章节正文
visit the latter's home near Charlottetown, and we expected soon
to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the Armstrong
place.
Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the
hill.
"Hasn't Peter got tall?" said Cecily.
"Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy," decreed
Felicity.
"I notice he's got ever so much handsomer since his father came
home," said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on
Felicity, who gravely responded that she supposed it was because
Peter felt so much freer from care and responsibility.
"What luck, Peter?" yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot.
"Everything's all right," he shouted jubilantly. "I told father
right off, licketty-split, as soon as I got home," he added when
he reached us. "I was anxious to have it over with. I says,
solemn-like, 'Dad, there's something I've got to tell you, and I
don't know how you'll take it, but it can't be helped,' I says.
Dad looked pretty sober, and he says, says he, 'What have you been
up to, Peter? Don't be afraid to tell me. I've been forgiven" target="_blank" title="forgive的过去分词">forgiven to
seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a little, too?'
'Well,' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'm a
Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the
Judgment Day, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to
it. I'm sorry I can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and
Aunt Jane, but I can't and that's all there is to it,' I says.
Then I waited, scared-like. But father, he just looked relieved
and he says, says he, 'Goodness, boy, you can be a Presbyterian or
anything else you like, so long as it's Protestant. I'm not
caring,' he says. 'The main thing is that you must be good and do
what's right.' I tell you," concluded Peter emphatically, "father
is a Christian all right."
"Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now," said Felicity.
"What's that you have in your buttonhole?"
"That's a four-leaved clover," answered Peter exultantly. "That
means good luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There
ain't much clover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The
crop is going to be a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it's because
there ain't enough old maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in
Markdale, and that's the reason, he says, why they always have
such good clover crops there."
"What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily.
"I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr.
Roger says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it.
This is the rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover
crop depends on there being plenty of bumble-bees, because they
are the only insects with tongues long enough to--to--fer--
fertilize--I think he called it the blossoms. But mice eat
bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maids keep cats. So your
Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, and the more
cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the more
bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops."
"So don't worry if you do get to be old maids, girls," said Dan.
"Remember, you'll be helping the clover crops."
"I never heard such stuff as you boys talk," said Felicity, "and
Uncle Roger is no better."
"There comes the Story Girl," cried Cecily eagerly. "Now we'll
hear all about Beautiful Alice's home."
The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she
arrived. Miss Reade's home was a dream of a place, it appeared.
The house was just covered with ivy and there was a most
delightful old garden--"and," added the Story Girl, with the joy
of a connoisseur who has found a rare gem, "the sweetest little
story connected with it. And I saw the hero of the story too."
"Where was the heroine?" queried Cecily.
"She is dead."
"Oh, of course she'd have to die," exclaimed Dan in disgust. "I'd
like a story where somebody lived once in awhile."
"I've told you heaps of stories where people lived," retorted the
Story Girl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been
any story. She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I
believe she must have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss
Reade told me all about her. When we went into the garden I saw
in one corner of it an old stone bench arched over by a couple of
pear trees and all grown about with grass and violets. And an old
man was sitting on it--a bent old man with long, snow-white hair
and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely and sorrowful
and I wondered that Miss Reade didn't speak to him. But she never
let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the garden.
After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said,
'Come over to Aunt Una's seat and I will tell you about her and
her lover--that man who has just gone out.'
"'Oh, isn't he too old for a lover?' I said.
"Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had
been her Aunt Una's lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man
then, and her Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen.
"We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her.
She said that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt
Una--that she seemed to have been one of those people who are not
soon forgotten, whose personality seems to linger about the scenes
of their lives long after they have passed away."
"What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?" asked Peter.
"No," said the Story Girl shortly. "I can't stop in a story to
explain words."
"I don't believe you know what it is yourself," said Felicity.
The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the
grass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls.
"I'm going in," she announced. "I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a
cake tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries
than stories."
"That's not fair," I exclaimed. "Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and
Cecily and I have never said a word. It's mean to punish us for
what Peter and Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the
story. Never mind what a personality is but go on--and, Peter,
you young ass, keep still."
"I only wanted to know," muttered Peter sulkily.
"I DO know what personality is, but it's hard to explain," said
the Story Girl, relenting. "It's what makes you different from
Dan, Peter, and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss
Reade's Aunt Una had a personality that was very uncommon. And
she was beautiful, too, with white skin and night-black eyes and
hair--a 'moonlight beauty,' Miss Reade called it. She used to
keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade's mother used to read parts
of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they were lovely; and
she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she loved very
much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plot or
shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of her
Aunt Una's, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her
memory haunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume.
"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been
married on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have
been a gown of white brocade with purple violets in it. But a
little while before it she took ill with fever and died; and she
was buried on her birthday instead of being married. It was just
in the time of opening roses. Her lover has been faithful to her
ever since; he has never married, and every June, on her birthday,
he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and sits for a long time
in silence on the bench where he used to woo her on crimson eves
and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she always
loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deep
and lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can
thus outlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives
her a little eerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really
sitting there beside him, keeping tryst, although she has been in
her grave for forty years."
"It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a
pilgrimage to your garden every year," reflected Sara Ray.
"It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to
him," said Felicity. "Mother says all those sentimental ideas are
bosh and I expect they are. It's a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn't
a beau herself. She is so pretty and lady-like."
"The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up," said Dan.
"There's nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her," cried the
Story Girl, "except--ex-cept--"
"Except who?" asked Felix.
"Never mind," said the Story Girl mysteriously.
CHAPTER XVII
AUNT OLIVIA'S WEDDING
What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesomeexcitement there was
about Aunt Olivia's wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it
we did not go to school at all, but were all kept home to do
chores and run errands. The cooking and decorating and arranging
that went on those two days was amazing, and Felicity was so happy
over it all that she did not even quarrel with Dan--though she
narrowly escaped it when he told her that the Governor's wife was
coming to the wedding.
"Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her," he said.
"I guess," said Felicity with dignity, "that Aunt Olivia's wedding
supper will be good enough for even a Governor's wife."
"I s'pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first
table," said Felix, rather gloomily.
"Never mind," comforted Felicity. "There's a whole turkey to be
kept for us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are
going to wait on the tables, and we'll put away a little of
everything that's extra nice for our suppers."
"I do so want to have my supper with you," sighed Sara Ray, "but I
s'pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won't
trust me out of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she
won't."
"I'll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with
us," said Cecily. "She can't refuse the bride's request."
"You don't know all ma can do," returned Sara darkly. "No, I feel
that I'll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought
to be very thankful I'm to get to the wedding at all, and that ma
did get me a new white dress for it. Even yet I'm so scared
something will happen to prevent me from getting to it."
Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the
voice of the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the
downpour continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it
kept on raining over Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn't be married in
the orchard then. That would be too bad, especially when the late
apple tree had most obligingly kept its store of blossom until
after all the other trees had faded and then burst lavishly into
bloom for Aunt Olivia's wedding. That apple tree was always very
late in blooming, and this year it was a week later than usual.
It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, far-
spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have
been flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy.
To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday
evening, and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a
flood of wonderful radiance over the whole great, green, diamond-
dripping world, promising a fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to
the station through it to bring home the bridegroom and his best
man. Dan was full of a wild idea that we should all meet them at
the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, and "charivari" them
up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of us voted down
the suggestion.
"Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?"
asked Felicity severely. "A nice opinion he'd have of our
manners!"
"Well, it's the only chance we'll have to chivaree them," grumbled
to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the Armstrong
place.
Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the
hill.
"Hasn't Peter got tall?" said Cecily.
"Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy," decreed
Felicity.
"I notice he's got ever so much handsomer since his father came
home," said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on
Felicity, who gravely responded that she supposed it was because
Peter felt so much freer from care and responsibility.
"What luck, Peter?" yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot.
"Everything's all right," he shouted jubilantly. "I told father
right off, licketty-split, as soon as I got home," he added when
he reached us. "I was anxious to have it over with. I says,
solemn-like, 'Dad, there's something I've got to tell you, and I
don't know how you'll take it, but it can't be helped,' I says.
Dad looked pretty sober, and he says, says he, 'What have you been
up to, Peter? Don't be afraid to tell me. I've been forgiven" target="_blank" title="forgive的过去分词">forgiven to
seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a little, too?'
'Well,' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'm a
Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the
Judgment Day, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to
it. I'm sorry I can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and
Aunt Jane, but I can't and that's all there is to it,' I says.
Then I waited, scared-like. But father, he just looked relieved
and he says, says he, 'Goodness, boy, you can be a Presbyterian or
anything else you like, so long as it's Protestant. I'm not
caring,' he says. 'The main thing is that you must be good and do
what's right.' I tell you," concluded Peter emphatically, "father
is a Christian all right."
"Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now," said Felicity.
"What's that you have in your buttonhole?"
"That's a four-leaved clover," answered Peter exultantly. "That
means good luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There
ain't much clover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The
crop is going to be a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it's because
there ain't enough old maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in
Markdale, and that's the reason, he says, why they always have
such good clover crops there."
"What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily.
"I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr.
Roger says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it.
This is the rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover
crop depends on there being plenty of bumble-bees, because they
are the only insects with tongues long enough to--to--fer--
fertilize--I think he called it the blossoms. But mice eat
bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maids keep cats. So your
Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, and the more
cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the more
bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops."
"So don't worry if you do get to be old maids, girls," said Dan.
"Remember, you'll be helping the clover crops."
"I never heard such stuff as you boys talk," said Felicity, "and
Uncle Roger is no better."
"There comes the Story Girl," cried Cecily eagerly. "Now we'll
hear all about Beautiful Alice's home."
The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she
arrived. Miss Reade's home was a dream of a place, it appeared.
The house was just covered with ivy and there was a most
delightful old garden--"and," added the Story Girl, with the joy
of a connoisseur who has found a rare gem, "the sweetest little
story connected with it. And I saw the hero of the story too."
"Where was the heroine?" queried Cecily.
"She is dead."
"Oh, of course she'd have to die," exclaimed Dan in disgust. "I'd
like a story where somebody lived once in awhile."
"I've told you heaps of stories where people lived," retorted the
Story Girl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been
any story. She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I
believe she must have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss
Reade told me all about her. When we went into the garden I saw
in one corner of it an old stone bench arched over by a couple of
pear trees and all grown about with grass and violets. And an old
man was sitting on it--a bent old man with long, snow-white hair
and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely and sorrowful
and I wondered that Miss Reade didn't speak to him. But she never
let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the garden.
After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said,
'Come over to Aunt Una's seat and I will tell you about her and
her lover--that man who has just gone out.'
"'Oh, isn't he too old for a lover?' I said.
"Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had
been her Aunt Una's lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man
then, and her Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen.
"We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her.
She said that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt
Una--that she seemed to have been one of those people who are not
soon forgotten, whose personality seems to linger about the scenes
of their lives long after they have passed away."
"What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?" asked Peter.
"No," said the Story Girl shortly. "I can't stop in a story to
explain words."
"I don't believe you know what it is yourself," said Felicity.
The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the
grass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls.
"I'm going in," she announced. "I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a
cake tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries
than stories."
"That's not fair," I exclaimed. "Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and
Cecily and I have never said a word. It's mean to punish us for
what Peter and Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the
story. Never mind what a personality is but go on--and, Peter,
you young ass, keep still."
"I only wanted to know," muttered Peter sulkily.
"I DO know what personality is, but it's hard to explain," said
the Story Girl, relenting. "It's what makes you different from
Dan, Peter, and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss
Reade's Aunt Una had a personality that was very uncommon. And
she was beautiful, too, with white skin and night-black eyes and
hair--a 'moonlight beauty,' Miss Reade called it. She used to
keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade's mother used to read parts
of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they were lovely; and
she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she loved very
much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plot or
shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of her
Aunt Una's, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her
memory haunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume.
"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been
married on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have
been a gown of white brocade with purple violets in it. But a
little while before it she took ill with fever and died; and she
was buried on her birthday instead of being married. It was just
in the time of opening roses. Her lover has been faithful to her
ever since; he has never married, and every June, on her birthday,
he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and sits for a long time
in silence on the bench where he used to woo her on crimson eves
and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she always
loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deep
and lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can
thus outlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives
her a little eerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really
sitting there beside him, keeping tryst, although she has been in
her grave for forty years."
"It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a
pilgrimage to your garden every year," reflected Sara Ray.
"It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to
him," said Felicity. "Mother says all those sentimental ideas are
bosh and I expect they are. It's a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn't
a beau herself. She is so pretty and lady-like."
"The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up," said Dan.
"There's nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her," cried the
Story Girl, "except--ex-cept--"
"Except who?" asked Felix.
"Never mind," said the Story Girl mysteriously.
CHAPTER XVII
AUNT OLIVIA'S WEDDING
What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesomeexcitement there was
about Aunt Olivia's wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it
we did not go to school at all, but were all kept home to do
chores and run errands. The cooking and decorating and arranging
that went on those two days was amazing, and Felicity was so happy
over it all that she did not even quarrel with Dan--though she
narrowly escaped it when he told her that the Governor's wife was
coming to the wedding.
"Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her," he said.
"I guess," said Felicity with dignity, "that Aunt Olivia's wedding
supper will be good enough for even a Governor's wife."
"I s'pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first
table," said Felix, rather gloomily.
"Never mind," comforted Felicity. "There's a whole turkey to be
kept for us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are
going to wait on the tables, and we'll put away a little of
everything that's extra nice for our suppers."
"I do so want to have my supper with you," sighed Sara Ray, "but I
s'pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won't
trust me out of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she
won't."
"I'll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with
us," said Cecily. "She can't refuse the bride's request."
"You don't know all ma can do," returned Sara darkly. "No, I feel
that I'll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought
to be very thankful I'm to get to the wedding at all, and that ma
did get me a new white dress for it. Even yet I'm so scared
something will happen to prevent me from getting to it."
Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the
voice of the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the
downpour continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it
kept on raining over Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn't be married in
the orchard then. That would be too bad, especially when the late
apple tree had most obligingly kept its store of blossom until
after all the other trees had faded and then burst lavishly into
bloom for Aunt Olivia's wedding. That apple tree was always very
late in blooming, and this year it was a week later than usual.
It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, far-
spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have
been flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy.
To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday
evening, and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a
flood of wonderful radiance over the whole great, green, diamond-
dripping world, promising a fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to
the station through it to bring home the bridegroom and his best
man. Dan was full of a wild idea that we should all meet them at
the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, and "charivari" them
up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of us voted down
the suggestion.
"Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?"
asked Felicity severely. "A nice opinion he'd have of our
manners!"
"Well, it's the only chance we'll have to chivaree them," grumbled
- wholly [´həul-li]
ad.完全，十足；统统 (初中英语单词) - gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- supposed [sə´pəuzd] a.想象的；假定的 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- failure [´feiljə] n.失败；衰竭；破产 (初中英语单词)
- eagerly [´i:gəli] ad.渴望地，急切地 (初中英语单词)
- disgust [dis´gʌst] n.厌恶 vt.令(人)作呕 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- awhile [ə´wail] ad.少顷；片刻 (初中英语单词)
- personality [,pə:sə´næliti] n.人；个性；人品；人物 (初中英语单词)
- linger [´liŋgə] v.逗留；留恋；拖延 (初中英语单词)
- shortly [´ʃɔ:tli] ad.立刻，马上；不久 (初中英语单词)
- punish [´pʌniʃ] vt.(惩)罚；痛击；折磨 (初中英语单词)
- phrase [freiz] n.短语；词组；措词 (初中英语单词)
- haunted [´hɔ:tid] a.常出现鬼的，闹鬼的 (初中英语单词)
- wedding [´wediŋ] n.婚礼，结婚 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- moonlight [´mu:nlait] n.&a.月光(的) (初中英语单词)
- romantic [rəu´mæntik] a.传奇(式)的；浪漫的 (初中英语单词)
- delightful [di´laitful] a.讨人喜欢的 (初中英语单词)
- old-fashioned [´əuld´feʃənd] a.老式的；过时的 (初中英语单词)
- excitement [ik´saitmənt] n.兴奋；骚动；煽动 (初中英语单词)
- amazing [ə´meiziŋ] a.惊人的；惊奇的 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- turkey [´tə:ki] n.火鸡 (初中英语单词)
- wherever [weər´evə] conj.无论在哪里 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- blossom [´blɔsəm] n.花；开花期 vi.开花 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- magnificent [mæg´nifisənt] a.壮丽的；豪华的 (初中英语单词)
- promising [´prɔmisiŋ] a.有希望的；有为的 (初中英语单词)
- protestant [´prɔtistənt] a.新教的 n.新教徒 (高中英语单词)
- clover [´kləuvə] n.三叶草 (高中英语单词)
- crimson [´krimzən] a.&n.深(紫)红(的) (高中英语单词)
- lasting [´lɑ:stiŋ] a.持久的；永远的 (高中英语单词)
- wholesome [´həulsəm] a.有益于健康的 (高中英语单词)
- thankful [´θæŋkfəl] a.感激的；欣慰的 (高中英语单词)
- frantic [´fræntik] a.发狂的；急忙的 (高中英语单词)
- rapture [´ræptʃə] n.着迷；全神贯注 (高中英语单词)
- severely [si´viəli] ad.剧烈地；严格地 (高中英语单词)
- forgiven [fə´givn] forgive的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- presbyterian [,prezbi´tiəriən] a.长老会(制)的 (英语四级单词)
- heroine [´herəuin] n.女英雄；女主人公 (英语四级单词)
- uncommon [ʌn´kɔmən] a.非常的，非凡的，罕见的 (英语四级单词)
- pilgrimage [´pilgrimidʒ] n.朝圣；远游；人生历程 (英语四级单词)
- sentimental [,senti´mentl] a.感伤的；多愁善感的 (英语四级单词)
- preceding [pri(:)´si:diŋ] a.在先的；前面的 (英语四级单词)
- blooming [´blu:miŋ] a.正开花的；妙龄的 (英语四级单词)
- beautifully [´bju:tifəli] ad.美丽地；优美地 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- radiance [´reidjəns] n.发光；光彩；辐射 (英语四级单词)
- morrow [´mɔrəu] n.翌日 (英语四级单词)
- bridegroom [´braidgru:m] n.新郎 (英语四级单词)
- emphatically [im´fætikəli] ad.强调地；断然地 (英语六级单词)
- felicity [fi´lisiti] n.幸福；(措词)适当 (英语六级单词)
- arched [´ɑ:tʃid] a.弓形(结构)的 (英语六级单词)
- darkly [´dɑ:kli] adv.暗，黑；暗中 (英语六级单词)
- lavishly [´læviʃli] ad.大方地；慷慨地 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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