t all stop.’
Sampson stared into my eyes. He locked into them. ‘Back there a little bit you said coincidences, sugar. You don’t believe in coincidences.’ That’s what makes it so scary. If you want to know the truth, I think that someone really is after me, and they’ve been after me for a long time. Whoever it is, he’s scarier than the vampires. I keep getting calls from the Mastermind, John. He calls me every day. Hardly misses a day. We still can’t trace the calls.’ Sampson ran a hand across his forehead.’I just can’t work out who would be stalking you? Who would dare to take on the Dragon-slayer,montblanc pen? Must be some kind of fool.’
‘Believe me,’ I said, ‘this is no fool.’
Chapter 41
Sampson and I stayed at the Mark later than we should have. We drank a lot of beer, and finally closed the place down at around two. We were smart and sane and sober enough to leave our cars in the parking lot instead of driving home. John and I walked home under a bright moonlit sky. It reminded me of the two of us growing up in Southeast. We had to walk just about everywhere we went. Maybe we’d take a city bus if we were feeling flush. He dropped me off at my house and continued toward the Navy Yard and his place.
Early the next morning, I had to retrieve my car before I went to work. Nana was up with little Alex and I drank a half pot of her coffee, then put the boy in his stroller. He and I walked to my car. The morning was clear and bright and the neighborhood seemed peaceful and quiet at around seven o’clock. Nice. I’ve lived on Fifth Street for thirty years,http://www.cheapfoampositesone.us/, ever since Nana moved there from her old place on New Jersey Avenue. I still love the neighborhood,cheap jordan shoes, and it is home for the Cross family. I don’t know if I could ever leave. ‘Daddy was with Uncle John last night,’ I bent down and talked to the boy as I pushed his blue- and white-striped stroller along,rolex submariner replica. A nice-looking woman passed us on her way to work. She smiled like I was the best man in the history of the world, because I was w
2012年12月30日星期日
2012年12月18日星期二
闆穿 Snow Crash_319
his neck all the way up to his face, she sees dark eyes staring right back at her, right over the top of the counter.
He's got something written on his forehead: POOR IMPULSE CONTROL,replica chanel bags. Which is kind of scary. Sexy, too. It gives him a certain measure of romance that none of these other people have. She was expecting the Raft to be dark and dangerous, and instead it's just like working where her mother works. This guy is the first person she's seen around this place who really looks like he belongs on the Raft.
And he's got the look down, too. Incredibly rank style. Although he has a long wispy mustache that doesn't do much for his face. Doesn't bring out his features well at all.
"Do you take the nasty stuff? One fish head or two?" she says, dangling the ladle picturesquely. She always talks trash to people because none of them can understand what she's saying.
"I'll take whatever you're offering," the guy says. In English. Sort of a crisp accent.
"I'm not offering anything," she says, "but if you want to stand there and browse, that's cool."
He stands there and browses for a while. Long enough that people farther back in line stand up on tiptoe to see what the problem is. But when they see that the problem is this particular individual, they get down off their toes real fast, hunch down, sort of blend in to the mass of fishy-smelling wool.
"What's for dessert today?" the guy asks. "Got anything sweet for me?"
"We don't believe in dessert," Y.T. says. "It's a fucking sin, remember?"
"Depends on your cultural orientation."
"Oh, yeah? What culture are you oriented to?"
"I am an Aleut."
"Oh. I've never heard of that."
"That's because we've been fucked over," the big scary Aleut says, "worse than any other people in history."
"Sorry to hear that," Y.T. says. "So, uh, do you want me to serve up some fish, or are you gonna stay hungry,http://www.cheapfoampositesone.us/?"
The big Aleut stares at her for a while. Then he jerks his head sideways and says, "Come on,rolex submariner replica. Let's get the fuck out of here."
"What, and skip out on this cool job,cheap foamposites?"
He g
He's got something written on his forehead: POOR IMPULSE CONTROL,replica chanel bags. Which is kind of scary. Sexy, too. It gives him a certain measure of romance that none of these other people have. She was expecting the Raft to be dark and dangerous, and instead it's just like working where her mother works. This guy is the first person she's seen around this place who really looks like he belongs on the Raft.
And he's got the look down, too. Incredibly rank style. Although he has a long wispy mustache that doesn't do much for his face. Doesn't bring out his features well at all.
"Do you take the nasty stuff? One fish head or two?" she says, dangling the ladle picturesquely. She always talks trash to people because none of them can understand what she's saying.
"I'll take whatever you're offering," the guy says. In English. Sort of a crisp accent.
"I'm not offering anything," she says, "but if you want to stand there and browse, that's cool."
He stands there and browses for a while. Long enough that people farther back in line stand up on tiptoe to see what the problem is. But when they see that the problem is this particular individual, they get down off their toes real fast, hunch down, sort of blend in to the mass of fishy-smelling wool.
"What's for dessert today?" the guy asks. "Got anything sweet for me?"
"We don't believe in dessert," Y.T. says. "It's a fucking sin, remember?"
"Depends on your cultural orientation."
"Oh, yeah? What culture are you oriented to?"
"I am an Aleut."
"Oh. I've never heard of that."
"That's because we've been fucked over," the big scary Aleut says, "worse than any other people in history."
"Sorry to hear that," Y.T. says. "So, uh, do you want me to serve up some fish, or are you gonna stay hungry,http://www.cheapfoampositesone.us/?"
The big Aleut stares at her for a while. Then he jerks his head sideways and says, "Come on,rolex submariner replica. Let's get the fuck out of here."
"What, and skip out on this cool job,cheap foamposites?"
He g
缇庡浗浼楃 American Gods_184
s like it," said Shadow.
"Don't touch anything yet," said the cop. "Medical examiner should be here any time now. You ask me, the guy drank himself into a stupor and froze his ass."
"Yes,cheap foamposites," agreed Shadow. "That's certainly what it looks like."
He squatted down and looked at the bottle in Mad Sweeney's lap. Jameson Irish whiskey: a twenty-dollar ticket out of this place. A small green Nissan pulled up, and a harassed middle-aged man with sandy hair and a sandy mustache got out, walked over. He touched the corpse's neck. He kicks the corpse,replica chanel bags, thought Shadow, and if it doesn't kick him back...
"He's dead," said the medical examiner,nike high heels. "Any ID?"
"He's a John Doe," said the cop.
The medical examiner looked at Shadow. "You working for Jacquel and Ibis?" he asked.
"Yes," said Shadow.
"Tell Jacquel to get dentals and prints for ID and identity photos. We don't need a post. He should just draw blood for toxicology. Got that? Do you want me to write it down for you?"
"No," said Shadow. "It's fine. I can remember."
The man scowled fleetingly, then pulled a business card from his wallet, scribbled on it, and gave it to Shadow, saying, "Give this to Jacquel." Then the medical examiner said "Merry Christmas" to everyone, and was on his way. The cops kept the empty bottle.
Shadow signed for the John Doe and put it on the gurney. The body was pretty stiff, and Shadow couldn't get it out of a sitting position. He fiddled with the gurney, and found out that he could prop up one end. He strapped John Doe, sitting,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplicausa.com/, to the gurney and put him in the back of the hearse, facing forward. Might as well give him a good ride. He closed the rear curtains. Then he drove back to the funeral home.
The hearse was stopped at a traffic light when Shadow heard a voice croak, "And it's a fine wake I'll be wanting, with the best of everything, and beautiful women shedding tears and their clothes in their distress, and brave men lamenting and telling fine tales of me in my great days."
"You're dead, Mad Sweeney," said Shadow. "You take what y
"Don't touch anything yet," said the cop. "Medical examiner should be here any time now. You ask me, the guy drank himself into a stupor and froze his ass."
"Yes,cheap foamposites," agreed Shadow. "That's certainly what it looks like."
He squatted down and looked at the bottle in Mad Sweeney's lap. Jameson Irish whiskey: a twenty-dollar ticket out of this place. A small green Nissan pulled up, and a harassed middle-aged man with sandy hair and a sandy mustache got out, walked over. He touched the corpse's neck. He kicks the corpse,replica chanel bags, thought Shadow, and if it doesn't kick him back...
"He's dead," said the medical examiner,nike high heels. "Any ID?"
"He's a John Doe," said the cop.
The medical examiner looked at Shadow. "You working for Jacquel and Ibis?" he asked.
"Yes," said Shadow.
"Tell Jacquel to get dentals and prints for ID and identity photos. We don't need a post. He should just draw blood for toxicology. Got that? Do you want me to write it down for you?"
"No," said Shadow. "It's fine. I can remember."
The man scowled fleetingly, then pulled a business card from his wallet, scribbled on it, and gave it to Shadow, saying, "Give this to Jacquel." Then the medical examiner said "Merry Christmas" to everyone, and was on his way. The cops kept the empty bottle.
Shadow signed for the John Doe and put it on the gurney. The body was pretty stiff, and Shadow couldn't get it out of a sitting position. He fiddled with the gurney, and found out that he could prop up one end. He strapped John Doe, sitting,http://www.rolexsubmarinerreplicausa.com/, to the gurney and put him in the back of the hearse, facing forward. Might as well give him a good ride. He closed the rear curtains. Then he drove back to the funeral home.
The hearse was stopped at a traffic light when Shadow heard a voice croak, "And it's a fine wake I'll be wanting, with the best of everything, and beautiful women shedding tears and their clothes in their distress, and brave men lamenting and telling fine tales of me in my great days."
"You're dead, Mad Sweeney," said Shadow. "You take what y
2012年12月17日星期一
We had been hearing a good deal about Doctor and Mrs
We had been hearing a good deal about Doctor and Mrs. Whitehead. They no longer lived in Cambridge. The year before Doctor Whitehead had left Cambridge to go to London University. They were to be in Cambridge shortly and they were to dine at the Mirlees’. They did and I met my third genius.
It was a pleasant dinner. I sat next to Housman, the Cambridge poet, and we talked about fishes and David Starr Jordan but all the time I was more interested in watching Doctor Whitehead. Later we went into the garden and he came and sat next to me and we talked about the sky in Cambridge.
Gertrude Stein and Doctor Whitehead and Mrs. Whitehead all became interested in each other. Mrs. Whitehead asked us to dine at her house in London and then to spend a week end, the last week end in July with them in their country home in Lockridge, near Salisbury Plain. We accepted with pleasure.
We went back to London and had a lovely time,foamposite for cheap. We were ordering some comfortable chairs and a comfortable couch covered with chintz to replace some of the italian furniture that Gertrude Stein’s brother had taken with him,nike heels. This took a great deal of time. We had to measure ourselves into the chairs and into the couch and to choose chintz that would go with the pictures, all of which we successfully achieved. These chairs and this couch, and they are comfortable, in spite of war came to the door one day in January, nineteen fifteen at the rue de Fleurus and were greeted by us with the greatest delight. One needed such comforting and such comfort in those days. We dined with the Whiteheads and liked them more than ever and they liked us more than ever and were kind enough to say so.
Gertrude Stein kept her appointment with John Lane at the Bodley Head. They had a very long conversation, this time so long that I quite exhausted all the shop windows of that region for quite a distance, but finally Gertrude Stein came out with a contract. It was a gratifying climax.
Then we took the train to Lockridge to spend the week end with the Whiteheads. We had a week-end trunk,rolex submariner replica, we Were very proud of our week-end trunk, we had used it on our first visit and now we were actively using it again. As one of my friends said to me later, they asked you to spend the week end and you stayed six weeks. We did.
There was quite a house party when we arrived, some Cambridge people, some young men, the younger son of the Whiteheads, Eric, then fifteen years old but very tall and flower-like and the daughter Jessie just back from Newnham. There could not have been much serious thought of war because they were all talking of Jessie Whitehead’s coming trip to Finland. Jessie always made friends with foreigners from strange places, she had a passion for geography and a passion for the glory of the British Empire. She had a friend, a finn, who had asked her to spend the summer with her people in Finland and had promised Jessie a possible uprising against Russia. Mrs. Whitehead was hesitating but had practically consented. There was an older son North who was away at the time.
Then suddenly, as I remember, there were the conferences to prevent the war, Lord Grey and the russian minister of foreign affairs. And then before anything further could happen the ultimatum to France. Gertrude Stein and I were completely miserable as was Evelyn Whitehead, who had french blood and who had been raised in France and had strong french sympathies. Then came the days of the invasion of Belgium and I can still hear Doctor Whitehead’s gentle voice reading the papers out loud and then all of them talking about the destruction of Louvain and how they must help the brave little belgians. Gertrude Stein desperately unhappy said to me, where is Louvain. Don’t you know, I said,cheap foamposites. No, she said, nor do I care, but where is it.
It was a pleasant dinner. I sat next to Housman, the Cambridge poet, and we talked about fishes and David Starr Jordan but all the time I was more interested in watching Doctor Whitehead. Later we went into the garden and he came and sat next to me and we talked about the sky in Cambridge.
Gertrude Stein and Doctor Whitehead and Mrs. Whitehead all became interested in each other. Mrs. Whitehead asked us to dine at her house in London and then to spend a week end, the last week end in July with them in their country home in Lockridge, near Salisbury Plain. We accepted with pleasure.
We went back to London and had a lovely time,foamposite for cheap. We were ordering some comfortable chairs and a comfortable couch covered with chintz to replace some of the italian furniture that Gertrude Stein’s brother had taken with him,nike heels. This took a great deal of time. We had to measure ourselves into the chairs and into the couch and to choose chintz that would go with the pictures, all of which we successfully achieved. These chairs and this couch, and they are comfortable, in spite of war came to the door one day in January, nineteen fifteen at the rue de Fleurus and were greeted by us with the greatest delight. One needed such comforting and such comfort in those days. We dined with the Whiteheads and liked them more than ever and they liked us more than ever and were kind enough to say so.
Gertrude Stein kept her appointment with John Lane at the Bodley Head. They had a very long conversation, this time so long that I quite exhausted all the shop windows of that region for quite a distance, but finally Gertrude Stein came out with a contract. It was a gratifying climax.
Then we took the train to Lockridge to spend the week end with the Whiteheads. We had a week-end trunk,rolex submariner replica, we Were very proud of our week-end trunk, we had used it on our first visit and now we were actively using it again. As one of my friends said to me later, they asked you to spend the week end and you stayed six weeks. We did.
There was quite a house party when we arrived, some Cambridge people, some young men, the younger son of the Whiteheads, Eric, then fifteen years old but very tall and flower-like and the daughter Jessie just back from Newnham. There could not have been much serious thought of war because they were all talking of Jessie Whitehead’s coming trip to Finland. Jessie always made friends with foreigners from strange places, she had a passion for geography and a passion for the glory of the British Empire. She had a friend, a finn, who had asked her to spend the summer with her people in Finland and had promised Jessie a possible uprising against Russia. Mrs. Whitehead was hesitating but had practically consented. There was an older son North who was away at the time.
Then suddenly, as I remember, there were the conferences to prevent the war, Lord Grey and the russian minister of foreign affairs. And then before anything further could happen the ultimatum to France. Gertrude Stein and I were completely miserable as was Evelyn Whitehead, who had french blood and who had been raised in France and had strong french sympathies. Then came the days of the invasion of Belgium and I can still hear Doctor Whitehead’s gentle voice reading the papers out loud and then all of them talking about the destruction of Louvain and how they must help the brave little belgians. Gertrude Stein desperately unhappy said to me, where is Louvain. Don’t you know, I said,cheap foamposites. No, she said, nor do I care, but where is it.
2012年12月15日星期六
What faces are the most distinct to me in the fleeting crowd
What faces are the most distinct to me in the fleeting crowd? Lo, these; all turning to me as I ask my thoughts the question!
Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of four-score years and more, but upright yet, and a steady walker of six miles at a stretch in winter weather.
Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse, likewise in spectacles, accustomed to do needle-work at night very close to the lamp, but never sitting down to it without a bit of wax candle, a yard-measure in a little house, and a work-box with a picture of St. Paul's upon the lid.
The cheeks and arms of Peggotty, so hard and red in my childish days, when I wondered why the birds didn't peck her in preference to apples, are shrivelled now; and her eyes, that used to darken their whole neighbourhood in her face, are fainter (though they glitter still); but her rough forefinger, which I once associated with a pocket nutmeg-grater, is just the same, and when I see my least child catching at it as it totters from my aunt to her, I think of our little parlour at home, when I could scarcely walk. My aunt's old disappointment is set right, now. She is godmother to a real living Betsey Trotwood; and Dora (the next in order) says she spoils her.
There is something bulky in Peggotty's pocket. It is nothing smaller than the Crocodile Book, which is in rather a dilapidated condition by this time, with divers of the leaves torn and stitched across, but which Peggotty exhibits to the children as a precious relic. I find it very curious to see my own infant face, looking up at me from the Crocodile stories; and to be reminded by it of my old acquaintance Brooks of Sheffield.
Among my boys, this summer holiday time, I see an old man making giant kites, and gazing at them in the air, with a delight for which there are no words. He greets me rapturously, and whispers, with many nods and winks, 'Trotwood, you will be glad to hear that I shall finish the Memorial when I have nothing else to do, and that your aunt's the most extraordinary woman in the world, sir!'
Who is this bent lady, supporting herself by a stick, and showing me a countenance in which there are some traces of old pride and beauty, feebly contending with a querulous, imbecile, fretful wandering of the mind? She is in a garden; and near her stands a sharp, dark, withered woman, with a white scar on her lip. Let me hear what they say.
'Rosa, I have forgotten this gentleman's name.'
Rosa bends over her, and calls to her, 'Mr. Copperfield.'
'I am glad to see you, sir. I am sorry to observe you are in mourning. I hope Time will be good to you.'
Her impatient attendant scolds her, tells her I am not in mourning, bids her look again, tries to rouse her.
'You have seen my son, sir,' says the elder lady. 'Are you reconciled?'
Looking fixedly at me, she puts her hand to her forehead, and moans. Suddenly, she cries, in a terrible voice, 'Rosa, come to me. He is dead!' Rosa kneeling at her feet, by turns caresses her, and quarrels with her; now fiercely telling her, 'I loved him better than you ever did!'- now soothing her to sleep on her breast, like a sick child. Thus I leave them; thus I always find them; thus they wear their time away, from year to year.
Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of four-score years and more, but upright yet, and a steady walker of six miles at a stretch in winter weather.
Always with her, here comes Peggotty, my good old nurse, likewise in spectacles, accustomed to do needle-work at night very close to the lamp, but never sitting down to it without a bit of wax candle, a yard-measure in a little house, and a work-box with a picture of St. Paul's upon the lid.
The cheeks and arms of Peggotty, so hard and red in my childish days, when I wondered why the birds didn't peck her in preference to apples, are shrivelled now; and her eyes, that used to darken their whole neighbourhood in her face, are fainter (though they glitter still); but her rough forefinger, which I once associated with a pocket nutmeg-grater, is just the same, and when I see my least child catching at it as it totters from my aunt to her, I think of our little parlour at home, when I could scarcely walk. My aunt's old disappointment is set right, now. She is godmother to a real living Betsey Trotwood; and Dora (the next in order) says she spoils her.
There is something bulky in Peggotty's pocket. It is nothing smaller than the Crocodile Book, which is in rather a dilapidated condition by this time, with divers of the leaves torn and stitched across, but which Peggotty exhibits to the children as a precious relic. I find it very curious to see my own infant face, looking up at me from the Crocodile stories; and to be reminded by it of my old acquaintance Brooks of Sheffield.
Among my boys, this summer holiday time, I see an old man making giant kites, and gazing at them in the air, with a delight for which there are no words. He greets me rapturously, and whispers, with many nods and winks, 'Trotwood, you will be glad to hear that I shall finish the Memorial when I have nothing else to do, and that your aunt's the most extraordinary woman in the world, sir!'
Who is this bent lady, supporting herself by a stick, and showing me a countenance in which there are some traces of old pride and beauty, feebly contending with a querulous, imbecile, fretful wandering of the mind? She is in a garden; and near her stands a sharp, dark, withered woman, with a white scar on her lip. Let me hear what they say.
'Rosa, I have forgotten this gentleman's name.'
Rosa bends over her, and calls to her, 'Mr. Copperfield.'
'I am glad to see you, sir. I am sorry to observe you are in mourning. I hope Time will be good to you.'
Her impatient attendant scolds her, tells her I am not in mourning, bids her look again, tries to rouse her.
'You have seen my son, sir,' says the elder lady. 'Are you reconciled?'
Looking fixedly at me, she puts her hand to her forehead, and moans. Suddenly, she cries, in a terrible voice, 'Rosa, come to me. He is dead!' Rosa kneeling at her feet, by turns caresses her, and quarrels with her; now fiercely telling her, 'I loved him better than you ever did!'- now soothing her to sleep on her breast, like a sick child. Thus I leave them; thus I always find them; thus they wear their time away, from year to year.
But you couldn't just pick up and go to visit New York from Lansing
But you couldn't just pick up and go to visit New York from Lansing, or Boston, or anywhere else-notwithout money. So I'd never really given too much thought to getting to New York until the free wayto travel there came in the form of Ella's talk with old man Rountree, who was a member of Ella'schurch.
What Ella didn't know, of course, was that I would continue to see Sophia. Sophia could get away onlya few nights a week. She said, when I told her about the train job, that she'd get away every night I gotback into Boston, and this would mean every other night, if I got the run I wanted. Sophia didn't wantme to leave at all, but she believed I was draft age already, and thought the train job would keep meout of the Army.
Shorty thought it would be a great chance for me. He was worried sick himself about the draft call thathe knew was soon to come. Like hundreds of the black ghetto's young men, he was taking some stuffthat, it was said, would make your heart sound defective to the draft board's doctors.
Shorty felt about the war the same way I and most ghetto Negroes did: "Whitey owns everything. Hewants us to go and bleed for him? Let him fight."Anyway, at the railroad personnel hiring office down on Dover Street, a tired-acting old white clerkgot down to the crucial point, when I came to sign up. "Age, Little?" When I told him "Twenty-one," henever lifted his eyes from his pencil. I knew I had the job.
I was promised the first available Boston-to-New York fourth-cook job. But for a while, I worked therein the Dover Street Yard, helping to load food requisitions onto the trains. Fourth cook, I knew, wasjust a glorified name for dishwasher, but it wouldn't be my first time, and just as long as I traveledwhere I wanted, it didn't make any difference to me. Temporarily though, they put me on "TheColonial" that ran to Washington, D.C.
The kitchen crew, headed by a West Indian chef named Duke Vaughn, worked with almostunbelievable efficiency in the cramped quarters. Against the sound of the train clacking along, thewaiters were jabbering the customers' orders, the cooks operated like machines, and five hundredmiles of dirty pots and dishes and silverware rattled back to me. Then, on the overnight layover, Inaturally went sightseeing in downtown Washington. I was astounded to find in the nation's capital, just a few blocks from Capitol Hill, thousands of Negroes living worse than any I'd ever seen in thepoorest sections of Roxbury; in dirt-floor shacks along unspeakably filthy lanes with names like PigAlley and Goat Alley. I had seen a lot, but never such a dense concentration of stumblebums, pushers,hookers, public crap-shooters, even little kids running around at midnight begging for pennies, half-naked and barefooted. Some of the railroad cooks and waiters had told me to be very careful, becausemuggings, knifings and robberies went on every night among these Negroes . . . just a few blocks fromthe White House.
But I saw other Negroes better off; they lived in blocks of rundown red brick houses. The old"Colonial" railroaders had told me about Washington having a lot of "middle-class" Negroes withHoward University degrees, who were working as laborers, janitors, porters, guards, taxi-drivers, andthe like. For the Negro in Washington, mail-carrying was a prestige job.
What Ella didn't know, of course, was that I would continue to see Sophia. Sophia could get away onlya few nights a week. She said, when I told her about the train job, that she'd get away every night I gotback into Boston, and this would mean every other night, if I got the run I wanted. Sophia didn't wantme to leave at all, but she believed I was draft age already, and thought the train job would keep meout of the Army.
Shorty thought it would be a great chance for me. He was worried sick himself about the draft call thathe knew was soon to come. Like hundreds of the black ghetto's young men, he was taking some stuffthat, it was said, would make your heart sound defective to the draft board's doctors.
Shorty felt about the war the same way I and most ghetto Negroes did: "Whitey owns everything. Hewants us to go and bleed for him? Let him fight."Anyway, at the railroad personnel hiring office down on Dover Street, a tired-acting old white clerkgot down to the crucial point, when I came to sign up. "Age, Little?" When I told him "Twenty-one," henever lifted his eyes from his pencil. I knew I had the job.
I was promised the first available Boston-to-New York fourth-cook job. But for a while, I worked therein the Dover Street Yard, helping to load food requisitions onto the trains. Fourth cook, I knew, wasjust a glorified name for dishwasher, but it wouldn't be my first time, and just as long as I traveledwhere I wanted, it didn't make any difference to me. Temporarily though, they put me on "TheColonial" that ran to Washington, D.C.
The kitchen crew, headed by a West Indian chef named Duke Vaughn, worked with almostunbelievable efficiency in the cramped quarters. Against the sound of the train clacking along, thewaiters were jabbering the customers' orders, the cooks operated like machines, and five hundredmiles of dirty pots and dishes and silverware rattled back to me. Then, on the overnight layover, Inaturally went sightseeing in downtown Washington. I was astounded to find in the nation's capital, just a few blocks from Capitol Hill, thousands of Negroes living worse than any I'd ever seen in thepoorest sections of Roxbury; in dirt-floor shacks along unspeakably filthy lanes with names like PigAlley and Goat Alley. I had seen a lot, but never such a dense concentration of stumblebums, pushers,hookers, public crap-shooters, even little kids running around at midnight begging for pennies, half-naked and barefooted. Some of the railroad cooks and waiters had told me to be very careful, becausemuggings, knifings and robberies went on every night among these Negroes . . . just a few blocks fromthe White House.
But I saw other Negroes better off; they lived in blocks of rundown red brick houses. The old"Colonial" railroaders had told me about Washington having a lot of "middle-class" Negroes withHoward University degrees, who were working as laborers, janitors, porters, guards, taxi-drivers, andthe like. For the Negro in Washington, mail-carrying was a prestige job.
2012年12月8日星期六
每当我想到斯太甫罗根
比方说，每当我想到斯太甫罗根，我便会联想到某一个妖魔站在高处向我们扔自己撕裂的肠子。在《魔鬼》中发生了地震，这不仅是降临在富于想象力的人头上的大灾难，而是一大半人类被埋葬于其中、永远被消灭的大地震。斯太甫罗根就是陀思妥耶夫斯基，陀思妥耶夫斯基是所有这些矛盾的总和，它们不是使一个人麻痹就是领他爬上高处。没有一个地方太低，他进不去；也没有一个地方太高，他不敢爬上去。遗憾的是我们再也没有机会见到一个被置于神秘的中心的人，他的光芒为我们照亮黑暗的深邃和广大。
When I think of Stavrogin for example, I think of some divine monster standing on a high place and flinging to us his torn bowels. In The Possessed the earth quakes: it is not the catastrophe that befalls the imaginative individual, but a cataclysm in which a large portion of humanity is buried, wiped out forever. Stavrogin was Dostoevski and Dostoevski was the sum of all those contradictions which either paralyze a man or lead him to the heights. There was no world too low for him to enter, no place too high for him to fear to ascend. He went the whole gamut, from the abyss to the stars. It is a pity that we shall never again have the opportunity to see a man placed at the very core of mystery and, by his flashes, illuminating, for us the depth and immensity of the darkness.
今天我感觉到了自己的血统，我没有必要去求助占星术或查阅家谱表。我对星星上或我的血液里写着什么一无所知，只知道我是由人类的某些神话中的创始人繁衍的。那个把神圣的瓶子举到唇边的人、那个跪在集市上的罪犯、那个发现所有的尸体都会发臭的纯洁的人、那个跳舞时手中发出闪电的疯子、那个撩起长袍朝大地上撒尿的修道士、那个翻遍所有图书馆要找到《圣经》的宗教狂—所有这些人合成了我，所有这些人造成了我的仟侮、我的欣喜。假如我没有人味儿，那是由于我所生活的世界已经超出人性的界线了，那是由于做个有人味儿的人像是在做一件可怜的、令人遗憾的、凄凉悲苦的事情，它受到种种理智限制，受到种种道德规范的制约，由种种老生常谈和这个那个主义固定范围。我将葡萄汁一饮而尽，我从中得到了智慧，不过我的智慧并非来自葡萄,Moncler Jackets For Women，我沉醉也根本不是因为酒……我想绕过那些高大荒芜的山脉，一个人会在那儿渴死、冻死。这就是“超瞬时”历史，就是不存在人、兽、草木的绝对时空，在那儿一个人寂寞得发疯，语言则只是词语而已，那儿的一切都是自由自在的，与时代不谐调的。我想要一个男人、女人、树木都不讲话的世界（因为如今的世界上话讲得太多了）！
Today I am aware of my lineage. I have no need to consult my horoscope or my genealogical chart. What is written in the stars, or in my blood, I know nothing of. I know that I spring from the mythological founders of the race. The man who raises the holy bottle to his lips, the criminal who kneels in the marketplace, the innocent one who discovers that all corpses stink, the madman who dances with lightning in his hands, the friar who lifts his skirts to pee over the world, the fanatic who ransacks libraries in order to find the Word - all these are fused in me, all these make my confusion, my ecstasy. If I am inhuman it is because my world has slopped over its human bounds, because to be human seems like a poor, sorry, miserable affair, limited by the senses, restricted by moralities and codes, defined by platitudes and isms. I am pouring the juice of the grape down my gullet and I find wisdom in it, but my wisdom is not born of the grape, my intoxication owes nothing to wine…
我想要一个河流能把人载到各地去的世界，不是成为古老传说的河流，而是能叫人同别的男女，同建筑、宗教、植物、动物接触的河流。是上面有船只的河流。人们在这样的河里溺死，并非淹没在神话、传说、书籍和以往的尘土中，而是淹没在时间、空间的历史中。我要能造出莎士比亚和但丁这样的大海的河流，要不会在以往的空泛中干涸的河流、大海。对了，让我们有更多的海吧，新的、挡住过去的大海，创造新的地质构造、新的地形景观、陌生而且令人恐惧的大陆的大海，在摧毁的同时也保护我们的大海，我们可以在上面航行，去探求新发现、新视野的大海。让我们得到更多的大海、更多的动乱、战争和大毁灭吧。让我们得到一个男男女女大腿间都装有发电机的世界,cheap jeremy scott adidas wings，一个充满自然的愤怒、激情、行动、戏剧、梦幻、疯狂的世界，一个孕生欣喜而不是干放屁的世界。我坚信今天比以往任何时候都更应寻求写一本书，哪怕它只有一大页呢。我们必须寻找碎片、碎屑、脚趾甲，任何含有矿物质、任何得以使肉体和灵魂复活的东西。
I want to make a detour of those lofty arid mountain ranges where one dies of thirst and cold, that "extratemporal" history, that absolute of time and space where there exists neither man, beast, nor vegetation, where one goes crazy with loneliness, with language that is mere words, where everything is unhooked, ungeared, out of joint with the times. I want a world of men and women, of trees that do not talk (because there is too much talk in the world as it is!, of rivers that carry you to places, not rivers that are legends, but rivers that put you in touch with other men and women, with architecture, religion, plants, animals - rivers that have boats on them and in which men drown, drown not in myth and legend and books and dust of the past, but in time and space and history,Moncler Sale. I want rivers that make oceans such as Shakespeare and Dante, rivers which do not dry up in the void of the past. Oceans, yes! Let us have more oceans, new oceans that blot out the past, oceans that create new geological formations, new topographical vistas and strange,HOMEPAGE, terrifying continents, oceans that destroy and preserve at the same time, oceans that we can sail on, take off to new discoveries, new horizons. Let us have more oceans, more upheavals, more wars, more holocausts. Let us have a world of men and women with dynamos between their legs, a world of natural fury, of passion, action, drama, dreams, madness, a world that produces ecstasy and not dry farts. I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it: we must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and soul.
And now the Bernheims
And now the Bernheims, how or wherefor I do not know, taking Fénéon into their employ, were going to connect themselves with the new generation of painters.
Something happened, at any rate this contract did not last long, but for all that it changed the fortunes of Matisse. He now had an established position. He bought a house and some land in Clamart and he started to move out there. Let me describe the house as I saw it.
This home in Clamart was very comfortable, to be sure the bath-room, which the family much appreciated from long contact with americans, although it must be said that the Matisses had always been and always were scrupulously neat and clean, was on the ground floor adjoining the dining room. But that was alright,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings, and is and was a french custom,moncler winter outwear jackets, in french houses. It gave more privacy to a bath-room to have it on the ground floor. Not so long ago in going over the new house Braque was building the bath-room was again below, this time underneath the dining room. When we said, but why, they said because being nearer the furnace it would be warmer.
The grounds at Clamart were large and the garden was what Matisse between pride and chagrin called un petit Luxembourg. There was also a glass forcing house for flowers. Later they had begonias in them that grew smaller and smaller. Beyond were lilacs and still beyond a big demountable studio. They liked it enormously. Madame Matisse with simple recklessness went out every day to look at it and pick flowers, keeping a cab waiting for her. In those days only millionaires kept cabs waiting and then only very occasionally.
They moved out and were very comfortable and soon the enormous studio was filled with enormous statues and enormous pictures. It was that period of Matisse. Equally soon he found Clamart so beautiful that he could not go home to it, that is when he came into Paris to his hour of sketching from the nude, a thing he had done every afternoon of his life ever since the beginning of things, and he came in every afternoon. His school no longer existed, the government had taken over the old convent to make a Lycée of it and the school had come to an end.
These were the beginning of very prosperous days for the Matisses. They went to Algeria and they went to Tangiers and their devoted german pupils gave them Rhine wines and a very fine black police dog, the first of the breed that any of us had seen.
And then Matisse had a great show of his pictures in Berlin. I remember so well one spring day,Moncler Sale, it was a lovely day and we were to lunch at Clamart with the Matisses. When we got there they were all standing around an enormous packing case with its top off. We went up and joined them and there in the packing case was the largest laurel wreath that had ever been made, tied with a beautiful red ribbon. Matisse showed Gertrude Stein a card that had been in it. It said on it, To Henri Matisse,Moncler Outlet, Triumphant on the Battlefield of Berlin, and was signed Thomas Whittemore. Thomas Whittemore was a bostonian archeologist and professor at Tufts College, a great admirer of Matisse and this was his tribute. Said Matisse, still more rueful, but I am not dead yet. Madame Matisse, the shock once over said, but Henri look, and leaning down she plucked a leaf and tasted it, it is real laurel, think how good it will be in soup. And, said she still further brightening, the ribbon will do wonderfully for a long time as hair ribbon for Margot.
Something happened, at any rate this contract did not last long, but for all that it changed the fortunes of Matisse. He now had an established position. He bought a house and some land in Clamart and he started to move out there. Let me describe the house as I saw it.
This home in Clamart was very comfortable, to be sure the bath-room, which the family much appreciated from long contact with americans, although it must be said that the Matisses had always been and always were scrupulously neat and clean, was on the ground floor adjoining the dining room. But that was alright,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings, and is and was a french custom,moncler winter outwear jackets, in french houses. It gave more privacy to a bath-room to have it on the ground floor. Not so long ago in going over the new house Braque was building the bath-room was again below, this time underneath the dining room. When we said, but why, they said because being nearer the furnace it would be warmer.
The grounds at Clamart were large and the garden was what Matisse between pride and chagrin called un petit Luxembourg. There was also a glass forcing house for flowers. Later they had begonias in them that grew smaller and smaller. Beyond were lilacs and still beyond a big demountable studio. They liked it enormously. Madame Matisse with simple recklessness went out every day to look at it and pick flowers, keeping a cab waiting for her. In those days only millionaires kept cabs waiting and then only very occasionally.
They moved out and were very comfortable and soon the enormous studio was filled with enormous statues and enormous pictures. It was that period of Matisse. Equally soon he found Clamart so beautiful that he could not go home to it, that is when he came into Paris to his hour of sketching from the nude, a thing he had done every afternoon of his life ever since the beginning of things, and he came in every afternoon. His school no longer existed, the government had taken over the old convent to make a Lycée of it and the school had come to an end.
These were the beginning of very prosperous days for the Matisses. They went to Algeria and they went to Tangiers and their devoted german pupils gave them Rhine wines and a very fine black police dog, the first of the breed that any of us had seen.
And then Matisse had a great show of his pictures in Berlin. I remember so well one spring day,Moncler Sale, it was a lovely day and we were to lunch at Clamart with the Matisses. When we got there they were all standing around an enormous packing case with its top off. We went up and joined them and there in the packing case was the largest laurel wreath that had ever been made, tied with a beautiful red ribbon. Matisse showed Gertrude Stein a card that had been in it. It said on it, To Henri Matisse,Moncler Outlet, Triumphant on the Battlefield of Berlin, and was signed Thomas Whittemore. Thomas Whittemore was a bostonian archeologist and professor at Tufts College, a great admirer of Matisse and this was his tribute. Said Matisse, still more rueful, but I am not dead yet. Madame Matisse, the shock once over said, but Henri look, and leaning down she plucked a leaf and tasted it, it is real laurel, think how good it will be in soup. And, said she still further brightening, the ribbon will do wonderfully for a long time as hair ribbon for Margot.
2012年12月5日星期三
the staff seemed to be preparing as well
Inside, the staff seemed to be preparing as well. A number of volunteers were sweeping and dusting; two others were setting out additional Tiffany lamps, and Jeremy assumed that once the official tour began,http://www.cheapnorthfacedownjacket.com/, the overhead lights would be dimmed to give the library a more historic atmosphere.
Jeremy walked past the children’s room, noting that it looked far less cluttered than it had the other day, and continued up the stairs. Lexie’s office door was open, and he paused for a moment to collect himself before entering. Lexie was bending down near the desk, which had been nearly cleared. Like everyone else in the library, she was doing her best to get rid of clutter, stacking various piles under the desk.
“Hey,” he said.
Lexie looked up,north face outlet. “Oh, hey,” she said, standing. She smoothed her blouse. “I guess you caught me making the place look presentable.”
“You do have a big weekend on tap.”
“Yeah, I suppose I should have taken care of this earlier,” she said, motioning around the room, “but I guess I’ve picked up a nasty case of procrastination.”
She smiled, beautiful even in her slight dishevelment.
“It happens to the best of us,” he said.
“Yeah, well, not usually to me.” Instead of moving toward him, she reached for another pile, then ducked her head beneath the desk again.
“How’s Doris doing?” he inquired.
“Fine,” she said, speaking from below the desk. “Like Rachel said, she’s just a little under the weather, but she’ll be up and about tomorrow.” Lexie reappeared, reaching for another stack of papers. “If you get the chance, you might swing by before you head out. I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”
For a moment, he simply watched her, but when he realized the implication of what she was saying, he took a step toward her.
As he did, Lexie moved around the desk, acting as if she hadn’t
noticed, but making sure to keep the desk between them.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She shuffled a few more items on her desk. “I’m just busy,” she answered.
“I meant what’s going on with us,” he said.
“Nothing,” she said. Her voice was neutral, as if discussing the weather.
“You won’t even look at me,” he said.
With that, she finally looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. He could sense her simmering hostility, though he wasn’t sure whether she was mad at him or mad at herself. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve already explained that I’ve got things to do. Believe it or not, I am in sort of a rush here,moncler winter outwear jackets.”
Jeremy stared without moving, suddenly sensing that she was looking for any excuse to start an argument.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” Lexie slipped another stack under the desk. “How was Alvin?” she asked, her voice rising from below.
Jeremy scratched the back of his head. “He’s not mad anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good,” she said. “Did you two get your work done?”
“For the most part,” he said.
She popped up again,Moncler Sale, trying to appear rushed. “I pulled the diaries out for you again. They’re on the desk in the rare-book room.”
Jeremy gave a weak smile. “Thanks,” he said.
Jeremy walked past the children’s room, noting that it looked far less cluttered than it had the other day, and continued up the stairs. Lexie’s office door was open, and he paused for a moment to collect himself before entering. Lexie was bending down near the desk, which had been nearly cleared. Like everyone else in the library, she was doing her best to get rid of clutter, stacking various piles under the desk.
“Hey,” he said.
Lexie looked up,north face outlet. “Oh, hey,” she said, standing. She smoothed her blouse. “I guess you caught me making the place look presentable.”
“You do have a big weekend on tap.”
“Yeah, I suppose I should have taken care of this earlier,” she said, motioning around the room, “but I guess I’ve picked up a nasty case of procrastination.”
She smiled, beautiful even in her slight dishevelment.
“It happens to the best of us,” he said.
“Yeah, well, not usually to me.” Instead of moving toward him, she reached for another pile, then ducked her head beneath the desk again.
“How’s Doris doing?” he inquired.
“Fine,” she said, speaking from below the desk. “Like Rachel said, she’s just a little under the weather, but she’ll be up and about tomorrow.” Lexie reappeared, reaching for another stack of papers. “If you get the chance, you might swing by before you head out. I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”
For a moment, he simply watched her, but when he realized the implication of what she was saying, he took a step toward her.
As he did, Lexie moved around the desk, acting as if she hadn’t
noticed, but making sure to keep the desk between them.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
She shuffled a few more items on her desk. “I’m just busy,” she answered.
“I meant what’s going on with us,” he said.
“Nothing,” she said. Her voice was neutral, as if discussing the weather.
“You won’t even look at me,” he said.
With that, she finally looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time. He could sense her simmering hostility, though he wasn’t sure whether she was mad at him or mad at herself. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve already explained that I’ve got things to do. Believe it or not, I am in sort of a rush here,moncler winter outwear jackets.”
Jeremy stared without moving, suddenly sensing that she was looking for any excuse to start an argument.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I’ve got it.” Lexie slipped another stack under the desk. “How was Alvin?” she asked, her voice rising from below.
Jeremy scratched the back of his head. “He’s not mad anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good,” she said. “Did you two get your work done?”
“For the most part,” he said.
She popped up again,Moncler Sale, trying to appear rushed. “I pulled the diaries out for you again. They’re on the desk in the rare-book room.”
Jeremy gave a weak smile. “Thanks,” he said.
Rastignac went home
Rastignac went home. He was fascinated by Mme. de Nucingen; he seemed to see her before him, slender and graceful as a swallow. He recalled the intoxicating sweetness of her eyes, her fair hair, the delicate silken tissue of the skin, beneath which it almost seemed to him that he could see the blood coursing; the tones of her voice still exerted a spell over him; he had forgotten nothing; his walk perhaps heated his imagination by sending a glow of warmth through his veins. He knocked unceremonioesly at Goriot's door.
"I have seen Mme. Delphine, neighbor," said he.
"Where?"
"At the Italiens."
"Did she enjoy it?. . . . Just come inside," and the old man left his bed, unlocked the door,Moncler Outlet Online Store, and promptly returned again.
It was the first time that Eugene had been in Father Goriot's room, and he could not control his feeling of amazement at the contrast between the den in which the father lived and the costume of the daughter whom he had just beheld. The window was curtainless, the walls were damp, in places the varnished wallpaper had come away and gave glimpses of the grimy yellow plaster beneath. The wretched bed on which the old man lay boasted but one thin blanket, and a wadded quilt made out of large pieces of Mme. Vauquer's old dresses. The floor was damp and gritty. Opposite the window stood a chest of drawers made of rosewood, one of the old-fashioned kind with a curving front and brass handles, shaped like rings of twisted vine stems covered with flowers and leaves,HOMEPAGE. On a venerable piece of furniture with a wooden shelf stood a ewer and basin and shaving apparatus. A pair of shoes stood in one corner; a night-table by the bed had neither a door nor marble slab,Moncler Jackets For Men. There was not a trace of a fire in the empty grate; the square walnut table with the crossbar against which Father Goriot had crushed and twisted his possetdish stood near the hearth. The old man's hat was lying on a broken-down bureau. An armchair stuffed with straw and a couple of chairs completed the list of ramshackle furniture. From the tester of the bed, tied to the ceiling by a piece of rag, hung a strip of some cheap material in large red and black checks. No poor drudge in a garret could be worse lodged than Father Goriot in Mme. Vauquer's lodging-house. The mere sight of the room sent a chill through you and a sense of oppression; it was like the worst cell in a prison. Luckily, Goriot could not see the effect that his surroundings produced on Eugene as the latter deposited his candle on the night-table. The old man turned round, keeping the bedclothes huddled up to his chin.
"Well," he said, "and which do you like the best, Mme. de Restaud or Mme. de Nucingen?"
"I like Mme. Delphine the best," said the law student, "because she loves you the best."
At the words so heartily spoken the old man's hand slipped out from under the bedclothes and grasped Eugene's,adidas shoes for girls.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, gratefully. "Then what did she say about me?"
The student repeated the Baroness' remarks with some embellishments of his own, the old man listening the while as though he heard a voice from Heaven.
"I have seen Mme. Delphine, neighbor," said he.
"Where?"
"At the Italiens."
"Did she enjoy it?. . . . Just come inside," and the old man left his bed, unlocked the door,Moncler Outlet Online Store, and promptly returned again.
It was the first time that Eugene had been in Father Goriot's room, and he could not control his feeling of amazement at the contrast between the den in which the father lived and the costume of the daughter whom he had just beheld. The window was curtainless, the walls were damp, in places the varnished wallpaper had come away and gave glimpses of the grimy yellow plaster beneath. The wretched bed on which the old man lay boasted but one thin blanket, and a wadded quilt made out of large pieces of Mme. Vauquer's old dresses. The floor was damp and gritty. Opposite the window stood a chest of drawers made of rosewood, one of the old-fashioned kind with a curving front and brass handles, shaped like rings of twisted vine stems covered with flowers and leaves,HOMEPAGE. On a venerable piece of furniture with a wooden shelf stood a ewer and basin and shaving apparatus. A pair of shoes stood in one corner; a night-table by the bed had neither a door nor marble slab,Moncler Jackets For Men. There was not a trace of a fire in the empty grate; the square walnut table with the crossbar against which Father Goriot had crushed and twisted his possetdish stood near the hearth. The old man's hat was lying on a broken-down bureau. An armchair stuffed with straw and a couple of chairs completed the list of ramshackle furniture. From the tester of the bed, tied to the ceiling by a piece of rag, hung a strip of some cheap material in large red and black checks. No poor drudge in a garret could be worse lodged than Father Goriot in Mme. Vauquer's lodging-house. The mere sight of the room sent a chill through you and a sense of oppression; it was like the worst cell in a prison. Luckily, Goriot could not see the effect that his surroundings produced on Eugene as the latter deposited his candle on the night-table. The old man turned round, keeping the bedclothes huddled up to his chin.
"Well," he said, "and which do you like the best, Mme. de Restaud or Mme. de Nucingen?"
"I like Mme. Delphine the best," said the law student, "because she loves you the best."
At the words so heartily spoken the old man's hand slipped out from under the bedclothes and grasped Eugene's,adidas shoes for girls.
"Thank you, thank you," he said, gratefully. "Then what did she say about me?"
The student repeated the Baroness' remarks with some embellishments of his own, the old man listening the while as though he heard a voice from Heaven.
“这次可有报酬吗
“这次可有报酬吗？"科马克问道，他是一个体格结实、面孔黝黑、面貌狰狞的年轻人，由于他的凶狠残暴，使他赢得了“老虎"的绰号。
“不用担心报酬。你们仅是出于荣誉去做这件事。事成后，也许有一点零头给你们。”
“那个人究竟有什么罪呢？"年轻的威尔逊问道。
“当然，那个人究竟有什么罪，这不是象你这样的人应当问的。他们那里已经对他作出了判决，那就不关我们的事了。我们所要做的只是替他们去执行而已。他们也会照样来替我们行事的。说起这个，下星期默顿分会就有两个弟兄到我们这里来行事。”
“他们是谁呢？"一个人问道。
“你最好不要问。如果你什么也不知道，你可以作证说什么也不知道，就不会招来什么麻烦。不过他们是那些干起事来很利落的人。”
“还有！"特德•鲍德温叫道，“有些事该了结一下。就在上星期，我们的三个弟兄被工头布莱克解雇了。早就应该给他教训了，他早就应该领受这个教训了。”
“领受什么？"麦克默多低声向邻座的人问道。
“给他一颗大号子弹完事！"那人大笑起来，高声说道，“你认为我们的办法怎样？兄弟。”
麦克默多现在已经是这个无恶不作的社团中的一分子，他的灵魂似乎已被这种精神所同化。
“我很喜欢它，"麦克默多说道，“这正是英雄少年用武之地啊！”
四周听到麦克默多讲话的人大加称赞。
“怎么回事？"坐在桌子那一端的黑大汉身主问道。
“先生，我们新来的弟兄，认为我们的办法很合他的口味。”
麦克默多马上站起来说道：
“我敢说，尊敬的身主，如果有用人的地方，我当以能为本会出力为荣。”
大家都对此高声喝彩，好象一轮朝日从地平线上升起。可是对一些年长的会员来说，这种成就似乎是太快了点。
“我提议，"一个灰白胡须的老人，长得面如鹫鹰，坐在身主的旁边，这就是书记哈拉威，他说道，“麦克默多兄弟应该等待，分会是很高兴使用他的。”
“当然，我也这样想，我一定遵命。"麦克默多说。
“兄弟，不久就会用到你的，"身主说，“我们已经知道你是一个情愿出力的人，我们也深信你在这地方会干得出色。今夜有一件小事，如果你愿意的话，你可以出一臂之力。”
“我愿等待更有价值的机会。”
“不管怎样，今夜你可以去，这可以帮助你了解我们团体主张什么。以后我还要宣布这主张。同时，"他看了看议事日程，说道，“我还有一两件事要在会上讲。第一点，我要问司库我们银行的结存情况。应该给吉姆•卡纳威的寡启发抚恤金。卡纳威是因公殉身的，把她照顾好是我们的责任。”
“吉姆是在上个月去谋刺马利克里克的切斯特•威尔科克斯时反遭毒手的，"麦克默多邻座的人告诉他说。
“现在存款很多，"司库面前放着银行存款本，报告说，“近来这些商行很大方。马克斯•林德公司付给的五百元还没动用。沃尔克兄弟送来一百元，可是我自己作主退还给他们，要他们出五百元。假如星期三我听不到回信，他们的卷扬机传动装置就会发生故障。去年我们烧毁了他们的轧碎机，他们才变得开通一点。西部煤业公司交来了年度捐献。我们手中有足够的资金去应付一切债务。”
“阿尔奇•斯温登怎么样？"一个弟兄问道。
“他已经卖去产业，离开本区了。这个老该死的给我们留下一张便条，上面说，他宁肯在纽约做一个自由的清道夫，也不愿处在一个敲诈勒索集团的势力下面做一个大矿主，天哪！他逃走了以后，我们才接到这张便条。我想他再也不敢在这个山谷中露面了。”
一个脸刮得干干净净的老年人，面容慈祥，长着一双浓眉，从桌子的另一端站起来。
“司库先生，"他问道，"请问,north face outlet，被我们赶跑的那个人的矿产，让谁买下了？”
“莫里斯兄弟，他的矿产被州里和默顿县铁路公司买下了。”
“去年托德曼和李氏的矿山是被谁买下的？”
“也是这家公司，莫里斯兄弟。”
“曼森铁矿、舒曼铁矿、范德尔铁矿以及阿特任德铁矿，最近都出让了，又是让谁家买去的？”
“这些铁矿都被西吉尔默顿矿业总公司买去了。”
“我不明白，莫里斯兄弟，"麦金蒂说道，“既然他们不能把矿产从这个地方带走，谁买走它们，与我们又有什么关系呢？”
“我十分敬重你,cheap jeremy scott adidas wings，尊敬的身主，但我认为这与我们有很大的关系。这种变化过程到现在已有十年之久了。我们已经逐渐把所有的小资本家赶跑了。结果怎样呢？我们发现代替他们的是象铁路公司或煤铁总公司这样的大公司，这些公司在纽约或费城有他们的董事，对我们的恫吓置之不理。我们虽然能赶走他们在本地的工头，但这只不过意味着另派别人来代替他们而已，而我们自己反而招来危险。那些小资本家对我们不能有任何危害。他们既无钱又无势。只要我们不过于苛刻地压榨他们，他们就可以在我们的势力范围内继续留下来。可是如果这些大公司发觉我们妨碍他们和他们的利益，他们就会不遗余力，不惜工本地设法摧毁我们并向法院控诉我们。”
听到这些不吉祥的话，大家静默下来，神情沮丧，脸色阴沉。他们过去具有无上的权威，从未遭到过挫折，以至他们根本不曾想到自己会得到什么报应。然而，就连他们里面最不顾一切的人，听到莫里斯的想法，也觉得扫兴。
“我劝各位，"莫里斯继续说道，“以后对小资本家不要太苛刻了。如果有朝一日他们全被逼走了，那么我们这个社团的势力也就被破坏啦。”
实话是不受欢迎的。莫里斯说完刚刚落座，就听到一些人在高声怒叱。麦金蒂双眉紧皱，阴郁不快地站起身来。
“莫里斯兄弟，"麦金蒂说道，“你总是到处报丧。只要我们会众齐心协力，在美国就没有一种力量能碰碰我们。不错，我们不是常在法庭上和人较量么？我料想那些大公司会发觉，他们若象那些小公司一样向我们付款,adidas shoes for girls，倒比和我们斗争容易得多。现在，弟兄们，"麦金蒂说话时，取下他的平顶绒帽和圣带，
“今晚会务进行完了，只有一件小事要在散会前再提一下。现在是兄弟们举杯痛饮、尽情欢乐的时候了。”
人类的本性确实是很奇怪的。这是一些把杀人当作家常便饭的人，一而再、再而三毫无人性地残杀过一些家庭的家长，眼见其妻室悲啼，儿女失怙，绝无内疚之心、恻隐之意，然而一听到优柔迫切的音乐，也会感动得落泪。麦克默多有一副优美的男高音歌喉。如果说他以前还未获得会中弟兄的友情善意，那么在他唱"玛丽，我坐在篱垣上"和"在亚兰河两岸”时,HOMEPAGE，却使他们深受感动，再也抑制不住对他的善意了。
就在这第一天夜晚，这位新会员使自己成为弟兄中最受欢迎的一员，已经象征着即将晋升和获得高位。然而，要成为一个受尊敬的自由人会会员，除了这些友情以外，还需要具有另外一些气质，而这个晚上还没过去，麦克默多已经被说成是这些气质的典范了。已经酒过数巡，人们早已醉醺醺，蒙眬眬，这时身主又站起来向他们讲话。
“弟兄们，"麦金蒂说道，“在镇上有一个人应当剪除，你们也知道，他是应当受到处罚的。我说的是《先驱报》的詹姆士•斯坦格。你们不是已经看到他又在破口大骂我们了吗？”
这时室内迸发出一阵赞同的低语声，有些人诅咒发誓。麦金蒂从背心口袋里拿出一张报纸来读道：
“法律与秩序！
“这是斯坦格给加上的标题。
'煤铁矿区的恐怖统治
自首次暗杀事件发生，即示明我区存在犯罪组织，现已流逝十二载。唯自斯日始，此类暴行迄未间断。时至今日，彼等已登峰造极，竟使吾人蒙受文明世界之耻。吾国当日欢纳自欧洲专制政体下逃亡之移民，何曾预想此等结果？彼等竟欲欺凌当日赖以栖身之恩主，自作暴戾，而此等恐怖暴虐、目无法纪，竟在自由之星条旗帜圣神掩盖之下确立，顿使吾人心目中引起惊恐，尤如置身于最衰朽之东方君主国中者。彼等之名，人所共知。此组织亦公开。吾人对此容忍何日方休？吾人品能常此生活……'
“够了，这种废话我念够了！"麦金蒂把报纸扔到桌上，高声喊道，“这就是斯坦格关于我们的报道。我现在对你们提出的问题是，我们对他怎样处理？”
“不用担心报酬。你们仅是出于荣誉去做这件事。事成后，也许有一点零头给你们。”
“那个人究竟有什么罪呢？"年轻的威尔逊问道。
“当然，那个人究竟有什么罪，这不是象你这样的人应当问的。他们那里已经对他作出了判决，那就不关我们的事了。我们所要做的只是替他们去执行而已。他们也会照样来替我们行事的。说起这个，下星期默顿分会就有两个弟兄到我们这里来行事。”
“他们是谁呢？"一个人问道。
“你最好不要问。如果你什么也不知道，你可以作证说什么也不知道，就不会招来什么麻烦。不过他们是那些干起事来很利落的人。”
“还有！"特德•鲍德温叫道，“有些事该了结一下。就在上星期，我们的三个弟兄被工头布莱克解雇了。早就应该给他教训了，他早就应该领受这个教训了。”
“领受什么？"麦克默多低声向邻座的人问道。
“给他一颗大号子弹完事！"那人大笑起来，高声说道，“你认为我们的办法怎样？兄弟。”
麦克默多现在已经是这个无恶不作的社团中的一分子，他的灵魂似乎已被这种精神所同化。
“我很喜欢它，"麦克默多说道，“这正是英雄少年用武之地啊！”
四周听到麦克默多讲话的人大加称赞。
“怎么回事？"坐在桌子那一端的黑大汉身主问道。
“先生，我们新来的弟兄，认为我们的办法很合他的口味。”
麦克默多马上站起来说道：
“我敢说，尊敬的身主，如果有用人的地方，我当以能为本会出力为荣。”
大家都对此高声喝彩，好象一轮朝日从地平线上升起。可是对一些年长的会员来说，这种成就似乎是太快了点。
“我提议，"一个灰白胡须的老人，长得面如鹫鹰，坐在身主的旁边，这就是书记哈拉威，他说道，“麦克默多兄弟应该等待，分会是很高兴使用他的。”
“当然，我也这样想，我一定遵命。"麦克默多说。
“兄弟，不久就会用到你的，"身主说，“我们已经知道你是一个情愿出力的人，我们也深信你在这地方会干得出色。今夜有一件小事，如果你愿意的话，你可以出一臂之力。”
“我愿等待更有价值的机会。”
“不管怎样，今夜你可以去，这可以帮助你了解我们团体主张什么。以后我还要宣布这主张。同时，"他看了看议事日程，说道，“我还有一两件事要在会上讲。第一点，我要问司库我们银行的结存情况。应该给吉姆•卡纳威的寡启发抚恤金。卡纳威是因公殉身的，把她照顾好是我们的责任。”
“吉姆是在上个月去谋刺马利克里克的切斯特•威尔科克斯时反遭毒手的，"麦克默多邻座的人告诉他说。
“现在存款很多，"司库面前放着银行存款本，报告说，“近来这些商行很大方。马克斯•林德公司付给的五百元还没动用。沃尔克兄弟送来一百元，可是我自己作主退还给他们，要他们出五百元。假如星期三我听不到回信，他们的卷扬机传动装置就会发生故障。去年我们烧毁了他们的轧碎机，他们才变得开通一点。西部煤业公司交来了年度捐献。我们手中有足够的资金去应付一切债务。”
“阿尔奇•斯温登怎么样？"一个弟兄问道。
“他已经卖去产业，离开本区了。这个老该死的给我们留下一张便条，上面说，他宁肯在纽约做一个自由的清道夫，也不愿处在一个敲诈勒索集团的势力下面做一个大矿主，天哪！他逃走了以后，我们才接到这张便条。我想他再也不敢在这个山谷中露面了。”
一个脸刮得干干净净的老年人，面容慈祥，长着一双浓眉，从桌子的另一端站起来。
“司库先生，"他问道，"请问,north face outlet，被我们赶跑的那个人的矿产，让谁买下了？”
“莫里斯兄弟，他的矿产被州里和默顿县铁路公司买下了。”
“去年托德曼和李氏的矿山是被谁买下的？”
“也是这家公司，莫里斯兄弟。”
“曼森铁矿、舒曼铁矿、范德尔铁矿以及阿特任德铁矿，最近都出让了，又是让谁家买去的？”
“这些铁矿都被西吉尔默顿矿业总公司买去了。”
“我不明白，莫里斯兄弟，"麦金蒂说道，“既然他们不能把矿产从这个地方带走，谁买走它们，与我们又有什么关系呢？”
“我十分敬重你,cheap jeremy scott adidas wings，尊敬的身主，但我认为这与我们有很大的关系。这种变化过程到现在已有十年之久了。我们已经逐渐把所有的小资本家赶跑了。结果怎样呢？我们发现代替他们的是象铁路公司或煤铁总公司这样的大公司，这些公司在纽约或费城有他们的董事，对我们的恫吓置之不理。我们虽然能赶走他们在本地的工头，但这只不过意味着另派别人来代替他们而已，而我们自己反而招来危险。那些小资本家对我们不能有任何危害。他们既无钱又无势。只要我们不过于苛刻地压榨他们，他们就可以在我们的势力范围内继续留下来。可是如果这些大公司发觉我们妨碍他们和他们的利益，他们就会不遗余力，不惜工本地设法摧毁我们并向法院控诉我们。”
听到这些不吉祥的话，大家静默下来，神情沮丧，脸色阴沉。他们过去具有无上的权威，从未遭到过挫折，以至他们根本不曾想到自己会得到什么报应。然而，就连他们里面最不顾一切的人，听到莫里斯的想法，也觉得扫兴。
“我劝各位，"莫里斯继续说道，“以后对小资本家不要太苛刻了。如果有朝一日他们全被逼走了，那么我们这个社团的势力也就被破坏啦。”
实话是不受欢迎的。莫里斯说完刚刚落座，就听到一些人在高声怒叱。麦金蒂双眉紧皱，阴郁不快地站起身来。
“莫里斯兄弟，"麦金蒂说道，“你总是到处报丧。只要我们会众齐心协力，在美国就没有一种力量能碰碰我们。不错，我们不是常在法庭上和人较量么？我料想那些大公司会发觉，他们若象那些小公司一样向我们付款,adidas shoes for girls，倒比和我们斗争容易得多。现在，弟兄们，"麦金蒂说话时，取下他的平顶绒帽和圣带，
“今晚会务进行完了，只有一件小事要在散会前再提一下。现在是兄弟们举杯痛饮、尽情欢乐的时候了。”
人类的本性确实是很奇怪的。这是一些把杀人当作家常便饭的人，一而再、再而三毫无人性地残杀过一些家庭的家长，眼见其妻室悲啼，儿女失怙，绝无内疚之心、恻隐之意，然而一听到优柔迫切的音乐，也会感动得落泪。麦克默多有一副优美的男高音歌喉。如果说他以前还未获得会中弟兄的友情善意，那么在他唱"玛丽，我坐在篱垣上"和"在亚兰河两岸”时,HOMEPAGE，却使他们深受感动，再也抑制不住对他的善意了。
就在这第一天夜晚，这位新会员使自己成为弟兄中最受欢迎的一员，已经象征着即将晋升和获得高位。然而，要成为一个受尊敬的自由人会会员，除了这些友情以外，还需要具有另外一些气质，而这个晚上还没过去，麦克默多已经被说成是这些气质的典范了。已经酒过数巡，人们早已醉醺醺，蒙眬眬，这时身主又站起来向他们讲话。
“弟兄们，"麦金蒂说道，“在镇上有一个人应当剪除，你们也知道，他是应当受到处罚的。我说的是《先驱报》的詹姆士•斯坦格。你们不是已经看到他又在破口大骂我们了吗？”
这时室内迸发出一阵赞同的低语声，有些人诅咒发誓。麦金蒂从背心口袋里拿出一张报纸来读道：
“法律与秩序！
“这是斯坦格给加上的标题。
'煤铁矿区的恐怖统治
自首次暗杀事件发生，即示明我区存在犯罪组织，现已流逝十二载。唯自斯日始，此类暴行迄未间断。时至今日，彼等已登峰造极，竟使吾人蒙受文明世界之耻。吾国当日欢纳自欧洲专制政体下逃亡之移民，何曾预想此等结果？彼等竟欲欺凌当日赖以栖身之恩主，自作暴戾，而此等恐怖暴虐、目无法纪，竟在自由之星条旗帜圣神掩盖之下确立，顿使吾人心目中引起惊恐，尤如置身于最衰朽之东方君主国中者。彼等之名，人所共知。此组织亦公开。吾人对此容忍何日方休？吾人品能常此生活……'
“够了，这种废话我念够了！"麦金蒂把报纸扔到桌上，高声喊道，“这就是斯坦格关于我们的报道。我现在对你们提出的问题是，我们对他怎样处理？”
2012年12月4日星期二
VII Getting Tom started
VII
Getting Tom started, however, proved a matter of some difficulty. During the Death Duty Period, Mrs. Kent-Cumberland had cut herself off from many of her friends. Now she cast round vainly to find someone who would “put Tom into something.” Chartered Accountancy, Chinese Customs, estate agencies, “the City,” were suggested and abandoned. “The trouble is, that he has no particular abilities,” she explained. “He is the sort of boy who would be useful in anything—an all-round man—but, of course, he has no capital.” August, September, October passed,adidas shoes for girls; Gervase was back at Oxford, in fashionable lodgings in the High Street, but Tom remained at home without employment. Day by day he and his mother sat down together to luncheon and dinner, and his constant presence was a severe strain on Mrs. Kent-Cumberland’s equability. She herself was always busy and, as she bustled about her duties, it shocked and distracted her to encounter the large figure of her younger son sprawling on the morning room sofa or leaning against the stone parapet of the terrace and gazing out apathetically across the familiar landscape. “Why can’t you find something to do?” she would complain,cheap adidas shoes for sale. “There are always things to do about a house. Heaven knows I never have a moment.” And when, one afternoon, he was asked out by some neighbours and returned too late to dress for dinner, she said, “Really, Tom, I should have thought that you had time for that.” “It is a very serious thing,” she remarked on another occasion, “for a young man of your age to get out of the habit of work. It saps his whole morale.” Accordingly she fell back upon the ancient country house expedient of Cataloguing the Library. This consisted of an extensive and dusty collection of books amassed by succeeding generations of a family at no time notable for their patronage of literature; it had been catalogued before, in the middle of the nineteenth century, in the spidery, spinsterish hand of a relative in reduced circumstances; since then the additions and disturbances had been negligible, but Mrs,Moncler Sale. Kent-Cumberland purchased a fumed oak cabinet and several boxes of cards and instructed Tom how she wanted the shelves renumbered and the books twice entered under Subject and Author. It was a system that should keep a boy employed for some time, and it was with vexation, therefore, that, a few days after the task was commenced, she paid a surprise visit to the scene of his labour and found Tom sitting, almost lying, in an armchair, with his feet on a rung of the library steps, reading. “I am glad you have found something interesting,” she said in a voice that conveyed very little gladness. “Well, to tell you the truth, I think I have,” said Tom, and showed her the book. It was the manuscript journal kept by a Colonel Jasper Cumberland during the Peninsular War. It had no startling literary merit, nor did its criticisms of the general staff throw any new light upon the strategy of the campaign, but it was a lively, direct, day-to-day narrative, redolent of its period; there was a sprinkling of droll anecdotes, some vigorous descriptions of fox-hunting behind the lines of Torres Vedras, of the Duke of Wellington dining in Mess, of a threatened mutiny that had not yet found its way into history, of the assault on Badajos; there were some bawdy references to Portuguese women and some pious reflections about patriotism. “I was wondering if it might be worth publishing,” said Tom. “I should hardly think so,” replied his mother. “But I will certainly show it to Gervase when he comes home.” For the moment the discovery gave a new interest to Tom’s life. He read up the history of the period and of his own family. Jasper Cumberland he established as a younger son of the period, who had later emigrated to Canada. There were letters from him among the archives, including the announcement of his marriage to a Papist which had clearly severed the link with his elder brother. In a case of uncatalogued miniatures in the long drawing room, he found the portrait of a handsome whiskered soldier, which by a study of contemporary uniforms he was able to identify as the diarist. Presently, in his round, immature handwriting, Tom began working up his notes into an essay. His mother watched his efforts with unqualified approval. She was glad to see him busy, and glad to see him taking an interest in his family’s history. She had begun to fear that by sending him to a school without “tradition” she might have made a socialist of the boy. When, shortly before the Christmas vacation, work was found for Tom she took charge of his notes,HOMEPAGE. “I am sure Gervase will be extremely interested,” she said. “He may even think it worth showing to a publisher.”
Getting Tom started, however, proved a matter of some difficulty. During the Death Duty Period, Mrs. Kent-Cumberland had cut herself off from many of her friends. Now she cast round vainly to find someone who would “put Tom into something.” Chartered Accountancy, Chinese Customs, estate agencies, “the City,” were suggested and abandoned. “The trouble is, that he has no particular abilities,” she explained. “He is the sort of boy who would be useful in anything—an all-round man—but, of course, he has no capital.” August, September, October passed,adidas shoes for girls; Gervase was back at Oxford, in fashionable lodgings in the High Street, but Tom remained at home without employment. Day by day he and his mother sat down together to luncheon and dinner, and his constant presence was a severe strain on Mrs. Kent-Cumberland’s equability. She herself was always busy and, as she bustled about her duties, it shocked and distracted her to encounter the large figure of her younger son sprawling on the morning room sofa or leaning against the stone parapet of the terrace and gazing out apathetically across the familiar landscape. “Why can’t you find something to do?” she would complain,cheap adidas shoes for sale. “There are always things to do about a house. Heaven knows I never have a moment.” And when, one afternoon, he was asked out by some neighbours and returned too late to dress for dinner, she said, “Really, Tom, I should have thought that you had time for that.” “It is a very serious thing,” she remarked on another occasion, “for a young man of your age to get out of the habit of work. It saps his whole morale.” Accordingly she fell back upon the ancient country house expedient of Cataloguing the Library. This consisted of an extensive and dusty collection of books amassed by succeeding generations of a family at no time notable for their patronage of literature; it had been catalogued before, in the middle of the nineteenth century, in the spidery, spinsterish hand of a relative in reduced circumstances; since then the additions and disturbances had been negligible, but Mrs,Moncler Sale. Kent-Cumberland purchased a fumed oak cabinet and several boxes of cards and instructed Tom how she wanted the shelves renumbered and the books twice entered under Subject and Author. It was a system that should keep a boy employed for some time, and it was with vexation, therefore, that, a few days after the task was commenced, she paid a surprise visit to the scene of his labour and found Tom sitting, almost lying, in an armchair, with his feet on a rung of the library steps, reading. “I am glad you have found something interesting,” she said in a voice that conveyed very little gladness. “Well, to tell you the truth, I think I have,” said Tom, and showed her the book. It was the manuscript journal kept by a Colonel Jasper Cumberland during the Peninsular War. It had no startling literary merit, nor did its criticisms of the general staff throw any new light upon the strategy of the campaign, but it was a lively, direct, day-to-day narrative, redolent of its period; there was a sprinkling of droll anecdotes, some vigorous descriptions of fox-hunting behind the lines of Torres Vedras, of the Duke of Wellington dining in Mess, of a threatened mutiny that had not yet found its way into history, of the assault on Badajos; there were some bawdy references to Portuguese women and some pious reflections about patriotism. “I was wondering if it might be worth publishing,” said Tom. “I should hardly think so,” replied his mother. “But I will certainly show it to Gervase when he comes home.” For the moment the discovery gave a new interest to Tom’s life. He read up the history of the period and of his own family. Jasper Cumberland he established as a younger son of the period, who had later emigrated to Canada. There were letters from him among the archives, including the announcement of his marriage to a Papist which had clearly severed the link with his elder brother. In a case of uncatalogued miniatures in the long drawing room, he found the portrait of a handsome whiskered soldier, which by a study of contemporary uniforms he was able to identify as the diarist. Presently, in his round, immature handwriting, Tom began working up his notes into an essay. His mother watched his efforts with unqualified approval. She was glad to see him busy, and glad to see him taking an interest in his family’s history. She had begun to fear that by sending him to a school without “tradition” she might have made a socialist of the boy. When, shortly before the Christmas vacation, work was found for Tom she took charge of his notes,HOMEPAGE. “I am sure Gervase will be extremely interested,” she said. “He may even think it worth showing to a publisher.”
They settled on Lagavulin because of its smokiness
They settled on Lagavulin because of its smokiness, whatever that meant. There were four others, lined like proud old sentries in distinctive regalia, and Ray vowed he'd had enough to drink. He'd sip and spit and if he got the chance he'd toss it overboard. To his relief, the steward poured tiny servings in short thick glasses heavy enough to crack floors.
It was almost ten but felt much later. The Gulf was dark, no other boats were visible,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings. A gentle wind blew from the south and rocked the King of Torts just slightly.
"Who knows about the money?" French asked, smacking his lips.
"Me, you, whoever hauled it up there."
"That's your man."
"Who is he?"
A long sip, more smacking. Ray brought the whiskey to his lips and wished he hadn't. Numb as they were, they burned all over again.
"Gordie Priest. He worked for me for eight or so years, first as a gofer, then a runner, then a bagman. His family has been on the coast forever, always on the edges. His father and uncles ran numbers, whores, moonshine, honky-tonks, nothing legal. They were part of what was once known as the coast mafia, a bunch of thugs who disdained honest work. Twenty years ago they controlled some things around here, now they're history. Most of them went to jail. Gordie's father, a man I knew very well, got shot outside a bar near Mobile. A pretty miserable lot,cheap jeremy scott adidas wings, really. My family has known them for years."
He was implying that his family had been part of the same bunch of crooks, but he couldn't say it. They'd been the front guys, the lawyers who smiled for the cameras and cut the backroom deals.
"Gordie went to jail when he was about twenty, a stolen car ring that covered a dozen states. I hired him when he got out, and over time he became one of the best runners on the coast. He was particularly good at the offshore cases. He knew the guys on the rigs, and when there was a death or injury he'd get the case. I'd give him a nice percentage. Gotta take care of your runners. One year I paid him almost eighty thousand, all of it in cash. He blew it, of course, casinos and women. Loved to go to Vegas and stay drunk for a week, throw money around like a big shot. He acted like an idiot but he wasn't stupid. He was always up and down. When he was broke he'd scramble and make some money. When he had money, he'd manage to lose it."
"I'm sure this is all headed my way," Ray said.
"Hang on," French said.
"After the Gibson case early last year, the money hit like a tidal wave. I had favors to repay. Lots of cash got hauled around. Cash to lawyers who were sending me their cases. Cash to doctors who were screening thousands of new clients. Not all of it was illegal. mind you, but a lot of folks didn't want records. I made the mistake of using Gordie as the delivery boy. I thought I could trust him. I thought he would be loyal,cheap north face down jacket. I was wrong."
French had finished one sample and was ready for another. Ray declined and pretended to work on the Lagavulin.
"And he drove the money up to Clanton and left it on the front porch?" Ray said.
"He did, and three months after that he stole a million dollars from me, in cash, and disappeared. He has two brothers, and at any-given time during the past ten years one of the three has been in prison. Except for now. Now they're all on parole, and they're trying to extort big money out of me,Shipping Information. Extortion is a serious crime, you know, but I can't exactly go to the FBI."
It was almost ten but felt much later. The Gulf was dark, no other boats were visible,Jeremy Scott Adidas Wings. A gentle wind blew from the south and rocked the King of Torts just slightly.
"Who knows about the money?" French asked, smacking his lips.
"Me, you, whoever hauled it up there."
"That's your man."
"Who is he?"
A long sip, more smacking. Ray brought the whiskey to his lips and wished he hadn't. Numb as they were, they burned all over again.
"Gordie Priest. He worked for me for eight or so years, first as a gofer, then a runner, then a bagman. His family has been on the coast forever, always on the edges. His father and uncles ran numbers, whores, moonshine, honky-tonks, nothing legal. They were part of what was once known as the coast mafia, a bunch of thugs who disdained honest work. Twenty years ago they controlled some things around here, now they're history. Most of them went to jail. Gordie's father, a man I knew very well, got shot outside a bar near Mobile. A pretty miserable lot,cheap jeremy scott adidas wings, really. My family has known them for years."
He was implying that his family had been part of the same bunch of crooks, but he couldn't say it. They'd been the front guys, the lawyers who smiled for the cameras and cut the backroom deals.
"Gordie went to jail when he was about twenty, a stolen car ring that covered a dozen states. I hired him when he got out, and over time he became one of the best runners on the coast. He was particularly good at the offshore cases. He knew the guys on the rigs, and when there was a death or injury he'd get the case. I'd give him a nice percentage. Gotta take care of your runners. One year I paid him almost eighty thousand, all of it in cash. He blew it, of course, casinos and women. Loved to go to Vegas and stay drunk for a week, throw money around like a big shot. He acted like an idiot but he wasn't stupid. He was always up and down. When he was broke he'd scramble and make some money. When he had money, he'd manage to lose it."
"I'm sure this is all headed my way," Ray said.
"Hang on," French said.
"After the Gibson case early last year, the money hit like a tidal wave. I had favors to repay. Lots of cash got hauled around. Cash to lawyers who were sending me their cases. Cash to doctors who were screening thousands of new clients. Not all of it was illegal. mind you, but a lot of folks didn't want records. I made the mistake of using Gordie as the delivery boy. I thought I could trust him. I thought he would be loyal,cheap north face down jacket. I was wrong."
French had finished one sample and was ready for another. Ray declined and pretended to work on the Lagavulin.
"And he drove the money up to Clanton and left it on the front porch?" Ray said.
"He did, and three months after that he stole a million dollars from me, in cash, and disappeared. He has two brothers, and at any-given time during the past ten years one of the three has been in prison. Except for now. Now they're all on parole, and they're trying to extort big money out of me,Shipping Information. Extortion is a serious crime, you know, but I can't exactly go to the FBI."
Let me see
"Let me see. What ought I to take? Oh! how foolish I have been with all my childish scruples, when I think that others have lowered themselves so much as even to tell us falsehoods! Yes! even were I to have died, they would not have called you to me. But, tell me, must I take linen and dresses? See, here is a warmer gown. What strange ideas, what unnumbered obstacles, they put in my head. There was good on one side and evil on the other: things which one might do,Moncler Outlet Online Store, and again that which one should never do; in short, such a complication of matters, it was enough to make one wild. They were all falsehoods: there was no truth in any of them. The only real happiness is to live to love the one who loves you, and to obey the promptings of the heart. You are the personification of fortune, of beauty, and of youth, my dear Seigneur; my only pleasure is in you. I give myself to you freely, and you may do with me what you wish,moncler winter outwear jackets."
She rejoiced in this breaking-out of all the hereditary tendencies of her nature, which she thought had died within her. Sounds of distant music excited her. She saw as it were their royal departure: this son of a prince carrying her away as in a fairy-tale, and making her queen of some imaginary realm; and she was ready to follow him with her arms clasped around his neck, her head upon his breast, with such a trembling from intense feeling that her whole body grew weak from happiness. To be alone together, just they two, to abandon themselves to the galloping of horses, to flee away, and to disappear in each other's arms. What perfect bliss it would be!
"Is it not better for me to take nothing? What good would it do in reality?"
He, partaking of her feverishness, was already at the door, as he replied:
"No, no! Take nothing whatever. Let us go at once."
"Yes, let us go. That is the best thing to do."
And she rejoined him. But she turned round, wishing to give a last look at the chamber. The lamp was burning with the same soft light, the bouquet of hydrangeas and hollyhocks was blooming as ever, and in her work-frame the unfinished rose, bright and natural as life, seemed to be waiting for her. But the room itself especially affected her. Never before had it seemed so white and pure to her; the walls, the bed, the air even, appeared as if filled with a clear, white breath.
Something within her wavered, and she was obliged to lean heavily against the back of a chair that was near her and not far from the door.
"What is the matter?" asked Felicien anxiously.
She did not reply, but breathed with great difficulty. Then, seized with a trembling,http://www.moncleroutletonlinestore.com/, she could no longer bear her weight on her feet, but was forced to sit down.
"Do not be anxious; it is nothing. I only want to rest for a minute and then we will go."
They were silent. She continued to look round the room as if she had forgotten some valuable object there, but could not tell what it was. It was a regret, at first slight, but which rapidly increased and filled her heart by degrees, until it almost stifled her,Moncler Jackets For Men. She could no longer collect her thoughts. Was it this mass of whiteness that kept her back? She had always adored white, even to such a degree as to collect bits of silk and revel over them in secret.
2012年12月2日星期日
I announced that the Emperor had unfortunately been called away on important State business
I announced that the Emperor had unfortunately been called away on important State business. That made everyone laugh; Mnester did some beautiful gestures illustrative of the importance and urgency of this State business. Then I said that the President's duties had devolved on my unfortunate and unworthy self. Mnester's hopeless shrug and the little twiddle with a forefinger at his temples expressed this excellently. Then I said: "Let us go on with the Games, my friends." But at once the shout rose again, "Give up the informers!" But I asked, and Mnester repeated the question winningly: "And if the Emperor docs consent to give them -up,moncler jackets men, what then,replica gucci wallets? Will someone inform against them?" There was no answer to this but a confused buzzing. I asked them a further question. I asked them which was the worst sort of criminal-an informer? or an informer against an informer,mont blanc pens? or an informer against *an informer against an informer? I said that the further you took the offence the more heinous it became, and the more people it polluted. The best policy was to do nothing which might give informers any ground for action. If everyone, I said, lived a life of the strictest virtue, the cursed breed would die out for want of nourishment, like mice in a miser's kitchen. You would never believe what a tempest of laughter this sally provoked. The simpler and sillier the joke, the better a big crowd likes it. (The greatest applause I ever won for a joke was once in the Circus when I happened to be presiding in Caligula's absence. The people called out angrily for a sword-fighter called Pigeon who was advertised to perform but had not turned up, so I said "Patience, friends! First catch your Pigeon and then pluck him!" Whereas really witty jokes of mine have been quite lost on them.)
"Let's get on with the Games, my friends," I repeated,fake uggs boots, and this time the shouting stopped. The games turned out very good ones. Two sword-fighters killed each other, with simultaneous thrusts in the belly: this is a very rare happening. I ordered the weapons to be brought to me and had little knives made of them; such little knives are the most effective charms known for the use in cases of epilepsy. Caligula would appreciate the gift-if he forgave me for quieting the crowd where he had failed. For he had been in such a fright that he had driven out of Rome at full speed in the direction of Antium; and did not reappear for several days.
It turned out all right. He was pleased with the little knives which gave him an opportunity of enlarging on the splendor of his disease; and when he asked what had happened at the amphitheatre I said that I had warned tile crowd of what he would do if they did not repent of their disloyalty and ingratitude. I said that they had then changed their rebellious cries into howls of guilty fear and pleas for forgiveness. "Yes," he said, "I was too gentle with them. I am determined now not to yield an inch. 'Immovable rigour' is the watchword from henceforward." And to keep himself reminded of this decision, he used every morning now to practise frightful faces before a minor in his bedroom and terrible shouts in his private bathroom, which had a fine echo.
"Let's get on with the Games, my friends," I repeated,fake uggs boots, and this time the shouting stopped. The games turned out very good ones. Two sword-fighters killed each other, with simultaneous thrusts in the belly: this is a very rare happening. I ordered the weapons to be brought to me and had little knives made of them; such little knives are the most effective charms known for the use in cases of epilepsy. Caligula would appreciate the gift-if he forgave me for quieting the crowd where he had failed. For he had been in such a fright that he had driven out of Rome at full speed in the direction of Antium; and did not reappear for several days.
It turned out all right. He was pleased with the little knives which gave him an opportunity of enlarging on the splendor of his disease; and when he asked what had happened at the amphitheatre I said that I had warned tile crowd of what he would do if they did not repent of their disloyalty and ingratitude. I said that they had then changed their rebellious cries into howls of guilty fear and pleas for forgiveness. "Yes," he said, "I was too gentle with them. I am determined now not to yield an inch. 'Immovable rigour' is the watchword from henceforward." And to keep himself reminded of this decision, he used every morning now to practise frightful faces before a minor in his bedroom and terrible shouts in his private bathroom, which had a fine echo.
I want to see four dollars before goin' any further on th' thrip
"I want to see four dollars before goin' any further on th' thrip. Have ye got th' dough?"
"Four dollars!" laughed the fare, softly,fake louis vuitton bags, "dear me, no. I've only got a few pennies and a dime or two."
Jerry shut down the trap and slashed his oat-fed horse. The clatter of hoofs strangled but could not drown the sound of his profanity. He shouted choking and gurgling curses at the starry heavens; he cut viciously with his whip at passing vehicles; he scattered fierce and ever-changing oaths and imprecations along the streets, so that a late truck driver, crawling homeward, heard and was abashed. But he knew his recourse, and made for it at a gallop.
At the house with the green lights beside the steps he pulled up. He flung wide the cab doors and tumbled heavily to the ground,fake uggs online store.
"Come on, you," he said, roughly.
His fare came forth with the Casino dreamy smile still on her plain face. Jerry took her by the arm and led her into the police station. A gray-moustached sergeant looked keenly across the desk. He and the cabby were no strangers.
"Sargeant," began Jerry in his old raucous, martyred, thunderous tones of complaint. "I've got a fare here that--"
Jerry paused. He drew a knotted, red hand across his brow. The fog set up by McGary was beginning to clear away.
"A fare, sargeant," he continued, with a grin, "that I want to inthroduce to ye. It's me wife that I married at ould man Walsh's this avening. And a divil of a time we had, ‘tis thrue. Shake hands wid th' sargeant, Norah, and we'll be off to home."
Before stepping into the cab Norah sighed profoundly.
"I've had such a nice time, Jerry," said she.
Georgia's Ruling
If you should chance to visit the General Land Office, step into the draughtsmen's room and ask to be shown the map of Salado County. A leisurely German -- pos- sibly old Kampfer himself -- will bring it to you. It will be four feet square, on heavy drawing-cloth,Replica Designer Handbags. The lettering and the figures will be beautifully clear and distinct. The title will be in splendid, undecipherable German text, ornamented with classic Teutonic designs -- very likely Ceres or Pomona leaning against the initial letters with cornucopias venting grapes and wieners. You must tell him that this is not the map you wish to see; that he will kindly bring you its official predecessor. He will then say, "Ach, so!" and bring out a map half the size of the first, dim, old, tattered, and faded.
By looking carefully near its northwest corner you will presently come upon the worn contours of Chiquito River, and, maybe, if your eyes are good, discern the silent witness to this story.
The Commissioner of the Land Office was of the old style; his antique courtesy was too formal for his day. He dressed in fine black, and there was a suggestion of Roman drapery in his long coat-skirts. His collars were "undetached" (blame haberdashery for the word); his tie was a narrow, funereal strip, tied in the same knot as were his shoe-strings. His gray hair was a trifle too long behind, but he kept it smooth and orderly. His face was clean-shaven, like the old statesmen's. Most people thought it a stern face, but when its official expression was off, a few had seen altogether a different countenance,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots. Especially tender and gentle it had appeared to those who were about him during the last illness of his only child.
"Four dollars!" laughed the fare, softly,fake louis vuitton bags, "dear me, no. I've only got a few pennies and a dime or two."
Jerry shut down the trap and slashed his oat-fed horse. The clatter of hoofs strangled but could not drown the sound of his profanity. He shouted choking and gurgling curses at the starry heavens; he cut viciously with his whip at passing vehicles; he scattered fierce and ever-changing oaths and imprecations along the streets, so that a late truck driver, crawling homeward, heard and was abashed. But he knew his recourse, and made for it at a gallop.
At the house with the green lights beside the steps he pulled up. He flung wide the cab doors and tumbled heavily to the ground,fake uggs online store.
"Come on, you," he said, roughly.
His fare came forth with the Casino dreamy smile still on her plain face. Jerry took her by the arm and led her into the police station. A gray-moustached sergeant looked keenly across the desk. He and the cabby were no strangers.
"Sargeant," began Jerry in his old raucous, martyred, thunderous tones of complaint. "I've got a fare here that--"
Jerry paused. He drew a knotted, red hand across his brow. The fog set up by McGary was beginning to clear away.
"A fare, sargeant," he continued, with a grin, "that I want to inthroduce to ye. It's me wife that I married at ould man Walsh's this avening. And a divil of a time we had, ‘tis thrue. Shake hands wid th' sargeant, Norah, and we'll be off to home."
Before stepping into the cab Norah sighed profoundly.
"I've had such a nice time, Jerry," said she.
Georgia's Ruling
If you should chance to visit the General Land Office, step into the draughtsmen's room and ask to be shown the map of Salado County. A leisurely German -- pos- sibly old Kampfer himself -- will bring it to you. It will be four feet square, on heavy drawing-cloth,Replica Designer Handbags. The lettering and the figures will be beautifully clear and distinct. The title will be in splendid, undecipherable German text, ornamented with classic Teutonic designs -- very likely Ceres or Pomona leaning against the initial letters with cornucopias venting grapes and wieners. You must tell him that this is not the map you wish to see; that he will kindly bring you its official predecessor. He will then say, "Ach, so!" and bring out a map half the size of the first, dim, old, tattered, and faded.
By looking carefully near its northwest corner you will presently come upon the worn contours of Chiquito River, and, maybe, if your eyes are good, discern the silent witness to this story.
The Commissioner of the Land Office was of the old style; his antique courtesy was too formal for his day. He dressed in fine black, and there was a suggestion of Roman drapery in his long coat-skirts. His collars were "undetached" (blame haberdashery for the word); his tie was a narrow, funereal strip, tied in the same knot as were his shoe-strings. His gray hair was a trifle too long behind, but he kept it smooth and orderly. His face was clean-shaven, like the old statesmen's. Most people thought it a stern face, but when its official expression was off, a few had seen altogether a different countenance,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots. Especially tender and gentle it had appeared to those who were about him during the last illness of his only child.
2012年11月26日星期一
Then Gervaise grew angry again
Then Gervaise grew angry again. She looked at her sister-in-law and saw her face set in vindictive firmness.
"Keep your money," she cried. "I will take care of your mother. I found a starving cat in the street the other night and took it in. I can take in your mother too. She shall want for nothing. Good heavens, what people!"
Mme Lorilleux snatched up a saucepan.
"Clear out," she said hoarsely. "I will never give one sou--no, not one sou--toward her keep. I understand you! You will make my mother work for you like a slave and put my five francs in your pocket! Not if I know it, madame! And if she goes to live under your roof I will never see her again. Be off with you, I say!"
"What a monster!" cried Gervaise as she shut the door with a bang. On the very next day Mme Coupeau came to her. A large bed was put in the room where Nana slept. The moving did not take long, for the old lady had only this bed, a wardrobe, table and two chairs. The table was sold and the chairs new-seated, and the old lady the evening of her arrival washed the dishes and swept up the room, glad to make herself useful. Mme Lerat had amused herself by quarreling with her sister, to whom she had expressed her admiration of the generosity evinced by Gervaise, and when she saw that Mme Lorilleux was intensely exasperated she declared she had never seen such eyes in anybody's head as those of the clearstarcher. She really believed one might light paper at them. This declaration naturally led to bitter words, and the sisters parted, swearing they would never see each other again, and since then Mme Lerat had spent most of her evenings at her brother's.
Three years passed away. There were reconciliations and new quarrels. Gervaise continued to be liked by her neighbors; she paid her bills regularly and was a good customer. When she went out she received cordial greetings on all sides, and she was more fond of going out in these days than of yore. She liked to stand at the corners and chat. She liked to loiter with her arms full of bundles at a neighbor's window and hear a little gossip.
Chapter 6 Goujet At His Forge
One autumnal afternoon Gervaise, who had been to carry a basket of clothes home to a customer who lived a good way off, found herself in La Rue des Poissonniers just as it was growing dark. It had rained in the morning, and the air was close and warm. She was tired with her walk and felt a great desire for something good to eat. Just then she lifted her eyes and, seeing the name of the street, she took it into her head that she would call on Goujet at his forge. But she would ask for Etienne, she said to herself. She did not know the number, but she could find it, she thought. She wandered along and stood bewildered, looking toward Montmartre; all at once she heard the measured click of hammers and concluded that she had stumbled on the place at last. She did not know where the entrance to the building was, but she caught a gleam of a red light in the distance; she walked toward it and was met by a workman.
"Is it here, sir," she said timidly, "that my child--a little boy, that is to say--works? A little boy by the name of Etienne?"
It was the oddest thing that ever since that hot and crowded night in the cell he had passed into a
It was the oddest thing that ever since that hot and crowded night in the cell he had passed into a region of abandonment—almost as if he had died there with the old man's head on his shoulder and now wandered in a kind of limbo, because he wasn't good or bad enough. ... Life didn't exist any more: it wasn't merely a matter of the banana station. Now as the storm broke and he scurried for shelter he knew quite well what he would find—nothing.
The huts leapt up in the lightning and stood there shaking—then disappeared again in the rumbling darkness. The rain hadn't come yet: it was sweeping up from Campeche Bay in great sheets, covering the whole state in its methodical advance. Between the thunderbreaks he could imagine that he heard it—a gigantic rustle moving across towards the mountains which were now so close to him—a matter of twenty miles.
He reached the first hut: the door was open, and as the lightning quivered he saw, as he expected, nobody at all. Just a pile of maize and the indistinct grey movement of—perhaps—a rat. He dashed for the next hut, but it was the same as ever (the maize and nothing else), just as if all human life were receding before him, as if Somebody had determined that from now on he was to be left alone—altogether alone. As he stood there the rain reached the clearing: it came out of the forest like thick white smoke and moved on. It was as if an enemy were laying a gas-cloud across a whole territory, carefully, to see that nobody escaped. The rain spread and stayed just long enough, as though the enemy had his stop-watch out and knew to a second the limit of the lungs' endurance. The roof held the rain out for a while and then let it through—the twigs bent under the weight of water and shot apart: it came through in half a dozen places, pouring down in black funnels: then the downpour stopped and the roof dripped and the rain moved on, with the lightning quivering on its flanks like a protective barrage. In a few minutes it would reach the mountains: a few more storms like this and they would be impassable.
[140] He had been walking all day and he was very tired: he found a dry spot and sat down. When the lightning struck he could see the clearing: all around was the gentle noise of the dripping water. It was nearly like peace, but not quite. For peace you needed human company—his aloneness was like a threat of things to come. Suddenly he remembered—for no apparent reason—a day of rain at the American seminary, the glass windows of the library steamed over with the central heating, the tall shelves of sedate books, and a young man—a stranger from Tucson—drawing his initials on the pane with his finger—that was peace. He looked at it from the outside: he couldn't believe that he would ever again get in. He had made his own world, and this was it—the empty broken huts, the storm going by, and fear again—fear because he was not alone after all.
Somebody was moving outside, cautiously. The footsteps would come a little way and then stop. He waited apathetically, and the roof dripped behind him. He thought of the half-caste padding around the city, seeking a really cast-iron occasion for his betrayal. A face peered round the hut door at him and quickly withdrew—an old woman's face, but you could never tell with Indians—she mightn't have been more than twenty. He got up and went outside—she scampered back from before him in her heavy sack-like skirt, her black plaits swinging heavily. Apparently his loneliness was only to be broken by these evasive faces—creatures who looked as if they had come out of the Stone Age, who withdrew again quickly.
The fourth day came and the supply of food and water was nearly gone
The fourth day came and the supply of food and water was nearly gone.
Emil proposed to keep it for the sick man and the women, but two ofthe men rebelled, demanding their share. Emil gave up his as anexample, and several of the good fellows followed it, with the quietheroism which so often crops up in rough but manly natures. Thisshamed the others, and for another day an ominous peace reigned inthat little world of suffering and suspense. But during the night,while Emil, worn out with fatigue, left the watch to the mosttrustworthy sailor, that he might snatch an hour's rest, these twomen got at the stores and stole the last of the bread and water, andthe one bottle of brandy, which was carefully hoarded to keep uptheir strength and make the brackish water drinkable. Half mad withthirst, they drank greedily and by morning one was in a stupor, fromwhich he never woke; the other so crazed by the strong stimulant,that when Emil tried to control him, he leaped overboard and waslost. Horror-stricken by this terrible scene, the other men weresubmissive henceforth, and the boat floated on and on with its sadfreight of suffering souls and bodies.
Another trial came to them that left all more despairing than before.
A sail appeared, and for a time a frenzy of joy prevailed, to beturned to bitterest disappointment when it passed by, too far away tosee the signals waved to them or hear the frantic cries for help thatrang across the sea. Emil's heart sank then, for the captain seemeddying, and the women could not hold out much longer. He kept up tillnight came; then in the darkness, broken only by the feeble murmuringof the sick man, the whispered prayers of the poor wife, theceaseless swash of waves, Emil hid his face, and had an hour ofsilent agony that aged him more than years of happy life could havedone. It was not the physical hardship that daunted him, though wantand weakness tortured him; it was his dreadful powerlessness toconquer the cruel fate that seemed hanging over them. The men hecared little for, since these perils were but a part of the life theychose; but the master he loved, the good woman who had been so kindto him, the sweet girl whose winsome presence had made the longvoyage so pleasant for them all--if he could only save these dear andinnocent creatures from a cruel death, he felt that he couldwillingly give his life for them.
As he sat there with his head in his hands, bowed down by the firstgreat trial of his young life, the starless sky overhead, therestless sea beneath, and all around him suffering, for which he hadno help, a soft sound broke the silence, and he listened like one ina dream. It was Mary singing to her mother, who lay sobbing in herarms, spent with this long anguish. A very faint and broken voice itwas, for the poor girl's lips were parched with thirst; but theloving heart turned instinctively to the great Helper in this hour ofdespair, and He heard her feeble cry. It was a sweet old hynm oftensung at Plumfield; and as he listened, all the happy past came backso clearly that Emil forgot the bitter present, and was at homeagain. His talk on the housetop with Aunt Jo seemed but yesterday,and, with a pang of self-reproach, he thought:
2012年11月25日星期日
Keep to your prayers
"Keep to your prayers, and let me go my own way, it's the shortest,"muttered Harry, with his face hidden, and his head down on hisfolded arms.
"Boys, boys, you'll kill me if you say such things! I have more nowthan I can bear. Don't drive me wild with your reproaches to eachother!" cried their mother, her heart rent with the remorse thatcame too late.
"No fear of that; you are not a Carrol," answered Harry, with thepitiless bluntness of a resentful and rebellious boy.
Augustine turned on him with a wrathful flash of the eye, and awarning ring in his stern voice, as he pointed to the door.
"You shall not insult your mother,replica gucci wallets! Ask her pardon, or go!""She should ask mine! I'll go. When you want me, you'll know whereto find me." And, with a reckless laugh, Harry stormed out of theroom.
Augustine's indignant face grew full of a new trouble as the doorbanged below, and he pressed his thin hands tightly together,saying, as if to himself:
"Heaven help me! Yes, I do know; for, night after night, I find andbring the poor lad home from gambling-tables and the hells wheresouls like his are lost."Here Christie thought to slip away, feeling that it was no place forher now that her errand was done. But Mrs. Carrol called her back.
"Miss Devon--Christie--forgive me that I did not trust you sooner.
It was so hard to tell; I hoped so much from time; I never couldbelieve that my poor children would be made the victims of mymistake. Do not forsake us: Helen loves you so. Stay with her, Iimplore you, and let a most unhappy mother plead for a most unhappychild." Then Christie went to the poor woman, and earnestly assuredher of her love and loyalty; for now she felt doubly bound to thembecause they trusted her.
"What shall we do?" they said to her, with pathetic submission,turning like sick people to a healthful soul for help and comfort.
"Tell Bella all the truth, and help her to refuse her lover. Do thisjust thing, and God will strengthen you to bear the consequences,mont blanc pens,"was her answer, though she trembled at the responsibility they putupon her.
"Not yet," cried Mrs. Carrol. "Let the poor child enjoy the holidayswith a light heart,--then we will tell her; and then Heaven help usall!"So it was decided; for only a week or two of the old year remained,and no one had the heart to rob poor Bella of the little span ofblissful ignorance that now remained to her.
A terrible time was that to Christie; for, while one sister, blessedwith beauty, youth,Moncler Outlet, love, and pleasure, tasted life at its sweetest,fake montblanc pens,the other sat in the black shadow of a growing dread, and weariedHeaven with piteous prayers for her relief.
"The old horror is coming back; I feel it creeping over me. Don'tlet it come, Christie! Stay by me! Help me! Keep me sane! And if youcannot, ask God to take me quickly!"With words like these, poor Helen clung to Christie; and, soul andbody, Christie devoted herself to the afflicted girl. She would notsee her mother; and the unhappy woman haunted that closed door,hungering for the look, the word, that never came to her. Augustinewas her consolation, and, during those troublous days, the priestwas forgotten in the son. But Harry was all in all to Helen then;and it was touching to see how these unfortunate young creaturesclung to one another, she tenderly trying to keep him from the wildlife that was surely hastening the fate he might otherwise escapefor years, and he patiently bearing all her moods, eager to cheerand soothe the sad captivity from which he could not save her.
For three months from that day Mme
For three months from that day Mme. Veuve Vauquer availed herself of the services of M. Goriot's coiffeur, and went to some expense over her toilette, expense justifiable on the ground that she owed it to herself and her establishment to pay some attention to appearances when such highly-respectable persons honored her house with their presence. She expended no small amount of ingenuity in a sort of weeding process of her lodgers, announcing her intention of receiving henceforward none but people who were in every way select. If a stranger presented himself,mont blanc pens, she let him know that M. Goriot, one of the best known and most highlyrespected merchants in Paris, had singled out her boarding-house for a residence. She drew up a prospectus headed MAISON VAUQUER, in which it was asserted that hers was "one of the oldest and most highly recommended boarding-houses in the Latin Quarter." "From the windows of the house," thus ran the prospectus, "there is a charming view of the Vallee des Gobelins (so there is--from the third floor), and a BEAUTIFUL garden, EXTENDING down to AN AVENUE OF LINDENS at the further end." Mention was made of the bracing air of the place and its quiet situation.
It was this prospectus that attracted Mme. la Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil, a widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlement of her husband's affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to her as the wife of a general who had died "on the field of battle." On this Mme. Vauquer saw to her table, lighted a fire daily in the sitting-room for nearly six months, and kept the promise of her prospectus, even going to some expense to do so. And the Countess, on her side, addressed Mme. Vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, the Baronne de Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte de Picquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais, where the terms were higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both these ladies, moreover, would be very well to do when the people at the War Office had come to an end of their formalities. "But Government departments are always so dilatory," the lady added,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots.
After dinner the two widows went together up to Mme. Vauquer's room, and had a snug little chat over some cordial and various delicacies reserved for the mistress of the house. Mme. Vauquer's ideas as to Goriot were cordially approved by Mme. de l'Ambermesnil; it was a capital notion, which for that matter she had guessed from the very first; in her opinion the vermicelli maker was an excellent man.
"Ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved man of his age, as sound as my eyesight--a man who might make a woman happy!" said the widow.
The good-natured Countess turned to the subject of Mme. Vauquer's dress, which was not in harmony with her projects. "You must put yourself on a war footing," said she.
After much serious consideration the two widows went shopping together--they purchased a hat adorned with ostrich feathers and a cap at the Palais Royal, and the Countess took her friend to the Magasin de la Petite Jeannette, where they chose a dress and a scarf. Thus equipped for the campaign, the widow looked exactly like the prize animal hung out for a sign above an a la mode beef shop; but she herself was so much pleased with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance, that she felt that she lay under some obligation to the Countess; and, though by no means open-handed,link, she begged that lady to accept a hat that cost twenty francs. The fact was that she needed the Countess' services on the delicate mission of sounding Goriot; the countess must sing her praises in his ears. Mme. de l'Ambermesnil lent herself very good-naturedly to this manoeuvre, began her operations,moncler jackets men, and succeeded in obtaining a private interview; but the overtures that she made, with a view to securing him for herself, were received with embarrassment, not to say a repulse. She left him, revolted by his coarseness.
It was this prospectus that attracted Mme. la Comtesse de l'Ambermesnil, a widow of six and thirty, who was awaiting the final settlement of her husband's affairs, and of another matter regarding a pension due to her as the wife of a general who had died "on the field of battle." On this Mme. Vauquer saw to her table, lighted a fire daily in the sitting-room for nearly six months, and kept the promise of her prospectus, even going to some expense to do so. And the Countess, on her side, addressed Mme. Vauquer as "my dear," and promised her two more boarders, the Baronne de Vaumerland and the widow of a colonel, the late Comte de Picquoisie, who were about to leave a boarding-house in the Marais, where the terms were higher than at the Maison Vauquer. Both these ladies, moreover, would be very well to do when the people at the War Office had come to an end of their formalities. "But Government departments are always so dilatory," the lady added,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots.
After dinner the two widows went together up to Mme. Vauquer's room, and had a snug little chat over some cordial and various delicacies reserved for the mistress of the house. Mme. Vauquer's ideas as to Goriot were cordially approved by Mme. de l'Ambermesnil; it was a capital notion, which for that matter she had guessed from the very first; in her opinion the vermicelli maker was an excellent man.
"Ah! my dear lady, such a well-preserved man of his age, as sound as my eyesight--a man who might make a woman happy!" said the widow.
The good-natured Countess turned to the subject of Mme. Vauquer's dress, which was not in harmony with her projects. "You must put yourself on a war footing," said she.
After much serious consideration the two widows went shopping together--they purchased a hat adorned with ostrich feathers and a cap at the Palais Royal, and the Countess took her friend to the Magasin de la Petite Jeannette, where they chose a dress and a scarf. Thus equipped for the campaign, the widow looked exactly like the prize animal hung out for a sign above an a la mode beef shop; but she herself was so much pleased with the improvement, as she considered it, in her appearance, that she felt that she lay under some obligation to the Countess; and, though by no means open-handed,link, she begged that lady to accept a hat that cost twenty francs. The fact was that she needed the Countess' services on the delicate mission of sounding Goriot; the countess must sing her praises in his ears. Mme. de l'Ambermesnil lent herself very good-naturedly to this manoeuvre, began her operations,moncler jackets men, and succeeded in obtaining a private interview; but the overtures that she made, with a view to securing him for herself, were received with embarrassment, not to say a repulse. She left him, revolted by his coarseness.
2012年11月23日星期五
Paolina's father had found a message in a bottle that had been sent by Ake
Paolina's father had found a message in a bottle that had been sent by Ake, a young Swedish sailor. Ake, who had grown bored during one of his many trips at sea, asked for any pretty woman who found it to write back. The father gave it to Paolina, who in turn wrote to Ake. One letter led to another, and when Ake finally traveled to Sicily to meet her, they realized how much they were in love. They married soon after.
Toward the end of the article, she came across two paragraphs that told of yet another message that had washed up on the beaches of Long Island:
Most messages sent by bottle usually ask the finder to respond once with little hope of a lifelong correspondence. Sometimes, however, the senders do not want a response. One such letter, a moving tribute to a lost love, was discovered washed up on Long Island last year. In part it read:
"Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face-I know it is an impossibility, but I cannot help myself. My search for you is a never-ending quest that is doomed to fail. You and I had talked about what would happen if we were forced apart by circumstance, but I cannot keep the promise I made to you that night. I am sorry, my darling, but there will never be another to replace you. The words I whispered to you were folly, and I should have realized it then. You-and you alone-have always been the only thing I wanted, and now that you are gone, I have no desire to find another. Till death do us part, we whispered in the church, and I've come to believe that the words will ring true until the day finally comes when I, too, am taken from this world."
She stopped eating and abruptly put down her fork.
It can't be! She found herself staring at the words. It's simply not possible. . . .
But . . .
but . . . who else could it be?
She wiped her brow, aware that her hands were suddenly shaking. Another letter? She flipped to the front of the article and looked at the author's name. It had been written by Arthur Shendakin, Ph.D., a professor of history at Boston College, meaning . . .
he must live in the area.
She jumped up and retrieved the phone book on the stand near the dining room table. She thumbed through it, looking for the name. There were fewer than a dozen Shendakins listed, although only two seemed like a possibility. Both had "A" listed as the first initial, and she checked her watch before dialing. Nine-thirty. Late, but not too late. She punched in the numbers. The first call was answered by a woman who said she had the wrong number, and when she put down the phone, she noticed her throat had gone dry. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. After taking a long drink, she took a deep breath and went back to the phone.
She made sure she dialed the correct number and waited as the phone started to ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
On the fourth ring she began to lose hope, but on the fifth ring she heard the other line pick up.
"Hello," a man said. By the sound of his voice, she thought he must be in his sixties.
Toward the end of the article, she came across two paragraphs that told of yet another message that had washed up on the beaches of Long Island:
Most messages sent by bottle usually ask the finder to respond once with little hope of a lifelong correspondence. Sometimes, however, the senders do not want a response. One such letter, a moving tribute to a lost love, was discovered washed up on Long Island last year. In part it read:
"Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face-I know it is an impossibility, but I cannot help myself. My search for you is a never-ending quest that is doomed to fail. You and I had talked about what would happen if we were forced apart by circumstance, but I cannot keep the promise I made to you that night. I am sorry, my darling, but there will never be another to replace you. The words I whispered to you were folly, and I should have realized it then. You-and you alone-have always been the only thing I wanted, and now that you are gone, I have no desire to find another. Till death do us part, we whispered in the church, and I've come to believe that the words will ring true until the day finally comes when I, too, am taken from this world."
She stopped eating and abruptly put down her fork.
It can't be! She found herself staring at the words. It's simply not possible. . . .
But . . .
but . . . who else could it be?
She wiped her brow, aware that her hands were suddenly shaking. Another letter? She flipped to the front of the article and looked at the author's name. It had been written by Arthur Shendakin, Ph.D., a professor of history at Boston College, meaning . . .
he must live in the area.
She jumped up and retrieved the phone book on the stand near the dining room table. She thumbed through it, looking for the name. There were fewer than a dozen Shendakins listed, although only two seemed like a possibility. Both had "A" listed as the first initial, and she checked her watch before dialing. Nine-thirty. Late, but not too late. She punched in the numbers. The first call was answered by a woman who said she had the wrong number, and when she put down the phone, she noticed her throat had gone dry. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. After taking a long drink, she took a deep breath and went back to the phone.
She made sure she dialed the correct number and waited as the phone started to ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
On the fourth ring she began to lose hope, but on the fifth ring she heard the other line pick up.
"Hello," a man said. By the sound of his voice, she thought he must be in his sixties.
The Germans came streaming towards us
The Germans came streaming towards us. They had just heard for certain of Caligula's death, from a senator who came to meet them in deep mourning. They were furious at having been tricked and wanted to go back to the theatre, but the theatre was empty now, so they were at a loss what to do next. There was nobody about to take vengeance on except the Guards, and the Guards were armed. The Imperial Salute decided them. They rushed forward shouting: "Hochi Hochi Long live the Emperor Claudius!" and began frantically dedicating their assegais to my service and struggling to break through the crowd of Guardsmen to kiss my feet. I called to them to keep back, and they obeyed, prostrating themselves before me. I was carried round and round the Court.
And what thoughts or memories, would you guess, were passing through my mind on this extraordinary occasion? Was I thinking of the Sibyl's prophecy, of the omen of the wolf-cub, of Pollio's advice, or of Briseis's dream? Of my grandfather and liberty? Of my father and liberty? Of my three Imperial predecessors, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, their lives and deaths? Of the great danger I was still in from the conspirators, and from the Senate, and from the Guards battalions at Ac Camp? Of Messalina and our unborn child? Of my grandmother Livia and my promise to deify her if ever I became Emperor? Of Postumus and Germanicus? Of Agrippina and Nero? Of Camilla? No, you would never guess what was passing through my mind. But I shall be frank and tell you what it was, though the confession is a shameful one. I was thinking, "So, I'm Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least I'll be able to make people read my books now. Public recitals to large audiences. And good books too, thirty-five years' hard work in them. It won't be unfair. Pollio used to get attentive audiences by giving expensive dinners. He was a very sound historian, and the last of Romans. My History of Carthage is full of amusing anecdotes. I'm sure they'll enjoy it."
That was what I was thinking. I was thinking too, what opportunities I should have, as Emperor, for consulting the secret archives and finding out just what happened on this occasion or on that. How many twisted stories still remained to be straightened out. What a miraculous fate for a historian! And as you will have seen, I took full advantage of my opportunities. Even the mature historian's privilege of setting forth conversations of which he knows only the gist is one that I have availed myself of hardly at all-
The End
And what thoughts or memories, would you guess, were passing through my mind on this extraordinary occasion? Was I thinking of the Sibyl's prophecy, of the omen of the wolf-cub, of Pollio's advice, or of Briseis's dream? Of my grandfather and liberty? Of my father and liberty? Of my three Imperial predecessors, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, their lives and deaths? Of the great danger I was still in from the conspirators, and from the Senate, and from the Guards battalions at Ac Camp? Of Messalina and our unborn child? Of my grandmother Livia and my promise to deify her if ever I became Emperor? Of Postumus and Germanicus? Of Agrippina and Nero? Of Camilla? No, you would never guess what was passing through my mind. But I shall be frank and tell you what it was, though the confession is a shameful one. I was thinking, "So, I'm Emperor, am I? What nonsense! But at least I'll be able to make people read my books now. Public recitals to large audiences. And good books too, thirty-five years' hard work in them. It won't be unfair. Pollio used to get attentive audiences by giving expensive dinners. He was a very sound historian, and the last of Romans. My History of Carthage is full of amusing anecdotes. I'm sure they'll enjoy it."
That was what I was thinking. I was thinking too, what opportunities I should have, as Emperor, for consulting the secret archives and finding out just what happened on this occasion or on that. How many twisted stories still remained to be straightened out. What a miraculous fate for a historian! And as you will have seen, I took full advantage of my opportunities. Even the mature historian's privilege of setting forth conversations of which he knows only the gist is one that I have availed myself of hardly at all-
The End
2012年11月22日星期四
“Miss Woodruff
“Miss Woodruff!” He raised his hat. “How come you here?”
“I saw you pass.”
He moved a little closer up the scree towards her. Again her bonnet was in her hand. Her hair, he noticed, was loose, as if she had been in wind; but there had been no wind. It gave her a kind of wildness, which the fixity of her stare at him aggravated. He wondered why he had ever thought she was not indeed slightly crazed.
“You have something ... to communicate to me?”
Again that fixed stare, but not through him, very much down at him. Sarah had one of those peculiar female faces that vary very much in their attractiveness; in accordance with some subtle chemistry of angle, light, mood. She was dramatically helped at this moment by an oblique shaft of wan sunlight that had found its way through a small rift in the clouds, as not infrequently happens in a late English afternoon. It lit her face, her figure standing before the entombing greenery behind her; and her face was suddenly very beautiful, truly beautiful, exquisitely grave and yet full of an inner, as well as outer, light. Charles recalled that it was just so that a peasant near Gavarnie, in the Pyrenees, had claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary standing on a deboulis beside his road . . . only a few weeks before Charles once passed that way. He was taken to the place; it had been most insignificant. But if such a figure as this had stood before him!
However, this figure evidently had a more banal mission. She delved into the pockets of her coat and presented to him, one in each hand, two excellent Micraster tests. He climbed close enough to distinguish them for what they were. Then he looked up in surprise at her unsmiling face. He remembered— he had talked briefly of paleontology, of the importance of sea urchins, at Mrs. Poulteney’s that morning. Now he stared again at the two small objects in her hands.
“Will you not take them?”
She wore no gloves, and their fingers touched. He exam-ined the two tests; but he thought only of the touch of those cold fingers.
“I am most grateful. They are in excellent condition.”
“They are what you seek?”
“Yes indeed.”
“They were once marine shells?”
He hesitated, then pointed to the features of the better of the two tests: the mouth, the ambulacra, the anus. As he talked, and was listened to with a grave interest, his disappro-val evaporated. The girl’s appearance was strange; but her mind—as two or three questions she asked showed—was very far from deranged. Finally he put the two tests carefully in his own pocket.
“It is most kind of you to have looked for them.”
“I had nothing better to do.”
“I was about to return. May I help you back to the path?”
But she did not move. “I wished also, Mr. Smithson, to thank you ... for your offer of assistance.”
“Since you refused it, you leave me the more grateful.”
There was a little pause. He moved up past her and parted the wall of ivy with his stick, for her to pass back. But she stood still, and still facing down the clearing.
“I should not have followed you.”
He wished he could see her face, but he could not.
“I saw you pass.”
He moved a little closer up the scree towards her. Again her bonnet was in her hand. Her hair, he noticed, was loose, as if she had been in wind; but there had been no wind. It gave her a kind of wildness, which the fixity of her stare at him aggravated. He wondered why he had ever thought she was not indeed slightly crazed.
“You have something ... to communicate to me?”
Again that fixed stare, but not through him, very much down at him. Sarah had one of those peculiar female faces that vary very much in their attractiveness; in accordance with some subtle chemistry of angle, light, mood. She was dramatically helped at this moment by an oblique shaft of wan sunlight that had found its way through a small rift in the clouds, as not infrequently happens in a late English afternoon. It lit her face, her figure standing before the entombing greenery behind her; and her face was suddenly very beautiful, truly beautiful, exquisitely grave and yet full of an inner, as well as outer, light. Charles recalled that it was just so that a peasant near Gavarnie, in the Pyrenees, had claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary standing on a deboulis beside his road . . . only a few weeks before Charles once passed that way. He was taken to the place; it had been most insignificant. But if such a figure as this had stood before him!
However, this figure evidently had a more banal mission. She delved into the pockets of her coat and presented to him, one in each hand, two excellent Micraster tests. He climbed close enough to distinguish them for what they were. Then he looked up in surprise at her unsmiling face. He remembered— he had talked briefly of paleontology, of the importance of sea urchins, at Mrs. Poulteney’s that morning. Now he stared again at the two small objects in her hands.
“Will you not take them?”
She wore no gloves, and their fingers touched. He exam-ined the two tests; but he thought only of the touch of those cold fingers.
“I am most grateful. They are in excellent condition.”
“They are what you seek?”
“Yes indeed.”
“They were once marine shells?”
He hesitated, then pointed to the features of the better of the two tests: the mouth, the ambulacra, the anus. As he talked, and was listened to with a grave interest, his disappro-val evaporated. The girl’s appearance was strange; but her mind—as two or three questions she asked showed—was very far from deranged. Finally he put the two tests carefully in his own pocket.
“It is most kind of you to have looked for them.”
“I had nothing better to do.”
“I was about to return. May I help you back to the path?”
But she did not move. “I wished also, Mr. Smithson, to thank you ... for your offer of assistance.”
“Since you refused it, you leave me the more grateful.”
There was a little pause. He moved up past her and parted the wall of ivy with his stick, for her to pass back. But she stood still, and still facing down the clearing.
“I should not have followed you.”
He wished he could see her face, but he could not.
That one
That one,' Mary said, 'What does she know about this politics-politics? Only to get her nails into my Joseph she will repeat any rubbish he talks, like one stupid mynah bird. I swear, Father ...'
'Careful, daughter. You are close to blasphemy ..." 'No, Father, I swear to God, I don't know what I won't do to get me back that man. Yes: in spite of... never mind what he... ai-o-ai-ooo!'
Salt water washes the confessional floor.,. and now, is there a new dilemma for the young father? Is he, despite the agonies of an unsettled stomach, weighing in invisible scales the sanctity of the confessional against the danger to civilized society of a man like Joseph D'Costa? Will he, in fact, ask Mary for her Joseph's address, and then reveal ... In short, would this bishop-ridden, stomach-churned young father have behaved like, or unlike, Montgomery Clift in I Confess? (Watching it some years ago at the New Empire cinema, I couldn't decide.) - But no; once again, I must stifle my baseless suspicions.
What happened to Joseph would probably have happened anyway And in all likelihood the young father's only relevance to my history is that he was the first outsider to hear about Joseph D'Costa's virulent hatred of the rich, and of Mary Pereira's desperate grief.
Tomorrow I'll have a bath and shave; I am going to put on a brand new kurta, shining and starched, and pajamas to match. I'll wear mirrorworked slippers curling up at the toes, my hair will be neatly brushed (though not parted in the centre), my teeth gleaming... in a phrase, I'll look my best. ('Thank God' from pouting Padma.)
Tomorrow, at last, there will be an end to stories which I (not having been present at their birth) have to drag out of the whirling recesses of my mind; because the metronome musk of Mountbatten's countdown calendar can be ignored no longer. At Methwold's Estate, old Musa is still ticking like a time-bomb; but he can't be heard, because another sound is swelling now, deafening, insistent; the sound of seconds passing, of an approaching, inevitable midnight.
Chapter 8 Tick, tock
Padma can hear it: there's nothing like a countdown for building suspense. I watched my dung-flower at work today, stirring vats like a whirlwind, as if that would make the time go faster. (And perhaps it did; time, in my experience, has been as variable and inconstant as Bombay's electric power supply. Just telephone the speaking clock if you don't believe me - tied to electricity, it's usually a few hours wrong. Unless we're the ones who are wrong ... no people whose word for 'yesterday' is the same as their word for' tomorrow' can be said to have a firm grip on the time.)
But today, Padma heard Mountbatten's ticktock... English-made, it beats with relentless accuracy. And now the factory is empty; fumes linger, but the vats are still; and I've kept my word. Dressed up to the nines, I greet Padma as she rushes to my desk, flounces down on the floor beside me, commands: 'Begin.' I give a little satisfied smile; feel the children of midnight queueing up in my head, pushing and jostling like Koli fishwives; I tell them to wait, it won't be long now; I clear my throat, give my pen a little shake; and start.
'Careful, daughter. You are close to blasphemy ..." 'No, Father, I swear to God, I don't know what I won't do to get me back that man. Yes: in spite of... never mind what he... ai-o-ai-ooo!'
Salt water washes the confessional floor.,. and now, is there a new dilemma for the young father? Is he, despite the agonies of an unsettled stomach, weighing in invisible scales the sanctity of the confessional against the danger to civilized society of a man like Joseph D'Costa? Will he, in fact, ask Mary for her Joseph's address, and then reveal ... In short, would this bishop-ridden, stomach-churned young father have behaved like, or unlike, Montgomery Clift in I Confess? (Watching it some years ago at the New Empire cinema, I couldn't decide.) - But no; once again, I must stifle my baseless suspicions.
What happened to Joseph would probably have happened anyway And in all likelihood the young father's only relevance to my history is that he was the first outsider to hear about Joseph D'Costa's virulent hatred of the rich, and of Mary Pereira's desperate grief.
Tomorrow I'll have a bath and shave; I am going to put on a brand new kurta, shining and starched, and pajamas to match. I'll wear mirrorworked slippers curling up at the toes, my hair will be neatly brushed (though not parted in the centre), my teeth gleaming... in a phrase, I'll look my best. ('Thank God' from pouting Padma.)
Tomorrow, at last, there will be an end to stories which I (not having been present at their birth) have to drag out of the whirling recesses of my mind; because the metronome musk of Mountbatten's countdown calendar can be ignored no longer. At Methwold's Estate, old Musa is still ticking like a time-bomb; but he can't be heard, because another sound is swelling now, deafening, insistent; the sound of seconds passing, of an approaching, inevitable midnight.
Chapter 8 Tick, tock
Padma can hear it: there's nothing like a countdown for building suspense. I watched my dung-flower at work today, stirring vats like a whirlwind, as if that would make the time go faster. (And perhaps it did; time, in my experience, has been as variable and inconstant as Bombay's electric power supply. Just telephone the speaking clock if you don't believe me - tied to electricity, it's usually a few hours wrong. Unless we're the ones who are wrong ... no people whose word for 'yesterday' is the same as their word for' tomorrow' can be said to have a firm grip on the time.)
But today, Padma heard Mountbatten's ticktock... English-made, it beats with relentless accuracy. And now the factory is empty; fumes linger, but the vats are still; and I've kept my word. Dressed up to the nines, I greet Padma as she rushes to my desk, flounces down on the floor beside me, commands: 'Begin.' I give a little satisfied smile; feel the children of midnight queueing up in my head, pushing and jostling like Koli fishwives; I tell them to wait, it won't be long now; I clear my throat, give my pen a little shake; and start.
2012年11月21日星期三
This portion of the long and interesting letter so refreshed her
This portion of the long and interesting letter so refreshed her, that Miss Evans, when she came in after tea, guessed at once the cause of the sparkling eye that greeted her.
"Letters are wonderful tonics," said Mr. Temple, laughingly, as he glanced toward Florence.
"That depends from whom they come," she answered, and repented of it as soon as said. She looked up after a while, but there was no shadow on his face. She saw that he was sharing her joy, and then she knew that not a ripple of doubt would ever disturb their smoothly flowing life.
Miss Evans left at an early hour, and reaching her home, wrote till nearly midnight. Her nature was one that was most elastic at night; her brilliancy seemed to come with the stars.
Page after page fell from her desk to the floor; thought followed thought, till the mortal light seemed to give place to the divine. At length the theme grew so mighty, and words seemed so feeble to portray it, that she laid down the pen and wept,--wept not tears of exhaustion, but of joy at the soul's prospective. Sublime was the scene before her vision; enrapturing the prospect opening before earth's pilgrims, and she felt truly thankful that she was privileged to point out the way to those whose faith was weak, and who walked tremblingly along the road.
She gathered her pages, laid them in order, and then wrote the following in her journal:
"Night, beautiful night; dark below but brilliant above. I am not alone. These stars, some of them marking my destiny, know well my joys and my griefs. They are shining on me now. The waters are darkest nearest the shore, and perchance I am near some haven of rest. I have been tossed for many a year, yet, cease my heart to mourn, for my joys have been great. The world looks on me, and calls me strong. Heaven knows how weak I am, for this heart has had its sorrows, and these eyes have wept bitter tears. The warm current of my love has not departed; it has turned to crystals around my heart, cold, but pure and sparkling. There is a voice that can melt them, as the sun dissolves the frost.-I turn a leaf. This shall not record so much of self, or be so tinged with my own heart's pulsations,--this page now fair and spotless.
"I thought, a month ago, this feeling would never come again. I hold my secret safe; why will my nerves keep trembling so, when down, far down in my soul, I feel so strong?
"To-night I must put around my heart a girdle of strong purpose, and bid these useless thoughts be gone. I must not pulsate so intensely with feeling. My fate is to stand still and weave my thoughts into garlands for others. I must lay a heavy mantle on my breast, and wrap fold after fold upon my heart, that its beating may not be heard. Why have we hearts? Heads are better, and guide us to safer ports.
"'T is past the midnight hour. What scratches of the pen I have put upon this virgin page. So does time mark us o'er and o'er. We must carry the marks of his hand to the shore of the great hereafter. Beyond, we shall drink from whatever fount will best suffice us. Here, we must take the cup as 't is passed to us, bitter or sweet-'t is not ours to choose. These boundaries of self are good. Where should we roam if left to our inclinations? Let me trust and wait God's own time and way."
"Letters are wonderful tonics," said Mr. Temple, laughingly, as he glanced toward Florence.
"That depends from whom they come," she answered, and repented of it as soon as said. She looked up after a while, but there was no shadow on his face. She saw that he was sharing her joy, and then she knew that not a ripple of doubt would ever disturb their smoothly flowing life.
Miss Evans left at an early hour, and reaching her home, wrote till nearly midnight. Her nature was one that was most elastic at night; her brilliancy seemed to come with the stars.
Page after page fell from her desk to the floor; thought followed thought, till the mortal light seemed to give place to the divine. At length the theme grew so mighty, and words seemed so feeble to portray it, that she laid down the pen and wept,--wept not tears of exhaustion, but of joy at the soul's prospective. Sublime was the scene before her vision; enrapturing the prospect opening before earth's pilgrims, and she felt truly thankful that she was privileged to point out the way to those whose faith was weak, and who walked tremblingly along the road.
She gathered her pages, laid them in order, and then wrote the following in her journal:
"Night, beautiful night; dark below but brilliant above. I am not alone. These stars, some of them marking my destiny, know well my joys and my griefs. They are shining on me now. The waters are darkest nearest the shore, and perchance I am near some haven of rest. I have been tossed for many a year, yet, cease my heart to mourn, for my joys have been great. The world looks on me, and calls me strong. Heaven knows how weak I am, for this heart has had its sorrows, and these eyes have wept bitter tears. The warm current of my love has not departed; it has turned to crystals around my heart, cold, but pure and sparkling. There is a voice that can melt them, as the sun dissolves the frost.-I turn a leaf. This shall not record so much of self, or be so tinged with my own heart's pulsations,--this page now fair and spotless.
"I thought, a month ago, this feeling would never come again. I hold my secret safe; why will my nerves keep trembling so, when down, far down in my soul, I feel so strong?
"To-night I must put around my heart a girdle of strong purpose, and bid these useless thoughts be gone. I must not pulsate so intensely with feeling. My fate is to stand still and weave my thoughts into garlands for others. I must lay a heavy mantle on my breast, and wrap fold after fold upon my heart, that its beating may not be heard. Why have we hearts? Heads are better, and guide us to safer ports.
"'T is past the midnight hour. What scratches of the pen I have put upon this virgin page. So does time mark us o'er and o'er. We must carry the marks of his hand to the shore of the great hereafter. Beyond, we shall drink from whatever fount will best suffice us. Here, we must take the cup as 't is passed to us, bitter or sweet-'t is not ours to choose. These boundaries of self are good. Where should we roam if left to our inclinations? Let me trust and wait God's own time and way."
“You are mistaken
“You are mistaken, Ubertino,” William answered very seriously. “You know that among my masters I venerate Roger Bacon more than any other. …”
“Who raved of flying machines,” Ubertino muttered bitterly.
“Who spoke clearly and calmly of the Antichrist, and was aware of the import of the corruption of the world and the decline of learning. He taught, however, that there is only one way to prepare against his coming: study the secrets of nature, use knowledge to better the human race. We can prepare to fight the Antichrist by studying the curative properties of herbs, the nature of stones, and even by planning those flying machines that make you smile.”
“Your Bacon’s Antichrist was a pretext for cultivating intellectual pride.”
“A holy pretext.”
“Nothing pretextual is holy. William, you know I love you. You know I have great faith in you. Mortify your intelligence, learn to weep over the wounds of the Lord, throw away your books,shox torch 2.”
“I will devote myself only to yours.” William smiled.
Ubertino also smiled and waved a threatening finger at him. “Foolish Englishman. Do not laugh too much at your fellows. Those whom you cannot love you should, rather, fear. And be on your guard here at the abbey. I do not like this place.”
“I want to know it better, in fact,” William said, taking his leave. “Come, Adso.”
“I tell you it is not good, and you reply that you want to know it better,Discount UGG Boots. Ah!” Ubertino said, shaking his head.
“By the way,” William said, already halfway down the nave, “who is that monk who looks like an animal and speaks the language of Babel?”
“Salvatore?” Ubertino, who had already knelt down, turned. “I believe he was a gift of mine to this abbey ... along with the cellarer. When I put aside the Franciscan habit I returned for a while to my old convent at Casale, and there I found other monks in difficulty, because the community accused them of being Spirituals of my sect ... as they put it. I exerted myself in their favor, procuring permission for them to follow my example. And two, Salvatore and Remigio, I found here when I arrived last year. Salvatore ... he does indeed look like an animal. But he is obliging.”
William hesitated a moment. “I heard him say Penitenziagite.”
Ubertino was silent,fake uggs for sale. He waved one hand, as if to drive off a bothersome thought. “No, I don’t believe so. You know how these lay brothers are. Country people, who have perhaps heard some wandering preacher and don’t know what they are saying. I would have other reproaches to make to Salvatore: he is a greedy animal and lustful. But nothing, nothing against orthodoxy. No, the sickness of the abbey is something else: seek it among those who know too much, not in those who know nothing. Don’t build a castle of suspicions on one word.”
“I would never do that,” William answered. “I gave up being an inquisitor precisely to avoid doing that. But I like also to listen to words,Moncler Outlet, and then I think about them.”
“You think too much. Boy,” he said, addressing me, “don’t learn too many bad examples from your master. The only thing that must be pondered—and I real?ize this at the end of my life—is death. Mors est quies viatoris—finis est omnis laboris. Let me pray now.”
“Who raved of flying machines,” Ubertino muttered bitterly.
“Who spoke clearly and calmly of the Antichrist, and was aware of the import of the corruption of the world and the decline of learning. He taught, however, that there is only one way to prepare against his coming: study the secrets of nature, use knowledge to better the human race. We can prepare to fight the Antichrist by studying the curative properties of herbs, the nature of stones, and even by planning those flying machines that make you smile.”
“Your Bacon’s Antichrist was a pretext for cultivating intellectual pride.”
“A holy pretext.”
“Nothing pretextual is holy. William, you know I love you. You know I have great faith in you. Mortify your intelligence, learn to weep over the wounds of the Lord, throw away your books,shox torch 2.”
“I will devote myself only to yours.” William smiled.
Ubertino also smiled and waved a threatening finger at him. “Foolish Englishman. Do not laugh too much at your fellows. Those whom you cannot love you should, rather, fear. And be on your guard here at the abbey. I do not like this place.”
“I want to know it better, in fact,” William said, taking his leave. “Come, Adso.”
“I tell you it is not good, and you reply that you want to know it better,Discount UGG Boots. Ah!” Ubertino said, shaking his head.
“By the way,” William said, already halfway down the nave, “who is that monk who looks like an animal and speaks the language of Babel?”
“Salvatore?” Ubertino, who had already knelt down, turned. “I believe he was a gift of mine to this abbey ... along with the cellarer. When I put aside the Franciscan habit I returned for a while to my old convent at Casale, and there I found other monks in difficulty, because the community accused them of being Spirituals of my sect ... as they put it. I exerted myself in their favor, procuring permission for them to follow my example. And two, Salvatore and Remigio, I found here when I arrived last year. Salvatore ... he does indeed look like an animal. But he is obliging.”
William hesitated a moment. “I heard him say Penitenziagite.”
Ubertino was silent,fake uggs for sale. He waved one hand, as if to drive off a bothersome thought. “No, I don’t believe so. You know how these lay brothers are. Country people, who have perhaps heard some wandering preacher and don’t know what they are saying. I would have other reproaches to make to Salvatore: he is a greedy animal and lustful. But nothing, nothing against orthodoxy. No, the sickness of the abbey is something else: seek it among those who know too much, not in those who know nothing. Don’t build a castle of suspicions on one word.”
“I would never do that,” William answered. “I gave up being an inquisitor precisely to avoid doing that. But I like also to listen to words,Moncler Outlet, and then I think about them.”
“You think too much. Boy,” he said, addressing me, “don’t learn too many bad examples from your master. The only thing that must be pondered—and I real?ize this at the end of my life—is death. Mors est quies viatoris—finis est omnis laboris. Let me pray now.”
You missed me like that
"You missed me like that?" she said slowly.
"I missed you like that."
Margaret meditated a moment. "In the first days of my illness I wondered if you didn't miss me a little; afterwards everything was confused in my mind. When I tried to think, I seemed to be somebody else,replica gucci handbags,--I seemed to be _you_ waiting for me here in the studio. Wasn't that singular? But when I recovered, and returned to my old place, I began to suspect I had been bearing your anxiety,--that I had been distressed by the absence to which you had grown accustomed."
"I never got used to it, Margaret. It became more and more unendurable. This workshop was full of--of your absence. There wasn't a sketch or a cast or an object in the room that didn't remind me of you, and seem to mock at me for having let the most precious moments of my life slip away unheeded. That bit of geranium in the glass yonder seemed to say with its dying breath,fake uggs online store, 'You have cared for neither of us as you ought to have cared; my scent and her goodness have been all one to you,--things to take or to leave. It was for no merit of yours that she was always planning something to make life smoother and brighter for you. What had you done to deserve it? How unselfish and generous and good she has been to you for years and years! What would have become of you without her? She left me here on purpose'--it's the geranium leaf that is speaking all the while, Margaret--'to say this to you, and to tell you that she was not half appreciated; but now you have lost her.'"
As she leaned forward listening, with her lips slightly parted, Margaret gave an unconscious little approbative nod of the head. Richard's fanciful accusation of himself caused her a singular thrill of pleasure. He had never before spoken to her in just this fashion; the subterfuge which his tenderness had employed, the little detour it had made in order to get at her, was a novel species of flattery,Replica Designer Handbags. She recognized the ring of a distinctly new note in his voice; but, strangely enough, the note lost its unfamiliarity in an instant. Margaret recognized that fact also, and as she swiftly speculate don the phenomenon her pulse went one or two strokes faster.
"Oh, you poor boy!" she said, looking up with a laugh, and a flush so interfused that they seemed one, "that geranium took a great deal upon itself. It went quite beyond its instructions, which were simply to remind you of me now and then. One day, while you were out,--the day before I was taken ill,--I placed the flowers on the desk there, perhaps with a kind of premonition that I was going away from you for a time."
"What if you had never come back?"
"I wouldn't think of that if I were you," said Margaret softly.
"But it haunts me,--that thought. Sometimes of a morning, after I unlock the workshop door, I stand hesitating, with my hand on the latch, as one might hesitate a few seconds before stepping into a tomb. There were days last month,mont blanc pens, Margaret, when this chamber did appear to me like a tomb. All that was happy in my past seemed to lie buried here; it was something visible and tangible; I used to steal in and look upon it."
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