CHAPTER XXI
We had sad work with little Cathy that day: she rose in high glee, eager to join her cousin, and such passionate1 tears and lamentations followed the news of his departure that Edgar himself was obliged to soothe3 her, by affirming he should come back soon: he added, however, “if I can get him”; and there were no hopes of that. This promise poorly pacified4 her; but time was more potent5; and though still at intervals6 she inquired of her father when Linton would return, before she did see him again his features had waxed so dim in her memory that she did not recognise him.
When I chanced to encounter the housekeeper7 of Wuthering Heights, in paying business visits to Gimmerton, I used to ask how the young master got on; for he lived almost as secluded8 as Catherine herself, and was never to be seen. I could gather from her that he continued in weak health, and was a tiresome9 inmate10. She said Mr. Heathcliff seemed to dislike him ever longer and worse, though he took some trouble to conceal11 it: he had an antipathy12 to the sound of his voice, and could not do at all with his sitting in the same room with him many minutes together. There seldom passed much talk between them: Linton learnt his lessons and spent his evenings in a small apartment they called the parlour: or else lay in bed all day: for he was constantly getting coughs, and colds, and aches, and pains of some sort.
“And I never knew such a faint-hearted creature,” added the woman; “nor one so careful of hisseln. He will go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! it’s killing13, a breath of night air! And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; and Joseph’s bacca-pipe is poison; and he must always have sweets and dainties, and always milk, milk for ever—heeding naught14 how the rest of us are pinched in winter; and there he’ll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip15 at; and if Hareton, for pity, comes to amuse him—Hareton is not bad-natured, though he’s rough—they’re sure to part, one swearing and the other crying. I believe the master would relish16 Earnshaw’s thrashing him to a mummy, if he were not his son; and I’m certain he would be fit to turn him out of doors, if he knew half the nursing he gives hisseln. But then he won’t go into danger of temptation: he never enters the parlour, and should Linton show those ways in the house where he is, he sends him upstairs directly.”
I divined, from this account, that utter lack of sympathy had rendered young Heathcliff selfish and disagreeable, if he were not so originally; and my interest in him, consequently, decayed: though still I was moved with a sense of grief at his lot, and a wish that he had been left with us. Mr. Edgar encouraged me to gain information: he thought a great deal about him, I fancy, and would have run some risk to see him; and he told me once to ask the housekeeper whether he ever came into the village? She said he had only been twice, on horseback, accompanying his father; and both times he pretended to be quite knocked up for three or four days afterwards. That housekeeper left, if I recollect17 rightly, two years after he came; and another, whom I did not know, was her successor; she lives there still.
Time wore on at the Grange in its former pleasant way till Miss Cathy reached sixteen. On the anniversary of her birth we never manifested any signs of rejoicing, because it was also the anniversary of my late mistress’s death. Her father invariably spent that day alone in the library; and walked, at dusk, as far as Gimmerton kirkyard, where he would frequently prolong his stay beyond midnight. Therefore Catherine was thrown on her own resources for amusement. This twentieth of March was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired18, my young lady came down dressed for going out, and said she asked to have a ramble19 on the edge of the moor20 with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, if we went only a short distance and were back within the hour.
“So make haste, Ellen!” she cried. “I know where I wish to go; where a colony of moor-game are settled: I want to see whether they have made their nests yet.”
“That must be a good distance up,” I answered; “they don’t breed on the edge of the moor.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “I’ve gone very near with papa.”
I put on my bonnet21 and sallied out, thinking nothing more of the matter. She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young greyhound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks22 singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. She was a happy creature, and an angel, in those days. It’s a pity she could not be content.
“Well,” said I, “where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We should be at them: the Grange park-fence is a great way off now.”
“Oh, a little further—only a little further, Ellen,” was her answer, continually. “Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds.”
But there were so many hillocks and banks to climb and pass, that, at length, I began to be weary, and told her we must halt, and retrace23 our steps. I shouted to her, as she had outstripped24 me a long way; she either did not hear or did not regard, for she still sprang on, and I was compelled to follow. Finally, she dived into a hollow; and before I came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights than her own home; and I beheld25 a couple of persons arrest her, one of whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself.
Cathy had been caught in the fact of plundering26, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse27. The Heights were Heathcliff’s land, and he was reproving the poacher.
“I’ve neither taken any nor found any,” she said, as I toiled28 to them, expanding her hands in corroboration29 of the statement. “I didn’t mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs.”
Heathcliff glanced at me with an ill-meaning smile, expressing his acquaintance with the party, and, consequently, his malevolence30 towards it, and demanded who “papa” was?
“Mr. Linton of Thrushcross Grange,” she replied. “I thought you did not know me, or you wouldn’t have spoken in that way.”
“You suppose papa is highly esteemed32 and respected, then?” he said, sarcastically33.
“And what are you?” inquired Catherine, gazing curiously34 on the speaker. “That man I’ve seen before. Is he your son?”
She pointed35 to Hareton, the other individual, who had gained nothing but increased bulk36 and strength by the addition of two years to his age: he seemed as awkward and rough as ever.
“Miss Cathy,” I interrupted, “it will be three hours instead of one that we are out, presently. We really must go back.”
“No, that man is not my son,” answered Heathcliff, pushing me aside. “But I have one, and you have seen him before too; and, though your nurse is in a hurry, I think both you and she would be the better for a little rest. Will you just turn this nab of heath, and walk into my house? You’ll get home earlier for the ease; and you shall receive a kind welcome.”
I whispered Catherine that she mustn’t, on any account, accede37 to the proposal: it was entirely38 out of the question.
“Why?” she asked, aloud. “I’m tired of running, and the ground is dewy: I can’t sit here. Let us go, Ellen. Besides, he says I have seen his son. He’s mistaken, I think; but I guess where he lives: at the farmhouse39 I visited in coming from Penistone Crags. Don’t you?”
“I do. Come, Nelly, hold your tongue—it will be a treat for her to look in on us. Hareton, get forwards with the lass. You shall walk with me, Nelly.”
“No, she’s not going to any such place,” I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he had seized: but she was almost at the door-stones already, scampering40 round the brow at full speed. Her appointed companion did not pretend to escort her: he shied off by the road-side, and vanished.
“Mr. Heathcliff, it’s very wrong,” I continued: “you know you mean no good. And there she’ll see Linton, and all will be told as soon as ever we return; and I shall have the blame.”
“I want her to see Linton,” he answered; “he’s looking better these few days; it’s not often he’s fit to be seen. And we’ll soon persuade her to keep the visit secret: where is the harm of it?”
“The harm of it is, that her father would hate me if he found I suffered her to enter your house; and I am convinced you have a bad design in encouraging her to do so,” I replied.
“My design is as honest as possible. I’ll inform you of its whole scope,” he said. “That the two cousins may fall in love, and get married. I’m acting41 generously to your master: his young chit has no expectations, and should she second my wishes she’ll be provided for at once as joint successor with Linton.”
“If Linton died,” I answered, “and his life is quite uncertain, Catherine would be the heir.”
“No, she would not,” he said. “There is no clause in the will to secure it so: his property would go to me; but, to prevent disputes, I desire their union, and am resolved to bring it about.”
“And I’m resolved she shall never approach your house with me again,” I returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming.
Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to open the door. My young lady gave him several looks, as if she could not exactly make up her mind what to think of him; but now he smiled when he met her eye, and softened42 his voice in addressing her; and I was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm43 him from desiring her injury. Linton stood on the hearth44. He had been out walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry shoes. He had grown tall of his age, still wanting some months of sixteen. His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion45 brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre46 borrowed from the salubrious air and genial47 sun.
“Now, who is that?” asked Mr. Heathcliff, turning to Cathy. “Can you tell?”
“Your son?” she said, having doubtfully surveyed, first one and then the other.
“Yes, yes,” answered he: “but is this the only time you have beheld him? Think! Ah! you have a short memory. Linton, don’t you recall your cousin, that you used to tease us so with wishing to see?”
“What, Linton!” cried Cathy, kindling48 into joyful surprise at the name. “Is that little Linton? He’s taller than I am! Are you Linton?”
The youth stepped forward, and acknowledged himself: she kissed him fervently49, and they gazed with wonder at the change time had wrought50 in the appearance of each. Catherine had reached her full height; her figure was both plump and slender, elastic51 as steel, and her whole aspect sparkling with health and spirits. Linton’s looks and movements were very languid, and his form extremely slight; but there was a grace in his manner that mitigated52 these defects, and rendered him not unpleasing. After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his attention between the objects inside and those that lay without: pretending, that is, to observe the latter, and really noting the former alone.
“And you are my uncle, then!” she cried, reaching up to salute53 him. “I thought I liked you, though you were cross at first. Why don’t you visit at the Grange with Linton? To live all these years such close neighbours, and never see us, is odd: what have you done so for?”
“I visited it once or twice too often before you were born,” he answered. “There—damn it! If you have any kisses to spare, give them to Linton: they are thrown away on me.”
“Naughty Ellen!” exclaimed Catherine, flying to attack me next with her lavish54 caresses55. “Wicked Ellen! to try to hinder me from entering. But I’ll take this walk every morning in future: may I, uncle? and sometimes bring papa. Won’t you be glad to see us?”
“Of course,” replied the uncle, with a hardly suppressed grimace56, resulting from his deep aversion to both the proposed visitors. “But stay,” he continued, turning towards the young lady. “Now I think of it, I’d better tell you. Mr. Linton has a prejudice against me: we quarrelled at one time of our lives, with unchristian ferocity; and, if you mention coming here to him, he’ll put a veto on your visits altogether. Therefore, you must not mention it, unless you be careless of seeing your cousin hereafter: you may come, if you will, but you must not mention it.”
“Why did you quarrel?” asked Catherine, considerably57 crestfallen58.
“He thought me too poor to wed2 his sister,” answered Heathcliff, “and was grieved that I got her: his pride was hurt, and he’ll never forgive it.”
“That’s wrong!” said the young lady: “some time I’ll tell him so. But Linton and I have no share in your quarrel. I’ll not come here, then; he shall come to the Grange.”
“It will be too far for me,” murmured her cousin: “to walk four miles would kill me. No, come here, Miss Catherine, now and then: not every morning, but once or twice a week.”
The father launched towards his son a glance of bitter contempt.
“I am afraid, Nelly, I shall lose my labour,” he muttered to me. “Miss Catherine, as the ninny calls her, will discover his value, and send him to the devil. Now, if it had been Hareton!—Do you know that, twenty times a day, I covet59 Hareton, with all his degradation60? I’d have loved the lad had he been some one else. But I think he’s safe from her love. I’ll pit him against that paltry61 creature, unless it bestir itself briskly. We calculate it will scarcely last till it is eighteen. Oh, confound the vapid62 thing! He’s absorbed in drying his feet, and never looks at her.—Linton!”
“Yes, father,” answered the boy.
“Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about, not even a rabbit or a weasel’s nest? Take her into the garden, before you change your shoes; and into the stable to see your horse.”
“Wouldn’t you rather sit here?” asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone which expressed reluctance63 to move again.
“I don’t know,” she replied, casting a longing64 look to the door, and evidently eager to be active.
He kept his seat, and shrank closer to the fire. Heathcliff rose, and went into the kitchen, and from thence to the yard, calling out for Hareton. Hareton responded, and presently the two re-entered. The young man had been washing himself, as was visible by the glow on his cheeks and his wetted hair.
“Oh, I’ll ask you, uncle,” cried Miss Cathy, recollecting65 the housekeeper’s assertion. “That is not my cousin, is he?”
“Yes,” he replied, “your mother’s nephew. Don’t you like him?”
Catherine looked queer.
“Is he not a handsome lad?” he continued.
The uncivil little thing stood on tiptoe, and whispered a sentence in Heathcliff’s ear. He laughed; Hareton darkened: I perceived he was very sensitive to suspected slights, and had obviously a dim notion of his inferiority. But his master or guardian66 chased the frown by exclaiming—
“You’ll be the favourite among us, Hareton! She says you are a—What was it? Well, something very flattering. Here! you go with her round the farm. And behave like a gentleman, mind! Don’t use any bad words; and don’t stare when the young lady is not looking at you, and be ready to hide your face when she is; and, when you speak, say your words slowly, and keep your hands out of your pockets. Be off, and entertain her as nicely as you can.”
He watched the couple walking past the window. Earnshaw had his countenance67 completely averted68 from his companion. He seemed studying the familiar landscape with a stranger’s and an artist’s interest. Catherine took a sly look at him, expressing small admiration69. She then turned her attention to seeking out objects of amusement for herself, and tripped merrily on, lilting a tune to supply the lack of conversation.
“I’ve tied his tongue,” observed Heathcliff. “He’ll not venture a single syllable70 all the time! Nelly, you recollect me at his age—nay, some years younger. Did I ever look so stupid: so ‘gaumless,’ as Joseph calls it?”
“Worse,” I replied, “because more sullen71 with it.”
“I’ve a pleasure in him,” he continued, reflecting aloud. “He has satisfied my expectations. If he were a born fool I should not enjoy it half so much. But he’s no fool; and I can sympathise with all his feelings, having felt them myself. I know what he suffers now, for instance, exactly: it is merely a beginning of what he shall suffer, though. And he’ll never be able to emerge from his bathos of coarseness and ignorance. I’ve got him faster than his scoundrel of a father secured me, and lower; for he takes a pride in his brutishness. I’ve taught him to scorn everything extra-animal as silly and weak. Don’t you think Hindley would be proud of his son, if he could see him? almost as proud as I am of mine. But there’s this difference; one is gold put to the use of paving-stones, and the other is tin polished to ape a service of silver. Mine has nothing valuable about it; yet I shall have the merit of making it go as far as such poor stuff can go. His had first-rate qualities, and they are lost: rendered worse than unavailing. I have nothing to regret; he would have more than any, but I, are aware of. And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! You’ll own that I’ve outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain72 could rise from his grave to abuse me for his offspring’s wrongs, I should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the world!”
Heathcliff chuckled73 a fiendish laugh at the idea. I made no reply, because I saw that he expected none. Meantime, our young companion, who sat too removed from us to hear what was said, began to evince symptoms of uneasiness, probably repenting74 that he had denied himself the treat of Catherine’s society for fear of a little fatigue75. His father remarked the restless glances wandering to the window, and the hand irresolutely76 extended towards his cap.
“Get up, you idle boy!” he exclaimed, with assumed heartiness77. “Away after them! they are just at the corner, by the stand of hives.”
Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The lattice was open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable attendant what was that inscription78 over the door? Hareton stared up, and scratched his head like a true clown.
“It’s some damnable writing,” he answered. “I cannot read it.”
“Can’t read it?” cried Catherine; “I can read it: it’s English. But I want to know why it is there.”
Linton giggled79: the first appearance of mirth he had exhibited.
“He does not know his letters,” he said to his cousin. “Could you believe in the existence of such a colossal80 dunce?”
“Is he all as he should be?” asked Miss Cathy, seriously; “or is he simple: not right? I’ve questioned him twice now, and each time he looked so stupid I think he does not understand me. I can hardly understand him, I’m sure!”
Linton repeated his laugh, and glanced at Hareton tauntingly81; who certainly did not seem quite clear of comprehension at that moment.
“There’s nothing the matter but laziness; is there, Earnshaw?” he said. “My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequence82 of scorning ‘book-larning,’ as you would say. Have you noticed, Catherine, his frightful83 Yorkshire pronunciation?”
“Why, where the devil is the use on’t?” growled84 Hareton, more ready in answering his daily companion. He was about to enlarge further, but the two youngsters broke into a noisy fit of merriment: my giddy miss being delighted to discover that she might turn his strange talk to matter of amusement.
“Where is the use of the devil in that sentence?” tittered Linton. “Papa told you not to say any bad words, and you can’t open your mouth without one. Do try to behave like a gentleman, now do!”
“If thou weren’t more a lass than a lad, I’d fell thee this minute, I would; pitiful lath of a crater85!” retorted the angry boor86, retreating, while his face burnt with mingled87 rage and mortification88; for he was conscious of being insulted, and embarrassed how to resent it.
Mr. Heathcliff having overheard the conversation, as well as I, smiled when he saw him go; but immediately afterwards cast a look of singular aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering89 in the doorway: the boy finding animation90 enough while discussing Hareton’s faults and deficiencies, and relating anecdotes91 of his goings on; and the girl relishing92 his pert and spiteful sayings, without considering the ill-nature they evinced. I began to dislike, more than to compassionate93 Linton, and to excuse his father in some measure for holding him cheap.
We stayed till afternoon: I could not tear Miss Cathy away sooner; but happily my master had not quitted his apartment, and remained ignorant of our prolonged absence. As we walked home, I would fain have enlightened my charge on the characters of the people we had quitted: but she got it into her head that I was prejudiced against them.
“Aha!” she cried, “you take papa’s side, Ellen: you are partial I know; or else you wouldn’t have cheated me so many years into the notion that Linton lived a long way from here. I’m really extremely angry; only I’m so pleased I can’t show it! But you must hold your tongue about my uncle; he’s my uncle, remember; and I’ll scold papa for quarrelling with him.”
And so she ran on, till I relinquished94 the endeavour95 to convince her of her mistake. She did not mention the visit that night, because she did not see Mr. Linton. Next day it all came out, sadly to my chagrin96; and still I was not altogether sorry: I thought the burden of directing and warning would be more efficiently97 borne by him than me. But he was too timid in giving satisfactory reasons for his wish that she should shun98 connection with the household of the Heights, and Catherine liked good reasons for every restraint that harassed99 her petted will.
“Papa!” she exclaimed, after the morning’s salutations, “guess whom I saw yesterday, in my walk on the moors100. Ah, papa, you started! you’ve not done right, have you, now? I saw—but listen, and you shall hear how I found you out; and Ellen, who is in league with you, and yet pretended to pity me so, when I kept hoping, and was always disappointed about Linton’s coming back!”
She gave a faithful account of her excursion and its consequences; and my master, though he cast more than one reproachful look at me, said nothing till she had concluded. Then he drew her to him, and asked if she knew why he had concealed101 Linton’s near neighbourhood from her? Could she think it was to deny her a pleasure that she might harmlessly enjoy?
“It was because you disliked Mr. Heathcliff,” she answered.
“Then you believe I care more for my own feelings than yours, Cathy?” he said. “No, it was not because I disliked Mr. Heathcliff, but because Mr. Heathcliff dislikes me; and is a most diabolical102 man, delighting to wrong and ruin those he hates, if they give him the slightest opportunity. I knew that you could not keep up an acquaintance with your cousin without being brought into contact with him; and I knew he would detest103 you on my account; so for your own good, and nothing else, I took precautions that you should not see Linton again. I meant to explain this some time as you grew older, and I’m sorry I delayed it.”
“But Mr. Heathcliff was quite cordial, papa,” observed Catherine, not at all convinced; “and he didn’t object to our seeing each other: he said I might come to his house when I pleased; only I must not tell you, because you had quarrelled with him, and would not forgive him for marrying aunt Isabella. And you won’t. You are the one to be blamed: he is willing to let us be friends, at least; Linton and I; and you are not.”
My master, perceiving that she would not take his word for her uncle-in-law’s evil disposition104, gave a hasty sketch105 of his conduct to Isabella, and the manner in which Wuthering Heights became his property. He could not bear to discourse106 long upon the topic; for though he spoke31 little of it, he still felt the same horror and detestation of his ancient enemy that had occupied his heart ever since Mrs. Linton’s death. “She might have been living yet, if it had not been for him!” was his constant bitter reflection; and, in his eyes, Heathcliff seemed a murderer. Miss Cathy—conversant with no bad deeds except her own slight acts of disobedience, injustice107, and passion, arising from hot temper and thoughtlessness, and repented108 of on the day they were committed—was amazed at the blackness of spirit that could brood on and cover revenge for years, and deliberately109 prosecute110 its plans without a visitation of remorse111. She appeared so deeply impressed and shocked at this new view of human nature—excluded from all her studies and all her ideas till now—that Mr. Edgar deemed it unnecessary to pursue the subject. He merely added: “You will know hereafter, darling, why I wish you to avoid his house and family; now return to your old employments and amusements, and think no more about them.”
Catherine kissed her father, and sat down quietly to her lessons for a couple of hours, according to custom; then she accompanied him into the grounds, and the whole day passed as usual: but in the evening, when she had retired to her room, and I went to help her to undress, I found her crying, on her knees by the bedside.
“Oh, fie, silly child!” I exclaimed. “If you had any real griefs you’d be ashamed to waste a tear on this little contrariety. You never had one shadow of substantial sorrow, Miss Catherine. Suppose, for a minute, that master and I were dead, and you were by yourself in the world: how would you feel, then? Compare the present occasion with such an affliction as that, and be thankful for the friends you have, instead of coveting112 more.”
“I’m not crying for myself, Ellen,” she answered, “it’s for him. He expected to see me again to-morrow, and there he’ll be so disappointed: and he’ll wait for me, and I sha’n’t come!”
“Nonsense!” said I, “do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him? Hasn’t he Hareton for a companion? Not one in a hundred would weep at losing a relation they had just seen twice, for two afternoons. Linton will conjecture113 how it is, and trouble himself no further about you.”
“But may I not write a note to tell him why I cannot come?” she asked, rising to her feet. “And just send those books I promised to lend him? His books are not as nice as mine, and he wanted to have them extremely, when I told him how interesting they were. May I not, Ellen?”
“No, indeed! no, indeed!” replied I with decision. “Then he would write to you, and there’d never be an end of it. No, Miss Catherine, the acquaintance must be dropped entirely: so papa expects, and I shall see that it is done.”
“But how can one little note—?” she recommenced, putting on an imploring114 countenance.
“Silence!” I interrupted. “We’ll not begin with your little notes. Get into bed.”
She threw at me a very naughty look, so naughty that I would not kiss her good-night at first: I covered her up, and shut her door, in great displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there was Miss standing115 at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight on my entrance.
“You’ll get nobody to take that, Catherine,” I said, “if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle.”
I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand and a petulant116 “cross thing!” I then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish117 humours. The letter was finished and forwarded to its destination by a milk-fetcher who came from the village; but that I didn’t learn till some time afterwards. Weeks passed on, and Cathy recovered her temper; though she grew wondrous118 fond of stealing off to corners by herself; and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond the leaves. She also got a trick of coming down early in the morning and lingering about the kitchen, as if she were expecting the arrival of something; and she had a small drawer in a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours, and whose key she took special care to remove when she left it.
One day, as she inspected this drawer, I observed that the playthings and trinkets which recently formed its contents were transmuted119 into bits of folded paper. My curiosity and suspicions were roused; I determined120 to take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and my master were safe upstairs, I searched, and readily found among my house keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I emptied the whole contents into my apron121, and took them with me to examine at leisure in my own chamber122. Though I could not but suspect, I was still surprised to discover that they were a mass of correspondence—daily almost, it must have been—from Linton Heathcliff: answers to documents forwarded by her. The earlier dated were embarrassed and short; gradually, however, they expanded into copious123 love-letters, foolish, as the age of the writer rendered natural, yet with touches here and there which I thought were borrowed from a more experienced source. Some of them struck me as singularly odd compounds of ardour and flatness; commencing in strong feeling, and concluding in the affected124, wordy style that a schoolboy might use to a fancied, incorporeal125 sweetheart. Whether they satisfied Cathy I don’t know; but they appeared very worthless trash to me. After turning over as many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set them aside, relocking the vacant drawer.
Following her habit, my young lady descended126 early, and visited the kitchen: I watched her go to the door, on the arrival of a certain little boy; and, while the dairymaid filled his can, she tucked something into his jacket pocket, and plucked something out. I went round by the garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in abstracting the epistle; and, threatening serious consequences if he did not look sharp home, I remained under the wall and perused127 Miss Cathy’s affectionate composition. It was more simple and more eloquent128 than her cousin’s: very pretty and very silly. I shook my head, and went meditating129 into the house. The day being wet, she could not divert herself with rambling130 about the park; so, at the conclusion of her morning studies, she resorted to the solace131 of the drawer. Her father sat reading at the table; and I, on purpose, had sought a bit of work in some unripped fringes of the window-curtain, keeping my eye steadily132 fixed133 on her proceedings134. Never did any bird flying back to a plundered135 nest, which it had left brimful of chirping136 young ones, express more complete despair, in its anguished137 cries and flutterings, than she by her single “Oh!” and the change that transfigured her late happy countenance. Mr. Linton looked up.
“What is the matter, love? Have you hurt yourself?” he said.
His tone and look assured her he had not been the discoverer of the hoard138.
“No, papa!” she gasped139. “Ellen! Ellen! come upstairs—I’m sick!”
I obeyed her summons, and accompanied her out.
“Oh, Ellen! you have got them,” she commenced immediately, dropping on her knees, when we were enclosed alone. “Oh, give them to me, and I’ll never, never do so again! Don’t tell papa. You have not told papa, Ellen? say you have not? I’ve been exceedingly naughty, but I won’t do it any more!”
With a grave severity in my manner I bade her stand up.
“So,” I exclaimed, “Miss Catherine, you are tolerably far on, it seems: you may well be ashamed of them! A fine bundle of trash you study in your leisure hours, to be sure: why, it’s good enough to be printed! And what do you suppose the master will think when I display it before him? I hav’n’t shown it yet, but you needn’t imagine I shall keep your ridiculous secrets. For shame! and you must have led the way in writing such absurdities140: he would not have thought of beginning, I’m certain.”
“I didn’t! I didn’t!” sobbed141 Cathy, fit to break her heart. “I didn’t once think of loving him till—”
“Loving!” cried I, as scornfully as I could utter the word. “Loving! Did anybody ever hear the like! I might just as well talk of loving the miller142 who comes once a year to buy our corn. Pretty loving, indeed! and both times together you have seen Linton hardly four hours in your life! Now here is the babyish trash. I’m going with it to the library; and we’ll see what your father says to such loving.”
She sprang at her precious epistles, but I held them above my head; and then she poured out further frantic143 entreaties144 that I would burn them—do anything rather than show them. And being really fully as much inclined to laugh as scold—for I esteemed it all girlish vanity—I at length relented in a measure, and asked,—“If I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, nor a book (for I perceive you have sent him books), nor locks of hair, nor rings, nor playthings?”
“We don’t send playthings,” cried Catherine, her pride overcoming her shame.
“Nor anything at all, then, my lady?” I said. “Unless you will, here I go.”
“I promise, Ellen!” she cried, catching145 my dress. “Oh, put them in the fire, do, do!”
But when I proceeded to open a place with the poker146 the sacrifice was too painful to be borne. She earnestly supplicated147 that I would spare her one or two.
“One or two, Ellen, to keep for Linton’s sake!”
I unknotted the handkerchief, and commenced dropping them in from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney.
“I will have one, you cruel wretch148!” she screamed, darting149 her hand into the fire, and drawing forth150 some half-consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers.
“Very well—and I will have some to exhibit to papa!” I answered, shaking back the rest into the bundle, and turning anew to the door.
She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation151. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred152 them under a shovelful153 of coals; and she mutely, and with a sense of intense injury, retired to her private apartment. I descended to tell my master that the young lady’s qualm of sickness was almost gone, but I judged it best for her to lie down a while. She wouldn’t dine; but she reappeared at tea, pale, and red about the eyes, and marvellously subdued154 in outward aspect. Next morning I answered the letter by a slip of paper, inscribed155, “Master Heathcliff is requested to send no more notes to Miss Linton, as she will not receive them.” And, thenceforth, the little boy came with vacant pockets.
1 passionate [ˈpæʃənət] 第8级 | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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2 wed [wed] 第9级 | |
vt.娶,嫁,与…结婚;vi.结婚;娶;嫁 | |
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3 soothe [su:ð] 第7级 | |
vt.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承;vi.起抚慰作用 | |
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4 pacified [ˈpæsəˌfaɪd] 第10级 | |
使(某人)安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 ); 息怒; 抚慰; 在(有战争的地区、国家等)实现和平 | |
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5 potent [ˈpəʊtnt] 第7级 | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
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6 intervals ['ɪntevl] 第7级 | |
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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7 housekeeper [ˈhaʊski:pə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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8 secluded [sɪ'klu:dɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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9 tiresome [ˈtaɪəsəm] 第7级 | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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10 inmate [ˈɪnmeɪt] 第10级 | |
n.被收容者;(房屋等的)居住人;住院人 | |
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11 conceal [kənˈsi:l] 第7级 | |
vt.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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12 antipathy [ænˈtɪpəθi] 第9级 | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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13 killing [ˈkɪlɪŋ] 第9级 | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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14 naught [nɔ:t] 第9级 | |
n.无,零 [=nought] | |
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15 sip [sɪp] 第7级 | |
vt.&vi.小口地喝,抿,呷;n.一小口的量 | |
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16 relish [ˈrelɪʃ] 第7级 | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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17 recollect [ˌrekəˈlekt] 第7级 | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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18 retired [rɪˈtaɪəd] 第8级 | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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19 ramble [ˈræmbl] 第9级 | |
vi.漫步,漫谈,漫游;vt.漫步于;n.漫步,闲谈,蔓延 | |
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20 moor [mɔ:(r)] 第9级 | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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21 bonnet [ˈbɒnɪt] 第10级 | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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22 larks [lɑ:ks] 第9级 | |
n.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的名词复数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了v.百灵科鸟(尤指云雀)( lark的第三人称单数 );一大早就起床;鸡鸣即起;(因太费力而不想干时说)算了 | |
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23 retrace [rɪˈtreɪs] 第12级 | |
vt.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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24 outstripped [aʊtˈstrɪpt] 第12级 | |
v.做得比…更好,(在赛跑等中)超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 beheld [bɪ'held] 第10级 | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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26 plundering [ˈplʌndərɪŋ] 第9级 | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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27 grouse [graʊs] 第11级 | |
n.松鸡;怨言;vi.牢骚,诉苦 | |
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28 toiled ['tɔɪld] 第8级 | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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29 corroboration [kəˌrɒbə'reɪʃn] 第9级 | |
n.进一步的证实,进一步的证据 | |
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30 malevolence [mə'levələns] 第10级 | |
n.恶意,狠毒 | |
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31 spoke [spəʊk] 第11级 | |
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 | |
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32 esteemed [ɪs'ti:md] 第7级 | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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33 sarcastically [sɑ:'kæstɪklɪ] 第12级 | |
adv.挖苦地,讽刺地 | |
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34 curiously ['kjʊərɪəslɪ] 第9级 | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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35 pointed [ˈpɔɪntɪd] 第7级 | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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36 bulk [bʌlk] 第7级 | |
n.容积,体积;大块,大批;大部分,大多数;vt. 使扩大,使形成大量;使显得重要 | |
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37 accede [əkˈsi:d] 第10级 | |
vi.应允,同意 | |
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38 entirely [ɪnˈtaɪəli] 第9级 | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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39 farmhouse [ˈfɑ:mhaʊs] 第8级 | |
n.农场住宅(尤指主要住房) | |
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40 scampering [ˈskæmpərɪŋ] 第11级 | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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41 acting [ˈæktɪŋ] 第7级 | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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42 softened ['sɒfənd] 第7级 | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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43 disarm [dɪsˈɑ:m] 第9级 | |
vt.解除武装,回复平常的编制,缓和;vi.放下武器;裁减军备 | |
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44 hearth [hɑ:θ] 第9级 | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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45 complexion [kəmˈplekʃn] 第8级 | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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46 lustre [ˈlʌstə(r)] 第11级 | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉;vi.有光泽,发亮;vt.使有光泽 | |
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47 genial [ˈdʒi:niəl] 第8级 | |
adj.亲切的,和蔼的,愉快的,脾气好的 | |
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48 kindling [ˈkɪndlɪŋ] 第9级 | |
n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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49 fervently ['fɜ:vəntlɪ] 第8级 | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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50 wrought [rɔ:t] 第11级 | |
v.(wreak的过去分词)引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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51 elastic [ɪˈlæstɪk] 第7级 | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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52 mitigated [ˈmɪtˌɪgeɪtid] 第9级 | |
v.减轻,缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53 salute [səˈlu:t] 第7级 | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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54 lavish [ˈlævɪʃ] 第7级 | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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55 caresses [kə'resɪs] 第7级 | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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56 grimace [grɪˈmeɪs] 第10级 | |
vi. 扮鬼脸;作怪相;作苦相 n. 鬼脸;怪相;痛苦的表情 | |
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57 considerably [kənˈsɪdərəbli] 第9级 | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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58 crestfallen [ˈkrestfɔ:lən] 第11级 | |
adj. 挫败的,失望的,沮丧的 | |
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59 covet [ˈkʌvət] 第9级 | |
vt.垂涎;贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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60 degradation [ˌdegrəˈdeɪʃn] 第10级 | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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61 paltry [ˈpɔ:ltri] 第11级 | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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62 vapid [ˈvæpɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.无味的;无生气的 | |
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63 reluctance [rɪ'lʌktəns] 第7级 | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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64 longing [ˈlɒŋɪŋ] 第8级 | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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65 recollecting [ˌrekəˈlektɪŋ] 第7级 | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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66 guardian [ˈgɑ:diən] 第7级 | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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67 countenance [ˈkaʊntənəns] 第9级 | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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68 averted [əˈvə:tid] 第7级 | |
防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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69 admiration [ˌædməˈreɪʃn] 第8级 | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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70 syllable [ˈsɪləbl] 第8级 | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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71 sullen [ˈsʌlən] 第9级 | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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72 villain [ˈvɪlən] 第9级 | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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73 chuckled [ˈtʃʌkld] 第9级 | |
轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74 repenting [rɪˈpentɪŋ] 第8级 | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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75 fatigue [fəˈti:g] 第7级 | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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76 irresolutely [ɪ'rezəlu:tlɪ] 第12级 | |
adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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77 heartiness ['hɑ:tɪnəs] 第7级 | |
诚实,热心 | |
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78 inscription [ɪnˈskrɪpʃn] 第8级 | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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79 giggled [ˈɡiɡld] 第7级 | |
v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 colossal [kəˈlɒsl] 第9级 | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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81 tauntingly ['tɔ:ntɪŋlɪ] 第10级 | |
嘲笑地,辱骂地; 嘲骂地 | |
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82 consequence [ˈkɒnsɪkwəns] 第8级 | |
n.结果,后果;推理,推断;重要性 | |
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83 frightful [ˈfraɪtfl] 第9级 | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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84 growled [ɡrauld] 第8级 | |
v.(动物)发狺狺声, (雷)作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 );低声咆哮着说 | |
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85 crater [ˈkreɪtə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.火山口,弹坑 | |
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86 boor [bʊə(r)] 第12级 | |
n.举止粗野的人;乡下佬 | |
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87 mingled [ˈmiŋɡld] 第7级 | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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88 mortification ['mɔ:tifi'keiʃən] 第11级 | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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89 chattering [t'ʃætərɪŋ] 第7级 | |
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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90 animation [ˌænɪˈmeɪʃn] 第8级 | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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91 anecdotes ['ænɪkdəʊts] 第7级 | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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92 relishing [ˈreliʃɪŋ] 第7级 | |
v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 );从…获得乐趣;渴望 | |
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93 compassionate [kəmˈpæʃənət] 第9级 | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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94 relinquished [rɪˈlɪŋkwɪʃt] 第8级 | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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95 endeavour [ɪn'devə(r)] 第7级 | |
n.尽力;努力;力图 | |
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96 chagrin [ˈʃægrɪn] 第10级 | |
n.懊恼;气愤;委屈 | |
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97 efficiently [ɪ'fɪʃntlɪ] 第8级 | |
adv.高效率地,有能力地 | |
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98 shun [ʃʌn] 第8级 | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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99 harassed [ˈhærəst] 第9级 | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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100 moors [mʊəz] 第9级 | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101 concealed [kən'si:ld] 第7级 | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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102 diabolical [ˌdaɪəˈbɒlɪkl] 第11级 | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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103 detest [dɪˈtest] 第9级 | |
vt.痛恨,憎恶 | |
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104 disposition [ˌdɪspəˈzɪʃn] 第7级 | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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105 sketch [sketʃ] 第7级 | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;vt.&vi.素描;概述 | |
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106 discourse [ˈdɪskɔ:s] 第7级 | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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107 injustice [ɪnˈdʒʌstɪs] 第8级 | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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108 repented [rɪˈpentid] 第8级 | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109 deliberately [dɪˈlɪbərətli] 第7级 | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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110 prosecute [ˈprɒsɪkju:t] 第7级 | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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111 remorse [rɪˈmɔ:s] 第9级 | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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112 coveting [ˈkʌvɪtɪŋ] 第9级 | |
v.贪求,觊觎( covet的现在分词 ) | |
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113 conjecture [kənˈdʒektʃə(r)] 第9级 | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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114 imploring [imˈplɔ:riŋ] 第9级 | |
恳求的,哀求的 | |
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115 standing [ˈstændɪŋ] 第8级 | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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116 petulant [ˈpetjulənt] 第11级 | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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117 peevish [ˈpi:vɪʃ] 第12级 | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
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118 wondrous [ˈwʌndrəs] 第12级 | |
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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119 transmuted [trænsˈmju:tid] 第9级 | |
v.使变形,使变质,把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120 determined [dɪˈtɜ:mɪnd] 第7级 | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的;v.决定;断定(determine的过去分词) | |
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121 apron [ˈeɪprən] 第7级 | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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122 chamber [ˈtʃeɪmbə(r)] 第7级 | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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123 copious [ˈkəʊpiəs] 第9级 | |
adj.丰富的,大量的 | |
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124 affected [əˈfektɪd] 第9级 | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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125 incorporeal [ˌɪnkɔ:ˈpɔ:riəl] 第11级 | |
adj.非物质的,精神的 | |
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126 descended [di'sendid] 第7级 | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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127 perused [pəˈru:zd] 第10级 | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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128 eloquent [ˈeləkwənt] 第7级 | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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129 meditating ['medɪteɪtɪŋ] 第8级 | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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130 rambling ['ræmbliŋ] 第9级 | |
adj.[建]凌乱的,杂乱的 | |
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131 solace [ˈsɒləs] 第9级 | |
n.安慰;vt.使快乐;安慰(物),缓和 | |
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132 steadily ['stedɪlɪ] 第7级 | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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133 fixed [fɪkst] 第8级 | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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134 proceedings [prə'si:diŋz] 第7级 | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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135 plundered [ˈplʌndəd] 第9级 | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 chirping [t'ʃɜ:pɪŋ] 第10级 | |
鸟叫,虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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137 anguished ['æŋɡwɪʃd] 第7级 | |
adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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138 hoard [hɔ:d] 第9级 | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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139 gasped [ɡɑ:spt] 第7级 | |
v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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140 absurdities [əbˈsɜ:dɪtɪz] 第10级 | |
n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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141 sobbed ['sɒbd] 第7级 | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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142 miller [ˈmɪlə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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143 frantic [ˈfræntɪk] 第8级 | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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144 entreaties [enˈtri:ti:z] 第11级 | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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145 catching [ˈkætʃɪŋ] 第8级 | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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146 poker [ˈpəʊkə(r)] 第10级 | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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147 supplicated [ˈsʌplɪˌkeɪtid] 第12级 | |
v.祈求,哀求,恳求( supplicate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148 wretch [retʃ] 第12级 | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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149 darting [dɑ:tɪŋ] 第8级 | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的现在分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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150 forth [fɔ:θ] 第7级 | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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151 immolation [iməu'leiʃən] 第11级 | |
n.牺牲品 | |
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152 interred [ɪnˈtɜ:d] 第11级 | |
v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153 shovelful ['ʃʌvəlful] 第8级 | |
n.一铁铲 | |
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