章节正文
now it was like a face that was always smiling. And though the year was
so old it seemed to be quite young. No tired look of autumn, no warning
of winter; only the freshness and vigour of spring. "I am going
to see my child, and I shall be happy yet," thought Israel.
The dust of life seemed to hang on him no longer.
He came to a little village called Dar el Fakeer--"the house
of the poor one." The place did not even justify its name,
for it was a cinereous wreck. Not a living creature was
to be seen anywhere. The village had been sacked by the Sultan's army,
and its inhabitants had fled to the mountains. Israel paused a moment,
and looked into one of the ruined houses. He knew it must have been
the house of a Jew, for he could recognise it by its smell.
The floor was strewn over with rubbish--cans, kettles, water-bottles,
a woman's handkerchief, and a dainty red slipper. On the ragged grass
in the court within there were some little stones built up
into tiny squares, and bits of stick stuck into the ground in lines.
A young girl had lived in that house; children had played there;
the gaunt and silent place breathed of their spirits still.
"Poor souls!" thought Israel, but the troubles of others could not really
touch him. At that very moment his heart was joyful.
The day was warm, but not too hot for walking. Israel did not feel weary,
and so he went on without resting. He reckoned how far it was from Shawan
to his home near Semsa. It was nearly seventy miles.
That distance would take two days and two nights to cover on foot.
He had left the prison on Wednesday night, and it would be Friday
at sunset before he reached Naomi. It was now Thursday morning.
He must lose no time. "You see, the poor little thing will be waiting,
waiting, waiting," he told himself. "These sweet creatures are
all so impatient; yes, yes, so foolishlyimpatient. God bless them!"
He met people on the road, and hailed them with good cheer.
They answered his greetings sadly, and a few of them told him
of their trouble. Something they said of Ben Aboo, that he demanded
a hundred dollars which they could not pay, and something of the Sultan,
that he had ransacked their houses and then gone on with his great army,
his twenty wives, and fifteen tents to keep the feast at Tetuan.
But Israel hardly knew what they told him, though he tried to lend an ear
to their story. He was thinking out a wonderful scheme for the future.
With Naomi he was to leave Morocco. They were to sail for England.
Free, mighty, noble, beautiful England! Ah, how it shone in his memory,
the little white island of the sea! His mother's home! England!
Yes, he would go back to it. True, he had no friends there now;
but what matter of that? Ah, yes, he was old, and the roll-call
of his kindred showed him pitiful gaps. His mother! Ruth!
But he had Naomi still. Naomi! He spoke her name aloud, softly,
tenderly, caressingly, as if his wrinkled hand were on her hair.
Then recovering himself, he laughed to think that he could be so childish.
Near to sunset he came upon a dooar, a tent village, in a waste place.
It was pitched in a wide circle, and opened inwards. The animals were
picketed in the centre, where children and dogs were playing,
and the voices of men and women came from inside the tents.
Fires were burning under kettles swung from triangles, and sight
of this reminded Israel that he had not eaten since the previous day.
"I must have food," he thought, "though I do not feel hungry."
So he stopped, and the wandering Arabs hailed him. "Markababikum!"
they cried from where they sat within.
"You are very welcome! Welcome to our lofty land!" Their land was
the world.
Israel went into one of the tents, and sat down to a dish of boiled beans
and black bread. It was very sweet. A man was eating beside him;
a woman, half dressed, and with face uncovered, was suckling a child
while she worked a loom which was fastened to the tent's two upright poles.
Some fowls were nestling for the night under the tent wing,
and a young girl was by turns churning milk by tossing it in a goat's-skin
and baking cakes on a fire of dried thistles crackling
in a hole over three stones. All were laughing together,
and Israel laughed along with them.
"On a long journey, brother?" said the man,
"No, oh no, no," said Israel. "Only to Semsa, no farther."
"Well, you must sleep here to-night," said the Arab.
"Ah, I cannot do that," said Israel.
"No?"
"You see, I am going back to my little daughter. She is alone,
poor child, and has not seen her old father for months.
Really it is wrong of a man to stay away such a time.
These tender creatures are so impatient, you know. And then they imagine
such things, do they not? Well, I suppose we must humour them--
that's what I always say."
"But look, the night is coming, and a dark one, too!" said the woman.
"Oh, nothing, that's nothing, sister," said Israel." Well, peace!
Farewell all, farewell!"
Waving his hand he went away laughing, but before he had gone far
the darkness overtook him. It came down from the mountains
like a dense black cloud. Not a star in the sky, not a gleam on the land,
darkness ahead of him, darkness behind, one thick pall hanging in the air
on every side. Still for a while he toiled along. Every step was
an effort. The ground seemed to sink under him. It was like walking
on mattresses. He began to feel tired and nervous and spiritless.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and at length, when the sound
of a river came from somewhere near, though on which side of him
he could not tell, he had no choice but to stop. "After all,
it is better," he thought. "Strange, how things happen for the best!
I must sleep to-night, for to-morrow night I will get no sleep at all.
No, for I shall have so many things to say and to ask and to hear."
Consoling him thus, he tried to sleep where he was, and as slumber crept
upon him in the darkness, with five-and-twenty heavy miles
of dense night between him and his home, he crooned and talked to himself
in a childish way that he might comfort his aching heart.
"Yes, I must sleep--sleep--to-morrow _she_ must sleep and I must watch
by her--watch by her as I used to do--used to do--how soft and
beautiful--how beautiful--sleeping--sleep--Ah!"
When he awoke the sun had risen. The sea lay before him in the distance,
the blue Mediterranean stretching out to the blue sky.
He was on the borders of the country of the Beni-Hassan, and,
after wading the river, which he had heard in the night, he began again
on his journey. It was now Friday morning, and by sunset of that day
he would be back at his home near Semsa. Already he could see Tetuan
far away, girt by its white walls, and perched on the hillside.
Yonder it lay in the sunlight, with the snow-tipped heights above it,
a white blaze surrounded by orange orchards.
But how dizzy he was! How the world went round! How the earth trembled!
Was the glare of the sun too fierce that morning, or had his eyes
grown dim? Going blind? Well, even so, he would not repine,
for Naomi could see now. She would see for him also. How sweet
to see through Naomi's eyes! Naomi was young and joyous,
and bright and blithe. All the world was new to her, and strange
and beautiful. It would be a second and far sweeter youth.
Naomi--Naomi--always Naomi! He had thought of her hitherto
as she had appeared to him during the few days of their happy lives
at Semsa. But now he began to wonder if time had not changed her
since then. Two months and a half--it seemed so long! He had visions
of Naomi grown from a sweet girl to a lovely woman. A great soul
beamed out of her big, slow eyes. He himself approached her meekly,
humbly, reverently. Nevertheless, he was her father still--her old,
tired, dim-eyed father; and she led him here and there,
and described things to him. He could see and hear it all.
First Naomi's voice: "A bow in the sky--red, blue, crimson--oh!"
Then his own deeper one, out of its lightsome darkness:
"A rainbow, child!" Ah! the dreams were beautiful!
He tried to recall the very tones of Naomi's voice--the voice
of his poor dead Ruth--and to remember the song that she used
to sing--the song she sang in the patio on that great night
of the moonlight, when he was returning home from the Bab Ramooz,
and heard her singing from the street--
Within my heart a voice
Bids earth and heaven rejoice.
He sang the song to himself as he toiled along. With a little lisp
he sang it, so that he might cheat himself and think that the voice
he was making was Naomi's voice and not his own.
Towards midday Israel came under the walls of Tetuan,
between the Sultan's gardens and the flour-mills that are turned by
the escaping sewers, and there he lit upon a company of Jews.
They were a deputation that had come out from the town to meet him,
and at first sight of his face they were shocked. He had left Tetuan
a stricken man, it was true, but strong and firm, fifty years
of age and resolute. Six months had passed, and he was coming back
as a weak, broken, shattered, doddering, infirm old man of eighty.
Their hearts fell low before they spoke, but after a pause
one of them--Israel knew him: a grey-bearded man, his name was
Solomon Laredo--stepped up and said, "Israel ben Oliel,
our poor Tetuan is in trouble. It needs you. Alas! we dealt ill
with you, but God has punished us, and we are brothers now.
Come back to us, we pray of you; for we have heard of a great thing
that is coming to pass. Listen!"
Something they told him then of Mohammed of Mequinez, follower
of Seedna Aissa (Jesus of Nazareth), but a good man nevertheless,
and also something they said of the Spaniards and of one Marshal O'Donnel,
who was to bombard Marteel. But Israel heard very little.
"I think my hearing must be failing me," he said; and then
he laughed lightly, as if that did not greatly matter. "And to tell you
the truth, though I pity my poor brethren, I can no longer help them.
God will raise up a better minister."
"Never!" cried the Jews in many voices.
"Anyhow," said Israel, "my life among you is ended. I set no store
by place and power. What does the English poet say, 'In the great hand
of God I stand.' Shakespeare--oh, a mighty creature--one who knew
where the soul of a man lay. But I forget, you've not lived in England.
Do you know I am to go there again, and to take my little daughter?
You remember her--Naomi--a charming girl. She can see now, and hear,
and speak also! Yes for God has lifted His hand away from her,
and I am going to be very happy. Well, I must leave you, brothers.
The little one will be waiting. I must not keep her too long, must I?
Peace, peace!"
Seeing his profound faith, no one dared to tell him the truth that was
on every tongue. A wave of compassion swept over all.
The deputation stood and watched him until he had sunk under the hill.
And now, being come thus near to home, Israel's impatience robbed him
of some of his happy confidence and filled him with fears.
He began to think of all the evil chances that might have befallen Naomi.
His absence had been so long, and so many things might have happened
since he went away. In this mood he tried to run. It was
a poor uncertain shamble. At nearly every step the body lurched
for poise and balance.
At last he came to a point of the path from which, as he knew,
the little rush-covered house ought to be seen. "It's yonder,"
he cried, and pointed it out to himself with uplifted finger.
The sun was sinking, and its strong rays were in his face. "She's there,
I see her!" he shouted. A few minutes later he was near the door.
"No, my eyes deceived me," he said in a damp voice. "Or perhaps
she has gone in--perhaps she's hiding--the sweet rogue!"
The door was half open; he pushed it and entered the house. "Naomi!"
he called in a voice like a caress. "Naomi!" His voice trembled now.
"Come to me, come, dearest; come quickly, quickly, I cannot see!"
He listened. There was not a sound, not a movement. "Naomi!"
The name was like a gurgle in his throat. There was a pause,
and then he said very feebly and simply, "She's not here."
He looked around, and picked up something from the floor.
It was a slipper covered with mould. As he gazed upon it a change came
over his face. Dead? Was Naomi dead? He had thought
of death before--for himself, for others, never for Naomi.
At a stride the awful thing was on him. Death! Oh, oh!
With a helpless, broken, blind look he was standing in the middle
so old it seemed to be quite young. No tired look of autumn, no warning
of winter; only the freshness and vigour of spring. "I am going
to see my child, and I shall be happy yet," thought Israel.
The dust of life seemed to hang on him no longer.
He came to a little village called Dar el Fakeer--"the house
of the poor one." The place did not even justify its name,
for it was a cinereous wreck. Not a living creature was
to be seen anywhere. The village had been sacked by the Sultan's army,
and its inhabitants had fled to the mountains. Israel paused a moment,
and looked into one of the ruined houses. He knew it must have been
the house of a Jew, for he could recognise it by its smell.
The floor was strewn over with rubbish--cans, kettles, water-bottles,
a woman's handkerchief, and a dainty red slipper. On the ragged grass
in the court within there were some little stones built up
into tiny squares, and bits of stick stuck into the ground in lines.
A young girl had lived in that house; children had played there;
the gaunt and silent place breathed of their spirits still.
"Poor souls!" thought Israel, but the troubles of others could not really
touch him. At that very moment his heart was joyful.
The day was warm, but not too hot for walking. Israel did not feel weary,
and so he went on without resting. He reckoned how far it was from Shawan
to his home near Semsa. It was nearly seventy miles.
That distance would take two days and two nights to cover on foot.
He had left the prison on Wednesday night, and it would be Friday
at sunset before he reached Naomi. It was now Thursday morning.
He must lose no time. "You see, the poor little thing will be waiting,
waiting, waiting," he told himself. "These sweet creatures are
all so impatient; yes, yes, so foolishlyimpatient. God bless them!"
He met people on the road, and hailed them with good cheer.
They answered his greetings sadly, and a few of them told him
of their trouble. Something they said of Ben Aboo, that he demanded
a hundred dollars which they could not pay, and something of the Sultan,
that he had ransacked their houses and then gone on with his great army,
his twenty wives, and fifteen tents to keep the feast at Tetuan.
But Israel hardly knew what they told him, though he tried to lend an ear
to their story. He was thinking out a wonderful scheme for the future.
With Naomi he was to leave Morocco. They were to sail for England.
Free, mighty, noble, beautiful England! Ah, how it shone in his memory,
the little white island of the sea! His mother's home! England!
Yes, he would go back to it. True, he had no friends there now;
but what matter of that? Ah, yes, he was old, and the roll-call
of his kindred showed him pitiful gaps. His mother! Ruth!
But he had Naomi still. Naomi! He spoke her name aloud, softly,
tenderly, caressingly, as if his wrinkled hand were on her hair.
Then recovering himself, he laughed to think that he could be so childish.
Near to sunset he came upon a dooar, a tent village, in a waste place.
It was pitched in a wide circle, and opened inwards. The animals were
picketed in the centre, where children and dogs were playing,
and the voices of men and women came from inside the tents.
Fires were burning under kettles swung from triangles, and sight
of this reminded Israel that he had not eaten since the previous day.
"I must have food," he thought, "though I do not feel hungry."
So he stopped, and the wandering Arabs hailed him. "Markababikum!"
they cried from where they sat within.
"You are very welcome! Welcome to our lofty land!" Their land was
the world.
Israel went into one of the tents, and sat down to a dish of boiled beans
and black bread. It was very sweet. A man was eating beside him;
a woman, half dressed, and with face uncovered, was suckling a child
while she worked a loom which was fastened to the tent's two upright poles.
Some fowls were nestling for the night under the tent wing,
and a young girl was by turns churning milk by tossing it in a goat's-skin
and baking cakes on a fire of dried thistles crackling
in a hole over three stones. All were laughing together,
and Israel laughed along with them.
"On a long journey, brother?" said the man,
"No, oh no, no," said Israel. "Only to Semsa, no farther."
"Well, you must sleep here to-night," said the Arab.
"Ah, I cannot do that," said Israel.
"No?"
"You see, I am going back to my little daughter. She is alone,
poor child, and has not seen her old father for months.
Really it is wrong of a man to stay away such a time.
These tender creatures are so impatient, you know. And then they imagine
such things, do they not? Well, I suppose we must humour them--
that's what I always say."
"But look, the night is coming, and a dark one, too!" said the woman.
"Oh, nothing, that's nothing, sister," said Israel." Well, peace!
Farewell all, farewell!"
Waving his hand he went away laughing, but before he had gone far
the darkness overtook him. It came down from the mountains
like a dense black cloud. Not a star in the sky, not a gleam on the land,
darkness ahead of him, darkness behind, one thick pall hanging in the air
on every side. Still for a while he toiled along. Every step was
an effort. The ground seemed to sink under him. It was like walking
on mattresses. He began to feel tired and nervous and spiritless.
A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and at length, when the sound
of a river came from somewhere near, though on which side of him
he could not tell, he had no choice but to stop. "After all,
it is better," he thought. "Strange, how things happen for the best!
I must sleep to-night, for to-morrow night I will get no sleep at all.
No, for I shall have so many things to say and to ask and to hear."
Consoling him thus, he tried to sleep where he was, and as slumber crept
upon him in the darkness, with five-and-twenty heavy miles
of dense night between him and his home, he crooned and talked to himself
in a childish way that he might comfort his aching heart.
"Yes, I must sleep--sleep--to-morrow _she_ must sleep and I must watch
by her--watch by her as I used to do--used to do--how soft and
beautiful--how beautiful--sleeping--sleep--Ah!"
When he awoke the sun had risen. The sea lay before him in the distance,
the blue Mediterranean stretching out to the blue sky.
He was on the borders of the country of the Beni-Hassan, and,
after wading the river, which he had heard in the night, he began again
on his journey. It was now Friday morning, and by sunset of that day
he would be back at his home near Semsa. Already he could see Tetuan
far away, girt by its white walls, and perched on the hillside.
Yonder it lay in the sunlight, with the snow-tipped heights above it,
a white blaze surrounded by orange orchards.
But how dizzy he was! How the world went round! How the earth trembled!
Was the glare of the sun too fierce that morning, or had his eyes
grown dim? Going blind? Well, even so, he would not repine,
for Naomi could see now. She would see for him also. How sweet
to see through Naomi's eyes! Naomi was young and joyous,
and bright and blithe. All the world was new to her, and strange
and beautiful. It would be a second and far sweeter youth.
Naomi--Naomi--always Naomi! He had thought of her hitherto
as she had appeared to him during the few days of their happy lives
at Semsa. But now he began to wonder if time had not changed her
since then. Two months and a half--it seemed so long! He had visions
of Naomi grown from a sweet girl to a lovely woman. A great soul
beamed out of her big, slow eyes. He himself approached her meekly,
humbly, reverently. Nevertheless, he was her father still--her old,
tired, dim-eyed father; and she led him here and there,
and described things to him. He could see and hear it all.
First Naomi's voice: "A bow in the sky--red, blue, crimson--oh!"
Then his own deeper one, out of its lightsome darkness:
"A rainbow, child!" Ah! the dreams were beautiful!
He tried to recall the very tones of Naomi's voice--the voice
of his poor dead Ruth--and to remember the song that she used
to sing--the song she sang in the patio on that great night
of the moonlight, when he was returning home from the Bab Ramooz,
and heard her singing from the street--
Within my heart a voice
Bids earth and heaven rejoice.
He sang the song to himself as he toiled along. With a little lisp
he sang it, so that he might cheat himself and think that the voice
he was making was Naomi's voice and not his own.
Towards midday Israel came under the walls of Tetuan,
between the Sultan's gardens and the flour-mills that are turned by
the escaping sewers, and there he lit upon a company of Jews.
They were a deputation that had come out from the town to meet him,
and at first sight of his face they were shocked. He had left Tetuan
a stricken man, it was true, but strong and firm, fifty years
of age and resolute. Six months had passed, and he was coming back
as a weak, broken, shattered, doddering, infirm old man of eighty.
Their hearts fell low before they spoke, but after a pause
one of them--Israel knew him: a grey-bearded man, his name was
Solomon Laredo--stepped up and said, "Israel ben Oliel,
our poor Tetuan is in trouble. It needs you. Alas! we dealt ill
with you, but God has punished us, and we are brothers now.
Come back to us, we pray of you; for we have heard of a great thing
that is coming to pass. Listen!"
Something they told him then of Mohammed of Mequinez, follower
of Seedna Aissa (Jesus of Nazareth), but a good man nevertheless,
and also something they said of the Spaniards and of one Marshal O'Donnel,
who was to bombard Marteel. But Israel heard very little.
"I think my hearing must be failing me," he said; and then
he laughed lightly, as if that did not greatly matter. "And to tell you
the truth, though I pity my poor brethren, I can no longer help them.
God will raise up a better minister."
"Never!" cried the Jews in many voices.
"Anyhow," said Israel, "my life among you is ended. I set no store
by place and power. What does the English poet say, 'In the great hand
of God I stand.' Shakespeare--oh, a mighty creature--one who knew
where the soul of a man lay. But I forget, you've not lived in England.
Do you know I am to go there again, and to take my little daughter?
You remember her--Naomi--a charming girl. She can see now, and hear,
and speak also! Yes for God has lifted His hand away from her,
and I am going to be very happy. Well, I must leave you, brothers.
The little one will be waiting. I must not keep her too long, must I?
Peace, peace!"
Seeing his profound faith, no one dared to tell him the truth that was
on every tongue. A wave of compassion swept over all.
The deputation stood and watched him until he had sunk under the hill.
And now, being come thus near to home, Israel's impatience robbed him
of some of his happy confidence and filled him with fears.
He began to think of all the evil chances that might have befallen Naomi.
His absence had been so long, and so many things might have happened
since he went away. In this mood he tried to run. It was
a poor uncertain shamble. At nearly every step the body lurched
for poise and balance.
At last he came to a point of the path from which, as he knew,
the little rush-covered house ought to be seen. "It's yonder,"
he cried, and pointed it out to himself with uplifted finger.
The sun was sinking, and its strong rays were in his face. "She's there,
I see her!" he shouted. A few minutes later he was near the door.
"No, my eyes deceived me," he said in a damp voice. "Or perhaps
she has gone in--perhaps she's hiding--the sweet rogue!"
The door was half open; he pushed it and entered the house. "Naomi!"
he called in a voice like a caress. "Naomi!" His voice trembled now.
"Come to me, come, dearest; come quickly, quickly, I cannot see!"
He listened. There was not a sound, not a movement. "Naomi!"
The name was like a gurgle in his throat. There was a pause,
and then he said very feebly and simply, "She's not here."
He looked around, and picked up something from the floor.
It was a slipper covered with mould. As he gazed upon it a change came
over his face. Dead? Was Naomi dead? He had thought
of death before--for himself, for others, never for Naomi.
At a stride the awful thing was on him. Death! Oh, oh!
With a helpless, broken, blind look he was standing in the middle
- anywhere [´eniweə]
ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词) - handkerchief [´hæŋkətʃif] n.手帕，手绢 (初中英语单词)
- slipper [´slipə] n.拖鞋 (初中英语单词)
- wednesday [´wenzdi] n.星期三 (初中英语单词)
- sunset [´sʌnset] n.日落；晚霞 (初中英语单词)
- scheme [ski:m] n.计划；阴谋，诡计 (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- previous [´pri:viəs] a.先，前，以前的 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- humour [´hju:mə] n.幽默，诙谐 (初中英语单词)
- nervous [´nə:vəs] a.神经的；神经过敏的 (初中英语单词)
- slumber [´slʌmbə] v.&n.睡眠；沉睡状态 (初中英语单词)
- childish [´tʃaildiʃ] a.孩子的；幼稚的 (初中英语单词)
- sunlight [´sʌnlait] n.日光 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- nevertheless [,nevəðə´les] conj.&ad.然而；不过 (初中英语单词)
- moonlight [´mu:nlait] n.&a.月光(的) (初中英语单词)
- lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- absence [´æbsəns] n.不在，缺席；缺乏 (初中英语单词)
- uncertain [ʌn´sə:tn] a.不定的；不可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- pointed [´pɔintid] a.尖(锐)的；中肯的 (初中英语单词)
- movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- helpless [´helpləs] a.无助的，无依靠的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- vigour [´vigə] (=vigor) n.活力；精力 (高中英语单词)
- israel [´izreiəl] n.以色列 (高中英语单词)
- strewn [stru:n] strew的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- dainty [´deinti] a.秀丽的 n.美味 (高中英语单词)
- ragged [´rægid] a.衣服破烂的 (高中英语单词)
- impatient [im´peiʃənt] a.不耐烦的，急躁的 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- kindred [´kindrid] n.亲属关系；同源关系 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- upright [´ʌprait] a.直立的 ad.直立地 (高中英语单词)
- baking [´beikiŋ] n.&a.烘烤(的) (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- mediterranean [,meditə´reiniən] n.地中海 a.地中海的 (高中英语单词)
- rainbow [´reinbəu] n.彩虹 (高中英语单词)
- stricken [´strikən] strike的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- hearing [´hiəriŋ] n.听力；听证会；审讯 (高中英语单词)
- profound [prə´faund] a.深奥的；渊博的 (高中英语单词)
- caress [kə´res] n.&vt.爱抚；接吻 (高中英语单词)
- stride [straid] n.进展 v.跨过；骑 (高中英语单词)
- freshness [´freʃnis] n.新鲜 (英语四级单词)
- overtook [,əuvə´tuk] overtake的过去式 (英语四级单词)
- midday [´middei] n.中午 (英语四级单词)
- resolute [´rezəlu:t] a.坚决的；不屈不挠的 (英语四级单词)
- marshal [´mɑ:ʃəl] n.(陆军)元帅 (英语四级单词)
- compassion [kəm´pæʃən] n.同情；怜悯 (英语四级单词)
- impatience [im´peiʃəns] n.不耐烦，急躁 (英语四级单词)
- befallen [bi´fɔ:lən] befall的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- feebly [´fi:bli] ad.虚弱地；贫乏地 (英语四级单词)
- foolishly [´fu:liʃli] ad.愚蠢地 (英语六级单词)
- blithe [´blaið] a.快乐的；冒失的 (英语六级单词)
- gurgle [´gə:gl] vt.&vi.潺潺而流 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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