章节正文
"Sylvie isn't a foot!"
I thought I had better follow Sylvie's example, and be silent for a
while. Bruno was too sharp for us.
"And when it had singed all the Song, it ran away--for to get along to
look for the Man, oo know. And the Crocodile got along after it--for to
bite it, oo know. And the Mouse got along after the Crocodile."
"Wasn't the Crocodile running?" Sylvie enquired. She appealed to me.
"Crocodiles do run, don't they?"
I suggested "crawling" as the proper word.
"He wasn't running," said Bruno, "and he wasn't crawling.
He went struggling along like a portmanteau. And he held his chin ever
so high in the air--"
"What did he do that for?" said Sylvie.
"'cause he hadn't got a toofache!" said Bruno. "Ca'n't oo make out
nuffin wizout I 'splain it? Why, if he'd had a toofache, a course he'd
have held his head down--like this--and he'd have put a lot of warm
blankets round it!"
"If he'd had any blankets," Sylvie argued.
"Course he had blankets!" retorted her brother. "Doos oo think
Crocodiles goes walks wizout blankets? And he frowned with his
eyebrows. And the Goat was welly flightened at his eyebrows!"
"I'd never be afraid of eyebrows?" exclaimed Sylvie.
"I should think oo would, though, if they'd got a Crocodile fastened to
them, like these had! And so the Man jamp, and he jamp, and at last he
got right out of the hole."
Sylvie gave another little gasp: this rapid dodging about among the
characters of the Story had taken away her breath.
"And he runned away for to look for the Goat, oo know. And he heard
the Lion grunting---"
"Lions don't grunt," said Sylvie.
"This one did," said Bruno. "And its mouth were like a large cupboard.
And it had plenty of room in its mouth. And the Lion runned after the
Man for to eat him, oo know. And the Mouse runned after the Lion."
"But the Mouse was running after the Crocodile," I said: "he couldn't
run after both!"
Bruno sighed over the density of his audience, but explained very
patiently. "He did runned after bofe: 'cause they went the same way!
And first he caught the Crocodile, and then he didn't catch the Lion.
And when he'd caught the Crocodile, what doos oo think he did--'cause
he'd got pincers in his pocket?"
"I ca'n't guess," said Sylvie.
[Image...'He wrenched out that crocodile's toof!']
"Nobody couldn't guess it!" Bruno cried in high glee.
"Why, he wrenched out that Crocodile's toof!"
"Which tooth?" I ventured to ask.
But Bruno was not to be puzzled. "The toof he were going to bite the
Goat with, a course!"
"He couldn't be sure about that," I argued,
"unless he wrenched out all its teeth."
Bruno laughed merrily, and half sang, as he swung himself backwards and
forwards, "He did--wrenched--out--all its teef!"
"Why did the Crocodile wait to have them wrenched out?" said Sylvie.
"It had to wait," said Bruno.
I ventured on another question. "But what became of the Man who said
'You may wait here till I come back'?"
"He didn't say 'Oo may,'" Bruno explained. "He said, 'Oo will.'
Just like Sylvie says to me 'Oo will do oor lessons till twelve o'clock.'
Oh, I wiss," he added with a little sigh, "I wiss Sylvie would say 'Oo
may do oor lessons'!"
This was a dangerous subject for discussion, Sylvie seemed to think.
She returned to the Story. "But what became of the Man?"
"Well, the Lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it were three
weeks in the air--"
"Did the Man wait for it all that time?" I said.
"Course he didn't!" Bruno replied, gliding head-first down the stem of
the fox-glove, for the Story was evidently close to its end.
"He sold his house, and he packed up his things, while the Lion were
coming. And he went and he lived in another town. So the Lion ate
the wrong man."
This was evidently the Moral: so Sylvie made her final proclamation to
the Frogs. "The Story's finished! And whatever is to be learned from
it," she added, aside to me, "I'm sure I don't know!"
I did not feel quite clear about it myself, so made no suggestion: but
the Frogs seemed quite content, Moral or no Moral, and merely raised a
husky chorus of "Off! Off!" as they hopped away.
CHAPTER 25.
LOOKING EASTWARD.
"It's just a week," I said, three days later, to Arthur, "since we
heard of Lady Muriel's engagement. I think I ought to call,
at any rate, and offer my congratulations. Won't you come with me?"
A pained expression passed over his face.
"When must you leave us?" he asked.
"By the first train on Monday."
"Well--yes, I will come with you. It would seem strange and unfriendly
if I didn't. But this is only Friday. Give me till Sunday afternoon.
I shall be stronger then."
Shading his eyes with one hand, as if half-ashamed of the tears that
were coursing down his cheeks, he held the other out to me.
It trembled as I clasped it.
I tried to frame some words of sympathy; but they seemed poor and cold,
and I left them unspoken. "Good night!" was all I said.
"Good night, dear friend!" he replied. There was a manly vigour in his
tone that convinced me he was wrestling with, and triumphing over,
the great sorrow that had so nearly wrecked his life--and that, on the
stepping-stone of his dead self, he would surely rise to higher things!
There was no chance, I was glad to think, as we set out on Sunday
afternoon, of meeting Eric at the Hall, as he had returned to town the
day after his engagement was announced. His presence might have
disturbed the calm--the almost unnatural calm--with which Arthur met
the woman who had won his heart, and murmured the few graceful words of
sympathy that the occasion demanded.
Lady Muriel was perfectlyradiant with happiness: sadness could not
live in the light of such a smile: and even Arthur brightened under it,
and, when she remarked "You see I'm watering my flowers, though it is
the Sabbath-Day," his voice had almost its old ring of cheerfulness as
he replied "Even on the Sabbath-Day works of mercy are allowed.
But this isn't the Sabbath-Day. The Sabbath-day has ceased to exist."
"I know it's not Saturday," Lady Muriel replied; "but isn't Sunday
often called 'the Christian Sabbath'?"
"It is so called, I think, in recognition of the spirit of the Jewish
institution, that one day in seven should be a day of rest.
But I hold that Christians are freed from the literal observance of
the Fourth Commandment."
"Then where is our authority for Sunday observance?"
"We have, first, the fact that the seventh day was 'sanctified',
when God rested from the work of Creation. That is binding on us as
Theists. Secondly, we have the fact that 'the Lord's Day' is a
Christian institution. That is binding on us as Christians."
"And your practical rules would be--?"
"First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way, and to make
it, so far as is reasonably possible, a day of rest. Secondly, as
Christians, to attend public worship."
"And what of amusements?"
"I would say of them, as of all kinds of work, whatever is innocent on
a week-day, is innocent on Sunday, provided it does not interfere with
the duties of the day."
"Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?"
"Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?"
"I have a letter somewhere," said Lady Muriel, "from an old friend,
describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days.
I will fetch it for you."
"I had a similar description, viva voce, years ago," Arthur said when
she had left us, "from a little girl. It was really touching to hear
the melancholy tone in which she said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with my
doll! On Sunday I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't dig
in the garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hating
Sunday!"
"Here is the letter," said Lady Muriel, returning.
"Let me read you a piece of it."
"When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning,
a feeling of dismalanticipation, which began at least on the Friday,
culminated. I knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word,
was 'Would God it were evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day of
texts, of catechisms (Watts'), of tracts about converted swearers,
godly charwomen, and edifying deaths of sinners saved.
"Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned by
heart till 8 o'clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast,
which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone,
and partly from the outlook I dreaded.
"At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into the
class with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by some
mistake of mine, I should be put below them.
"The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered in
it, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the square
family-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowing
that, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottings
of the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had any
text but its own, and to stand or fall by the result.
"This was followed by a, cold dinner at 1 (servants to have no work),
Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6.
The intervals were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts I
had to make, to be less than usually sinful, by reading books and
sermons as barren as the Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in the
distance, all that day: and that was 'bed-time,' which never could come
too early!"
"Such teaching was well meant, no doubt," said Arthur; "but it must
have driven many of its victims into deserting the Church-Services
altogether."
"I'm afraid I was a deserter this morning," she gravely said. "I had
to write to Eric. Would you--would you mind my telling you something
he said about prayer? It had never struck me in that light before."
"In what light?" said Arthur.
"Why, that all Nature goes by fixed, regular laws--Science has proved
that. So that asking God to do anything (except of course praying for
spiritual blessings) is to expect a miracle: and we've no right to do
that. I've not put it as well as he did: but that was the outcome of
it, and it has confused me. Please tell me what you can say in answer
to it."
"I don't propose to discuss Captain Lindon's difficulties," Arthur
gravely replied; "specially as he is not present. But, if it is your
difficulty," (his voice unconsciously took a tenderer tone)
"then I will speak."
"It is my difficulty," she said anxiously.
"Then I will begin by asking 'Why did you except spiritual blessings?'
Is not your mind a part of Nature?"
"Yes, but Free-Will comes in there--I can choose this or that; and God
can influence my choice."
"Then you are not a Fatalist?"
"Oh, no!" she earnestly exclaimed.
"Thank God!" Arthur said to himself, but in so low a whisper that only
I heard it. "You grant then that I can, by an act of free choice,
move this cup," suiting the action to the word, "this way or that way?"
"Yes, I grant it."
"Well, let us see how far the result is produced by fixed laws.
The cup moves because certain mechanical forces are impressed on it by
my hand. My hand moves because certain forces--electric, magnetic,
or whatever 'nerve-force' may prove to be--are impressed on it by my
brain. This nerve-force, stored in the brain, would probably be
traceable, if Science were complete, to chemical forces supplied to the
brain by the blood, and ultimately derived from the food I eat and the
air I breathe."
I thought I had better follow Sylvie's example, and be silent for a
while. Bruno was too sharp for us.
"And when it had singed all the Song, it ran away--for to get along to
look for the Man, oo know. And the Crocodile got along after it--for to
bite it, oo know. And the Mouse got along after the Crocodile."
"Wasn't the Crocodile running?" Sylvie enquired. She appealed to me.
"Crocodiles do run, don't they?"
I suggested "crawling" as the proper word.
"He wasn't running," said Bruno, "and he wasn't crawling.
He went struggling along like a portmanteau. And he held his chin ever
so high in the air--"
"What did he do that for?" said Sylvie.
"'cause he hadn't got a toofache!" said Bruno. "Ca'n't oo make out
nuffin wizout I 'splain it? Why, if he'd had a toofache, a course he'd
have held his head down--like this--and he'd have put a lot of warm
blankets round it!"
"If he'd had any blankets," Sylvie argued.
"Course he had blankets!" retorted her brother. "Doos oo think
Crocodiles goes walks wizout blankets? And he frowned with his
eyebrows. And the Goat was welly flightened at his eyebrows!"
"I'd never be afraid of eyebrows?" exclaimed Sylvie.
"I should think oo would, though, if they'd got a Crocodile fastened to
them, like these had! And so the Man jamp, and he jamp, and at last he
got right out of the hole."
Sylvie gave another little gasp: this rapid dodging about among the
characters of the Story had taken away her breath.
"And he runned away for to look for the Goat, oo know. And he heard
the Lion grunting---"
"Lions don't grunt," said Sylvie.
"This one did," said Bruno. "And its mouth were like a large cupboard.
And it had plenty of room in its mouth. And the Lion runned after the
Man for to eat him, oo know. And the Mouse runned after the Lion."
"But the Mouse was running after the Crocodile," I said: "he couldn't
run after both!"
Bruno sighed over the density of his audience, but explained very
patiently. "He did runned after bofe: 'cause they went the same way!
And first he caught the Crocodile, and then he didn't catch the Lion.
And when he'd caught the Crocodile, what doos oo think he did--'cause
he'd got pincers in his pocket?"
"I ca'n't guess," said Sylvie.
[Image...'He wrenched out that crocodile's toof!']
"Nobody couldn't guess it!" Bruno cried in high glee.
"Why, he wrenched out that Crocodile's toof!"
"Which tooth?" I ventured to ask.
But Bruno was not to be puzzled. "The toof he were going to bite the
Goat with, a course!"
"He couldn't be sure about that," I argued,
"unless he wrenched out all its teeth."
Bruno laughed merrily, and half sang, as he swung himself backwards and
forwards, "He did--wrenched--out--all its teef!"
"Why did the Crocodile wait to have them wrenched out?" said Sylvie.
"It had to wait," said Bruno.
I ventured on another question. "But what became of the Man who said
'You may wait here till I come back'?"
"He didn't say 'Oo may,'" Bruno explained. "He said, 'Oo will.'
Just like Sylvie says to me 'Oo will do oor lessons till twelve o'clock.'
Oh, I wiss," he added with a little sigh, "I wiss Sylvie would say 'Oo
may do oor lessons'!"
This was a dangerous subject for discussion, Sylvie seemed to think.
She returned to the Story. "But what became of the Man?"
"Well, the Lion springed at him. But it came so slow, it were three
weeks in the air--"
"Did the Man wait for it all that time?" I said.
"Course he didn't!" Bruno replied, gliding head-first down the stem of
the fox-glove, for the Story was evidently close to its end.
"He sold his house, and he packed up his things, while the Lion were
coming. And he went and he lived in another town. So the Lion ate
the wrong man."
This was evidently the Moral: so Sylvie made her final proclamation to
the Frogs. "The Story's finished! And whatever is to be learned from
it," she added, aside to me, "I'm sure I don't know!"
I did not feel quite clear about it myself, so made no suggestion: but
the Frogs seemed quite content, Moral or no Moral, and merely raised a
husky chorus of "Off! Off!" as they hopped away.
CHAPTER 25.
LOOKING EASTWARD.
"It's just a week," I said, three days later, to Arthur, "since we
heard of Lady Muriel's engagement. I think I ought to call,
at any rate, and offer my congratulations. Won't you come with me?"
A pained expression passed over his face.
"When must you leave us?" he asked.
"By the first train on Monday."
"Well--yes, I will come with you. It would seem strange and unfriendly
if I didn't. But this is only Friday. Give me till Sunday afternoon.
I shall be stronger then."
Shading his eyes with one hand, as if half-ashamed of the tears that
were coursing down his cheeks, he held the other out to me.
It trembled as I clasped it.
I tried to frame some words of sympathy; but they seemed poor and cold,
and I left them unspoken. "Good night!" was all I said.
"Good night, dear friend!" he replied. There was a manly vigour in his
tone that convinced me he was wrestling with, and triumphing over,
the great sorrow that had so nearly wrecked his life--and that, on the
stepping-stone of his dead self, he would surely rise to higher things!
There was no chance, I was glad to think, as we set out on Sunday
afternoon, of meeting Eric at the Hall, as he had returned to town the
day after his engagement was announced. His presence might have
disturbed the calm--the almost unnatural calm--with which Arthur met
the woman who had won his heart, and murmured the few graceful words of
sympathy that the occasion demanded.
Lady Muriel was perfectlyradiant with happiness: sadness could not
live in the light of such a smile: and even Arthur brightened under it,
and, when she remarked "You see I'm watering my flowers, though it is
the Sabbath-Day," his voice had almost its old ring of cheerfulness as
he replied "Even on the Sabbath-Day works of mercy are allowed.
But this isn't the Sabbath-Day. The Sabbath-day has ceased to exist."
"I know it's not Saturday," Lady Muriel replied; "but isn't Sunday
often called 'the Christian Sabbath'?"
"It is so called, I think, in recognition of the spirit of the Jewish
institution, that one day in seven should be a day of rest.
But I hold that Christians are freed from the literal observance of
the Fourth Commandment."
"Then where is our authority for Sunday observance?"
"We have, first, the fact that the seventh day was 'sanctified',
when God rested from the work of Creation. That is binding on us as
Theists. Secondly, we have the fact that 'the Lord's Day' is a
Christian institution. That is binding on us as Christians."
"And your practical rules would be--?"
"First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way, and to make
it, so far as is reasonably possible, a day of rest. Secondly, as
Christians, to attend public worship."
"And what of amusements?"
"I would say of them, as of all kinds of work, whatever is innocent on
a week-day, is innocent on Sunday, provided it does not interfere with
the duties of the day."
"Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?"
"Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?"
"I have a letter somewhere," said Lady Muriel, "from an old friend,
describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days.
I will fetch it for you."
"I had a similar description, viva voce, years ago," Arthur said when
she had left us, "from a little girl. It was really touching to hear
the melancholy tone in which she said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with my
doll! On Sunday I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't dig
in the garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hating
Sunday!"
"Here is the letter," said Lady Muriel, returning.
"Let me read you a piece of it."
"When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning,
a feeling of dismalanticipation, which began at least on the Friday,
culminated. I knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word,
was 'Would God it were evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day of
texts, of catechisms (Watts'), of tracts about converted swearers,
godly charwomen, and edifying deaths of sinners saved.
"Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned by
heart till 8 o'clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast,
which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone,
and partly from the outlook I dreaded.
"At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into the
class with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by some
mistake of mine, I should be put below them.
"The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered in
it, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the square
family-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowing
that, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottings
of the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had any
text but its own, and to stand or fall by the result.
"This was followed by a, cold dinner at 1 (servants to have no work),
Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6.
The intervals were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts I
had to make, to be less than usually sinful, by reading books and
sermons as barren as the Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in the
distance, all that day: and that was 'bed-time,' which never could come
too early!"
"Such teaching was well meant, no doubt," said Arthur; "but it must
have driven many of its victims into deserting the Church-Services
altogether."
"I'm afraid I was a deserter this morning," she gravely said. "I had
to write to Eric. Would you--would you mind my telling you something
he said about prayer? It had never struck me in that light before."
"In what light?" said Arthur.
"Why, that all Nature goes by fixed, regular laws--Science has proved
that. So that asking God to do anything (except of course praying for
spiritual blessings) is to expect a miracle: and we've no right to do
that. I've not put it as well as he did: but that was the outcome of
it, and it has confused me. Please tell me what you can say in answer
to it."
"I don't propose to discuss Captain Lindon's difficulties," Arthur
gravely replied; "specially as he is not present. But, if it is your
difficulty," (his voice unconsciously took a tenderer tone)
"then I will speak."
"It is my difficulty," she said anxiously.
"Then I will begin by asking 'Why did you except spiritual blessings?'
Is not your mind a part of Nature?"
"Yes, but Free-Will comes in there--I can choose this or that; and God
can influence my choice."
"Then you are not a Fatalist?"
"Oh, no!" she earnestly exclaimed.
"Thank God!" Arthur said to himself, but in so low a whisper that only
I heard it. "You grant then that I can, by an act of free choice,
move this cup," suiting the action to the word, "this way or that way?"
"Yes, I grant it."
"Well, let us see how far the result is produced by fixed laws.
The cup moves because certain mechanical forces are impressed on it by
my hand. My hand moves because certain forces--electric, magnetic,
or whatever 'nerve-force' may prove to be--are impressed on it by my
brain. This nerve-force, stored in the brain, would probably be
traceable, if Science were complete, to chemical forces supplied to the
brain by the blood, and ultimately derived from the food I eat and the
air I breathe."
- running [´rʌniŋ]
a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词) - audience [´ɔ:diəns] n.听众；观众；接见 (初中英语单词)
- discussion [di´skʌʃən] n.讨论；辩论 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- suggestion [sə´dʒestʃən] n.建议，提议；暗示 (初中英语单词)
- chorus [´kɔ:rəs] n.合唱；齐声 v.合唱 (初中英语单词)
- engagement [in´geidʒmənt] n.婚约；雇用；受聘 (初中英语单词)
- sympathy [´simpəθi] n.同情，怜悯 (初中英语单词)
- graceful [´greisfəl] a.优美的，流畅的 (初中英语单词)
- recognition [,rekəg´niʃən] n.认出；认识；承认 (初中英语单词)
- creation [kri´eiʃən] n.创作；作品；创造 (初中英语单词)
- institution [,insti´tju:ʃən] n.建立；制定；制度 (初中英语单词)
- innocent [´inəsənt] a.无罪的；单纯的 (初中英语单词)
- interfere [,intə´fiə] vi.干涉；妨碍；打扰 (初中英语单词)
- restless [´restləs] a.没有休息的 (初中英语单词)
- description [di´skripʃən] n.描写 (初中英语单词)
- abundant [ə´bʌndənt] a.丰富的；充分的 (初中英语单词)
- partly [´pɑ:tli] ad.部分地；不完全地 (初中英语单词)
- wilderness [´wildənis] n.荒地，荒野 (初中英语单词)
- horror [´hɔrə] n.恐怖；战栗 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- barren [´bærən] a.贫瘠的；不生育的 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- miracle [´mirəkl] n.奇迹；令人惊奇的 (初中英语单词)
- spiritual [´spiritʃuəl] a.精神(上)的；神圣的 (初中英语单词)
- whisper [´wispə] v.耳语 n.低语；沙沙声 (初中英语单词)
- mechanical [mi´kænikəl] a.机械的；力学的 (初中英语单词)
- chemical [´kemikəl] a.化学的 n.化学制品 (初中英语单词)
- merrily [´merili] ad.欢乐地；愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- vigour [´vigə] (=vigor) n.活力；精力 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
- sadness [´sædnis] n.悲哀；悲痛；凄惨 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- dismal [´dizməl] a.灰暗的；阴郁的 (高中英语单词)
- lining [´lainiŋ] n.衬里；衬料 (高中英语单词)
- sermon [´sə:mən] n.说教；训诫；讲道 (高中英语单词)
- earnestly [´ə:nistli] ad.认真地；急切地 (高中英语单词)
- proclamation [,prɔklə´meiʃən] n.宣布；公告；声明 (英语四级单词)
- unnatural [,ʌn´nætʃərəl] a.不自然的 (英语四级单词)
- observance [əb´zə:vəns] n.遵守；惯例；仪式 (英语四级单词)
- binding [´baindiŋ] a.捆绑的 n.捆绑(物) (英语四级单词)
- reasonably [´ri:zənəbli] ad.有理地；合理地 (英语四级单词)
- touching [´tʌtʃiŋ] a.动人的 prep.提到 (英语四级单词)
- anticipation [æn,tisi´peiʃən] n.预期；预料；期望 (英语四级单词)
- scripture [´skriptʃə] n.手稿；文件；经典 (英语四级单词)
- outlook [´autluk] n.眺望；景色；展望 (英语四级单词)
- indignant [in´dignənt] a.义愤的，愤慨的 (英语四级单词)
- outcome [´autkʌm] n.结果；后果；成果 (英语四级单词)
- unconsciously [ʌn´kɔʃəsli] ad.无意识地；不觉察地 (英语四级单词)
- ultimately [´ʌltimitli] ad.最后，最终 (英语四级单词)
- crocodile [´krɔkədail] n.鳄鱼；假慈悲的人 (英语六级单词)
- density [´densiti] n.浓(稠)密；密度 (英语六级单词)
- backwards [´bækwədz] ad.向后 a.向后的 (英语六级单词)
- cheerfulness [´tʃiəfulnis] n.高兴，愉快 (英语六级单词)
- secondly [´sekəndli] a.第二(点)；其次 (英语六级单词)
- veritable [´veritəbəl] a.真正的；确实的 (英语六级单词)
- tabernacle [´tæbənækəl] n.临时住房，帐篷 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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