The next morning, after a night varied1 by periods of wakefulness not unpleasant, Sophia arose and, taking due precautions against cold, went to the window. It was Saturday; she had left Paris on the Thursday. She looked forth2 upon the Square, holding aside the blind. She had expected, of course, to find that the Square had shrunk in size; but nevertheless she was startled to see how small it was. It seemed to her scarcely bigger than a courtyard. She could remember a winter morning when from the window she had watched the Square under virgin3 snow in the lamplight, and the Square had been vast, and the first wayfarer4, crossing it diagonally and leaving behind him the irregular impress of his feet, had appeared to travel for hours over an interminable white waste before vanishing past Holl's shop in the direction of the Town Hall. She chiefly recalled the Square under snow; cold mornings, and the coldness of the oil-cloth at the window, and the draught5 of cold air through the ill-fitting sash (it was put right now)! These visions of herself seemed beautiful to her; her childish existence seemed beautiful; the storms and tempests of her girlhood seemed beautiful; even the great sterile6 expanse of tedium7 when, after giving up a scholastic8 career, she had served for two years in the shop--even this had a strange charm in her memory.
And she thought that not for millions of pounds would she live her life over again.
In its contents the Square had not surprisingly changed during the immense, the terrifying interval9 that separated her from her virginity. On the east side, several shops had been thrown into one, and forced into a semblance10 of eternal unity11 by means of a coat of stucco. And there was a fountain at the north end which was new to her. No other constructional change! But the moral change, the sad declension from the ancient proud spirit of the Square--this was painfully depressing. Several establishments lacked tenants12, had obviously lacked tenants for a long time; 'To let' notices hung in their stained and dirty upper windows, and clung insecurely to their closed shutters13. And on the sign-boards of these establishments were names that Sophia did not know. The character of most of the shops seemed to have worsened; they had become pettifogging little holes, unkempt, shabby, poor; they had no brightness, no feeling of vitality14. And the floor of the Square was littered with nondescript refuse. The whole scene, paltry15, confined, and dull, reached for her the extreme of provinciality17. It was what the French called, with a pregnant intonation18, la province. This--being said, there was nothing else to say. Bursley, of course, was in the provinces; Bursley must, in the nature of things, be typically provincial16. But in her mind it had always been differentiated19 from the common province; it had always had an air, a distinction, and especially St. Luke's Square! That illusion was now gone. Still, the alteration20 was not wholly in herself; it was not wholly subjective21. The Square really had changed for the worse; it might not be smaller, but it had deteriorated22. As a centre of commerce it had assuredly approached very near to death. On a Saturday morning thirty years ago it would have been covered with linen-roofed stalls, and chattering23 country-folk, and the stir of bargains. Now, Saturday morning was like any other morning in the Square, and the glass-roof of St. Luke's market in Wedgwood Street, which she could see from her window, echoed to the sounds of noisy commerce. In that instance business had simply moved a few yards to the east; but Sophia knew, from hints in Constance's letters and in her talk, that business in general had moved more than a few yards, it had moved a couple of miles--to arrogant24 and pushing Hanbridge, with its electric light and its theatres and its big, advertising25 shops. The heaven of thick smoke over the Square, the black deposit on painted woodwork, the intermittent26 hooting27 of steam syrens, showed that the wholesale28 trade of Bursley still flourished. But Sophia had no memories of the wholesale trade of Bursley; it meant nothing to the youth of her heart; she was attached by intimate links to the retail29 traffic of Bursley, and as a mart old Bursley was done for.
She thought: "It would kill me if I had to live here. It's deadening. It weighs on you. And the dirt, and the horrible ugliness! And the--way they talk, and the way they think! I felt it first at Knype station. The Square is rather picturesque30, but it's such a poor, poor little thing! Fancy having to look at it every morning of one's life! No!" She almost shuddered31.
For the time being she had no home. To Constance she was 'paying a visit.'
Constance did not appear to realize the awful conditions of dirt, decay, and provinciality in which she was living. Even Constance's house was extremely inconvenient32, dark, and no doubt unhealthy. Cellar-kitchen, no hall, abominable33 stairs, and as to hygiene34, simply mediaeval. She could not understand why Constance had remained in the house. Constance had plenty of money and might live where she liked, and in a good modern house. Yet she stayed in the Square. "I daresay she's got used to it," Sophia thought leniently35. "I daresay I should be just the same in her place." But she did not really think so, and she could not understand Constance's state of mind.
Certainly she could not claim to have 'added up' Constance yet. She considered that her sister was in some respects utterly36 provincial--what they used to call in the Five Towns a 'body.' Somewhat too diffident, not assertive37 enough, not erect38 enough; with curious provincial pronunciations, accents, gestures, mannerisms, and inarticulate ejaculations; with a curious narrowness of outlook! But at the same time Constance was very shrewd, and she was often proving by some bit of a remark that she knew what was what, despite her provinciality. In judgments39 upon human nature they undoubtedly40 thought alike, and there was a strong natural general sympathy between them. And at the bottom of Constance was something fine. At intervals41 Sophia discovered herself secretly patronizing Constance, but reflection would always cause her to cease from patronage42 and to examine her own defences. Constance, besides being the essence of kindness, was no fool. Constance could see through a pretence43, an absurdity44, as quickly as any one. Constance did honestly appear to Sophia to be superior to any Frenchwoman that she had ever encountered. She saw supreme45 in Constance that quality which she had recognized in the porters at Newhaven on landing--the quality of an honest and naive46 goodwill47, of powerful simplicity48. That quality presented itself to her as the greatest in the world, and it seemed to be in the very air of England. She could even detect it in Mr. Critchlow, whom, for the rest, she liked, admiring the brutal49 force of his character. She pardoned his brutality50 to his wife. She found it proper. "After all," she said, "supposing he hadn't married her, what would she have been? Nothing but a slave! She's infinitely51 better off as his wife. In fact she's lucky. And it would be absurd for him to treat her otherwise than he does treat her." (Sophia did not divine that her masterful Critchlow had once wanted Maria as one might want a star.)
But to be always with such people! To be always with Constance! To be always in the Bursley atmosphere, physical and mental!
She pictured Paris as it would be on that very morning--bright, clean, glittering; the neatness of the Rue52 Lord Byron, and the magnificent slanting53 splendour of the Champs Elysees. Paris had always seemed beautiful to her; but the life of Paris had not seemed beautiful to her. Yet now it did seem beautiful. She could delve54 down into the earlier years of her ownership of the Pension, and see a regular, placid55 beauty in her daily life there. Her life there, even so late as a fortnight ago, seemed beautiful; sad, but beautiful. It had passed into history. She sighed when she thought of the innumerable interviews with Mardon, the endless formalities required by the English and the French law and by the particularity of the Syndicate. She had been through all that. She had actually been through it and it was over. She had bought the Pension for a song and sold it for great riches. She had developed from a nobody into the desired of Syndicates. And after long, long, monotonous56, strenuous57 years of possession the day had come, the emotional moment had come, when she had yielded up the keys of ownership to Mr. Mardon and a man from the Hotel Moscow, and had paid her servants for the last time and signed the last receipted bill. The men had been very gallant58, and had requested her to stay in the Pension as their guest until she was ready to leave Paris. But she had declined that. She could not have borne to remain in the Pension under the reign59 of another. She had left at once and gone to a hotel with her few goods while finally disposing of certain financial questions. And one evening Jacqueline had come to see her, and had wept.
Her exit from the Pension Frensham struck her now as poignantly60 pathetic, in its quickness and its absence of ceremonial. Ten steps, and her career was finished, closed. Astonishing with what liquid tenderness she turned and looked back on that hard, fighting, exhausting life in Paris! For, even if she had unconsciously liked it, she had never enjoyed it. She had always compared France disadvantageously with England, always resented the French temperament61 in business, always been convinced that 'you never knew where you were' with French tradespeople. And now they flitted before her endowed with a wondrous62 charm; so polite in their lying, so eager to spare your feelings and to reassure63 you, so neat and prim64. And the French shops, so exquisitely65 arranged! Even a butcher's shop in Paris was a pleasure to the eye, whereas the butcher's shop in Wedgwood Street, which she remembered of old, and which she had glimpsed from the cab--what a bloody66 shambles67! She longed for Paris again. She longed to stretch her lungs in Paris. These people in Bursley did not suspect what Paris was. They did not appreciate and they never would appreciate the marvels68 that she had accomplished69 in a theatre of marvels. They probably never realized that the whole of the rest of the world was not more or less like Bursley. They had no curiosity. Even Constance was a thousand times more interested in relating trifles of Bursley gossip than in listening to details of life in Paris. Occasionally she had expressed a mild, vapid70 surprise at things told to her by Sophia; but she was not really impressed, because her curiosity did not extend beyond Bursley. She, like the rest, had the formidable, thrice-callous egotism of the provinces. And if Sophia had informed her that the heads of Parisians grew out of their navels she would have murmured: "Well, well! Bless us! I never heard of such things! Mrs. Brindley's second boy has got his head quite crooked71, poor little fellow!"
Why should Sophia feel sorrowful? She did not know. She was free; free to go where she liked and do what she liked, She had no responsibilities, no cares. The thought of her husband had long ago ceased to rouse in her any feeling of any kind. She was rich. Mr. Critchlow had accumulated for her about as much money as she had herself acquired. Never could she spend her income! She did not know how to spend it. She lacked nothing that was procurable72. She had no desires except the direct desire for happiness. If thirty thousand pounds or so could have bought a son like Cyril, she would have bought one for herself. She bitterly regretted that she had no child. In this, she envied Constance. A child seemed to be the one commodity worth having. She was too free, too exempt73 from responsibilities. In spite of Constance she was alone in the world. The strangeness of the hazards of life overwhelmed her. Here she was at fifty, alone.
But the idea of leaving Constance, having once rejoined her, did not please Sophia. It disquieted74 her. She could not see herself living away from Constance. She was alone--but Constance was there.
She was downstairs first, and she had a little conversation with Amy. And she stood on the step of the front-door while Fossette made a preliminary inspection75 of Spot's gutter76. She found the air nipping.
Constance, when she descended77, saw stretching across one side of the breakfast-table an umbrella, Sophia's present to her from Paris. It was an umbrella such that a better could not be bought. It would have impressed even Aunt Harriet. The handle was of gold, set with a circlet of opalines. The tips of the ribs78 were also of gold. It was this detail which staggered Constance. Frankly79, this development of luxury had been unknown and unsuspected in the Square. That the tips of the ribs should match the handle ... that did truly beat everything! Sophia said calmly that the device was quite common. But she did not conceal80 that the umbrella was strictly81 of the highest class and that it might be shown to queens without shame. She intimated that the frame (a 'Fox's Paragon'), handle, and tips, would outlast82 many silks. Constance was childish with pleasure.
They decided83 to go out marketing84 together. The unspoken thought in their minds was that as Sophia would have to be introduced to the town sooner or later, it might as well be sooner. Constance looked at the sky. "It can't possibly rain," she said. "I shall take my umbrella."
1 varied | |
adj.多样的,多变化的 | |
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2 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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3 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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4 wayfarer | |
n.旅人 | |
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5 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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6 sterile | |
adj.不毛的,不孕的,无菌的,枯燥的,贫瘠的 | |
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7 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
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8 scholastic | |
adj.学校的,学院的,学术上的 | |
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9 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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10 semblance | |
n.外貌,外表 | |
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11 unity | |
n.团结,联合,统一;和睦,协调 | |
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12 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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13 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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14 vitality | |
n.活力,生命力,效力 | |
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15 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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16 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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17 provinciality | |
n.乡下习气,粗鄙;偏狭 | |
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18 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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19 differentiated | |
区分,区别,辨别( differentiate的过去式和过去分词 ); 区别对待; 表明…间的差别,构成…间差别的特征 | |
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20 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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21 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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22 deteriorated | |
恶化,变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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24 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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25 advertising | |
n.广告业;广告活动 a.广告的;广告业务的 | |
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26 intermittent | |
adj.间歇的,断断续续的 | |
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27 hooting | |
(使)作汽笛声响,作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 ); 倒好儿; 倒彩 | |
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28 wholesale | |
n.批发;adv.以批发方式;vt.批发,成批出售 | |
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29 retail | |
v./n.零售;adv.以零售价格 | |
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30 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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31 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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32 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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33 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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34 hygiene | |
n.健康法,卫生学 (a.hygienic) | |
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35 leniently | |
温和地,仁慈地 | |
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36 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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37 assertive | |
adj.果断的,自信的,有冲劲的 | |
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38 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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39 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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40 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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41 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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42 patronage | |
n.赞助,支援,援助;光顾,捧场 | |
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43 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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44 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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45 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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46 naive | |
adj.幼稚的,轻信的;天真的 | |
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47 goodwill | |
n.善意,亲善,信誉,声誉 | |
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48 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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49 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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50 brutality | |
n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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51 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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52 rue | |
n.懊悔,芸香,后悔;v.后悔,悲伤,懊悔 | |
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53 slanting | |
倾斜的,歪斜的 | |
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54 delve | |
v.深入探究,钻研 | |
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55 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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56 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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57 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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58 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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59 reign | |
n.统治时期,统治,支配,盛行;v.占优势 | |
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60 poignantly | |
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61 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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62 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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63 reassure | |
v.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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64 prim | |
adj.拘泥形式的,一本正经的;n.循规蹈矩,整洁;adv.循规蹈矩地,整洁地 | |
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65 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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66 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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67 shambles | |
n.混乱之处;废墟 | |
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68 marvels | |
n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 );令人惊奇的事物(或事例);不平凡的成果;成就v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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69 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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70 vapid | |
adj.无味的;无生气的 | |
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71 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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72 procurable | |
adj.可得到的,得手的 | |
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73 exempt | |
adj.免除的;v.使免除;n.免税者,被免除义务者 | |
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74 disquieted | |
v.使不安,使忧虑,使烦恼( disquiet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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76 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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77 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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78 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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79 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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80 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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81 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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82 outlast | |
v.较…耐久 | |
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83 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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84 marketing | |
n.行销,在市场的买卖,买东西 | |
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