The few days immediately following the visit of the mysterious monk1 from Cyprus were quiet and uneventful enough. El-Râmi led the life of a student and recluse2; Féraz, too, occupied himself with books and music, thinking much, but saying little. He had solemnly sworn never again to make allusion3 to the forbidden subject of his brother’s great experiment, and he meant to keep his vow4. For, though he had in very truth absolutely forgotten the name “Lilith,” he had not forgotten the face of her whose beauty had surprised his senses and dazzled his brain. She had become to him a nameless Wonder,—and from the sweet remembrance of her loveliness he gained a certain consolation5 and pleasure which he jealously and religiously kept to himself. He thought of her as a poet may think of an ideal goddess seen in a mystic dream,—but he never ventured to ask a question concerning her. And even if he had wished to do so,—even if he had indulged the idea of encouraging Zaroba to follow up the work she had begun by telling him all she could concerning the beautiful tranced girl, that course was now impossible. For Zaroba seemed stricken dumb as well as deaf,—what had chanced to her he could not tell,—but a mysterious silence possessed7 her; and, though her large black eyes were sorrowfully eloquent9, she never uttered a word. She came and went on various household errands, always silently and with bent10 head,—she looked older, feebler, wearier and sadder, but not so much as a gesture escaped her that could be construed11 into a complaint. Once Féraz made signs to her of inquiry12 after her health and well-being—she smiled mournfully, but gave no other response, and, turning away, left him hurriedly. He mused13 long and deeply upon all this,—and, though he felt sure that Zaroba’s strange but resolute14 speechlessness was his brother’s work, he dared not speculate too far or inquire too deeply. For he fully8 recognised El-Râmi’s power,—a power so scientifically balanced, and used with such terrible and unerring precision, that there could be no opposition15 possible unless one were of equal strength and knowledge. Féraz knew he could no more compete with such a force than a mouse can wield16 a thunderbolt,—he therefore deemed it best to resign himself to his destiny and wait the course of events.
“For,” he said within himself, “it is not likely one man should be permitted to use such strange authority over natural forces long,—it may be that God is trying him,—putting him to the proof, as it were, to find out how far he will dare to go,—and then—ah then!—what then? If his heart were dedicated17 to the service of God I should not fear,—but—as it is, I dread18 the end!”
His instinct was correct in this,—for in spite of his poetic19 and fanciful temperament20 he had plenty of quick perception and he saw plainly what El-Râmi himself was not very willing to recognise,—namely, that in all the labour of his life, so far as it had gone, he, El-Râmi, had rather opposed himself to the unseen divine, than striven to incorporate himself with it. He preferred to believe in natural Force only; his inclination21 was to deny the possibility of anything behind that. He accepted the idea of Immortality22 to a certain extent, because natural Force was for ever giving him proofs of the perpetual regeneration of life—but that there was a primal23 source of this generating influence,—One, great and eternal, who would demand an account of all lives, and an accurate summing-up of all words and actions,—in this, though he might assume the virtue24 of faith, Féraz very well knew he had it not. Like the greater majority of scientists and natural philosophers generally, what Self could comprehend, he accepted,—but all that extended beyond Self,—all that made of Self but a grain of dust in a vast infinitude,—all that forced the creature to prostrate25 himself humbly27 before the Creator and cry out “Lord, be merciful to me a sinner!” this he tacitly and proudly rejected. For which reasons the gentle, dreamy Féraz had good cause to fear,—and a foreboding voice for ever whispered in his mind that man without God was as a world without light,—a black chaos28 of blank unfruitfulness.
With the ensuing week the grand “reception” to which El-Râmi and his brother had been invited by Lord Melthorpe came off with great éclat. Lady Melthorpe’s “crushes” were among the most brilliant of the season, and this one was particularly so, as it was a special function held for the entertainment of the distinguished29 Crown Prince of a great nation. True, the distinguished Crown Prince was only “timed” to look in a little after midnight for about ten minutes, but the exceeding brevity of his stay was immaterial to the fashionable throng30. All that was needed was just the piquant31 flavour,—the “passing” of a Royal Presence,—to make the gathering32 socially complete. The rooms were crowded—so much so indeed that it was difficult to take note of any one person in particular, yet, in spite of this fact, there was a very general movement of interest and admiration33 when El-Râmi entered with his young and handsome brother beside him. Both had a look and manner too distinctly striking to escape observation:—their olive complexions34, black melancholy35 eyes, and slim yet stately figures, were set off to perfection by the richness of the Oriental dresses they wore; and the grave composure and perfect dignity of their bearing offered a pleasing contrast to the excited pushing, waddling36, and scrambling37 indulged in by the greater part of the aristocratic assemblage. Lady Melthorpe herself, a rather pretty woman attired38 in a very æsthetic gown, and wearing her brown hair all towzled and arranged à la Grecque, in diamond bandeaux, caught sight of them at once, and was delighted. Such picturesque-looking creatures were really ornaments39 to a room, she thought with much interior satisfaction; and, wreathing her face with smiles, she glided40 up to them.
“I am so charmed, my dear El-Râmi!” she said, holding out her jewelled hand.—“So charmed to see you—you so very seldom will come to me! And your brother! So glad! Why did you never tell me you had a brother? Naughty man! What is your brother’s name? Féraz? Delightful41!—it makes one think of Hafiz and Sadi and all those very charming Eastern people. I must find some one interesting to introduce to you. Will you wait here a minute—the crowd is so thick in the centre of the room that really I’m afraid you will not be able to get through it—do wait here, and I’ll bring the Baroness42 to you—don’t you know the Baroness? Oh, she’s such a delightful creature—so clever at palmistry! Yes—just stay where you are,—I’ll come back directly!”
And with sundry43 good-humoured nods her ladyship swept away, while Féraz glanced at his brother with an expression of amused inquiry.
“That is Lady Melthorpe?” he asked.
“That is Lady Melthorpe,” returned El-Râmi—“our hostess, and Lord Melthorpe’s wife; his, ‘to have and to hold, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and cherish till death do them part,’” and he smiled somewhat satirically.—“It seems odd, doesn’t it?—I mean, such solemn words sound out of place sometimes. Do you like her?”
Féraz made a slight sign in the negative.
“She does not speak sincerely,” he said in a low tone.
El-Râmi laughed.
“My dear boy, you mustn’t expect any one to be ‘sincere’ in society. You said you wanted to ‘see life’—very well, but it will never do to begin by viewing it in that way. An outburst of actual sincerity44 in this human mêlée”—and he glanced comprehensively over the brilliant throng—“would be like a match to a gunpowder45 magazine—the whole thing would blow up into fragments and be dispersed46 to the four winds of heaven, leaving nothing behind but an evil odour.”
“Better so,” said Féraz dreamily, “than that false hearts should be mistaken for true.”
El-Râmi looked at him wistfully;—what a beautiful youth he really was, with all that glow of thought and feeling in his dark eyes! How different was his aspect from that of the jaded47, cynical48, vice-worn young men of fashion, some of whom were pushing their way past at that moment,—men in the twenties who had the air of being well on in the forties, and badly preserved at that—wretched, pallid49, languid, exhausted50 creatures who had thrown away the splendid jewel of their youth in a couple of years’ stupid dissipation and folly51. At that moment Lord Melthorpe, smiling and cordial, came up to them and shook hands warmly, and then introduced with a few pleasant words a gentleman who had accompanied him as,—“Roy Ainsworth, the famous artist, you know!”
“Oh, not at all!” drawled the individual thus described, with a searching glance at the two brothers from under his drowsy52 eyelids53.—“Not famous by any means—not yet. Only trying to be. You’ve got to paint something startling and shocking nowadays before you are considered ‘famous’;—and even then, when you’ve outraged54 all the proprieties55, you must give a banquet, or take a big house and hold receptions, or have an electrically-lit-up skeleton in your studio, or something of that sort, to keep the public attention fixed56 upon you. It’s such a restless age.”
El-Râmi smiled gravely.
“The feverish57 outburst of an unnatural58 vitality59 immediately preceding dissolution,” he observed.
“Ah!—you think that? Well—it may be,—I’m sure I hope it is. I, personally, should be charmed to believe in the rapidly-approaching end of the world. We really need a change of planet as much as certain invalids60 require a change of air. Your brother, however”—and here he flashed a keen glance at Féraz—“seems already to belong to quite a different sphere.”
Féraz looked up with a pleased yet startled expression.
“Yes,—but how did you know it?” he asked.
It was now the artist’s turn to be embarrassed. He had used the words “different sphere” merely as a figure of speech, whereas this intelligent-looking young fellow evidently took the phrase in a literal sense. It was very odd!—and he hesitated what to answer, so El-Râmi came to the rescue.
“Mr. Ainsworth only means that you do not look quite like other people, Féraz, that’s all. Poets and musicians often carry their own distinctive61 mark.”
“Is he a poet?” inquired Lord Melthorpe with interest.—“And has he published anything?”
El-Râmi laughed good-humouredly.
“Not he! My dear Lord Melthorpe, we are not all called upon to give the world our blood and brain and nerve and spirit. Some few reserve their strength for higher latitudes62. To give greedy humanity everything of one’s self is rather too prodigal63 an expenditure64.”
“I agree with you,” said a chill yet sweet voice close to them.—“It was Christ’s way of work,—and quite too unwise an example for any of us to follow.”
Lord Melthorpe and Mr. Ainsworth turned quickly to make way for the speaker,—a slight fair woman, with a delicate thoughtful face full of light, languor65, and scorn, who, clad in snowy draperies adorned66 here and there with the cold sparkle of diamonds, drew near them at the moment. El-Râmi and his brother both noted67 her with interest,—she was so different from the other women present.
“I am delighted to see you!” said Lord Melthorpe as he held out his hand in greeting.—“It is so seldom we have the honour! Mr. Ainsworth you already know,—let me introduce my Oriental friends here,—El-Râmi Zarânos and his brother Féraz Zarânos,—Madame Irene Vassilius—you must have heard of her very often.”
El-Râmi had indeed heard of her,—she was an authoress of high repute, noted for her brilliant satirical pen, her contempt of press criticism, and her influence over, and utter indifference68 to, all men. Therefore he regarded her now with a certain pardonable curiosity as he made her his profoundest salutation, while she returned his look with equal interest.
“It is you who said that we must not give ourselves wholly away to the needs of humanity, is it not?” she said, letting her calm eyes dwell upon him with a dreamy yet searching scrutiny69.
“I certainly did say so, Madame,” replied El-Râmi.—“It is a waste of life,—and humanity is always ungrateful.”
This was rather a home-thrust, and El-Râmi was surprised and vaguely71 annoyed at its truth. Irene Vassilius still stood quietly observing him,—then she turned to Roy Ainsworth.
“There is the type you want for your picture,” she said, indicating Féraz by a slight gesture.—“That boy, depicted72 in the clutches of your Phryne, would make angels weep.”
“If I could make you weep I should have achieved something like success,” replied the painter, his sleepy eyes dilating73 with a passion he could not wholly conceal74.—“But icebergs75 neither smile nor shed tears,—and intellectual women are impervious76 to emotion.”
“That is a mistaken idea,—one of the narrow notions common to men,” she answered, waving her fan idly to and fro.—“You remind me of the querulous Edward Fitzgerald, who wrote that he was glad Mrs. Barrett Browning was dead, because there would be no more Aurora77 Leighs. He condescended78 to say she was a ‘woman of Genius,’ but what was the use of it? ‘She and her Sex,’ he said, ‘would be better minding the Kitchen and their Children.’ He and his Sex always consider the terrible possibilities to themselves of a badly-cooked dinner and a baby’s screams. His notion about the limitation of woman’s sphere is man’s notion generally.”
“It is not mine,” said Lord Melthorpe.—“I think women are cleverer than men.”
“Ah, you are not a reviewer!” laughed Madame Vassilius—“so you can afford to be generous. But as a rule men detest79 clever women, simply because they are jealous of them.”
“They have cause to be jealous of you,” said Roy Ainsworth.—“You succeed in everything you touch.”
“Success is easy,” she replied indifferently,—“Resolve upon it, and carry out that resolve—and the thing is done.”
El-Râmi looked at her with new interest.
“Madame, you have a strong will!” he observed.—“But permit me to say that all your sex are not like yourself, beautiful, gifted, and resolute at one and the same time. The majority of women are deplorably unintelligent and uninteresting.”
“That is precisely80 how I find the majority of men!” declared Irene Vassilius, with that little soft laugh of hers which was so sweet, yet so full of irony81.—“You see, we view things from different standpoints. Moreover, the deplorably unintelligent and uninteresting women are the very ones you men elect to marry, and make the mothers of the nation. It is the way of masculine wisdom,—so full of careful forethought and admirable calculation!” She laughed again, and continued—“Lord Melthorpe tells me you are a seer,—an Eastern prophet arisen in these dull modern days—now will you solve me a riddle82 that I am unable to guess,—myself?—and tell me if you can, who am I and what am I?”
“Madame,” replied El-Râmi bowing profoundly, “I cannot in one moment unravel83 so complex an enigma84.”
She smiled, not ill pleased, and met his dark, fiery85, penetrating86 glance unreservedly,—then, drawing off her long loose glove, she held out her small beautifully-shaped white hand.
“Try me,” she said lightly, “for if there is any truth in ‘brain-waves’ or reflexes of the mind the touch of my fingers ought to send electric meanings through you. I am generally judged as of a frivolous87 disposition88 because I am small in stature89, slight in build, and have curly hair—all proofs positive, according to the majority, of latent foolishness. Colossal90 women, however, are always astonishingly stupid, and fat women lethargic—but a mountain of good flesh is always more attractive to man than any amount of intellectual perception. Oh, I am not posing as one of the ‘misunderstood’; not at all—I simply wish you to look well at me first and take in my ‘frivolous’ appearance thoroughly91, before being misled by the messages of my hand.”
El-Râmi obeyed her in so far that he fixed his eyes upon her more searchingly than before,—a little knot of fashionable loungers had stopped to listen, and now watched her face with equal curiosity. No rush of embarrassed colour tinged92 the cool fairness of her cheeks—her expression was one of quiet, half-smiling indifference—her attitude full of perfect self-possession.
“No one who looks at your eyes can call you frivolous Madame,” said El-Râmi at last.—“And no one who observes the lines of your mouth and chin could suspect you of latent foolishness. Your physiognomy must have been judged by the merest surface-observers. As for stature, we are aware that goes for naught,—most of the heroes and heroines of history have been small and slight in build. I will now, if you permit me, take your hand.”
She laid it at once in his extended palm,—and he slowly closed his own fingers tightly over it. In a couple of minutes, his face expressed nothing but astonishment93.
“Is it possible?” he muttered—“can I believe——” he broke off hurriedly, interrupted by a chorus of voices exclaiming—“Oh, what is it?—do tell us!” and so forth94.
“If I am surprised,” he then said slowly, “it is scarcely to be wondered at, for it is the first time I have ever chanced across the path of a woman whose life was so perfectly97 ideal. Madame, to you I must address the words of Hamlet—‘pure as ice, chaste98 as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny99.’ Such an existence as yours, stainless100, lofty, active, hopeful, patient, and independent, is a reproach to men, and few will love you for being so superior. Those who do love you, will probably love in vain,—for the completion of your existence is not here—but elsewhere.”
Her soft eyes dilated101 wonderingly,—the people immediately around her stared vaguely at El-Râmi’s dark impenetrable face.
“Then shall I be alone all my life as I am now?” she asked, as he released her hand.
“Are you sure you are alone?” he said with a grave smile.—“Are there not more companions in the poet’s so-called solitude102 than in the crowded haunts of men?”
She met his earnest glance, and her own face grew radiant with a certain sweet animation103 that made it very lovely.
“You are right,” she replied simply—“I see you understand.”
Then, with a graceful104 salutation, she prepared to move away—Roy Ainsworth pressed up close to her.
“Are you satisfied with your fortune, Madame Vassilius?” he asked rather querulously.
“Indeed I am,” she answered. “Why should I not be?”
“If loneliness is a part of it,” he said audaciously, “I suppose you will never marry?”
“I suppose not,” she said with a ripple105 of laughter in her voice.—“I fear I should never be able to acknowledge a man my superior!”
She left him then, and he stood for a moment looking after her with a vexed106 air,—then he turned anew towards El-Râmi, who was just exchanging greetings with Sir Frederick Vaughan. This latter young man appeared highly embarrassed and nervous, and seemed anxious to unburden himself of something which apparently107 was difficult to utter. He stared at Féraz, pulled the ends of his long moustache, and made scrappy remarks on nothing in particular, while El-Râmi observed him with amused intentness.
“I say, do you remember the night we saw the new Hamlet?” he blurted108 out at last.—“You know—I haven’t seen you since——”
“I remember most perfectly,” said El-Râmi composedly—“‘To be or not to be’ was the question then with you, as well as with Hamlet—but I suppose it is all happily decided109 now as ‘to be.’”
“When is your marriage to take place?” asked El-Râmi.
Vaughan almost jumped.
“By Jove!—you are an uncanny fellow!” he exclaimed.—“However, as it happens, you are right. I’m engaged to Miss Chester.”
“It is no surprise to me, but pray allow me to congratulate you!” and El-Râmi smiled.—“You have lost no time about it, I must say! It is only a fortnight since you first saw the lady at the theatre. Well!—confess me a true prophet!”
Sir Frederick looked uncomfortable, and was about to enter into an argument concerning the pros26 and cons6 of prophetic insight, when Lady Melthorpe suddenly emerged from the circling whirlpool of her fashionable guests and sailed towards them with a swan-like grace and languor.
“I cannot find the dear Baroness,” she said plaintively111. “She is so much in demand! Do you know, my dear El-Râmi, she is really almost as wonderful as you are! Not quite—oh, not quite, but nearly! She can tell you all your past and future by the lines of your hand, in the most astonishing manner! Can you do that also?”
El-Râmi laughed.
“It is a gipsy’s trick,” he said,—“and the bonâ-fide gipsies who practise it in country lanes for the satisfaction of servant girls get arrested by the police for ‘fortune-telling.’ The gipsies of the London drawing-rooms escape scot-free.”
“Oh, you are severe!” said Lady Melthorpe, shaking her finger at him with an attempt at archness—“You are really very severe! You must not be hard on our little amusements,—you know, in this age, we are all so very much interested in the supernatural!”
El-Râmi grew paler, and a slight shudder112 shook his frame. The supernatural! How lightly people talked of that awful Something, that like a formless Shadow waits behind the portals of the grave!—that Something that evinced itself, suggested itself, nay113, almost declared itself, in spite of his own doubts, in the momentary114 contact of a hand with his own, as in the case of Irene Vassilius. For in that contact he had received a faint, yet decided thrill through his nerves—a peculiar115 sensation which he recognised as a warning of something spiritually above himself,—and this had compelled him to speak of an “elsewhere” for her, though for himself he persisted in nourishing the doubt that an “elsewhere” existed. Roy Ainsworth, the artist, observing him closely, noted how stern and almost melancholy was the expression of his handsome dark face,—then glancing from him to his brother, was surprised at the marked difference between the two. The frank, open, beautiful features of Féraz seemed to invite confidence, and, acting116 on the suggestion made to him by Madame Vassilius, he spoke117 abruptly118.
“I wish you would sit to me,” he said.
“Sit to you? For a picture, do you mean?” and Féraz looked delighted yet amazed.
“Yes. You have just the face I want. Are you in town?—can you spare the time?”
“I am always with my brother”—began Féraz hesitatingly.
El-Râmi heard him, and smiled rather sadly.
“Féraz is his own master,” he said gently, “and his time is quite at his own disposal.”
“Then come and let us talk it over,” said Ainsworth, taking Féraz by the arm. “I’ll pilot you through this crowd, and we’ll make for some quiet corner where we can sit down. Come along!”
Out of old habit Féraz glanced at his brother for permission, but El-Râmi’s head was turned away; he was talking to Lord Melthorpe. So through the brilliant throng of fashionable men and women, many of whom turned to stare at him as he passed, Féraz went, half eager, half reluctant, his large fawn-like eyes flashing an innocent wonderment on the scene around him,—a scene different from everything to which he had been accustomed. He was uncomfortably conscious that there was something false and even deadly beneath all this glitter and show,—but his senses were dazzled for the moment, though the poet-soul of him instinctively119 recoiled120 from the noise and glare and restless movement of the crowd. It was his first entry into so-called “society”;—and, though attracted and interested, he was also somewhat startled and abashed—for he felt instinctively that he was thrown upon his own resources,—that, for the present at any rate, his brother’s will no longer influenced him, and with the sudden sense of liberty came the sudden sense of fear.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
recluse
|
|
| n.隐居者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
vow
|
|
| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
cons
|
|
| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
construed
|
|
| v.解释（陈述、行为等）( construe的过去式和过去分词 )；翻译，作句法分析 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
wield
|
|
| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
immortality
|
|
| n.不死，不朽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
primal
|
|
| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
pros
|
|
| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
chaos
|
|
| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
throng
|
|
| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
piquant
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
complexions
|
|
| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
waddling
|
|
| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
scrambling
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
attired
|
|
| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
ornaments
|
|
| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
baroness
|
|
| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
sundry
|
|
| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
sincerity
|
|
| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
gunpowder
|
|
| n.火药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
eyelids
|
|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
outraged
|
|
| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
proprieties
|
|
| n.礼仪，礼节；礼貌( propriety的名词复数 )；规矩；正当；合适 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
invalids
|
|
| 病人，残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
distinctive
|
|
| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
latitudes
|
|
| 纬度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
expenditure
|
|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
languor
|
|
| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
depicted
|
|
| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
dilating
|
|
| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
icebergs
|
|
| n.冰山，流冰( iceberg的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
impervious
|
|
| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
aurora
|
|
| n.极光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
condescended
|
|
| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
detest
|
|
| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
riddle
|
|
| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
unravel
|
|
| v.弄清楚（秘密）；拆开，解开，松开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
enigma
|
|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
fiery
|
|
| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
penetrating
|
|
| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
frivolous
|
|
| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
tinged
|
|
| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
assent
|
|
| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
chaste
|
|
| adj.贞洁的；有道德的；善良的；简朴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
calumny
|
|
| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
stainless
|
|
| adj.无瑕疵的，不锈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
dilated
|
|
| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
graceful
|
|
| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
ripple
|
|
| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
blurted
|
|
| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
stammered
|
|
| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
plaintively
|
|
| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
shudder
|
|
| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |