CHAPTER XXIX.
MONSIEUR’S FÊTE.
I was up the next morning an hour before daybreak, and finished my guard, kneeling on the dormitory floor beside the centre stand, for the benefit of such expiring glimmer1 as the night-lamp afforded in its last watch.
All my materials—my whole stock of beads2 and silk—were used up before the chain assumed the length and richness I wished; I had wrought3 it double, as I knew, by the rule of contraries, that to, suit the particular taste whose gratification was in view, an effective appearance was quite indispensable. As a finish to the ornament4, a little gold clasp was needed; fortunately I possessed5 it in the fastening of my sole necklace; I duly detached and re-attached it, then coiled compactly the completed guard; and enclosed it in a small box I had bought for its brilliancy, made of some tropic shell of the colour called “nacarat,” and decked with a little coronal of sparkling blue stones. Within the lid of the box, I carefully graved with my scissors’ point certain initials.
The reader will, perhaps, remember the description of Madame Beck’s fête; nor will he have forgotten that at each anniversary, a handsome present was subscribed6 for and offered by the school. The observance of this day was a distinction accorded to none but Madame, and, in a modified form, to her kinsman7 and counsellor, M. Emanuel. In the latter case it was an honour spontaneously awarded, not plotted and contrived8 beforehand, and offered an additional proof, amongst many others, of the estimation in which—despite his partialities, prejudices, and irritabilities—the professor of literature was held by his pupils. No article of value was offered to him: he distinctly gave it to be understood, that he would accept neither plate nor jewellery. Yet he liked a slight tribute; the cost, the money-value, did not touch him: a diamond ring, a gold snuff-box, presented, with pomp, would have pleased him less than a flower, or a drawing, offered simply and with sincere feelings. Such was his nature. He was a man, not wise in his generation, yet could he claim a filial sympathy with “the dayspring on high.”
M. Paul’s fête fell on the first of March and a Thursday. It proved a fine sunny day; and being likewise the morning on which it was customary to attend mass; being also otherwise distinguished9 by the half-holiday which permitted the privilege of walking out, shopping, or paying visits in the afternoon: these combined considerations induced a general smartness and freshness of dress. Clean collars were in vogue10; the ordinary dingy11 woollen classe-dress was exchanged for something lighter12 and clearer. Mademoiselle Zélie St. Pierre, on this particular Thursday, even assumed a “robe de soie,” deemed in economical Labassecour an article of hazardous13 splendour and luxury; nay14, it was remarked that she sent for a “coiffeur” to dress her hair that morning; there were pupils acute enough to discover that she had bedewed her handkerchief and her hands with a new and fashionable perfume. Poor Zélie! It was much her wont15 to declare about this time, that she was tired to death of a life of seclusion16 and labour; that she longed to have the means and leisure for relaxation17; to have some one to work for her—a husband who would pay her debts (she was woefully encumbered18 with debt), supply her wardrobe, and leave her at liberty, as she said, to “goûter un peu les plaisirs.” It had long been rumoured20, that her eye was upon M. Emanuel. Monsieur Emanuel’s eye was certainly often upon her. He would sit and watch her perseveringly21 for minutes together. I have seen him give her a quarter-of-an-hour’s gaze, while the class was silently composing, and he sat throned on his estrade, unoccupied. Conscious always of this basilisk attention, she would writhe22 under it, half-flattered, half-puzzled, and Monsieur would follow her sensations, sometimes looking appallingly23 acute; for in some cases, he had the terrible unerring penetration24 of instinct, and pierced in its hiding-place the last lurking26 thought of the heart, and discerned under florid veilings the bare; barren places of the spirit: yes, and its perverted27 tendencies, and its hidden false curves—all that men and women would not have known—the twisted spine28, the malformed limb that was born with them, and far worse, the stain or disfigurement they have perhaps brought on themselves. No calamity29 so accursed but M. Emanuel could pity and forgive, if it were acknowledged candidly31; but where his questioning eyes met dishonest denial—where his ruthless researches found deceitful concealment—oh, then, he could be cruel, and I thought wicked! he would exultantly32 snatch the screen from poor shrinking wretches33, passionately34 hurry them to the summit of the mount of exposure, and there show them all naked, all false—poor living lies—the spawn35 of that horrid36 Truth which cannot be looked on unveiled. He thought he did justice; for my part I doubt whether man has a right to do such justice on man: more than once in these his visitations, I have felt compelled to give tears to his victims, and not spared ire and keen reproach to himself. He deserved it; but it was difficult to shake him in his firm conviction that the work was righteous and needed.
Breakfast being over and mass attended, the school-bell rang and the rooms filled: a very pretty spectacle was presented in classe. Pupils and teachers sat neatly37 arrayed, orderly and expectant, each bearing in her hand the bouquet38 of felicitation—the prettiest spring-flowers all fresh, and filling the air with their fragrance39: I only had no bouquet. I like to see flowers growing, but when they are gathered, they cease to please. I look on them as things rootless and perishable40; their likeness41 to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me. Mademoiselle St. Pierre marked my empty hands—she could not believe I had been so remiss42; with avidity her eye roved over and round me: surely I must have some solitary43 symbolic44 flower somewhere: some small knot of violets, something to win myself praise for taste, commendation for ingenuity45. The unimaginative “Anglaise” proved better than the Parisienne’s fears: she sat literally46 unprovided, as bare of bloom or leaf as the winter tree. This ascertained47, Zélie smiled, well pleased.
“How wisely you have acted to keep your money, Miss Lucie,” she said: “silly I have gone and thrown away two francs on a bouquet of hot-house flowers!”
And she showed with pride her splendid nosegay.
But hush48! a step: the step. It came prompt, as usual, but with a promptitude, we felt disposed to flatter ourselves, inspired by other feelings than mere49 excitability of nerve and vehemence50 of intent. We thought our Professor’s “foot-fall” (to speak romantically) had in it a friendly promise this morning; and so it had.
He entered in a mood which made him as good as a new sunbeam to the already well-lit first classe. The morning light playing amongst our plants and laughing on our walls, caught an added lustre51 from M. Paul’s all-benignant salute52. Like a true Frenchman (though I don’t know why I should say so, for he was of strain neither French nor Labassecourien), he had dressed for the “situation” and the occasion. Not by the vague folds, sinister53 and conspirator-like, of his soot-dark paletôt were the outlines of his person obscured; on the contrary, his figure (such as it was, I don’t boast of it) was well set off by a civilized54 coat and a silken vest quite pretty to behold55. The defiant56 and pagan bonnet-grec had vanished: bare-headed, he came upon us, carrying a Christian57 hat in his gloved hand. The little man looked well, very well; there was a clearness of amity30 in his blue eye, and a glow of good feeling on his dark complexion58, which passed perfectly59 in the place of beauty: one really did not care to observe that his nose, though far from small, was of no particular shape, his cheek thin, his brow marked and square, his mouth no rose-bud: one accepted him as he was, and felt his presence the reverse of damping or insignificant60.
He passed to his desk; he placed on the same his hat and gloves. “Bon jour, mes amies,” said he, in a tone that somehow made amends61 to some amongst us for many a sharp snap and savage62 snarl63: not a jocund64, good-fellow tone, still less an unctuous65 priestly, accent, but a voice he had belonging to himself—a voice used when his heart passed the words to his lips. That same heart did speak sometimes; though an irritable66, it was not an ossified67 organ: in its core was a place, tender beyond a man’s tenderness; a place that humbled68 him to little children, that bound him to girls and women to whom, rebel as he would, he could not disown his affinity69, nor quite deny that, on the whole, he was better with them than with his own sex.
“We all wish Monsieur a good day, and present to him our congratulations on the anniversary of his fête,” said Mademoiselle Zélie, constituting herself spokeswoman of the assembly; and advancing with no more twists of affectation than were with her indispensable to the achievement of motion, she laid her costly71 bouquet before him. He bowed over it.
The long train of offerings followed: all the pupils, sweeping72 past with the gliding73 step foreigners practise, left their tributes as they went by. Each girl so dexterously74 adjusted her separate gift, that when the last bouquet was laid on the desk, it formed the apex75 to a blooming pyramid—a pyramid blooming, spreading, and towering with such exuberance76 as, in the end, to eclipse the hero behind it. This ceremony over, seats were resumed, and we sat in dead silence, expectant of a speech.
I suppose five minutes might have elapsed, and the hush remained unbroken; ten—and there was no sound.
Many present began, doubtless, to wonder for what Monsieur waited; as well they might. Voiceless and viewless, stirless and wordless, he kept his station behind the pile of flowers.
At last there issued forth77 a voice, rather deep, as if it spoke70 out of a hollow:—
Mademoiselle Zélie looked round.
“You have all presented your bouquets79?” inquired she of the pupils.
Yes; they had all given their nosegays, from the eldest80 to the youngest, from the tallest to the most diminutive81. The senior mistress signified as much.
“Est-ce là tout?” was reiterated82 in an intonation83 which, deep before, had now descended84 some notes lower.
“Monsieur,” said Mademoiselle St. Pierre, rising, and this time speaking with her own sweet smile, “I have the honour to tell you that, with a single exception, every person in classe has offered her bouquet. For Meess Lucie, Monsieur will kindly85 make allowance; as a foreigner she probably did not know our customs, or did not appreciate their significance. Meess Lucie has regarded this ceremony as too frivolous86 to be honoured by her observance.”
“Famous!” I muttered between my teeth: “you are no bad speaker, Zélie, when you begin.”
The answer vouchsafed87 to Mademoiselle St Pierre from the estrade was given in the gesticulation of a hand from behind the pyramid. This manual action seemed to deprecate words, to enjoin88 silence.
A form, ere long, followed the hand. Monsieur emerged from his eclipse; and producing himself on the front of his estrade, and gazing straight and fixedly89 before him at a vast “mappe-monde” covering the wall opposite, he demanded a third time, and now in really tragic90 tones—
“Est-ce là tout?”
I might yet have made all right, by stepping forwards and slipping into his hand the ruddy little shell-box I at that moment held tight in my own. It was what I had fully purposed to do; but, first, the comic side of Monsieur’s behaviour had tempted91 me to delay, and now, Mademoiselle St. Pierre’s affected92 interference provoked contumacity. The reader not having hitherto had any cause to ascribe to Miss Snowe’s character the most distant pretensions93 to perfection, will be scarcely surprised to learn that she felt too perverse94 to defend herself from any imputation95 the Parisienne might choose to insinuate96 and besides, M. Paul was so tragic, and took my defection so seriously, he deserved to be vexed97. I kept, then, both my box and my countenance98, and sat insensate as any stone.
“It is well!” dropped at length from the lips of M. Paul; and having uttered this phrase, the shadow of some great paroxysm—the swell99 of wrath100, scorn, resolve—passed over his brow, rippled101 his lips, and lined his cheeks. Gulping102 down all further comment, he launched into his customary “discours.”
I can’t at all remember what this “discours” was; I did not listen to it: the gulping-down process, the abrupt103 dismissal of his mortification104 or vexation, had given me a sensation which half-counteracted the ludicrous effect of the reiterated “Est-ce là tout?”
Towards the close of the speech there came a pleasing diversion my attention was again amusingly arrested.
Owing to some little accidental movement—I think I dropped my thimble on the floor, and in stooping to regain105 it, hit the crown of my head against the sharp corner of my desk; which casualties (exasperating to me, by rights, if to anybody) naturally made a slight bustle106—M. Paul became irritated, and dismissing his forced equanimity107, and casting to the winds that dignity and self-control with which he never cared long to encumber19 himself, he broke forth into the strain best calculated to give him ease.
I don’t know how, in the progress of his “discours”, he had contrived to cross the Channel and land on British ground; but there I found him when I began to listen.
Casting a quick, cynical108 glance round the room—a glance which scathed110, or was intended to scathe109, as it crossed me—he fell with fury upon “les Anglaises.”
Never have I heard English women handled as M. Paul that morning handled them: he spared nothing—neither their minds, morals, manners, nor personal appearance. I specially111 remember his abuse of their tall stature112, their long necks, their thin arms, their slovenly113 dress, their pedantic114 education, their impious scepticism(!), their insufferable pride, their pretentious115 virtue116: over which he ground his teeth malignantly117, and looked as if, had he dared, he would have said singular things. Oh! he was spiteful, acrid118, savage; and, as a natural consequence119, detestably ugly.
“Little wicked venomous man!” thought I; “am I going to harass120 myself with fears of displeasing121 you, or hurting your feelings? No, indeed; you shall be indifferent to me, as the shabbiest bouquet in your pyramid.”
I grieve to say I could not quite carry out this resolution. For some time the abuse of England and the English found and left me stolid122: I bore it some fifteen minutes stoically enough; but this hissing123 cockatrice was determined124 to sting, and he said such things at last—fastening not only upon our women, but upon our greatest names and best men; sullying, the shield of Britannia, and dabbling125 the union jack126 in mud—that I was stung. With vicious relish127 he brought up the most spicy128 current continental129 historical falsehoods—than which nothing can be conceived more offensive. Zélie, and the whole class, became one grin of vindictive130 delight; for it is curious to discover how these clowns of Labassecour secretly hate England. At last, I struck a sharp stroke on my desk, opened my lips, and let loose this cry:—
“Vive l’Angleterre, l’Histoire et les Héros! A bas la France, la Fiction et les Faquins!”
The class was struck of a heap. I suppose they thought me mad. The Professor put up his handkerchief, and fiendishly smiled into its folds. Little monster of malice131! He now thought he had got the victory, since he had made me angry. In a second he became good-humoured. With great blandness132 he resumed the subject of his flowers; talked poetically133 and symbolically134 of their sweetness, perfume, purity, etcetera; made Frenchified comparisons between the “jeunes filles” and the sweet blossoms before him; paid Mademoiselle St. Pierre a very full-blown compliment on the superiority of her bouquet; and ended by announcing that the first really fine, mild, and balmy morning in spring, he intended to take the whole class out to breakfast in the country. “Such of the class, at least,” he added, with emphasis, “as he could count amongst the number of his friends.”
“Donc je n’y serai pas,” declared I, involuntarily.
“Soit!” was his response; and, gathering135 his flowers in his arms, he flashed out of classe; while I, consigning136 my work, scissors, thimble, and the neglected little box, to my desk, swept up-stairs. I don’t know whether he felt hot and angry, but I am free to confess that I did.
Yet with a strange evanescent anger, I had not sat an hour on the edge of my bed, picturing and repicturing his look, manner, words ere I smiled at the whole scene. A little pang137 of regret I underwent that the box had not been offered. I had meant to gratify him. Fate would not have it so.
In the course of the afternoon, remembering that desks in classe were by no means inviolate138 repositories, and thinking that it was as well to secure the box, on account of the initials in the lid, P. C. D. E., for Paul Carl (or Carlos) David Emanuel—such was his full name—these foreigners must always have a string of baptismals—I descended to the schoolroom.
It slept in holiday repose139. The day pupils were all gone home, the boarders were out walking, the teachers, except the surveillante of the week, were in town, visiting or shopping; the suite140 of divisions was vacant; so was the grande salle, with its huge solemn globe hanging in the midst, its pair of many-branched chandeliers, and its horizontal grand piano closed, silent, enjoying its mid-week Sabbath. I rather wondered to find the first classe door ajar; this room being usually locked when empty, and being then inaccessible141 to any save Madame Beck and myself, who possessed a duplicate key. I wondered still more, on approaching, to hear a vague movement as of life—a step, a chair stirred, a sound like the opening of a desk.
“It is only Madame Beck doing inspection142 duty,” was the conclusion following a moment’s reflection. The partially-opened door gave opportunity for assurance on this point. I looked. Behold! not the inspecting garb143 of Madame Beck—the shawl and the clean cap—but the coat, and the close-shorn, dark head of a man. This person occupied my chair; his olive hand held my desk open, his nose was lost to view amongst my papers. His back was towards me, but there could not be a moment’s question about identity. Already was the attire144 of ceremony discarded: the cherished and ink-stained paletôt was resumed; the perverse bonnet-grec lay on the floor, as if just dropped from the hand, culpably145 busy.
Now I knew, and I had long known, that that hand of M. Emanuel’s was on the most intimate terms with my desk; that it raised and lowered the lid, ransacked146 and arranged the contents, almost as familiarly as my own. The fact was not dubious147, nor did he wish it to be so: he left signs of each visit palpable and unmistakable; hitherto, however, I had never caught him in the act: watch as I would, I could not detect the hours and moments of his coming. I saw the brownie’s work in exercises left overnight full of faults, and found next morning carefully corrected: I profited by his capricious good-will in loans full welcome and refreshing148. Between a sallow dictionary and worn-out grammar would magically grow a fresh interesting new work, or a classic, mellow149 and sweet in its ripe age. Out of my work-basket would laughingly peep a romance, under it would lurk25 the pamphlet, the magazine, whence last evening’s reading had been extracted. Impossible to doubt the source whence these treasures flowed: had there been no other indication, one condemning150 and traitor151 peculiarity152, common to them all, settled the question—they smelt153 of cigars. This was very shocking, of course: I thought so at first, and used to open the window with some bustle, to air my desk, and with fastidious finger and thumb, to hold the peccant brochures forth to the purifying breeze. I was cured of that formality suddenly. Monsieur caught me at it one day, understood the inference, instantly relieved my hand of its burden, and, in another moment, would have thrust the same into the glowing stove. It chanced to be a book, on the perusal154 of which I was bent155; so for once I proved as decided156 and quicker than himself; recaptured the spoil, and—having saved this volume—never hazarded a second. With all this, I had never yet been able to arrest in his visits the freakish, friendly, cigar-loving phantom157.
But now at last I had him: there he was—the very brownie himself; and there, curling from his lips, was the pale blue breath of his Indian darling: he was smoking into my desk: it might well betray him. Provoked at this particular, and yet pleased to surprise him—pleased, that is, with the mixed feeling of the housewife who discovers at last her strange elfin ally busy in the dairy at the untimely churn—I softly stole forward, stood behind him, bent with precaution over his shoulder.
My heart smote158 me to see that—after this morning’s hostility159, after my seeming remissness160, after the puncture161 experienced by his feelings, and the ruffling162 undergone by his temper—he, all willing to forget and forgive, had brought me a couple of handsome volumes, of which the title and authorship were guarantees for interest. Now, as he sat bending above the desk, he was stirring up its contents; but with gentle and careful hand; disarranging indeed, but not harming. My heart smote me: as I bent over him, as he sat unconscious, doing me what good he could, and I daresay not feeling towards me unkindly, my morning’s anger quite melted: I did not dislike Professor Emanuel.
I think he heard me breathe. He turned suddenly: his temperament163 was nervous, yet he never started, and seldom changed colour: there was something hardy164 about him.
“I thought you were gone into town with the other teachers,” said he, taking a grim gripe of his self-possession, which half-escaped him—“It is as well you are not. Do you think I care for being caught? Not I. I often visit your desk.”
“Monsieur, I know it.”
“You find a brochure or tome now and then; but you don’t read them, because they have passed under this?”—touching his cigar.
“They have, and are no better for the process; but I read them.”
“Without pleasure?”
“Monsieur must not be contradicted.”
“Do you like them, or any of them?—are they acceptable?” “Monsieur has seen me reading them a hundred times, and knows I have not so many recreations as to undervalue those he provides.”
“I mean well; and, if you see that I mean well, and derive165 some little amusement from my efforts, why can we not be friends?”
“A fatalist would say—because we cannot.”
“This morning,” he continued, “I awoke in a bright mood, and came into classe happy; you spoiled my day.”
“No, Monsieur, only an hour or two of it, and that unintentionally.”
“Unintentionally! No. It was my fête-day; everybody wished me happiness but you. The little children of the third division gave each her knot of violets, lisped each her congratulation:—you—nothing. Not a bud, leaf, whisper—not a glance. Was this unintentional?”
“I meant no harm.”
“Then you really did not know our custom? You were unprepared? You would willingly have laid out a few centimes on a flower to give me pleasure, had you been aware that it was expected? Say so, and all is forgotten, and the pain soothed166.”
“I did know that it was expected: I was prepared; yet I laid out no centimes on flowers.”
“It is well—you do right to be honest. I should almost have hated you had you flattered and lied. Better declare at once ‘Paul Carl Emanuel—je te déteste, mon garçon!’—than smile an interest, look an affection, and be false and cold at heart. False and cold I don’t think you are; but you have made a great mistake in life, that I believe; I think your judgment167 is warped—that you are indifferent where you ought to be grateful—and perhaps devoted168 and infatuated, where you ought to be cool as your name. Don’t suppose that I wish you to have a passion for me, Mademoiselle; Dieu vous en garde! What do you start for? Because I said passion? Well, I say it again. There is such a word, and there is such a thing—though not within these walls, thank heaven! You are no child that one should not speak of what exists; but I only uttered the word—the thing, I assure you, is alien to my whole life and views. It died in the past—in the present it lies buried—its grave is deep-dug, well-heaped, and many winters old: in the future there will be a resurrection, as I believe to my souls consolation169; but all will then be changed—form and feeling: the mortal will have put on immortality—it will rise, not for earth, but heaven. All I say to you, Miss Lucy Snowe, is—that you ought to treat Professor Paul Emanuel decently.”
I could not, and did not contradict such a sentiment.
“Tell me,” he pursued, “when it is your fête-day, and I will not grudge170 a few centimes for a small offering.”
“You will be like me, Monsieur: this cost more than a few centimes, and I did not grudge its price.”
And taking from the open desk the little box, I put it into his hand.
“It lay ready in my lap this morning,” I continued; “and if Monsieur had been rather more patient, and Mademoiselle St. Pierre less interfering—perhaps I should say, too, if I had been calmer and wiser—I should have given it then.”
He looked at the box: I saw its clear warm tint171 and bright azure172 circlet pleased his eyes. I told him to open it.
“My initials!” said he, indicating the letters in the lid. “Who told you I was called Carl David?”
“A little bird, Monsieur.”
“Does it fly from me to you? Then one can tie a message under its wing when needful.”
He took out the chain—a trifle indeed as to value, but glossy173 with silk and sparkling with beads. He liked that too—admired it artlessly, like a child.
“For me?”
“Yes, for you.”
“This is the thing you were working at last night?”
“The same.”
“You finished it this morning?”
“I did.”
“You commenced it with the intention that it should be mine?”
“And offered on my fête-day?”
“Yes.”
“This purpose continued as you wove it?”
“Then it is not necessary that I should cut out any portion—saying, this part is not mine: it was plaited under the idea and for the adornment176 of another?”
“By no means. It is neither necessary, nor would it be just.”
“This object is all mine?”
“That object is yours entirely177.”
Straightway Monsieur opened his paletôt, arranged the guard splendidly across his chest, displaying as much and suppressing as little as he could: for he had no notion of concealing178 what he admired and thought decorative179. As to the box, he pronounced it a superb bonbonnière—he was fond of bonbons180, by the way—and as he always liked to share with others what pleased himself, he would give his “dragées” as freely as he lent his books. Amongst the kind brownie’s gifts left in my desk, I forgot to enumerate181 many a paper of chocolate comfits. His tastes in these matters were southern, and what we think infantine. His simple lunch consisted frequently of a “brioche,” which, as often as not, he shared with some child of the third division.
“A présent c’est un fait accompli,” said he, re-adjusting his paletôt; and we had no more words on the subject. After looking over the two volumes he had brought, and cutting away some pages with his penknife (he generally pruned182 before lending his books, especially if they were novels, and sometimes I was a little provoked at the severity of his censorship, the retrenchments interrupting the narrative), he rose, politely touched his bonnet-grec, and bade me a civil good-day.
“We are friends now,” thought I, “till the next time we quarrel.”
We might have quarrelled again that very same evening, but, wonderful to relate, failed, for once, to make the most of our opportunity.
Contrary to all expectation, M. Paul arrived at the study-hour. Having seen so much of him in the morning, we did not look for his presence at night. No sooner were we seated at lessons, however, than he appeared. I own I was glad to see him, so glad that I could not help greeting his arrival with a smile; and when he made his way to the same seat about which so serious a misunderstanding had formerly183 arisen, I took good care not to make too much room for him; he watched with a jealous, side-long look, to see whether I shrank away, but I did not, though the bench was a little crowded. I was losing the early impulse to recoil184 from M. Paul. Habituated to the paletôt and bonnet-grec, the neighbourhood of these garments seemed no longer uncomfortable or very formidable. I did not now sit restrained, “asphyxiée” (as he used to say) at his side; I stirred when I wished to stir, coughed when it was necessary, even yawned when I was tired—did, in short, what I pleased, blindly reliant upon his indulgence. Nor did my temerity185, this evening at least, meet the punishment it perhaps merited; he was both indulgent and good-natured; not a cross glance shot from his eyes, not a hasty word left his lips. Till the very close of the evening, he did not indeed address me at all, yet I felt, somehow, that he was full of friendliness186. Silence is of different kinds, and breathes different meanings; no words could inspire a pleasanter content than did M. Paul’s worldless presence. When the tray came in, and the bustle of supper commenced, he just said, as he retired187, that he wished me a good night and sweet dreams; and a good night and sweet dreams I had.
1 glimmer [ˈglɪmə(r)] 第8级 | |
vi.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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2 beads [bi:dz] 第7级 | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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3 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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4 ornament [ˈɔ:nəmənt] 第7级 | |
vt.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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5 possessed [pəˈzest] 第12级 | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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6 subscribed [səbˈskraibd] 第7级 | |
v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 );签署,题词;订阅;同意 | |
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7 kinsman [ˈkɪnzmən] 第11级 | |
n.男亲属 | |
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8 contrived [kənˈtraɪvd] 第12级 | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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9 distinguished [dɪˈstɪŋgwɪʃt] 第8级 | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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10 Vogue [vəʊg] 第9级 | |
n.时髦,时尚;adj.流行的 | |
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11 dingy [ˈdɪndʒi] 第10级 | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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12 lighter [ˈlaɪtə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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13 hazardous [ˈhæzədəs] 第9级 | |
adj.(有)危险的,冒险的;碰运气的 | |
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14 nay [neɪ] 第12级 | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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15 wont [wəʊnt] 第11级 | |
adj.习惯于;vi.习惯;vt.使习惯于;n.习惯 | |
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16 seclusion [sɪˈklu:ʒn] 第11级 | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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17 relaxation [ˌri:lækˈseɪʃn] 第7级 | |
n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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18 encumbered [enˈkʌmbəd] 第9级 | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 encumber [ɪnˈkʌmbə(r)] 第9级 | |
vt.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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20 rumoured [ˈru:məd] 第7级 | |
adj.谣传的;传说的;风 | |
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21 perseveringly [pɜ:sɪ'vɪərɪŋlɪ] 第7级 | |
坚定地 | |
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22 writhe [raɪð] 第10级 | |
vt.挣扎,痛苦地扭曲;vi.扭曲,翻腾,受苦;n.翻腾,苦恼 | |
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23 appallingly [ə'pɔ:lɪŋlɪ] 第8级 | |
毛骨悚然地 | |
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24 penetration [ˌpenɪˈtreɪʃn] 第8级 | |
n.穿透,穿人,渗透 | |
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25 lurk [lɜ:k] 第8级 | |
n.潜伏,潜行;v.潜藏,潜伏,埋伏 | |
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26 lurking [] 第8级 | |
潜在 | |
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27 perverted [pəˈvɜ:tɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 );腐蚀;败坏;使堕落 | |
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28 spine [spaɪn] 第7级 | |
n.脊柱,脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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29 calamity [kəˈlæməti] 第7级 | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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30 amity [ˈæməti] 第11级 | |
n.友好关系 | |
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31 candidly ['kændɪdlɪ] 第9级 | |
adv.坦率地,直率而诚恳地 | |
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32 exultantly [ɪɡ'zʌltəntlɪ] 第11级 | |
adv.狂欢地,欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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33 wretches [retʃiz] 第12级 | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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34 passionately ['pæʃənitli] 第8级 | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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35 spawn [spɔ:n] 第9级 | |
n.卵,产物,后代,结果;vt.产卵,种菌丝于,产生,造成;vi.产卵,大量生产 | |
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36 horrid [ˈhɒrɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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37 neatly [ni:tlɪ] 第8级 | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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38 bouquet [buˈkeɪ] 第8级 | |
n.花束,酒香 | |
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39 fragrance [ˈfreɪgrəns] 第8级 | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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40 perishable [ˈperɪʃəbl] 第11级 | |
adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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41 likeness [ˈlaɪknəs] 第8级 | |
n.相像,相似(之处) | |
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42 remiss [rɪˈmɪs] 第11级 | |
adj.不小心的,马虎,玩忽职守的 | |
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43 solitary [ˈsɒlətri] 第7级 | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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44 symbolic [sɪmˈbɒlɪk] 第8级 | |
adj.象征性的,符号的,象征主义的 | |
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45 ingenuity [ˌɪndʒəˈnju:əti] 第7级 | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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46 literally [ˈlɪtərəli] 第7级 | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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47 ascertained [æsə'teɪnd] 第7级 | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48 hush [hʌʃ] 第8级 | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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49 mere [mɪə(r)] 第7级 | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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50 vehemence ['vi:əməns] 第11级 | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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51 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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52 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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53 sinister [ˈsɪnɪstə(r)] 第8级 | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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54 civilized ['sivilaizd] 第7级 | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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55 behold [bɪˈhəʊld] 第10级 | |
vt. 看;注视;把...视为 vi. 看 | |
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56 defiant [dɪˈfaɪənt] 第10级 | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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57 Christian [ˈkrɪstʃən] 第7级 | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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58 complexion [kəmˈplekʃn] 第8级 | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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59 perfectly [ˈpɜ:fɪktli] 第8级 | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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60 insignificant [ˌɪnsɪgˈnɪfɪkənt] 第9级 | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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61 amends [ə'mendz] 第7级 | |
n. 赔偿 | |
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62 savage [ˈsævɪdʒ] 第7级 | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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63 snarl [snɑ:l] 第9级 | |
vi.吼叫,怒骂,纠缠,混乱;vt. 搞乱;咆哮着说;使…缠结;n.混乱,缠结,咆哮 | |
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64 jocund [ˈdʒɒkənd] 第10级 | |
adj.快乐的,高兴的 | |
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65 unctuous [ˈʌŋktjuəs] 第10级 | |
adj.油腔滑调的,大胆的 | |
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66 irritable [ˈɪrɪtəbl] 第9级 | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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67 ossified ['ɒsɪfaɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.已骨化[硬化]的v.骨化,硬化,使僵化( ossify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 humbled [ˈhʌmbld] 第7级 | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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69 affinity [əˈfɪnəti] 第8级 | |
n.亲和力,密切关系 | |
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70 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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71 costly [ˈkɒstli] 第7级 | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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72 sweeping [ˈswi:pɪŋ] 第8级 | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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73 gliding [ˈglaɪdɪŋ] 第7级 | |
v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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74 dexterously ['dekstrəslɪ] 第10级 | |
adv.巧妙地,敏捷地 | |
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75 apex [ˈeɪpeks] 第10级 | |
n.顶点,最高点 | |
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76 exuberance [ɪɡ'zju:bərəns] 第9级 | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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77 forth [fɔ:θ] 第7级 | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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78 tout [taʊt] 第10级 | |
vt. 兜售;招徕;刺探赛马情报 vi. 兜售;招徕顾客;拉选票 n. 侦查者;兜售者 | |
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79 bouquets [ˈbukeiz] 第8级 | |
n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 );(酒的)芳香 | |
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80 eldest [ˈeldɪst] 第8级 | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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81 diminutive [dɪˈmɪnjətɪv] 第11级 | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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82 reiterated [ri:'ɪtəreɪt] 第9级 | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83 intonation [ˌɪntəˈneɪʃn] 第9级 | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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84 descended [di'sendid] 第7级 | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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85 kindly [ˈkaɪndli] 第8级 | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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86 frivolous [ˈfrɪvələs] 第9级 | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的;无聊的 | |
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87 vouchsafed [vaʊtʃˈseɪft] 第11级 | |
v.给予,赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 );允诺 | |
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88 enjoin [ɪnˈdʒɔɪn] 第10级 | |
vt.命令;吩咐;禁止 | |
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89 fixedly [ˈfɪksɪdlɪ] 第8级 | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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90 tragic [ˈtrædʒɪk] 第7级 | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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91 tempted ['temptid] 第7级 | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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92 affected [əˈfektɪd] 第9级 | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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93 pretensions [prɪˈtenʃənz] 第10级 | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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94 perverse [pəˈvɜ:s] 第9级 | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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95 imputation [ˌɪmpjʊ'teɪʃn] 第12级 | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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96 insinuate [ɪnˈsɪnjueɪt] 第10级 | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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97 vexed [vekst] 第8级 | |
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 | |
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98 countenance [ˈkaʊntənəns] 第9级 | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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99 swell [swel] 第7级 | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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100 wrath [rɒθ] 第7级 | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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101 rippled [] 第7级 | |
使泛起涟漪(ripple的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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102 gulping [ɡʌlpɪŋ] 第8级 | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的现在分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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103 abrupt [əˈbrʌpt] 第7级 | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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104 mortification ['mɔ:tifi'keiʃən] 第11级 | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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105 regain [rɪˈgeɪn] 第8级 | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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106 bustle [ˈbʌsl] 第9级 | |
vi.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;vt. 使忙碌;催促;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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107 equanimity [ˌekwəˈnɪməti] 第11级 | |
n.沉着,镇定 | |
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108 cynical [ˈsɪnɪkl] 第7级 | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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109 scathe [skeɪð] 第12级 | |
vt.损伤;n.伤害 | |
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110 scathed [skeɪðd] 第12级 | |
v.伤害,损害(尤指使之枯萎)( scathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 specially [ˈspeʃəli] 第7级 | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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112 stature [ˈstætʃə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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113 slovenly [ˈslʌvnli] 第11级 | |
adj.懒散的,不整齐的,邋遢的 | |
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114 pedantic [pɪˈdæntɪk] 第12级 | |
adj.卖弄学问的;迂腐的 | |
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115 pretentious [prɪˈtenʃəs] 第9级 | |
adj.自命不凡的,自负的,炫耀的 | |
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116 virtue [ˈvɜ:tʃu:] 第7级 | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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117 malignantly [məlɪɡ'nəntlɪ] 第7级 | |
怀恶意地; 恶毒地; 有害地; 恶性地 | |
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118 acrid [ˈækrɪd] 第10级 | |
adj.辛辣的,尖刻的,刻薄的 | |
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119 consequence [ˈkɒnsɪkwəns] 第8级 | |
n.结果,后果;推理,推断;重要性 | |
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120 harass [ˈhærəs] 第9级 | |
vt.使烦恼,折磨,骚扰 | |
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121 displeasing [dɪs'pli:zɪŋ] 第8级 | |
不愉快的,令人发火的 | |
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122 stolid [ˈstɒlɪd] 第9级 | |
adj.无动于衷的,感情麻木的 | |
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123 hissing [hɪsɪŋ] 第10级 | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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124 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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125 dabbling ['dæblɪŋ] 第8级 | |
v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 );涉足;浅尝;少量投资 | |
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126 jack [dʒæk] 第7级 | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;vt.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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127 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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128 spicy [ˈspaɪsi] 第7级 | |
adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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129 continental [ˌkɒntɪˈnentl] 第8级 | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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130 vindictive [vɪnˈdɪktɪv] 第10级 | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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131 malice [ˈmælɪs] 第9级 | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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132 blandness ['blændnəs] 第8级 | |
n.温柔,爽快 | |
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133 poetically [pəʊ'etɪklɪ] 第10级 | |
adv.有诗意地,用韵文 | |
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134 symbolically [sim'bɔlik!i] 第8级 | |
ad.象征地,象征性地 | |
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135 gathering [ˈgæðərɪŋ] 第8级 | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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136 consigning [kənˈsaɪnɪŋ] 第8级 | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的现在分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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137 pang [pæŋ] 第9级 | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷;vt.使剧痛,折磨 | |
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138 inviolate [ɪnˈvaɪələt] 第12级 | |
adj.未亵渎的,未受侵犯的 | |
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139 repose [rɪˈpəʊz] 第11级 | |
vt.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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140 suite [swi:t] 第7级 | |
n.一套(家具);套房;随从人员 | |
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141 inaccessible [ˌɪnækˈsesəbl] 第8级 | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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142 inspection [ɪnˈspekʃn] 第8级 | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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143 garb [gɑ:b] 第11级 | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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144 attire [əˈtaɪə(r)] 第10级 | |
vt.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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146 ransacked [ˈrænˌsækt] 第11级 | |
v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 );抢劫,掠夺 | |
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147 dubious [ˈdju:biəs] 第7级 | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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148 refreshing [rɪˈfreʃɪŋ] 第8级 | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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149 mellow [ˈmeləʊ] 第10级 | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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150 condemning [kənˈdemɪŋ] 第7级 | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的现在分词 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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151 traitor [ˈtreɪtə(r)] 第7级 | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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152 peculiarity [pɪˌkju:liˈærəti] 第9级 | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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153 smelt [smelt] 第12级 | |
vt. 熔炼,冶炼;精炼 n. 香鱼;胡瓜鱼 vi. 熔炼,精炼 | |
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154 perusal [pə'ru:zl] 第12级 | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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155 bent [bent] 第7级 | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的;v.(使)弯曲,屈身(bend的过去式和过去分词) | |
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156 decided [dɪˈsaɪdɪd] 第7级 | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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157 phantom [ˈfæntəm] 第10级 | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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158 smote [sməʊt] 第11级 | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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159 hostility [hɒˈstɪləti] 第7级 | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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160 remissness [rɪ'mɪsnəs] 第11级 | |
n.玩忽职守;马虎;怠慢;不小心 | |
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161 puncture [ˈpʌŋktʃə(r)] 第8级 | |
n.刺孔,穿孔;v.刺穿,刺破 | |
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162 ruffling ['rʌflɪŋ] 第9级 | |
弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 ); 弄乱; 激怒; 扰乱 | |
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163 temperament [ˈtemprəmənt] 第7级 | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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164 hardy [ˈhɑ:di] 第9级 | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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165 derive [dɪˈraɪv] 第7级 | |
vt.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自;vi.起源 | |
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166 soothed [su:ðd] 第7级 | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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167 judgment ['dʒʌdʒmənt] 第7级 | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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168 devoted [dɪˈvəʊtɪd] 第8级 | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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169 consolation [ˌkɒnsəˈleɪʃn] 第10级 | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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170 grudge [grʌdʒ] 第8级 | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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171 tint [tɪnt] 第9级 | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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172 azure [ˈæʒə(r)] 第10级 | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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173 glossy [ˈglɒsi] 第9级 | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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174 undoubtedly [ʌn'daʊtɪdlɪ] 第7级 | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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175 assented [əˈsentid] 第9级 | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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176 adornment [ə'dɔ:nmənt] 第8级 | |
n.装饰;装饰品 | |
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177 entirely [ɪnˈtaɪəli] 第9级 | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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178 concealing [kənˈsi:lɪŋ] 第7级 | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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179 decorative [ˈdekərətɪv] 第9级 | |
adj.装饰的,可作装饰的 | |
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180 bonbons [ˈbɔnbɔnz] 第12级 | |
n.小糖果( bonbon的名词复数 ) | |
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181 enumerate [ɪˈnju:məreɪt] 第9级 | |
vt.列举,计算,枚举,数 | |
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182 pruned [pru:nd] 第10级 | |
v.修剪(树木等)( prune的过去式和过去分词 );精简某事物,除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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183 formerly [ˈfɔ:məli] 第8级 | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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184 recoil [rɪˈkɔɪl] 第8级 | |
vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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185 temerity [təˈmerəti] 第11级 | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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186 friendliness ['frendlɪnəs] 第7级 | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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