“Don’t be troubled, Eugenie; if your father comes in, I will take it all upon myself,” said Madame Grandet.
Eugenie could not repress a tear.
“Oh, my good mother!” she cried, “I have never loved you enough.”
Charles, who had been tramping about his room for some time, singing to himself, now came down. Happily, it was only eleven o’clock. The true Parisian! he had put as much dandyism into his dress as if he were in the chateau6 of the noble lady then travelling in Scotland. He came into the room with the smiling, courteous7 manner so becoming to youth, which made Eugenie’s heart beat with mournful joy. He had taken the destruction of his castles in Anjou as a joke, and came up to his aunt gaily8.
“Have you slept well, dear aunt? and you, too, my cousin?”
“Very well, monsieur; did you?” said Madame Grandet.
“You must be hungry, cousin,” said Eugenie; “will you take your seat?”
“I never breakfast before midday; I never get up till then. However, I fared so badly on the journey that I am glad to eat something at once. Besides—” here he pulled out the prettiest watch Breguet ever made. “Dear me! I am early, it is only eleven o’clock!”
“Early?” said Madame Grandet.
“Yes; but I wanted to put my things in order. Well, I shall be glad to have anything to eat,—anything, it doesn’t matter what, a chicken, a partridge.”
“A partridge!” whispered Eugenie to herself; she would gladly have given the whole of her little hoard11 for a partridge.
“Come and sit down,” said his aunt.
The young dandy let himself drop into an easy-chair, just as a pretty woman falls gracefully12 upon a sofa. Eugenie and her mother took ordinary chairs and sat beside him, near the fire.
“Do you always live here?” said Charles, thinking the room uglier by daylight than it had seemed the night before.
“Always,” answered Eugenie, looking at him, “except during the vintage. Then we go and help Nanon, and live at the Abbaye des Noyers.”
“Don’t you ever take walks?”
“Sometimes on Sunday after vespers, when the weather is fine,” said Madame Grandet, “we walk on the bridge, or we go and watch the haymakers.”
“Have you a theatre?”
“Go to the theatre!” exclaimed Madame Grandet, “see a play! Why, monsieur, don’t you know it is a mortal sin?”
“See here, monsieur,” said Nanon, bringing in the eggs, “here are your chickens,—in the shell.”
“Oh! fresh eggs,” said Charles, who, like all people accustomed to luxury, had already forgotten about his partridge, “that is delicious: now, if you will give me the butter, my good girl.”
“Butter! then you can’t have the galette.”
“Nanon, bring the butter,” cried Eugenie.
The young girl watched her cousin as he cut his sippets, with as much pleasure as a grisette takes in a melodrama13 where innocence14 and virtue15 triumph. Charles, brought up by a charming mother, improved, and trained by a woman of fashion, had the elegant, dainty, foppish16 movements of a coxcomb17. The compassionate19 sympathy and tenderness of a young girl possess a power that is actually magnetic; so that Charles, finding himself the object of the attentions of his aunt and cousin, could not escape the influence of feelings which flowed towards him, as it were, and inundated21 him. He gave Eugenie a bright, caressing22 look full of kindness,—a look which seemed itself a smile. He perceived, as his eyes lingered upon her, the exquisite23 harmony of features in the pure face, the grace of her innocent attitude, the magic clearness of the eyes, where young love sparkled and desire shone unconsciously.
“Ah! my dear cousin, if you were in full dress at the Opera, I assure you my aunt’s words would come true,—you would make the men commit the mortal sin of envy, and the women the sin of jealousy24.”
The compliment went to Eugenie’s heart and set it beating, though she did not understand its meaning.
“Oh! cousin,” she said, “you are laughing at a poor little country girl.”
“If you knew me, my cousin, you would know that I abhor25 ridicule26; it withers27 the heart and jars upon all my feelings.” Here he swallowed his buttered sippet very gracefully. “No, I really have not enough mind to make fun of others; and doubtless it is a great defect. In Paris, when they want to disparage28 a man, they say: ‘He has a good heart.’ The phrase means: ‘The poor fellow is as stupid as a rhinoceros29.’ But as I am rich, and known to hit the bull’s-eye at thirty paces with any kind of pistol, and even in the open fields, ridicule respects me.”
“You have a very pretty ring,” said Eugenie; “is there any harm in asking to see it?”
Charles held out his hand after loosening the ring, and Eugenie blushed as she touched the pink nails of her cousin with the tips of her fingers.
“See, mamma, what beautiful workmanship.”
“My! there’s a lot of gold!” said Nanon, bringing in the coffee.
“What is that?” exclaimed Charles, laughing, as he pointed31 to an oblong pot of brown earthenware32, glazed33 on the inside, and edged with a fringe of ashes, from the bottom of which the coffee-grounds were bubbling up and falling in the boiling liquid.
“It is boiled coffee,” said Nanon.
“Ah! my dear aunt, I shall at least leave one beneficent trace of my visit here. You are indeed behind the age! I must teach you to make good coffee in a Chaptal coffee-pot.”
He tried to explain the process of a Chaptal coffee-pot.
“Gracious! if there are so many things as all that to do,” said Nanon, “we may as well give up our lives to it. I shall never make coffee that way; I know that! Pray, who is to get the fodder34 for the cow while I make the coffee?”
“I will make it,” said Eugenie.
“Child!” said Madame Grandet, looking at her daughter.
The word recalled to their minds the sorrow that was about to fall upon the unfortunate young man; the three women were silent, and looked at him with an air of commiseration35 that caught his attention.
“Is anything the matter, my cousin?” he said.
“Hush!” said Madame Grandet to Eugenie, who was about to answer; “you know, my daughter, that your father charged us not to speak to monsieur—”
“Say Charles,” said young Grandet.
“Ah! you are called Charles? What a beautiful name!” cried Eugenie.
Presentiments37 of evil are almost always justified38. At this moment Nanon, Madame Grandet, and Eugenie, who had all three been thinking with a shudder39 of the old man’s return, heard the knock whose echoes they knew but too well.
“There’s papa!” said Eugenie.
She removed the saucer filled with sugar, leaving a few pieces on the table-cloth; Nanon carried off the egg-cup; Madame Grandet sat up like a frightened hare. It was evidently a panic, which amazed Charles, who was wholly unable to understand it.
“Why! what is the matter?” he asked.
“My father has come,” answered Eugenie.
“Well, what of that?”
Monsieur Grandet entered the room, threw his keen eye upon the table, upon Charles, and saw the whole thing.
“Ha! ha! so you have been making a feast for your nephew; very good, very good, very good indeed!” he said, without stuttering. “When the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
“Feast!” thought Charles, incapable40 of suspecting or imagining the rules and customs of the household.
“Give me my glass, Nanon,” said the master
Eugenie brought the glass. Grandet drew a horn-handled knife with a big blade from his breeches’ pocket, cut a slice of bread, took a small bit of butter, spread it carefully on the bread, and ate it standing. At this moment Charlie was sweetening his coffee. Pere Grandet saw the bits of sugar, looked at his wife, who turned pale, and made three steps forward; he leaned down to the poor woman’s ear and said,—
“Where did you get all that sugar?”
“Nanon fetched it from Fessard’s; there was none.”
It is impossible to picture the profound interest the three women took in this mute scene. Nanon had left her kitchen and stood looking into the room to see what would happen. Charles, having tasted his coffee, found it bitter and glanced about for the sugar, which Grandet had already put away.
“What do you want?” said his uncle.
“The sugar.”
“Put in more milk,” answered the master of the house; “your coffee will taste sweeter.”
Eugenie took the saucer which Grandet had put away and placed it on the table, looking calmly at her father as she did so. Most assuredly, the Parisian woman who held a silken ladder with her feeble arms to facilitate the flight of her lover, showed no greater courage than Eugenie displayed when she replaced the sugar upon the table. The lover rewarded his mistress when she proudly showed him her beautiful bruised41 arm, and bathed every swollen42 vein43 with tears and kisses till it was cured with happiness. Charles, on the other hand, never so much as knew the secret of the cruel agitation44 that shook and bruised the heart of his cousin, crushed as it was by the look of the old miser36.
“You are not eating your breakfast, wife.”
The poor helot came forward with a piteous look, cut herself a piece of bread, and took a pear. Eugenie boldly offered her father some grapes, saying,—
“Taste my preserves, papa. My cousin, you will eat some, will you not? I went to get these pretty grapes expressly for you.”
“If no one stops them, they will pillage45 Saumur for you, nephew. When you have finished, we will go into the garden; I have something to tell you which can’t be sweetened.”
Eugenie and her mother cast a look on Charles whose meaning the young man could not mistake.
“What is it you mean, uncle? Since the death of my poor mother”—at these words his voice softened—“no other sorrow can touch me.”
“My nephew, who knows by what afflictions God is pleased to try us?” said his aunt.
“Ta, ta, ta, ta,” said Grandet, “there’s your nonsense beginning. I am sorry to see those white hands of yours, nephew”; and he showed the shoulder-of-mutton fists which Nature had put at the end of his own arms. “There’s a pair of hands made to pick up silver pieces. You’ve been brought up to put your feet in the kid out of which we make the purses we keep our money in. A bad look-out! Very bad!”
“What do you mean, uncle? I’ll be hanged if I understand a single word of what you are saying.”
“Come!” said Grandet.
The miser closed the blade of his knife with a snap, drank the last of his wine, and opened the door.
“My cousin, take courage!”
The tone of the young girl struck terror to Charles’s heart, and he followed his terrible uncle, a prey47 to disquieting48 thoughts. Eugenie, her mother, and Nanon went into the kitchen, moved by irresistible49 curiosity to watch the two actors in the scene which was about to take place in the garden, where at first the uncle walked silently ahead of the nephew. Grandet was not at all troubled at having to tell Charles of the death of his father; but he did feel a sort of compassion18 in knowing him to be without a penny, and he sought for some phrase or formula by which to soften46 the communication of that cruel truth. “You have lost your father,” seemed to him a mere nothing to say; fathers die before their children. But “you are absolutely without means,”—all the misfortunes of life were summed up in those words! Grandet walked round the garden three times, the gravel50 crunching51 under his heavy step.
In the crucial moments of life our minds fasten upon the locality where joys or sorrows overwhelm us. Charles noticed with minute attention the box-borders of the little garden, the yellow leaves as they fluttered down, the dilapidated walls, the gnarled fruit-trees,—picturesque details which were destined52 to remain forever in his memory, blending eternally, by the mnemonics53 that belong exclusively to the passions, with the recollections of this solemn hour.
“It is very fine weather, very warm,” said Grandet, drawing a long breath.
“Yes, uncle; but why—”
“Well, my lad,” answered his uncle, “I have some bad news to give you. Your father is ill—”
“Then why am I here?” said Charles. “Nanon,” he cried, “order post-horses! I can get a carriage somewhere?” he added, turning to his uncle, who stood motionless.
“Horses and carriages are useless,” answered Grandet, looking at Charles, who remained silent, his eyes growing fixed54. “Yes, my poor boy, you guess the truth,—he is dead. But that’s nothing; there is something worse: he blew out his brains.”
“My father!”
“Yes, but that’s not the worst; the newspapers are all talking about it. Here, read that.”
Grandet, who had borrowed the fatal article from Cruchot, thrust the paper under his nephew’s eyes. The poor young man, still a child, still at an age when feelings wear no mask, burst into tears.
“That’s good!” thought Grandet; “his eyes frightened me. He’ll be all right if he weeps,—That is not the worst, my poor nephew,” he said aloud, not noticing whether Charles heard him, “that is nothing; you will get over it: but—”
“Never, never! My father! Oh, my father!”
“He has ruined you, you haven’t a penny.”
“What does that matter? My father! Where is my father?”
His sobs55 resounded56 horribly against those dreary57 walls and reverberated58 in the echoes. The three women, filled with pity, wept also; for tears are often as contagious59 as laughter. Charles, without listening further to his uncle, ran through the court and up the staircase to his chamber60, where he threw himself across the bed and hid his face in the sheets, to weep in peace for his lost parents.
“The first burst must have its way,” said Grandet, entering the living-room, where Eugenie and her mother had hastily resumed their seats and were sewing with trembling hands, after wiping their eyes. “But that young man is good for nothing; his head is more taken up with the dead than with his money.”
Eugenie shuddered61 as she heard her father’s comment on the most sacred of all griefs. From that moment she began to judge him. Charles’s sobs, though muffled62, still sounded through the sepulchral63 house; and his deep groans64, which seemed to come from the earth beneath, only ceased towards evening, after growing gradually feebler.
“Poor young man!” said Madame Grandet.
Fatal exclamation65! Pere Grandet looked at his wife, at Eugenie, and at the sugar-bowl. He recollected66 the extraordinary breakfast prepared for the unfortunate youth, and he took a position in the middle of the room.
“Listen to me,” he said, with his usual composure. “I hope that you will not continue this extravagance, Madame Grandet. I don’t give you MY money to stuff that young fellow with sugar.”
“My mother had nothing to do with it,” said Eugenie; “it was I who—”
“Is it because you are of age,” said Grandet, interrupting his daughter, “that you choose to contradict me? Remember, Eugenie—”
“Father, the son of your brother ought to receive from us—”
“Ta, ta, ta, ta!” exclaimed the cooper on four chromatic67 tones; “the son of my brother this, my nephew that! Charles is nothing at all to us; he hasn’t a farthing, his father has failed; and when this dandy has cried his fill, off he goes from here. I won’t have him revolutionize my household.”
“What is ‘failing,’ father?” asked Eugenie.
“To fail,” answered her father, “is to commit the most dishonorable action that can disgrace a man.”
“It must be a great sin,” said Madame Grandet, “and our brother may be damned.”
“There, there, don’t begin with your litanies!” said Grandet, shrugging his shoulders. “To fail, Eugenie,” he resumed, “is to commit a theft which the law, unfortunately, takes under its protection. People have given their property to Guillaume Grandet trusting to his reputation for honor and integrity; he has made away with it all, and left them nothing but their eyes to weep with. A highway robber is better than a bankrupt: the one attacks you and you can defend yourself, he risks his own life; but the other—in short, Charles is dishonored.”
The words rang in the poor girl’s heart and weighed it down with their heavy meaning. Upright and delicate as a flower born in the depths of a forest, she knew nothing of the world’s maxims68, of its deceitful arguments and specious69 sophisms; she therefore believed the atrocious explanation which her father gave her designedly, concealing70 the distinction which exists between an involuntary failure and an intentional71 one.
“Father, could you not have prevented such a misfortune?”
“My brother did not consult me. Besides, he owes four millions.”
“What is a ‘million,’ father?” she asked, with the simplicity72 of a child which thinks it can find out at once all that it wants to know.
“A million?” said Grandet, “why, it is a million pieces of twenty sous each, and it takes five twenty sous pieces to make five francs.”
“Dear me!” cried Eugenie, “how could my uncle possibly have had four millions? Is there any one else in France who ever had so many millions?” Pere Grandet stroked his chin, smiled, and his wen seemed to dilate73. “But what will become of my cousin Charles?”
“He is going off to the West Indies by his father’s request, and he will try to make his fortune there.”
“Has he got the money to go with?”
“I shall pay for his journey as far as—yes, as far as Nantes.”
Eugenie sprang into his arms.
“Oh, father, how good you are!”
She kissed him with a warmth that almost made Grandet ashamed of himself, for his conscience galled74 him a little.
“Look here!” said the old miser, “you know what a napoleon is? Well, it takes fifty thousand napoleons to make a million.”
“Mamma, we must say a great many neuvaines for him.”
“I was thinking so,” said Madame Grandet.
“That’s the way, always spending my money!” cried the father. “Do you think there are francs on every bush?”
At this moment a muffled cry, more distressing76 than all the others, echoed through the garrets and struck a chill to the hearts of Eugenie and her mother.
“Nanon, go upstairs and see that he does not kill himself,” said Grandet. “Now, then,” he added, looking at his wife and daughter, who had turned pale at his words, “no nonsense, you two! I must leave you; I have got to see about the Dutchmen who are going away to-day. And then I must find Cruchot, and talk with him about all this.”
He departed. As soon as he had shut the door Eugenie and her mother breathed more freely. Until this morning the young girl had never felt constrained77 in the presence of her father; but for the last few hours every moment wrought78 a change in her feelings and ideas.
“Mamma, how many louis are there in a cask of wine?”
“Your father sells his from a hundred to a hundred and fifty francs, sometimes two hundred,—at least, so I’ve heard say.”
“Then papa must be rich?”
“Perhaps he is. But Monsieur Cruchot told me he bought Froidfond two years ago; that may have pinched him.”
Eugenie, not being able to understand the question of her father’s fortune, stopped short in her calculations.
“He didn’t even see me, the darling!” said Nanon, coming back from her errand. “He’s stretched out like a calf79 on his bed and crying like the Madeleine, and that’s a blessing80! What’s the matter with the poor dear young man!”
“Let us go and console him, mamma; if any one knocks, we can come down.”
Madame Grandet was helpless against the sweet persuasive81 tones of her daughter’s voice. Eugenie was sublime82: she had become a woman. The two, with beating hearts, went up to Charles’s room. The door was open. The young man heard and saw nothing; plunged83 in grief, he only uttered inarticulate cries.
“How he loves his father!” said Eugenie in a low voice.
In the utterance84 of those words it was impossible to mistake the hopes of a heart that, unknown to itself, had suddenly become passionate20. Madame Grandet cast a mother’s look upon her daughter, and then whispered in her ear,—
“Take care, you will love him!”
“Love him!” answered Eugenie. “Ah! if you did but know what my father said to Monsieur Cruchot.”
Charles turned over, and saw his aunt and cousin.
“I have lost my father, my poor father! If he had told me his secret troubles we might have worked together to repair them. My God! my poor father! I was so sure I should see him again that I think I kissed him quite coldly—”
Sobs cut short the words.
“We will pray for him,” said Madame Grandet. “Resign yourself to the will of God.”
“Cousin,” said Eugenie, “take courage! Your loss is irreparable; therefore think only of saving your honor.”
With the delicate instinct of a woman who intuitively puts her mind into all things, even at the moment when she offers consolation85, Eugenie sought to cheat her cousin’s grief by turning his thoughts inward upon himself.
“My honor?” exclaimed the young man, tossing aside his hair with an impatient gesture as he sat up on his bed and crossed his arms. “Ah! that is true. My uncle said my father had failed.” He uttered a heart-rending cry, and hid his face in his hands. “Leave me, leave me, cousin! My God! my God! forgive my father, for he must have suffered sorely!”
There was something terribly attractive in the sight of this young sorrow, sincere without reasoning or afterthought. It was a virgin grief which the simple hearts of Eugenie and her mother were fitted to comprehend, and they obeyed the sign Charles made them to leave him to himself. They went downstairs in silence and took their accustomed places by the window and sewed for nearly an hour without exchanging a word. Eugenie had seen in the furtive86 glance that she cast about the young man’s room—that girlish glance which sees all in the twinkling of an eye—the pretty trifles of his dressing-case, his scissors, his razors embossed with gold. This gleam of luxury across her cousin’s grief only made him the more interesting to her, possibly by way of contrast. Never before had so serious an event, so dramatic a sight, touched the imaginations of these two passive beings, hitherto sunk in the stillness and calm of solitude87.
“Mamma,” said Eugenie, “we must wear mourning for my uncle.”
“Your father will decide that,” answered Madame Grandet.
They relapsed into silence. Eugenie drew her stitches with a uniform motion which revealed to an observer the teeming88 thoughts of her meditation89. The first desire of the girl’s heart was to share her cousin’s mourning.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
inveterate
|
|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
courteous
|
|
| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
hoard
|
|
| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
melodrama
|
|
| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
foppish
|
|
| adj.矫饰的，浮华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
coxcomb
|
|
| n.花花公子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
compassionate
|
|
| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
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： |
|
|
|
|
21
inundated
|
|
| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
caressing
|
|
| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
abhor
|
|
| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
withers
|
|
| 马肩隆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
disparage
|
|
| v.贬抑，轻蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
rhinoceros
|
|
| n.犀牛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
bespeaks
|
|
| v.预定( bespeak的第三人称单数 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
earthenware
|
|
| n.土器，陶器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
glazed
|
|
| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
fodder
|
|
| n.草料；炮灰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
commiseration
|
|
| n.怜悯，同情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
miser
|
|
| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
presentiments
|
|
| n.（对不祥事物的）预感( presentiment的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
bruised
|
|
| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
pillage
|
|
| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
prey
|
|
| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
disquieting
|
|
| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
gravel
|
|
| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
crunching
|
|
| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
mnemonics
|
|
| n.记忆术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
resounded
|
|
| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
reverberated
|
|
| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
contagious
|
|
| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
muffled
|
|
| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sepulchral
|
|
| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
groans
|
|
| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
chromatic
|
|
| adj.色彩的，颜色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
maxims
|
|
| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
specious
|
|
| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
concealing
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intentional
|
|
| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
dilate
|
|
| vt.使膨胀，使扩大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
galled
|
|
| v.使…擦痛( gall的过去式和过去分词 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
amass
|
|
| vt.积累，积聚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
distressing
|
|
| a.使人痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
constrained
|
|
| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
calf
|
|
| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
persuasive
|
|
| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
teeming
|
|
| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |