章节正文
housekeeper never opened those sphinx-lips of hers, until years
after the Doctor's name had disappeared from the City Directory
...
He had grown quite thin,--a little gray. The epidemic had
burthened him with responsibilities too multifarious and
ponderous for his slender strength to bear. The continual
nervous strain of abnormally protracted duty, the perpetual
interruption of sleep, had almost prostrated even his will. Now
he only hoped that, during this brief absence from the city, he
might find renewed strength to do his terrible task.
Mosquitoes bit savagely; and the heat became thicker;--and there
was yet no wind. Sparicio and his hired boy Carmelo had been
walking backward and forward for hours overhead,--urging the
vessel yard by yard, with long poles, through the slime of canals
and bayous. With every heavy push, the weary boy would sigh
out,--"Santo Antonio!--Santo Antonio!" Sullen Sparicio himself
at last burst into vociferations of ill-humor:--"Santo
Antonio?--Ah! santissimu e santu diavulu! ... Sacramentu paescite
vegnu un asidente!--malidittu lu Signuri!" All through the
morning they walked and pushed, trudged and sighed and swore; and
the minutes dragged by more wearily than the shuffling of their
feet. "Managgia Cristo co tutta a croce!" ... "Santissimu e
santu diavulu!" ...
But as they reached at last the first of the broad bright lakes,
the heat lifted, the breeze leaped up, the loose sail flapped and
filled; and, bending graciously as a skater, the old San Marco
began to shoot in a straight line over the blue flood. Then,
while the boy sat at the tiller, Sparicio lighted his tiny
charcoal furnace below, and prepared a simple meal,--delicious
yellow macaroni, flavored with goats' cheese; some fried fish,
that smelled appetizingly; and rich black coffee, of Oriental
fragrance and thickness. Julien ate a little, and lay down to
sleep again. This time his rest was undisturbed by the
mosquitoes; and when he woke, in the cooling evening, he felt
almost refreshed. The San Marco was flying into Barataria Bay.
Already the lantern in the lighthouse tower had begun to glow
like a little moon; and right on the rim of the sea, a vast and
vermilion sun seemed to rest his chin. Gray pelicans came
flapping around the mast;--sea-birds sped hurtling by, their
white bosoms rose-flushed by the western glow ... Again
Sparicio's little furnace was at work,--more fish, more macaroni,
more black coffee; also a square-shouldered bottle of gin made
its appearance. Julien ate less sparingly at this second meal;
and smoked a long time on deck with Sparicio, who suddenly became
very good-humored, and chatted volubly in bad Spanish, and in
much worse English. Then while the boy took a few hours' sleep,
the Doctor helped delightedly in maneuvering the little vessel.
He had been a good yachtsman in other years; and Sparicio
declared he would make a good fisherman. By midnight the San
Marco began to run with a long, swinging gait;--she had reached
deep water. Julien slept soundly; the steady rocking of the
sloop seemed to soothe his nerves.
--"After all, " he thought to himself, as he rose from his
little bunk next morning,--"something like this is just what I
needed." ... The pleasant scent of hot coffee greeted
him;--Carmelo was handing him the tin cup containing it, down
through the hatchway. After drinking it he felt really
hungry;--he ate more macaroni than he had ever eaten before.
Then, while Sparicio slept, he aided Carmelo; and during the
middle of the day he rested again. He had not had so much
uninterrupted repose for many a week. He fancied he could feel
himself getting strong. At supper-time it seemed to him he could
not get enough to eat,--although there was plenty for everybody.
All day long there had been exactly the same wave-crease
distorting the white shadow of the San Marco's sail upon the blue
water;--all day long they had been skimming over the liquid level
of a world so jewel-blue that the low green ribbon-strips of
marsh land, the far-off fleeing lines of pine-yellow sand beach,
seemed flaws or breaks in the perfected color of the
universe;--all day long had the cloudless sky revealed through
all its exquisite transparency that inexpressible tenderness
which no painter and no poet can ever reimage,--that unutterable
sweetness which no art of man may ever shadow forth, and which
none may ever comprehend,--though we feel it to be in some
strange way akin to the luminous and unspeakable charm that makes
us wonder at the eyes of a woman when she loves.
Evening came; and the great dominantcelestial tone
deepened;--the circling horizon filled with ghostly
tints,--spectral greens and grays, and pearl-lights and
fish-colors ... Carmelo, as he crouched at the tiller, was
singing, in a low, clear alto, some tristful little melody. Over
the sea, behind them, lay, black-stretching, a long low arm of
island-shore;--before them flamed the splendor of sun-death; they
were sailing into a mighty glory,--into a vast and awful light of
gold.
Shading his vision with his fingers, Sparicio pointed to the long
lean limb of land from which they were fleeing, and said to La
Brierre:--
--"Look-a, Doct-a! Last-a Islan'!"
Julien knew it;--he only nodded his head in reply, and looked the
other way,--into the glory of God. Then, wishing to divert the
fisherman's attention to another theme, he asked what was Carmelo
singing. Sparicio at once shouted to the lad:--
--"Ha! ... ho! Carmelo!--Santu diavulu! ... Sing-a loud-a!
Doct-a lik-a! Sing-a! sing!" .... "He sing-a nicee,"--added
the boatman, with his peculiar dark smile. And then Carmelo
sang, loud and clearly, the song he had been singing before,--one
of those artless Mediterranean ballads, full of caressing
vowel-sounds, and young passion, and melancholy beauty:--
"M'ama ancor, belta fulgente,
Come tu m'amasti allor;--
Ascoltar non dei gente,
Solo interroga il tuo cor." ...
--"He sing-a nicee,--mucha bueno!" murmured the fisherman. And
then, suddenly,--with a rich and splendid basso that seemed to
thrill every fibre of the planking,--Sparicio joined in the
song:--
"M'ama pur d'amore eterno,
Ne deilitto sembri a te;
T'assicuro che l'inferno
Una favola sol e." ...
All the roughness of the man was gone! To Julien's startled
fancy, the fishers had ceased to be;--lo! Carmelo was a princely
page; Sparicio, a king! How perfectly their voices married
together!--they sang with passion, with power, with truth, with
that wondrous natural art which is the birthright of the rudest
Italian soul. And the stars throbbed out in the heaven; and the
glory died in the west; and the night opened its heart; and the
splendor of the eternities fell all about them. Still they sang;
and the San Marco sped on through the soft gloom, ever slightly
swerved by the steady blowing of the southeast wind in her
sail;--always wearing the same crimpling-frill of wave-spray
about her prow,--always accompanied by the same smooth-backed
swells,--always spinning out behind her the same long trail of
interwoven foam. And Julien looked up. Ever the night thrilled
more and more with silent twinklings;--more and more
multitudinously lights pointed in the eternities;--the Evening
Star quivered like a great drop of liquid white fire ready to
fall;--Vega flamed as a pharos lighting the courses ethereal,--to
guide the sailing of the suns, and the swarming of fleets of
worlds. Then the vast sweetness of that violet night entered
into his blood,--filled him with that awful joy, so near akin to
sadness, which the sense of the Infinite brings,--when one feels
the poetry of the Most Ancient and Most Excellent of Poets, and
then is smitten at once with the contrast-thought of the
sickliness and selfishness of Man,--of the blindness and
brutality of cities, whereinto the divine blue light never purely
comes, and the sanctification of the Silences never descends ...
furious cities, walled away from heaven ... Oh! if one could only
sail on thus always, always through such a night--through such a
star-sprinkled violet light, and hear Sparicio and Carmelo sing,
even though it were the same melody always, always the same song!
... "Scuza, Doct-a!--look-a out!" Julien bent down, as the big
boom, loosened, swung over his head. The San Marco was rounding
into shore,--heading for her home. Sparicio lifted a huge
conch-shell from the deck, put it to his lips, filled his deep
lungs, and flung out into the night--thrice--a profound,
mellifluent, booming horn-tone. A minute passed. Then, ghostly
faint, as an echo from very far away, a triple blowing responded
...
And a long purple mass loomed and swelled into sight, heightened,
approached--land and trees black-shadowing, and lights that swung
... The San Marco glided into a bayou,--under a high wharfing of
timbers, where a bearded fisherman waited, and a woman. Sparicio
flung up a rope.
The bearded man caught it by the lantern-light, and tethered the
San Marco to her p]ace. Then he asked, in a deep voice:
-"Has traido al Doctor?"
-"Si, si!" answered Sparicio... "Y el viejo?"
-"Aye! pobre!" responded Feliu,--"hace tres dias que esta
muerto. "
Henry Edwards was dead!
He had died very suddenly, without a cry or a word, while resting
in his rocking-chair,--the very day after Sparicio had sailed.
They had made him a grave in the marsh,--among the high weeds,
not far from the ruined tomb of the Spanish fisherman. But
Sparicio had fairly earned his hundred dollars.
V.
So there was nothing to do at Viosca's Point except to rest.
Feliu and all his men were going to Barataria in the morning on
business;--the Doctor could accompany them there, and take the
Grand Island steamer Monday for New Orleans. With this intention
Julien retired,--not sorry for being able to stretch himself at
full length on the good bed prepared for him, in one of the
unoccupied cabins. But he woke before day with a feeling of
intense prostration, a violentheadache, and such an aversion for
the mere idea of food that Feliu's invitation to breakfast at
five o'clock gave him an internal qualm. Perhaps a touch of
malaria. In any case he felt it would be both dangerous and
useless to return to town unwell; and Feliu, observing his
condition, himself advised against the journey. Wednesday he
would have another opportunity to leave; and in the meanwhile
Carmen would take good care of him ... The boats departed, and
Julien slept again.
The sun was high when he rose up and dressed himself, feeling no
better. He would have liked to walk about the place, but felt
nervously afraid of the sun. He did not remember having ever
felt so broken down before. He pulled a rocking-chair to the
window, tried to smoke a cigar. It commenced to make him feel
still sicker, and he flung it away. It seemed to him the cabin
was swaying, as the San Marco swayed when she first reached the
deep water.
A light rustling sound approached,--a sound of quick feet
treading the grass: then a shadow slanted over the threshold.
In the glow of the open doorway stood a young girl,--gracile,
tall,--with singularly splendid eyes,--brown eyes peeping at him
from beneath a golden riot of loose hair.
--"M'sieu-le-Docteur, maman d'mande si vous n'avez besoin
d'que'que chose?" ... She spoke the rude French of the fishing
villages, where the language lives chiefly as a baragouin,
mingled often with words and forms belonging to many other
after the Doctor's name had disappeared from the City Directory
...
He had grown quite thin,--a little gray. The epidemic had
burthened him with responsibilities too multifarious and
ponderous for his slender strength to bear. The continual
nervous strain of abnormally protracted duty, the perpetual
interruption of sleep, had almost prostrated even his will. Now
he only hoped that, during this brief absence from the city, he
might find renewed strength to do his terrible task.
Mosquitoes bit savagely; and the heat became thicker;--and there
was yet no wind. Sparicio and his hired boy Carmelo had been
walking backward and forward for hours overhead,--urging the
vessel yard by yard, with long poles, through the slime of canals
and bayous. With every heavy push, the weary boy would sigh
out,--"Santo Antonio!--Santo Antonio!" Sullen Sparicio himself
at last burst into vociferations of ill-humor:--"Santo
Antonio?--Ah! santissimu e santu diavulu! ... Sacramentu paescite
vegnu un asidente!--malidittu lu Signuri!" All through the
morning they walked and pushed, trudged and sighed and swore; and
the minutes dragged by more wearily than the shuffling of their
feet. "Managgia Cristo co tutta a croce!" ... "Santissimu e
santu diavulu!" ...
But as they reached at last the first of the broad bright lakes,
the heat lifted, the breeze leaped up, the loose sail flapped and
filled; and, bending graciously as a skater, the old San Marco
began to shoot in a straight line over the blue flood. Then,
while the boy sat at the tiller, Sparicio lighted his tiny
charcoal furnace below, and prepared a simple meal,--delicious
yellow macaroni, flavored with goats' cheese; some fried fish,
that smelled appetizingly; and rich black coffee, of Oriental
fragrance and thickness. Julien ate a little, and lay down to
sleep again. This time his rest was undisturbed by the
mosquitoes; and when he woke, in the cooling evening, he felt
almost refreshed. The San Marco was flying into Barataria Bay.
Already the lantern in the lighthouse tower had begun to glow
like a little moon; and right on the rim of the sea, a vast and
vermilion sun seemed to rest his chin. Gray pelicans came
flapping around the mast;--sea-birds sped hurtling by, their
white bosoms rose-flushed by the western glow ... Again
Sparicio's little furnace was at work,--more fish, more macaroni,
more black coffee; also a square-shouldered bottle of gin made
its appearance. Julien ate less sparingly at this second meal;
and smoked a long time on deck with Sparicio, who suddenly became
very good-humored, and chatted volubly in bad Spanish, and in
much worse English. Then while the boy took a few hours' sleep,
the Doctor helped delightedly in maneuvering the little vessel.
He had been a good yachtsman in other years; and Sparicio
declared he would make a good fisherman. By midnight the San
Marco began to run with a long, swinging gait;--she had reached
deep water. Julien slept soundly; the steady rocking of the
sloop seemed to soothe his nerves.
--"After all, " he thought to himself, as he rose from his
little bunk next morning,--"something like this is just what I
needed." ... The pleasant scent of hot coffee greeted
him;--Carmelo was handing him the tin cup containing it, down
through the hatchway. After drinking it he felt really
hungry;--he ate more macaroni than he had ever eaten before.
Then, while Sparicio slept, he aided Carmelo; and during the
middle of the day he rested again. He had not had so much
uninterrupted repose for many a week. He fancied he could feel
himself getting strong. At supper-time it seemed to him he could
not get enough to eat,--although there was plenty for everybody.
All day long there had been exactly the same wave-crease
distorting the white shadow of the San Marco's sail upon the blue
water;--all day long they had been skimming over the liquid level
of a world so jewel-blue that the low green ribbon-strips of
marsh land, the far-off fleeing lines of pine-yellow sand beach,
seemed flaws or breaks in the perfected color of the
universe;--all day long had the cloudless sky revealed through
all its exquisite transparency that inexpressible tenderness
which no painter and no poet can ever reimage,--that unutterable
sweetness which no art of man may ever shadow forth, and which
none may ever comprehend,--though we feel it to be in some
strange way akin to the luminous and unspeakable charm that makes
us wonder at the eyes of a woman when she loves.
Evening came; and the great dominantcelestial tone
deepened;--the circling horizon filled with ghostly
tints,--spectral greens and grays, and pearl-lights and
fish-colors ... Carmelo, as he crouched at the tiller, was
singing, in a low, clear alto, some tristful little melody. Over
the sea, behind them, lay, black-stretching, a long low arm of
island-shore;--before them flamed the splendor of sun-death; they
were sailing into a mighty glory,--into a vast and awful light of
gold.
Shading his vision with his fingers, Sparicio pointed to the long
lean limb of land from which they were fleeing, and said to La
Brierre:--
--"Look-a, Doct-a! Last-a Islan'!"
Julien knew it;--he only nodded his head in reply, and looked the
other way,--into the glory of God. Then, wishing to divert the
fisherman's attention to another theme, he asked what was Carmelo
singing. Sparicio at once shouted to the lad:--
--"Ha! ... ho! Carmelo!--Santu diavulu! ... Sing-a loud-a!
Doct-a lik-a! Sing-a! sing!" .... "He sing-a nicee,"--added
the boatman, with his peculiar dark smile. And then Carmelo
sang, loud and clearly, the song he had been singing before,--one
of those artless Mediterranean ballads, full of caressing
vowel-sounds, and young passion, and melancholy beauty:--
"M'ama ancor, belta fulgente,
Come tu m'amasti allor;--
Ascoltar non dei gente,
Solo interroga il tuo cor." ...
--"He sing-a nicee,--mucha bueno!" murmured the fisherman. And
then, suddenly,--with a rich and splendid basso that seemed to
thrill every fibre of the planking,--Sparicio joined in the
song:--
"M'ama pur d'amore eterno,
Ne deilitto sembri a te;
T'assicuro che l'inferno
Una favola sol e." ...
All the roughness of the man was gone! To Julien's startled
fancy, the fishers had ceased to be;--lo! Carmelo was a princely
page; Sparicio, a king! How perfectly their voices married
together!--they sang with passion, with power, with truth, with
that wondrous natural art which is the birthright of the rudest
Italian soul. And the stars throbbed out in the heaven; and the
glory died in the west; and the night opened its heart; and the
splendor of the eternities fell all about them. Still they sang;
and the San Marco sped on through the soft gloom, ever slightly
swerved by the steady blowing of the southeast wind in her
sail;--always wearing the same crimpling-frill of wave-spray
about her prow,--always accompanied by the same smooth-backed
swells,--always spinning out behind her the same long trail of
interwoven foam. And Julien looked up. Ever the night thrilled
more and more with silent twinklings;--more and more
multitudinously lights pointed in the eternities;--the Evening
Star quivered like a great drop of liquid white fire ready to
fall;--Vega flamed as a pharos lighting the courses ethereal,--to
guide the sailing of the suns, and the swarming of fleets of
worlds. Then the vast sweetness of that violet night entered
into his blood,--filled him with that awful joy, so near akin to
sadness, which the sense of the Infinite brings,--when one feels
the poetry of the Most Ancient and Most Excellent of Poets, and
then is smitten at once with the contrast-thought of the
sickliness and selfishness of Man,--of the blindness and
brutality of cities, whereinto the divine blue light never purely
comes, and the sanctification of the Silences never descends ...
furious cities, walled away from heaven ... Oh! if one could only
sail on thus always, always through such a night--through such a
star-sprinkled violet light, and hear Sparicio and Carmelo sing,
even though it were the same melody always, always the same song!
... "Scuza, Doct-a!--look-a out!" Julien bent down, as the big
boom, loosened, swung over his head. The San Marco was rounding
into shore,--heading for her home. Sparicio lifted a huge
conch-shell from the deck, put it to his lips, filled his deep
lungs, and flung out into the night--thrice--a profound,
mellifluent, booming horn-tone. A minute passed. Then, ghostly
faint, as an echo from very far away, a triple blowing responded
...
And a long purple mass loomed and swelled into sight, heightened,
approached--land and trees black-shadowing, and lights that swung
... The San Marco glided into a bayou,--under a high wharfing of
timbers, where a bearded fisherman waited, and a woman. Sparicio
flung up a rope.
The bearded man caught it by the lantern-light, and tethered the
San Marco to her p]ace. Then he asked, in a deep voice:
-"Has traido al Doctor?"
-"Si, si!" answered Sparicio... "Y el viejo?"
-"Aye! pobre!" responded Feliu,--"hace tres dias que esta
muerto. "
Henry Edwards was dead!
He had died very suddenly, without a cry or a word, while resting
in his rocking-chair,--the very day after Sparicio had sailed.
They had made him a grave in the marsh,--among the high weeds,
not far from the ruined tomb of the Spanish fisherman. But
Sparicio had fairly earned his hundred dollars.
V.
So there was nothing to do at Viosca's Point except to rest.
Feliu and all his men were going to Barataria in the morning on
business;--the Doctor could accompany them there, and take the
Grand Island steamer Monday for New Orleans. With this intention
Julien retired,--not sorry for being able to stretch himself at
full length on the good bed prepared for him, in one of the
unoccupied cabins. But he woke before day with a feeling of
intense prostration, a violentheadache, and such an aversion for
the mere idea of food that Feliu's invitation to breakfast at
five o'clock gave him an internal qualm. Perhaps a touch of
malaria. In any case he felt it would be both dangerous and
useless to return to town unwell; and Feliu, observing his
condition, himself advised against the journey. Wednesday he
would have another opportunity to leave; and in the meanwhile
Carmen would take good care of him ... The boats departed, and
Julien slept again.
The sun was high when he rose up and dressed himself, feeling no
better. He would have liked to walk about the place, but felt
nervously afraid of the sun. He did not remember having ever
felt so broken down before. He pulled a rocking-chair to the
window, tried to smoke a cigar. It commenced to make him feel
still sicker, and he flung it away. It seemed to him the cabin
was swaying, as the San Marco swayed when she first reached the
deep water.
A light rustling sound approached,--a sound of quick feet
treading the grass: then a shadow slanted over the threshold.
In the glow of the open doorway stood a young girl,--gracile,
tall,--with singularly splendid eyes,--brown eyes peeping at him
from beneath a golden riot of loose hair.
--"M'sieu-le-Docteur, maman d'mande si vous n'avez besoin
d'que'que chose?" ... She spoke the rude French of the fishing
villages, where the language lives chiefly as a baragouin,
mingled often with words and forms belonging to many other
- slender [´slendə]
a.细长的；微薄的 (初中英语单词) - absence [´æbsəns] n.不在，缺席；缺乏 (初中英语单词)
- backward [´bækwəd] ad.向后 a.向后的 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- furnace [´fə:nis] n.熔炉；火炉 (初中英语单词)
- cheese [tʃi:z] n.干酪，乳酪 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- fisherman [´fiʃəmən] n.渔民，渔夫，打鱼人 (初中英语单词)
- midnight [´midnait] n.午夜；漆黑 (初中英语单词)
- liquid [´likwid] n.液体 a.流动的 (初中英语单词)
- painter [´peintə] n.画家；(油)漆工 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- splendor [´splendə] n.壮丽 =splendour (初中英语单词)
- vision [´viʒən] n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词)
- pointed [´pɔintid] a.尖(锐)的；中肯的 (初中英语单词)
- peculiar [pi´kju:liə] a.特有的；奇异的 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- violet [´vaiələt] n.&a.紫罗兰(的)；紫色 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- divine [di´vain] a.神圣的 v.预言 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- steamer [´sti:mə] n.汽船；轮船；蒸笼 (初中英语单词)
- violent [´vaiələnt] a.强暴的；猛烈的 (初中英语单词)
- invitation [,invi´teiʃən] n.邀请；请帖；吸引 (初中英语单词)
- wednesday [´wenzdi] n.星期三 (初中英语单词)
- doorway [´dɔ:wei] n.门口 (初中英语单词)
- chiefly [´tʃi:fli] ad.主要地；尤其 (初中英语单词)
- housekeeper [´haus,ki:pə] n.主妇，女管家 (高中英语单词)
- strain [strein] vt.拉紧 vi.拖 n.张力 (高中英语单词)
- sullen [´sʌlən] a.不高兴的 (高中英语单词)
- thickness [´θiknis] n.厚；浓；粗；稠密 (高中英语单词)
- lantern [´læntən] n.灯笼；提灯 (高中英语单词)
- soothe [su:ð] vt.安慰；镇定；减轻 (高中英语单词)
- repose [ri´pəuz] v.&n.(使)休息；安息 (高中英语单词)
- exquisite [ik´skwizit] a.精巧的；敏锐的 (高中英语单词)
- celestial [si´lestiəl] a.天空的，天的 (高中英语单词)
- melody [´melədi] n.悦耳的音调；乐曲 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- divert [dai´və:t] vt.转移注意力；消遣 (高中英语单词)
- mediterranean [,meditə´reiniən] n.地中海 a.地中海的 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- spinning [´spiniŋ] n.纺织 a.纺织品的 (高中英语单词)
- sweetness [´swi:tnis] n.甜蜜；芳香；亲切 (高中英语单词)
- infinite [´infinit] a.无限的，无穷的 (高中英语单词)
- headache [´hedeik] n.头痛；使人头痛的事 (高中英语单词)
- internal [in´tə:nl] a.内部的；国内的 (高中英语单词)
- epidemic [,epi´demik] n.&a.流行病(的) (英语四级单词)
- savagely [´sævidʒli] ad.野蛮地；原始地 (英语四级单词)
- wearily [´wiərili] ad.疲倦地；厌烦地 (英语四级单词)
- graciously [´greiʃəsli] ad.仁慈地，和蔼庄重地 (英语四级单词)
- undisturbed [,ʌndis´tə:bd] a.未受干扰的；镇静的 (英语四级单词)
- lighthouse [´laithaus] n.灯塔 (英语四级单词)
- far-off [´fɑ:rɔ:f] a.远方的，遥远的 (英语四级单词)
- luminous [´lu:minəs] a.发光的；明晰的 (英语四级单词)
- dominant [´dɔminənt] a.统治的；占优势的 (英语四级单词)
- boatman [´bəutmən] n.船夫；出租游艇者 (英语四级单词)
- wondrous [´wʌndrəs] a.极好的 ad.惊人地 (英语四级单词)
- southeast [,sauθ´i:st] n.&a.东南(方) (英语四级单词)
- lighting [´laitiŋ] n.照明，发光 (英语四级单词)
- blindness [´blaindnis] n.失明；愚味，文盲 (英语四级单词)
- orleans [ɔ:´liənz] n.奥尔良 (英语四级单词)
- unspeakable [ʌn´spi:kəbl] a.不能以言语表达的 (英语六级单词)
- birthright [´bə:θrait] n.生来就有的权利 (英语六级单词)
- smitten [´smitn] smite的过去分词 (英语六级单词)
- selfishness [´selfiʃnis] n.自私；不顾别人 (英语六级单词)
- triple [´tripəl] a.三倍的v.增加到三倍 (英语六级单词)
- departed [di´pɑ:tid] a.已往的；已故的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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