章节正文
"Isn't it a pity to start quarrelling immediately after dinner, you
two," suggested their thoughtful daughter from the sofa, "you'll have
nothing left to amuse you for the rest of the evening."
"He didn't strike me as a conversationalist," said the lady who was
cousin to a baronet; "but he did pass the vegetables before he helped
himself. A little thing like that shows breeding."
"Or that he didn't know you and thought maybe you'd leave him half a
spoonful," laughed Augustus the wit.
"What I can't make out about him--" shouted the Colonel.
The stranger entered the room.
The Colonel, securing the evening paper, retired into a corner. The
highly coloured Kite, reaching down from the mantelpiece a paper fan,
held it coyly before her face. Miss Devine sat upright on the
horse-hair sofa, and rearranged her skirts.
"Know anything?" demanded Augustus of the stranger, breaking the
somewhat remarkable silence.
The stranger evidently did not understand. It was necessary for
Augustus, the witty, to advance further into that odd silence.
"What's going to pull off the Lincoln handicap? Tell me, and I'll go
out straight and put my shirt upon it."
"I think you would act unwisely," smiled the stranger; "I am not an
authority upon the subject."
"Not! Why they told me you were Captain Spy of the _Sporting
Life_--in disguise."
It would have been difficult for a joke to fall more flat. Nobody
laughed, though why Mr. Augustus Longcord could not understand, and
maybe none of his audience could have told him, for at Forty-eight
Bloomsbury Square Mr. Augustus Longcord passed as a humorist. The
stranger himself appeared unaware that he was being made fun of.
"You have been misinformed," assured him the stranger.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Augustus Longcord.
"It is nothing," replied the stranger in his sweet low voice, and
passed on.
"Well what about this theatre," demanded Mr. Longcord of his friend
and partner; "do you want to go or don't you?" Mr. Longcord was
feeling irritable.
"Goth the ticketh--may ath well," thought Isidore.
"Damn stupid piece, I'm told."
"Motht of them thupid, more or leth. Pity to wathte the ticketh,"
argued Isidore, and the pair went out.
"Are you staying long in London?" asked Miss Kite, raising her
practised eyes towards the stranger.
"Not long," answered the stranger. "At least I do not know. It
depends."
An unusual quiet had invaded the drawing-room of Forty-eight
Bloomsbury Square, generally noisy with strident voices about this
hour. The Colonel remained engrossed in his paper. Mrs. Devine sat
with her plump white hands folded on her lap, whether asleep or not it
was impossible to say. The lady who was cousin to a baronet had
shifted her chair beneath the gasolier, her eyes bent on her
everlasting crochet work. The languid Miss Devine had crossed to the
piano, where she sat fingering softly the tuneless keys, her back to
the cold barely-furnished room.
"Sit down!" commanded saucily Miss Kite, indicating with her fan the
vacant seat beside her. "Tell me about yourself. You interest me."
Miss Kite adopted a pretty authoritative air towards all
youthful-looking members of the opposite sex. It harmonised with the
peach complexion and the golden hair, and fitted her about as well.
"I am glad of that," answered the stranger, taking the chair
suggested. "I so wish to interest you."
"You're a very bold boy." Miss Kite lowered her fan, for the purpose
of glancing archly over the edge of it, and for the first time
encountered the eyes of the stranger looking into hers. And then it
was that Miss Kite experiencedprecisely the same curious sensation
that an hour or so ago had troubled Mrs. Pennycherry when the stranger
had first bowed to her. It seemed to Miss Kite that she was no longer
the Miss Kite that, had she risen and looked into it, the fly-blown
mirror over the marble mantelpiece would, she knew, have presented to
her view; but quite another Miss Kite--a cheerful, bright-eyed lady
verging on middle age, yet still good-looking in spite of her faded
complexion and somewhat thin brown locks. Miss Kite felt a pang of
jealousy shoot through her; this middle-aged Miss Kite seemed, on the
whole, a more attractive lady. There was a wholesomeness, a
broadmindedness about her that instinctively drew one towards her.
Not hampered, as Miss Kite herself was, by the necessity of appearing
to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two, this other Miss Kite
could talk sensibly, even brilliantly: one felt it. A thoroughly
"nice" woman this other Miss Kite; the real Miss Kite, though envious,
was bound to admit it. Miss Kite wished to goodness she had never
seen the woman. The glimpse of her had rendered Miss Kite
dissatisfied with herself.
"I am not a boy," explained the stranger; "and I had no intention of
being bold."
"I know," replied Miss Kite. "It was a silly remark. Whatever
induced me to make it, I can't think. Getting foolish in my old age,
I suppose."
The stranger laughed. "Surely you are not old."
"I'm thirty-nine," snapped out Miss Kite. "You don't call it young?"
"I think it a beautiful age," insisted the stranger; "young enough not
to have lost the joy of youth, old enough to have learnt sympathy."
"Oh, I daresay," returned Miss Kite, "any age you'd think beautiful.
I'm going to bed." Miss Kite rose. The paper fan had somehow got
itself broken. She threw the fragments into the fire.
"It is early yet," pleaded the stranger, "I was looking forward to a
talk with you."
"Well, you'll be able to look forward to it," retorted Miss Kite.
"Good-night."
The truth was, Miss Kite was impatient to have a look at herself in
the glass, in her own room with the door shut. The vision of that
other Miss Kite--the clean-looking lady of the pale face and the brown
hair had been so vivid, Miss Kite wondered whether temporary
forgetfulness might not have fallen upon her while dressing for dinner
that evening.
The stranger, left to his own devices, strolled towards the loo table,
seeking something to read.
"You seem to have frightened away Miss Kite," remarked the lady who
was cousin to a baronet.
"It seems so," admitted the stranger.
"My cousin, Sir William Bosster," observed the crocheting lady, "who
married old Lord Egham's niece--you never met the Eghams?"
"Hitherto," replied the stranger, "I have not had that pleasure."
"A charming family. Cannot understand--my cousin Sir William, I mean,
cannot understand my remaining here. 'My dear Emily'--he says the
same thing every time he sees me: 'My dear Emily, how can you exist
among the sort of people one meets with in a boarding-house.' But
they amuse me."
A sense of humour, agreed the stranger, was always of advantage.
"Our family on my mother's side," continued Sir William's cousin in
her placid monotone, "was connected with the Tatton-Joneses, who when
King George the Fourth--" Sir William's cousin, needing another reel
of cotton, glanced up, and met the stranger's gaze.
"I'm sure I don't know why I'm telling you all this," said Sir
William's cousin in an irritable tone. "It can't possibly interest
you."
"Everything connected with you interests me," gravely the stranger
assured her.
"It is very kind of you to say so," sighed Sir William's cousin, but
without conviction; "I am afraid sometimes I bore people."
The polite stranger refrained from contradiction.
"You see," continued the poor lady, "I really am of good family."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "your gentle face, your gentle voice,
your gentle bearing, all proclaim it."
She looked without flinching into the stranger's eyes, and gradually a
smile banished the reigning dulness of her features.
"How foolish of me." She spoke rather to herself than to the
stranger. "Why, of course, people--people whose opinion is worth
troubling about--judge of you by what you are, not by what you go
about saying you are."
The stranger remained silent.
"I am the widow of a provincial doctor, with an income of just two
hundred and thirty pounds per annum," she argued. "The sensible thing
for me to do is to make the best of it, and to worry myself about
these high and mighty relations of mine as little as they have ever
worried themselves about me."
The stranger appeared unable to think of anything worth saying.
"I have other connections," remembered Sir William's cousin; "those of
my poor husband, to whom instead of being the 'poor relation' I could
be the fairy god-mama. They are my people--or would be," added Sir
William's cousin tartly, "if I wasn't a vulgar snob."
She flushed the instant she had said the words and, rising, commenced
preparations for a hurried departure.
"Now it seems I am driving you away," sighed the stranger.
"Having been called a 'vulgar snob,'" retorted the lady with some
heat, "I think it about time I went."
"The words were your own," the stranger reminded her.
"Whatever I may have thought," remarked the indignant dame, "no
lady--least of all in the presence of a total stranger--would have
called herself--" The poor dame paused, bewildered. "There is
something very curious the matter with me this evening, that I cannot
understand," she explained, "I seem quite unable to avoid insulting
myself."
Still surrounded by bewilderment, she wished the stranger good-night,
hoping that when next they met she would be more herself. The
stranger, hoping so also, opened the door and closed it again behind
her.
"Tell me," laughed Miss Devine, who by sheer force of talent was
contriving to wring harmony from the reluctant piano, "how did you
manage to do it? I should like to know."
"How did I do what?" inquired the stranger.
"Contrive to get rid so quickly of those two old frumps?"
"How well you play!" observed the stranger. "I knew you had genius
for music the moment I saw you."
"How could you tell?"
"It is written so clearly in your face."
The girl laughed, well pleased. "You seem to have lost no time in
studying my face."
"It is a beautiful and interesting face," observed the stranger.
She swung round sharply on the stool and their eyes met.
"You can read faces?"
"Yes."
"Tell me, what else do you read in mine?"
"Frankness, courage--"
"Ah, yes, all the virtues. Perhaps. We will take them for granted."
It was odd how serious the girl had suddenly become. "Tell me the
reverse side."
"I see no reverse side," replied the stranger. "I see but a fair
girl, bursting into noble womanhood."
"And nothing else? You read no trace of greed, of vanity, of
sordidness, of--" An angry laugh escaped her lips. "And you are a
reader of faces!"
"A reader of faces." The stranger smiled. "Do you know what is
written upon yours at this very moment? A love of truth that is
almost fierce, scorn of lies, scorn of hypocrisy, the desire for all
things pure, contempt of all things that are contemptible--especially
of such things as are contemptible in woman. Tell me, do I not read
aright?"
I wonder, thought the girl, is that why those two others both hurried
from the room? Does everyone feel ashamed of the littleness that is
in them when looked at by those clear, believing eyes of yours?
The idea occurred to her: "Papa seemed to have a good deal to say to
you during dinner. Tell me, what were you talking about?"
two," suggested their thoughtful daughter from the sofa, "you'll have
nothing left to amuse you for the rest of the evening."
"He didn't strike me as a conversationalist," said the lady who was
cousin to a baronet; "but he did pass the vegetables before he helped
himself. A little thing like that shows breeding."
"Or that he didn't know you and thought maybe you'd leave him half a
spoonful," laughed Augustus the wit.
"What I can't make out about him--" shouted the Colonel.
The stranger entered the room.
The Colonel, securing the evening paper, retired into a corner. The
highly coloured Kite, reaching down from the mantelpiece a paper fan,
held it coyly before her face. Miss Devine sat upright on the
horse-hair sofa, and rearranged her skirts.
"Know anything?" demanded Augustus of the stranger, breaking the
somewhat remarkable silence.
The stranger evidently did not understand. It was necessary for
Augustus, the witty, to advance further into that odd silence.
"What's going to pull off the Lincoln handicap? Tell me, and I'll go
out straight and put my shirt upon it."
"I think you would act unwisely," smiled the stranger; "I am not an
authority upon the subject."
"Not! Why they told me you were Captain Spy of the _Sporting
Life_--in disguise."
It would have been difficult for a joke to fall more flat. Nobody
laughed, though why Mr. Augustus Longcord could not understand, and
maybe none of his audience could have told him, for at Forty-eight
Bloomsbury Square Mr. Augustus Longcord passed as a humorist. The
stranger himself appeared unaware that he was being made fun of.
"You have been misinformed," assured him the stranger.
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Augustus Longcord.
"It is nothing," replied the stranger in his sweet low voice, and
passed on.
"Well what about this theatre," demanded Mr. Longcord of his friend
and partner; "do you want to go or don't you?" Mr. Longcord was
feeling irritable.
"Goth the ticketh--may ath well," thought Isidore.
"Damn stupid piece, I'm told."
"Motht of them thupid, more or leth. Pity to wathte the ticketh,"
argued Isidore, and the pair went out.
"Are you staying long in London?" asked Miss Kite, raising her
practised eyes towards the stranger.
"Not long," answered the stranger. "At least I do not know. It
depends."
An unusual quiet had invaded the drawing-room of Forty-eight
Bloomsbury Square, generally noisy with strident voices about this
hour. The Colonel remained engrossed in his paper. Mrs. Devine sat
with her plump white hands folded on her lap, whether asleep or not it
was impossible to say. The lady who was cousin to a baronet had
shifted her chair beneath the gasolier, her eyes bent on her
everlasting crochet work. The languid Miss Devine had crossed to the
piano, where she sat fingering softly the tuneless keys, her back to
the cold barely-furnished room.
"Sit down!" commanded saucily Miss Kite, indicating with her fan the
vacant seat beside her. "Tell me about yourself. You interest me."
Miss Kite adopted a pretty authoritative air towards all
youthful-looking members of the opposite sex. It harmonised with the
peach complexion and the golden hair, and fitted her about as well.
"I am glad of that," answered the stranger, taking the chair
suggested. "I so wish to interest you."
"You're a very bold boy." Miss Kite lowered her fan, for the purpose
of glancing archly over the edge of it, and for the first time
encountered the eyes of the stranger looking into hers. And then it
was that Miss Kite experiencedprecisely the same curious sensation
that an hour or so ago had troubled Mrs. Pennycherry when the stranger
had first bowed to her. It seemed to Miss Kite that she was no longer
the Miss Kite that, had she risen and looked into it, the fly-blown
mirror over the marble mantelpiece would, she knew, have presented to
her view; but quite another Miss Kite--a cheerful, bright-eyed lady
verging on middle age, yet still good-looking in spite of her faded
complexion and somewhat thin brown locks. Miss Kite felt a pang of
jealousy shoot through her; this middle-aged Miss Kite seemed, on the
whole, a more attractive lady. There was a wholesomeness, a
broadmindedness about her that instinctively drew one towards her.
Not hampered, as Miss Kite herself was, by the necessity of appearing
to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two, this other Miss Kite
could talk sensibly, even brilliantly: one felt it. A thoroughly
"nice" woman this other Miss Kite; the real Miss Kite, though envious,
was bound to admit it. Miss Kite wished to goodness she had never
seen the woman. The glimpse of her had rendered Miss Kite
dissatisfied with herself.
"I am not a boy," explained the stranger; "and I had no intention of
being bold."
"I know," replied Miss Kite. "It was a silly remark. Whatever
induced me to make it, I can't think. Getting foolish in my old age,
I suppose."
The stranger laughed. "Surely you are not old."
"I'm thirty-nine," snapped out Miss Kite. "You don't call it young?"
"I think it a beautiful age," insisted the stranger; "young enough not
to have lost the joy of youth, old enough to have learnt sympathy."
"Oh, I daresay," returned Miss Kite, "any age you'd think beautiful.
I'm going to bed." Miss Kite rose. The paper fan had somehow got
itself broken. She threw the fragments into the fire.
"It is early yet," pleaded the stranger, "I was looking forward to a
talk with you."
"Well, you'll be able to look forward to it," retorted Miss Kite.
"Good-night."
The truth was, Miss Kite was impatient to have a look at herself in
the glass, in her own room with the door shut. The vision of that
other Miss Kite--the clean-looking lady of the pale face and the brown
hair had been so vivid, Miss Kite wondered whether temporary
forgetfulness might not have fallen upon her while dressing for dinner
that evening.
The stranger, left to his own devices, strolled towards the loo table,
seeking something to read.
"You seem to have frightened away Miss Kite," remarked the lady who
was cousin to a baronet.
"It seems so," admitted the stranger.
"My cousin, Sir William Bosster," observed the crocheting lady, "who
married old Lord Egham's niece--you never met the Eghams?"
"Hitherto," replied the stranger, "I have not had that pleasure."
"A charming family. Cannot understand--my cousin Sir William, I mean,
cannot understand my remaining here. 'My dear Emily'--he says the
same thing every time he sees me: 'My dear Emily, how can you exist
among the sort of people one meets with in a boarding-house.' But
they amuse me."
A sense of humour, agreed the stranger, was always of advantage.
"Our family on my mother's side," continued Sir William's cousin in
her placid monotone, "was connected with the Tatton-Joneses, who when
King George the Fourth--" Sir William's cousin, needing another reel
of cotton, glanced up, and met the stranger's gaze.
"I'm sure I don't know why I'm telling you all this," said Sir
William's cousin in an irritable tone. "It can't possibly interest
you."
"Everything connected with you interests me," gravely the stranger
assured her.
"It is very kind of you to say so," sighed Sir William's cousin, but
without conviction; "I am afraid sometimes I bore people."
The polite stranger refrained from contradiction.
"You see," continued the poor lady, "I really am of good family."
"Dear lady," said the stranger, "your gentle face, your gentle voice,
your gentle bearing, all proclaim it."
She looked without flinching into the stranger's eyes, and gradually a
smile banished the reigning dulness of her features.
"How foolish of me." She spoke rather to herself than to the
stranger. "Why, of course, people--people whose opinion is worth
troubling about--judge of you by what you are, not by what you go
about saying you are."
The stranger remained silent.
"I am the widow of a provincial doctor, with an income of just two
hundred and thirty pounds per annum," she argued. "The sensible thing
for me to do is to make the best of it, and to worry myself about
these high and mighty relations of mine as little as they have ever
worried themselves about me."
The stranger appeared unable to think of anything worth saying.
"I have other connections," remembered Sir William's cousin; "those of
my poor husband, to whom instead of being the 'poor relation' I could
be the fairy god-mama. They are my people--or would be," added Sir
William's cousin tartly, "if I wasn't a vulgar snob."
She flushed the instant she had said the words and, rising, commenced
preparations for a hurried departure.
"Now it seems I am driving you away," sighed the stranger.
"Having been called a 'vulgar snob,'" retorted the lady with some
heat, "I think it about time I went."
"The words were your own," the stranger reminded her.
"Whatever I may have thought," remarked the indignant dame, "no
lady--least of all in the presence of a total stranger--would have
called herself--" The poor dame paused, bewildered. "There is
something very curious the matter with me this evening, that I cannot
understand," she explained, "I seem quite unable to avoid insulting
myself."
Still surrounded by bewilderment, she wished the stranger good-night,
hoping that when next they met she would be more herself. The
stranger, hoping so also, opened the door and closed it again behind
her.
"Tell me," laughed Miss Devine, who by sheer force of talent was
contriving to wring harmony from the reluctant piano, "how did you
manage to do it? I should like to know."
"How did I do what?" inquired the stranger.
"Contrive to get rid so quickly of those two old frumps?"
"How well you play!" observed the stranger. "I knew you had genius
for music the moment I saw you."
"How could you tell?"
"It is written so clearly in your face."
The girl laughed, well pleased. "You seem to have lost no time in
studying my face."
"It is a beautiful and interesting face," observed the stranger.
She swung round sharply on the stool and their eyes met.
"You can read faces?"
"Yes."
"Tell me, what else do you read in mine?"
"Frankness, courage--"
"Ah, yes, all the virtues. Perhaps. We will take them for granted."
It was odd how serious the girl had suddenly become. "Tell me the
reverse side."
"I see no reverse side," replied the stranger. "I see but a fair
girl, bursting into noble womanhood."
"And nothing else? You read no trace of greed, of vanity, of
sordidness, of--" An angry laugh escaped her lips. "And you are a
reader of faces!"
"A reader of faces." The stranger smiled. "Do you know what is
written upon yours at this very moment? A love of truth that is
almost fierce, scorn of lies, scorn of hypocrisy, the desire for all
things pure, contempt of all things that are contemptible--especially
of such things as are contemptible in woman. Tell me, do I not read
aright?"
I wonder, thought the girl, is that why those two others both hurried
from the room? Does everyone feel ashamed of the littleness that is
in them when looked at by those clear, believing eyes of yours?
The idea occurred to her: "Papa seemed to have a good deal to say to
you during dinner. Tell me, what were you talking about?"
- remarkable [ri´mɑ:kəbl]
a.值得注意的；显著的 (初中英语单词) - evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- audience [´ɔ:diəns] n.听众；观众；接见 (初中英语单词)
- partner [´pɑ:tnə] n.伙伴 v.同....合作 (初中英语单词)
- stupid [´stju:pid] a.愚蠢的；糊涂的 (初中英语单词)
- unusual [ʌn´ju:ʒuəl] a.不平常的；异常的 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- marble [´mɑ:bəl] n.大理石 a.大理石的 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- attractive [ə´træktiv] a.有吸引力；诱人的 (初中英语单词)
- goodness [´gudnis] n.优良；美德；精华 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- learnt [lə:nt] learn 的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- vision [´viʒən] n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- humour [´hju:mə] n.幽默，诙谐 (初中英语单词)
- gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- polite [pə´lait] a.有礼貌的；温和的 (初中英语单词)
- proclaim [prə´kleim] vt.宣布；公布；声明 (初中英语单词)
- income [´inkʌm] n.收入，所得 (初中英语单词)
- sensible [´sensəbəl] a.感觉得到的 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- talent [´tælənt] n.天才；才干；天资 (初中英语单词)
- harmony [´hɑ:məni] n.调合，协调，和谐 (初中英语单词)
- sharply [´ʃɑ:pli] ad.锋利地；剧烈地 (初中英语单词)
- reverse [ri´və:s] v.颠倒；(使)反向 (初中英语单词)
- vanity [´væniti] n.虚荣；自负；空虚 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- everyone [´evriwʌn] pron.=everybody 每人 (初中英语单词)
- ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
- thoughtful [´θɔ:tfəl] a.深思的；体贴的 (高中英语单词)
- colonel [´kə:nəl] n.海(陆)军上校 (高中英语单词)
- upright [´ʌprait] a.直立的 ad.直立地 (高中英语单词)
- handicap [´hændikæp] n.障碍 vt.妨碍 (高中英语单词)
- complexion [kəm´plekʃən] n.肤色；情况；局面 (高中英语单词)
- precisely [pri´saisli] ad.精确地；刻板地 (高中英语单词)
- impatient [im´peiʃənt] a.不耐烦的，急躁的 (高中英语单词)
- bearing [´beəriŋ] n.举止；忍耐；关系 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- contempt [kən´tempt] n.轻蔑；受辱；不顾 (高中英语单词)
- lincoln [´liŋkən] n.林肯 (英语四级单词)
- unaware [,ʌnə´weə] a.不知道的；不觉察的 (英语四级单词)
- authoritative [ɔ:´θɔrətətiv] a.可信的；命令的 (英语四级单词)
- experienced [ik´spiəriənst] a.有经验的；熟练的 (英语四级单词)
- instinctively [in´stiŋktivli] ad.本能地 (英语四级单词)
- placid [´plæsid] a.平静的；温和的 (英语四级单词)
- provincial [prə´vinʃəl] a.省的 n.外省人 (英语四级单词)
- vulgar [´vʌlgə] a.粗俗的；大众的 (英语四级单词)
- indignant [in´dignənt] a.义愤的，愤慨的 (英语四级单词)
- reluctant [ri´lʌktənt] a.勉强的；难得到的 (英语四级单词)
- retired [ri´taiəd] a.退休的；通职的 (英语六级单词)
- assured [ə´ʃuəd] a.确实的 n.被保险人 (英语六级单词)
- crochet [´krəuʃei] n.&v.(用)钩针编织 (英语六级单词)
- languid [´læŋgwid] a.精神不振的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- good-looking [] a.漂亮的，美貌的 (英语六级单词)
- middle-aged [´midl´eidʒid] a.中年的 (英语六级单词)
- brilliantly [´briljəntli] ad.灿烂地；杰出地 (英语六级单词)
- irritable [´iritəbəl] a.急躁的；过敏的 (英语六级单词)
- bewilderment [bi´wildəmənt] n.为难；狼狈；迷惑 (英语六级单词)
- hypocrisy [hi´pɔkrisi] n.伪善 (英语六级单词)
- contemptible [kən´temptəbəl] a.可鄙的；可轻视的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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