Since the houses up here were very simple, mostly working-men’s cottages, and the streets back followed the crests2 of hills twisting and winding3 as they went and providing in consequence the most startling and effective views of green hills and mountains beyond, I decided4 that should I be so fortunate as to secure work I would move over here. It would be like living in a mountain resort, and most inexpensively.
I descended5 and took a car which followed the Monongahela upstream to Homestead, and here for the first time had a view of that enormous steel plant which only recently (June to December, 1892) had played such a great part in the industrial drama of America. The details of the quarrel were fairly fresh in my mind: how the Carnegie Steel Company had planned, with the technicalities of a wage-scale readjustment as an excuse, to break the power of the Amalgamated6 Steel Workers, who were becoming too forceful and who were best organized in their plant, and how the Amalgamated, resenting the introduction of three hundred Pinkerton guards to “protect” the plant, had attacked them, killing7 several and injuring others, and so permitting the introduction of the State militia8, which speedily and permanently9 broke the power of the strikers. They could only wait then and starve, and so they had waited and starved for six months, when they finally returned to work, such of them as would be received. When I reached there in April, 1894, the battle was already fifteen months past, but the feeling was still alive. I did not then know what it was about this town of Homestead that was so depressing, but in the six months of my stay here I found that it was a compound of a sense of defeat and sullen10 despair. The men had not forgotten. Even then the company was busy, and had been for months, importing Poles, Hungarians, Lithuanians, to take the places of the ousted11 strikers. Whole colonies were already here, housed under the most unsatisfactory conditions, and more were coming. Hence the despair of those who had been defeated.
Along the river sprawled12 for a quarter of a mile or more the huge low length of the furnaces, great black bottle-like affairs with rows of stacks and long low sheds or buildings paralleling them, sheds from which came a continuous hammering and sputtering13 and the glow of red fire. The whole was shrouded14 by a pall15 of gray smoke, even in the bright sunshine. Above the plant, on a slope which rose steeply behind it, were a few moderately attractive dwellings16 grouped about two small parks, the trees of which were languishing17 for want of air. Behind and to the sides of these were the spires of several churches, those soporifics against failure and despair. Turning up side streets one found, invariably, uniform frame houses, closely built and dulled by smoke and grime, and below, on the flats behind the mill, were cluttered18 alleys19 so unsightly and unsanitary as to shock me into the belief that I was once more witnessing the lowest phases of Chicago slum-life, the worst I had ever seen. The streets were mere20 mud-tracks. Where there were trees (and there were few) they were dwarfed21 and their foliage22 withered23 by a metallic24 fume25 which was over all. Though the sun was bright at the top of the hill, down here it was gray, almost cloudy, at best a filtered dull gold haze26.
The place held me until night. I browsed27 about its saloons, of which there was a large number, most of them idle during the drift of the afternoon. The open gates of the mill held my interest also, for through them I could see furnaces, huge cranes, switching engines, cars of molten iron being hauled to and fro, and mountains of powdered iron ore and scrap28 iron piled here and there awaiting the hour of new birth in the smelting29 vats30. When the sun had gone down, and I had watched a shift of men coming out with their buckets and coats over their arms, and other hundreds entering in a rush, I returned to the city with a sense of the weight and breadth and depth of huge effort. Here bridges and rail and plate steel were made for all the world. But of all these units that dwelt and labored32 here scarce a fraction seemed even to sense a portion of the meaning of all they did. I knew that Carnegie had become a multi-millionaire, as had Phipps and others, and that he was beginning to give libraries, that Phipps had already given several floral conservatories33, and that their “lobbies” in Congress were even then bartering34 for the patronage35 of the government on their terms; but the poor units in these hovels at Homestead—what did they know?
On another day I explored the east end of Pittsburgh, which was the exclusive residence section of the city and a contrast to such hovels and deprivations36 as I had witnessed at Homestead and among the shacks37 across the Monongahela and below Mt. Washington. Never in my life, neither before nor since, in New York, Chicago or elsewhere, was the vast gap which divides the rich from the poor in America so vividly38 and forcefully brought home to me. I had seen on my map a park called Schenley, and thinking that it might be interesting I made my way out a main thoroughfare called (quite appropriately, I think) Fifth Avenue, lined with some of the finest residences of the city. Never did the mere possession of wealth impress me so keenly. Here were homes of the most imposing39 character, huge, verandaed40, tree-shaded, with immense lawns, great stone or iron or hedge fences and formal gardens and walks of a most ornate character. It was a region of well-curbed, well-drained and well-paved thoroughfares. Even the street-lamps were of a better design than elsewhere, so eager was a young and democratic municipality to see that superior living conditions were provided for the rich. There were avenues lined with well-cropped trees, and at every turn one encountered expensive carriages, their horses jingling41 silver or gold-gilt harness, their front seats occupied by one or two footmen in livery, while reclining was Madam or Sir, or both, gazing condescendingly upon the all too comfortable world about them.
In Schenley Park was a huge and interesting arboretum42 or botanical garden under glass, a most oriental affair given by Phipps of the Carnegie Company. A large graceful43 library of white limestone44, perhaps four or five times the size of the one in Allegheny, given by Andrew Carnegie, was in process of construction. And he was another of the chief beneficiaries of Homestead, the possessor of a great house in this region, another in New York and still another in Scotland, a man for whom the unwitting “Pinkertons” and contending strikers had been killed. Like huge ribbons of fire these and other names of powerful steel men—the Olivers, Thaws45, Fricks, Thompsons—seemed to rise and band the sky. It seemed astonishing to me that some men could thus rise and soar about the heavens like eagles, while others, drab sparrows all, could only pick among the offal of the hot ways below. What were these things called democracy and equality about which men prated46? Had they any basis in fact? There was constant palaver47 about the equality of opportunity which gave such men as these their chance, but I could not help speculating as to the lack of equality of opportunity these men created for others once their equality at the top had made them. If equality of opportunity had been so excellent for them why not for others, especially those in their immediate48 care? True, all men had not the brains to seize upon and make use of that which was put before them, but again, not all men of brains had the blessing49 of opportunity as had these few men. Strength, as I felt, should not be too arrogant50 or too forgetful of the accident or chance by which it had arrived. It might do something for the poor—pay them decent living wages, for instance. Were these giants planning to subject their sons and daughters to the same “equality of opportunity” which had confronted them at the start and which they were so eager to recommend to the attention of others? Not at all. In this very neighborhood I passed an exclusive private school for girls, with great grounds and a beautiful wall—another sample of equality of opportunity.
On the fourth day of my stay here I called again at the Dispatch office and was given a position, but only after the arrival of a telegram from Toledo offering me work at eighteen a week. Now I had long since passed out of the eighteen-dollar stage of reporting, and this was by no means a comforting message. If I could show it to the Dispatch city editor, I reasoned, it would probably hasten his decision to accept me, but also he might consider eighteen dollars as a rate of pay acceptable to me and would offer no more. I decided not to use it just then but to go first and see if anything had come about in my favor.
“Nothing yet,” he said on seeing me. “drop around tomorrow or Saturday. I’m sure to know then one way or the other.”
I went out and in the doorway51 below stood and meditated52. What was I to do? If I delayed too long my friend in Toledo would not be able to do anything for me, and if I showed this message it would fix my salary at a place below that which I felt I deserved. I finally hit upon the idea of changing the eighteen to twenty-five and went to a telegraph office to find some girl to rewrite it for me. Not seeing a girl I would be willing to approach, I worked over it myself, carefully erasing53 and changing until the twenty-five, while a little forced and scraggly, looked fairly natural. With this in my pocket I returned to the Dispatch this same afternoon, and told the city editor with as great an air of assurance as I could achieve that I had just received this message and was a little uncertain as to what to do about it. “The fact is,” I said, “I have started from the West to go East. New York is my eventual54 goal, unless I find a good place this side of it. But I’m up against it now and unless I can do something here I might as well go back there for the present. I wouldn’t show you this except that I must answer it tonight.”
He read it and looked at me uncertainly. Finally he got up, told me to wait a minute, and went through a nearby door. In a minute or two he returned and said: “Well, that’s all right. We can do as well as that, anyhow, if you want to stay at that rate.”
“All right,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could. “When do I start?”
“Come around tomorrow at twelve. I may not have anything for you, but I’ll carry you for a day or two until I have.”
I trotted55 down the nearby steps as fast as my feet would carry me, anxious to get out of his sight so that I might congratulate myself freely. I hurried to a telegraph office to reject my friend’s offer. To celebrate my cleverness and success I indulged in a good meal at one of the best restaurants. Here I sat, and to prepare myself for my work examined that day’s Dispatch, as well as the other papers, with a view to unraveling their method of treating a feature or a striking piece of news, also to discover what they considered a feature. By nine or ten I had solved that mystery as well as I could, and then to quiet my excited nerves I walked about the business section, finally crossing to Mt. Washington so as to view the lighted city at night from this great height. It was radiantly clear up there, and a young moon shining, and I had the pleasure of looking down upon as wonderful a night panorama56 as I have ever seen, a winking57 and fluttering field of diamonds that outrivaled the sky itself. As far as the eye could see were these lamps blinking and winking, and overhead was another glistering field of stars. Below was that enormous group of stacks with their red tongues waving in the wind. Far up the Monongahela, where lay Homestead and McKeesport and Braddock and Swissvale, other glows of red fire indicated where huge furnaces were blazing and boiling in the night. I thought of the nest of slums I had seen at Homestead, of those fine houses in the east end, and of Carnegie with his libraries, of Phipps with his glass conservatories. How to get up in the world and be somebody was my own thought now, and yet I knew that wealth was not for me. The best I should ever do was to think and dream, standing58 aloof59 as a spectator.
The next day I began work on the Dispatch and for six months was a part of it, beginning with ordinary news reporting, but gradually taking up the task of preparing original column features, first for the daily and later for the Sunday issue. Still later, not long before I left, I was by way of being an unpaid60 assistant to the dramatic editor, and a traveling correspondent.
What impressed me most was the peculiar61 character of the city and the newspaper world here, the more or less somnolent62 nature of its population (apart from the steel companies and their employees) and the genial63 and sociable64 character of the newspaper men. Never had I encountered more intelligent or helpful or companionable albeit65 cynical66 men than I found here. They knew the world, and their opportunities for studying public as well as private impulses and desires and contrasting them with public and private performances were so great as to make them puzzled if not always accurate judges of affairs and events. One can always talk to a newspaper man, I think, with the full confidence that one is talking to a man who is at least free of moralistic mush. Nearly everything in connection with those trashy romances of justice, truth, mercy, patriotism67, public profession of all sorts, is already and forever gone if they have been in the business for any length of time. The religionist is seen by them for what he is: a swallower of romance or a masquerader looking to profit and preferment. Of the politician, they know or believe but one thing: that he is out for himself, a trickster artfully juggling68 with the moods and passions and ignorance of the public. Judges are men who have by some chance or other secured good positions and are careful to trim their sails according to the moods and passions of the strongest element in any community or nation in which they chance to be. The arts are in the main to be respected, when they are not frankly69 confessed to be enigmas70.
In a very little while I came to be on friendly terms with the men of this and some other papers, men who, because of their intimate contact with local political and social conditions, were well fitted to enlighten me as to the exact economic and political conditions here. Two in particular, the political and labor31 men of this paper were most helpful. The former, a large, genial, commercial-drummer type, who might also have made an excellent theatrical71 manager or promoter, provided me with a clear insight into the general cleavage of local and State politics and personalities72. I liked him very much. The other, the labor man, was a slow, silent, dark, square-shouldered and almost square-headed youth, who drifted in and out of the office irregularly. He it was who attended, when permitted by the working people themselves, all labor meetings in the city or elsewhere, as far east at times as the hard coal regions about Wilkes-Barre and Scranton. As he himself told me, he was the paper’s sole authority for such comments or assertions as it dared to make in connection with the mining of coal and the manufacture of steel. He was an intense sympathizer with labor, but not so much with organized as with unorganized workers. He believed that labor here had two years before lost a most important battle, one which would show in its contests with money in the future: which was true. He pretended to know that there was a vast movement on foot among the moneyed elements in America to cripple if not utterly73 destroy organized labor, and to that end he assured me once that all the great steel and coal and oil magnates were in a conspiracy74 to flood the country with cheap foreign labor, which they had lured75 or were luring76 here by all sorts of dishonest devices; once here, these immigrants were to be used to break the demand of better-paid and more intelligent labor. He pretended to know that in the coal and steel regions thousands had already been introduced and more were on their way, and that all such devices as showy churches and schools for defectives77, etc., were used to keep ignorant and tame those already here.
“But you can’t say anything about it in Pittsburgh,” he said to me. “If I should talk I’d have to get out of here. The papers here won’t use a thing unfavorable to the magnates in any of these fields. I write all sorts of things, but they never get in.”
He read the Congressional Record daily, as well as various radical78 papers from different parts of the country, and was constantly calling my attention to statistics and incidents which proved that the workingman was being most unjustly put upon and undermined; but he never did it in any urgent or disturbed manner. Rather, he seemed to be profoundly convinced that the cause of the workers everywhere in America was hopeless. They hadn’t the subtlety79 and the force and the innate80 cruelty of those who ruled them. They were given to religious and educational illusions, the parochial school and church paper, which left them helpless. In the course of time, because I expressed interest in and sympathy for these people, he took me into various mill slums in and near the city to see how they lived.
点击收听单词发音
1 spires | |
n.(教堂的) 塔尖,尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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2 crests | |
v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的第三人称单数 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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3 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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4 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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5 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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6 amalgamated | |
v.(使)(金属)汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)合并;联合;结合 | |
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7 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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8 militia | |
n.民兵,民兵组织 | |
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9 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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10 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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11 ousted | |
驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 ); 革职; 罢黜; 剥夺 | |
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12 sprawled | |
v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词);蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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13 sputtering | |
n.反应溅射法;飞溅;阴极真空喷镀;喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 );发劈啪声;喷出;飞溅出 | |
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14 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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15 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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16 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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17 languishing | |
a. 衰弱下去的 | |
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18 cluttered | |
v.杂物,零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 );乱糟糟地堆满,把…弄得很乱;(以…) 塞满… | |
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19 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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20 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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21 dwarfed | |
vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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22 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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23 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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24 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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25 fume | |
n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟,气,汽 | |
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26 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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27 browsed | |
v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 );随意翻阅;(在商店里)随便看看;(在计算机上)浏览信息 | |
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28 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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29 smelting | |
n.熔炼v.熔炼,提炼(矿石)( smelt的现在分词 ) | |
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30 vats | |
varieties 变化,多样性,种类 | |
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31 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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32 labored | |
adj.吃力的,谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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33 conservatories | |
n.(培植植物的)温室,暖房( conservatory的名词复数 ) | |
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34 bartering | |
v.作物物交换,以货换货( barter的现在分词 ) | |
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35 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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36 deprivations | |
剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 ); 被夺去; 缺乏; 匮乏 | |
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37 shacks | |
n.窝棚,简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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38 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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39 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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40 verandaed | |
阳台,走廊 | |
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41 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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42 arboretum | |
n.植物园 | |
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43 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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44 limestone | |
n.石灰石 | |
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45 thaws | |
n.(足以解冻的)暖和天气( thaw的名词复数 );(敌对国家之间)关系缓和v.(气候)解冻( thaw的第三人称单数 );(态度、感情等)缓和;(冰、雪及冷冻食物)溶化;软化 | |
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46 prated | |
v.(古时用语)唠叨,啰唆( prate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 palaver | |
adj.壮丽堂皇的;n.废话,空话 | |
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48 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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49 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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50 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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51 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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52 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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53 erasing | |
v.擦掉( erase的现在分词 );抹去;清除 | |
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54 eventual | |
adj.最后的,结局的,最终的 | |
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55 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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56 panorama | |
n.全景,全景画,全景摄影,全景照片[装置] | |
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57 winking | |
n.瞬眼,目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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58 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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59 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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60 unpaid | |
adj.未付款的,无报酬的 | |
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61 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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62 somnolent | |
adj.想睡的,催眠的;adv.瞌睡地;昏昏欲睡地;使人瞌睡地 | |
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63 genial | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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64 sociable | |
adj.好交际的,友好的,合群的 | |
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65 albeit | |
conj.即使;纵使;虽然 | |
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66 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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67 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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68 juggling | |
n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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69 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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70 enigmas | |
n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等,奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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71 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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72 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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73 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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74 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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75 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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76 luring | |
吸引,引诱(lure的现在分词形式) | |
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77 defectives | |
次品 | |
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78 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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79 subtlety | |
n.微妙,敏锐,精巧;微妙之处,细微的区别 | |
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80 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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