White driver stare ahead. He turn off the motor and my seat go still, feel strange. He straighten his driver’s hat, hop out the seat. “Y’all stay put. Let me find out what’s going on.”
So we all set there in the quiet, waiting. I hear a dog barking, not a house dog, but the kind that sound like he yelling at you. After a full five minutes, driver get back on the bus, start the motor again. He toot his horn, wave his hand out the window, and start backing up real slow.
“Wha happen up there?” colored man in front a me call to the driver.
Driver don’t answer. He keep backing up. The flashing lights is getting smaller, the dog barking fading off. Driver turn the bus around on Farish Street. At the next corner, he stop. “Colored people off, last stop for you,” he holler in the rearview. “White people lemme know where y’all need to get to. I’ll get you close as I can.”
The colored man look back at me. I guess we both ain’t got a good feeling. He stand up so I do too. I follow him to the front door. It’s eerie quiet, just the sound a our feets.
White man lean up to the driver, say, “What’s going on?”
I follow the colored man down the steps a the bus. Behind me, I hear the driver say, “I don’t know, some nigger got shot. Where you headed?”
The door swish closed. Oh Law, I think, please don’t let this be any a my peoples.
Ain’t a sound on Farish Street, or a person, cept us two. The man look at me. “You alright? You close to home?”
“I be alright. I’m close.” My house is seven blocks from here.
“Want me to walk you?”
I kind a do, but I shake my head. “Naw, thank you. I be fine.”
A news truck whiz by, way down at the intersection the bus turned off of. Big WLBT-TV letters on the side.
“Law, I hope this ain’t as bad as it—” but the man gone. They ain’t a soul now but me. I get that feeling people talk about, right before they get mugged. In two seconds, my stockings is rubbing together so fast I sound like zippers zipping. Up ahead I see three people walking fast like me. All of em turn off, go into houses, shut the door.
I’m real sure I don’t want to be alone another second. I cut between Mule Cato’s house and the back a the auto repair, then through Oney Black’s yard, trip on a hose-pipe in the dark. I feel like a burglar. Can see lights on inside the houses, heads bent down, lights that should be off this time a night. Whatever going on, everbody either talking about it or listening to it.
Finally, up ahead I see Minny’s kitchen light, back door open, screen door closed. The door make a whine when I push it. Minny setting at the table with all five kids: Leroy Junior, Sugar, Felicia, Kindra, and Benny. I guess Leroy Senior gone to work. They all staring at the big radio in the middle a the table. A wave a static come in with me.
“What is it?” I say. Minny frown, fiddle with the dial. In a second I take in the room: a ham slice curled and red in a skillet. A tin can on the counter, lid open. Dirty plates in the sink. Ain’t Minny’s kitchen at all.
“What happen?” I ask again.
The radio man come into tune, hollering, “—almost ten years serving as the Field Secretary for the N-double-A-C-P. Still no word from the hospital but wounds are said to be—”
Monday, November 26, 2012
She had planted herself before the immense press and was measuring it with her fiery glance
She had planted herself before the immense press and was measuring it with her fiery glance, as if to take it by assault, to sack it, to destroy it, in spite of the withered and fragile thinness of her eighty years. Then, with a gesture of ironical disdain:
"If, even with his science, he could know everything!"
Clotilde remained for a moment absorbed in thought, her gaze lost in vacancy. Then she said in an undertone, as if speaking to herself:
"It is true, he cannot know everything. There is always something else below. That is what irritates me; that is what makes us quarrel: for I cannot, like him, put the mystery aside. I am troubled by it, so much so that I suffer cruelly. Below, what wills and acts in the shuddering darkness, all the unknown forces--"
Her voice had gradually become lower and now dropped to an indistinct murmur.
Then Martine, whose face for a moment past had worn a somber expression, interrupted in her turn:
"If it was true, however, mademoiselle, that monsieur would be damned on account of those villainous papers, tell me, ought we to let it happen? For my part, look you, if he were to tell me to throw myself down from the terrace, I would shut my eyes and throw myself, because I know that he is always right. But for his salvation! Oh! if I could, I would work for that, in spite of him. In every way, yes! I would force him; it is too cruel to me to think that he will not be in heaven with us."
"You are quite right, my girl," said Felicite approvingly. "You, at least, love your master in an intelligent fashion."
Between the two, Clotilde still seemed irresolute. In her, belief did not bend to the strict rule of dogma; the religious sentiment did not materialize in the hope of a paradise, of a place of delights, where she was to meet her own again. It was in her simply a need of a beyond, a certainty that the vast world does not stop short at sensation, that there is a whole unknown world, besides, which must be taken into account. But her grandmother, who was so old, this servant, who was so devoted, shook her in her uneasy affection for her uncle. Did they not love him better, in a more enlightened and more upright fashion, they who desired him to be without a stain, freed from his manias as a scientist, pure enough to be among the elect? Phrases of devotional books recurred to her; the continual battle waged against the spirit of evil; the glory of conversions effected after a violent struggle. What if she set herself to this holy task; what if, after all, in spite of himself, she should be able to save him! And an exaltation gradually gained her spirit, naturally inclined to adventurous enterprises.
"Certainly," she said at last, "I should be very happy if he would not persist in his notion of heaping up all those scraps of paper, and if he would come to church with us."
Seeing her about to yield, Mme. Rougon cried out that it was necessary to act, and Martine herself added the weight of all her real authority. They both approached the young girl, and began to instruct her, lowering their voices as if they were engaged in a conspiracy, whence was to result a miraculous benefit, a divine joy with which the whole house would be perfumed. What a triumph if they reconciled the doctor with God! and what sweetness, afterward, to live altogether in the celestial communion of the same faith!
And her hands are moving
And her hands are moving. Lost in their memory of other days, of what happened after games of hit-the-spittoon in an Agra cellar, they flutter gladly at her cheeks; they hold her bosom tighter than any brassieres; and now they caress her bare midriff, they stray below decks ... yes, this is what we used to do, my love, it was enough, enough for me, even though my father made us, and you ran, and now the telephone, Nadirnadirnadirnadirnadirnadir... hands which held telephone now hold flesh, while in another place what does another hand do? To what, after replacing receiver, is another hand getting up? ... No matter; because here, in her spied-out privacy, Amina Sinai repeats an ancient name, again and again, until finally she bursts out with, 'Arre Nadir Khan, where have you come from now?'
Secrets. A man's name. Never-before-glimpsed motions of the hands. A boy's mind filled with thoughts which have no shape, tormented by ideas which refuse to settle into words; and in a left nostril, a pajama-cord is snaking up up up, refusing to be ignored ... And now - ?shameless mother! Revealer of duplicity, of emotions which have no place in family life; and more: ?brazen unveiler of Black Mango! - Amina Sinai, drying her eyes, is summoned by a more trivial necessity; and as her son's right eye peers out through the wooden slats at the top of the washing-chest, my mother unwinds her sari! While I, silently in the washing-chest: 'Don't do it don't do it don't do!' ... but I cannot close my eye. Unblinking pupil takes in upside-down image of sari falling to the floor, an image which is, as usual, inverted by the mind; through ice-blue eyes I see a slip follow the sari; and then - ?horrible! - my mother, framed in laundry and slatted wood, bends over to pick up her clothes! And there it is, searing my retina - the vision of my mother's rump, black as night, rounded and curved, resembling nothing on earth so much as a gigantic, black Alfonso mango! In the washing-chest, unnerved by the vision, I wrestle with myself... self-control becomes simultaneously imperative and impossible ... under the thunderclap influence of the Black Mango, my nerve cracks; pajama-cord wins its victory; and while Amina Sinai seats herself on a commode, I ... what? Not sneeze; it was less than a sneeze. Not a twitch, either; it was more than that. It's time to talk plainly: shattered by two-syllabic voice and fluttering hands, devastated by Black Mango, the nose of Saleem Sinai, responding to the evidence of maternal
duplicity, quivering at the presence of maternal rump, gave way to a pajama-cord, and was possessed by a cataclysmic - a world-altering - an irreversible sniff. Pajama-cord rises painfully half an inch further up the nostril. But other things are rising, too: hauled by that feverish inhalation, nasal liquids are being sucked relentlessly up up up, nose-goo flowing upwards, against gravity, against nature. Sinuses are subjected to unbearable pressure ... until, inside the nearlynineyearold head, something bursts. Snot rockets through a breached dam into dark new channels. Mucus, rising higher than mucus was ever intended to rise. Waste fluid, reaching as far, perhaps, as the frontiers of the brain ... there is a shock. Something electrical has been moistened.
Secrets. A man's name. Never-before-glimpsed motions of the hands. A boy's mind filled with thoughts which have no shape, tormented by ideas which refuse to settle into words; and in a left nostril, a pajama-cord is snaking up up up, refusing to be ignored ... And now - ?shameless mother! Revealer of duplicity, of emotions which have no place in family life; and more: ?brazen unveiler of Black Mango! - Amina Sinai, drying her eyes, is summoned by a more trivial necessity; and as her son's right eye peers out through the wooden slats at the top of the washing-chest, my mother unwinds her sari! While I, silently in the washing-chest: 'Don't do it don't do it don't do!' ... but I cannot close my eye. Unblinking pupil takes in upside-down image of sari falling to the floor, an image which is, as usual, inverted by the mind; through ice-blue eyes I see a slip follow the sari; and then - ?horrible! - my mother, framed in laundry and slatted wood, bends over to pick up her clothes! And there it is, searing my retina - the vision of my mother's rump, black as night, rounded and curved, resembling nothing on earth so much as a gigantic, black Alfonso mango! In the washing-chest, unnerved by the vision, I wrestle with myself... self-control becomes simultaneously imperative and impossible ... under the thunderclap influence of the Black Mango, my nerve cracks; pajama-cord wins its victory; and while Amina Sinai seats herself on a commode, I ... what? Not sneeze; it was less than a sneeze. Not a twitch, either; it was more than that. It's time to talk plainly: shattered by two-syllabic voice and fluttering hands, devastated by Black Mango, the nose of Saleem Sinai, responding to the evidence of maternal
duplicity, quivering at the presence of maternal rump, gave way to a pajama-cord, and was possessed by a cataclysmic - a world-altering - an irreversible sniff. Pajama-cord rises painfully half an inch further up the nostril. But other things are rising, too: hauled by that feverish inhalation, nasal liquids are being sucked relentlessly up up up, nose-goo flowing upwards, against gravity, against nature. Sinuses are subjected to unbearable pressure ... until, inside the nearlynineyearold head, something bursts. Snot rockets through a breached dam into dark new channels. Mucus, rising higher than mucus was ever intended to rise. Waste fluid, reaching as far, perhaps, as the frontiers of the brain ... there is a shock. Something electrical has been moistened.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
who had a tendency to grow red and stertorous after luncheon
Mrs. Bry, who had a tendency to grow red and stertorous after luncheon, had been judiciously prevailed upon by Carry Fisher to withdraw to her hotel for an hour's repose; and Selden and his companion were thus left to a stroll propitious to confidences. The stroll soon resolved itself into a tranquil session on a bench overhung with laurel and Banksian roses, from which they caught a dazzle of blue sea between marble balusters, and the fiery shafts of cactus-blossoms shooting meteor-like from the rock. The soft shade of their niche, and the adjacent glitter of the air, were conducive to an easy lounging mood, and to the smoking of many cigarettes; and Selden, yielding to these influences, suffered Mrs,knockoff handbags. Fisher to unfold to him the history of her recent experiences. She had come abroad with the Welly Brys at the moment when fashion flees the inclemency of the New York spring. The Brys, intoxicated by their first success, already thirsted for new kingdoms, and Mrs. Fisher, viewing the Riviera as an easy introduction to London society, had guided their course thither. She had affiliations of her own in every capital, and a facility for picking them up again after long absences; and the carefully disseminated rumour of the Brys' wealth had at once gathered about them a group of cosmopolitan pleasure-seekers.
"But things are not going as well as I expected," Mrs. Fisher frankly admitted. "It's all very well to say that every body with money can get into society; but it would be truer to say that NEARLY everybody can. And the London market is so glutted with new Americans that, to succeed there now, they must be either very clever or awfully queer. The Brys are neither. HE would get on well enough if she'd let him alone; they like his slang and his brag and his blunders. But Louisa spoils it all by trying to repress him and put herself forward. If she'd be natural herself--fat and vulgar and bouncing--it would be all right; but as soon as she meets anybody smart she tries to be slender and queenly. She tried it with the Duchess of Beltshire and Lady Skiddaw, and they fled. I've done my best to make her see her mistake--I've said to her again and again: 'Just let yourself go, Louisa'; but she keeps up the humbug even with me--I believe she keeps on being queenly in her own room, with the door shut.
"The worst of it is," Mrs. Fisher went on, "that she thinks it's all MY fault. When the Dorsets turned up here six weeks ago, and everybody began to make a fuss about Lily Bart, I could see Louisa thought that if she'd had Lily in tow instead of me she would have been hob-nobbing with all the royalties by this time. She doesn't realize that it's Lily's beauty that does it: Lord Hubert tells me Lily is thought even handsomer than when he knew her at Aix ten years ago. It seems she was tremendously admired there. An Italian Prince,homepage, rich and the real thing, wanted to marry her,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots; but just at the critical moment a good-looking step-son turned up, and Lily was silly enough to flirt with him while her marriage-settlements with the step-father were being drawn up. Some people said the young man did it on purpose. You can fancy the scandal: there was an awful row between the men, and people began to look at Lily so queerly that Mrs,shox torch 2. Peniston had to pack up and finish her cure elsewhere. Not that SHE ever understood: to this day she thinks that Aix didn't suit her, and mentions her having been sent there as proof of the incompetence of French doctors. That's Lily all over, you know: she works like a slave preparing the ground and sowing her seed; but the day she ought to be reaping the harvest she over-sleeps herself or goes off on a picnic."
"But things are not going as well as I expected," Mrs. Fisher frankly admitted. "It's all very well to say that every body with money can get into society; but it would be truer to say that NEARLY everybody can. And the London market is so glutted with new Americans that, to succeed there now, they must be either very clever or awfully queer. The Brys are neither. HE would get on well enough if she'd let him alone; they like his slang and his brag and his blunders. But Louisa spoils it all by trying to repress him and put herself forward. If she'd be natural herself--fat and vulgar and bouncing--it would be all right; but as soon as she meets anybody smart she tries to be slender and queenly. She tried it with the Duchess of Beltshire and Lady Skiddaw, and they fled. I've done my best to make her see her mistake--I've said to her again and again: 'Just let yourself go, Louisa'; but she keeps up the humbug even with me--I believe she keeps on being queenly in her own room, with the door shut.
"The worst of it is," Mrs. Fisher went on, "that she thinks it's all MY fault. When the Dorsets turned up here six weeks ago, and everybody began to make a fuss about Lily Bart, I could see Louisa thought that if she'd had Lily in tow instead of me she would have been hob-nobbing with all the royalties by this time. She doesn't realize that it's Lily's beauty that does it: Lord Hubert tells me Lily is thought even handsomer than when he knew her at Aix ten years ago. It seems she was tremendously admired there. An Italian Prince,homepage, rich and the real thing, wanted to marry her,ugg bailey button triplet 1873 boots; but just at the critical moment a good-looking step-son turned up, and Lily was silly enough to flirt with him while her marriage-settlements with the step-father were being drawn up. Some people said the young man did it on purpose. You can fancy the scandal: there was an awful row between the men, and people began to look at Lily so queerly that Mrs,shox torch 2. Peniston had to pack up and finish her cure elsewhere. Not that SHE ever understood: to this day she thinks that Aix didn't suit her, and mentions her having been sent there as proof of the incompetence of French doctors. That's Lily all over, you know: she works like a slave preparing the ground and sowing her seed; but the day she ought to be reaping the harvest she over-sleeps herself or goes off on a picnic."
Shame burned red on Ottila's dark cheek
Shame burned red on Ottila's dark cheek,cheap designer handbags, and ire flamed up in her eyes, as the untamable spirit of the woman answered against her will--
"It was not made in vain; for, rebellious as you are, it subdued you, and with your own weapon,link, the bare truth."
He had said truly, "You shall see me at my best as at worst." She did, for putting pride underneath his feet he showed her a brave sincerity, which she could admire but never imitate, and in owning a defeat achieved a victory.
"You think I shall deny this. I do not, but acknowledge to the uttermost that, in spite of all resistance, I was conquered by a woman. If it affords you satisfaction to hear this, to know that it is hard to say, harder still to feel, take the ungenerous delight; I give it to you as an alms. But remember that if I have failed, no less have you. For in that stormy heart of yours there is no sentiment more powerful than that you feel for me, and through it you will receive the retribution you have brought upon yourself. You were elated with success, and forgot too soon the character you had so well supported. You thought love blinded me, but there was no love; and during this month I have learned to know you as you are. A woman of strong passions and weak principles; hungry for power and intent on pleasure; accomplished in deceit and reckless in trampling on the nobler instincts of a gifted but neglected nature. Ottila, I have no faith in you, feel no respect for the passion you inspire, own no allegiance to the dominion you assert."
"You cannot throw it off; it is too late."
It was a rash defiance; she saw that as it passed her lips, and would have given much to have recalled it. The stern gravity of Warwick's face flashed into a stern indignation. His eye shone like steel, but his voice dropped lower and his hand closed like a vice as he said,nike shox torch 2, with the air of one who cannot conceal but can control sudden wrath at a taunt to which past weakness gives a double sting--
"It never is too late. If the priest stood ready, and I had sworn to marry you within the hour, I would break the oath, and God would pardon it, for no man has a right to embrace temptation and damn himself by a life-long lie. You choose to make it a hard battle for me; you are neither an honest friend nor a generous foe. No matter, I have fallen into an ambuscade and must cut my way out as I can, and as I will, for there is enough of this Devil's work in the world without our adding to it."
"You cannot escape with honor, Adam,replica louis vuitton handbags."
"I cannot remain with honor. Do not try me too hardly, Ottila. I am not patient, but I do desire to be just. I confess my weakness; will not that satisfy you? Blazon your wrong as you esteem it; ask sympathy of those who see not as I see; reproach, defy, lament. I will bear it all, will make any other sacrifice as an atonement, but I will 'hold fast mine integrity' and obey a higher law than your world recognizes, both for your sake and my own."
She watched him as he spoke, and to herself confessed a slavery more absolute than any he had known, for with a pang she felt that she had indeed fallen into the snare she spread for him, and in this man, who dared to own his weakness and her power, she had found a master. Was it too late to keep him? She knew that soft appeals were vain, tears like water on a rock, and with the skill that had subdued him once she endeavored to retrieve her blunder by an equanimity which had more effect than prayers or protestations. Warwick had read her well, had shown her herself stripped of all disguises, and left her no defence but tardy candor. She had the wisdom to see this, the wit to use it and restore the shadow of the power whose substance she had lost. Leaving her beauty to its silent work, she fixed on him eyes whose lustre was quenched in unshed tears, and said with an earnest, humble voice--
Friday, November 23, 2012
This is it
"This is it," breathed Mary. "This is where I usedto walk up and down and wonder and wonder." "Is it?"cried Colin, and his eyes began to search the ivy witheager curiousness. "But I can see nothing," he whispered.
"There is no door.""That's what I thought," said Mary.
Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chairwheeled on.
"That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works,"said Mary.
"Is it?" said Colin.
A few yards more and Mary whispered again.
"This is where the robin flew over the wall," she said.
"Is it?" cried Colin. "Oh! I wish he'd come again!""And that," said Mary with solemn delight, pointing undera big lilac bush, "is where he perched on the littleheap of earth and showed me the key."Then Colin sat up.
"Where? Where? There?" he cried, and his eyes were as bigas the wolf's in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hoodfelt called upon to remark on them. Dickon stood stilland the wheeled chair stopped.
"And this," said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy,"is where I went to talk to him when he chirped at mefrom the top of the wall. And this is the ivy the windblew back," and she took hold of the hanging green curtain.
"Oh! is it--is it!" gasped Colin.
"And here is the handle, and here is the door.
Dickon push him in--push him in quickly!"And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.
But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions,even though he gasped with delight, and he had coveredhis eyes with his hands and held them there shuttingout everything until they were inside and the chairstopped as if by magic and the door was closed.
Not till then did he take them away and look roundand round and round as Dickon and Mary had done.
And over walls and earth and trees and swinging spraysand tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaveshad crept, and in the grass under the trees and the grayurns in the alcoves and here and there everywherewere touches or splashes of gold and purple and whiteand the trees were showing pink and snow above his headand there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipesand humming and scents and scents. And the sun fellwarm upon his face like a hand with a lovely touch.
And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him.
He looked so strange and different because a pink glowof color had actually crept all over him--ivory faceand neck and hands and all.
"I shall get well! I shall get well!" he cried out.
"Mary! Dickon! I shall get well! And I shall live foreverand ever and ever!"
Chapter 21 Ben Weatherstaff
One of the strange things about living in the world isthat it is only now and then one is quite sure one isgoing to live forever and ever and ever. One knows itsometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-timeand goes out and stands alone and throws one's head farback and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowlychanging and flushing and marvelous unknown things happeninguntil the East almost makes one cry out and one's heartstands still at the strange unchanging majesty of therising of the sun--which has been happening every morningfor thousands and thousands and thousands of years.
"There is no door.""That's what I thought," said Mary.
Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chairwheeled on.
"That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works,"said Mary.
"Is it?" said Colin.
A few yards more and Mary whispered again.
"This is where the robin flew over the wall," she said.
"Is it?" cried Colin. "Oh! I wish he'd come again!""And that," said Mary with solemn delight, pointing undera big lilac bush, "is where he perched on the littleheap of earth and showed me the key."Then Colin sat up.
"Where? Where? There?" he cried, and his eyes were as bigas the wolf's in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hoodfelt called upon to remark on them. Dickon stood stilland the wheeled chair stopped.
"And this," said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy,"is where I went to talk to him when he chirped at mefrom the top of the wall. And this is the ivy the windblew back," and she took hold of the hanging green curtain.
"Oh! is it--is it!" gasped Colin.
"And here is the handle, and here is the door.
Dickon push him in--push him in quickly!"And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.
But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions,even though he gasped with delight, and he had coveredhis eyes with his hands and held them there shuttingout everything until they were inside and the chairstopped as if by magic and the door was closed.
Not till then did he take them away and look roundand round and round as Dickon and Mary had done.
And over walls and earth and trees and swinging spraysand tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaveshad crept, and in the grass under the trees and the grayurns in the alcoves and here and there everywherewere touches or splashes of gold and purple and whiteand the trees were showing pink and snow above his headand there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipesand humming and scents and scents. And the sun fellwarm upon his face like a hand with a lovely touch.
And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him.
He looked so strange and different because a pink glowof color had actually crept all over him--ivory faceand neck and hands and all.
"I shall get well! I shall get well!" he cried out.
"Mary! Dickon! I shall get well! And I shall live foreverand ever and ever!"
Chapter 21 Ben Weatherstaff
One of the strange things about living in the world isthat it is only now and then one is quite sure one isgoing to live forever and ever and ever. One knows itsometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-timeand goes out and stands alone and throws one's head farback and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowlychanging and flushing and marvelous unknown things happeninguntil the East almost makes one cry out and one's heartstands still at the strange unchanging majesty of therising of the sun--which has been happening every morningfor thousands and thousands and thousands of years.
it was not my benevolent intention to lecture you at all
"Well, it was not my benevolent intention to lecture you at all, either in public or private, but since you speak of it so feelingly no doubt the need exists. First tell me what you have been doing all summer."
"Living out in the wild woods among the wild flowers, wild animals, wild Indians, and--"
"What a wild young man! I am positively afraid of you."
"Delightful! Please oblige me by remaining so. It is difficult for me to be appalling for any length of time, yet the emotion of fear must be cultivated in your mind at all hazards."
"And why?"
"Because you will never dare to lecture the awe-inspiring being of whom you are in mortal terror."
"Oh! are you sure of that? I met a famous lecturer the other day, and he assured me that he never stepped before an audience without suffering from fright; yet he did not spare his hearers on that account."
"Such is the hardheartedness of man. We expect more from a woman."
"More of a lecture, or more hardheartedness?"
"More of the latter--from you."
"Well I am under the impression that you will receive, before long, a good deal of the former from a young lady present. Are you aware that we are observed?"
"I am sure that one of us is the observed of all observers."
"It is kind of you not to add that politeness forbids you to say which. But what I mean is that since we began to talk I have twice encountered a glance from the darkest eyes I ever saw."
"They must belong to Mademoiselle DeBerczy."
"They do. That girl's eyes and hair are black enough to cast a gloom over the liveliest conversation."
"But her smiles are bright enough to illumine the gloom."
"Then it is a shame that she should waste them upon that rather slow-looking young man in front of her. Will you take me back to my seat and then go and see if you can release her from bondage?"
The request was immediately acceded to, and not long afterwards Helene DeBerczy and Edward Macleod were exchanging the light talk, not worth reporting, that springs so easily from those whose hearts are light.
Meantime where was Rose? To all outward appearance she was demurely listening to the remarks of a distinguished statesman, whose opinions were held to be of great weight, and whose form, at any rate, fully merited this description. He was so delighted to think that one so young and fair could be so deep. Alas! she was deep in a sense the gifted gentleman never knew. For, while the sweet head bowed assent, and the rose-bud lips unclosed to utter such remarks as "Ah, indeed! You surprise me!" and "Very true!" to statements of profound national import, her maiden meditations were as free as fancy. Before her mental vision the brilliant rooms with their gay well-dressed assemblage melted away, and in their place was a fair green meadow, wide and waving and deliciously cool under the declining sun of a summer evening. The last load of the second crop of hay was on its way to the barn, when a great longing desire took possession of her to ride on it. She walked out to the field, very slowly and feebly, but still she actually walked--and the whole cavalcade came to a dead stop at sight of her, for she had never been able to go any farther than the gate since her accident. Mr. Dunlop, and Allan, and the hired man, and even the oxen all stopped, and looked at her as though they expected to hear that the house was afire, or that the servant girl had run away with the butcher's boy. But when they found that nothing was wanted except a ride on a load of hay Mr. Dunlop said, "bless the child!" and held her up as high as he could reach. Then Allan lifted her the rest of the way, blushing as he did so. She remembered how beautifully clean he looked in his white shirt sleeves, and what clear warm shades of brown there were in the eyes and on the cheeks under the broad straw hat. She remembered, too, with a little warmth of feeling--not a very uncomfortable warmth of feeling--how, when the waggon made a great lurch going over a ditch, she had uttered a little scream, and laid strenuous hands of appeal upon the white sleeved arm, and how, when they came to another ditch, a brown palm had held fast to her trembling hand until the danger was over. Halfway in the barn door he made the oxen stop, until she had stood on tip toe, and put her hand among the little swallows in a nest under the eaves. Ah, what was there in the memory of new-mown hay to fill her with this sharp sweet pain? She awoke from her dream to a consciousness that the gentleman beside her was saying that it was sufficiently clear to every enlightened understanding that unless tum tum tum tum measures were instantly adopted mum mum mum mum would be the inevitable result.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
'Now girl number twenty
'Now girl number twenty,' said Mr. Gradgrind. 'You know what a horse is.'
She curtseyed again, and would have blushed deeper, if she could have blushed deeper than she had blushed all this time. Bitzer, after rapidly blinking at Thomas Gradgrind with both eyes at once, and so catching the light upon his quivering ends of lashes that they looked like the antennae of busy insects, put his knuckles to his freckled forehead, and sat down again.
The third gentleman now stepped forth. A mighty man at cutting and drying, he was; a government officer; in his way (and in most other people's too), a professed pugilist; always in training, always with a system to force down the general throat like a bolus, always to be heard of at the bar of his little Public-office, ready to fight all England. To continue in fistic phraseology, he had a genius for coming up to the scratch, wherever and whatever it was, and proving himself an ugly customer. He would go in and damage any subject whatever with his right, follow up with his left, stop, exchange, counter, bore his opponent (he always fought All England) to the ropes, and fall upon him neatly. He was certain to knock the wind out of common sense, and render that unlucky adversary deaf to the call of time. And he had it in charge from high authority to bring about the great public-office Millennium, when Commissioners should reign upon earth.
'Very well,' said this gentleman, briskly smiling, and folding his arms. 'That's a horse. Now, let me ask you girls and boys, Would you paper a room with representations of horses?'
After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, 'Yes, sir!' Upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman's face that Yes was wrong, cried out in chorus, 'No, sir!' - as the custom is, in these examinations.
'Of course, No. Why wouldn't you?'
A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner of breathing, ventured the answer, Because he wouldn't paper a room at all, but would paint it.
'You must paper it,' said the gentleman, rather warmly.
'You must paper it,' said Thomas Gradgrind, 'whether you like it or not. Don't tell us you wouldn't paper it. What do you mean, boy?'
'I'll explain to you, then,' said the gentleman, after another and a dismal pause, 'why you wouldn't paper a room with representations of horses. Do you ever see horses walking up and down the sides of rooms in reality - in fact? Do you?'
'Yes, sir!' from one half. 'No, sir!' from the other.
'Of course no,' said the gentleman, with an indignant look at the wrong half. 'Why, then, you are not to see anywhere, what you don't see in fact; you are not to have anywhere, what you don't have in fact. What is called Taste, is only another name for Fact.' Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation.
'This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery,' said the gentleman. 'Now, I'll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a room. Would you use a carpet having a representation of flowers upon it?'
There being a general conviction by this time that 'No, sir!' was always the right answer to this gentleman, the chorus of NO was very strong. Only a few feeble stragglers said Yes: among them Sissy Jupe.
She curtseyed again, and would have blushed deeper, if she could have blushed deeper than she had blushed all this time. Bitzer, after rapidly blinking at Thomas Gradgrind with both eyes at once, and so catching the light upon his quivering ends of lashes that they looked like the antennae of busy insects, put his knuckles to his freckled forehead, and sat down again.
The third gentleman now stepped forth. A mighty man at cutting and drying, he was; a government officer; in his way (and in most other people's too), a professed pugilist; always in training, always with a system to force down the general throat like a bolus, always to be heard of at the bar of his little Public-office, ready to fight all England. To continue in fistic phraseology, he had a genius for coming up to the scratch, wherever and whatever it was, and proving himself an ugly customer. He would go in and damage any subject whatever with his right, follow up with his left, stop, exchange, counter, bore his opponent (he always fought All England) to the ropes, and fall upon him neatly. He was certain to knock the wind out of common sense, and render that unlucky adversary deaf to the call of time. And he had it in charge from high authority to bring about the great public-office Millennium, when Commissioners should reign upon earth.
'Very well,' said this gentleman, briskly smiling, and folding his arms. 'That's a horse. Now, let me ask you girls and boys, Would you paper a room with representations of horses?'
After a pause, one half of the children cried in chorus, 'Yes, sir!' Upon which the other half, seeing in the gentleman's face that Yes was wrong, cried out in chorus, 'No, sir!' - as the custom is, in these examinations.
'Of course, No. Why wouldn't you?'
A pause. One corpulent slow boy, with a wheezy manner of breathing, ventured the answer, Because he wouldn't paper a room at all, but would paint it.
'You must paper it,' said the gentleman, rather warmly.
'You must paper it,' said Thomas Gradgrind, 'whether you like it or not. Don't tell us you wouldn't paper it. What do you mean, boy?'
'I'll explain to you, then,' said the gentleman, after another and a dismal pause, 'why you wouldn't paper a room with representations of horses. Do you ever see horses walking up and down the sides of rooms in reality - in fact? Do you?'
'Yes, sir!' from one half. 'No, sir!' from the other.
'Of course no,' said the gentleman, with an indignant look at the wrong half. 'Why, then, you are not to see anywhere, what you don't see in fact; you are not to have anywhere, what you don't have in fact. What is called Taste, is only another name for Fact.' Thomas Gradgrind nodded his approbation.
'This is a new principle, a discovery, a great discovery,' said the gentleman. 'Now, I'll try you again. Suppose you were going to carpet a room. Would you use a carpet having a representation of flowers upon it?'
There being a general conviction by this time that 'No, sir!' was always the right answer to this gentleman, the chorus of NO was very strong. Only a few feeble stragglers said Yes: among them Sissy Jupe.
” “The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market
“Who?”
“The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market.” I described the publicityshot on the PlayHouse wall. “The Dowd kids plus one. Maybe there’s someone elsewho can fill us in about the good old days.”
He said, “You feel like researching the history of bubblegum music, be myguest. I need another face-to-face with the sib who really ain’t one. Startingwith a drop-in at the BNB office. If Brad’s not there, it’s over to his house.Eventually, a day at the beach will be on the agenda.”
I said, “Think Billy even knows he owns the Latigo property?”
“Brad bought it and put it in Billy’s name?”
“Brad lives near the ocean, has surfed enough to grow knots on his knees.Meaning he knows Malibu.A nice, secluded oceanview lot on the land-side might appeal to him, especiallyif it was paid for with Billy’s money. Being in charge of family finances, Bradcould get Billy to sign on the dotted line. Or just forge Billy’s name.Meanwhile, Billy pays the property tax and doesn’t have a clue.”
“The assessor says there are no structures on the lot. What would Brad useit for?”
“Meditation, planning a dream house, burying bodies.”
“Billy pays, Brad plays,” he says. “Nora’s no business type, either. MeaningBrad can basically do what he wants with all the money.” He rubbed his face.“All this time, I’ve been looking for Peaty’s stash spots, but Brad has accessto dozens of buildings and garages all over the county.”
“He came right out and told us he stores his cars in some of theproperties.”
“He did, indeed. What was that, playing mind games?”
“Or bragging about his collection. This is a guy who needs to feelimportant. I’m wondering if it could’ve been him watching Angeline Wassermanfrom that Range Rover.”
“Why would it be him?”
“Last time I saw him, he had on a nice linen suit. There were a bunch justlike it hanging from a rack at the Barneys outlet.”
“Snappy dresser,” he said. “Maybe a regular, just like Wasserman. Heobserves her, knows she’s absentminded, lifts her purse.”
“The goal was to get her phone, he couldn’t ’ve have cared less about themoney or the credit cards,” I said. “The more I think about that, the better Ilike it: well-dressed middle-aged guy who shops there all the time, no reasonto suspect him. Angeline might know his face but the Rover’s tinted windowswould’ve prevented her from realizing it was him. It was his ride sheconcentrated on, anyway—‘twinsie karma.’”
He retrieved Wasserman’s number from his pad and punched it. “Ms. Wasserman?Lieutenant Sturgis, again…I know you are but just one more question, okay?There’s a gentleman who shops at the outlet regularly, mid-forties,nice-looking, white hair—you do…oh…no, it’s more…maybe…okay, thanks…no, that’sit.”
He hung up. “‘That’s Brad, I see him all the time. Did he have something stolen,too ?’”
“Seeing him as a victim, not a suspect,” I said, “because he’s well-off andstylish.”
“You got it. ‘Great guy, terrific taste, you should see the gorgeous cars hedrives, Lieutenant, each time a different one.’ Turns out Angeline and ol’ Bradask each other’s opinions about outfits all the time. He’s always honest but hedoes it with ‘sensitivity.’”
“The kiddie-pop group Amelia tried to market.” I described the publicityshot on the PlayHouse wall. “The Dowd kids plus one. Maybe there’s someone elsewho can fill us in about the good old days.”
He said, “You feel like researching the history of bubblegum music, be myguest. I need another face-to-face with the sib who really ain’t one. Startingwith a drop-in at the BNB office. If Brad’s not there, it’s over to his house.Eventually, a day at the beach will be on the agenda.”
I said, “Think Billy even knows he owns the Latigo property?”
“Brad bought it and put it in Billy’s name?”
“Brad lives near the ocean, has surfed enough to grow knots on his knees.Meaning he knows Malibu.A nice, secluded oceanview lot on the land-side might appeal to him, especiallyif it was paid for with Billy’s money. Being in charge of family finances, Bradcould get Billy to sign on the dotted line. Or just forge Billy’s name.Meanwhile, Billy pays the property tax and doesn’t have a clue.”
“The assessor says there are no structures on the lot. What would Brad useit for?”
“Meditation, planning a dream house, burying bodies.”
“Billy pays, Brad plays,” he says. “Nora’s no business type, either. MeaningBrad can basically do what he wants with all the money.” He rubbed his face.“All this time, I’ve been looking for Peaty’s stash spots, but Brad has accessto dozens of buildings and garages all over the county.”
“He came right out and told us he stores his cars in some of theproperties.”
“He did, indeed. What was that, playing mind games?”
“Or bragging about his collection. This is a guy who needs to feelimportant. I’m wondering if it could’ve been him watching Angeline Wassermanfrom that Range Rover.”
“Why would it be him?”
“Last time I saw him, he had on a nice linen suit. There were a bunch justlike it hanging from a rack at the Barneys outlet.”
“Snappy dresser,” he said. “Maybe a regular, just like Wasserman. Heobserves her, knows she’s absentminded, lifts her purse.”
“The goal was to get her phone, he couldn’t ’ve have cared less about themoney or the credit cards,” I said. “The more I think about that, the better Ilike it: well-dressed middle-aged guy who shops there all the time, no reasonto suspect him. Angeline might know his face but the Rover’s tinted windowswould’ve prevented her from realizing it was him. It was his ride sheconcentrated on, anyway—‘twinsie karma.’”
He retrieved Wasserman’s number from his pad and punched it. “Ms. Wasserman?Lieutenant Sturgis, again…I know you are but just one more question, okay?There’s a gentleman who shops at the outlet regularly, mid-forties,nice-looking, white hair—you do…oh…no, it’s more…maybe…okay, thanks…no, that’sit.”
He hung up. “‘That’s Brad, I see him all the time. Did he have something stolen,too ?’”
“Seeing him as a victim, not a suspect,” I said, “because he’s well-off andstylish.”
“You got it. ‘Great guy, terrific taste, you should see the gorgeous cars hedrives, Lieutenant, each time a different one.’ Turns out Angeline and ol’ Bradask each other’s opinions about outfits all the time. He’s always honest but hedoes it with ‘sensitivity.’”
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
“You could even be the one to supervise me
“You could even be the one to supervise me, and if you had to rig me up like a Christmas tree to make sure I wasn’t cheating, I’d have no problem with that.”
“I see,” Jeremy said, thinking of Uri Geller. Geller had been so confident of his powers of telekinesis that he’d gone on British television in 1973, where he’d appeared before scientists and a studio audience. When he balanced a spoon on his finger, both sides began to curve downward before the stupefied observers. Only later did it come out that he’d bent the spoon over and over before the show, producing metal fatigue.
Doris seemed to know just what he was thinking.
“Tell you what . . . you can test me anytime, in any way you’d like. But that’s not why you came. You want to hear about the ghosts, right?”
“Sure,” Jeremy said, relieved to get straight into it. “Do you mind if I record this?”
“Not at all.”
Jeremy reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the small recorder. He set it between them and pressed the appropriate buttons. Doris took a sip of coffee before beginning.
“Okay, the story goes back to the 1890s or thereabouts. Back then, this town was still segregated, and most of the Negroes lived out in a place called Watts Landing. There’s nothing left of the village these days because of Hazel, but back then—”
“Excuse me . . . Hazel?”
“The hurricane? Nineteen fifty-four. Hit the coast near the South Carolina border. It pretty much put most of Boone Creek underwater, and what was left of Watts Landing was washed away.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“Anyway, like I was saying, you won’t find the village now, but back near the turn of the century, I guess about three hundred people lived there. Most of them were descended from the slaves that had come up from South Carolina during the War of Northern Aggression, or what you Yankees call the Civil War.”
She winked and Jeremy smiled.
“So Union Pacific came through to set the railroad lines, which, of course, was supposed to turn this place into a big cosmopolitan area. Or so they promised. And the line they proposed ran right through the Negro cemetery. Now, the leader of that town was a woman named Hettie Doubilet. She was from the Caribbean—I don’t know which island—but when she found out that they were supposed to dig up all the bodies and transfer them to another place, she got upset and tried to get the county to do something to have the route changed. But the folks that ran the county wouldn’t consider it. Wouldn’t even grant her the opportunity to make her case.”
At that moment, Rachel arrived with the sandwiches. She set both plates on the table.
“Try it,” Doris said. “You’re skin and bones, anyway.”
Jeremy reached for his sandwich and took a bite. He raised his eyebrows and Doris smiled.
“Better than anything you can find in New York, isn’t it?”
“Without a doubt. My compliments to the chef.”
She looked at him almost coquettishly. “You are a charmer, Mr. Marsh,” she said, and Jeremy was struck by the thought that in her youth, she must have broken a few hearts. She went on with her story, as if she’d never stopped.
While speaking she surrendered her hand to the young man
While speaking she surrendered her hand to the young man, and he kissed it between her sentences without her seeming to notice it.
"But the worst of it all, you know," she resumed, "is your absence. In the first place, you might say something to Madame Berthier; and besides, we shall not be able to get a good _ensemble_ if you never come."
He had now succeeded in passing his arm round her waist.
"But as I know my part," he murmured.
"Yes, that's all very well; but there's the arrangement of the scenes to look after. It is anything but obliging on your part to refuse to give us three or four mornings."
She was unable to continue, for he was raining a shower of kisses on her neck. At this she could feign ignorance no longer, but pushed him away, tapping him the while with the Chinese fan which she still retained in her hand. Doubtless, she had registered a vow that she would not allow any further familiarity. Her face was now flushed by the heat reflected from the fire, and her lips pouted with the very expression of an inquisitive person whom her feelings astonish. Moreover, she was really getting frightened.
"Leave me alone," she stammered, with a constrained smile. "I shall get angry."
But he imagined that he had moved her, and once more took hold of her hands. To her, however, a voice seemed to be crying out, "No!" It was she herself protesting before she had even answered her own heart.
"No, no!" she said again. "Let me go; you are hurting me!" And thereupon, as he refused to release her, she twisted herself violently from his grasp. She was acting in obedience to some strange emotion; she felt angry with herself and with him. In her agitation some disjointed phrases escaped her lips. Yes, indeed, he rewarded her badly for her trust. What a brute he was! She even called him a coward. Never in her life would she see him again. But he allowed her to talk on, and ran after her with a wicked and brutal laugh. And at last she could do no more than gasp in the momentary refuge which she had sought behind a chair. They were there, gazing at one another, her face transformed by shame and his by passion, when a noise broke through the stillness. At first they did not grasp its significance. A door had opened, some steps crossed the room, and a voice called to them:
"Fly! fly,Discount UGG Boots! You will be caught!"
It was Helene,knockoff handbags. Astounded, they both gazed at her. So great was their stupefaction that they lost consciousness of their embarrassing situation. Juliette indeed displayed no sign of confusion.
"Fly! fly,mont blanc pens!" said Helene again,shox torch 2. "Your husband will be here in two minutes."
"My husband!" stammered the young woman; "my husband!--why--for what reason?"
She was losing her wits. Her brain was in a turmoil. It seemed to her prodigious that Helene should be standing there speaking to her of her husband.
But Helene made an angry gesture.
"Oh! if you think I've time to explain," said she,--"he is on the way here. I give you warning. Disappear at once, both of you."
Then Juliette's agitation became extraordinary. She ran about the rooms like a maniac, screaming out disconnected sentences.
Is it a grub--a caterpillar--a spider
"Is it a grub--a caterpillar--a spider?" These horrors were mentioned in the order of their detestability, and with a rising accent.
"Really, I wouldn't like to say, unless you remove the bonnet." She gave a convulsive twitch to the strings, and pulled them into a hard knot. "Can't you brush it off?" she asked Edward breathlessly.
"Pray do not be so alarmed. No, indeed, I couldn't brush it off. It sticks too fast for that. I wish," he said,replica mont blanc pens, as she made a frantic lurch towards him, "that you could be mild but firm--I mean not quite so agitated." Her breath came in quick perfumed wafts into his face, as his steady fingers strove to undo the knot in her ribbons. But even after this lengthy business was concluded his trouble (if it could rightly be called a trouble) was only half over, for the careful Rose, with a prudent foreknowledge of the power of lake breezes to disarrange, if not carry away altogether, the headgear of helpless woman, had by some ingenious arrangement of hair-pins fastened the bonnet to the raven locks of her friend in such a manner that it could not be removed without endangering the structure of her elaborate hair-architecture. So it was among the dark waves of rapidly down-flowing tresses that Helene's voice was again heard beseeching him to tell her what it was.
"Your scientific curiosity seems to be almost as great as your fear of the insect creation. But,nike shox torch 2, really, it is quite a harmless little fellow. See!" and he pointed to a steel beetle set with a view to ornamental effect in the centre of a little rosette of ribbons.
"Oh, shameless!" exclaimed the young girl, sinking her lily-white face again among the abundant waves of her hair.
"Yes, I daresay he is ashamed enough to think that he isn't alive when he sees that you regret it so much."
It is very annoying to be obliged to laugh when one has just made up one's mind to be very angry; but Mademoiselle DeBerczy, with all her haughtiness, was endowed with a sense of humour; so it was with only a weak show of reproachful indignation that she at last threw back her head and exclaimed:
"How could you--when I have such a horror of every sort of creeping thing--and you knew what it was all the time!"
"Oh, excuse me, I did not know--that is, I wasn't positive. At a distance I thought it was some sort of a big fly--a blue-bottle. Now I see it is a blue beetle."
The young lady deigned no reply.
"I am sorry that you were frightened, but you don't seem to be a bit sorry on account of my sufferings."
"Your sufferings?"
"Yes, see how surprised you are even to know that they existed! But they are over now. At frequent intervals, all through this long voyage,moncler jackets women, I have been forced to look at a heavenly body through a telescope--that is, when I could get the telescope properly adjusted to my vision. The difficulties of adjustment have cost me a world of trouble."
She gazed at him a moment in wide-eyed amazement, and then without attempting to solve the riddle of his remarks, proceeded to reduce her wind-blown locks to something like their usual law and order. The dark heavy waves, rioting in the breeze, seemed to offer a problem to the deft white fingers that fluttered among them, but they were speedily subjugated, and the despised bonnet was added as the crowning touch. Not a moment too soon, for the boat grated on the sandy beach, and the austere windows of her home were looking coldly down upon her. A pair of austere eyes were also fixedly regarding her; but of this Helene was happily unconscious. Perhaps it was the instinct of hospitality alone that made her smile so brightly upon the brother of her friend, as they walked up to the house together. The grounds about "Bellevue," not so ample as those surrounding the home of the old Commodore,Discount UGG Boots, gave equal evidence of wealth and taste, and reminded one of a little park set in the midst of the wilderness. The garden borders were bright with crocuses and snowdrops and rich in promises of future bloom, while from the orchard slopes on the left came a fair vision of wall-like masses of foliage, frescoed with blossoms and the perfumed touch of the blithe breezes at play among them. Entering the quaint, dimly-lighted hall, they passed under long plumes of peacock feathers, o'erhanging the arched doorway leading into the drawing-room. The floors were waxed and polished, the apartments spacious and lofty with elaborate cornices and panels. Leaving her guest in mute contemplation of a tiny wood fire in a great fire-place, the young girl ran lightly up the broad, low stairway, pausing at the half-way landing to gaze dreamily from a casemated window out upon the sparkling waters of the lake. Some of its brightness was reflected in her eyes, as, with a step less discreet and deferential than that which usually characterized her approaches to her mother's bedchamber, she passed on to a half-closed door, tapped lightly upon it, and then pushed it wide open.
He was wearing a blue work-shirt
He was wearing a blue work-shirt. It was buttoned neatly all the way to the loose, razor-reddened flesh of his neck, although he wore no tie. The bottom of the shirt disappeared into a pair of blue-jeans that looked a little too big for the man who was wearing them. They ended in cuffs which lay neatly on a pair of faded yellow work-shoes which looked made for walking in a furrow of played-out earth about three and a half feet behind a mule's ass.
'Well?' he asked when Rainey continued to say nothing.
'I don't know you,' Rainey said finally. It was the first thing he'd said since he'd gotten up off the couch and come to answer the door, and it sounded sublimely stupid in his own cars.
'I know that,' said the man,fake uggs boots. 'That doesn't matter. I know you, Mr Rainey. That's what matters.' And then he reiterated: 'You stole my story.'
He held out his hand, and for the first time Rainey saw that he had something in it. It was a sheaf of paper. But not just any old sheaf of paper; it was a manuscript. After you've been in the business awhile, he thought, you always recognized the look of a manuscript. Especially an unsolicited one,fake uggs.
And. belatedly, he thought: Good thing for you it wasn't a gun, Mort old kid. You would have been in hell before you knew you were dead.
And even more belatedly, he realized that he was probably dealing with one of the Crazy Folks. It was long overdue, of course; although his last three books had been best-sellers, this was his first visit from one of that fabled tribe. He felt a mixture of fear and chagrin, and his thoughts narrowed to a single point: how to get rid of the guy as fast as possible, and with as little unpleasantness as possible.
'I don't read manuscripts - ' he began.
'You read this one already,' the man with the hard-working sharecropper's face said evenly. 'You stole it.' He spoke as if stating a simple fact. like a man noting that the sun was out and it was a pleasant fall day.
All of Mort's thoughts were belated this afternoon, it seemed; he now realized for the first time how alone he was out here. He had come to the house in Tashmore Glen in early October, after two miserable months in New York; his divorce had become final just last week.
It was a big house, but it was a summer place, and Tashmore Glen was a summer town. There were maybe twenty cottages on this particular road running along the north bay of Tashmore Lake, and in July or August there would be people staying in most or all of them . . . but this wasn't July or August. It was late October. The sound of a gunshot, he realized, would probably drift away unheard. If it was heard, the hearers would simply assume someone was shooting at quail or pheasant - it was the season.
'I can assure you - '
'I know you can.' the man in the black hat said with that same unearthly patience. 'I know that.'
Behind him, Mort could see the car the man had come in. It was an old station wagon which looked as if it had seen a great many miles,fake uggs for sale, very few of them on good roads. He could see that the plate on it wasn't from the State of Maine, but couldn't tell what state it was from; he'd known for some time now that he needed to go to the optometrist and have his glasses changed, had even planned early last summer to do that little chore, but then Henry Young had called him one day in April, asking who the fellow was he'd seen Amy with at the mall - some relative, maybe? - and the suspicions which had culminated in the eerily quick and quiet no-fault divorce had begun, the shitstorm which had taken up all his time and energy these last few months,replica gucci handbags. During that time he had been doing well if he remembered to change his underwear, let alone handle more esoteric things like optometrist appointments.
'Well?' he asked when Rainey continued to say nothing.
'I don't know you,' Rainey said finally. It was the first thing he'd said since he'd gotten up off the couch and come to answer the door, and it sounded sublimely stupid in his own cars.
'I know that,' said the man,fake uggs boots. 'That doesn't matter. I know you, Mr Rainey. That's what matters.' And then he reiterated: 'You stole my story.'
He held out his hand, and for the first time Rainey saw that he had something in it. It was a sheaf of paper. But not just any old sheaf of paper; it was a manuscript. After you've been in the business awhile, he thought, you always recognized the look of a manuscript. Especially an unsolicited one,fake uggs.
And. belatedly, he thought: Good thing for you it wasn't a gun, Mort old kid. You would have been in hell before you knew you were dead.
And even more belatedly, he realized that he was probably dealing with one of the Crazy Folks. It was long overdue, of course; although his last three books had been best-sellers, this was his first visit from one of that fabled tribe. He felt a mixture of fear and chagrin, and his thoughts narrowed to a single point: how to get rid of the guy as fast as possible, and with as little unpleasantness as possible.
'I don't read manuscripts - ' he began.
'You read this one already,' the man with the hard-working sharecropper's face said evenly. 'You stole it.' He spoke as if stating a simple fact. like a man noting that the sun was out and it was a pleasant fall day.
All of Mort's thoughts were belated this afternoon, it seemed; he now realized for the first time how alone he was out here. He had come to the house in Tashmore Glen in early October, after two miserable months in New York; his divorce had become final just last week.
It was a big house, but it was a summer place, and Tashmore Glen was a summer town. There were maybe twenty cottages on this particular road running along the north bay of Tashmore Lake, and in July or August there would be people staying in most or all of them . . . but this wasn't July or August. It was late October. The sound of a gunshot, he realized, would probably drift away unheard. If it was heard, the hearers would simply assume someone was shooting at quail or pheasant - it was the season.
'I can assure you - '
'I know you can.' the man in the black hat said with that same unearthly patience. 'I know that.'
Behind him, Mort could see the car the man had come in. It was an old station wagon which looked as if it had seen a great many miles,fake uggs for sale, very few of them on good roads. He could see that the plate on it wasn't from the State of Maine, but couldn't tell what state it was from; he'd known for some time now that he needed to go to the optometrist and have his glasses changed, had even planned early last summer to do that little chore, but then Henry Young had called him one day in April, asking who the fellow was he'd seen Amy with at the mall - some relative, maybe? - and the suspicions which had culminated in the eerily quick and quiet no-fault divorce had begun, the shitstorm which had taken up all his time and energy these last few months,replica gucci handbags. During that time he had been doing well if he remembered to change his underwear, let alone handle more esoteric things like optometrist appointments.
Guardian angels apparently could not be relied on in a pinch
Guardian angels apparently could not be relied on in a pinch. Mysterious Caller had never seemed much like an angel, anyway: too spooky looking, his style too ominous, and such sorrow in his eyes.
As Moloch backed out of the parking stall, Fric wondered what had happened to Mr. Truman. He must be dead. When he focused on the thought of Mr. Truman dead, Fric discovered that the semiparalytic inhalant didn’t prevent him from crying.
Entering the upper garage by way of the stairs, Ethan heard the growl of an engine, smelled exhaust fumes.
[580] The Buick was poised for flight at the foot of the exit ramp, where the garage door had almost finished rolling up and out of its way.
A man behind the wheel. One man. No accomplices in the backseat. No gunmen elsewhere in the garage.
The passenger’s side of the car was nearest to Ethan as he ran toward it. Against the side window at the front, Fric’s tousled head was tipped against the glass. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, but the head seemed to loll, as if Fric were unconscious.
Ethan almost reached the Buick before the rising door provided clearance. Then the car jumped toward the door and the ramp beyond at such acceleration that a man on foot couldn’t catch it.
Stepping from a run into an isosceles shooting stance, squarely facing the target, right leg quartering back for balance, left knee flexed, both hands on the weapon, Ethan risked three quick shots, aiming low in fear of hitting Fric with a ricochet, targeting the rear tire on the passenger’s side,nike shox torch 2.
The fender skirt shielded almost half the wheel, giving him a narrow window in which to place the shot. One round pocked metal, one went wide,knockoff handbags, but one popped the tire.
The car sagged back and to one side. Kept going. Still too fast to be chased down. The slap-slap-slap of loose rubber marked its ascent along the lower half of the ramp.
The quartzite paving provided good traction, dry or wet, but the Buick’s rear tires spun briefly, churning up a spray of dirty water and blue smoke, maybe because of the cant to the right.
As Ethan closed the gap once more, the Buick found its footing, lunged forward, upward. Spin-shredded rubber flapped louder than before, and the exposed wheel rim bit at the quartzite with a sound like a stone saw cutting cobbles.
When Ethan reached the top of the ramp, he saw the car following the driveway along the side of the mansion. Heading toward the front,mont blanc pens. Forty feet away. Making speed in spite of being crippled. Nothing to stop it from grinding all the way to the distant gate, [581] which opened automatically from the inside when sensors buried in the pavement of the exit lane detected traffic.
Ethan gave chase. He couldn’t catch the car. No hope.
He pursued anyway because he could do nothing else. Too late to go back,shox torch 2, get keys, another car. By the time he was driving out of the garage, the Buick would have cleared the main gate and vanished. He ran, ran, splashing through cold puddles, ran, pumping his arms and trying to compensate for the weight, the bulk, of the pistol in his right hand, because running well was a matter of balance, ran, ran, because if Fric were killed, then Ethan Truman would be a dead man, too, dead inside, and would spend the rest of his time in this world looking for a grave, a walking corpse as sure as Dunny Whistler ever had been.
As Moloch backed out of the parking stall, Fric wondered what had happened to Mr. Truman. He must be dead. When he focused on the thought of Mr. Truman dead, Fric discovered that the semiparalytic inhalant didn’t prevent him from crying.
Entering the upper garage by way of the stairs, Ethan heard the growl of an engine, smelled exhaust fumes.
[580] The Buick was poised for flight at the foot of the exit ramp, where the garage door had almost finished rolling up and out of its way.
A man behind the wheel. One man. No accomplices in the backseat. No gunmen elsewhere in the garage.
The passenger’s side of the car was nearest to Ethan as he ran toward it. Against the side window at the front, Fric’s tousled head was tipped against the glass. He couldn’t see the boy’s face, but the head seemed to loll, as if Fric were unconscious.
Ethan almost reached the Buick before the rising door provided clearance. Then the car jumped toward the door and the ramp beyond at such acceleration that a man on foot couldn’t catch it.
Stepping from a run into an isosceles shooting stance, squarely facing the target, right leg quartering back for balance, left knee flexed, both hands on the weapon, Ethan risked three quick shots, aiming low in fear of hitting Fric with a ricochet, targeting the rear tire on the passenger’s side,nike shox torch 2.
The fender skirt shielded almost half the wheel, giving him a narrow window in which to place the shot. One round pocked metal, one went wide,knockoff handbags, but one popped the tire.
The car sagged back and to one side. Kept going. Still too fast to be chased down. The slap-slap-slap of loose rubber marked its ascent along the lower half of the ramp.
The quartzite paving provided good traction, dry or wet, but the Buick’s rear tires spun briefly, churning up a spray of dirty water and blue smoke, maybe because of the cant to the right.
As Ethan closed the gap once more, the Buick found its footing, lunged forward, upward. Spin-shredded rubber flapped louder than before, and the exposed wheel rim bit at the quartzite with a sound like a stone saw cutting cobbles.
When Ethan reached the top of the ramp, he saw the car following the driveway along the side of the mansion. Heading toward the front,mont blanc pens. Forty feet away. Making speed in spite of being crippled. Nothing to stop it from grinding all the way to the distant gate, [581] which opened automatically from the inside when sensors buried in the pavement of the exit lane detected traffic.
Ethan gave chase. He couldn’t catch the car. No hope.
He pursued anyway because he could do nothing else. Too late to go back,shox torch 2, get keys, another car. By the time he was driving out of the garage, the Buick would have cleared the main gate and vanished. He ran, ran, splashing through cold puddles, ran, pumping his arms and trying to compensate for the weight, the bulk, of the pistol in his right hand, because running well was a matter of balance, ran, ran, because if Fric were killed, then Ethan Truman would be a dead man, too, dead inside, and would spend the rest of his time in this world looking for a grave, a walking corpse as sure as Dunny Whistler ever had been.
Monday, November 19, 2012
“道格拉斯夫人结婚以前
“道格拉斯夫人结婚以前，你认识她吗？”
“不，我不认识她。我离开英国已经有十年了。”
“可是从那以后，你常常和她见面吧？”
巴克严肃地望着那个侦探。
“从那时期，我常常和她见面，"巴克回答道，“至于我和她见面，那是因为你不可能去拜访一个朋友，而不认识他的妻子。假使你想象其中有什么牵连……”
“巴克先生，我什么也没有想象。凡是与这案件有关的每一件事，我都有责任查问。不过，我不打算冒犯你。”
“有些责问就是无礼的，"巴克怒气冲冲地答道。
“这只不过是我们需要了解一些事实，弄清这些事实对你和大家都有好处。你和道格拉斯夫人的友情，道格拉斯先生完全赞成吗？”
巴克脸色更加苍白，两只有力的大手痉挛似地紧握在一起。
“你没有权力问这样的问题！"他大声喊道，“这和你所调查的事情有什么关系呢？”
“我一定要提这个问题。”
“那么，我拒绝回答。”
“你可以拒绝回答，不过你要知道，你拒绝回答本身就是回答，因为你如果没有需要隐瞒的事，你就不会拒绝回答了。”
巴克绷着脸站了一会儿，那双浓重的黑眉皱起来，苦思不已。然后他又微笑着抬起头来说道：“嗯，不管怎么说，我想诸位先生们毕竟是在执行公事。我没有权力从中阻梗。我只想请求你们不要让这件事再去烦扰道格拉斯夫人了，因为她现在已经够受的了。我可以告诉你们,replica gucci wallets，可怜的道格拉斯就是有一个缺点，就是他的嫉妒心。他对我非常友爱——没有人对朋友比他对我更友爱了。他对妻子的爱情也非常专一。他愿意叫我到这里来，并且经常派人去找我来。可是如果他的妻子和我一起谈话或是我和他妻子之间好象有些互相同情的时候，他就会大发醋劲，勃然大怒，马上说出最粗野的话来。我曾不止一次为此发誓不再到这里来。可是事后他又给我写信，向我表示忏悔，哀求我，我也只好不计较这些了。不过，先生们，你们可以听我说一句结论性的话，那就是，天下再也没有象道格拉斯夫人这样爱丈夫、忠诚于丈夫的妻子；我还敢说，天下也没有比我更忠诚的朋友了。”
话说得热情洋溢、感情真挚，然而警官麦克唐纳还是没有转移话题，他问道：“你知道死者的结婚戒指被人从手指上取走了吧？”
“看来象是这样，"巴克说道。
“你说'看来象'是什么意思？你知道这是事实啊。”
巴克这时看来有些惊惶不安和犹豫不决。他说道：“我说'看来象'，意思是，说不定是他自己把戒指取下来的呢。”
“事实是戒指既然已经不见了，不管是什么人取下的，任何人都会由此想到一个问题：这婚姻和这桩惨案会不会有什么联系呢？”
巴克耸了耸他那宽阔的肩膀。
“我不能硬说它使人想起什么，"巴克答道，“可是如果你暗示：这件事不管是什么理由，可能反映出不利于道格拉斯夫人名誉的问题的话，"一瞬间，他双目燃起了怒火，然后他显然是拚命地克制住了自己的感情，“那么，你们的思路就算是引入歧途了。我要说的话就是这些。”
“我想，现在我没有什么事要问你了，"麦克唐纳冷冷地说道。
“还有一个小问题。"歇洛克•福尔摩斯提问道，“当你走进这间屋子的时候，桌上只是点着一支蜡烛，是吗？”
“对，是这样。”
“你就从烛光中看到了发生的可怕事情吗？”
“不错。”
“你就马上按铃求援了吗？”
“对。”
“他们来得非常快吗？”
“大概在一分钟之内就都来了。”
“可是他们来到的时候，看到蜡烛已经熄灭，油灯已经点上，这似乎有点奇怪吧。”
巴克又现出有些犹豫不决的样子。
“福尔摩斯先生，我看不出这有什么奇怪的，"停了一下，他才答道，“蜡烛光很暗，我首先想到的是让屋子更亮一些。正好这灯就在桌子上，所以我就把灯点上了。”
“你把蜡烛吹灭的吗？”
“是的。”
福尔摩斯没有再提什么问题。巴克不慌不忙地看了我们每个人一眼，转身走出去。我觉得，他的行动似乎反映着对立情绪。
警官麦克唐纳派人给道格拉斯夫人送去一张纸条，大意是说，他将到她卧室去拜访，可是她回答说，她要在餐室中会见我们。她现在走进来了，是个年方三十、身材颀长、容貌秀美的女子，沉默寡言，极为冷静沉着。我本以为她一定悲惨不安、心烦意乱，谁知却完全不是那样。她确实面色苍白而瘦削，正象一个受过极大震惊的人一样，可是她的举止却镇静自若，她那纤秀的手扶在桌上，和我的手一样，一点也没有颤抖。她那一双悲伤、哀怨的眼睛，带着异常探询的眼光扫视了我们大家一眼。她那探询的目光突然转化成出岂不意的话语，问道：“你们可有什么发现么？”
这难道是我的想象么？为什么她发问的时候带着惊恐，而不是希望的口气呢？
“道格拉斯夫人，我们已经采取了一切可能的措施，"麦克唐纳说道，“你尽可放心，我们不会忽略什么的。”
“请不要吝惜金钱，"她毫无表情、心平气和地说道，“我要求你们尽一切力量去查清。”
“或许你能告诉我们有助于查清这件案子的事吧？”
“恐怕说不好，但我所知道的一切，都可以告诉你们。”
“我们听塞西尔•巴克先生说你实际上没有看到，也就是说，你并没有到发生惨案的屋子里面去，对吗？”
“没有去，巴克让我回到楼上去了。他恳求我回到我的卧室去。”
“确实是这样，你听到了枪声，而且马上就下楼了。”
“我穿上睡衣就下楼了。”
“从你听到枪声，到巴克先生在楼下阻拦你，中间隔了多少时候？”
“大约有两分钟吧，在这样的时刻是很难计算时间的。巴克先生恳求我不要前去。他说我是无能为力的。后来，女管家艾伦太太就把我扶回楼上了。这真象是一场可怕的恶梦。”
“你能不能大体上告诉我们，你丈夫下楼多久你就听到了枪声？”
“不，我说不清楚。因为他是从更衣室下楼的，我没有听到他走出去。因为他怕失火，所以每天晚上都要在庄园里绕一圈。我只知道他唯一害怕的东西就是火灾。”
“道格拉斯夫人，这正是我想要谈到的问题。你和你丈夫是在英国才认识的，对不对？”
“对，我们已经结婚五年了。”
“你听到他讲过在美洲发生过什么危及到他的事吗？”
道格拉斯夫人认真地思索了一会儿才答道，“对，我总觉得有一种危险在时刻威胁着他，但他不肯与我商量。这并不是因为他不信任我，顺便说一句，我们夫妻一向无比恩爱，推心置腹，而是因为他不想叫我担惊受怕。他认为如果我知道了一切，就会惊惶不安。所以他就不声不响了。”
“那你是怎么知道的呢？”
道格拉斯夫人脸上掠过一丝笑容，说道：“做丈夫的一生保守着秘密，而热爱着他的女人却一点也觉察不出，这可能吗？我是从许多方面知道的：从他避而不谈他在美洲生活的某些片段；从他采取的某些防范措施；从他偶尔流露出来的某些言语,knockoff handbags；从他注视某些不速之客的方式。我可以完全肯定，他有一些有势力的仇人，他确知他们正在追踪他，所以他总是在防备着他们。因为我深信这点，所以这几年来，只要他回来得比预料得晚，我就非常惊恐。”
“我可以问一句吗？"福尔摩斯说道，“哪些话引起你注意呢？”
“'恐怖谷',UGG Clerance，"妇人回答道，“这就是我追问他时，他用的词儿。他说：‘我一直身陷"恐怖谷"中，至今也无从摆脱。''难道我们就永远摆脱不开这"恐怖谷"了吗？'我看到他更失常时曾这样问过他。他回答说，'有时我想，我们永远也摆脱不了啦,fake uggs for sale。'”
“你想必问过他，‘恐怖谷'是什么意思吧？”
“我问过他，可是他一听就脸色阴沉，连连摇头说：‘我们两个人中有一个处于它的魔影笼罩之下，这就够糟糕的了。''但愿上帝保佑，这不会落到你的头上。'这一定是有某一个真正的山谷，他曾在那里住过，而且在那里曾有一些可怕的事情在他身上发生——这一点，我敢肯定——其它我就再没有什么东西可以告诉你们的了。”
“不，我不认识她。我离开英国已经有十年了。”
“可是从那以后，你常常和她见面吧？”
巴克严肃地望着那个侦探。
“从那时期，我常常和她见面，"巴克回答道，“至于我和她见面，那是因为你不可能去拜访一个朋友，而不认识他的妻子。假使你想象其中有什么牵连……”
“巴克先生，我什么也没有想象。凡是与这案件有关的每一件事，我都有责任查问。不过，我不打算冒犯你。”
“有些责问就是无礼的，"巴克怒气冲冲地答道。
“这只不过是我们需要了解一些事实，弄清这些事实对你和大家都有好处。你和道格拉斯夫人的友情，道格拉斯先生完全赞成吗？”
巴克脸色更加苍白，两只有力的大手痉挛似地紧握在一起。
“你没有权力问这样的问题！"他大声喊道，“这和你所调查的事情有什么关系呢？”
“我一定要提这个问题。”
“那么，我拒绝回答。”
“你可以拒绝回答，不过你要知道，你拒绝回答本身就是回答，因为你如果没有需要隐瞒的事，你就不会拒绝回答了。”
巴克绷着脸站了一会儿，那双浓重的黑眉皱起来，苦思不已。然后他又微笑着抬起头来说道：“嗯，不管怎么说，我想诸位先生们毕竟是在执行公事。我没有权力从中阻梗。我只想请求你们不要让这件事再去烦扰道格拉斯夫人了，因为她现在已经够受的了。我可以告诉你们,replica gucci wallets，可怜的道格拉斯就是有一个缺点，就是他的嫉妒心。他对我非常友爱——没有人对朋友比他对我更友爱了。他对妻子的爱情也非常专一。他愿意叫我到这里来，并且经常派人去找我来。可是如果他的妻子和我一起谈话或是我和他妻子之间好象有些互相同情的时候，他就会大发醋劲，勃然大怒，马上说出最粗野的话来。我曾不止一次为此发誓不再到这里来。可是事后他又给我写信，向我表示忏悔，哀求我，我也只好不计较这些了。不过，先生们，你们可以听我说一句结论性的话，那就是，天下再也没有象道格拉斯夫人这样爱丈夫、忠诚于丈夫的妻子；我还敢说，天下也没有比我更忠诚的朋友了。”
话说得热情洋溢、感情真挚，然而警官麦克唐纳还是没有转移话题，他问道：“你知道死者的结婚戒指被人从手指上取走了吧？”
“看来象是这样，"巴克说道。
“你说'看来象'是什么意思？你知道这是事实啊。”
巴克这时看来有些惊惶不安和犹豫不决。他说道：“我说'看来象'，意思是，说不定是他自己把戒指取下来的呢。”
“事实是戒指既然已经不见了，不管是什么人取下的，任何人都会由此想到一个问题：这婚姻和这桩惨案会不会有什么联系呢？”
巴克耸了耸他那宽阔的肩膀。
“我不能硬说它使人想起什么，"巴克答道，“可是如果你暗示：这件事不管是什么理由，可能反映出不利于道格拉斯夫人名誉的问题的话，"一瞬间，他双目燃起了怒火，然后他显然是拚命地克制住了自己的感情，“那么，你们的思路就算是引入歧途了。我要说的话就是这些。”
“我想，现在我没有什么事要问你了，"麦克唐纳冷冷地说道。
“还有一个小问题。"歇洛克•福尔摩斯提问道，“当你走进这间屋子的时候，桌上只是点着一支蜡烛，是吗？”
“对，是这样。”
“你就从烛光中看到了发生的可怕事情吗？”
“不错。”
“你就马上按铃求援了吗？”
“对。”
“他们来得非常快吗？”
“大概在一分钟之内就都来了。”
“可是他们来到的时候，看到蜡烛已经熄灭，油灯已经点上，这似乎有点奇怪吧。”
巴克又现出有些犹豫不决的样子。
“福尔摩斯先生，我看不出这有什么奇怪的，"停了一下，他才答道，“蜡烛光很暗，我首先想到的是让屋子更亮一些。正好这灯就在桌子上，所以我就把灯点上了。”
“你把蜡烛吹灭的吗？”
“是的。”
福尔摩斯没有再提什么问题。巴克不慌不忙地看了我们每个人一眼，转身走出去。我觉得，他的行动似乎反映着对立情绪。
警官麦克唐纳派人给道格拉斯夫人送去一张纸条，大意是说，他将到她卧室去拜访，可是她回答说，她要在餐室中会见我们。她现在走进来了，是个年方三十、身材颀长、容貌秀美的女子，沉默寡言，极为冷静沉着。我本以为她一定悲惨不安、心烦意乱，谁知却完全不是那样。她确实面色苍白而瘦削，正象一个受过极大震惊的人一样，可是她的举止却镇静自若，她那纤秀的手扶在桌上，和我的手一样，一点也没有颤抖。她那一双悲伤、哀怨的眼睛，带着异常探询的眼光扫视了我们大家一眼。她那探询的目光突然转化成出岂不意的话语，问道：“你们可有什么发现么？”
这难道是我的想象么？为什么她发问的时候带着惊恐，而不是希望的口气呢？
“道格拉斯夫人，我们已经采取了一切可能的措施，"麦克唐纳说道，“你尽可放心，我们不会忽略什么的。”
“请不要吝惜金钱，"她毫无表情、心平气和地说道，“我要求你们尽一切力量去查清。”
“或许你能告诉我们有助于查清这件案子的事吧？”
“恐怕说不好，但我所知道的一切，都可以告诉你们。”
“我们听塞西尔•巴克先生说你实际上没有看到，也就是说，你并没有到发生惨案的屋子里面去，对吗？”
“没有去，巴克让我回到楼上去了。他恳求我回到我的卧室去。”
“确实是这样，你听到了枪声，而且马上就下楼了。”
“我穿上睡衣就下楼了。”
“从你听到枪声，到巴克先生在楼下阻拦你，中间隔了多少时候？”
“大约有两分钟吧，在这样的时刻是很难计算时间的。巴克先生恳求我不要前去。他说我是无能为力的。后来，女管家艾伦太太就把我扶回楼上了。这真象是一场可怕的恶梦。”
“你能不能大体上告诉我们，你丈夫下楼多久你就听到了枪声？”
“不，我说不清楚。因为他是从更衣室下楼的，我没有听到他走出去。因为他怕失火，所以每天晚上都要在庄园里绕一圈。我只知道他唯一害怕的东西就是火灾。”
“道格拉斯夫人，这正是我想要谈到的问题。你和你丈夫是在英国才认识的，对不对？”
“对，我们已经结婚五年了。”
“你听到他讲过在美洲发生过什么危及到他的事吗？”
道格拉斯夫人认真地思索了一会儿才答道，“对，我总觉得有一种危险在时刻威胁着他，但他不肯与我商量。这并不是因为他不信任我，顺便说一句，我们夫妻一向无比恩爱，推心置腹，而是因为他不想叫我担惊受怕。他认为如果我知道了一切，就会惊惶不安。所以他就不声不响了。”
“那你是怎么知道的呢？”
道格拉斯夫人脸上掠过一丝笑容，说道：“做丈夫的一生保守着秘密，而热爱着他的女人却一点也觉察不出，这可能吗？我是从许多方面知道的：从他避而不谈他在美洲生活的某些片段；从他采取的某些防范措施；从他偶尔流露出来的某些言语,knockoff handbags；从他注视某些不速之客的方式。我可以完全肯定，他有一些有势力的仇人，他确知他们正在追踪他，所以他总是在防备着他们。因为我深信这点，所以这几年来，只要他回来得比预料得晚，我就非常惊恐。”
“我可以问一句吗？"福尔摩斯说道，“哪些话引起你注意呢？”
“'恐怖谷',UGG Clerance，"妇人回答道，“这就是我追问他时，他用的词儿。他说：‘我一直身陷"恐怖谷"中，至今也无从摆脱。''难道我们就永远摆脱不开这"恐怖谷"了吗？'我看到他更失常时曾这样问过他。他回答说，'有时我想，我们永远也摆脱不了啦,fake uggs for sale。'”
“你想必问过他，‘恐怖谷'是什么意思吧？”
“我问过他，可是他一听就脸色阴沉，连连摇头说：‘我们两个人中有一个处于它的魔影笼罩之下，这就够糟糕的了。''但愿上帝保佑，这不会落到你的头上。'这一定是有某一个真正的山谷，他曾在那里住过，而且在那里曾有一些可怕的事情在他身上发生——这一点，我敢肯定——其它我就再没有什么东西可以告诉你们的了。”
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
You have been
"You have been, if you will pardon my expressing the opinion," said Dr. Fall moodily, "just a little bit sentimental, Farrington."
The other turned on him with an oath.
"I want none of your opinions," he said gruffly. "You will never understand how I feel about this child. I took her from her dead father, who was one of my best friends, and I confess, that in the early days the thought of exploiting her fortune did occur to me. But as the years passed she grew towards me--a new and a beautiful influence in life, Fall. It was something that I had never had before, a factor which had never occurred in my stormy career. I grew to love the child, to love her more than I love money, and that is saying a lot. I wanted to do the right thing for her, and when my speculations were going wrong and I had to borrow from her fortune I never had any doubt but what I should be able to pay it back. When all the money went,"--his voice sank until it was little more than a whisper,--"and I realized that I had ruined the one human being in the world whom I loved, I took the step which of all my crimes I have most regretted. I sent George Doughton out of the way in order that I might scheme to marry Doris to the Tollington millionaire. For I knew the man we were seeking was Doughton. I killed him," he said defiantly, "for the sake of his son's wife. Oh, the irony of it!" He raised his hand with a harsh laugh. "The comedy of it! As to Poltavo," he went on more calmly, "I let him go because, as I say, I wanted him to further my object. That he failed, or that he was remiss, does not affect the argument. Doris is safely married," he mused; "if she does not love her husband now, she will love him in time. She respects Frank Doughton, and every day that passes will solidify that respect. I know Doris, and I know something of her secret thoughts and her secret wishes. She will forget me,"--his voice shook,--"please God she will forget me."
He changed the subject quickly.
"Have you heard from Poltavo this morning?"
"Nothing at all," said Fall; "he has been communicating with somebody or other, and the usual letters have been passing. Our man says that he has a big coup on, but upon that Poltavo has not informed us."
"If I thought he was going to play us false----"
"What would you do?" asked Fall quietly. "He is out of our hands now."
There was a little buzz in one corner of the room, and Fall turned his startled gaze upon the other.
"From the signal tower," he said. "I wonder what is wrong."
High above the house was one square solitary tower, in which, day and night, a watcher was stationed. Fall went to the telephone and took down the receiver. He spoke a few words and listened, then he hung up the receiver again and turned to Farrington.
"Poltavo is in Great Bradley," he said; "one of our men has seen him and signalled to the house."
"In Great Bradley!" Farrington's eyes narrowed. "What is he doing here?"
"What was his car doing here the other day," asked Fall, "when he kidnapped Frank Doughton? It was here to throw suspicion on us and take suspicion off himself, the most obvious thing in the world."
The other turned on him with an oath.
"I want none of your opinions," he said gruffly. "You will never understand how I feel about this child. I took her from her dead father, who was one of my best friends, and I confess, that in the early days the thought of exploiting her fortune did occur to me. But as the years passed she grew towards me--a new and a beautiful influence in life, Fall. It was something that I had never had before, a factor which had never occurred in my stormy career. I grew to love the child, to love her more than I love money, and that is saying a lot. I wanted to do the right thing for her, and when my speculations were going wrong and I had to borrow from her fortune I never had any doubt but what I should be able to pay it back. When all the money went,"--his voice sank until it was little more than a whisper,--"and I realized that I had ruined the one human being in the world whom I loved, I took the step which of all my crimes I have most regretted. I sent George Doughton out of the way in order that I might scheme to marry Doris to the Tollington millionaire. For I knew the man we were seeking was Doughton. I killed him," he said defiantly, "for the sake of his son's wife. Oh, the irony of it!" He raised his hand with a harsh laugh. "The comedy of it! As to Poltavo," he went on more calmly, "I let him go because, as I say, I wanted him to further my object. That he failed, or that he was remiss, does not affect the argument. Doris is safely married," he mused; "if she does not love her husband now, she will love him in time. She respects Frank Doughton, and every day that passes will solidify that respect. I know Doris, and I know something of her secret thoughts and her secret wishes. She will forget me,"--his voice shook,--"please God she will forget me."
He changed the subject quickly.
"Have you heard from Poltavo this morning?"
"Nothing at all," said Fall; "he has been communicating with somebody or other, and the usual letters have been passing. Our man says that he has a big coup on, but upon that Poltavo has not informed us."
"If I thought he was going to play us false----"
"What would you do?" asked Fall quietly. "He is out of our hands now."
There was a little buzz in one corner of the room, and Fall turned his startled gaze upon the other.
"From the signal tower," he said. "I wonder what is wrong."
High above the house was one square solitary tower, in which, day and night, a watcher was stationed. Fall went to the telephone and took down the receiver. He spoke a few words and listened, then he hung up the receiver again and turned to Farrington.
"Poltavo is in Great Bradley," he said; "one of our men has seen him and signalled to the house."
"In Great Bradley!" Farrington's eyes narrowed. "What is he doing here?"
"What was his car doing here the other day," asked Fall, "when he kidnapped Frank Doughton? It was here to throw suspicion on us and take suspicion off himself, the most obvious thing in the world."
He routed out his map again
He routed out his map again, and stared at it with eyes that did not see.
"Der alte Barbarossa! I can't get it out of my head--with shells in her engine-room, and the fires flying out of her furnaces, and the stokers and engineers scalded and dead. Men I've messed with, Smallways--men I've talked to close! And they've had their day at last! And it wasn't all luck for them!
"Disabled and sinking! I suppose everybody can't have all the luck in a battle. Poor old Schneider! I bet he gave 'em something back!"
So it was the news of the battle came filtering through to them all that morning. The Americans had lost a second ship, name unknown; the Hermann had been damaged in covering the Barbarossa.... Kurt fretted like an imprisoned animal about the airship, now going up to the forward gallery under the eagle, now down into the swinging gallery, now poring over his maps. He infected Smallways with a sense of the immediacy of this battle that was going on just over the curve of the earth. But when Bert went down to the gallery the world was empty and still, a clear inky-blue sky above and a rippled veil of still, thin sunlit cirrus below, through which one saw a racing drift of rain-cloud, and never a glimpse of sea. Throb, throb, throb, throb, went the engines, and the long, undulating wedge of airships hurried after the flagship like a flight of swans after their leader. Save for the quiver of the engines it was as noiseless as a dream. And down there, somewhere in the wind and rain, guns roared, shells crashed home, and, after the old manner of warfare, men toiled and died.
4
As the afternoon wore on the lower weather abated, and the sea became intermittently visible again. The air-fleet dropped slowly to the middle air, and towards sunset they had a glimpse of the disabled Barbarossa far away to the east. Smallways heard men hurrying along the passage, and was drawn out to the gallery, where he found nearly a dozen officers collected and scrutinising the helpless ruins of the battleship through field-glasses. Two other vessels stood by her, one an exhausted petrol tank, very high out of the water, and the other a converted liner. Kurt was at the end of the gallery, a little apart from the others.
"Gott!" he said at last, lowering his binocular, "it is like seeing an old friend with his nose cut off--waiting to be finished. Der Barbarossa!"
With a sudden impulse he handed his glass to Bert, who had peered beneath his hands, ignored by every one, seeing the three ships merely as three brown-black lines upon the sea.
Never had Bert seen the like of that magnified slightly hazy image before. It was not simply a battered ironclad that wallowed helpless, it was a mangled ironclad. It seemed wonderful she still floated. Her powerful engines had been her ruin. In the long chase of the night she had got out of line with her consorts, and nipped in between the Susquehanna and the Kansas City. They discovered her proximity, dropped back until she was nearly broadside on to the former battleship, and signalled up the Theodore Roosevelt and the little Monitor. As dawn broke she had found herself hostess of a circle. The fight had not lasted five minutes before the appearance of the Hermann to the east, and immediately after of the Furst Bismarck in the west, forced the Americans to leave her, but in that time they had smashed her iron to rags. They had vented the accumulated tensions of their hard day's retreat upon her. As Bert saw her, she seemed a mere metal-worker's fantasy of frozen metal writhings. He could not tell part from part of her, except by its position.
"Der alte Barbarossa! I can't get it out of my head--with shells in her engine-room, and the fires flying out of her furnaces, and the stokers and engineers scalded and dead. Men I've messed with, Smallways--men I've talked to close! And they've had their day at last! And it wasn't all luck for them!
"Disabled and sinking! I suppose everybody can't have all the luck in a battle. Poor old Schneider! I bet he gave 'em something back!"
So it was the news of the battle came filtering through to them all that morning. The Americans had lost a second ship, name unknown; the Hermann had been damaged in covering the Barbarossa.... Kurt fretted like an imprisoned animal about the airship, now going up to the forward gallery under the eagle, now down into the swinging gallery, now poring over his maps. He infected Smallways with a sense of the immediacy of this battle that was going on just over the curve of the earth. But when Bert went down to the gallery the world was empty and still, a clear inky-blue sky above and a rippled veil of still, thin sunlit cirrus below, through which one saw a racing drift of rain-cloud, and never a glimpse of sea. Throb, throb, throb, throb, went the engines, and the long, undulating wedge of airships hurried after the flagship like a flight of swans after their leader. Save for the quiver of the engines it was as noiseless as a dream. And down there, somewhere in the wind and rain, guns roared, shells crashed home, and, after the old manner of warfare, men toiled and died.
4
As the afternoon wore on the lower weather abated, and the sea became intermittently visible again. The air-fleet dropped slowly to the middle air, and towards sunset they had a glimpse of the disabled Barbarossa far away to the east. Smallways heard men hurrying along the passage, and was drawn out to the gallery, where he found nearly a dozen officers collected and scrutinising the helpless ruins of the battleship through field-glasses. Two other vessels stood by her, one an exhausted petrol tank, very high out of the water, and the other a converted liner. Kurt was at the end of the gallery, a little apart from the others.
"Gott!" he said at last, lowering his binocular, "it is like seeing an old friend with his nose cut off--waiting to be finished. Der Barbarossa!"
With a sudden impulse he handed his glass to Bert, who had peered beneath his hands, ignored by every one, seeing the three ships merely as three brown-black lines upon the sea.
Never had Bert seen the like of that magnified slightly hazy image before. It was not simply a battered ironclad that wallowed helpless, it was a mangled ironclad. It seemed wonderful she still floated. Her powerful engines had been her ruin. In the long chase of the night she had got out of line with her consorts, and nipped in between the Susquehanna and the Kansas City. They discovered her proximity, dropped back until she was nearly broadside on to the former battleship, and signalled up the Theodore Roosevelt and the little Monitor. As dawn broke she had found herself hostess of a circle. The fight had not lasted five minutes before the appearance of the Hermann to the east, and immediately after of the Furst Bismarck in the west, forced the Americans to leave her, but in that time they had smashed her iron to rags. They had vented the accumulated tensions of their hard day's retreat upon her. As Bert saw her, she seemed a mere metal-worker's fantasy of frozen metal writhings. He could not tell part from part of her, except by its position.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Tommy X
"Tommy X.," ran the brief announcement, "most urgent, Marble Arch8."He had five minutes to get there but it seemed like five hours.
He was held up at almost every crossing and though he might haveused his authority to obtain right of way, it was a step which hiscurious sense of honesty prevented him taking. He leapt out ofthe cab before it stopped, thrust the fare into the driver's handsand looked round for the girl. He saw her at last and walkedquickly towards her. As he approached her, she turned about andwith an almost imperceptible beckoning gesture walked away. Hefollowed her along the Bayswater Road and gradually drew level.
"I am afraid I have been watched," she said in a low voice. "Willyou call a cab?"He hailed a passing taxi, helped her in and gave at random thefirst place that suggested itself to him, which was Finsbury Park.
"I am very worried," she said, "and I don't know anybody who canhelp me except you.""Is it money?" he asked.
"Money," she said scornfully, "of course it isn't money. I wantto show you a letter," she said after a while.
She took it from her bag and gave it to him and he struck a matchand read it with difficulty.
It was written in a studiously uneducated hand.
"Dear Miss,"I know who you are. You are wanted by the police but I will notgive you away. Dear Miss. I am very hard up and 20 pounds willbe very useful to me and I shall not trouble you again. DearMiss. Put the money on the window sill of your room. I know yousleep on the ground floor and I will come in and take it. And ifnot - well, I don't want to make any trouble.
"Yours truly,"A FRIEND.""When did you get this?" he asked.
"This morning," she replied. "I sent the Agony to the paper bytelegram, I knew you would come.""Oh, you did, did you?" he said.
Her assurance was very pleasing to him. The faith that her wordsimplied gave him an odd little feeling of comfort and happiness.
"I can easily get you out of this," he added; "give me youraddress and when the gentleman comes - ""That is impossible," she replied hurriedly. "Please don't thinkI'm ungrateful, and don't think I'm being silly - you do think I'mbeing silly, don't you!""I have never harboured such an unworthy thought," he saidvirtuously.
"Yes, you have," she persisted, "but really I can't tell you whereI am living. I have a very special reason for not doing so. It'snot myself that I'm thinking about, but there's a life involved."This was a somewhat dramatic statement to make and she felt shehad gone too far.
"Perhaps I don't mean that," she said, "but there is some one Icare for - " she dropped her voice.
"Oh," said T. X. blankly.
He came down from his rosy heights into the shadow and darkness ofa sunless valley.
"Some one you care for," he repeated after a while.
"Yes."There was another long silence, then,"Oh, indeed," said T. X.
Again the unbroken interval of quiet and after a while she said ina low voice, "Not that way.""Not what way!" asked T. X. huskily, his spirits doing a littlemountaineering.
"The way you mean," she said.
He was held up at almost every crossing and though he might haveused his authority to obtain right of way, it was a step which hiscurious sense of honesty prevented him taking. He leapt out ofthe cab before it stopped, thrust the fare into the driver's handsand looked round for the girl. He saw her at last and walkedquickly towards her. As he approached her, she turned about andwith an almost imperceptible beckoning gesture walked away. Hefollowed her along the Bayswater Road and gradually drew level.
"I am afraid I have been watched," she said in a low voice. "Willyou call a cab?"He hailed a passing taxi, helped her in and gave at random thefirst place that suggested itself to him, which was Finsbury Park.
"I am very worried," she said, "and I don't know anybody who canhelp me except you.""Is it money?" he asked.
"Money," she said scornfully, "of course it isn't money. I wantto show you a letter," she said after a while.
She took it from her bag and gave it to him and he struck a matchand read it with difficulty.
It was written in a studiously uneducated hand.
"Dear Miss,"I know who you are. You are wanted by the police but I will notgive you away. Dear Miss. I am very hard up and 20 pounds willbe very useful to me and I shall not trouble you again. DearMiss. Put the money on the window sill of your room. I know yousleep on the ground floor and I will come in and take it. And ifnot - well, I don't want to make any trouble.
"Yours truly,"A FRIEND.""When did you get this?" he asked.
"This morning," she replied. "I sent the Agony to the paper bytelegram, I knew you would come.""Oh, you did, did you?" he said.
Her assurance was very pleasing to him. The faith that her wordsimplied gave him an odd little feeling of comfort and happiness.
"I can easily get you out of this," he added; "give me youraddress and when the gentleman comes - ""That is impossible," she replied hurriedly. "Please don't thinkI'm ungrateful, and don't think I'm being silly - you do think I'mbeing silly, don't you!""I have never harboured such an unworthy thought," he saidvirtuously.
"Yes, you have," she persisted, "but really I can't tell you whereI am living. I have a very special reason for not doing so. It'snot myself that I'm thinking about, but there's a life involved."This was a somewhat dramatic statement to make and she felt shehad gone too far.
"Perhaps I don't mean that," she said, "but there is some one Icare for - " she dropped her voice.
"Oh," said T. X. blankly.
He came down from his rosy heights into the shadow and darkness ofa sunless valley.
"Some one you care for," he repeated after a while.
"Yes."There was another long silence, then,"Oh, indeed," said T. X.
Again the unbroken interval of quiet and after a while she said ina low voice, "Not that way.""Not what way!" asked T. X. huskily, his spirits doing a littlemountaineering.
"The way you mean," she said.
she’s packin’ her things
“No; she’s packin’ her things.”
“I guess I’ll go sit with Mrs. Laferm, d’you think she’ll mind?”
“No, she’ll be glad to have you.”
Fanny crossed over to go join Thérèse. She liked to be with her when there was no danger of interruption from Melicent, and Grégoire went wandering aimlessly about the plantation.
He staked great hopes on what the night might bring for him. She would melt, perhaps, to the extent of a smile or one of her old glances. He was almost cheerful when he seated himself at table; only he and his aunt and Melicent. He had never seen her look so handsome as now, in a woolen gown that she had not worn before, of warm rich tint, that brought out a certain regal splendor that he had not suspected in her. A something that she seemed to have held in reserve till this final moment. But she had nothing for him-nothing. All her conversation was addressed to Thérèse; and she hurried away from table at the close of the meal, under pretext of completing her arrangements for departure.
“Doesn’t she mean to speak to me?” he asked fiercely of Thérèse.
“Oh, Grégoire, I see so much trouble around me; so many sad mistakes, and I feel so powerless to right them; as if my hands were tied. I can’t help you in this; not now. But let me help you in other ways. Will you listen to me?”
“If you want to help me, Aunt,” he said stabbing his fork into a piece of bread before him, “go and ask her if she doesn’t mean to talk to me: if she won’t come out on the gallery a minute.”
“Grégoire wants to know if you won’t go out and speak to him a moment, Melicent,” said Thérèse entering the girl’s room. “Do as you wish, of course. But remember you are going away to-morrow; you’ll likely never see him again. A friendly word from you now, may do more good than you imagine. I believe he’s as unhappy at this moment as a creature can be!”
Melicent looked at her horrified. “I don’t understand you at all, Mrs. Lafirme. Think what he’s done; murdered a defenseless man! How can you have him near you-seated at your table? I don’t know what nerves you have in your bodies, you and David. There’s David, hobnobbing with him. Even that Fanny talking to him as if he were blameless. Never! If he were dying I wouldn’t go near him.”
“Haven’t you a spark of humanity in you?” asked Thérèse, flushing violently.
“Oh, this is something physical,” she replied, shivering, “let me alone.”
Thérèse went out to Grégoire, who stood waiting on the veranda. She only took his hand and pressed it telling him good-night, and he knew that it was a dismissal.
There may be lovers, who, under the circumstances, would have felt sufficient pride to refrain from going to the dep?t on the following morning, but Grégoire was not one of them. He was there. He who only a week before had thought that nothing but her constant presence could reconcile him with life, had narrowed down the conditions for his life’s happiness now to a glance or a kind word. He stood close to the steps of the Pullman car that she was about to enter, and as she passed him he held out his hand, saying “Good-bye.” But he held his hand to no purpose. She was much occupied in taking her valise from the conductor who had hoisted her up, and who was now shouting in stentorian tones “All aboard,” though there was not a soul with the slightest intention of boarding the train but herself.
“I guess I’ll go sit with Mrs. Laferm, d’you think she’ll mind?”
“No, she’ll be glad to have you.”
Fanny crossed over to go join Thérèse. She liked to be with her when there was no danger of interruption from Melicent, and Grégoire went wandering aimlessly about the plantation.
He staked great hopes on what the night might bring for him. She would melt, perhaps, to the extent of a smile or one of her old glances. He was almost cheerful when he seated himself at table; only he and his aunt and Melicent. He had never seen her look so handsome as now, in a woolen gown that she had not worn before, of warm rich tint, that brought out a certain regal splendor that he had not suspected in her. A something that she seemed to have held in reserve till this final moment. But she had nothing for him-nothing. All her conversation was addressed to Thérèse; and she hurried away from table at the close of the meal, under pretext of completing her arrangements for departure.
“Doesn’t she mean to speak to me?” he asked fiercely of Thérèse.
“Oh, Grégoire, I see so much trouble around me; so many sad mistakes, and I feel so powerless to right them; as if my hands were tied. I can’t help you in this; not now. But let me help you in other ways. Will you listen to me?”
“If you want to help me, Aunt,” he said stabbing his fork into a piece of bread before him, “go and ask her if she doesn’t mean to talk to me: if she won’t come out on the gallery a minute.”
“Grégoire wants to know if you won’t go out and speak to him a moment, Melicent,” said Thérèse entering the girl’s room. “Do as you wish, of course. But remember you are going away to-morrow; you’ll likely never see him again. A friendly word from you now, may do more good than you imagine. I believe he’s as unhappy at this moment as a creature can be!”
Melicent looked at her horrified. “I don’t understand you at all, Mrs. Lafirme. Think what he’s done; murdered a defenseless man! How can you have him near you-seated at your table? I don’t know what nerves you have in your bodies, you and David. There’s David, hobnobbing with him. Even that Fanny talking to him as if he were blameless. Never! If he were dying I wouldn’t go near him.”
“Haven’t you a spark of humanity in you?” asked Thérèse, flushing violently.
“Oh, this is something physical,” she replied, shivering, “let me alone.”
Thérèse went out to Grégoire, who stood waiting on the veranda. She only took his hand and pressed it telling him good-night, and he knew that it was a dismissal.
There may be lovers, who, under the circumstances, would have felt sufficient pride to refrain from going to the dep?t on the following morning, but Grégoire was not one of them. He was there. He who only a week before had thought that nothing but her constant presence could reconcile him with life, had narrowed down the conditions for his life’s happiness now to a glance or a kind word. He stood close to the steps of the Pullman car that she was about to enter, and as she passed him he held out his hand, saying “Good-bye.” But he held his hand to no purpose. She was much occupied in taking her valise from the conductor who had hoisted her up, and who was now shouting in stentorian tones “All aboard,” though there was not a soul with the slightest intention of boarding the train but herself.
Patrick O'Donoghan
"Patrick O'Donoghan, a sailor, has been absent from New York for four years. A reward of one hundred pounds sterling will be paid to any one who can give me news of him. Five hundred pounds sterling will be given to the said Patrick O'Donoghan if he will communicate with the advertiser. He need fear nothing, as no advantage will be taken of him.
"DOCTOR SCHWARYENCRONA.
"Stockholm."
By the 20th of October, the doctor and his companions had returned to their homes.
The next day the advertisement was sent to the advertising agency in Stockholm, and three days afterward it had made its appearance in several newspapers. Erik could not repress a sigh and a presentiment that it would be unsuccessful as he read it.
As for Mr. Bredejord, he declared openly that it was the greatest folly in the world, and that for the future he considered the affair a failure.
But Erik and Mr. Bredejord were deceived, as events afterward proved.
Chapter 10 Tudor Brown, Esquire
One morning in May the doctor was in his office, when his servant brought him a visitor's card. This card, which was small as is usual in America, had the name of "Mr. Tudor Brown, on board the 'Albatross'" printed upon it.
"Mr. Tudor Brown," said the doctor, trying to remember whom he had ever known who bore this name.
"This gentleman asked to see the doctor," said the servant.
"Can he not come at my office-hour?" asked the doctor.
"He said his business was about a personal matter."
"Show him in, then," said the doctor, with a sigh.
He lifted his head as the door opened again, and was surprised when he beheld the singular person who answered to the feudal name of Tudor, and the plebeian name of Brown.
He was a man about fifty years of age, his forehead was covered with a profusion of little ringlets, of a carroty color, while the most superficial examination betrayed that they were made of curled silk; his nose was hooked, and surmounted with an enormous pair of gold spectacles; his teeth were as long as those of a horse, his cheeks were smooth, but under his chin he wore a little red beard. This odd head, covered by a high hat which he did not pretend to remove, surmounted a thin angular body, clothed from head to foot in a woolen suit. In his cravat he wore a pin, containing a diamond as large as a walnut; also a large gold chain, and his vest buttons were amethysts. He had a dozen rings on his fingers, which were as knotty as those of a chimpanzee. Altogether he was the most pretentious and grotesque-looking man that it was possible to behold. This person entered the doctor's office as if he had been entering a railway station, without even bowing. He stopped to say, in a voice that resembled that of Punch, its tone was so nasal and guttural:
"Are you Doctor Schwaryencrona?"
"I am," answered the doctor, very much astonished at his manners.
He was debating in his mind whether he should ring for his servant to conduct this offensive person to the door, when a word put a stop to his intention.
"I saw your advertisement about Patrick O'Donoghan," said the stranger, "and I thought you would like to know that I can tell you something about him."
"DOCTOR SCHWARYENCRONA.
"Stockholm."
By the 20th of October, the doctor and his companions had returned to their homes.
The next day the advertisement was sent to the advertising agency in Stockholm, and three days afterward it had made its appearance in several newspapers. Erik could not repress a sigh and a presentiment that it would be unsuccessful as he read it.
As for Mr. Bredejord, he declared openly that it was the greatest folly in the world, and that for the future he considered the affair a failure.
But Erik and Mr. Bredejord were deceived, as events afterward proved.
Chapter 10 Tudor Brown, Esquire
One morning in May the doctor was in his office, when his servant brought him a visitor's card. This card, which was small as is usual in America, had the name of "Mr. Tudor Brown, on board the 'Albatross'" printed upon it.
"Mr. Tudor Brown," said the doctor, trying to remember whom he had ever known who bore this name.
"This gentleman asked to see the doctor," said the servant.
"Can he not come at my office-hour?" asked the doctor.
"He said his business was about a personal matter."
"Show him in, then," said the doctor, with a sigh.
He lifted his head as the door opened again, and was surprised when he beheld the singular person who answered to the feudal name of Tudor, and the plebeian name of Brown.
He was a man about fifty years of age, his forehead was covered with a profusion of little ringlets, of a carroty color, while the most superficial examination betrayed that they were made of curled silk; his nose was hooked, and surmounted with an enormous pair of gold spectacles; his teeth were as long as those of a horse, his cheeks were smooth, but under his chin he wore a little red beard. This odd head, covered by a high hat which he did not pretend to remove, surmounted a thin angular body, clothed from head to foot in a woolen suit. In his cravat he wore a pin, containing a diamond as large as a walnut; also a large gold chain, and his vest buttons were amethysts. He had a dozen rings on his fingers, which were as knotty as those of a chimpanzee. Altogether he was the most pretentious and grotesque-looking man that it was possible to behold. This person entered the doctor's office as if he had been entering a railway station, without even bowing. He stopped to say, in a voice that resembled that of Punch, its tone was so nasal and guttural:
"Are you Doctor Schwaryencrona?"
"I am," answered the doctor, very much astonished at his manners.
He was debating in his mind whether he should ring for his servant to conduct this offensive person to the door, when a word put a stop to his intention.
"I saw your advertisement about Patrick O'Donoghan," said the stranger, "and I thought you would like to know that I can tell you something about him."
Friday, November 2, 2012
When the caterpillars became moths
When the caterpillars became moths, they made friends with the ever-increasing Oddities — albinoes, mixed-leggers, single-eyed composites, faceless drones, halfqueens and laying sisters; and the ever-dwindling band of the old stock worked themselves bald and fray-winged to feed their queer charges. Most of the Oddities would not, and many, on account of their malformations, could not, go through a day’s field-work; but the Wax-moths, who were always busy on the brood-comb, found pleasant home occupations for them. One albino, for instance, divided the number of pounds of honey in stock by the number of bees in the Hive, and proved that if every bee only gathered honey for seven and three quarter minutes a day, she would have the rest of the time to herself, and could accompany the drones on their mating flights. The drones were not at all pleased.
Another, an eyeless drone with no feelers, said that all brood-cells should be perfect circles, so as not to interfere with the grub or the workers. He proved that the old six-sided cell was solely due to the workers building against each other on opposite sides of the wall, and that if there were no interference, there would be no angles. Some bees tried the new plan for a while, and found it cost eight times more wax than the old six sided specification; and, as they never allowed a cluster to hang up and make wax in peace, real wax was scarce. However, they eked out their task with varnish stolen from new coffins at funerals, and it made them rather sick. Then they took to cadging round sugar-factories and breweries, because it was easiest to get their material from those places, and the mixture of glucose and beer naturally fermented in store and blew the store-cells out of shape, besides smelling abominably. Some of the sound bees warned them that ill-gotten gains never prosper, but the Oddities at once surrounded them and balled them to death. That was a punishment they were almost as fond of as they were of eating, and they expected the sound bees to feed them. Curiously enough the age-old instinct of loyalty and devotion towards the Hive made the sound bees do this, though their reason told them they ought to slip away and unite with some other healthy stock in the apiary.
“What, about seven and three-quarter minutes’ work now?” said Melissa one day as she came in. “I’ve been at it for five hours, and I’ve only half a load.”
“Oh, the Hive subsists on the Hival Honey which the Hive produces,” said a blind Oddity squatting in a store-cell.
“But honey is gathered from flowers outside two miles away sometimes,” cried Melissa.
“Pardon me,” said the blind thing, sucking hard. “But this is the Hive, is it not?”
“It was. Worse luck, it is.”
“And the Hival Honey is here, is it not?” It opened a fresh store-cell to prove it.
“Ye-es, but it won’t be long at this rate,” said Melissa.
“The rates have nothing to do with it. This Hive produces the Hival Honey. You people never seem to grasp the economic simplicity that underlies all life.”
“Oh, me!” said poor Melissa, “haven’t you ever been beyond the Gate?”
Another, an eyeless drone with no feelers, said that all brood-cells should be perfect circles, so as not to interfere with the grub or the workers. He proved that the old six-sided cell was solely due to the workers building against each other on opposite sides of the wall, and that if there were no interference, there would be no angles. Some bees tried the new plan for a while, and found it cost eight times more wax than the old six sided specification; and, as they never allowed a cluster to hang up and make wax in peace, real wax was scarce. However, they eked out their task with varnish stolen from new coffins at funerals, and it made them rather sick. Then they took to cadging round sugar-factories and breweries, because it was easiest to get their material from those places, and the mixture of glucose and beer naturally fermented in store and blew the store-cells out of shape, besides smelling abominably. Some of the sound bees warned them that ill-gotten gains never prosper, but the Oddities at once surrounded them and balled them to death. That was a punishment they were almost as fond of as they were of eating, and they expected the sound bees to feed them. Curiously enough the age-old instinct of loyalty and devotion towards the Hive made the sound bees do this, though their reason told them they ought to slip away and unite with some other healthy stock in the apiary.
“What, about seven and three-quarter minutes’ work now?” said Melissa one day as she came in. “I’ve been at it for five hours, and I’ve only half a load.”
“Oh, the Hive subsists on the Hival Honey which the Hive produces,” said a blind Oddity squatting in a store-cell.
“But honey is gathered from flowers outside two miles away sometimes,” cried Melissa.
“Pardon me,” said the blind thing, sucking hard. “But this is the Hive, is it not?”
“It was. Worse luck, it is.”
“And the Hival Honey is here, is it not?” It opened a fresh store-cell to prove it.
“Ye-es, but it won’t be long at this rate,” said Melissa.
“The rates have nothing to do with it. This Hive produces the Hival Honey. You people never seem to grasp the economic simplicity that underlies all life.”
“Oh, me!” said poor Melissa, “haven’t you ever been beyond the Gate?”
That is true
"That is true," said Erik, who was compelled to recognize the force of this argument. He sat with his eyes fixed on the floor, absorbed in thought.
"No, matter," said he suddenly; "Nordenskiold must be found, and with him Patrick O'Donoghan. They shall be, or it will not be my fault."
Erik's plan was a very simple one. He proposed to write an anonymous letter to the leading newspapers of Stockholm, and thus proclaim his fears as to the fate of the "Vega." Had she been shipwrecked, or was she held a prisoner by icebergs, and he concluded his communication by representing how important it was that some vessel should be sent to her assistance in the latter case.
The truth of his reasoning was so apparent, and the interest in the expedition so general, that the young student of Upsal was certain that the question would be warmly discussed in scientific circles.
But the effect of his letter was beyond his highest expectations. All the newspapers without exception expressed their approval of his proposition while commenting upon his communication.
Public opinion was unanimously in favor of fitting out a relief expedition. Commercial men, manufacturers, the members of schools and colleges, the judicial corps--in fact, all classes voluntarily contributed to the enterprise. A rich ship-owner offered to equip a vessel at his own expense, to go to the relief of the "Vega;" and he named it the "Nordenskiold."
The enthusiasm increased as days passed without bringing any intelligence of the "Vega." By the end of December, the subscription had reached a considerable sum. Dr. Sehwaryencrona and Mr. Bredejord had headed the list with a subscription of ten thousand kroners each. They were members of the committee who had chosen Erik for their secretary.
The latter was in fact the soul of the undertaking. His ardor, his modesty, his evident ability with regard to all questions relative to the expedition, which he studied untiringly, soon acquired for him a most decided influence. From the first he did not conceal the fact that it was his dream to take part in the enterprise, if only as a simple sailor, and that he had a supreme and personal interest in the matter. This only gave the greater weight to the excellent suggestions which he made to the originators of the expedition, and he personally directed all the preparatory labors.
It was agreed that a second vessel should accompany the "Nordenskiold," and that it should be like the "Vega," a steamship. Nordenskiold himself had demonstrated that the principal cause of the failure of previous attempts had been the employment of sailing vessels. Arctic navigators, especially when on an exploring expedition, must not be dependent upon the wind, but must be able to force their way speedily through a difficult or perilous pass--and above all, always be able to take the open sea, which it was often impossible to do with a sailing vessel.
This fundamental point having been established, it was decided also to cover the vessel with a lining of green oak, six inches thick, and to divide it into compartments, so that it would be better able to resist a blow from the ice. They were also desirous that she should not draw too much water, and that all her arrangements should be so made as to enable her to carry a full supply of coal. Among the offers which were made to the committee, was a vessel of one hundred and forty tons, which had been recently built at Bremen, and which had a crew of eighteen men, who could easily maneuver her. She was a schooner, but while she carried her masts, she also was furnished with an engine of eighty horse-power. One of her boilers was so arranged that it could burn oil or fat, which was easily procurable in the arctic regions, in case their coal should fail. The schooner protected by its lining of oak, was further strengthened by transverse beams, so as to offer the greatest possible resistance to the pressure of the ice. Lastly, the front of it was armed with a spur of steel, to enable it to break its way through a thick field of ice. The vessel when placed on the stocks, was named the "Alaska," on account of the direction which she was destined to take. It had been decided that while the "Nordenskiold" should pursue the same route which the "Vega" had followed, that the second vessel should take an opposite direction around the world, and gain the Siberian Ocean, by the island of Alaska and Behring's Straits. The chances of meeting the Swedish expedition, or of discovering traces of her if she had perished would thus, they thought, be double, for while one vessel followed on her track, the other would, as it were, precede her.
"No, matter," said he suddenly; "Nordenskiold must be found, and with him Patrick O'Donoghan. They shall be, or it will not be my fault."
Erik's plan was a very simple one. He proposed to write an anonymous letter to the leading newspapers of Stockholm, and thus proclaim his fears as to the fate of the "Vega." Had she been shipwrecked, or was she held a prisoner by icebergs, and he concluded his communication by representing how important it was that some vessel should be sent to her assistance in the latter case.
The truth of his reasoning was so apparent, and the interest in the expedition so general, that the young student of Upsal was certain that the question would be warmly discussed in scientific circles.
But the effect of his letter was beyond his highest expectations. All the newspapers without exception expressed their approval of his proposition while commenting upon his communication.
Public opinion was unanimously in favor of fitting out a relief expedition. Commercial men, manufacturers, the members of schools and colleges, the judicial corps--in fact, all classes voluntarily contributed to the enterprise. A rich ship-owner offered to equip a vessel at his own expense, to go to the relief of the "Vega;" and he named it the "Nordenskiold."
The enthusiasm increased as days passed without bringing any intelligence of the "Vega." By the end of December, the subscription had reached a considerable sum. Dr. Sehwaryencrona and Mr. Bredejord had headed the list with a subscription of ten thousand kroners each. They were members of the committee who had chosen Erik for their secretary.
The latter was in fact the soul of the undertaking. His ardor, his modesty, his evident ability with regard to all questions relative to the expedition, which he studied untiringly, soon acquired for him a most decided influence. From the first he did not conceal the fact that it was his dream to take part in the enterprise, if only as a simple sailor, and that he had a supreme and personal interest in the matter. This only gave the greater weight to the excellent suggestions which he made to the originators of the expedition, and he personally directed all the preparatory labors.
It was agreed that a second vessel should accompany the "Nordenskiold," and that it should be like the "Vega," a steamship. Nordenskiold himself had demonstrated that the principal cause of the failure of previous attempts had been the employment of sailing vessels. Arctic navigators, especially when on an exploring expedition, must not be dependent upon the wind, but must be able to force their way speedily through a difficult or perilous pass--and above all, always be able to take the open sea, which it was often impossible to do with a sailing vessel.
This fundamental point having been established, it was decided also to cover the vessel with a lining of green oak, six inches thick, and to divide it into compartments, so that it would be better able to resist a blow from the ice. They were also desirous that she should not draw too much water, and that all her arrangements should be so made as to enable her to carry a full supply of coal. Among the offers which were made to the committee, was a vessel of one hundred and forty tons, which had been recently built at Bremen, and which had a crew of eighteen men, who could easily maneuver her. She was a schooner, but while she carried her masts, she also was furnished with an engine of eighty horse-power. One of her boilers was so arranged that it could burn oil or fat, which was easily procurable in the arctic regions, in case their coal should fail. The schooner protected by its lining of oak, was further strengthened by transverse beams, so as to offer the greatest possible resistance to the pressure of the ice. Lastly, the front of it was armed with a spur of steel, to enable it to break its way through a thick field of ice. The vessel when placed on the stocks, was named the "Alaska," on account of the direction which she was destined to take. It had been decided that while the "Nordenskiold" should pursue the same route which the "Vega" had followed, that the second vessel should take an opposite direction around the world, and gain the Siberian Ocean, by the island of Alaska and Behring's Straits. The chances of meeting the Swedish expedition, or of discovering traces of her if she had perished would thus, they thought, be double, for while one vessel followed on her track, the other would, as it were, precede her.
He was eyeing them with suspicion
He was eyeing them with suspicion, not wholly unjustified, for the patent respectability of Cherry's Derby hat was no compensation for the armoury belted about his rotund middle.
But when the man's eyes fell upon Malinkoff, his whole demeanour changed, and he advanced with outstretched hand.
"General Malinkoff," he said, "you remember me; I entertained you at----"
"At Kieff! Of course!" smiled Malinkoff. "I did not know the Ivan Petroff of Moscow was the Ivan of the Ukraine."
"Now, gentlemen, what is your wish?" asked the man, and Malinkoff explained the object of the visit.
Petroff looked serious.
"Of course, I will do anything her Highness wishes," he said. "I saw her yesterday, and she told me that she had a dear friend in St. Basil." Malcolm tried to look unconcerned under Malinkoff's swift scrutiny and failed. "But I think she wished you to meet another--guest."
He paused.
"He has gone into Moscow to-night against my wishes," he said with trouble in his face; "such an old man----"
"Kensky?" said Malcolm quickly.
"Kensky." The tone was short. "I told him that no good would come of it--her Highness was married to-night."
Malcolm took a step forward, but it was an unsteady step.
"Married?" he repeated. "To whom was she married?"
Petroff looked down at the floor as though he dare not meet the eye of any man and say so monstrous a thing.
"To the servant Boolba," he said.
Chapter 15 The Red Bride
Irene Yaroslav came back to the home which had always been associated in her mind with unhappy memories, to meet the culminating disaster which Fate had wrought. Whatever thoughts of escape she may have treasured in secret were cut into by the sure knowledge that she was watched day and night, and were now finally terminated by the discovery that the big apartment house, a suite of which Boolba had taken for her disposal when he had ousted her from her father's house, was practically in possession of the Soviet Guard.
She drove to the palace with an undisguised escort of mounted men, one on either side of the carriage, one before and one behind, and went up the stairs--those grim stairs which had frightened her as a child and had filled her nights with dreams, passing on her way the now empty bureau which it had been Boolba's whim for her to keep.
Maria Badisikaya, an officer of the Committee for the Suppression of the Counter-Revolution, formerly an operative in the Moscow Cigarette Company, was waiting in the small drawing-room which still retained some of its ancient splendour. Maria was a short, stumpy woman with a slight moustache and a wart on her chin, and was dressed in green satin, cut low to disclose her generous figure. About her stiff, coal-black hair was a heavy diamond bandeau. She was sitting on a settee, her feet hardly touching the ground, cleaning her nails with a little pocket-knife as the girl entered. Evidently this was her maid of honour, and she could have laughed.
The woman glowered up at her and jumped briskly to her feet, closing the knife and slipping it into her corsage.
"You are late, Irene Yaroslav," she said shrilly. "I have something better to do than to sit here waiting for a boorjoo. There is a committee meeting at ten o'clock to-night. How do you imagine I can attend that? Come, come!"
But when the man's eyes fell upon Malinkoff, his whole demeanour changed, and he advanced with outstretched hand.
"General Malinkoff," he said, "you remember me; I entertained you at----"
"At Kieff! Of course!" smiled Malinkoff. "I did not know the Ivan Petroff of Moscow was the Ivan of the Ukraine."
"Now, gentlemen, what is your wish?" asked the man, and Malinkoff explained the object of the visit.
Petroff looked serious.
"Of course, I will do anything her Highness wishes," he said. "I saw her yesterday, and she told me that she had a dear friend in St. Basil." Malcolm tried to look unconcerned under Malinkoff's swift scrutiny and failed. "But I think she wished you to meet another--guest."
He paused.
"He has gone into Moscow to-night against my wishes," he said with trouble in his face; "such an old man----"
"Kensky?" said Malcolm quickly.
"Kensky." The tone was short. "I told him that no good would come of it--her Highness was married to-night."
Malcolm took a step forward, but it was an unsteady step.
"Married?" he repeated. "To whom was she married?"
Petroff looked down at the floor as though he dare not meet the eye of any man and say so monstrous a thing.
"To the servant Boolba," he said.
Chapter 15 The Red Bride
Irene Yaroslav came back to the home which had always been associated in her mind with unhappy memories, to meet the culminating disaster which Fate had wrought. Whatever thoughts of escape she may have treasured in secret were cut into by the sure knowledge that she was watched day and night, and were now finally terminated by the discovery that the big apartment house, a suite of which Boolba had taken for her disposal when he had ousted her from her father's house, was practically in possession of the Soviet Guard.
She drove to the palace with an undisguised escort of mounted men, one on either side of the carriage, one before and one behind, and went up the stairs--those grim stairs which had frightened her as a child and had filled her nights with dreams, passing on her way the now empty bureau which it had been Boolba's whim for her to keep.
Maria Badisikaya, an officer of the Committee for the Suppression of the Counter-Revolution, formerly an operative in the Moscow Cigarette Company, was waiting in the small drawing-room which still retained some of its ancient splendour. Maria was a short, stumpy woman with a slight moustache and a wart on her chin, and was dressed in green satin, cut low to disclose her generous figure. About her stiff, coal-black hair was a heavy diamond bandeau. She was sitting on a settee, her feet hardly touching the ground, cleaning her nails with a little pocket-knife as the girl entered. Evidently this was her maid of honour, and she could have laughed.
The woman glowered up at her and jumped briskly to her feet, closing the knife and slipping it into her corsage.
"You are late, Irene Yaroslav," she said shrilly. "I have something better to do than to sit here waiting for a boorjoo. There is a committee meeting at ten o'clock to-night. How do you imagine I can attend that? Come, come!"
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