There was a tremendous opening of doors in the Hotel de Vezelay, and much whispering on thresholds, as the executioner and his band entered solemnly. Sophia heard them tramp upstairs; they seemed to hesitate, and then apparently1 went into a room on the same landing as hers. A door banged. But Sophia could hear the regular sound of new voices talking, and then the rattling2 of glasses on a tray. The conversation which came to her from the windows of the hotel now showed a great increase of excitement. She could not see the people at these neighbouring windows without showing her own head, and this she would not do. The boom of a heavy bell striking the hour vibrated over the roofs of the square; she supposed that it might be the cathedral clock. In a corner of the square she saw Gerald talking vivaciously3 alone with one of the two girls who had been together. She wondered vaguely4 how such a girl had been brought up, and what her parents thought--or knew! And she was conscious of an intense pride in herself, of a measureless haughty5 feeling of superiority.
Her eye caught the guillotine again, and was held by it. Guarded by gendarmes6, that tall and simple object did most menacingly dominate the square with its crude red columns. Tools and a large open box lay on the ground beside it. The enfeebled horse in the waggon7 had an air of dozing8 on his twisted legs. Then the first rays of the sun shot lengthwise across the square at the level of the chimneys; and Sophia noticed that nearly all the lamps and candles had been extinguished. Many people at the windows were yawning; they laughed foolishly after they had yawned. Some were eating and drinking. Some were shouting conversations from one house to another. The mounted gendarmes were still pressing back the feverish9 crowds that growled10 at all the inlets to the square. She saw Chirac walking to and fro alone. But she could not find Gerald. He could not have left the square. Perhaps he had returned to the hotel and would come up to see if she was comfortable or if she needed anything. Guiltily she sprang back into bed. When last she had surveyed the room it had been dark; now it was bright and every detail stood clear. Yet she had the sensation of having been at the window only a few minutes.
She waited. But Gerald did not come. She could hear chiefly the steady hum of the voices of the executioner and his aids. She reflected that the room in which they were must be at the back. The other sounds in the hotel grew less noticeable. Then, after an age, she heard a door open, and a low voice say something commandingly in French, and then a 'Oui, monsieur,' and a general descent of the stairs. The executioner and his aids were leaving. "You," cried a drunken English voice from an upper floor--it was the aged12" target="_blank">middle-aged11 Englishman translating what the executioner had said--"you, you will take the head." Then a rough laugh, and the repeating voice of the Englishman's girl, still pursuing her studies in English: "You will take ze 'ead. Yess, sair." And another laugh. At length quiet reigned13 in the hotel. Sophia said to herself: "I won't stir from this bed till it's all over and Gerald comes back!"
She dozed14, under the sheet, and was awakened15 by a tremendous shrieking17, growling18, and yelling: a phenomenon of human bestiality that far surpassed Sophia's narrow experiences. Shut up though she was in a room, perfectly19 secure, the mad fury of that crowd, balked20 at the inlets to the square, thrilled and intimidated21 her. It sounded as if they would be capable of tearing the very horses to pieces. "I must stay where I am," she murmured. And even while saying it she rose and went to the window again and peeped out. The torture involved was extreme, but she had not sufficient force within her to resist the fascination22. She stared greedily into the bright square. The first thing she saw was Gerald coming out of a house opposite, followed after a few seconds by the girl with whom he had previously23 been talking. Gerald glanced hastily up at the facade24 of the hotel, and then approached as near as he could to the red columns, in front of which were now drawn25 a line of gendarmes with naked swords. A second and larger waggon, with two horses, waited by the side of the other one. The racket beyond the square continued and even grew louder. But the couple of hundred persons within the cordons27, and all the inhabitants of the windows, drunk and sober, gazed in a fixed28 and sinister29 enchantment30 at the region of the guillotine, as Sophia gazed. "I cannot stand this!" she told herself in horror, but she could not move; she could not move even her eyes.
At intervals31 the crowd would burst out in a violent staccato--
"Le voila! Nicholas! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
And the final 'Ah' was devilish.
Then a gigantic passionate32 roar, the culmination33 of the mob's fierce savagery34, crashed against the skies. The line of maddened horses swerved35 and reared, and seemed to fall on the furious multitude while the statue-like gendarmes rocked over them. It was a last effort to break the cordon26, and it failed.
From the little street at the rear of the guillotine appeared a priest, walking backwards36, and holding a crucifix high in his right hand, and behind him came the handsome hero, his body all crossed with cords, between two warders, who pressed against him and supported him on either side. He was certainly very young. He lifted his chin gallantly37, but his face was incredibly white. Sophia discerned that the priest was trying to hide the sight of the guillotine from the prisoner with his body, just as in the story which she had heard at dinner.
Except the voice of the priest, indistinctly rising and falling in the prayer for the dying, there was no sound in the square or its environs. The windows were now occupied by groups turned to stone with distended38 eyes fixed on the little procession. Sophia had a tightening39 of the throat, and the hand trembled by which she held the curtain. The central figure did not seem to her to be alive; but rather a doll, a marionette40 wound up to imitate the action of a tragedy. She saw the priest offer the crucifix to the mouth of the marionette, which with a clumsy unhuman shoving of its corded shoulders butted41 the thing away. And as the procession turned and stopped she could plainly see that the marionette's nape and shoulders were bare, his shirt having been slit42. It was horrible. "Why do I stay here?" she asked herself hysterically43. But she did not stir. The victim had disappeared now in the midst of a group of men. Then she perceived him prone44 under the red column, between the grooves45. The silence was now broken only by the tinkling46 of the horses' bits in the corners of the square. The line of gendarmes in front of the scaffold held their swords tightly and looked over their noses, ignoring the privileged groups that peered almost between their shoulders.
And Sophia waited, horror-struck. She saw nothing but the gleaming triangle of metal that was suspended high above the prone, attendant victim. She felt like a lost soul, torn too soon from shelter, and exposed for ever to the worst hazards of destiny. Why was she in this strange, incomprehensible town, foreign and inimical to her, watching with agonized47 glance this cruel, obscene spectacle? Her sensibilities were all a bleeding mass of wounds. Why? Only yesterday, and she had been, an innocent, timid creature in Bursley, in Axe48, a foolish creature who deemed the concealment49 of letters a supreme50 excitement. Either that day or this day was not real. Why was she imprisoned51 alone in that odious52, indescribably odious hotel, with no one to soothe53 and comfort her, and carry her away?
The distant bell boomed once. Then a monosyllabic voice sounded, sharp, low, nervous; she recognized the voice of the executioner, whose name she had heard but could not remember. There was a clicking noise.
She shrank down to the floor in terror and loathing54, and hid her face, and shuddered55. Shriek16 after shriek, from various windows, rang on her ears in a fusillade; and then the mad yell of the penned crowd, which, like herself, had not seen but had heard, extinguished all other noise. Justice was done. The great ambition of Gerald's life was at last satisfied.
Later, amid the stir of the hotel, there came a knock at her door, impatient and nervous. Forgetting, in her tribulation56, that she was without her bodice, she got up from the floor in a kind of miserable57 dream, and opened. Chirac stood on the landing, and he had Gerald by the arm. Chirac looked worn out, curiously58 fragile and pathetic; but Gerald was the very image of death. The attainment59 of ambition had utterly60 destroyed his equilibrium61; his curiosity had proved itself stronger than his stomach. Sophia would have pitied him had she in that moment been capable of pity. Gerald staggered past her into the room, and sank with a groan62 on to the bed. Not long since he had been proudly conversing63 with impudent64 women. Now, in swift collapse65, he was as flaccid as a sick hound and as disgusting as an aged drunkard.
"He is some little souffrant," said Chirac, weakly.
Sophia perceived in Chirac's tone the assumption that of course her present duty was to devote herself to the task of restoring her shamed husband to his manly66 pride.
"And what about me?" she thought bitterly.
The fat woman ascended67 the stairs like a tottering68 blancmange, and began to gabble to Sophia, who understood nothing whatever.
"She wants sixty francs," Chirac said, and in answer to Sophia's startled question, he explained that Gerald had agreed to pay a hundred francs for the room, which was the landlady69's own--fifty francs in advance and the fifty after the execution. The other ten was for the dinner. The landlady, distrusting the whole of her clientele, was collecting her accounts instantly on the completion of the spectacle.
Sophia made no remark as to Gerald's lie to her. Indeed, Chirac had heard it. She knew Gerald for a glib70 liar71 to others, but she was naively72 surprised when he practised upon herself.
"Gerald! Do you hear?" she said coldly.
The amateur of severed73 heads only groaned74.
With a movement of irritation75 she went to him and felt in his pockets for his purse; he acquiesced76, still groaning77. Chirac helped her to choose and count the coins.
The fat woman, appeased78, pursued her way.
"Good-bye, madame!" said Chirac, with his customary courtliness, transforming the landing of the hideous79 hotel into some imperial antechamber.
"Are you going away?" she asked, in surprise. Her distress81 was so obvious that it tremendously flattered him. He would have stayed if he could. But he had to return to Paris to write and deliver his article.
"To-morrow, I hope!" he murmured sympathetically, kissing her hand. The gesture atoned82 somewhat for the sordidness83 of her situation, and even corrected the faults of her attire84. Always afterwards it seemed to her that Chirac was an old and intimate friend; he had successfully passed through the ordeal85 of seeing 'the wrong side' of the stuff of her life.
She shut the door on him with a lingering glance, and reconciled herself to her predicament.
Gerald slept. Just as he was, he slept heavily.
This was what he had brought her to, then! The horrors of the night, of the dawn, and of the morning! Ineffable86 suffering and humiliation87; anguish88 and torture that could never be forgotten! And after a fatuous89 vigil of unguessed license90, he had tottered91 back, an offensive beast, to sleep the day away in that filthy93 chamber80! He did not possess even enough spirit to play the role of roysterer to the end. And she was bound to him; far, far from any other human aid; cut off irrevocably by her pride from those who perhaps would have protected her from his dangerous folly94. The deep conviction henceforward formed a permanent part of her general consciousness that he was simply an irresponsible and thoughtless fool! He was without sense. Such was her brilliant and godlike husband, the man who had given her the right to call herself a married woman! He was a fool. With all her ignorance of the world she could see that nobody but an arrant95 imbecile could have brought her to the present pass. Her native sagacity revolted. Gusts96 of feeling came over her in which she could have thrashed him into the realization97 of his responsibilities.
Sticking out of the breast-pocket of his soiled coat was the packet which he had received on the previous day. If he had not already lost it, he could only thank his luck. She took it. There were English bank-notes in it for two hundred pounds, a letter from a banker, and other papers. With precautions against noise she tore the envelope and the letter and papers into small pieces, and then looked about for a place to hide them. A cupboard suggested itself. She got on a chair, and pushed the fragments out of sight on the topmost shelf, where they may well be to this day. She finished dressing98, and then sewed the notes into the lining99 of her skirt. She had no silly, delicate notions about stealing. She obscurely felt that, in the care of a man like Gerald, she might find herself in the most monstrous100, the most impossible dilemmas101. Those notes, safe and secret in her skirt, gave her confidence, reassured102 her against the perils103 of the future, and endowed her with independence. The act was characteristic of her enterprise and of her fundamental prudence104. It approached the heroic. And her conscience hotly defended its righteousness.
She decided105 that when he discovered his loss, she would merely deny all knowledge of the envelope, for he had not spoken a word to her about it. He never mentioned the details of money; he had a fortune. However, the necessity for this untruth did not occur. He made no reference whatever to his loss. The fact was, he thought he had been careless enough to let the envelope be filched106 from him during the excesses of the night.
All day till evening Sophia sat on a dirty chair, without food, while Gerald slept. She kept repeating to herself, in amazed resentment107: "A hundred francs for this room! A hundred francs! And he hadn't the pluck to tell me!" She could not have expressed her contempt.
Long before sheer ennui108 forced her to look out of the window again, every sign of justice had been removed from the square. Nothing whatever remained in the heavy August sunshine save gathered heaps of filth92 where the horses had reared and caracoled.
1 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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2 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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3 vivaciously | |
adv.快活地;活泼地;愉快地 | |
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4 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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5 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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6 gendarmes | |
n.宪兵,警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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7 waggon | |
n.运货马车,运货车;敞篷车箱 | |
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8 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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9 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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10 growled | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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11 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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12 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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13 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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14 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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16 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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17 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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18 growling | |
n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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19 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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20 balked | |
v.畏缩不前,犹豫( balk的过去式和过去分词 );(指马)不肯跑 | |
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21 intimidated | |
v.恐吓;威胁adj.害怕的;受到威胁的 | |
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22 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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23 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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24 facade | |
n.(建筑物的)正面,临街正面;外表 | |
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25 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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26 cordon | |
n.警戒线,哨兵线 | |
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27 cordons | |
n.警戒线,警戒圈( cordon的名词复数 ) | |
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28 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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29 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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30 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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31 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 | |
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32 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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33 culmination | |
n.顶点;最高潮 | |
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34 savagery | |
n.野性 | |
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35 swerved | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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37 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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38 distended | |
v.(使)膨胀,肿胀( distend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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40 marionette | |
n.木偶 | |
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41 butted | |
对接的 | |
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42 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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43 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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44 prone | |
adj.(to)易于…的,很可能…的;俯卧的 | |
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45 grooves | |
n.沟( groove的名词复数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 );槽;老一套;(某种)音乐节奏 | |
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46 tinkling | |
n.丁当作响声 | |
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47 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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48 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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49 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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50 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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51 imprisoned | |
下狱,监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52 odious | |
adj.可憎的,讨厌的 | |
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53 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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54 loathing | |
n.厌恶,憎恨v.憎恨,厌恶( loathe的现在分词);极不喜欢 | |
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55 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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56 tribulation | |
n.苦难,灾难 | |
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57 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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58 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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59 attainment | |
n.达到,到达;[常pl.]成就,造诣 | |
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60 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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61 equilibrium | |
n.平衡,均衡,相称,均势,平静 | |
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62 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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63 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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64 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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65 collapse | |
vi.累倒;昏倒;倒塌;塌陷 | |
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66 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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67 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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69 landlady | |
n.女房东,女地主 | |
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70 glib | |
adj.圆滑的,油嘴滑舌的 | |
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71 liar | |
n.说谎的人 | |
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72 naively | |
adv. 天真地 | |
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73 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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74 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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75 irritation | |
n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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76 acquiesced | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77 groaning | |
adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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78 appeased | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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79 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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80 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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81 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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82 atoned | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的过去式和过去分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
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83 sordidness | |
n.肮脏;污秽;卑鄙;可耻 | |
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84 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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85 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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86 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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87 humiliation | |
n.羞辱 | |
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88 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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89 fatuous | |
adj.愚昧的;昏庸的 | |
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90 license | |
n.执照,许可证,特许;v.许可,特许 | |
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91 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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92 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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93 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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94 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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95 arrant | |
adj.极端的;最大的 | |
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96 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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97 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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98 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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99 lining | |
n.衬里,衬料 | |
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100 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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101 dilemmas | |
n.左右为难( dilemma的名词复数 );窘境,困境 | |
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102 reassured | |
adj.使消除疑虑的;使放心的v.再保证,恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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103 perils | |
极大危险( peril的名词复数 ); 危险的事(或环境) | |
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104 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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105 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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106 filched | |
v.偷(尤指小的或不贵重的物品)( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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108 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
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