章节正文
herself; but we engaged an expert, who put on a coat of dark green
very speedily, and we consoled the Derelict with the suggestion that
she could cover the cushions, and make the interior cosy and pretty.
All this happened some little time ago. Dr. La Touche has been at
home for a fortnight, and we have had to use the greatest ingenuity
to keep people away from that particular spot, which, fortunately
for us, is a secluded one. All is ready now, however, and the
following cards of invitation have been issued:-
The honour of your presence
is requested at the
Opening of the New Tea Tram
On the River Bank, Rosnaree Demesne,
Wednesday, June 27th, at 4 p.m.
The ceremony will be performed by
H.R.H. Salemina Peabody.
The Bishop of Ossory in the Chair.
I have just learned that a certain William Beresford was Bishop of
Ossory once on a time, and I intend to personate this dignitary,
clad in Dr. La Touche's cap and gown. We spend this sunny morning
by the river-bank; Francesca hemming the last of the yellow window
curtains, and I making souvenir programmes for the great occasion.
Salemina had gone for the day with the Colquhouns and Dr. La Touche
to lunch with some people near Kavan and see Donaghmore Round Tower
and the moat.
"Is she in love with Dr. Gerald?" asked Francesca suddenly, looking
up from her work. "Was she ever in love with him? She must have
been, mustn't she? I cannot and will not entertain any other
conviction."
"I don't know, my dear," I answered thoughtfully, pausing over an
initial letter I was illuminating; "but I can't imagine what we
shall do if we have to tear down our sweet little romance, bit by
bit, and leave the stupid couple sitting in the ruins. They enjoy
ruins far too well already, and it would be just like their
obstinacy to go on sitting in them."
"And they are so incredibly slow about it all," Francesca commented.
"It took me about two minutes, at Lady Baird's dinner, where I first
met Ronald, to decide that I would marry him as soon as possible.
When a month had gone by, and he hadn't asked me, I thought, like
Rosalind, that I'd as lief be wooed of a snail."
"I was not quite so expeditious as you," I confessed, "though I
believe Himself says that his feeling was instantaneous. I never
cared for anything but painting before I met him, so I never chanced
to suffer any of those pangs that lovelorn maidens are said to feel
when the beloved delays his avowals: perhaps that is the reason I
suffer so much now, vicariously."
"The lack of positive information makes one so impatient," Francesca
went on. "I am sure he is as fond of her as ever; but if she
refused him when he was young and handsome, with every prospect of a
brilliant career before him, perhaps he thinks he has even less
chance now. He was the first to forget their romance, and the one
to marry; his estates have been wasted by his father's legal
warfares, and he has been an unhappy and a disappointed man. Now he
has to beg her to heal his wounds, as it were, and to accept the
care and responsibility of his children."
"It is very easy to see that we are not the only ones who suspect
his sentiments," I said, smiling at my thoughts. "Mrs. Colquhoun
told me that she and Salemina stopped at one of the tenants' cabins,
the other day, to leave some small comforts that Dr. La Touche had
sent to a sick child. The woman thanked Salemina, and Mrs.
Colquhoun heard her say, 'When a man will stop, coming in the doore,
an' stoop down to give a sthroke and a scratch to the pig's back,
depend on it, ma'am, him that's so friendly with a poor fellow-
crathur will make ye a good husband.'
"I have given him every opportunity to confide in me," I continued,
after a pause, "but he accepts none of them; and yet I like him a
thousand times better now that I have seen him as the master of his
own house. He is so courtly, and, in these latter days, so genial
and sunny . . . Salemina's life would not at first be any too easy,
I fear; the aunt is very feeble, and the establishment is so
neglected. I went into Dr. Gerald's study the other day to see an
old print, and there was a buzz-buzz-zzzz when the butler pulled up
the blinds. 'Do you mind bees, ma'am?' he asked blandly. 'There's
been a swarm of them in one corner of the ceiling for manny years,
an' we don't like to disturb them.' . . . Benella said yesterday:
'Of course, when you three separate, I shall stay with the one that
needs me most; but if Miss Peabody SHOULD settle over here anywhere,
I'd like to take a scrubbing brush an' go through the castle, or
whatever she's going to live in, with soap and sand and ammonia, and
make it water-sweet before she sets foot in it.' . . . As for the
children, however, no one could regard them as a drawback, for they
are altogethercharming; not well disciplined, of course, but
lovable to the last degree. Broona was planning her future life
when we were walking together yesterday. Jackeen is to be 'an
engineer, by the sea,' so it seems, and Broona is to be a farmer's
wife with a tiny red bill-book like Mrs. Colquhoun's. Her little
boys and girls will sell the milk, and when Jackeen has his
engineering holidays he will come and eat fresh butter and scones
and cream and jam at the farm, and when her children have their
holidays they will go and play on 'Jackeen's beach.' It is the
little people I rely upon chiefly, after all. I wish you could have
seen them cataract down the staircase to greet her this morning. I
notice that she tries to make me divert their attention when Dr.
Gerald is present; for it is a bit suggestive to a widower to see
his children pursue, hang about, and caress a lovely, unmarried
lady. Broona, especially, can hardly keep away from Salemina; and
she is such a fascinating midget, I should think anybody would be
glad to have her included in a marriage contract. 'You have a
weeny, weeny line between your eyebrows, just like my daddy's,' she
said to Salemina the other day. 'It's such a little one, perhaps I
can kiss it away; but daddy has too many, and they are cutted too
deep. Sometimes he whispers, 'Daddy is sad, Broona,' and then I
say, 'Play up, play up, and play the game!' and that makes him
smile.'"
"She is a darling," said Francesca, with the suspicion of a tear in
her eye. "'Were you ever in love, Miss Fancy?' she asked me once.
'I was; it was long, long ago before I belonged to daddy'; and
another time when I had been reading to her, she said 'I often think
that when I get into the kingdom of heaven the person I'll be
gladdest to see will be Marjorie Fleming.' Yes, the children are
sure to help; they always do in whatever circumstances they chance
to be placed. Did you notice Salemina with them at tea-time,
yesterday? It was such a charming scene. The heavy rain had kept
them in, and things had gone wrong in the nursery. Salemina had
glued the hair on Broona's dolly, and knit up a heart-breaking wound
in her side. Then she mended the legs of all the animals in the
Noah's ark, so that they stood firm, erect, and proud; and when, to
draw the children's eyes from the wet window-panes, she proposed a
story, it was pretty to see the grateful youngsters snuggle in her
lap and by her side."
"When does an artist ever fail to see pictures? I have loved
Salemina always, even when she used to part her hair in the middle
and wear spectacles; but that is the first time I ever wanted to
paint her, with the firelight shining on the soft, restful greys and
violets of her dress, and Broona in her arms. Of course, if a woman
is ever to be lovely at all, it will be when she is holding a child.
It is the oldest of all old pictures, and the most beautiful, I
believe, in a man's eyes.
"And do you notice that she and the doctor are beginning to speak
more freely of their past acquaintance?" I went on, looking up at
Francesca, who had dropped her work in her interest. "It is too
amusing! Every hour or two it is: 'Do you remember the day we went
to Bunker Hill?' or, 'Do you recall that charming Mrs. Andrews, with
whom we used to dine occasionally?' or, 'What has become of your
cousin Samuel?' and, 'Is your uncle Thomas yet living?' . . . The
other day, at tea, she asked, 'Do you still take three lumps, Dr. La
Touche? You had always a sweet tooth, I remember.' . . . Then they
ring the changes in this way: 'You were always fond of grey, Miss
Peabody.' 'You had a great fancy for Moore, in the old days, Miss
Peabody: have you outgrown him, or does the 'Anacreontic little
chap,' as Father Prout called him, still appeal to you?' . . . 'You
used to admire Boyle O'Reilly, Dr. La Touche. Would you like to see
some of his letters?' . . . 'Aren't these magnificent rhododendrons,
Dr. La Touche,--even though they are magenta, the colour you
specially dislike?' And so on. Did you chance to look at either of
them last evening, Francesca, when I sang 'Let Erin remember the
days of old'?"
"No; I was thinking of something else. I don't know what there is
about your singing, Penny love, that always makes me think of the
past and dream of the future. Which verse do you mean?"
And, still painting, I hummed:-
"'On Lough Neagh's banks, as the fisherman strays,
When the cool, calm eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
Beneath the waters shining.
. . . . . .
Thus shall memory oft, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over,
And, sighing, look thro' the waves of Time,
For the long-faded glories they cover.'
"That is what our two dear middle-aged lovers are constantly doing
now,--looking at the round towers of other days, as they bend over
memory's crystal pool and see them reflected there. It is because
he fears that the glories are over and gone that Dr. Gerald is
troubled. Some day he will realise that he need not live on
reflections, and he will seek realities."
"I hope so," said Francesca philosophically, as she folded her work;
"but sometimes these people who go mooning about, and looking
through the waves of Time, tumble in and are drowned."
Chapter XXIX. Aunt David's garden.
'O wind, O mighty, melancholy wind,
Blow through me, blow!
Thou blowest forgotten things into my mind
From long ago.'
John Todhunter.
No one ever had a better opportunity than we, of breathing in, so
far as a stranger and a foreigner may, the old Celtic atmosphere,
and of reliving the misty years of legend before the dawn of
history; when
'Long, long ago, beyond the space
Of twice two hundred years,
In Erin old there lived a race
Taller than Roman spears.'
Mr. Colquhoun is one of the best Gaelic scholars in Ireland, and Dr.
Gerald, though not his equal in knowledge of the language, has 'the
full of a sack of stories' in his head. According to the Book of
Leinster, a professional story-teller was required to know seven
times fifty tales, and I believe the doctor could easily pass this
test. It is not easy to make a good translation from Irish to
English, for they tell us there are no two Aryan languages more
opposed to each other in spirit and idiom. We have heard little of
the marvellous old tongue until now, but we are reading it a bit
under the tutelage of these two inspiring masters, and I fancy it
has helped me as much in my understanding of Ireland as my tedious
and perplexing worriments over political problems.
After all, how can we know anything of a nation's present or future
without some attempt to revivify its past? Just as, without some
slender knowledge of its former culture, we must be for ever
ignorant of its inherited powers and aptitudes. The harp that once
through Tara's halls the soul of music shed, now indeed hangs mute
on Tara's walls, but for all that its echoes still reverberate in
the listening ear.
very speedily, and we consoled the Derelict with the suggestion that
she could cover the cushions, and make the interior cosy and pretty.
All this happened some little time ago. Dr. La Touche has been at
home for a fortnight, and we have had to use the greatest ingenuity
to keep people away from that particular spot, which, fortunately
for us, is a secluded one. All is ready now, however, and the
following cards of invitation have been issued:-
The honour of your presence
is requested at the
Opening of the New Tea Tram
On the River Bank, Rosnaree Demesne,
Wednesday, June 27th, at 4 p.m.
The ceremony will be performed by
H.R.H. Salemina Peabody.
The Bishop of Ossory in the Chair.
I have just learned that a certain William Beresford was Bishop of
Ossory once on a time, and I intend to personate this dignitary,
clad in Dr. La Touche's cap and gown. We spend this sunny morning
by the river-bank; Francesca hemming the last of the yellow window
curtains, and I making souvenir programmes for the great occasion.
Salemina had gone for the day with the Colquhouns and Dr. La Touche
to lunch with some people near Kavan and see Donaghmore Round Tower
and the moat.
"Is she in love with Dr. Gerald?" asked Francesca suddenly, looking
up from her work. "Was she ever in love with him? She must have
been, mustn't she? I cannot and will not entertain any other
conviction."
"I don't know, my dear," I answered thoughtfully, pausing over an
initial letter I was illuminating; "but I can't imagine what we
shall do if we have to tear down our sweet little romance, bit by
bit, and leave the stupid couple sitting in the ruins. They enjoy
ruins far too well already, and it would be just like their
obstinacy to go on sitting in them."
"And they are so incredibly slow about it all," Francesca commented.
"It took me about two minutes, at Lady Baird's dinner, where I first
met Ronald, to decide that I would marry him as soon as possible.
When a month had gone by, and he hadn't asked me, I thought, like
Rosalind, that I'd as lief be wooed of a snail."
"I was not quite so expeditious as you," I confessed, "though I
believe Himself says that his feeling was instantaneous. I never
cared for anything but painting before I met him, so I never chanced
to suffer any of those pangs that lovelorn maidens are said to feel
when the beloved delays his avowals: perhaps that is the reason I
suffer so much now, vicariously."
"The lack of positive information makes one so impatient," Francesca
went on. "I am sure he is as fond of her as ever; but if she
refused him when he was young and handsome, with every prospect of a
brilliant career before him, perhaps he thinks he has even less
chance now. He was the first to forget their romance, and the one
to marry; his estates have been wasted by his father's legal
warfares, and he has been an unhappy and a disappointed man. Now he
has to beg her to heal his wounds, as it were, and to accept the
care and responsibility of his children."
"It is very easy to see that we are not the only ones who suspect
his sentiments," I said, smiling at my thoughts. "Mrs. Colquhoun
told me that she and Salemina stopped at one of the tenants' cabins,
the other day, to leave some small comforts that Dr. La Touche had
sent to a sick child. The woman thanked Salemina, and Mrs.
Colquhoun heard her say, 'When a man will stop, coming in the doore,
an' stoop down to give a sthroke and a scratch to the pig's back,
depend on it, ma'am, him that's so friendly with a poor fellow-
crathur will make ye a good husband.'
"I have given him every opportunity to confide in me," I continued,
after a pause, "but he accepts none of them; and yet I like him a
thousand times better now that I have seen him as the master of his
own house. He is so courtly, and, in these latter days, so genial
and sunny . . . Salemina's life would not at first be any too easy,
I fear; the aunt is very feeble, and the establishment is so
neglected. I went into Dr. Gerald's study the other day to see an
old print, and there was a buzz-buzz-zzzz when the butler pulled up
the blinds. 'Do you mind bees, ma'am?' he asked blandly. 'There's
been a swarm of them in one corner of the ceiling for manny years,
an' we don't like to disturb them.' . . . Benella said yesterday:
'Of course, when you three separate, I shall stay with the one that
needs me most; but if Miss Peabody SHOULD settle over here anywhere,
I'd like to take a scrubbing brush an' go through the castle, or
whatever she's going to live in, with soap and sand and ammonia, and
make it water-sweet before she sets foot in it.' . . . As for the
children, however, no one could regard them as a drawback, for they
are altogethercharming; not well disciplined, of course, but
lovable to the last degree. Broona was planning her future life
when we were walking together yesterday. Jackeen is to be 'an
engineer, by the sea,' so it seems, and Broona is to be a farmer's
wife with a tiny red bill-book like Mrs. Colquhoun's. Her little
boys and girls will sell the milk, and when Jackeen has his
engineering holidays he will come and eat fresh butter and scones
and cream and jam at the farm, and when her children have their
holidays they will go and play on 'Jackeen's beach.' It is the
little people I rely upon chiefly, after all. I wish you could have
seen them cataract down the staircase to greet her this morning. I
notice that she tries to make me divert their attention when Dr.
Gerald is present; for it is a bit suggestive to a widower to see
his children pursue, hang about, and caress a lovely, unmarried
lady. Broona, especially, can hardly keep away from Salemina; and
she is such a fascinating midget, I should think anybody would be
glad to have her included in a marriage contract. 'You have a
weeny, weeny line between your eyebrows, just like my daddy's,' she
said to Salemina the other day. 'It's such a little one, perhaps I
can kiss it away; but daddy has too many, and they are cutted too
deep. Sometimes he whispers, 'Daddy is sad, Broona,' and then I
say, 'Play up, play up, and play the game!' and that makes him
smile.'"
"She is a darling," said Francesca, with the suspicion of a tear in
her eye. "'Were you ever in love, Miss Fancy?' she asked me once.
'I was; it was long, long ago before I belonged to daddy'; and
another time when I had been reading to her, she said 'I often think
that when I get into the kingdom of heaven the person I'll be
gladdest to see will be Marjorie Fleming.' Yes, the children are
sure to help; they always do in whatever circumstances they chance
to be placed. Did you notice Salemina with them at tea-time,
yesterday? It was such a charming scene. The heavy rain had kept
them in, and things had gone wrong in the nursery. Salemina had
glued the hair on Broona's dolly, and knit up a heart-breaking wound
in her side. Then she mended the legs of all the animals in the
Noah's ark, so that they stood firm, erect, and proud; and when, to
draw the children's eyes from the wet window-panes, she proposed a
story, it was pretty to see the grateful youngsters snuggle in her
lap and by her side."
"When does an artist ever fail to see pictures? I have loved
Salemina always, even when she used to part her hair in the middle
and wear spectacles; but that is the first time I ever wanted to
paint her, with the firelight shining on the soft, restful greys and
violets of her dress, and Broona in her arms. Of course, if a woman
is ever to be lovely at all, it will be when she is holding a child.
It is the oldest of all old pictures, and the most beautiful, I
believe, in a man's eyes.
"And do you notice that she and the doctor are beginning to speak
more freely of their past acquaintance?" I went on, looking up at
Francesca, who had dropped her work in her interest. "It is too
amusing! Every hour or two it is: 'Do you remember the day we went
to Bunker Hill?' or, 'Do you recall that charming Mrs. Andrews, with
whom we used to dine occasionally?' or, 'What has become of your
cousin Samuel?' and, 'Is your uncle Thomas yet living?' . . . The
other day, at tea, she asked, 'Do you still take three lumps, Dr. La
Touche? You had always a sweet tooth, I remember.' . . . Then they
ring the changes in this way: 'You were always fond of grey, Miss
Peabody.' 'You had a great fancy for Moore, in the old days, Miss
Peabody: have you outgrown him, or does the 'Anacreontic little
chap,' as Father Prout called him, still appeal to you?' . . . 'You
used to admire Boyle O'Reilly, Dr. La Touche. Would you like to see
some of his letters?' . . . 'Aren't these magnificent rhododendrons,
Dr. La Touche,--even though they are magenta, the colour you
specially dislike?' And so on. Did you chance to look at either of
them last evening, Francesca, when I sang 'Let Erin remember the
days of old'?"
"No; I was thinking of something else. I don't know what there is
about your singing, Penny love, that always makes me think of the
past and dream of the future. Which verse do you mean?"
And, still painting, I hummed:-
"'On Lough Neagh's banks, as the fisherman strays,
When the cool, calm eve's declining,
He sees the round towers of other days
Beneath the waters shining.
. . . . . .
Thus shall memory oft, in dreams sublime,
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over,
And, sighing, look thro' the waves of Time,
For the long-faded glories they cover.'
"That is what our two dear middle-aged lovers are constantly doing
now,--looking at the round towers of other days, as they bend over
memory's crystal pool and see them reflected there. It is because
he fears that the glories are over and gone that Dr. Gerald is
troubled. Some day he will realise that he need not live on
reflections, and he will seek realities."
"I hope so," said Francesca philosophically, as she folded her work;
"but sometimes these people who go mooning about, and looking
through the waves of Time, tumble in and are drowned."
Chapter XXIX. Aunt David's garden.
'O wind, O mighty, melancholy wind,
Blow through me, blow!
Thou blowest forgotten things into my mind
From long ago.'
John Todhunter.
No one ever had a better opportunity than we, of breathing in, so
far as a stranger and a foreigner may, the old Celtic atmosphere,
and of reliving the misty years of legend before the dawn of
history; when
'Long, long ago, beyond the space
Of twice two hundred years,
In Erin old there lived a race
Taller than Roman spears.'
Mr. Colquhoun is one of the best Gaelic scholars in Ireland, and Dr.
Gerald, though not his equal in knowledge of the language, has 'the
full of a sack of stories' in his head. According to the Book of
Leinster, a professional story-teller was required to know seven
times fifty tales, and I believe the doctor could easily pass this
test. It is not easy to make a good translation from Irish to
English, for they tell us there are no two Aryan languages more
opposed to each other in spirit and idiom. We have heard little of
the marvellous old tongue until now, but we are reading it a bit
under the tutelage of these two inspiring masters, and I fancy it
has helped me as much in my understanding of Ireland as my tedious
and perplexing worriments over political problems.
After all, how can we know anything of a nation's present or future
without some attempt to revivify its past? Just as, without some
slender knowledge of its former culture, we must be for ever
ignorant of its inherited powers and aptitudes. The harp that once
through Tara's halls the soul of music shed, now indeed hangs mute
on Tara's walls, but for all that its echoes still reverberate in
the listening ear.
- expert [´ekspə:t]
n.&a.专家；内行 (初中英语单词) - suggestion [sə´dʒestʃən] n.建议，提议；暗示 (初中英语单词)
- interior [in´tiəriə] n.&a.内部地(的) (初中英语单词)
- invitation [,invi´teiʃən] n.邀请；请帖；吸引 (初中英语单词)
- ceremony [´seriməni] n.典礼；礼仪；客气 (初中英语单词)
- bishop [´biʃəp] n.主教 (初中英语单词)
- entertain [,entə´tein] vt.招待；娱乐；使高兴 (初中英语单词)
- romance [rəu´mæns] n.中世纪骑士小说 (初中英语单词)
- stupid [´stju:pid] a.愚蠢的；糊涂的 (初中英语单词)
- painting [´peintiŋ] n.绘画；(油)画；着色 (初中英语单词)
- beloved [bi´lʌvd] a.为....所爱的 n.爱人 (初中英语单词)
- prospect [´prɔspekt, prəs´pekt] n.景色；境界 v.勘察 (初中英语单词)
- career [kə´riə] n.经历；生涯；职业 (初中英语单词)
- unhappy [ʌn´hæpi] a.不幸的；不快乐的 (初中英语单词)
- responsibility [ri,spɔnsə´biliti] n.责任(心)；职责；任务 (初中英语单词)
- scratch [skrætʃ] v.&n.抓，搔；抓伤 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- establishment [i´stæbliʃmənt] n.建(成)立；研究所 (初中英语单词)
- disturb [di´stə:b] vt.扰乱；使不安；打乱 (初中英语单词)
- altogether [,ɔ:ltə´geðə] ad.完全；总而言之 (初中英语单词)
- charming [´tʃɑ:miŋ] a.可爱的；极好的 (初中英语单词)
- yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- chiefly [´tʃi:fli] ad.主要地；尤其 (初中英语单词)
- pursue [pə´sju:] v.追赶；追踪；从事 (初中英语单词)
- fascinating [´fæsineitiŋ] a.迷人，使神魂颠倒的 (初中英语单词)
- suspicion [sə´spiʃən] n.怀(猜)疑；嫌疑 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- grateful [´greitful] a.感谢的；令人愉快的 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- freely [´fri:li] ad.自由地；慷慨地 (初中英语单词)
- magnificent [mæg´nifisənt] a.壮丽的；豪华的 (初中英语单词)
- fisherman [´fiʃəmən] n.渔民，渔夫，打鱼人 (初中英语单词)
- glimpse [glimps] n.&v.瞥见 (初中英语单词)
- constantly [´kɔnstəntli] ad.经常地；不断地 (初中英语单词)
- crystal [´kristəl] n.水晶 a.水晶的 (初中英语单词)
- foreigner [´fɔrinə] n.外国人 (初中英语单词)
- professional [prə´feʃənəl] a.职业的 n.自由职业 (初中英语单词)
- culture [´kʌltʃə] n.修养；文化；饲养 (初中英语单词)
- fortnight [´fɔ:tnait] n.两星期 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- thoughtfully [´θɔ:tfuli] ad.深思地；体贴地 (高中英语单词)
- positive [´pɔzətiv] a.确定的 (高中英语单词)
- confide [kən´faid] v.委托；吐露；信任 (高中英语单词)
- butler [´bʌtlə] n.(男)管家 (高中英语单词)
- divert [dai´və:t] vt.转移注意力；消遣 (高中英语单词)
- caress [kə´res] n.&vt.爱抚；接吻 (高中英语单词)
- nursery [´nə:səri] n.托儿所；苗床；养鱼场 (高中英语单词)
- appeal [ə´pi:l] vi.&n.请求；呼吁；上诉 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- ireland [´aiələnd] n.爱尔兰 (高中英语单词)
- translation [træns´leiʃən, trænz-] n.翻译；译文；译本 (高中英语单词)
- speedily [´spi:dili] ad.迅速地 (英语四级单词)
- ammonia [ə´məuniə] n.阿摩尼亚；氨 (英语四级单词)
- cataract [´kætərækt] n.大瀑布；白内障 (英语四级单词)
- staircase [´steəkeis] n.楼梯 =stairway (英语四级单词)
- incredibly [in´kredəbli] ad.难以置信地 (英语六级单词)
- drawback [´drɔ:bæk] n.不利；缺陷；退税 (英语六级单词)
- suggestive [sə´dʒestiv] a.暗示的；启发的 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- middle-aged [´midl´eidʒid] a.中年的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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