“Who has done it?” she muttered—“Who has claimed her? It must be the Christ,—the cold, quiet, pallid28 Christ, with His bleeding hands and beckoning29 eyes! He is a new god,—He has called, and she, Lilith, has obeyed! Without love, without life, without aught in the world save the lily-garb of untouched holiness,—it is what the pale Christ seeks, and He has found it here,—here, with the child who slept the sleep of innocent ignorance—here where no thought of passion ever entered unless I breathed it,—or perchance he—El-Râmi—thought it—unknowingly. O what a white flower for the Christ in Heaven, is Lilith!—What a branch of bud and blossom! ... Ah, cruel, cold new gods of the Earth!—how long shall their sorrowful reign2 endure! Who will bring back the wise old gods,—the gods of the ancient days,—the gods who loved and were not ashamed,—the gods of mirth and life and health,—they would have left me Lilith,—they would have said—‘Lo, how this woman is old and poor,—she hath lost all that she ever had,—let us leave her the child she loves, albeit30 it is not her own but ours;—we are great gods, but we are merciful!’ Oh, Lilith, Lilith! child of the sun and air, and daughter of sleep! would I had perished instead of thee!—Would I had passed away into darkness, and thou been spared to the light!”
Thus she wailed31 and moaned, her face hidden, her limbs quivering, and she knew not how long she had stayed thus, though all the morning had passed and the afternoon had begun. At last she was roused by the gentle yet firm pressure of a hand on her shoulder, and, slowly uncovering her drawn32 and anguished33 features she met the sorrowful eyes of Féraz looking into hers. With a mute earnest gesture he bade her rise. She obeyed, but so feebly and tremblingly, that he assisted her, and led her to a chair, where she sat down, still quaking all over with fear and utter wretchedness. Then he took a pencil and wrote on the slate34 which his brother had been wont35 to use,—
“A great trouble has come upon us. God has been pleased to so darken the mind of the beloved El-Râmi, that he knows us no longer, and is ignorant of where he is. The wise man has been rendered simple,—and the world seems to him as it seems to a child who has everything in its life to learn. We must accept this ordinance36 as the Will of the Supreme37, and bring our own will in accordance with it, believing the ultimate intention to be for the Highest Good. But for his former life, El-Râmi exists no more,—the mind that guided his actions then is gone.”
Slowly, and with pained, aching eyes Zaroba read these words,—she grasped their purport38 and meaning thoroughly39, and yet, she said not a word. She was not surprised,—she was scarcely affected;—her feelings seemed blunted or paralysed. El-Râmi was mad? To her, he had always seemed mad,—with a madness born of terrible knowledge and power. To be mad now was nothing; the loss of Lilith was amply sufficient cause for his loss of wit. Nothing could be worse in her mind than to have loved Lilith and lost her,—what was the use of uttering fresh cries and ejaculations of woe40! It was all over,—everything was ended,—so far as she, Zaroba, was concerned. So she sat speechless,—her grand old face rigid41 as bronze, with an expression upon it of stern submission42, as of one who waits immovably for more onslaughts from the thunderbolts of destiny.
Féraz looked at her very compassionately43, and wrote again—
“Good Zaroba, I know your grief. Rest—try to sleep. Do not see El-Râmi to-day. It is better I should be alone with him. He is quite peaceful and happy,—happier indeed than he has ever been. He has so much to learn, he says, and he is quite satisfied. For to-day we must be alone with our sorrows,—to-morrow we shall be able to see more clearly what we must do.”
Still Zaroba said nothing. Presently however she arose, and walked totteringly to the side of Lilith’s couch, ... there with an eloquently44 tragic45 gesture of supremest despair, she pointed46 to the gray-white ashes that were spread in that dreadfully suggestive outline on the satin coverlet and pillows. Féraz, shuddering, shut his eyes for a moment;—then, as he opened them again, he saw, confronting him, the uncurtained picture of the “Christ and His Disciples47.” He remembered it well,—El-Râmi had bought it long ago from among the despoiled48 treasures of an old dismantled49 monastery50,—and besides being a picture it was also a reliquary. He stepped hastily up to it and felt for the secret spring which used, he knew, to be there. He found and pressed it,—the whole of the picture flew back like a door on a hinge, and showed the interior to be a Gothic-shaped casket, lined with gold, at the back of which was inserted a small piece of wood, supposed to have been a fragment of the “True Cross.” There was nothing else in the casket,—and Féraz leaving it open, turned to Zaroba who had watched him with dull, scarcely comprehending eyes.
“Gather together these sacred ashes,”—he wrote again on the slate,—“and place them in this golden recess,—it is a holy place fit for such holy relics51. El-Râmi would wish it, I know, if he could understand or wish for anything,—and wherever we go, the picture will go with us, for one day perhaps he will remember, ... and ask, ...”
He could trust himself to write no more,—and stood sadly enrapt, and struggling with his own emotion.
“The Christ claims all!” muttered Zaroba wearily, resorting to her old theme—“The crucified Christ, ... He must have all; the soul, the body, the life, the love, the very ashes of the dead,—He must have all ... all!”
Féraz heard her,—and taking up his pencil once more, wrote swiftly—
“You are right,—Christ has claimed Lilith. She was His to claim,—for on this earth we are all His,—He gave His very life to make us so. Let us thank God that we are thus claimed,—for with Christ all things are well.”
He turned away then immediately, and left her alone to her task,—a task she performed with groans53 and trembling, till every vestige54 of the delicate ashes, as fine as the dust of flowers, was safely and reverently55 placed in its pure golden receptacle. Strange to say, one very visible relic52 of the vanished Lilith’s bodily beauty had somehow escaped destruction,—this was a long, bright waving tress of hair which lay trembling on the glistening56 satin of the pillows like a lost sunbeam. Over this lovely amber curl, old Zaroba stooped yearningly57, staring at it till her tears, the slow, bitter scalding tears of age, fell upon it where it lay. She longed to take it for herself,—to wear it against her own heart,—to kiss and cherish it as though it were a living, sentient58 thing,—but, thinking of El-Râmi, her loyalty59 prevailed, and she tenderly lifted the clinging, shining, soft silken curl, and laid it by with the ashes in the antique shrine60. All was now done,—and she shut to the picture, which, when once closed, showed no sign of any opening.
Lilith was gone indeed;—there was now no perceptible evidence to show that she had ever existed. And, to the grief-stricken Zaroba, the face and figure of the Christ, as painted on the reliquary at which she gazed, seemed to assume a sudden triumph and majesty61 which appalled62 while it impressed her. She read the words “Whom Say Ye That I Am?” and shuddered63; this “new god” with His tranquil64 smile and sorrowful dignity had more terrors for her than any of the old pagan deities65.
“I cannot! I cannot!” she whispered feebly; “I cannot take you to my heart, cold Christ,—I cannot think it is good to wear the thorns of perpetual sorrow! You offer no joy to the sad and weary world,—one must sacrifice one’s dearest hopes,—one must bear the cross and weep for the sins of all men, to be at all acceptable to You! I am old—but I keep the memories of joy; I would not have all happiness reft out of the poor lives of men. I would have them full of mirth,—I would have them love where they list, drink pure wine, and rejoice in the breath of Nature,—I would have them feast in the sunlight and dance in the moonbeams, and crown themselves with the flowers of the woodland and meadow, and grow ruddy and strong and manful and generous, and free—free as the air! I would have their hearts bound high for the pleasure of life;—not break in a search for things they can never win. Ah no, cold Christ! I cannot love you!—at the touch of your bleeding Hand the world freezes like a starving bird in a storm of snow;—the hearts of men grow weak and weary, and of what avail is it, O Prince of Grief, to live in sadness all one’s days for the hope of a Heaven that comes not? O Lilith!—child of the sun, where art thou?—Where? Never to have known the joys of love,—never to have felt the real pulse of living,—never to have thrilled in a lover’s embrace,—ah, Lilith, Lilith! Will Heaven compensate66 thee for such loss? ... Never, never, never! No God, were He all the worlds’ gods in One, can give aught but a desolate67 Eden to the loveless and lonely soul!”
In such wise as this, she muttered and moaned all day long, never stirring from the room that was called Lilith’s. Now and then she moved up and down with slow restlessness,—sometimes fixing eager eyes upon the vacant couch, with the vague idea that perhaps Lilith might come back to it as suddenly as she had fled; and sometimes pausing by the vase of roses, and touching68 their still fragrant69, but fast-fading blossoms. Time went on, and she never thought of breaking her fast, or going to see how her master, El-Râmi, fared. His mind was gone—she understood that well enough,—and in a strange wild way of her own, she connected this sudden darkening of his intellect with the equally sudden disappearance70 of Lilith; and she dreaded71 to look upon his face.
How the hours wore away she never knew; but by and by her limbs began to ache heavily, and she crouched down upon the floor to rest. She fell into a heavy stupor72 of unconsciousness,—and when she awoke at last, the room was quite dark. She got up, stiff and cold and terrified,—she groped about with her hands,—it seemed to her dazed mind that she was in some sepulchral73 cave in the desert, all alone. Her lips were dry,—her head swam,—and she tottered74 along, feeling her way blindly, till she touched the velvet75 portière that divided the room from its little antechamber, and, dragging this aside in nervous haste, she stumbled through, and out on to the landing, where it was light. The staircase was before her,—the gas was lit in the hall—and the house looked quite as usual,—yet she could not in the least realise where she was. Indistinct images floated in her brain,—there were strange noises in her ears,—and she only dimly remembered El-Râmi, as though he were some one she had heard of long ago, in a dream. Pausing on the stair-head, she tried to collect her scattered76 senses,—but she felt sick and giddy, and her first instinct was to seek the air. Clinging to the banisters, she tottered down the stairs slowly, and reached the front-door, and, fumbling77 cautiously with the handle a little while, succeeded in turning it, and letting herself out into the street. The door had a self-acting spring, and shut to instantly, and almost noiselessly, behind her,—but Féraz, sitting in the study with his brother, fancied he heard a slight sound, and came into the hall to see what it was. Finding everything quiet, he concluded he was mistaken, and went back to his post beside El-Râmi, who had been dozing78 nearly all day, only waking up now and again to mildly accept the nourishment79 of soup and wine which Féraz prepared and gave him to keep up his strength. He was perfectly80 tranquil, and talked at times quite coherently of simple things, such as the flowers on the table, the lamp, the books, and other ordinary trifles. He only seemed a little troubled by his own physical weakness,—but when Féraz assured him he would soon be strong, he smiled, and with every appearance of content, dozed81 off again peacefully. In the evening, however, he grew a little restless,—and then Féraz tried what effect music would have upon him. Going to the piano, he played soft and dreamy melodies, ... but as he did so, a strange sense of loss stole over him,—he had the mechanism82 of the art, but the marvellously delicate attunement of his imagination had fled! Tears rose in his eyes,—he knew what was missing,—the guiding-prop of his brother’s wondrous83 influence had fallen,—and with a faint terror he realised that much of his poetic84 faculty85 would perish also. He had to remember that he was not naturally born a poet or musician,—poesy and music had been El-Râmi’s fairy gifts to him—the exquisitely86 happy poise87 of his mind had been due to his brother’s daily influence and control. He would still retain the habit and the memory of art, but what had been Genius, would now be simple Talent,—no more,—yet what a difference between the two! Nevertheless his touch on the familiar ivory keys was very tender and delicate, and when, distrusting his own powers of composition, he played one of the softest and quaintest88 of Grieg’s Norwegian folk-songs, he was more than comforted by the expression of pleasure that illumined El-Râmi’s features, and by the look of enraptured89 peace that softened90 the piteous dark eyes.
“It is quite beautiful,—that music!” he murmured—“It is the pretty sound the daisies make in growing.”
And he leaned back in his chair and composed himself to rest,—while Féraz played on softly, thinking anxiously the while. True, most true, that for him dreams had ended, and life had begun! What was he to do? ... how was he to meet the daily needs of living,—how was he to keep himself and his brother? His idea was to go at once to the monastery in Cyprus, where he had formerly91 been a visitor,—it was quiet and peaceful,—he would ask the brethren to take them in,—for he himself detested92 the thought of a life in the world,—it was repellent to him in every way,—and El-Râmi’s affliction would necessitate93 solitude94. And while he was thus puzzling himself as to the future, there came a sharp knock at the door,—he hastened to see who it was,—and a messenger handed him a telegram addressed to himself. It came from the very place he was thinking about, sent by the Head of the Order, and ran thus—
“We know all. It is the Will of God. Bring El-Râmi here,—our house is open to you both.”
He uttered a low exclamation95 of thankfulness, the while he wondered amazedly how it was that they, that far-removed Brotherhood96, “knew all”! It was very strange! He thought of the wondrous man whom he called the “Master,” and who was understood to be “wise with the wisdom of the angels,” and remembered that he was accredited97 with being able to acquire information when he chose, by swift and supernatural means. That he had done so in the present case seemed evident, and Féraz stood still with the telegram in his hand, stricken by a vague sense of awe98 as well as gratitude99, thinking also of the glittering vision he had had of that “glory of the angels in the south”;—angels who were waiting for Lilith the night she disappeared.
El-Râmi suddenly opened his weary eyes and looked at him.
“What is it?” he asked faintly—“Why has the music ceased?”
Féraz went up to his chair and knelt down beside it.
“You shall hear it again”—he said gently, “But you must sleep now, and get strong,—because we are soon going away on a journey—a far, beautiful journey——”
“To Heaven?” inquired El-Râmi—“Yes, I know—it is very far.”
Féraz sighed.
“No—not to Heaven,”—he answered—“Not yet. We shall find out the way there, afterwards. But in the meantime, we are going to a place where there are fruits and flowers,—and where the sun is very bright and warm. You will come with me, will you not, El-Râmi?—there are friends there who will be glad to see you.”
“I have no friends,”—said El-Râmi plaintively100, “unless you are one. I do not know if you are,—I hope so, but I am not sure. You have an angel’s face,—and the angels have not always been kind to me. But I will go with you wherever you wish,—is it a place in this world, or in some other star?”
“In this world,”—replied Féraz—“A quiet little corner of this world.”
“Ah!” and El-Râmi sighed profoundly—“I wish it had been in another. There are so many millions and millions of worlds;—it seems foolish waste of time to stay too long in this.”
He closed his eyes again, and Féraz let him rest,—till, when the hour grew late, he persuaded him to lie down on his own bed, which he did with the amiable101 docility102 of a child. Féraz himself, half sitting, half reclining in a chair beside him, watched him all night long, like a faithful dog guarding its master,—and so full was he of anxious thought and tender care for his brother, that he scarcely remembered Zaroba, and when he did, he felt sure that she too was resting, and striving to forget in sleep the sorrows of the day.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
reign
|
|
| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
amber
|
|
| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
shuddering
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
superstitious
|
|
| adj.迷信的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
avenging
|
|
| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
dedicated
|
|
| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
deity
|
|
| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
unlimited
|
|
| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
vileness
|
|
| n.讨厌，卑劣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
virgins
|
|
| 处女，童男( virgin的名词复数 )； 童贞玛利亚（耶稣之母） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
imputation
|
|
| n.归罪，责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
invoked
|
|
| v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
maiden
|
|
| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
scoffed
|
|
| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
prick
|
|
| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
wrenched
|
|
| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
albeit
|
|
| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
wailed
|
|
| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
anguished
|
|
| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
slate
|
|
| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
ordinance
|
|
| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
purport
|
|
| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
compassionately
|
|
| adv.表示怜悯地，有同情心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
eloquently
|
|
| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
tragic
|
|
| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
disciples
|
|
| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
despoiled
|
|
| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
dismantled
|
|
| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
monastery
|
|
| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
relics
|
|
| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
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： |
|
|
|
|
54
vestige
|
|
| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
reverently
|
|
| adv.虔诚地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
glistening
|
|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
yearningly
|
|
| 怀念地，思慕地，同情地； 渴 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
sentient
|
|
| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
appalled
|
|
| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
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： |
|
|
|
|
64
tranquil
|
|
| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
deities
|
|
| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
compensate
|
|
| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
fragrant
|
|
| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
stupor
|
|
| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
sepulchral
|
|
| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
fumbling
|
|
| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
dozing
|
|
| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
nourishment
|
|
| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
dozed
|
|
| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
poetic
|
|
| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
exquisitely
|
|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
poise
|
|
| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
quaintest
|
|
| adj.古色古香的( quaint的最高级 )；少见的，古怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
detested
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
necessitate
|
|
| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
brotherhood
|
|
| n.兄弟般的关系，手中情谊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
accredited
|
|
| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
plaintively
|
|
| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
docility
|
|
| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |