After some discussion it was decided that the syllable must be"strew or strow" and then they waited to see if it was a good guess.
This scene discovered Annette Snow in bed, evidently very ill;Miss Jenny was her anxious mamma, and her merry conversationamused the audience till Mac came in as a physician, and madegreat fun with his big watch, pompous manner, and absurdquestions. He prescribed one pellet with an unpronounceablename, and left after demanding twenty dollars for his brief visit.
The pellet was administered, and such awful agonies immediatelyset in that the distracted mamma bade a sympathetic neighbour runfor Mother Know-all. The neighbour ran, and in came a brisk littleold lady in cap and specs, with a bundle of herbs under her arm,which she at once applied in all sorts of funny ways, explainingtheir virtues as she clapped a plantain poultice here, put a poundedcatnip plaster there, or tied a couple of mullein leaves round thesufferer's throat. Instant relief ensued, the dying child sat up anddemanded baked beans. The grateful parent offered fifty dollars;but Mother Know-all indignantly refused it and went smilingaway, declaring that a neighbourly turn needed no reward, and adoctor's fee was all a humbug.
The audience were in fits of laughter over this scene, for Roseimitated Mrs. Atkinson capitally, and the herb cure was a good hitat the excellent lady's belief that "yarbs" would save mankind ifproperly applied. No one enjoyed it more than herself, and thesaucy children prepared for the grand finale in high feather.
This closing scene was brief but striking, for two trains of carswhizzed in from opposite sides, met with a terrible collision in themiddle of the stage, and a general smash-up completed the wordcatastrophe.
"Now let us act a proverb. I've got one all ready," said Rose, whowas dying to distinguish herself in some way before Uncle Alec.
So everyone but Mac, the gay Westerner, and Rose, took theirplaces on the rocky seats and discussed the late beautiful andvaried charade, in which Pokey frankly pronounced her own scenethe "bestest of all."In five minutes the curtain was lifted; nothing appeared but a verylarge sheet of brown paper pinned to a tree, and on it was drawn aclock-face, the hands pointing to four. A small note belowinformed the public that 4 A.M. was the time. Hardly had theaudience grasped this important fact when a long waterproofserpent was seen uncoiling itself from behind a stump. Aninch-worm, perhaps, would be a better description, for it travelledin the same humpy way as that pleasing reptile. Suddenly a verywide-awake and active fowl advanced, pecking, chirping, andscratching vigorously. A tuft of green leaves waved upon his crest,a larger tuft of brakes made an umbrageous tail, and a shawl ofmany colours formed his flapping wings. A truly noble bird, whoselegs had the genuine strut, whose eyes shone watchfully, andwhose voice had a ring that evidently struck terror into thecatterpillar's soul, if it was a catterpillar. He squirmed, hewriggled, he humped as fast as he could, trying to escape; but all invain. The tufted bird espied him, gave one warbling sort of crow,pounced upon him, and flapped triumphantly away.
Monday, November 26, 2012
“Do they ship all the logs by barge
“Do they ship all the logs by barge, or do you know if they use the railroad, too?”
“I’ve never noticed, to tell you the truth. I’m sure it would be easy to find out, though.”
“Do you know how many trains use the trestle?”
“Again, I’m not sure. Sometimes I hear the whistle at night, and I’ve had to stop more than once in town at the crossing to let the train pass, but it’s not as if I could tell you for certain. I do know they make a lot of shipments from the mill, though. That’s where the train actually stops.”
Jeremy nodded as he stared at the trestle.
Lexie smiled and went on. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that maybe the light from the train shines as it goes over the trestle and that’s what’s causing the lights, right?”
“It did cross my mind.”
“That’s not it,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’re sure?”
“At night, the trains pull into the yard at the paper mill so they can be loaded the following day. So the light on the locomotive is shining in the opposite direction, away from Riker’s Hill.”
He considered that as he joined her at the railing. The wind whipped her hair, making it look wild. She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets.
“I can see why you liked growing up here,” he commented.
She turned so that she could lean back against the railing, and stared toward the downtown area—the neat little shops festooned with American flags, a barbershop pole, a small park nestled at the edge of the boardwalk. On the sidewalk, passersby moved in and out of the establishments, carrying bags. Despite the chill, no one seemed to be rushing at all.
“Well, it is a lot like New York, I have to admit.”
He laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I meant that my parents probably would have loved to raise their kids in a place like this. With big green lawns and forests to play in. Even a river where you could go swimming when it gets hot. It must have been . . .
idyllic.”
“It still is. And that’s what people say about living here.”
“You seem to have thrived here.”
For an instant, she seemed almost sad. “Yeah, but I went off to college. A lot of people around here never do. It’s a poor county, and the town has been struggling ever since the textile mill and phosphorous mine closed, and a lot of parents don’t put much stock into getting a good education. That’s what’s hard sometimes—trying to convince some kids that there’s more to life than working in the paper mill across the river. I live here because I want to live here. I made the choice. But for a lot of these people, they simply stay because it’s impossible for them to leave.”
“That happens everywhere. None of my brothers went to college, either, so I was sort of the oddball, in that learning came easy for me. My parents are working-class folks and lived in Queens their whole life. My dad was a bus driver for the city. Spent forty years of his life sitting behind the wheel until he finally retired.”
She seemed amused. “That’s funny. Yesterday I had you pegged as an Upper East Sider. You know, doorman greeting you by name, prep schools, five-course meals for dinner, a butler who announces guests.”
Is she always thus successful
"Is she always thus successful?" asked Herbert, after a long silence.
"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes, it's invariably correct."
"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain this strange gift?"
"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically or mentally."
"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful power."
"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed and happy dreams."
There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights" echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its intimate connection with this life, so fraught with pain and pleasure.
Chapter 35
Tenderly Dawn looked upon her little group each day, and all the maternal instincts of her nature sprang to the surface, as she thought of their lives coming without their asking, forced upon them to be battled out through storm and fire. Would that all parents might feel the responsibility of maternity, as that pure being did, who gave the richest, warmest current of her life to bear those children on. "He who has most of heart, knows most of sorrow," and many were the moments of sadness that came to Dawn, as she saw beings who were recklessly brought into life to suffer for the want of love and care. But, though sorrowed, she never became morbid. She lived and worked by the light that was given her, earnestly, which is all a mortal can do.
No season was complete to her which did not bring to her side Miss Bernard, who seemed the complement of her very self. One warm summer evening when the air was sweet with the breath of roses, they sat together; earnest words flowing from soul to soul, and their natures blending like the parts of a sweet melody; Dawn's high hope floating above the rich undertone of the deep life-tide on which the soul of her friend was borne.
"I have often wondered," said Dawn, as she clasped the friendly palm more tenderly, "if my life will be as firmly rooted as your own; if the same rich calm will pervade my being."
"If it be once full of agitation, it will surely be calm at last," said Miss Bernard, in that firm tone which indicates that the storms of life are over, "for we are like the molten silver, which continues in a state of agitation until all impurities are thrown off, and then becomes still. We know no rest until the dross is burned away, and our Saviour's face is seen reflected in our own."
The moonlight fell on her features just then, almost transfiguring the still, pale countenance. That holy moment brought them nearer than years of common-place emotions, or any of the external excitements of life. A tenderer revealing of their relation to each other flashed through their hearts-a relation which the silvery moon, and still summer night typified, as all our states find their analogies in the external world.
"No. I have often known her to fail; but when the impression comes, it's invariably correct."
"Wonderful child. How can you educate her, and yet have her retain this strange gift?"
"I obey my impressions, and allow her to play a great deal. She cannot follow her class, therefore I teach her alone, short, easy lessons, and never tax her in any way, physically or mentally."
"You must love her very much; I long to see more of her wonderful power."
"You shall; but the hour is late, I must now send my children to bed and happy dreams."
There was soon a cessasion of the voices, and cheerful "good-nights" echoed through the dwelling. When all was still, Dawn came and sat by him, and long they talked of the land of the hereafter, and its intimate connection with this life, so fraught with pain and pleasure.
Chapter 35
Tenderly Dawn looked upon her little group each day, and all the maternal instincts of her nature sprang to the surface, as she thought of their lives coming without their asking, forced upon them to be battled out through storm and fire. Would that all parents might feel the responsibility of maternity, as that pure being did, who gave the richest, warmest current of her life to bear those children on. "He who has most of heart, knows most of sorrow," and many were the moments of sadness that came to Dawn, as she saw beings who were recklessly brought into life to suffer for the want of love and care. But, though sorrowed, she never became morbid. She lived and worked by the light that was given her, earnestly, which is all a mortal can do.
No season was complete to her which did not bring to her side Miss Bernard, who seemed the complement of her very self. One warm summer evening when the air was sweet with the breath of roses, they sat together; earnest words flowing from soul to soul, and their natures blending like the parts of a sweet melody; Dawn's high hope floating above the rich undertone of the deep life-tide on which the soul of her friend was borne.
"I have often wondered," said Dawn, as she clasped the friendly palm more tenderly, "if my life will be as firmly rooted as your own; if the same rich calm will pervade my being."
"If it be once full of agitation, it will surely be calm at last," said Miss Bernard, in that firm tone which indicates that the storms of life are over, "for we are like the molten silver, which continues in a state of agitation until all impurities are thrown off, and then becomes still. We know no rest until the dross is burned away, and our Saviour's face is seen reflected in our own."
The moonlight fell on her features just then, almost transfiguring the still, pale countenance. That holy moment brought them nearer than years of common-place emotions, or any of the external excitements of life. A tenderer revealing of their relation to each other flashed through their hearts-a relation which the silvery moon, and still summer night typified, as all our states find their analogies in the external world.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
B y the time she exited the park
B y the time she exited the park, the wind had died down. Small mercy. The crowd of gawkers had thinned out, but the media hounds were more dogged. The only way to control the situation, she knew, was to meet it head on.
“I won’t answer questions.” She had to shout to be heard over the questions already being hurled at her. “I will make a brief statement. And if you keep shouting at me, you won’t get that either. Earlier this evening”—she continued through the shouts and the noise level dropped—“officers of the NYPSD discovered the body of a woman in East River Park.”
“Has she been identified?”
“How was she killed?”
Eve simply stared holes into the reporters who attempted to break rank. “Did you guys just drop into the city out of a puffy cloud, or are you just running your mouths to hear your own voice? As anyone with half a brain knows, the woman’s identity will not be given out until after notification of next of kin. Cause of death will be determined by the medical examiner. And anyone stupid enough to ask me if we have any leads is going to be blocked from receiving any ensuing data on this matter. Clear? Now stop wasting my time.”
She stalked off, and was halfway to her own vehicle when she spotted Roarke leaning against the hood. She’d completely forgotten about him.
“Why aren’t you home?”
“What? And miss the entertainment? Hello, Peabody.”
“Hey.” She managed to smile even though her cheeks felt like a couple of slabs of ice. “You’ve been here the whole time?”
“Nearly. I did wander off.” He opened the car door, took out a couple of insulated takeout cups. “To get you presents.”
“It’s coffee,” Peabody said, reverently. “It’s hot coffee.”
“Should thaw you out a bit,Designer Handbags. Bad?” he said to Eve.
“Very. Peabody, track down contact info on the vic’s next of kin.”
“York, Sarifina. On it.”
“I’ll get myself home,” Roarke began, then stopped. “What was that name?”
“York,homepage,” Eve repeated, “Sarifina.” Something sank in her belly. “You’re going to tell me you knew her.”
“Late twenties, attractive brunette?” He leaned back against the car again when Eve nodded. “I hired her a few months ago to manage a club in Chelsea. I can’t say I knew her other than I found her bright, energetic, capable. How did she die?”
Before she could answer,replica louis vuitton handbags, Peabody stepped back up. “Mother in Reno—that’s Nevada—father in Hawaii,cheap designer handbags. Bet it’s warm there. She has a sister in the city. Murray Hill. And the Missing Person’s data came through. The sister reported her missing yesterday.”
“Let’s take the vic’s apartment first, then the club, then the next of kin.”
Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s arm. “You haven’t told me how she died.”
“Badly. This isn’t the place for the details. I can arrange for transpo for you or—”
“I’m going with you. She was one of mine,” he said before she could object. “I’m going with you.”
She didn’t argue. Not only would it waste time and energy, she understood. And since she had him, she’d use him.
“If an employee—especially one in a managerial position—didn’t show for work a few days running, would you be notified?”
Little wonder
"Little wonder," she thought to herself, "that the spirits were angrywith her, seeing that yonder in the burying-ground of kings she haddared to break in upon their rest."From the Place of Purification she travelled on ten days' journey withher companions till they reached the mountain fastness where Hafelahad established himself. The town and its surroundings were ofextraordinary strength,replica montblanc pens, and so well guarded that it was only afterconsiderable difficulty and delay that the women were admitted.
Hearing of her arrival and that she had words for him,replica gucci wallets, Hafela sent forNoma at once, receiving her by night and alone in his principal hut.
She came and stood before him, and he looked at her beauty withadmiring eyes, for he could not forget the woman whom the cunning ofHokosa had forced him to put away.
"Whence come you, pretty one?" he asked, "and wherefore come you? Areyou weary of your husband, that you fly back to me? If so, you arewelcome indeed; for know, Noma, that I still love you.""Ay, Prince, I am weary of my husband sure enough; but I do not fly toyou, for he holds me fast to him with bonds that you cannotunderstand, and fast to him while he lives I must remain.""What hinders, Noma, that having got you here I should keep you here?
The cunning and magic of Hokosa may be great, but they will need to bestill greater to win you from my arms.""This hinders, Prince, that you are playing for a higher stake thanthat of a woman's love, and if you deal thus by me and my husband,then of a surety you will lose the game.""What stake, Noma?""The stake of the crown of the People of Fire.""And why should I lose if I take you as a wife?""Because Hokosa, seeing that I do not return and learning from hisspies why I do not return, will warn the king, and by many means bringall your plans to nothing. Listen now to the words of Hokosa that hehas set between my lips to deliver to you"--and she repeated to himall the message without fault or fail.
"Say it again," he said, and she obeyed.
Then he answered:--"Truly the skill of Hokosa is great, and well he knows how to set asnare; but I think that if by his counsel I should springe the bird,he will be too clever a man to keep upon the threshold of my throne.
He who sets one snare may set twain, and he who sits by the thresholdmay desire to enter the house of kings wherein there is no space fortwo to dwell.""Is this the answer that I am to take back to Hokosa?" asked Noma. "Itwill scarcely bind him to your cause, Prince, and I wonder that youdare to speak it to me who am his wife.""I dare to speak it to you, Noma, because, although you be his wife,all wives do not love their lords; and I think that, perchance in daysto come, you would choose rather to hold the hand of a young king thanthat of a witch-doctor sinking into eld. Thus shall you answer Hokosa:
You shall say to him that I have heard his words and that I find themvery good, and will walk along the path which he has made. Here beforeyou I swear by the oath that may not be broken--the sacred oath,calling down ruin upon my head should I break one word of it--that ifby his aid I succeed in this great venture, I will pay him the pricehe asks. After myself, the king,LINK, he shall be the greatest man amongthe people; he shall be general of the armies; he shall be captain ofthe council and head of the doctors, and to him shall be given halfthe cattle of Nodwengo. Also, into his hand I will deliver all thosewho cling to this faith of the Christians, and, if it pleases him, heshall offer them as a sacrifice to his god. This I swear, and you,Noma, are witness to the oath. Yet it may chance that after he,Hokosa, has gathered up all this pomp and greatness, he himself shallbe gathered up by Death, that harvest-man whom soon or late willgarner every ear,UGG Clerance;" and he looked at her meaningly.
Hearing of her arrival and that she had words for him,replica gucci wallets, Hafela sent forNoma at once, receiving her by night and alone in his principal hut.
She came and stood before him, and he looked at her beauty withadmiring eyes, for he could not forget the woman whom the cunning ofHokosa had forced him to put away.
"Whence come you, pretty one?" he asked, "and wherefore come you? Areyou weary of your husband, that you fly back to me? If so, you arewelcome indeed; for know, Noma, that I still love you.""Ay, Prince, I am weary of my husband sure enough; but I do not fly toyou, for he holds me fast to him with bonds that you cannotunderstand, and fast to him while he lives I must remain.""What hinders, Noma, that having got you here I should keep you here?
The cunning and magic of Hokosa may be great, but they will need to bestill greater to win you from my arms.""This hinders, Prince, that you are playing for a higher stake thanthat of a woman's love, and if you deal thus by me and my husband,then of a surety you will lose the game.""What stake, Noma?""The stake of the crown of the People of Fire.""And why should I lose if I take you as a wife?""Because Hokosa, seeing that I do not return and learning from hisspies why I do not return, will warn the king, and by many means bringall your plans to nothing. Listen now to the words of Hokosa that hehas set between my lips to deliver to you"--and she repeated to himall the message without fault or fail.
"Say it again," he said, and she obeyed.
Then he answered:--"Truly the skill of Hokosa is great, and well he knows how to set asnare; but I think that if by his counsel I should springe the bird,he will be too clever a man to keep upon the threshold of my throne.
He who sets one snare may set twain, and he who sits by the thresholdmay desire to enter the house of kings wherein there is no space fortwo to dwell.""Is this the answer that I am to take back to Hokosa?" asked Noma. "Itwill scarcely bind him to your cause, Prince, and I wonder that youdare to speak it to me who am his wife.""I dare to speak it to you, Noma, because, although you be his wife,all wives do not love their lords; and I think that, perchance in daysto come, you would choose rather to hold the hand of a young king thanthat of a witch-doctor sinking into eld. Thus shall you answer Hokosa:
You shall say to him that I have heard his words and that I find themvery good, and will walk along the path which he has made. Here beforeyou I swear by the oath that may not be broken--the sacred oath,calling down ruin upon my head should I break one word of it--that ifby his aid I succeed in this great venture, I will pay him the pricehe asks. After myself, the king,LINK, he shall be the greatest man amongthe people; he shall be general of the armies; he shall be captain ofthe council and head of the doctors, and to him shall be given halfthe cattle of Nodwengo. Also, into his hand I will deliver all thosewho cling to this faith of the Christians, and, if it pleases him, heshall offer them as a sacrifice to his god. This I swear, and you,Noma, are witness to the oath. Yet it may chance that after he,Hokosa, has gathered up all this pomp and greatness, he himself shallbe gathered up by Death, that harvest-man whom soon or late willgarner every ear,UGG Clerance;" and he looked at her meaningly.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Whosie
"Yes, sir, Whosie, you're a real sweet kid," Margaret tells him.
"Pay no attention, Harry," Tothero says, "that's the way tramps talk."
Margaret hits him: her hand flies up from the table and across her body into his mouth, flat, but without a slapping noise.
"Touché," Ruth says. Her voice is indifferent. The whole thing is so quiet that the Chinaman, clearing their dishes away, doesn't look up, and seems to hear nothing.
"We're going, by jingo," Tothero announces, and tries to stand up, but the edge of the table hits his thighs, and he can stand no higher than a hunchback. The slap has left a little twist in his mouth that Rabbit can't bear to look at, it's so ambiguous and blurred, such a sickly mixture of bravado and shame and, worst, pride or less than pride, conceit. This deathly smirk emits the words, "Are you coming, my dear?"
"Son of a bitch," Margaret says, yet her little hard nut of a body slides over, and she glances behind her to see if she is leaving any-thing, cigarettes or a purse. "Son of a bitch," she repeats, and there is something friendly in the level way she says it. Both she and Tothero seem calmer now, on the move.
Rabbit starts to push up from the table, but Tothero sets a rigid urgent hand on his shoulder, the coach's touch, that Rabbit had so often felt on the bench, just before the pat on the bottom that sent him into the game. "No, no, Harry. You stay. One apiece. Don't let our vulgarity distract you. I couldn't borrow your car, could I?"
"Huh? How would I get anywhere?"
"Quite right, you're quite right. Forgive my asking."
"No, I mean, you can if you want =" In fact he feels deeply reluctant to part with a car that is only half his.
Tothero sees this. "No no. It was an insane thought. Good night."
"You bloated old bastard," Margaret says to him. He glances toward her, then down fuzzily. She is right, Harry realizes, he is bloated; his face is lopsided like a tired balloon. Yet this balloon peers down at him as if there was some message bulging it, heavy and vague like water.
"Where will you go?" Tothero asks.
"I'll be fine. I have money. I'll get a hotel," Rabbit tells him. He wishes, now that he has refused him a favor, that Tothero would go.
"The door of my mansion is open," Tothero says. "There's the one cot only, but we can make a mattress -"
"No, look," Rabbit says severely. "You've saved my life, but I don't want to saddle you. I'll be fine. I can't thank you enough anyway."
"We'll talk sometime," Tothero promises. His hand twitches, and accidentally taps Margaret's thigh.
"I could kill you," Margaret says at his side, and they go off, looking from the back like father and daughter, past the counter where the waiter whispers with the American girl, and out the glass door, Margaret first. The whole thing seems so settled: like little wooden figures going in and out of a barometer.
"God, he's in sad shape."
"Who isn't?" Ruth asks.
"You don't seem to be."
"I eat, is what you mean."
"No, listen, you have some kind of complex about being big. You're not fat. You're right in proportion."
If you submit
If you submit, the Thunderer stands appeased, The Gracious God is willing to be pleased.
This was how he came to call me Vulcan, a title that I was glad to win, because it gave me a certain protection against his caprices.
Caligula then quietly left us, removed his disguise and reappeared as himself, coming in from the Palace courtyard by the door where he had posted me. He pretended to be utterly surprised and shocked at what was going on and stood declaiming Homer again-Ulysses's shame and anger at the behaviour of the palace-women:
As thus pavilioned in the porch he lay, Scenes of lewd loves his wakeful eyes survey;
Whilst to nocturnal joys impure repair With wanton glee, the prostituted fair. His heart with rage this new dishonour stung, Wavering his thought in dubious balance hung. Or, instant should he quench the guilty Same With their own blood, and intercept the shame;
Or to their lust indulge a last embrace, And let the peers consummate the disgrace;
Round his swoln heart the murmurous fury rolls;
As o'er her young the mother-mastiff growls,
And bays the stranger groom: so wrath compress'd
Recoiling, mutter'd thunder in his breast.
"Poor, suffering heart", he cried, "support the pain
Of wounded honour and thy rage restrain!
Not fiercer woes thy fortitude could foil
When the brave partners of thy ten-year toil
Dire Polypheme devoured: I then was freed
By patient prudence from the death decreed."
"For 'Polypheme' read Tiberius'," he explained. Then he clapped his hands for the Guard, who came running up at the double. "Send Cassius Chserea here at once!" Cassius was sent for and Caligula said: "Cassius, old hero, you who acted as my war-horse when I was a child, my oldest and most faithful family-friend, did you ever see such a sad and degrading sight as this? My two sisters prostituting their bodies to senators in my very Palace, my uncle Claudius standing at the gate selling tickets of admission! Oh, what would my poor mother and father have said if they had lived to see this day!"
"Shall I arrest them all, Caesar?" asked Cassius, eagerly.
"No, to their lust indulge a last embrace.”
And let the peers consummate the disgrace," Caligula replied resignedly, and made mother-mastiff noises in his throat. Cassius was told to march the Guard off again.
It was not the last orgy of this sort at the Palace and thereafter Caligula made the senators who had attended the show bring their wives and daughters to assist Agrippinilla and Lesbia. But the problem of raising money was becoming acute again and Caligula decided to visit France and see what he could do there.
He first gathered an enormous number of troops, sending for detachments from all the regular regiments, and forming new regiments, and raising levies from every possible quarter. He marched out of Italy at the head of one hundred and fifty thousand men and increased them, in France, to a quarter of a million. The expense of arming and equipping this immense force fell on the cities through which he passed: and he commandeered the necessary food supplies from them too. Sometimes he went forward at a gallop and made the army march forty-eight hours or more on end to catch up with him, sometimes he went forward at the rate of only a mile or two a day, admiring the scenery from a sedan-chair carried on eight men's shoulders and frequently stopping to pick flowers.
This was how he came to call me Vulcan, a title that I was glad to win, because it gave me a certain protection against his caprices.
Caligula then quietly left us, removed his disguise and reappeared as himself, coming in from the Palace courtyard by the door where he had posted me. He pretended to be utterly surprised and shocked at what was going on and stood declaiming Homer again-Ulysses's shame and anger at the behaviour of the palace-women:
As thus pavilioned in the porch he lay, Scenes of lewd loves his wakeful eyes survey;
Whilst to nocturnal joys impure repair With wanton glee, the prostituted fair. His heart with rage this new dishonour stung, Wavering his thought in dubious balance hung. Or, instant should he quench the guilty Same With their own blood, and intercept the shame;
Or to their lust indulge a last embrace, And let the peers consummate the disgrace;
Round his swoln heart the murmurous fury rolls;
As o'er her young the mother-mastiff growls,
And bays the stranger groom: so wrath compress'd
Recoiling, mutter'd thunder in his breast.
"Poor, suffering heart", he cried, "support the pain
Of wounded honour and thy rage restrain!
Not fiercer woes thy fortitude could foil
When the brave partners of thy ten-year toil
Dire Polypheme devoured: I then was freed
By patient prudence from the death decreed."
"For 'Polypheme' read Tiberius'," he explained. Then he clapped his hands for the Guard, who came running up at the double. "Send Cassius Chserea here at once!" Cassius was sent for and Caligula said: "Cassius, old hero, you who acted as my war-horse when I was a child, my oldest and most faithful family-friend, did you ever see such a sad and degrading sight as this? My two sisters prostituting their bodies to senators in my very Palace, my uncle Claudius standing at the gate selling tickets of admission! Oh, what would my poor mother and father have said if they had lived to see this day!"
"Shall I arrest them all, Caesar?" asked Cassius, eagerly.
"No, to their lust indulge a last embrace.”
And let the peers consummate the disgrace," Caligula replied resignedly, and made mother-mastiff noises in his throat. Cassius was told to march the Guard off again.
It was not the last orgy of this sort at the Palace and thereafter Caligula made the senators who had attended the show bring their wives and daughters to assist Agrippinilla and Lesbia. But the problem of raising money was becoming acute again and Caligula decided to visit France and see what he could do there.
He first gathered an enormous number of troops, sending for detachments from all the regular regiments, and forming new regiments, and raising levies from every possible quarter. He marched out of Italy at the head of one hundred and fifty thousand men and increased them, in France, to a quarter of a million. The expense of arming and equipping this immense force fell on the cities through which he passed: and he commandeered the necessary food supplies from them too. Sometimes he went forward at a gallop and made the army march forty-eight hours or more on end to catch up with him, sometimes he went forward at the rate of only a mile or two a day, admiring the scenery from a sedan-chair carried on eight men's shoulders and frequently stopping to pick flowers.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
I'm sorry
"I'm sorry," said Tommy, sympathetically. "But I can't help myself any more than you can. It's one of the canons of household fiction that no burglar shall be suc- cessful. The burglar must be foiled by a kid like me, or- by a young lady heroine, or at the last moment by his old pal, Red Mike, who recognizes the house as one in which he used to be the coachman. You have got the worst end of it in any kind of a story."
"Well, I suppose I must be clearing out now," said the burglar, taking up his lantern and bracebit.
"You have to take the rest of this chicken and the bottle of wine with you for Bessie and her mother," said Tommy, calmly.
"But confound it," exclaimed the burglar, in an annoyed tone, "they don't want it. I've got five cases of Chateau de Beychsvelle at home that was bottled in 1853. That claret of yours is corked. And you couldn't get either of them to look at a chicken unless it was stewed in champagne. You know, after I get out of the story I don't have so many limitations. I make a turn now and then."
"Yes, but you must take them," said Tommy, loading his arms with the bundles.
"Bless you, young master!" recited the burglar, obedient. "Second-Story Saul will never forget you. And now hurry and let me out, kid. Our 2,000 words must be nearly up."
Tommy led the way through the hall toward the front door. Suddenly the burglar stopped and called to him softly: "Ain't there a cop out there in front somewhere sparking the girl?"
"Yes," said Tommy, "but what -- "
"I'm afraid he'll catch me," said the burglar. "You mustn't forget that this is fiction."
"Great head!" said Tommy, turning. "Come out by the back door."
Blind Man's Holiday
Alas for the man and for the artist with the shifting point of perspective! Life shall be a confusion of ways to the one; the landscape shall rise up and confound the other. Take the case of Lorison. At one time he appeared to himself to be the feeblest of fools; at another he conceived that he followed ideals so fine that the world was not yet ready to accept them. During one mood he cursed his folly; possessed by the other, he bore himself with a serene grandeur akin to greatness: in neither did he attain the perspective.
Generations before, the name had been "Larsen." His race had bequeathed him its fine-strung, melancholy temperament, its saving balance of thrift and industry.
From his point of perspective he saw himself an outcast from society, forever to be a shady skulker along the ragged edge of respectability; a denizen des trois-quartz de monde, that pathetic spheroid lying between the haut and the demi, whose inhabitants envy each of their neigh- bours, and are scorned by both. He was self-condemned to this opinion, as he was self-exiled, through it, to this quaint Southern city a thousand miles from his former home. Here he had dwelt for longer than a year, know- ing but few, keeping in a subjective world of shadows which was invaded at times by the perplexing bulks of jarring realities. Then he fell in love with a girl whom he met in a cheap restaurant, and his story begins.
"Well, I suppose I must be clearing out now," said the burglar, taking up his lantern and bracebit.
"You have to take the rest of this chicken and the bottle of wine with you for Bessie and her mother," said Tommy, calmly.
"But confound it," exclaimed the burglar, in an annoyed tone, "they don't want it. I've got five cases of Chateau de Beychsvelle at home that was bottled in 1853. That claret of yours is corked. And you couldn't get either of them to look at a chicken unless it was stewed in champagne. You know, after I get out of the story I don't have so many limitations. I make a turn now and then."
"Yes, but you must take them," said Tommy, loading his arms with the bundles.
"Bless you, young master!" recited the burglar, obedient. "Second-Story Saul will never forget you. And now hurry and let me out, kid. Our 2,000 words must be nearly up."
Tommy led the way through the hall toward the front door. Suddenly the burglar stopped and called to him softly: "Ain't there a cop out there in front somewhere sparking the girl?"
"Yes," said Tommy, "but what -- "
"I'm afraid he'll catch me," said the burglar. "You mustn't forget that this is fiction."
"Great head!" said Tommy, turning. "Come out by the back door."
Blind Man's Holiday
Alas for the man and for the artist with the shifting point of perspective! Life shall be a confusion of ways to the one; the landscape shall rise up and confound the other. Take the case of Lorison. At one time he appeared to himself to be the feeblest of fools; at another he conceived that he followed ideals so fine that the world was not yet ready to accept them. During one mood he cursed his folly; possessed by the other, he bore himself with a serene grandeur akin to greatness: in neither did he attain the perspective.
Generations before, the name had been "Larsen." His race had bequeathed him its fine-strung, melancholy temperament, its saving balance of thrift and industry.
From his point of perspective he saw himself an outcast from society, forever to be a shady skulker along the ragged edge of respectability; a denizen des trois-quartz de monde, that pathetic spheroid lying between the haut and the demi, whose inhabitants envy each of their neigh- bours, and are scorned by both. He was self-condemned to this opinion, as he was self-exiled, through it, to this quaint Southern city a thousand miles from his former home. Here he had dwelt for longer than a year, know- ing but few, keeping in a subjective world of shadows which was invaded at times by the perplexing bulks of jarring realities. Then he fell in love with a girl whom he met in a cheap restaurant, and his story begins.
Since the Froments had become conquerors
Since the Froments had become conquerors, busily founding a little kingdom and building up a substantial fortune in land, the Beauchenes no longer derided them respecting what they had once deemed their extravagant idea in establishing themselves in the country. Astonished and anticipating now the fullest success, they treated them as well-to-do relatives, and occasionally visited them, delighted with the aspect of that big, bustling farm, so full of life and prosperity. It was in the course of these visits that Constance renewed her intercourse with her former schoolfellow, Madame Angelin, the Froments' neighbor. A great change had come over the Angelins; they had ended by purchasing a little house at the end of the village, where they invariably spent the summer, but their buoyant happiness seemed to have departed. They had long desired to remain unburdened by children, and now they eagerly longed to have a child, and none came, though Claire, the wife, was as yet but six-and-thirty. Her husband, the once gay, handsome musketeer, was already turning gray and losing his eyesight--to such a degree, indeed, that he could scarcely see well enough to continue his profession as a fan-painter.
When Madame Angelin went to Paris she often called on Constance, to whom, before long, she confided all her worries. She had been in a doctor's hands for three years, but all to no avail, and now during the last six months she had been consulting a person in the Rue de Miromesnil, a certain Madame Bourdieu, said she.
Constance at first made light of her friend's statements, and in part declined to believe her. But when she found herself alone she felt disquieted by what she had heard. Perhaps she would have treated the matter as mere idle tittle-tattle, if she had not already regretted that she herself had no second child. On the day when the unhappy Morange had lost his only daughter, and had remained stricken down, utterly alone in life, she had experienced a vague feeling of anguish. Since that supreme loss the wretched accountant had been living on in a state of imbecile stupefaction, simply discharging his duties in a mechanical sort of way from force of habit. Scarcely speaking, but showing great gentleness of manner, he lived as one who was stranded, fated to remain forever at Beauchene's works, where his salary had now risen to eight thousand francs a year. It was not known what he did with this amount, which was considerable for a man who led such a narrow regular life, free from expenses and fancies outside his home--that flat which was much too big for him, but which he had, nevertheless, obstinately retained, shutting himself up therein, and leading a most misanthropic life in fierce solitude.
It was his grievous prostration which had at one moment quite upset and affected Constance, so that she had even sobbed with the desolate man--she whose tears flowed so seldom! No doubt a thought that she might have had other children than Maurice came back to her in certain bitter hours of unconscious self-examination, when from the depths of her being, in which feelings of motherliness awakened, there rose vague fear, sudden dread, such as she had never known before.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
He climbed on anyway
He climbed on anyway.
That night at the Spoon, things were louder than usual, despite Mafia's being in stir and a few of the Crew out on bail and their best behavior. Saturday night toward the end of the dog days; after all.
Near closing time, Stencil approached Profane, who'd been drinking all night but for some reason was still sober.
"Stencil heard you and Rachel are having difficulties."
"Don't start."
"Paola told him."
"Rachel told her. Fine. Buy me a beer."
"Paola loves you, Profane."
"You think that impresses me? What is your act, ace?" Young Stencil sighed. Along came a bartender's rinkydink, yelling "Time, gentlemen, please." Anything properly English like that went over well with the Whole Sick Crew.
"Time for what," Stencil mused. "More words, more beer. Another party, another girl. In short, no time for anything of importance. Profane. Stencil has a problem. A woman."
"Indeed," said Profane. "That's unusual. I never heard of anything like that before."
"Come. Walk."
"I can't help you."
"Be an ear. It's all he needs."
Outside, walking up Hudson Street: "Stencil doesn't want to go to Malta. He is quite simply afraid. Since 1945, you see, he's been on a private manhunt. Or womanhunt, no one is sure."
"Why?" said Profane.
"Why not?" said Stencil. "His giving you any clear reason would mean he'd already found her. Why does one decide to pick up one girl in a bar over another. If one knew why, she would never be a problem. Why do wars start: if one knew why there would be eternal peace. So in this search the motive is part of the quarry.
"Stencil's father mentioned her in his journals: this was near the turn of the century. Stencil became curious in 1945. Was it boredom, was it that old Sidney had never said anything of use to his son; or was it something buried in the son that needed a mystery, any sense of pursuit to keep active a borderline metabolism? Perhaps he feeds on mystery.
"But he stayed off Malta. He had pieces of thread: clues. Young Stencil has been in all her cities, chased her down till faulty memories or vanished buildings defeated him. All her cities but Valletta. His father died in Valletta. He tried to tell himself meeting V. and dying were separate and unconnected for Sidney.
"Not so. Because: all along the first thread, from a young, crude Mata Hari act in Egypt - as always, in no one's employ but her own - while Fashoda tossed sparks in search of a fuse; until 1913 when she knew she'd done all she could and so took time out for love - all that while, something monstrous had been building. Not the War, nor the socialist tide which brought us Soviet Russia. Those were symptoms, that's all."
They'd turned into 14th Street and were walking east. More bums came roving by the closer they got to Third Avenue. Some nights 14th Street can be the widest street with the tallest wind in the earth.
"Not even as if she were any cause, any agent. She was only there. But being there was enough, even as a symptom. Of course Stencil could have chosen the War, or Russia to investigate. But he doesn't have that much time.
That night at the Spoon, things were louder than usual, despite Mafia's being in stir and a few of the Crew out on bail and their best behavior. Saturday night toward the end of the dog days; after all.
Near closing time, Stencil approached Profane, who'd been drinking all night but for some reason was still sober.
"Stencil heard you and Rachel are having difficulties."
"Don't start."
"Paola told him."
"Rachel told her. Fine. Buy me a beer."
"Paola loves you, Profane."
"You think that impresses me? What is your act, ace?" Young Stencil sighed. Along came a bartender's rinkydink, yelling "Time, gentlemen, please." Anything properly English like that went over well with the Whole Sick Crew.
"Time for what," Stencil mused. "More words, more beer. Another party, another girl. In short, no time for anything of importance. Profane. Stencil has a problem. A woman."
"Indeed," said Profane. "That's unusual. I never heard of anything like that before."
"Come. Walk."
"I can't help you."
"Be an ear. It's all he needs."
Outside, walking up Hudson Street: "Stencil doesn't want to go to Malta. He is quite simply afraid. Since 1945, you see, he's been on a private manhunt. Or womanhunt, no one is sure."
"Why?" said Profane.
"Why not?" said Stencil. "His giving you any clear reason would mean he'd already found her. Why does one decide to pick up one girl in a bar over another. If one knew why, she would never be a problem. Why do wars start: if one knew why there would be eternal peace. So in this search the motive is part of the quarry.
"Stencil's father mentioned her in his journals: this was near the turn of the century. Stencil became curious in 1945. Was it boredom, was it that old Sidney had never said anything of use to his son; or was it something buried in the son that needed a mystery, any sense of pursuit to keep active a borderline metabolism? Perhaps he feeds on mystery.
"But he stayed off Malta. He had pieces of thread: clues. Young Stencil has been in all her cities, chased her down till faulty memories or vanished buildings defeated him. All her cities but Valletta. His father died in Valletta. He tried to tell himself meeting V. and dying were separate and unconnected for Sidney.
"Not so. Because: all along the first thread, from a young, crude Mata Hari act in Egypt - as always, in no one's employ but her own - while Fashoda tossed sparks in search of a fuse; until 1913 when she knew she'd done all she could and so took time out for love - all that while, something monstrous had been building. Not the War, nor the socialist tide which brought us Soviet Russia. Those were symptoms, that's all."
They'd turned into 14th Street and were walking east. More bums came roving by the closer they got to Third Avenue. Some nights 14th Street can be the widest street with the tallest wind in the earth.
"Not even as if she were any cause, any agent. She was only there. But being there was enough, even as a symptom. Of course Stencil could have chosen the War, or Russia to investigate. But he doesn't have that much time.
he was dying of hunger
"Oh, he was dying of hunger, madame; he stole a raw carrot for me! They feed him so badly! And then, you know, he had walked goodness knows where all along the river-side. I'm sure, madame, you would have told me yourself to give him some broth!"
Gazing at the little soldier, who sat with his mouth full, not daring to swallow, Helene felt she could no longer remain stern,replica mont blanc pens. So she quietly said:
"Well, well, my girl, whenever the lad is hungry you must keep him to dinner--that's all. I give you permission"
Face to face with them, she had again felt within her that tender feeling which once already had banished all thoughts of rigor from her mind. They were so happy in that kitchen! The cotton curtain, drawn half-way, gave free entry to the sunset beams. The burnished copper pans set the end wall all aglow, lending a rosy tint to the twilight lingering in the room. And there, in the golden shade, the lovers' little round faces shone out, peaceful and radiant, like moons. Their love was instinct with such calm certainty that no neglect was even shown in keeping the kitchen utensils in their wonted good order. It blossomed amidst the savory odors of the cooking-stove, which heightened their appetites and nourished their hearts.
"Mamma," asked Jeanne,moncler jackets women, one evening after considerable meditation, "why is it Rosalie's cousin never kisses her?"
"And why should they kiss one another?" asked Helene in her turn. "They will kiss on their birthdays."
Chapter 7
The soup had just been served on the following Tuesday evening, when Helene, after listening attentively, exclaimed:
"What a downpour! Don't you hear? My poor friends, you will get drenched to-night,fake montblanc pens!"
"Oh, it's only a few drops," said the Abbe quietly, though his old cassock was already wet about the shoulders.
"I've got a good distance to go," said Monsieur Rambaud. "But I shall return home on foot all the same; I like it. Besides, I have my umbrella."
Jeanne was reflecting as she gazed gravely on her last spoonful of vermicelli; and at last her thoughts took shape in words: "Rosalie said you wouldn't come because of the wretched weather; but mamma said you would come. You are very kind; you always come."
A smile lit up all their faces. Helene addressed a nod of affectionate approval to the two brothers. Out of doors the rain was falling with a dull roar,replica louis vuitton handbags, and violent gusts of wind beat angrily against the window-shutters. Winter seemed to have returned. Rosalie had carefully drawn the red repp curtains; and the small, cosy dining-room, illumined by the steady light of the white hanging-lamp, looked, amidst the buffeting of the storm, a picture of pleasant, affectionate intimacy. On the mahogany sideboard some china reflected the quiet light; and amidst all this indoor peacefulness the four diners leisurely conversed, awaiting the good pleasure of the servant-maid, as they sat round the table, where all, if simple, was exquisitely clean.
"Oh! you are waiting; so much the worse!" said Rosalie familiarly, as she entered with a dish. "These are fillets of sole _au gratin_ for Monsieur Rambaud; they require to be lifted just at the last moment."
“Good-bye
,Fake Designer Handbags
“Good-bye, Nate. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jeremy rolled back onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head, but finding it impossible to fall back to sleep, he groaned as he got up and made his way to the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the stuffed creatures that seemed to be watching his every move. Still, he was getting used to them, and as he undressed, he hung his towel on the outstretched paws of a badger, thinking he might as well take advantage of the animal’s convenient pose.
Hopping into the shower, he turned the water as far as it would go and stayed under the single jet for twenty minutes, until his skin was pruned. Only then did he begin to feel alive again. Sleeping less than two hours would do that to a person.
After throwing on his jeans, he grabbed the tapes and got in his car. The fog hung over the road like evaporating dry ice on a concert stage, and the sky had the same ugly tones as it had the day before, making him suspect that the lights would appear again tonight, which not only boded well for the tourists this weekend but also meant that he should probably call Alvin. Even if the tapes were okay, Alvin was magic with a camera, and he’d capture images that would no doubt make Nate’s finger swell up from making frantic calls.
His first step, though, was to see what he’d caught on camera, if only to see that he’d captured something. Not surprisingly, Greenleaf didn’t have a VCR, but he’d seen one in the rare-book room, and as he drove along the quiet road that led toward town, he wondered how Lexie would behave toward him when he got there. Would she go back to being distant and professional? Would the good feelings from their day together linger? Or would she simply remember their final moments on the porch, when he’d pushed too hard? He had no idea what was going to happen, even though he’d devoted much of the night to trying to figure it out.
Sure, he’d found the source of the light. Like most mysteries, it wasn’t that hard to solve if you knew what to look for, and a quick check of a Web site sponsored by NASA eliminated the only other possibility. The moon, he’d learned, couldn’t have been responsible for the lights. It was, in fact, a new moon, when the moon was hidden by the earth’s shadow, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the mysterious lights only occurred in this particular phase. It would make sense: without moonlight, even the faintest traces of other light would become that much more obvious, especially when reflected in the water droplets of the fog,UGG Clerance.
But as he’d stood in the chilly air with the answer within reach, all he could think about was Lexie,shox torch 2. It seemed impossible that he’d only met her two days earlier. It made no sense. Of course,fake uggs boots, Einstein had postulated that time was relative, and he supposed that could explain it. How did the old saying about relativity go? A minute with a beautiful woman would pass in an instant, while a minute with your hand placed against a hot burner would feel like an eternity? Yeah, he thought, that was it. Or close, anyway.
“Good-bye, Nate. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jeremy rolled back onto the bed and pulled the pillow over his head, but finding it impossible to fall back to sleep, he groaned as he got up and made his way to the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the stuffed creatures that seemed to be watching his every move. Still, he was getting used to them, and as he undressed, he hung his towel on the outstretched paws of a badger, thinking he might as well take advantage of the animal’s convenient pose.
Hopping into the shower, he turned the water as far as it would go and stayed under the single jet for twenty minutes, until his skin was pruned. Only then did he begin to feel alive again. Sleeping less than two hours would do that to a person.
After throwing on his jeans, he grabbed the tapes and got in his car. The fog hung over the road like evaporating dry ice on a concert stage, and the sky had the same ugly tones as it had the day before, making him suspect that the lights would appear again tonight, which not only boded well for the tourists this weekend but also meant that he should probably call Alvin. Even if the tapes were okay, Alvin was magic with a camera, and he’d capture images that would no doubt make Nate’s finger swell up from making frantic calls.
His first step, though, was to see what he’d caught on camera, if only to see that he’d captured something. Not surprisingly, Greenleaf didn’t have a VCR, but he’d seen one in the rare-book room, and as he drove along the quiet road that led toward town, he wondered how Lexie would behave toward him when he got there. Would she go back to being distant and professional? Would the good feelings from their day together linger? Or would she simply remember their final moments on the porch, when he’d pushed too hard? He had no idea what was going to happen, even though he’d devoted much of the night to trying to figure it out.
Sure, he’d found the source of the light. Like most mysteries, it wasn’t that hard to solve if you knew what to look for, and a quick check of a Web site sponsored by NASA eliminated the only other possibility. The moon, he’d learned, couldn’t have been responsible for the lights. It was, in fact, a new moon, when the moon was hidden by the earth’s shadow, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the mysterious lights only occurred in this particular phase. It would make sense: without moonlight, even the faintest traces of other light would become that much more obvious, especially when reflected in the water droplets of the fog,UGG Clerance.
But as he’d stood in the chilly air with the answer within reach, all he could think about was Lexie,shox torch 2. It seemed impossible that he’d only met her two days earlier. It made no sense. Of course,fake uggs boots, Einstein had postulated that time was relative, and he supposed that could explain it. How did the old saying about relativity go? A minute with a beautiful woman would pass in an instant, while a minute with your hand placed against a hot burner would feel like an eternity? Yeah, he thought, that was it. Or close, anyway.
[324] His gaze traveled across the six items from Reynerd
[324] His gaze traveled across the six items from Reynerd, but his attention settled longest on the three small bells from the ambulance in which he’d never ridden.
When the phone had not rung after two or three minutes, he switched on the computer and again accessed the telephone log. The most recent entry was the call that he had placed to the hotel to inquire about Dunny Whistler.
Subsequently, the call that he’d received, which had lasted nearly half an hour, had not registered in the log.
Impossible.
He stared at the screen,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots, thinking about Fric’s calls from the heavy breather. He’d been too quick to dismiss the boy’s story.
When Ethan glanced at the phone, he discovered the indicator light aglow at Line 24.
Sales call. Wrong number. And yet ...
Had it been easy to satisfy his curiosity, he would have gone up to the third floor where the answering machine serving Line 24 was isolated in a special chamber behind a locked blue door. By the very act of entering that room, however, he would be surrendering his job.
To Ming du Lac and Charming Manheim, the room behind the blue door was a sacred place. Entry by anyone but them had been forbidden.
In the event of an emergency, Ethan was authorized to use his master key anywhere in the house. The only door that it didn’t open was the blue one,cheap designer handbags.
A flock of angels, the pleasant smell of spruce, and the comfort of the huge armchair could not lull Fric into sleep.
He got out of the chair, ventured warily to the nearest shelves of books, and selected a novel.
Although ten, he read at a sixteen-year-old level. He took no pride in this, for in his experience, most sixteen-year-olds, these days, weren’t whiz kids, probably because no one expected them to be.
[325] Even Ms. Dowd, his English and reading tutor, didn’t expect him to enjoy books; she doubted they were good for him. She said books were relics; the future would be shaped by images, not by words. In fact, she believed in “memes,” which she pronounced meems and defined as ideas that arose spontaneously among “informed people” and spread mind-to-mind among the populace,LINK, like a mental virus, creating “new ways of thinking.”
Ms. Dowd visited Fric four times a week, and after each session,nike shox torch ii, she left behind enough manure to fertilize the lawns and flower beds of the estate for at least a year.
In the armchair once more, Fric discovered that he couldn’t concentrate well enough to become involved in the story. This didn’t mean that books were obsolete, only that he was tired and scared.
He sat for a while, waiting for a meme to pop into his mind and give him something radically new to think about, something that would blow out of his head all thoughts of Moloch, child sacrifices, and strange men who traveled by mirrors. Apparently, however, there was currently no même epidemic underway.
As his eyes began to feel hot and grainy but no heavier, he took from a pocket of his jeans the photo that had been passed to him out of a mirror. He unfolded the picture and smoothed it on his leg.
The lady looked even prettier than he remembered. Not supermodel beautiful, but pretty in a real way. Kind and gentle.
When the phone had not rung after two or three minutes, he switched on the computer and again accessed the telephone log. The most recent entry was the call that he had placed to the hotel to inquire about Dunny Whistler.
Subsequently, the call that he’d received, which had lasted nearly half an hour, had not registered in the log.
Impossible.
He stared at the screen,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots, thinking about Fric’s calls from the heavy breather. He’d been too quick to dismiss the boy’s story.
When Ethan glanced at the phone, he discovered the indicator light aglow at Line 24.
Sales call. Wrong number. And yet ...
Had it been easy to satisfy his curiosity, he would have gone up to the third floor where the answering machine serving Line 24 was isolated in a special chamber behind a locked blue door. By the very act of entering that room, however, he would be surrendering his job.
To Ming du Lac and Charming Manheim, the room behind the blue door was a sacred place. Entry by anyone but them had been forbidden.
In the event of an emergency, Ethan was authorized to use his master key anywhere in the house. The only door that it didn’t open was the blue one,cheap designer handbags.
A flock of angels, the pleasant smell of spruce, and the comfort of the huge armchair could not lull Fric into sleep.
He got out of the chair, ventured warily to the nearest shelves of books, and selected a novel.
Although ten, he read at a sixteen-year-old level. He took no pride in this, for in his experience, most sixteen-year-olds, these days, weren’t whiz kids, probably because no one expected them to be.
[325] Even Ms. Dowd, his English and reading tutor, didn’t expect him to enjoy books; she doubted they were good for him. She said books were relics; the future would be shaped by images, not by words. In fact, she believed in “memes,” which she pronounced meems and defined as ideas that arose spontaneously among “informed people” and spread mind-to-mind among the populace,LINK, like a mental virus, creating “new ways of thinking.”
Ms. Dowd visited Fric four times a week, and after each session,nike shox torch ii, she left behind enough manure to fertilize the lawns and flower beds of the estate for at least a year.
In the armchair once more, Fric discovered that he couldn’t concentrate well enough to become involved in the story. This didn’t mean that books were obsolete, only that he was tired and scared.
He sat for a while, waiting for a meme to pop into his mind and give him something radically new to think about, something that would blow out of his head all thoughts of Moloch, child sacrifices, and strange men who traveled by mirrors. Apparently, however, there was currently no même epidemic underway.
As his eyes began to feel hot and grainy but no heavier, he took from a pocket of his jeans the photo that had been passed to him out of a mirror. He unfolded the picture and smoothed it on his leg.
The lady looked even prettier than he remembered. Not supermodel beautiful, but pretty in a real way. Kind and gentle.
The evening deepened into night
The evening deepened into night; midnight came; no Edith.
Florence could not read, or rest a moment. She paced her own room, opened the door and paced the staircase-gallery outside, looked out of window on the night, listened to the wind blowing and the rain falling, sat down and watched the faces in the fire, got up and watched the moon flying like a storm-driven ship through the sea of clouds.
All the house was gone to bed, except two servants who were waiting the return of their mistress, downstairs.
One o'clock. The carriages that rumbled in the distance, turned away, or stopped short, or went past; the silence gradually deepened, and was more and more rarely broken, save by a rush of wind or sweep of rain. Two o'clock. No Edith!
Florence, more agitated, paced her room; and paced the gallery outside; and looked out at the night, blurred and wavy with the raindrops on the glass, and the tears in her own eyes; and looked up at the hurry in the sky, so different from the repose below, and yet so tranquil and solitary. Three o'clock! There was a terror in every ash that dropped out of the fire. No Edith yet.
More and more agitated, Florence paced her room, and paced the gallery, and looked out at the moon with a new fancy of her likeness to a pale fugitive hurrying away and hiding her guilty face. Four struck! Five! No Edith yet.
But now there was some cautious stir in the house; and Florence found that Mrs Pipchin had been awakened by one of those who sat up, had risen and had gone down to her father's door. Stealing lower down the stairs, and observing what passed, she saw her father come out in his morning gown,nike shox torch ii, and start when he was told his wife had not come home. He dispatched a messenger to the stables to inquire whether the coachman was there; and while the man was gone, dressed himself very hurriedly.
The man came back, in great haste, bringing the coachman with him, who said he had been at home and in bed,homepage, since ten o'clock. He had driven his mistress to her old house in Brook Street, where she had been met by Mr Carker -
Florence stood upon the very spot where she had seen him coming down. Again she shivered with the nameless terror of that sight, and had hardly steadiness enough to hear and understand what followed.
- Who had told him, the man went on to say, that his mistress would not want the carriage to go home in; and had dismissed him.
She saw her father turn white in the face, and heard him ask in a quick, trembling voice, for Mrs Dombey's maid. The whole house was roused; for she was there, in a moment, very pale too, and speaking incoherently.
She said she had dressed her mistress early - full two hours before she went out - and had been told, as she often was,LINK, that she would not be wanted at night. She had just come from her mistress's rooms, but -
'But what! what was it?' Florence heard her father demand like a madman.
'But the inner dressing-room was locked and the key gone.'
Her father seized a candle that was flaming on the ground - someone had put it down there,Replica Designer Handbags, and forgotten it - and came running upstairs with such fury, that Florence, in her fear, had hardly time to fly before him. She heard him striking in the door, as she ran on, with her hands widely spread, and her hair streaming, and her face like a distracted person's, back to her own room.
Florence could not read, or rest a moment. She paced her own room, opened the door and paced the staircase-gallery outside, looked out of window on the night, listened to the wind blowing and the rain falling, sat down and watched the faces in the fire, got up and watched the moon flying like a storm-driven ship through the sea of clouds.
All the house was gone to bed, except two servants who were waiting the return of their mistress, downstairs.
One o'clock. The carriages that rumbled in the distance, turned away, or stopped short, or went past; the silence gradually deepened, and was more and more rarely broken, save by a rush of wind or sweep of rain. Two o'clock. No Edith!
Florence, more agitated, paced her room; and paced the gallery outside; and looked out at the night, blurred and wavy with the raindrops on the glass, and the tears in her own eyes; and looked up at the hurry in the sky, so different from the repose below, and yet so tranquil and solitary. Three o'clock! There was a terror in every ash that dropped out of the fire. No Edith yet.
More and more agitated, Florence paced her room, and paced the gallery, and looked out at the moon with a new fancy of her likeness to a pale fugitive hurrying away and hiding her guilty face. Four struck! Five! No Edith yet.
But now there was some cautious stir in the house; and Florence found that Mrs Pipchin had been awakened by one of those who sat up, had risen and had gone down to her father's door. Stealing lower down the stairs, and observing what passed, she saw her father come out in his morning gown,nike shox torch ii, and start when he was told his wife had not come home. He dispatched a messenger to the stables to inquire whether the coachman was there; and while the man was gone, dressed himself very hurriedly.
The man came back, in great haste, bringing the coachman with him, who said he had been at home and in bed,homepage, since ten o'clock. He had driven his mistress to her old house in Brook Street, where she had been met by Mr Carker -
Florence stood upon the very spot where she had seen him coming down. Again she shivered with the nameless terror of that sight, and had hardly steadiness enough to hear and understand what followed.
- Who had told him, the man went on to say, that his mistress would not want the carriage to go home in; and had dismissed him.
She saw her father turn white in the face, and heard him ask in a quick, trembling voice, for Mrs Dombey's maid. The whole house was roused; for she was there, in a moment, very pale too, and speaking incoherently.
She said she had dressed her mistress early - full two hours before she went out - and had been told, as she often was,LINK, that she would not be wanted at night. She had just come from her mistress's rooms, but -
'But what! what was it?' Florence heard her father demand like a madman.
'But the inner dressing-room was locked and the key gone.'
Her father seized a candle that was flaming on the ground - someone had put it down there,Replica Designer Handbags, and forgotten it - and came running upstairs with such fury, that Florence, in her fear, had hardly time to fly before him. She heard him striking in the door, as she ran on, with her hands widely spread, and her hair streaming, and her face like a distracted person's, back to her own room.
Monday, November 19, 2012
It was near the church - our church
"It was near the church - our church. By a long low wall in the street, after sunset, but still light. He asked if I was going to the church. I hadn't thought to go. Confessions were over. I don't know why I agreed to walk there with him. It was not a command - though I would have obeyed if it had been - but we went up the hill, and into the church, up the side aisle to the confessional.
"'Have you confessed?' he asked.
"I looked at his eyes. I thought at first he was drunk, or marid b'mohhu. I was afraid,homepage.
"'Come then.' We entered the confessional. At the time I thought: don't priests have the right? But I did tell him things I have never told Father Avalanche. I didn't know then who this priest was, you see."
Now sin for Elena Xemxi had been heretofore as natural a function as breathing, eating, or gossiping. Under the agile instruction of the Bad Priest, however, it began to take on the shape of an evil spirit: alien, parasitic, attached like a black slug to her soul.
How could she marry anyone? She was fit, said the Bad Priest,nike shox torch 2, not for the world but for the convent. Christ was her proper husband. No human male could coexist with the sin which fed on her girl-soul. Only Christ was mighty enough, loving enough, forgiving enough. Had He not cured the lepers and exorcised malignant fevers? Only He could welcome disease, clasp it to His bosom, rub against it, kiss it. It had been His mission on earth as now, a spiritual husband in heaven, to know sickness intimately, love it, cure it. This was parable, the Bad Priest told her, metaphor for spirit's cancer. But the Maltese mind, conditioned by its language, is unreceptive to such talk. All my Elena saw was the disease, the literal sickness. Afraid I, or our children, would reap its ravages.
She stayed away from me and from Father A.'s confessional. Stayed in her own house, searched her body each morning and examined her conscience each night for progressive symptoms of the metastasis she feared was in her. Another vocation: whose words were garbled and somehow sinister, as Fausto's own had been.
These, poor child, are the sad events surrounding your given name. It is a different name now that you've been carried off by the U. S. Navy. But beneath that accident you are still Maijstral-Xemxi - a terrible misalliance. May you survive it. I fear not so much a reappearance in you of Elena's mythical "disease" as a fracturing of personality such as your father has undergone. May you be only Paola, one girl: a single given heart, a whole mind at peace. That is a prayer,cheap designer handbags, if you wish.
Later, after the marriage, after your birth, well into the reign of Fausto II when the bombs were falling, the relationship with Elena must have come under some kind of moratorium. There being, perhaps, enough else to do. Fausto enlisted in the home defence; Elena had taken to nursing: feeding and keeping sheltered the bombed-out, comforting the wounded,Fake Designer Handbags, bandaging, burying. At this time - assuming his theory of the "dual man" to be so - Fausto II was becoming more Maltese and less British.
"'Have you confessed?' he asked.
"I looked at his eyes. I thought at first he was drunk, or marid b'mohhu. I was afraid,homepage.
"'Come then.' We entered the confessional. At the time I thought: don't priests have the right? But I did tell him things I have never told Father Avalanche. I didn't know then who this priest was, you see."
Now sin for Elena Xemxi had been heretofore as natural a function as breathing, eating, or gossiping. Under the agile instruction of the Bad Priest, however, it began to take on the shape of an evil spirit: alien, parasitic, attached like a black slug to her soul.
How could she marry anyone? She was fit, said the Bad Priest,nike shox torch 2, not for the world but for the convent. Christ was her proper husband. No human male could coexist with the sin which fed on her girl-soul. Only Christ was mighty enough, loving enough, forgiving enough. Had He not cured the lepers and exorcised malignant fevers? Only He could welcome disease, clasp it to His bosom, rub against it, kiss it. It had been His mission on earth as now, a spiritual husband in heaven, to know sickness intimately, love it, cure it. This was parable, the Bad Priest told her, metaphor for spirit's cancer. But the Maltese mind, conditioned by its language, is unreceptive to such talk. All my Elena saw was the disease, the literal sickness. Afraid I, or our children, would reap its ravages.
She stayed away from me and from Father A.'s confessional. Stayed in her own house, searched her body each morning and examined her conscience each night for progressive symptoms of the metastasis she feared was in her. Another vocation: whose words were garbled and somehow sinister, as Fausto's own had been.
These, poor child, are the sad events surrounding your given name. It is a different name now that you've been carried off by the U. S. Navy. But beneath that accident you are still Maijstral-Xemxi - a terrible misalliance. May you survive it. I fear not so much a reappearance in you of Elena's mythical "disease" as a fracturing of personality such as your father has undergone. May you be only Paola, one girl: a single given heart, a whole mind at peace. That is a prayer,cheap designer handbags, if you wish.
Later, after the marriage, after your birth, well into the reign of Fausto II when the bombs were falling, the relationship with Elena must have come under some kind of moratorium. There being, perhaps, enough else to do. Fausto enlisted in the home defence; Elena had taken to nursing: feeding and keeping sheltered the bombed-out, comforting the wounded,Fake Designer Handbags, bandaging, burying. At this time - assuming his theory of the "dual man" to be so - Fausto II was becoming more Maltese and less British.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
You 'membehs Honey Tone
"You 'membehs Honey Tone?" The Wildcat introduced the uplifter. "Honey Tone leads de parade. Us starts in five minutes. Jine in, Backslid, an' yo' marches 'longside ob me an' Lily."
"Sho' 'steem to, Wilecat, but I takes mah run dis aftehnoon."
"How come run?"
"I's back on de ol' job runnin' Pullman out of Chicago. I's due out on de Fliah fo' Chicago at two-fo'ty. Any time yo' craves a ramble on de cushions, roun' me up. Ah stakes yo' to a white coat an' yo' is aced in as mah helpeh. Pullman service is crammed wid dead-head helpehs now de Guv'ment's runnin' de lines. An' Boy--once us 'rives at Chicago de gran' ruckus begins!"
"Backslid, 'at sho' sounds noble. Some day me an' Lily sho' make a trip wid you."
The Wildcat and his former associate were interrupted by Honey Tone Boone. "Wilecat, you's de Supreem Arrangeh, ain't you? Roun' up de humans. Fawm de parade. Us starts."
The Wildcat threw back his head and addressed the gathering in the barber shop. "Company, 'tenshun! All de niggahs in de room whut's gwine to jine de gran' parade, fall out de do' an' fall in!" He led the rush for the exit. Outdoors he repeated the announcement. "Gran' parade led by Honey Tone Boone. Followin' me an' Lily comes de brass ban'. Den comes de Sons ob Damon. Sons ob Damon wearin' de yellah belly ban's walks ahead. Followin' de Sons ob Damon, de Knights wid de Red Pants falls in. Parade marches fo' an' fo', ladies outside. Keep off de car tracks. Followin' de Knights wid de Red Pants comes de 'Filiated Toilers.
"Cornet Club comes nex', 'ceptin' de big bass drum. Fetch dat bass drum oveh heah. Yo' marches by me."
He turned to a group of human beings whose sole common characteristic was their colour and the colour of the sashes which were tied about them. "Whut outfit is you boys?"
"Us is de Committee ob Culled Democrats."
"How come they let you out ob jail? Fall in behin' de lunch wagon. 'At's whah you gin'lly is."
The drum-bamming giant took his place opposite the Wildcat. The Wildcat turned to the Supreme Organizer of the Culled Militarriers of America. "Git abo'ad 'at steed, Honey Tone," he said.
Honey Tone clambered on to the mule with the assistance of a pair of agile bystanders. The Wildcat closed his eyes and lifted his head high in the air. "Company, 'tenshun!" He turned to the drum-bammer opposite him. "Le-e-t's go!"
"Bam!" The crash inside the bass drum found a deafening echo in a blare of exploding horns and cornets. Lily shied close beside her master. Honey Tone's mule drooped a languid ear over a bulging eyeball as if to shut out a vision of impending disaster, and then, at the second note from the bass drum, the mule leaped into a wild gallop. Before the marchers had covered a hundred feet Honey Tone and his jug-head mount had passed the fire hall three blocks down the street.
The parade marched steadily toward the ball park. Ten minutes later Honey Tone and the mule clattered past the parade. "Ol' mule sho' steers noble, but he kain't stop," the Wildcat announced to the drum-bammer opposite him.
On Honey Tone's third visit the Wildcat called loudly to him. "Head 'at mule roun' nex' time an' back him in de ball park." The Supreme Organizer's reply was lost in a clatter of hoofs.
"Sho' 'steem to, Wilecat, but I takes mah run dis aftehnoon."
"How come run?"
"I's back on de ol' job runnin' Pullman out of Chicago. I's due out on de Fliah fo' Chicago at two-fo'ty. Any time yo' craves a ramble on de cushions, roun' me up. Ah stakes yo' to a white coat an' yo' is aced in as mah helpeh. Pullman service is crammed wid dead-head helpehs now de Guv'ment's runnin' de lines. An' Boy--once us 'rives at Chicago de gran' ruckus begins!"
"Backslid, 'at sho' sounds noble. Some day me an' Lily sho' make a trip wid you."
The Wildcat and his former associate were interrupted by Honey Tone Boone. "Wilecat, you's de Supreem Arrangeh, ain't you? Roun' up de humans. Fawm de parade. Us starts."
The Wildcat threw back his head and addressed the gathering in the barber shop. "Company, 'tenshun! All de niggahs in de room whut's gwine to jine de gran' parade, fall out de do' an' fall in!" He led the rush for the exit. Outdoors he repeated the announcement. "Gran' parade led by Honey Tone Boone. Followin' me an' Lily comes de brass ban'. Den comes de Sons ob Damon. Sons ob Damon wearin' de yellah belly ban's walks ahead. Followin' de Sons ob Damon, de Knights wid de Red Pants falls in. Parade marches fo' an' fo', ladies outside. Keep off de car tracks. Followin' de Knights wid de Red Pants comes de 'Filiated Toilers.
"Cornet Club comes nex', 'ceptin' de big bass drum. Fetch dat bass drum oveh heah. Yo' marches by me."
He turned to a group of human beings whose sole common characteristic was their colour and the colour of the sashes which were tied about them. "Whut outfit is you boys?"
"Us is de Committee ob Culled Democrats."
"How come they let you out ob jail? Fall in behin' de lunch wagon. 'At's whah you gin'lly is."
The drum-bamming giant took his place opposite the Wildcat. The Wildcat turned to the Supreme Organizer of the Culled Militarriers of America. "Git abo'ad 'at steed, Honey Tone," he said.
Honey Tone clambered on to the mule with the assistance of a pair of agile bystanders. The Wildcat closed his eyes and lifted his head high in the air. "Company, 'tenshun!" He turned to the drum-bammer opposite him. "Le-e-t's go!"
"Bam!" The crash inside the bass drum found a deafening echo in a blare of exploding horns and cornets. Lily shied close beside her master. Honey Tone's mule drooped a languid ear over a bulging eyeball as if to shut out a vision of impending disaster, and then, at the second note from the bass drum, the mule leaped into a wild gallop. Before the marchers had covered a hundred feet Honey Tone and his jug-head mount had passed the fire hall three blocks down the street.
The parade marched steadily toward the ball park. Ten minutes later Honey Tone and the mule clattered past the parade. "Ol' mule sho' steers noble, but he kain't stop," the Wildcat announced to the drum-bammer opposite him.
On Honey Tone's third visit the Wildcat called loudly to him. "Head 'at mule roun' nex' time an' back him in de ball park." The Supreme Organizer's reply was lost in a clatter of hoofs.
Merkle
Merkle; Private Consultations at all hours. LadyAttendants," she read; and suddenly she remembered AllyHawes's words: "The house was at the corner of WingStreet and Lake Avenue...there's a big black signacross the front...." Through all the heat and therapture a shiver of cold ran over her.
Chapter 10
THE Lake at last--a sheet of shining metal brooded overby drooping trees. Charity and Harney had secured aboat and, getting away from the wharves and therefreshment-booths, they drifted idly along, huggingthe shadow of the shore. Where the sun struck thewater its shafts flamed back blindingly at the heat-veiled sky; and the least shade was black by contrast.
The Lake was so smooth that the reflection of the treeson its edge seemed enamelled on a solid surface; butgradually, as the sun declined, the water grewtransparent, and Charity, leaning over, plunged herfascinated gaze into depths so clear that she saw theinverted tree-tops interwoven with the green growths ofthe bottom.
They rounded a point at the farther end of the Lake,and entering an inlet pushed their bow against aprotruding tree-trunk. A green veil of willowsoverhung them. Beyond the trees, wheat-fields sparkledin the sun; and all along the horizon the clearhills throbbed with light. Charity leaned back in thestern, and Harney unshipped the oars and lay in thebottom of the boat without speaking.
Ever since their meeting at the Creston pool he hadbeen subject to these brooding silences, which were asdifferent as possible from the pauses when they ceasedto speak because words were needless. At such timeshis face wore the expression she had seen on it whenshe had looked in at him from the darkness and againthere came over her a sense of the mysterious distancebetween them; but usually his fits of abstraction werefollowed by bursts of gaiety that chased away theshadow before it chilled her.
She was still thinking of the ten dollars he had handedto the driver of the run-about. It had given themtwenty minutes of pleasure, and it seemed unimaginablethat anyone should be able to buy amusement at thatrate. With ten dollars he might have bought her anengagement ring; she knew that Mrs. Tom Fry's, whichcame from Springfield, and had a diamond in it, hadcost only eight seventy-five. But she did not know whythe thought had occurred to her. Harney would neverbuy her an engagement ring: they were friends andcomrades, but no more. He had been perfectly fair toher: he had never said a word to mislead her. Shewondered what the girl was like whose hand was waitingfor his ring....
Boats were beginning to thicken on the Lake and theclang of incessantly arriving trolleys announced thereturn of the crowds from the ball-field. The shadowslengthened across the pearl-grey water and two whiteclouds near the sun were turning golden. On theopposite shore men were hammering hastily at a woodenscaffolding in a field. Charity asked what it was for.
"Why, the fireworks. I suppose there'll be a bigshow." Harney looked at her and a smile crept into hismoody eyes. "Have you never seen any good fireworks?""Miss Hatchard always sends up lovely rockets on theFourth," she answered doubtfully.
Chapter 10
THE Lake at last--a sheet of shining metal brooded overby drooping trees. Charity and Harney had secured aboat and, getting away from the wharves and therefreshment-booths, they drifted idly along, huggingthe shadow of the shore. Where the sun struck thewater its shafts flamed back blindingly at the heat-veiled sky; and the least shade was black by contrast.
The Lake was so smooth that the reflection of the treeson its edge seemed enamelled on a solid surface; butgradually, as the sun declined, the water grewtransparent, and Charity, leaning over, plunged herfascinated gaze into depths so clear that she saw theinverted tree-tops interwoven with the green growths ofthe bottom.
They rounded a point at the farther end of the Lake,and entering an inlet pushed their bow against aprotruding tree-trunk. A green veil of willowsoverhung them. Beyond the trees, wheat-fields sparkledin the sun; and all along the horizon the clearhills throbbed with light. Charity leaned back in thestern, and Harney unshipped the oars and lay in thebottom of the boat without speaking.
Ever since their meeting at the Creston pool he hadbeen subject to these brooding silences, which were asdifferent as possible from the pauses when they ceasedto speak because words were needless. At such timeshis face wore the expression she had seen on it whenshe had looked in at him from the darkness and againthere came over her a sense of the mysterious distancebetween them; but usually his fits of abstraction werefollowed by bursts of gaiety that chased away theshadow before it chilled her.
She was still thinking of the ten dollars he had handedto the driver of the run-about. It had given themtwenty minutes of pleasure, and it seemed unimaginablethat anyone should be able to buy amusement at thatrate. With ten dollars he might have bought her anengagement ring; she knew that Mrs. Tom Fry's, whichcame from Springfield, and had a diamond in it, hadcost only eight seventy-five. But she did not know whythe thought had occurred to her. Harney would neverbuy her an engagement ring: they were friends andcomrades, but no more. He had been perfectly fair toher: he had never said a word to mislead her. Shewondered what the girl was like whose hand was waitingfor his ring....
Boats were beginning to thicken on the Lake and theclang of incessantly arriving trolleys announced thereturn of the crowds from the ball-field. The shadowslengthened across the pearl-grey water and two whiteclouds near the sun were turning golden. On theopposite shore men were hammering hastily at a woodenscaffolding in a field. Charity asked what it was for.
"Why, the fireworks. I suppose there'll be a bigshow." Harney looked at her and a smile crept into hismoody eyes. "Have you never seen any good fireworks?""Miss Hatchard always sends up lovely rockets on theFourth," she answered doubtfully.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
g-g-go on
"Aw, g-g-go on, kiddie!" retorted Jim, a stout lad of about Rand's age, with a freckled face and a shock of aggressive red hair, mimicking Pepper, who, when excited, sometimes stuttered. "Aw, g-g-go on. Little boys shouldn't play in the road."
"If you can't d-drive without getting all over the road," went on Pepper, "why d-don't you let somebody d-drive that knows how--"
"Aw, g-g-go chase yourself," cried Jim. "You ought to bring youse mamma along to take care of youse. Get up, Bill!" with a flourish of the whip and a jerk on the lines.
The horse made a jump, but Pepper held firmly to the bridle and brought it to a stop.
"Let go that horse!" shouted Jim.
"Hit him with the whip, Jim," urged one of the boys in the wagon.
"D-d-don't you dare hit me with that whip," warned Pepper as Jim snapped the whip close to him, "or you will wish you hadn't."
"Aw, what would you do?" retorted Jim, tauntingly flourishing the lash dangerously close to Pepper's face. "You ain't big enough to scare me baby brother."
"You had better not try it, Jim Rae," asserted Pepper, "or I'll pull you out of there so quick that you will think a cyclone struck you."
"You mean a wind bag, don't you?" sneered Jim, aiming a blow at Pepper, who now loosened his hold upon the horse's bridle to jump toward the wagon, whereupon Jim changed his purpose and struck the horse with the whip. With a loud "giddap" they started with a bound, missing Pepper by a hair's breadth, and driving on down the road at a rattling pace.
"That's a regular m-monkey trick, Jim Rae, all right!" shouted Pepper. "but I'll get even with you yet!"
The only answer of the boys in the wagon was a taunting laugh as they drove away. Randolph and Donald had taken no part in the controversy, not exactly approving of Pepper's disputing with the enemy, but they had stood at hand ready for any emergency should one arise.
Chapter 2 Finding Money
The three boys stood for a moment looking after the rapidly disappearing wagon, then, stooping down, Rand picked up something from the road.
"It isn't worth trying, Rand," advised Donald. "You couldn't hit him if you wanted to, and you wouldn't want to if you could. You can get even with him some better way."
"Right as usual, Donald," laughed Rand, "but I wasn't looking for anything to throw at him. I just happened to see this lying on the ground and picked it up." Holding out a coin he had found, he added: "What do you make of it?"
"W-w-what is it?" stammered Pepper, all excitement. "It l-looks like an old-fashioned cent."
"You have got me," replied Donald. "I never saw any money like that."
"Let's have a close look at it," put in Pepper.
The boys studied over the coin, which was of the size of the early copper cent, for some time without being much the wiser.
"See, there is a representation of a ship under full sail," remarked Rand, "with the name Constitution on it. I wonder what it means?"
"And it has the words 'Webster Credit Current' around it," added Pepper.
"And on the other side is shown the ship wrecked on some rocks. Something about wrecking the Constitution, I suppose," added Rand. "This side says, 'Van Buren Metallic Current,' with the date '1837'," put in Donald.
"If you can't d-drive without getting all over the road," went on Pepper, "why d-don't you let somebody d-drive that knows how--"
"Aw, g-g-go chase yourself," cried Jim. "You ought to bring youse mamma along to take care of youse. Get up, Bill!" with a flourish of the whip and a jerk on the lines.
The horse made a jump, but Pepper held firmly to the bridle and brought it to a stop.
"Let go that horse!" shouted Jim.
"Hit him with the whip, Jim," urged one of the boys in the wagon.
"D-d-don't you dare hit me with that whip," warned Pepper as Jim snapped the whip close to him, "or you will wish you hadn't."
"Aw, what would you do?" retorted Jim, tauntingly flourishing the lash dangerously close to Pepper's face. "You ain't big enough to scare me baby brother."
"You had better not try it, Jim Rae," asserted Pepper, "or I'll pull you out of there so quick that you will think a cyclone struck you."
"You mean a wind bag, don't you?" sneered Jim, aiming a blow at Pepper, who now loosened his hold upon the horse's bridle to jump toward the wagon, whereupon Jim changed his purpose and struck the horse with the whip. With a loud "giddap" they started with a bound, missing Pepper by a hair's breadth, and driving on down the road at a rattling pace.
"That's a regular m-monkey trick, Jim Rae, all right!" shouted Pepper. "but I'll get even with you yet!"
The only answer of the boys in the wagon was a taunting laugh as they drove away. Randolph and Donald had taken no part in the controversy, not exactly approving of Pepper's disputing with the enemy, but they had stood at hand ready for any emergency should one arise.
Chapter 2 Finding Money
The three boys stood for a moment looking after the rapidly disappearing wagon, then, stooping down, Rand picked up something from the road.
"It isn't worth trying, Rand," advised Donald. "You couldn't hit him if you wanted to, and you wouldn't want to if you could. You can get even with him some better way."
"Right as usual, Donald," laughed Rand, "but I wasn't looking for anything to throw at him. I just happened to see this lying on the ground and picked it up." Holding out a coin he had found, he added: "What do you make of it?"
"W-w-what is it?" stammered Pepper, all excitement. "It l-looks like an old-fashioned cent."
"You have got me," replied Donald. "I never saw any money like that."
"Let's have a close look at it," put in Pepper.
The boys studied over the coin, which was of the size of the early copper cent, for some time without being much the wiser.
"See, there is a representation of a ship under full sail," remarked Rand, "with the name Constitution on it. I wonder what it means?"
"And it has the words 'Webster Credit Current' around it," added Pepper.
"And on the other side is shown the ship wrecked on some rocks. Something about wrecking the Constitution, I suppose," added Rand. "This side says, 'Van Buren Metallic Current,' with the date '1837'," put in Donald.
In that case he cannot have been the murderer
"In that case he cannot have been the murderer," said the detective quickly, "because the shots were fired while he was still in the room. They were almost simultaneous with the appearance of the flash at the upper window."
"H'm!" said Saul Arthur Mann, for the moment nonplussed.
"The more you go into this matter, the more complicated does it become," said the police officer, with a shake of his head, "and to my mind the clearer is the case against Merrill."
"With this reservation," interrupted the other, "that you have to account for the movements of Mr. Rex Holland, who comes on the scene ten minutes after Frank Merrill arrives and who leaves his car. He leaves his car for a very excellent reason," he went on. "Sergeant Smith, who runs away to get assistance, meets two men of the Sussex constabulary, hurrying in response to Wiseman's whistle. One of them stands by the car, and the other comes into the house. It was, therefore, impossible for the murderer to make use of the car. Here is another point I would have you explain."
He had hoisted himself on the edge of his desk, and sat, an amusing little figure, his legs swinging a foot from the ground.
"The revolver used was a big Webley, not an easy thing to carry or conceal about your person, and undoubtedly brought to the scene of the crime by the man in the car. You will say that Merrill, who wore an overcoat, might have easily brought it in his pocket; but the absolute proof that that could not have been the case is that on his arrival by train from London, Mr. Merrill lost his ticket and very carefully searched himself, a railway inspector assisting, to discover the bit of pasteboard. He turned out everything he had in his pocket in the inspector's presence, and his overcoat--the only place where he could have concealed such a heavy weapon--was searched by the inspector himself."
The detective nodded.
"It is a very difficult case," he agreed, "and one in which I've no great heart; for, to be absolutely honest, my views are that while it might have been Merrill, the balance of proof is that it was not. That is, of course, my unofficial view, and I shall work pretty hard to secure a conviction."
"I am sure you will," said Mr. Mann heartily.
"Must the case go into the court?" asked the girl anxiously.
"There is no other way for it," replied the officer. "You see, we have arrested him, and unless something turns up the magistrate must commit him for trial on the evidence we have secured."
"Poor Frank!" she said softly.
"It is rough on him, if he is innocent," agreed Nash, "but it is lucky for him if he's guilty. My experience of crime and criminals is that it is generally the obvious man who commits that crime; only once in fifty years is he innocent, whether he is acquitted or whether he is found guilty."
He offered his hand to Mr. Mann.
"I'll be getting along now, sir," he said. "The commissioner asked me to give you all the assistance I possibly could, and I hope I have done so."
"What are you doing in the case of Jasper Cole?" asked Mann quickly.
The detective smiled.
"H'm!" said Saul Arthur Mann, for the moment nonplussed.
"The more you go into this matter, the more complicated does it become," said the police officer, with a shake of his head, "and to my mind the clearer is the case against Merrill."
"With this reservation," interrupted the other, "that you have to account for the movements of Mr. Rex Holland, who comes on the scene ten minutes after Frank Merrill arrives and who leaves his car. He leaves his car for a very excellent reason," he went on. "Sergeant Smith, who runs away to get assistance, meets two men of the Sussex constabulary, hurrying in response to Wiseman's whistle. One of them stands by the car, and the other comes into the house. It was, therefore, impossible for the murderer to make use of the car. Here is another point I would have you explain."
He had hoisted himself on the edge of his desk, and sat, an amusing little figure, his legs swinging a foot from the ground.
"The revolver used was a big Webley, not an easy thing to carry or conceal about your person, and undoubtedly brought to the scene of the crime by the man in the car. You will say that Merrill, who wore an overcoat, might have easily brought it in his pocket; but the absolute proof that that could not have been the case is that on his arrival by train from London, Mr. Merrill lost his ticket and very carefully searched himself, a railway inspector assisting, to discover the bit of pasteboard. He turned out everything he had in his pocket in the inspector's presence, and his overcoat--the only place where he could have concealed such a heavy weapon--was searched by the inspector himself."
The detective nodded.
"It is a very difficult case," he agreed, "and one in which I've no great heart; for, to be absolutely honest, my views are that while it might have been Merrill, the balance of proof is that it was not. That is, of course, my unofficial view, and I shall work pretty hard to secure a conviction."
"I am sure you will," said Mr. Mann heartily.
"Must the case go into the court?" asked the girl anxiously.
"There is no other way for it," replied the officer. "You see, we have arrested him, and unless something turns up the magistrate must commit him for trial on the evidence we have secured."
"Poor Frank!" she said softly.
"It is rough on him, if he is innocent," agreed Nash, "but it is lucky for him if he's guilty. My experience of crime and criminals is that it is generally the obvious man who commits that crime; only once in fifty years is he innocent, whether he is acquitted or whether he is found guilty."
He offered his hand to Mr. Mann.
"I'll be getting along now, sir," he said. "The commissioner asked me to give you all the assistance I possibly could, and I hope I have done so."
"What are you doing in the case of Jasper Cole?" asked Mann quickly.
The detective smiled.
Chapter 1 Bones
Chapter 1 Bones, Sanders And Another
To Isongo, which stands upon the tributary of that name, came a woman of the Isisi who had lost her husband through a providential tree falling upon him. I say "providential," for it was notorious that he was an evil man, a drinker of beer and a favourite of many bad persons. Also he made magic in the forest, and was reputedly the familiar of Bashunbi the devil brother of M'shimba-M'shamba. He beat his wives, and once had set fire to his house from sheer wickedness. So that when he was borne back to the village on a grass bier and the women of his house decked themselves with green leaves and arm in arm staggered and stamped through the village street in their death dance, there was a suspicion of hilarity in their song, and a more cheery step in their dance than the occasion called for.
An old man named D'wiri, who knew every step of every dance, saw this and said in his stern way that it was shameless. But he was old and was, moreover, in fear for the decorum of his own obsequies if these outrageous departures from custom were approved or allowed to pass without reprimand.
When M'lama, the wife of G'mami, had seen her lord depart in the canoe for burial in the middle island and had wailed her conventional grief, she washed the dust from her body at the river's edge and went back to her hut. And all that was grief for the dead man was washed away with the dust of mourning.
Many moons came out of the sky, were wasted and died before the woman M'lama showed signs of her gifts. It is said that they appeared one night after a great storm wherein lightning played such strange tricks upon the river that even the old man D'wiri could not remember parallel instances.
In the night the wife of a hunter named E'sani-Osoni brought a dying child into the hut of the widow. He had been choked by a fish-bone and was _in extremis_ when M'lama put her hand upon his head and straightway the bone flew from his mouth, "and there was a cry terrible to hear--such a cry as a leopard makes when he is pursued by ghosts."
A week later a baby girl fell into a terrible fit and M'lama had laid her hand upon it and behold! it slept from that moment.
Ahmet, chief of the Government spies, heard of these happenings and came a three days' journey by river to Isongo.
"What are these stories of miracles?" he asked.
"_Capita_," said the chief, using the term of regard which is employed in the Belgian Congo, "this woman M'lama is a true witch and has great gifts, for she raises the dead by the touch of her hand. This I have seen. Also it is said that when U'gomi, the woodcutter, made a fault, cutting his foot in two, this woman healed him marvellously."
"I will see this M'lama," said Ahmet importantly.
He found her in her hut tossing four bones idly. These were the shanks of goats, and each time they fell differently.
"O Ahmet," she said, when he entered, "you have a wife who is sick, also a first-born boy who does not speak though he is more than six seasons old."
Ahmet squatted down by her side.
"Woman," said he, "tell me something that is not the talk of river and I will believe your magic."
To Isongo, which stands upon the tributary of that name, came a woman of the Isisi who had lost her husband through a providential tree falling upon him. I say "providential," for it was notorious that he was an evil man, a drinker of beer and a favourite of many bad persons. Also he made magic in the forest, and was reputedly the familiar of Bashunbi the devil brother of M'shimba-M'shamba. He beat his wives, and once had set fire to his house from sheer wickedness. So that when he was borne back to the village on a grass bier and the women of his house decked themselves with green leaves and arm in arm staggered and stamped through the village street in their death dance, there was a suspicion of hilarity in their song, and a more cheery step in their dance than the occasion called for.
An old man named D'wiri, who knew every step of every dance, saw this and said in his stern way that it was shameless. But he was old and was, moreover, in fear for the decorum of his own obsequies if these outrageous departures from custom were approved or allowed to pass without reprimand.
When M'lama, the wife of G'mami, had seen her lord depart in the canoe for burial in the middle island and had wailed her conventional grief, she washed the dust from her body at the river's edge and went back to her hut. And all that was grief for the dead man was washed away with the dust of mourning.
Many moons came out of the sky, were wasted and died before the woman M'lama showed signs of her gifts. It is said that they appeared one night after a great storm wherein lightning played such strange tricks upon the river that even the old man D'wiri could not remember parallel instances.
In the night the wife of a hunter named E'sani-Osoni brought a dying child into the hut of the widow. He had been choked by a fish-bone and was _in extremis_ when M'lama put her hand upon his head and straightway the bone flew from his mouth, "and there was a cry terrible to hear--such a cry as a leopard makes when he is pursued by ghosts."
A week later a baby girl fell into a terrible fit and M'lama had laid her hand upon it and behold! it slept from that moment.
Ahmet, chief of the Government spies, heard of these happenings and came a three days' journey by river to Isongo.
"What are these stories of miracles?" he asked.
"_Capita_," said the chief, using the term of regard which is employed in the Belgian Congo, "this woman M'lama is a true witch and has great gifts, for she raises the dead by the touch of her hand. This I have seen. Also it is said that when U'gomi, the woodcutter, made a fault, cutting his foot in two, this woman healed him marvellously."
"I will see this M'lama," said Ahmet importantly.
He found her in her hut tossing four bones idly. These were the shanks of goats, and each time they fell differently.
"O Ahmet," she said, when he entered, "you have a wife who is sick, also a first-born boy who does not speak though he is more than six seasons old."
Ahmet squatted down by her side.
"Woman," said he, "tell me something that is not the talk of river and I will believe your magic."
Friday, November 2, 2012
“Attend
“Attend, my son, yet attend, to one more advice, upon which all thy advantage and all thy success in this moment of crisis hang. Engage not in so arduous and important an enterprise immaturely. Thou hast yet no reason for despair. Thou art yet beheld with favour by propitious heaven. But thou mayest have reason for despair. One false step may ruin thee. One moment of heedless inconsideration may plunge thee in years of calamity. One moment of complying guilt may shut upon thee the door of enjoyment and happiness for ever.”
Such was the sorrow, and such were the consolations of Edwin. But far different was the situation, and far other scenes were prepared for his faithful shepherdess. For some time after she had been seized by Roderic, she had remained unconscious and supine. The terrors that had preceded the fatal capture, had overpowered her delicate frame, and sunk her into an alarming and obstinate fit of insensibility. They had now almost reached the palace of the magician, when she discovered the first symptoms of returning life. The colour gradually remounted into her bloodless cheeks; her hands were raised with a feeble and involuntary motion, and at length she lifted up her head, and opened her languid, unobserving eyes. “Edwin,” she cried, “my friend, my companion, where art thou? Where have we been? Oh, it is a long and tedious evening!” Saying this, she looked upon the objects around her. The sky was now become clear and smiling; the lowring clouds were dissipated, and the blue expanse was stretched without limits over their head. The sources of her former terror were indeed removed, but the objects that presented themselves were equally alarming. All was unexpected and all was unaccountable. Imogen had remained without consciousness from the very beginning of the storm, and it was during her insensibility that the goblin had been visible, and the magician descended to the plains. She found herself mounted upon a car, and hurried along by rapid steeds. She saw beside her a man whose face, whose garb, and whose whole appearance were perfectly unknown to her.
“Ah,” exclaimed the maiden, in a voice of amazement apprehension, “where am I? What is become of my Edwin? And what art thou? What means all this? These are not the well-known fields; this is not the brook of Towey, nor these hills of Clwyd. Oh, whither, whither do we fly? This track leads not to the cottage of my parents, and the groves of Rhyddlan.” “Be not uneasy, my fair one,” answered Roderic. “We go, though not by the usual path, to where your friends reside. I am not your enemy, but a swain who esteems it his happiness to have come between you and your distress, and to have rescued you from the pelting of the storm. Suspend, my love, for a few moments your suspicions and your anxiety, and we shall arrive where all your doubts will be removed, and all I hope will be pleasure and felicitation.” While he thus spoke the chariot hastened to the conclusion of their journey, and entered the area in the front of the mansion of Roderic.
The suspicions of Imogen were indeed removed, but in a manner too cruel for her tender frame. The terror and fatigue she had previously undergone had wasted her spirits, and the surprise she now experienced, was more than she could sustain. As the chariot entered the court, she cried out with a voice of horror and anguish, and sunk breathless into the arms of her ravisher. Though the passion he had already conceived for her, made this a circumstance of affliction, he yet in another view rejoiced, that he was able, by its intervention, to conduct his prize in a manner by stealth into his palace, and thus to prevent that struggle and those painful sensations, which she must otherwise have known. For could she have borne, without emotion, to see herself conveyed into a wretched imprisonment? Could she have submitted, without opposition, to be shut up, as it were, from the hope of revisiting those scenes, where once her careless childhood played, and those friends whom she valued more than life?
Such was the sorrow, and such were the consolations of Edwin. But far different was the situation, and far other scenes were prepared for his faithful shepherdess. For some time after she had been seized by Roderic, she had remained unconscious and supine. The terrors that had preceded the fatal capture, had overpowered her delicate frame, and sunk her into an alarming and obstinate fit of insensibility. They had now almost reached the palace of the magician, when she discovered the first symptoms of returning life. The colour gradually remounted into her bloodless cheeks; her hands were raised with a feeble and involuntary motion, and at length she lifted up her head, and opened her languid, unobserving eyes. “Edwin,” she cried, “my friend, my companion, where art thou? Where have we been? Oh, it is a long and tedious evening!” Saying this, she looked upon the objects around her. The sky was now become clear and smiling; the lowring clouds were dissipated, and the blue expanse was stretched without limits over their head. The sources of her former terror were indeed removed, but the objects that presented themselves were equally alarming. All was unexpected and all was unaccountable. Imogen had remained without consciousness from the very beginning of the storm, and it was during her insensibility that the goblin had been visible, and the magician descended to the plains. She found herself mounted upon a car, and hurried along by rapid steeds. She saw beside her a man whose face, whose garb, and whose whole appearance were perfectly unknown to her.
“Ah,” exclaimed the maiden, in a voice of amazement apprehension, “where am I? What is become of my Edwin? And what art thou? What means all this? These are not the well-known fields; this is not the brook of Towey, nor these hills of Clwyd. Oh, whither, whither do we fly? This track leads not to the cottage of my parents, and the groves of Rhyddlan.” “Be not uneasy, my fair one,” answered Roderic. “We go, though not by the usual path, to where your friends reside. I am not your enemy, but a swain who esteems it his happiness to have come between you and your distress, and to have rescued you from the pelting of the storm. Suspend, my love, for a few moments your suspicions and your anxiety, and we shall arrive where all your doubts will be removed, and all I hope will be pleasure and felicitation.” While he thus spoke the chariot hastened to the conclusion of their journey, and entered the area in the front of the mansion of Roderic.
The suspicions of Imogen were indeed removed, but in a manner too cruel for her tender frame. The terror and fatigue she had previously undergone had wasted her spirits, and the surprise she now experienced, was more than she could sustain. As the chariot entered the court, she cried out with a voice of horror and anguish, and sunk breathless into the arms of her ravisher. Though the passion he had already conceived for her, made this a circumstance of affliction, he yet in another view rejoiced, that he was able, by its intervention, to conduct his prize in a manner by stealth into his palace, and thus to prevent that struggle and those painful sensations, which she must otherwise have known. For could she have borne, without emotion, to see herself conveyed into a wretched imprisonment? Could she have submitted, without opposition, to be shut up, as it were, from the hope of revisiting those scenes, where once her careless childhood played, and those friends whom she valued more than life?
Chapter 68 The Fox and the Monkey A MONKEY once danced in an assembly of the Beasts
Chapter 68 The Fox and the Monkey
A MONKEY once danced in an assembly of the Beasts, and so pleased them all by his performance that they elected him their King. A Fox, envying him the honor, discovered a piece of meat lying in a trap, and leading the Monkey to the place where it was, said that she had found a store, but had not used it, she had kept it for him as treasure trove of his kingdom, and counseled him to lay hold of it. The Monkey approached carelessly and was caught in the trap; and on his accusing the Fox of purposely leading him into the snare, she replied, “O Monkey, and are you, with such a mind as yours, going to be King over the Beasts?”
Chapter 69 The Horse and His Rider
A HORSE SOLDIER took the utmost pains with his charger. As long as the war lasted, he looked upon him as his fellow-helper in all emergencies and fed him carefully with hay and corn. But when the war was over, he only allowed him chaff to eat and made him carry heavy loads of wood, subjecting him to much slavish drudgery and ill-treatment. War was again proclaimed, however, and when the trumpet summoned him to his standard, the Soldier put on his charger its military trappings, and mounted, being clad in his heavy coat of mail. The Horse fell down straightway under the weight, no longer equal to the burden, and said to his master, “You must now go to the war on foot, for you have transformed me from a Horse into an Ass; and how can you expect that I can again turn in a moment from an Ass to a Horse?’
Chapter 70 The Belly and the Members
THE MEMBERS of the Body rebelled against the Belly, and said, “Why should we be perpetually engaged in administering to your wants, while you do nothing but take your rest, and enjoy yourself in luxury and self-indulgence?’ The Members carried out their resolve and refused their assistance to the Belly. The whole Body quickly became debilitated, and the hands, feet, mouth, and eyes, when too late, repented of their folly.
Chapter 71 The Vine and the Goat
A VINE was luxuriant in the time of vintage with leaves and grapes. A Goat, passing by, nibbled its young tendrils and its leaves. The Vine addressed him and said: “Why do you thus injure me without a cause, and crop my leaves? Is there no young grass left? But I shall not have to wait long for my just revenge; for if you now should crop my leaves, and cut me down to my root, I shall provide the wine to pour over you when you are led as a victim to the sacrifice.”
Chapter 72 Jupiter and the Monkey
JUPITER ISSUED a proclamation to all the beasts of the forest and promised a royal reward to the one whose offspring should be deemed the handsomest. The Monkey came with the rest and presented, with all a mother’s tenderness, a flat-nosed, hairless, ill-featured young Monkey as a candidate for the promised reward. A general laugh saluted her on the presentation of her son. She resolutely said, “I know not whether Jupiter will allot the prize to my son, but this I do know, that he is at least in the eyes of me his mother, the dearest, handsomest, and most beautiful of all.”
A MONKEY once danced in an assembly of the Beasts, and so pleased them all by his performance that they elected him their King. A Fox, envying him the honor, discovered a piece of meat lying in a trap, and leading the Monkey to the place where it was, said that she had found a store, but had not used it, she had kept it for him as treasure trove of his kingdom, and counseled him to lay hold of it. The Monkey approached carelessly and was caught in the trap; and on his accusing the Fox of purposely leading him into the snare, she replied, “O Monkey, and are you, with such a mind as yours, going to be King over the Beasts?”
Chapter 69 The Horse and His Rider
A HORSE SOLDIER took the utmost pains with his charger. As long as the war lasted, he looked upon him as his fellow-helper in all emergencies and fed him carefully with hay and corn. But when the war was over, he only allowed him chaff to eat and made him carry heavy loads of wood, subjecting him to much slavish drudgery and ill-treatment. War was again proclaimed, however, and when the trumpet summoned him to his standard, the Soldier put on his charger its military trappings, and mounted, being clad in his heavy coat of mail. The Horse fell down straightway under the weight, no longer equal to the burden, and said to his master, “You must now go to the war on foot, for you have transformed me from a Horse into an Ass; and how can you expect that I can again turn in a moment from an Ass to a Horse?’
Chapter 70 The Belly and the Members
THE MEMBERS of the Body rebelled against the Belly, and said, “Why should we be perpetually engaged in administering to your wants, while you do nothing but take your rest, and enjoy yourself in luxury and self-indulgence?’ The Members carried out their resolve and refused their assistance to the Belly. The whole Body quickly became debilitated, and the hands, feet, mouth, and eyes, when too late, repented of their folly.
Chapter 71 The Vine and the Goat
A VINE was luxuriant in the time of vintage with leaves and grapes. A Goat, passing by, nibbled its young tendrils and its leaves. The Vine addressed him and said: “Why do you thus injure me without a cause, and crop my leaves? Is there no young grass left? But I shall not have to wait long for my just revenge; for if you now should crop my leaves, and cut me down to my root, I shall provide the wine to pour over you when you are led as a victim to the sacrifice.”
Chapter 72 Jupiter and the Monkey
JUPITER ISSUED a proclamation to all the beasts of the forest and promised a royal reward to the one whose offspring should be deemed the handsomest. The Monkey came with the rest and presented, with all a mother’s tenderness, a flat-nosed, hairless, ill-featured young Monkey as a candidate for the promised reward. A general laugh saluted her on the presentation of her son. She resolutely said, “I know not whether Jupiter will allot the prize to my son, but this I do know, that he is at least in the eyes of me his mother, the dearest, handsomest, and most beautiful of all.”
Vampire-souls
"Vampire-souls," she observed, with a shudder, and her face blanched.
"No," he said, "don't say that." And then he suddenly seemed to grow in stature. His face was ablaze, like the face of a god.
"In every age," he replied, with solemnity, "there are giants who attain to a greatness which by natural growth no men could ever have reached. But in their youth a vision came to them, which they set out to seek. They take the stones of fancy to build them a palace in the kingdom of truth, projecting into reality dreams, monstrous and impossible. Often they fail and, tumbling from their airy heights, end a quixotic career. Some succeed. They are the chosen. Carpenter's sons they are, who have laid down the Law of a World for milleniums to come; or simple Corsicans, before whose eagle eye have quaked the kingdoms of the earth. But to accomplish their mission they need a will of iron and the wit of a hundred men. And from the iron they take the strength, and from a hundred men's brains they absorb their wisdom. Divine missionaries, they appear in all departments of life. In their hand is gathered to-day the gold of the world. Mighty potentates of peace and war, they unlock new seas and from distant continents lift the bars. Single-handed, they accomplish what nations dared not hope; with Titan strides they scale the stars and succeed where millions fail. In art they live, the makers of new periods, the dreamers of new styles. They make themselves the vocal sun-glasses of God. Homer and Shakespeare, Hugo and Balzac--they concentrate the dispersed rays of a thousand lesser luminaries in one singing flame that, like a giant torch, lights up humanity's path."
She gazed at him, open-mouthed. The light had gone from his visage. He paused, exhausted, but even then he looked the incarnation of a force no less terrible, no less grand. She grasped the immensity of his conception, but her woman's soul rebelled at the horrible injustice to those whose light is extinguished, as hers had been, to feed an alien flame. And then, for a moment, she saw the pale face of Ernest staring at her out of the wine.
"Cruel," she sobbed, "how cruel!"
"What matter?" he asked. "Their strength is taken from them, but the spirit of humanity, as embodied in us, triumphantly marches on."
Chapter 21
Reginald's revelations were followed by a long silence, interrupted only by the officiousness of the waiter. The spell once broken, they exchanged a number of more or less irrelevant observations. Ethel's mind returned, again and again, to the word he had not spoken. He had said nothing of the immediate bearing of his monstrous power upon her own life and that of Ernest Fielding.
At last, somewhat timidly, she approached the subject.
"You said you loved me," she remarked.
"I did."
"But why, then--"
"I could not help it."
"Did you ever make the slightest attempt?"
"In the horrible night hours I struggled against it. I even implored you to leave me."
"Ah, but I loved you!"
"You would not be warned, you would not listen. You stayed with me, and slowly, surely, the creative urge went out of your life."
"No," he said, "don't say that." And then he suddenly seemed to grow in stature. His face was ablaze, like the face of a god.
"In every age," he replied, with solemnity, "there are giants who attain to a greatness which by natural growth no men could ever have reached. But in their youth a vision came to them, which they set out to seek. They take the stones of fancy to build them a palace in the kingdom of truth, projecting into reality dreams, monstrous and impossible. Often they fail and, tumbling from their airy heights, end a quixotic career. Some succeed. They are the chosen. Carpenter's sons they are, who have laid down the Law of a World for milleniums to come; or simple Corsicans, before whose eagle eye have quaked the kingdoms of the earth. But to accomplish their mission they need a will of iron and the wit of a hundred men. And from the iron they take the strength, and from a hundred men's brains they absorb their wisdom. Divine missionaries, they appear in all departments of life. In their hand is gathered to-day the gold of the world. Mighty potentates of peace and war, they unlock new seas and from distant continents lift the bars. Single-handed, they accomplish what nations dared not hope; with Titan strides they scale the stars and succeed where millions fail. In art they live, the makers of new periods, the dreamers of new styles. They make themselves the vocal sun-glasses of God. Homer and Shakespeare, Hugo and Balzac--they concentrate the dispersed rays of a thousand lesser luminaries in one singing flame that, like a giant torch, lights up humanity's path."
She gazed at him, open-mouthed. The light had gone from his visage. He paused, exhausted, but even then he looked the incarnation of a force no less terrible, no less grand. She grasped the immensity of his conception, but her woman's soul rebelled at the horrible injustice to those whose light is extinguished, as hers had been, to feed an alien flame. And then, for a moment, she saw the pale face of Ernest staring at her out of the wine.
"Cruel," she sobbed, "how cruel!"
"What matter?" he asked. "Their strength is taken from them, but the spirit of humanity, as embodied in us, triumphantly marches on."
Chapter 21
Reginald's revelations were followed by a long silence, interrupted only by the officiousness of the waiter. The spell once broken, they exchanged a number of more or less irrelevant observations. Ethel's mind returned, again and again, to the word he had not spoken. He had said nothing of the immediate bearing of his monstrous power upon her own life and that of Ernest Fielding.
At last, somewhat timidly, she approached the subject.
"You said you loved me," she remarked.
"I did."
"But why, then--"
"I could not help it."
"Did you ever make the slightest attempt?"
"In the horrible night hours I struggled against it. I even implored you to leave me."
"Ah, but I loved you!"
"You would not be warned, you would not listen. You stayed with me, and slowly, surely, the creative urge went out of your life."
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