章节正文
sees it. At nineteen it seemed to me beautiful, holy, the idea of
being a clergyman's wife, fighting by his side against evil. Besides,
you have changed since then. You were human, my dear Nat, in those
days, and the best dancer I had ever met. It was your dancing was
your chief attraction for me as likely as not, if I had only known
myself. At nineteen how can one know oneself?"
"We loved each other," the Rev. Armitage reminded her.
"I know we did, passionately--then; but we don't now." She laughed a
little bitterly. "Poor Nat! I am only another trial added to your
long list. Your beliefs, your ideals are meaningless to me--mere
narrow-minded dogmas, stifling thought. Nellie was the wife Nature
had intended for you, so soon as she had lost her beauty and with it
all her worldly ideas. Fate was maturing her for you, if only we had
known. As for me, I ought to have been the wife of an artist, of a
poet." Unconsciously a glance from her ever restless eyes flashed
across the table to where Horatio Camelford sat, puffing clouds of
smoke into the air from a huge black meerschaum pipe. "Bohemia is my
country. Its poverty, its struggle would have been a joy to me.
Breathing its free air, life would have been worth living."
Horatio Camelford leant back with eyes fixed on the oaken ceiling.
"It is a mistake," said Horatio Camelford, "for the artist ever to
marry."
The handsome Mrs. Camelford laughed good-naturedly. "The artist,"
remarked Mrs. Camelford, "from what I have seen of him would never
know the inside of his shirt from the outside if his wife was not
there to take it out of the drawer and put it over his head."
"His wearing it inside out would not make much difference to the
world," argued her husband. "The sacrifice of his art to the
necessity of keeping his wife and family does."
"Well, you at all events do not appear to have sacrificed much, my
boy," came the breezy voice of Dick Everett. "Why, all the world is
ringing with your name."
"When I am forty-one, with all the best years of my life behind me,"
answered the Poet. "Speaking as a man, I have nothing to regret. No
one could have had a better wife; my children are charming. I have
lived the peacefulexistence of the successful citizen. Had I been
true to my trust I should have gone out into the wilderness, the only
possible home of the teacher, the prophet. The artist is the
bridegroom of Art. Marriage for him is an immorality. Had I my time
again I should remain a bachelor."
"Time brings its revenges, you see," laughed Mrs. Camelford. "At
twenty that fellow threatened to commitsuicide if I would not marry
him, and cordially disliking him I consented. Now twenty years later,
when I am just getting used to him, he calmly turns round and says he
would have been better without me."
"I heard something about it at the time," said Mrs. Armitage. "You
were very much in love with somebody else, were you not?"
"Is not the conversation assuming a rather dangerous direction?"
laughed Mrs. Camelford.
"I was thinking the same thing, "agreed Mrs. Everett. "One would
imagine some strange influence had seized upon us, forcing us to speak
our thoughts aloud."
"I am afraid I was the original culprit," admitted the Reverend
Nathaniel. "This room is becoming quite oppressive. Had we not
better go to bed?"
The ancient lamp suspended from its smoke-grimed beam uttered a faint,
gurgling sob, and spluttered out. The shadow of the old Cathedral
tower crept in and stretched across the room, now illuminated only by
occasional beams from the cloud-curtained moon. At the other end of
the table sat a peak-faced little gentleman, clean-shaven, in
full-bottomed wig.
"Forgive me," said the little gentleman. He spoke in English, with a
strong accent. "But it seems to me here is a case where two parties
might be of service to one another."
The six fellow-travellers round the table looked at one another, but
none spoke. The idea that came to each of them, as they explained to
one another later, was that without remembering it they had taken
their candles and had gone to bed. This was surely a dream.
"It would greatly assist me," continued the little peak-faced
gentleman, "in experiments I am conducting into the phenomena of human
tendencies, if you would allow me to put your lives back twenty
years."
Still no one of the six replied. It seemed to them that the little
old gentleman must have been sitting there among them all the time,
unnoticed by them.
"Judging from your talk this evening," continued the peak-faced little
gentleman, "you should welcome my offer. You appear to me to be one
and all of exceptional" target="_blank" title="a.异常的，特别的">exceptionalintelligence. You perceive the mistakes that
you have made: you understand the causes. The future veiled, you
could not help yourselves. What I propose to do is to put you back
twenty years. You will be boys and girls again, but with this
difference: that the knowledge of the future, so far as it relates to
yourselves, will remain with you.
"Come," urged the old gentleman, "the thing is quite simple of
accomplishment. As--as a certain philosopher has clearly proved: the
universe is only the result of our own perceptions. By what may
appear to you to be magic--by what in reality will be simply a
chemical operation--I remove from your memory the events of the last
twenty years, with the exception of what immediately concerns your own
personalities. You will retain all knowledge of the changes, physical
and mental, that will be in store for you; all else will pass from
your perception."
The little old gentleman took a small phial from his waistcoat pocket,
and, filling one of the massive wine-glasses from a decanter, measured
into it some half-a-dozen drops. Then he placed the glass in the
centre of the table.
"Youth is a good time to go back to," said the peak-faced little
gentleman, with a smile. "Twenty years ago, it was the night of the
Hunt Ball. You remember it?"
It was Everett who drank first. He drank it with his little twinkling
eyes fixed hungrily on the proud handsome face of Mrs. Camelford; and
then handed the glass to his wife. It was she perhaps who drank from
it most eagerly. Her life with Everett, from the day when she had
risen from a bed of sickness stripped of all her beauty, had been one
bitter wrong. She drank with the wild hope that the thing might
possibly be not a dream; and thrilled to the touch of the man she
loved, as reaching across the table he took the glass from her hand.
Mrs. Armitage was the fourth to drink. She took the cup from her
husband, drank with a quiet smile, and passed it on to Camelford. And
Camelford drank, looking at nobody, and replaced the glass upon the
table.
"Come," said the little old gentleman to Mrs. Camelford, "you are the
only one left. The whole thing will be incomplete without you."
"I have no wish to drink," said Mrs. Camelford, and her eyes sought
those of her husband, but he would not look at her.
"Come," again urged the Figure. And then Camelford looked at her and
laughed drily.
"You had better drink," he said. "It's only a dream."
"If you wish it," she answered. And it was from his hands she took
the glass.
***
It is from the narrative as Armitage told it to me that night in the
Club smoking-room that I am taking most of my material. It seemed to
him that all things began slowly to rise upward, leaving him
stationary, but with a great pain as though the inside of him were
being torn away--the same sensation greatly exaggerated, so he likened
it, as descending in a lift. But around him all the time was silence
and darkness unrelieved. After a period that might have been minutes,
that might have been years, a faint light crept towards him. It grew
stronger, and into the air which now fanned his cheek there stole the
sound of far-off music. The light and the music both increased, and
one by one his senses came back to him. He was seated on a low
cushioned bench beneath a group of palms. A young girl was sitting
beside him, but her face was turned away from him.
"I did not catch your name," he was saying. "Would you mind telling
it to me?"
She turned her face towards him. It was the most spiritually
beautiful face he had ever seen. "I am in the same predicament," she
laughed. "You had better write yours on my programme, and I will
write mine on yours."
So they wrote upon each other's programme and exchanged again. The
name she had written was Alice Blatchley.
He had never seen her before, that he could remember. Yet at the back
of his mind there dwelt the haunting knowledge of her. Somewhere long
ago they had met, talked together. Slowly, as one recalls a dream, it
came back to him. In some other life, vague, shadowy, he had married
this woman. For the first few years they had loved each other; then
the gulf had opened between them, widened. Stern, strong voices had
called to him to lay aside his selfish dreams, his boyish ambitions,
to take upon his shoulders the yoke of a great duty. When more than
ever he had demanded sympathy and help, this woman had fallen away
from him. His ideals but irritated her. Only at the cost of daily
bitterness had he been able to resist her endeavours to draw him from
his path. A face--that of a woman with soft eyes, full of
helpfulness, shone through the mist of his dream--the face of a woman
who would one day come to him out of the Future with outstretched
hands that he would yearn to clasp.
"Shall we not dance?" said the voice beside him. "I really won't sit
out a waltz."
They hurried into the ball-room. With his arm about her form, her
wondrous eyes shyly, at rare moments, seeking his, then vanishing
again behind their drooping lashes, the brain, the mind, the very soul
of the young man passed out of his own keeping. She complimented him
in her bewitching manner, a delightful blending of condescension and
timidity.
"You dance extremely well," she told him. "You may ask me for
another, later on."
The words flashed out from that dim haunting future. "Your dancing
was your chief attraction for me, as likely as not, had I but known?"
All that evening and for many months to come the Present and the
Future fought within him. And the experience of Nathaniel Armitage,
divinity student, was the experience likewise of Alice Blatchley, who
had fallen in love with him at first sight, having found him the
divinest dancer she had ever whirled with to the sensuous music of the
waltz; of Horatio Camelford, journalist and minor poet, whose
journalism earned him a bare income, but at whose minor poetry critics
smiled; of Jessica Dearwood, with her glorious eyes, and muddy
complexion, and her wild hopelesspassion for the big, handsome,
ruddy-bearded Dick Everett, who, knowing it, only laughed at her in
his kindly, lordly way, telling her with frank brutalness that the
woman who was not beautiful had missed her vocation in life; of that
scheming, conquering young gentleman himself, who at twenty-five had
already made his mark in the City, shrewd, clever, cool-headed as a
fox, except where a pretty face and shapely hand or ankle were
concerned; of Nellie Fanshawe, then in the pride of her ravishing
beauty, who loved none but herself, whose clay-made gods were jewels,
and fine dresses and rich feasts, the envy of other women and the
courtship of all mankind.
That evening of the ball each clung to the hope that this memory of
the future was but a dream. They had been introduced to one another;
had heard each other's names for the first time with a start of
recognition; had avoided one another's eyes; had hastened to plunge
into meaningless talk; till that moment when young Camelford, stooping
to pick up Jessica's fan, had found that broken fragment of the
Rhenish wine-glass. Then it was that conviction refused to be shaken
off, that knowledge of the future had to be sadly accepted.
What they had not foreseen was that knowledge of the future in no way
affected their emotions of the present. Nathaniel Armitage grew day
by day more hopelessly in love with bewitching Alice Blatchley. The
thought of her marrying anyone else--the long-haired, priggish
Camelford in particular--sent the blood boiling through his veins;
being a clergyman's wife, fighting by his side against evil. Besides,
you have changed since then. You were human, my dear Nat, in those
days, and the best dancer I had ever met. It was your dancing was
your chief attraction for me as likely as not, if I had only known
myself. At nineteen how can one know oneself?"
"We loved each other," the Rev. Armitage reminded her.
"I know we did, passionately--then; but we don't now." She laughed a
little bitterly. "Poor Nat! I am only another trial added to your
long list. Your beliefs, your ideals are meaningless to me--mere
narrow-minded dogmas, stifling thought. Nellie was the wife Nature
had intended for you, so soon as she had lost her beauty and with it
all her worldly ideas. Fate was maturing her for you, if only we had
known. As for me, I ought to have been the wife of an artist, of a
poet." Unconsciously a glance from her ever restless eyes flashed
across the table to where Horatio Camelford sat, puffing clouds of
smoke into the air from a huge black meerschaum pipe. "Bohemia is my
country. Its poverty, its struggle would have been a joy to me.
Breathing its free air, life would have been worth living."
Horatio Camelford leant back with eyes fixed on the oaken ceiling.
"It is a mistake," said Horatio Camelford, "for the artist ever to
marry."
The handsome Mrs. Camelford laughed good-naturedly. "The artist,"
remarked Mrs. Camelford, "from what I have seen of him would never
know the inside of his shirt from the outside if his wife was not
there to take it out of the drawer and put it over his head."
"His wearing it inside out would not make much difference to the
world," argued her husband. "The sacrifice of his art to the
necessity of keeping his wife and family does."
"Well, you at all events do not appear to have sacrificed much, my
boy," came the breezy voice of Dick Everett. "Why, all the world is
ringing with your name."
"When I am forty-one, with all the best years of my life behind me,"
answered the Poet. "Speaking as a man, I have nothing to regret. No
one could have had a better wife; my children are charming. I have
lived the peacefulexistence of the successful citizen. Had I been
true to my trust I should have gone out into the wilderness, the only
possible home of the teacher, the prophet. The artist is the
bridegroom of Art. Marriage for him is an immorality. Had I my time
again I should remain a bachelor."
"Time brings its revenges, you see," laughed Mrs. Camelford. "At
twenty that fellow threatened to commitsuicide if I would not marry
him, and cordially disliking him I consented. Now twenty years later,
when I am just getting used to him, he calmly turns round and says he
would have been better without me."
"I heard something about it at the time," said Mrs. Armitage. "You
were very much in love with somebody else, were you not?"
"Is not the conversation assuming a rather dangerous direction?"
laughed Mrs. Camelford.
"I was thinking the same thing, "agreed Mrs. Everett. "One would
imagine some strange influence had seized upon us, forcing us to speak
our thoughts aloud."
"I am afraid I was the original culprit," admitted the Reverend
Nathaniel. "This room is becoming quite oppressive. Had we not
better go to bed?"
The ancient lamp suspended from its smoke-grimed beam uttered a faint,
gurgling sob, and spluttered out. The shadow of the old Cathedral
tower crept in and stretched across the room, now illuminated only by
occasional beams from the cloud-curtained moon. At the other end of
the table sat a peak-faced little gentleman, clean-shaven, in
full-bottomed wig.
"Forgive me," said the little gentleman. He spoke in English, with a
strong accent. "But it seems to me here is a case where two parties
might be of service to one another."
The six fellow-travellers round the table looked at one another, but
none spoke. The idea that came to each of them, as they explained to
one another later, was that without remembering it they had taken
their candles and had gone to bed. This was surely a dream.
"It would greatly assist me," continued the little peak-faced
gentleman, "in experiments I am conducting into the phenomena of human
tendencies, if you would allow me to put your lives back twenty
years."
Still no one of the six replied. It seemed to them that the little
old gentleman must have been sitting there among them all the time,
unnoticed by them.
"Judging from your talk this evening," continued the peak-faced little
gentleman, "you should welcome my offer. You appear to me to be one
and all of exceptional" target="_blank" title="a.异常的，特别的">exceptionalintelligence. You perceive the mistakes that
you have made: you understand the causes. The future veiled, you
could not help yourselves. What I propose to do is to put you back
twenty years. You will be boys and girls again, but with this
difference: that the knowledge of the future, so far as it relates to
yourselves, will remain with you.
"Come," urged the old gentleman, "the thing is quite simple of
accomplishment. As--as a certain philosopher has clearly proved: the
universe is only the result of our own perceptions. By what may
appear to you to be magic--by what in reality will be simply a
chemical operation--I remove from your memory the events of the last
twenty years, with the exception of what immediately concerns your own
personalities. You will retain all knowledge of the changes, physical
and mental, that will be in store for you; all else will pass from
your perception."
The little old gentleman took a small phial from his waistcoat pocket,
and, filling one of the massive wine-glasses from a decanter, measured
into it some half-a-dozen drops. Then he placed the glass in the
centre of the table.
"Youth is a good time to go back to," said the peak-faced little
gentleman, with a smile. "Twenty years ago, it was the night of the
Hunt Ball. You remember it?"
It was Everett who drank first. He drank it with his little twinkling
eyes fixed hungrily on the proud handsome face of Mrs. Camelford; and
then handed the glass to his wife. It was she perhaps who drank from
it most eagerly. Her life with Everett, from the day when she had
risen from a bed of sickness stripped of all her beauty, had been one
bitter wrong. She drank with the wild hope that the thing might
possibly be not a dream; and thrilled to the touch of the man she
loved, as reaching across the table he took the glass from her hand.
Mrs. Armitage was the fourth to drink. She took the cup from her
husband, drank with a quiet smile, and passed it on to Camelford. And
Camelford drank, looking at nobody, and replaced the glass upon the
table.
"Come," said the little old gentleman to Mrs. Camelford, "you are the
only one left. The whole thing will be incomplete without you."
"I have no wish to drink," said Mrs. Camelford, and her eyes sought
those of her husband, but he would not look at her.
"Come," again urged the Figure. And then Camelford looked at her and
laughed drily.
"You had better drink," he said. "It's only a dream."
"If you wish it," she answered. And it was from his hands she took
the glass.
***
It is from the narrative as Armitage told it to me that night in the
Club smoking-room that I am taking most of my material. It seemed to
him that all things began slowly to rise upward, leaving him
stationary, but with a great pain as though the inside of him were
being torn away--the same sensation greatly exaggerated, so he likened
it, as descending in a lift. But around him all the time was silence
and darkness unrelieved. After a period that might have been minutes,
that might have been years, a faint light crept towards him. It grew
stronger, and into the air which now fanned his cheek there stole the
sound of far-off music. The light and the music both increased, and
one by one his senses came back to him. He was seated on a low
cushioned bench beneath a group of palms. A young girl was sitting
beside him, but her face was turned away from him.
"I did not catch your name," he was saying. "Would you mind telling
it to me?"
She turned her face towards him. It was the most spiritually
beautiful face he had ever seen. "I am in the same predicament," she
laughed. "You had better write yours on my programme, and I will
write mine on yours."
So they wrote upon each other's programme and exchanged again. The
name she had written was Alice Blatchley.
He had never seen her before, that he could remember. Yet at the back
of his mind there dwelt the haunting knowledge of her. Somewhere long
ago they had met, talked together. Slowly, as one recalls a dream, it
came back to him. In some other life, vague, shadowy, he had married
this woman. For the first few years they had loved each other; then
the gulf had opened between them, widened. Stern, strong voices had
called to him to lay aside his selfish dreams, his boyish ambitions,
to take upon his shoulders the yoke of a great duty. When more than
ever he had demanded sympathy and help, this woman had fallen away
from him. His ideals but irritated her. Only at the cost of daily
bitterness had he been able to resist her endeavours to draw him from
his path. A face--that of a woman with soft eyes, full of
helpfulness, shone through the mist of his dream--the face of a woman
who would one day come to him out of the Future with outstretched
hands that he would yearn to clasp.
"Shall we not dance?" said the voice beside him. "I really won't sit
out a waltz."
They hurried into the ball-room. With his arm about her form, her
wondrous eyes shyly, at rare moments, seeking his, then vanishing
again behind their drooping lashes, the brain, the mind, the very soul
of the young man passed out of his own keeping. She complimented him
in her bewitching manner, a delightful blending of condescension and
timidity.
"You dance extremely well," she told him. "You may ask me for
another, later on."
The words flashed out from that dim haunting future. "Your dancing
was your chief attraction for me, as likely as not, had I but known?"
All that evening and for many months to come the Present and the
Future fought within him. And the experience of Nathaniel Armitage,
divinity student, was the experience likewise of Alice Blatchley, who
had fallen in love with him at first sight, having found him the
divinest dancer she had ever whirled with to the sensuous music of the
waltz; of Horatio Camelford, journalist and minor poet, whose
journalism earned him a bare income, but at whose minor poetry critics
smiled; of Jessica Dearwood, with her glorious eyes, and muddy
complexion, and her wild hopelesspassion for the big, handsome,
ruddy-bearded Dick Everett, who, knowing it, only laughed at her in
his kindly, lordly way, telling her with frank brutalness that the
woman who was not beautiful had missed her vocation in life; of that
scheming, conquering young gentleman himself, who at twenty-five had
already made his mark in the City, shrewd, clever, cool-headed as a
fox, except where a pretty face and shapely hand or ankle were
concerned; of Nellie Fanshawe, then in the pride of her ravishing
beauty, who loved none but herself, whose clay-made gods were jewels,
and fine dresses and rich feasts, the envy of other women and the
courtship of all mankind.
That evening of the ball each clung to the hope that this memory of
the future was but a dream. They had been introduced to one another;
had heard each other's names for the first time with a start of
recognition; had avoided one another's eyes; had hastened to plunge
into meaningless talk; till that moment when young Camelford, stooping
to pick up Jessica's fan, had found that broken fragment of the
Rhenish wine-glass. Then it was that conviction refused to be shaken
off, that knowledge of the future had to be sadly accepted.
What they had not foreseen was that knowledge of the future in no way
affected their emotions of the present. Nathaniel Armitage grew day
by day more hopelessly in love with bewitching Alice Blatchley. The
thought of her marrying anyone else--the long-haired, priggish
Camelford in particular--sent the blood boiling through his veins;
- bitterly [´bitəli]
ad.悲痛地；憎恨地 (初中英语单词) - restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- poverty [´pɔvəti] n.贫穷(乏，瘠)；不足 (初中英语单词)
- drawer [drɔ:ə] n.抽屉 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- peaceful [´pi:sfəl] a.和平的；平静的 (初中英语单词)
- existence [ig´zistəns] n.存在；生存；生活 (初中英语单词)
- wilderness [´wildənis] n.荒地，荒野 (初中英语单词)
- prophet [´prɔfit] n.预言家；先知；提倡者 (初中英语单词)
- commit [kə´mit] vt.犯(罪)；把...判处 (初中英语单词)
- calmly [´kɑ:mli] ad.平静地；无风浪地 (初中英语单词)
- accent [´æksənt, æk´sent] n.重音；口音 vt.重读 (初中英语单词)
- assist [ə´sist] v.协助；援助；搀扶 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- intelligence [in´telidʒəns] n.智力；消息 (初中英语单词)
- perceive [pə´si:v] vt.察觉；看出；领悟 (初中英语单词)
- reality [ri´æliti] n.现实(性)；真实；逼真 (初中英语单词)
- exception [ik´sepʃən] n.例外；反对，异议 (初中英语单词)
- retain [ri´tein] vt.保持；保留；留住 (初中英语单词)
- mental [´mentl] a.精神的；心理的 (初中英语单词)
- eagerly [´i:gəli] ad.渴望地，急切地 (初中英语单词)
- sickness [´siknis] n.生病；呕吐，恶心 (初中英语单词)
- upward [´ʌpwəd] a.&ad.向上(的)；以上 (初中英语单词)
- sensation [sen´seiʃən] n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词)
- selfish [´selfiʃ] a.自私的，利己的 (初中英语单词)
- sympathy [´simpəθi] n.同情，怜悯 (初中英语单词)
- resist [ri´zist] v.抵抗；对抗；抵制 (初中英语单词)
- delightful [di´laitful] a.讨人喜欢的 (初中英语单词)
- extremely [ik´stri:mli] ad.极端地；非常地 (初中英语单词)
- likewise [´laikwaiz] ad.同样地；也，又 (初中英语单词)
- income [´inkʌm] n.收入，所得 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- glorious [´glɔ:riəs] a.光荣的；辉煌的 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- fragment [´frægmənt] n.碎片；破片；断片 (初中英语单词)
- conviction [kən´vikʃən] n.定罪；确信，信服 (初中英语单词)
- dancer [´dɑ:nsə] n.舞蹈者，舞蹈演员 (高中英语单词)
- attraction [ə´trækʃən] n.吸引(力)；引力 (高中英语单词)
- suicide [´su:isaid, ´sju:-] n.&a.自杀(者)(的) (高中英语单词)
- philosopher [fi´lɔsəfə] n.哲学家；思想家；哲人 (高中英语单词)
- massive [´mæsiv] a.厚实的；魁伟的 (高中英语单词)
- narrative [´nærətiv] a.叙述的 n.记事 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- shadowy [´ʃædəui] a.有阴影的；模糊的 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- hopeless [´həupləs] a.无望的，无可救药的 (高中英语单词)
- shrewd [ʃru:d] a.精明的；狡猾的 (高中英语单词)
- worldly [´wə:ldli] a.现世的；世俗的 (英语四级单词)
- unconsciously [ʌn´kɔʃəsli] ad.无意识地；不觉察地 (英语四级单词)
- cordially [´kɔ:djəli] ad.热诚地；亲切地 (英语四级单词)
- exceptional [ik´sepʃənəl] a.异常的，特别的 (英语四级单词)
- far-off [´fɑ:rɔ:f] a.远方的，遥远的 (英语四级单词)
- boyish [´bɔiiʃ] a.少年的；幼稚的 (英语四级单词)
- hopelessly [´həuplisli] ad.无希望地，绝望地 (英语四级单词)
- oppressive [ə´presiv] a.压制的；沉重的 (英语六级单词)
- phenomena [fi´nɔminə] phenomenon的复数 (英语六级单词)
- waistcoat [´weskət, ´weiskəut] n.背心，马甲 (英语六级单词)
- incomplete [,inkəm´pli:t] a.不完全的，未完成的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- lordly [´lɔ:dli] a.高贵的；高傲的 (英语六级单词)
- vocation [vəu´keiʃən] n.职业；使命；天职 (英语六级单词)
- foreseen [fɔ:´si:n] foresee的过去分词 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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