perceiving in himself the symptoms of returning reasonableness, and Maggie had darting98 thoughts across the dimness — how came he to be there? Why had she come out? Not a word was spoken. If it had been, each would have been less intensely conscious of the other.
“Take care of this step,” said Stephen at last.
“Oh, I will go in now,” said Maggie, feeling that the step had come like a rescue. “Good-evening.”
In an instant she had withdrawn99 her arm, and was running back to the house. She did not reflect that this sudden action would only add to the embarrassing recollections of the last half-hour. She had no thought left for that. She only threw herself into the low arm-chair, and burst into tears.
“Oh, Philip, Philip, I wish we were together again — so quietly — in the Red Deeps.”
Stephen looked after her a moment, then went on to the boat, and was soon landed at the wharf100. He spent the evening in the billiard-room, smoking one cigar after another, and losing “lives” at pool. But he would not leave off. He was determined not to think — not to admit any more distinct remembrance than was urged upon him by the perpetual presence of Maggie. He was looking at her, and she was on his arm.
But there came the necessity of walking home in the cool starlight, and with it the necessity of cursing his own folly, and bitterly determining that he would never trust himself alone with Maggie again. It was all madness; he was in love, thoroughly attached to Lucy, and engaged — engaged as strongly as an honorable man need be. He wished he had never seen this Maggie Tulliver, to be thrown into a fever by her in this way; she would make a sweet, strange, troublesome, adorable wife to some man or other, but he would never have chosen her himself. Did she feel as he did? He hoped she did — not. He ought not to have gone. He would master himself in future. He would make himself disagreeable to her, quarrel with her perhaps. Quarrel with her? Was it possible to quarrel with a creature who had such eyes — defying and deprecating, contradicting and clinging, imperious and beseeching — full of delicious opposites? To see such a creature subdued101 by love for one would be a lot worth having — to another man.
There was a muttered exclamation102 which ended this inward soliloquy, as Stephen threw away the end of his last cigar, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, stalked along at a quieter pace through the shrubbery. It was not of a benedictory kind.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
prudent
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
colloquy
|
|
| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
condescension
|
|
| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
assenting
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
impeded
|
|
| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
pretension
|
|
| n.要求；自命，自称；自负 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
abruptness
|
|
| n. 突然，唐突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
unevenness
|
|
| n. 不平坦，不平衡，不匀性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
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) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
tinge
|
|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
imperative
|
|
| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
intoxicating
|
|
| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
anticipations
|
|
| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
chid
|
|
| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tunes
|
|
| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
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： |
|
|
|
|
32
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
concord
|
|
| n.和谐；协调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
primitive
|
|
| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
merge
|
|
| v.(使)结合，(使)合并，(使)合为一体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
questionable
|
|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
aphorisms
|
|
| 格言，警句( aphorism的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
speculative
|
|
| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
irresolute
|
|
| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
sanity
|
|
| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
moody
|
|
| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
sarcasms
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，挖苦( sarcasm的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
renewal
|
|
| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
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： |
|
|
|
|
59
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
wilfully
|
|
| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
abstained
|
|
| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
bazaar
|
|
| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
tempo
|
|
| n.(音乐的)速度；节奏，行进速度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
idiotic
|
|
| adj.白痴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
hearth
|
|
| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
taxation
|
|
| n.征税，税收，税金 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
motive
|
|
| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
benevolence
|
|
| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
caress
|
|
| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
improvisation
|
|
| n.即席演奏(或演唱)；即兴创作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
pampered
|
|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
minion
|
|
| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
drooped
|
|
| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
entailing
|
|
| 使…成为必要( entail的现在分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
hovering
|
|
| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
courageously
|
|
| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
growl
|
|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
vibration
|
|
| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
gratuitous
|
|
| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
beseeching
|
|
| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
brook
|
|
| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
amends
|
|
| n. 赔偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
physically
|
|
| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
drooping
|
|
| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
withdrawn
|
|
| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
wharf
|
|
| n.码头，停泊处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |