BASIC INSTINCT by JOE ESZTERHAS INT. A BEDROOM -NIGHT It is dark; we don't see clearly. a man and woman make love on a brass bed. There are mirrors on the walls and ceiling. On a side table, atop a small mirror, lines ofcocaine. A tape deck PLAYS the Stones \"Sympathy for the Devil.\" Atop him... she straddles his chest... her breasts in his face. He cups her breasts. She leans down, kisses him... JOHNNYBOZ is in his late 40's, slim, good-looking. We don't see the woman's face. She has long blonde hair. The CAMERA STAYS BEHIND and to the side of them. She leans close over his face, her tonguein his mouth... she kisses him... she moves her hands up, holds both of his arms above his head. She moves higher atop him... she reaches to the side of the bed... a white silk scarf is in herhand... her hips above his face now, moving... slightly, oh-so slightly... his face strains towards her. The scarf in her hand... she ties his hands with it... gently... to the brass bed... his eyesare closed... tighter... lowering hips into his face... lower... over his chest... his navel. The SONG plays. He is inside her... his head arches back... his throat white. She arches her back... herhips grind... her breasts are high... Her back arches back... back... her head tilts back... she extends her arms... the right arm comes down suddenly... the steel flashes... his throat iswhite... He bucks, writhes, bucks, convulses... It flashes up... it flashes down... and up... and down... and up... and... EXT. A BROWNSTONE IN PACIFIC HEIGHTS -MORNING Winter in San Francisco cold, foggy. Cop cars everywhere. The lights play through the thick fog. Two Homicide detectives get out of the car, walk into the house. NICKCURRAN is 42. Trim, good-looking, a nice suit; a face urban, edged, shadowed. GUS MORAN is 64. Crew-cut, silver beard, a suit rumpled and shiny, a hat out of the 50'sa face worn and ruinedthe face of a backwoods philosopher. INT. THE BROWNSTONE There's money here -- deco, clean, hip -- That looks like a Picasso on the wall. They check itout. GUS Who was this fuckin' guy? NICK Rock and roll, Gus. JohnnyBoz. GUS I never heard of him. NICK (grins) Before your time, pop. (abeat) Mid-sixties. Five or six hits. He's got a club down in the Fillmore now. GUS Not now he don't. Past theuniformed guys... nods... waves... past the forensic men... past the coroner's investigators... they get to the bedroom. INT. THE BEDROOM They walk in, stare -- it'smessy. It's like a convention in here. LT. PHIL WALKER, in his 50's, silver-haired, the Homicide guys; JIM HARRIGAN, late 40's, puffy, affable; SAM ANDREWS, 30's, black. A CORONER'S MANis working the bed. LT. WALKER (to Nick and Gus) You guys know Captain Talcott? Theynod. GUS What's the Chief's office doin' here. CAPT.TALCOTT Observing. LT. WALKER (to the Coroner's Guy) What do you think,Doc? THE CORONER'S GUY The skin blanches when I press it -- this kind of color is about right for six or eighthours. LT. WALKER Nobody say anything. The maid came in an hour ago and found him. She's not alive-in. GUS Maybe the maid did it. LT. WALKER She's 54 years old and weighs240 pounds. THE CORONER'S GUY (deadpan) There are no bruises on hisbody. GUS (grins) It ain't the maid. LT. WALKER He left the club with hisgirlfriend about midnight. That's the last time anybody saw him. NICK (looks at body) What wasit? THE CORONER'S GUY Ice pick. Left on the coffee table in the living room. Thin steel handle. Forensics took itdowntown. HARRIGAN There's come all over the sheets -- he got off before he gotoffed. GUS (deadpan) That rules the maid out for sure. CAPT. TALCOTT This is sensitive. Mr.Boz was a major contributor to the mayor's campaign. He was Chairman of the Board of the Palace of Fine Arts-- GUS (to Nick) I thought you said he was a rock and roll star. LT. WALKER Hewas a retired rock and roll star. CAPT. TALCOTT A civic-minded, very respectable rock and rollstar. GUS What's that over there? We see the white powder laid out in lines on the small mirror on the sidetable. NICK (deadpan) It looks like some civic-minded, very respectable cocaine tome, Gus. CAPT. TALCOTT (evenly, to Nick) Listen to me, Curran. I'm going to get a lot of heat onthis. I don't want any... mistakes. Nick and Talcott look at each other a beat, then -- NICK Who's the girlfriend? Lt. Walker looks at thenotepad in his hand. LT. WALKER Catherine Tramell, 162 Divisadero. Nick writes it down. He and Gus turn, leave. Captain Talcott watches them. Helooks disturbed. INT. THE LIVING ROOM As they head out -- NICK Talcott doesn't usually show up at the office 'till after his 18holes. What are they nervous about? GUS They're executives. They're nervous about everything. LT.WALKER Nick! He stops, turns, sees Walker behind them. Walker comes up to them. LT. WALKER (toNick) Keep your three o'clock. NICK Do you want me to work the case, Phil, or do you want me to -- LT.WALKER I said keep it. EXT. A VICTORIAN ON DIVISADERO - DAY It is more a mansion than a house. They ring the bell. An Hispanic MAID answers. They flash theirbadges. NICK I'm Detective Curran, this is Detective Moran. We're with the San Francisco Police Department. We'd like tospeak to Ms. Catherine Tramell. THE MAID (after a beat, an accent) Just moment. Come in. She leads them into alavish, beautifully done living room that offers a sweeping view of the Bay. THE MAID Sit, please. Just moment. They look around, impressed. There is aPicasso on the wall here, too. GUS Ain't that cute? They got his and her Pig-assos,son. NICK (smiles) I didn't know you knew who Picasso was,Gus. GUS (grins) I'm a smart sonofabitch. I just hide it. Nick smiles -- and at that moment a beautiful BLONDEwalks into the room. She looks like she has been asleep. She is in her early 20's. She wears a very sheer robe. NICK We're sorry to disturb you,we'd like to ask you some -- THE WOMAN Are you vice? GUS (after abeat) Homicide. THE WOMAN What do you want? GUS When was the last time yousaw John Boz? THE WOMAN Is he dead? NICK (after a beat) Why do you thinkhe's dead? THE WOMAN You wouldn't be here otherwise, would you? GUS Were you with him lastnight? THE WOMAN You're looking for Catherine, not me. NICK Who are"}
{"doc_id":"doc_3","qid":"","text":"Minority Report Script at IMSDb.
\"MINORITY REPORT\" -- Aug 15th 1997 rewrite by Jon Cohen
\"MINORITY REPORT\" -- Aug 15th 1997 rewrite by Jon Cohen DARKNESS And then, slowlyemerging from the mists of darkness, a pale, beautifully proportioned FACE. The oval face is female, a woman of indeterminate age, her features as fragile as porcelain. Her eyes are closedin sleep, or in death ... or in something in between. Now TWO MORE FACES emerge out of the darkness. They are male, and they float into position on either side ofthe female. They are just as ethereally beautiful, just as pale, and like the female their eyes are closed. The ghostly lips of the female begin to twitch. Her features, which havebeen expressionless, suddenly contort, mask-like, into the face of a woman in fear. Her eyes open. The male face on her right contorts too. His features warp into an angry snarl -- themask of a man enraged. His eyes open. The male face on her left takes on the expression of a young boy, a boy who is terribly frightened. His eyes open wide. As if they are lostin the same terrible waking dream, a sudden and unnerving exchange begins ... FEMALE (frightened woman) JOHNNY,PLEASE MALE RIGHT (mocking man) \"Johnny, please. Johnnyplease.\" FEMALE You're scaring me. MALE LEFT (child's voice) DADDY, DON'T.DADDY MALE RIGHT (considering) I don't like you any more,Carol. FEMALE (imploring) Put the scissors down. You'rescaringme. Please. MALE RIGHT Oh, Carol. FEMALE Johnny! Stop!----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 2. MALERIGHT Don't grab at me! Let MALE LEFT Daddy! No! All we see are three faces on the screen mouthing words but we canimagine a terrible struggle taking place before us: a man with scissors lunging at his wife, her anguished scream, the whimpering cries of their son. And then there is silence, and it is over,and the three faces instantly return to their impassive porcelain state. Their eyes slowly close. They do not move. So that when they do move again, it is startling. Inabrupt unison, the EYES flash open. Three pairs of eyes stare straight at us, accusing. Three mouths open, but speak, in rasping tones, as one. ALLTHREE Murderer! The faces linger a moment, the weary eyes slowly close, and the dark reaches forth, and takesthem. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. SUBURBIA DAY Morning in America. Just look at it. America in the midfifties, the suburbanlandscape stretching endlessly into the sun drenched distance. White house upon white house. Emerald lawns, glistening with dew. In each driveway, a big Chevy, or a Ford, muscled withchrome, long tailfins that taper like the fins on rocket ships. Kids burst out of the houses, and zoom down sidewalks on trikes. Mothers in bright dresses stand indoorways, watching. The smiling mothers wave to one another, then go back into their houses. Dogs bark, birds sing in trees of just the right height, boys and girls laugh and ringthe bells on their trikes. It is a delicious world, where dogs and birds and children are safe. INT. A HOUSE A family room with all the trappings of the era: aflagstone fireplace, a console TV, a man's leatherette Barca-Lounger, a pipe stand holding two pipes on a nearby table, boxes of children's games neatly stacked on a wallshelf.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 3. A young mother, CAROL, her hair -in apony-tail, stands at a picture window in a corner of the family room, staring mildly at the scene outside. CAROL'S POV - A LITTLE GIRL A little girl bounces a red ball onthe sidewalk. The ball gets away from her, and rolls into the street. At the same moment, a two-toned CHEVY, lush and huge, rounds the corner. The girl sees the car coming, butstill goes after the ball. THE FAMILY ROOM Carol sees what is about to happen -- but she doesn't cry out, or bang on the window, or run for the frontdoor. She watches. And smiles a little. OUTSIDE The girl careens gleefully into the middle of the street. INSIDE THE CHEVY The driver -- a man in aloose fitting dark green suit, white shirt, thin brown tie -- sits behind the steering wheel of the car. Disturbingly, the man's hands are not on the steering wheel. Not only that, he isholding the morning newspaper up in front of him, reading, oblivious to the scene before him. Through the windshield, we see the little girl in the road in front of him, going for herball. CAROL Watches, her smile in place. OUTSIDE The little girl picks up her red ball, as the Chevy bears down on her. INSIDE THE CHEVY An alarmsuddenly CHIRPS. The car automatically brakes to a halt. The man looks around the edge of his paper to see what is happening. THE STREET The car has stopped,inches from the girl. The girl giggles as, the man in the car gives her a big wink. She waves, then runs back to the sidewalk with her redball.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 4. The man goes back to his newspaper,and the car, entirely on its own, starts up again. The car rounds a corner, and disappears. INSIDE THE HOUSE Carol turns away from the window. She startles whenshe sees her husband, JOHNNY, is there behind her. He is in his pajamas. How long has he been there, watchingher? JOHNNY (gruff) Why'd you let me sleep so long? CAROL It's Saturday, Johnny, youalways -- (beat) Why are you staring at me like that? He takes a step toward her. He stands there, his thick black hair tousled with sleep, scratching his stubbledjaw, considering her. JOHNNY I'm unhappy that you let me sleep so long. He takes another step toward her. She doesn't move amuscle. A little BOY suddenly enters the room. Johnny turns, looks at his son, looks back over his shoulder at his wife. Then, without a word, he begins to walk out of the room. Onhis way out, Johnny's eyes flick to Carol's sewing basket, which sits beside a sewing machine. It is not the sewing that has caught his attention, but a large pair of garmentSCISSORS which lie across a fold of colored cloth. EXT. THE HOUSE -- MOMENTS LATER Johnny stands on the front porch, scratching. He walks down his front walk, andbends over to pick up the newspaper. Carol stands in the doorway, watching him. A SHADOW slides over Johnny, cast from above. The air fills with the piercing WHINE of anengine. Johnny looks up, alarmed. In the sky above him, just beyond the tips of the suburban trees, is a black PRECRIME POLICE HOVERCRAFT. The children, the mothers, Carolin the doorway -- everyone freezes in place, as Johnny is cast into an inexplicable drama. Racing SOUNDLESSLY down the street toward him, are SLEEK TECHNOLOGICALMARVELS, lethal and efficient looking -- they seem to be cars -- but they are so different from the fat Fords and Chevies in the driveways that it is hard for us to processthem.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 5. Helmeted police with mirrored visorserupt out of the cars. More police drop from the hovercraft in harnesses. Their uniforms are black, seem actually to absorb light. Their left hands are bare, their right hands are encased insome sort of complicated glove. CLOSE ON - A GLOVE The glove is a weapon of some kind, the elongated index finger ending in an openbarrel. Clearly, this is not, as it first seemed, the past -- not America in the 1950's. It is the neo-past, the retro world of America 2040, where the familiar of yesterdayis intermeshed with hypertechnology. And all of that hypertechnology is focused on JOHNNY, as he makes a run for the house, sheets of newspaper scattering behind him. Hebursts up the front porch, shoving Carol out of the way. Eight Precrime police officers assemble in the yard. From a backpack, one of them quickly removes an instrument witha handle grip and an ovoid screen. It is a holographic scanner. He activates it, scans the OFFICER in front of him, and an IDENTICAL POLICE OFFICER takes three-dimensional"}
{"doc_id":"doc_4","qid":"","text":"Dry White Season, A Script at IMSDb.
A DRY WHITE SEASON Rewrite by EUZHAN PALCY May 1987 Revised First Draft FOREDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY\"IN THE WHOLE WORLDTHERE IS NOT A SINGLEPOOR DEVIL WHO IS LYNCHED,NOT ONE MISERABLE MANWHO ISTORTURED IN WHOMI TOO, I AM NOT MURDEREDAND DEGRADED.\" Aime CesairePRE-TITLE:FADE IN:EXT. DAN PIENAAR SECONDARY SCHOOL FOR BOYS- DAYDan Pienaar school is a typical Johannesburg Afrikaanschool. The students are mainly from middle-classfamilies. School athletics are in progress. The stu-dents, in their smart school uniforms, arecheeringenthusiastically a relay race on the immaculately-keptsports ground.GORDON NGUBENE, a 47-years-old African laborer is work-ing in the school garden. A few feet away is his 15-years-old son JONATHANleaning against a wall watchingthe games.BEN DU TOIT, a 50-year-old Afrikaaner history teacher, isenthusiastically cheering his son JOHAN, a 15-years-old,who is leading neck-and-neck with another boy in the lastlegof the race. The excitement increases as theyapproach the tape. Ben is beside himself, egging his sonwith shouts. The young teacher, VIVIERS, standing nextto Ben, is shouting \"come on Johan,\" and slapping thefatheron the back.Johan breasts the tape just ahead of the other boy. Theground is invaded by boys running to congratulate Johan.Ben hurries towards his happy but exhausted son; the proudfather pushing his way throughthe animated boys. As hereaches Johan he pats him on the back. BEN This was your best race. JOHAN (excited) I beat him,Papa. BEN (proudly) You did son. Come on, shower.They walk happily towards the school buildings in conver-sation, Johan being slapped on the back by friends.Benstops to talk to Gordon who jumps to his feet. BEN I'll be expecting you. There isn't much to do, only weeding the marigolds and watering the lawn andflowers. (CONTINUED) 2.CONTINUED: GORDON We'll be there, Mr.Ben'sir, Jonathan come to help me.Ben hadn't seen Jonathan. He turns to him. BEN And how's the algebra? Still giving youtrouble? JONATHAN (with respect) Just a little, Mr. Ben'sir. JOHAN Metoo. GORDON (straightening himself) He's working hard, Mr. Ben'sir, and your money will not be wasted. Emily and me will always thankyou. BEN (as he leaves) See you both later.Gordon returns to his work a little distance further. Agroup of students are laughing and pushing each otherboisterously. Asthey near Jonathan, two nudge eachother and giggle. Then, one of them trips Jonathan. Hefalls to the ground and jumps up aggressively, about toattack the boy. Gordon shouts \"Jonathan.\"The headmaster, MRS.CLOETE, aged 65 years, has observedthe incident, but takes no action.Jonathan stands panting with rage. He suddenly stridesaway towards the gate in arage. GORDON (shouting angrily) U ya phi? (Where are you going?)Jonathan turns to look at his father and continues towalk off.TITLES.EXT.SOWETO BEER HALL - AFTERNOONThe beer hall is a large complex with a drinking areawith long rows of lowbenches. (CONTINUED) 3.CONTINUED:Men sit drinking African beer in one-half and one gallonplasticscontainers. The place buzzes with noise.Several people are touting wares for sale.Suddenly a group of about twenty youths walks into thedrinking area, obviously to cause trouble. The LEADERstarts to address theclients. LEADER Your children are starving and you are drinking. We demand freedom and our fathers are drunk. We ask you to boycott these beerhalls. Revolution and drink don't work together!A large MAN WITH SIDEBURNS, obviously drunk, stands up, astick in his hand. MAN WITH SIDEBURNS Since whendo children talk like this to their fathers? They need thrashing.The man and several others advance on the boys. The boysrun into the serving area, close the doors and startbreaking up the place. Twopolice Land Rovers SCREECH toa halt outside. The boys run out through a side en-trance. They are chased by the police who are black.Jonathan and his best friend Wellington, also 15 years,are walking towards the beerhall when the boys comerunning out chased by the police. It is prudent forthem to run down the street. The boys and police arebearing down on them. Their escape is cut off by theapperance of another police LandRover. Two policemen,two blacks and two whites join in the capture. Jonathan,Wellington and about ten of the boys are arrested.As they are hundled into the vehicle, they protest theirinnocence without success and aredriven away.INT. SOWETO POLICE STATION - CHARGE OFFICE - AFTERNOONThe charge office is sparcely furnished with a long benchalong a wall. There is a reception counter with Sgt:Van Zyl in charge. Theboys are lined up against a wall.The sergeant stands with a tall blond man with a scar onhis chin, CAPTAINSTOLZ. (CONTINUED) 4.CONTINUED:The sergeant reads out a name and looks at Stolz; if henods the boystands aside. After this ritual, the onesthat Stolz has chosen are marched to a waiting police vanand driven away. The others are taken to the cells atthe police station, these include JonathanandWellington.EXT. DUTCH REFORM CHURCH - DAYThe MUSIC STOPS. The doors open. The 40 years-old-minister Bester comes to the door, then stands and greetshis parishioners as they file out of thechurch.Amongst them, Ben Du Toit -- his wife, SUSAN, a clean-cut, immaculate, \"toe-the-line\" beauty and his son, Johan-- the blond, blue-eyed, tanned and torsoed fourteen-year-old every father dreams of. Susangreets friendsand acquaintances, pausing to chat... mostly formalities.Johan, his eyes on a girl his age. She is with herfather, Mr. Cloete, the headmaster -- she smiles at Johanfrom a distance; he waves awkwardly asshe drives offwith her parents.SUZETTE his daughter, sophisticated -- groomed. Shetakes her baby from the black nanny waiting in the car,carries the child to the group chatting with CHRIS, herhusband. She shows itoff proudly. Ben is chatting,concerned, to a WOMAN. She looks drawn and worried. MRS. COETZEE (WOMAN) He won't come to church. He lies in bed all day, listening tohis headphones. BEN I wondered why he wasn't at school. Would it help if I came to see him? He's always seemed a good kid tome. MRS. COETZEE Oh, would you? BEN Of course. I'll phone and we can fix a time.Mrs. Coetzee smiles hergratitude. SUSAN Ben! Ben!She's waving impatiently at him. He crosses back to her.Suzette's BABY isHOWLING. (CONTINUED) 5.CONTINUED:She rocks it back and forth, holding it at arm's length.The BABYSCREAMS. The nanny comes forward -- Suzettehands it over. SUSAN Mrs. Coetzee. She looked worried. BEN She's having trouble with herboy. He won't come to school. SUSAN So you said you'd have a word with him? BEN Yes!She smiles and walks him to the caraffectionately.EXT. BEN'S HOUSE - BARBECUE - DAYThe Du Toit family.Susan is bringing out the salads. Chris, her son-in-law,is at the barbecue, stinging his eyes. Ben is bouncinghis grandson, little Hennie, ina small, portable pool.The black nanny sits in attendance in the shade, a towelat the ready. The good life...... Suddenly disturbed by... Gordon and Jonathan standinguncertain at the far side of the garden; Gordon'shatpressed flat against his chest, Jonathan defiant.Susan looks up -- as do each in turn -- curious at theintrusion... then the black nanny -- and finally Ben.After a moment, Ben walks up toGordon. BEN Gordon! What are you doing here?INT. BEN'S KITCHEN - DAYSix cuts, like six knife gashes, revealed on the blood-stained buttocks of Gordon's son, whostands in painful,truculent embarrassment.Ben is shocked by the severity of the canning. GORDON That's not why I'm complaining, Mister Ben, sir. If he didwrong, I'd beat him myself. Buthe didn't. (CONTINUED) 6.CONTINUED: GORDON He didnothing and they wouldn't listen. They wouldn't believe him. BEN I'm sorry, Gordon. But there must be areason. GORDON He says he wasn't doing anything wrong, Mister Ben, sir. And I believe him, I know my son! It's aninjustice! BEN What about the court? Didn't he state his case? GORDON What does he know about court? Before he knew, itwas all over. BEN I don't think there is anything we can do about it now.Outside, peering through the half-opened door, is Johan,shocked at what he sees. Ben tapes"}
{"doc_id":"doc_5","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of Miss Moppet, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Story of Miss MoppetAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: January 31, 2005 [EBook#14848]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net).[Illustration][Illustration]THE STORY OF MISS MOPPETBY BEATRIX POTTER_Author of \"The Tale of Peter Rabbit,\" etc_[Illustration]FREDERICK WARNEFirst published 19061906 by FrederickWarne & Co.Printed and bound in Great Britain byWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles and London[Illustration]This is a Pussy called Miss Moppet, she thinks she has heard a mouse!This is the Mouse peeping out behind thecupboard, and making fun of MissMoppet. He is not afraid of a kitten.[Illustration][Illustration]This is Miss Moppet jumping just too late; she misses the Mouse and hitsher own head.She thinks it is a very hardcupboard![Illustration][Illustration]The Mouse watches Miss Moppet from the top of the cupboard.Miss Moppet ties up her head in a duster, and sits before the fire.[Illustration]The Mouse thinks she is looking very ill. Hecomes sliding down thebell-pull.[Illustration][Illustration]Miss Moppet looks worse and worse. The Mouse comes a little nearer.[Illustration]Miss Moppet holds her poor head in her paws, and looks at him through aholein the duster. The Mouse comes _very_ close.And then all of a sudden--Miss Moppet jumps upon the Mouse![Illustration][Illustration]And because the Mouse has teased Miss Moppet--Miss Moppet thinks she willteasethe Mouse; which is not at all nice of Miss Moppet.She ties him up in the duster, and tosses it about like a ball.[Illustration]But she forgot about that hole in the duster; and when she untiedit--there was noMouse![Illustration][Illustration]He has wriggled out and run away; and he is dancing a jig on the top ofthe cupboard!End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Miss Moppet, by Beatrix Potter*** END OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET ******** This file should be named 14848.txt or 14848.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be foundin: http://www.gutenberg.net/1/4/8/4/14848/Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net).Updated editions will replace the previousone--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in theUnited States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. 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{"doc_id":"doc_6","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanshawe, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: FanshaweAuthor: Nathaniel HawthornePosting Date: September 13, 2014 [EBook #7085]Release Date: December,2004First Posted: March 8, 2003Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANSHAWE ***Produced by Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam.FANSHAWEBYNATHANIEL HAWTHORNE[Illustration]INTRODUCTORY NOTE.FANSHAWE.In 1828, three years after graduating from Bowdoin College, Hawthornepublished his first romance, \"Fanshawe.\" It wasissued at Boston by Marsh& Capen, but made little or no impression on the public. The motto on thetitle-page of the original was from Southey: \"Wilt thou go on with me?\"Afterwards, when he had struck into the vein offiction that came to beknown as distinctively his own, he attempted to suppress this youthfulwork, and was so successful that he obtained and destroyed all but a fewof the copies then extant.Some twelve years afterhis death it was resolved, in view of the interestmanifested in tracing the growth of his genius from the beginning of hisactivity as an author, to revive this youthful romance; and the reissue of\"Fanshawe\" was thenmade.Little biographical interest attaches to it, beyond the fact that Mr.Longfellow found in the descriptions and general atmosphere of the book adecided suggestion of the situation of Bowdoin College, atBrunswick,Maine, and the life there at the time when he and Hawthorne were bothundergraduates of that institution.Professor Packard, of Bowdoin College, who was then in charge of the studyof English literature, andhas survived both of his illustrious pupils,recalls Hawthorne's exceptional excellence in the composition of English,even at that date (1821-1825); and it is not impossible that Hawthorneintended, through the characterof Fanshawe, to present some faintprojection of what he then thought might be his own obscure history. Evenwhile he was in college, however, and meditating perhaps the slenderelements of this first romance, hisfellow-student Horatio Bridge, whose\"Journal of an African Cruiser\" he afterwards edited, recognized in himthe possibilities of a writer of fiction--a fact to which Hawthornealludes in the dedicatory Preface to \"TheSnow-Image.\"G. P. L.FANSHAWE * * * * *CHAPTER I. \"Our court shall be a little Academe.\"--SHAKESPEARE.In an ancient though not very populous settlement, in a retired corner ofone of the NewEngland States, arise the walls of a seminary of learning,which, for the convenience of a name, shall be entitled \"Harley College.\"This institution, though the number of its years is inconsiderablecompared with the hoarantiquity of its European sisters, is not withoutsome claims to reverence on the score of age; for an almost countlessmultitude of rivals, by many of which its reputation has been eclipsed,have sprung up since itsfoundation. At no time, indeed, during anexistence of nearly a century, has it acquired a very extensive fame; andcircumstances, which need not be particularized, have, of late years,involved it in a deeper obscurity.There are now few candidates for thedegrees that the college is authorized to bestow. On two of its annual\"Commencement Days,\" there has been a total deficiency of baccalaureates;and the lawyers and divines, onwhom doctorates in their respectiveprofessions are gratuitously inflicted, are not accustomed to consider thedistinction as an honor. Yet the sons of this seminary have alwaysmaintained their full share of reputation, inwhatever paths of life theytrod. Few of them, perhaps, have been deep and finished scholars; but thecollege has supplied--what the emergencies of the country demanded--a setof men more useful in its present state,and whose deficiency intheoretical knowledge has not been found to imply a want of practicalability.The local situation of the college, so far secluded from the sight andsound of the busy world, is peculiarly favorable tothe moral, if not tothe literary, habits of its students; and this advantage probably causedthe founders to overlook the inconveniences that were inseparablyconnected with it. The humble edifices rear themselves almostat thefarthest extremity of a narrow vale, which, winding through a long extentof hill-country, is wellnigh as inaccessible, except at one point, as theHappy Valley of Abyssinia. A stream, that farther on becomesaconsiderable river, takes its rise at, a short distance above the college,and affords, along its wood-fringed banks, many shady retreats, whereeven study is pleasant, and idleness delicious. The neighborhood oftheinstitution is not quite a solitude, though the few habitations scarcelyconstitute a village. These consist principally of farm-houses, of ratheran ancient date (for the settlement is much older than the college), andof alittle inn, which even in that secluded spot does not fail of amoderate support. Other dwellings are scattered up and down the valley;but the difficulties of the soil will long avert the evils of a too densepopulation. Thecharacter of the inhabitants does not seem--as there was,perhaps, room to anticipate--to be in any degree influenced by theatmosphere of Harley College. They are a set of rough and hardy yeomen,much inferior, asrespects refinement, to the corresponding classes inmost other parts of our country. This is the more remarkable, as there isscarcely a family in the vicinity that has not provided, for at least oneof its sons, theadvantages of a \"liberal education.\"Having thus described the present state of Harley College, we must proceedto speak of it as it existed about eighty years since, when its foundationwas recent, and its prospectsflattering. At the head of the institution,at this period, was a learned and Orthodox divine, whose fame was in allthe churches. He was the author of several works which evinced mucherudition and depth of research;and the public, perhaps, thought the morehighly of his abilities from a singularity in the purposes to which heapplied them, that added much to the curiosity of his labors, thoughlittle to their usefulness. But, howeverfanciful might be his privatepursuits, Dr. Melmoth, it was universally allowed, was diligent andsuccessful in the arts of instruction. The young men of his chargeprospered beneath his eye, and regarded him with anaffection that wasstrengthened by the little foibles which occasionally excited theirridicule. The president was assisted in the discharge of his duties by twoinferior officers, chosen from the alumni of the college, who,while theyimparted to others the knowledge they had already imbibed, pursued thestudy of divinity under the direction of their principal. Under suchauspices the institution grew and flourished. Having at that time buttworivals in the country (neither of them within a considerable distance), itbecame the general resort of the youth of the Province in which it wassituated. For several years in succession, its students amounted tonearlyfifty,--a number which, relatively to the circumstances of the country,was very considerable.From the exterior of the collegians, an accurate observer might prettysafely judge how long they had been inmates ofthose classic walls. Thebrown cheeks and the rustic dress of some would inform him that they hadbut recently left the plough to labor in a not less toilsome field; thegrave look, and the intermingling of garments of amore classic cut, woulddistinguish those who had begun to acquire the polish of their newresidence; and the air of superiority, the paler cheek, the less robustform, the spectacles of green, and the dress, in general ofthreadbareblack, would designate the highest class, who were understood to haveacquired nearly all the science their Alma Mater could bestow, and to beon the point of assuming their stations in the world. There were,it istrue, exceptions to this general description. A few young men had foundtheir way hither from the distant seaports; and these were the models offashion to their rustic companions, over whom they asserted asuperiorityin exterior accomplishments, which the fresh though unpolished intellectof the sons of the forest denied them in their literary competitions. Athird class, differing widely from both the former, consisted of afewyoung descendants of the aborigines, to whom an impracticable philanthropywas endeavoring to impart the benefits of civilization.If this institution did not offer all the advantages of elder and prouderseminaries, itsdeficiencies were compensated to its students by theinculcation of regular habits, and of a deep and awful sense of religion,which seldom deserted them in their course through life. The mild andgentle rule of Dr.Melmoth, like that of a father over his children, wasmore destructive to vice than a sterner sway; and though youth is neverwithout its follies, they have seldom been more harmless than they werehere. The students,indeed, ignorant of their own bliss, sometimes wishedto hasten the time of their entrance on the business of life; but theyfound, in after-years, that many of their happiest remembrances, many ofthe scenes which theywould with least reluctance live over again,referred to the seat of their early studies. The exceptions to this remarkwere chiefly those whose vices had drawn down, even from that paternalgovernment, a weightyretribution.Dr. Melmoth, at the time when he is to be introduced to the reader, hadborne the matrimonial yoke (and in his case it was no light burden) nearlytwenty years. The blessing of children, however, had beendenied him,--acircumstance which he was accustomed to consider as one of the soresttrials that checkered his pathway; for he was a man of a kind andaffectionate heart, that was continually seeking objects to restitselfupon. He was inclined to believe, also, that a common offspring would haveexerted a meliorating influence on the temper of Mrs. Melmoth, thecharacter of whose domestic government often compelled him to callto mindsuch portions of the wisdom of antiquity as relate to the proper enduranceof the shrewishness of woman. But domestic comforts, as well as comfortsof every other kind, have their drawbacks; and, so long as thebalance ison the side of happiness, a wise man will not murmur. Such was the opinionof Dr. Melmoth; and with a little aid from philosophy, and more fromreligion, he journeyed on contentedly through life. When thestorm wasloud by the parlor hearth, he had always a sure and quiet retreat in hisstudy; and there, in his deep though not always useful labors, he soonforgot whatever of disagreeable nature pertained to his situation.Thissmall and dark apartment was the only portion of the house to which, sinceone firmly repelled invasion, Mrs. Melmoth's omnipotence did not extend.Here (to reverse the words of Queen Elizabeth) there was \"butone masterand no mistress\"; and that man has little right to complain who possessesso much as one corner in the world where he may be happy or miserable, asbest suits him. In his study, then, the doctor wasaccustomed to spendmost of the hours that were unoccupied by the duties of his station. Theflight of time was here as swift as the wind, and noiseless as thesnow-flake; and it was a sure proof of real happiness thatnight oftencame upon the student before he knew it was midday.Dr. Melmoth was wearing towards age (having lived nearly sixty years),when he was called upon to assume a character to which he had as yet beenastranger. He had possessed in his youth a very dear friend, with whomhis education had associated him, and who in his early manhood had beenhis chief intimate. Circumstances, however, had separated them fornearlythirty years, half of which had been spent by his friend, who was engagedin mercantile pursuits, in a foreign country. The doctor had,nevertheless, retained a warm interest in the welfare of his oldassociate,though the different nature of their thoughts and occupationshad prevented them from corresponding. After a silence of so longcontinuance, therefore, he was surprised by the receipt of a letter fromhis friend,containing a request of a most unexpected nature.Mr. Langton had married rather late in life; and his wedded bliss had beenbut of short continuance. Certain misfortunes in trade, when he was aBenedict of three years'standing, had deprived him of a large portion ofhis property, and compelled him, in order to save the remainder, to leavehis own country for what he hoped would be but a brief residence inanother. But, though he wassuccessful in the immediate objects of hisvoyage, circumstances occurred to lengthen his stay far beyond the periodwhich he had assigned to it. It was difficult so to arrange his extensiveconcerns that they could besafely trusted to the management of others;and, when this was effected, there was another not less powerful obstacleto his return. His affairs, under his own inspection, were so prosperous,and his gains soconsiderable, that, in the words of the old ballad, \"Heset his heart to gather gold\"; and to this absorbing passion he sacrificedhis domestic happiness. The death of his wife, about four years after hisdeparture,undoubtedly contributed to give him a sort of dread ofreturning, which it required a strong effort to overcome. The welfare ofhis only child he knew would be little affected by this event; for she wasunder the protectionof his sister, of whose tenderness he was wellassured. But, after a few more years, this sister, also, was taken away bydeath; and then the father felt that duty imperatively called upon him toreturn. He realized, on asudden, how much of life he had thrown away inthe acquisition of what is only valuable as it contributes to thehappiness of life, and how short a tune was left him for life's trueenjoyments. Still, however, his mercantilehabits were too deeply seatedto allow him to hazard his present prosperity by any hasty measures; norwas Mr. Langton, though capable of strong affections, naturally liable tomanifest them violently. It was probable,therefore, that many monthsmight yet elapse before he would again tread the shores of his nativecountry.But the distant relative, in whose family, since the death of her aunt,Ellen Langton had remained, had been longat variance with her father, andhad unwillingly assumed the office of her protector. Mr. Langton'srequest, therefore, to Dr. Melmoth, was, that his ancient friend (one ofthe few friends that time had left him) would be asa father to hisdaughter till he could himself relieve him of the charge.The doctor, after perusing the epistle of his friend, lost no time inlaying it before Mrs. Melmoth, though this was, in truth, one of the veryfewoccasions on which he had determined that his will should be absolutelaw. The lady was quick to perceive the firmness of his purpose, and wouldnot (even had she been particularly averse to the proposed measure)hazardher usual authority by a fruitless opposition. But, by long disuse, shehad lost the power of consenting graciously to any wish of her husband's.\"I see your heart is set upon this matter,\" she observed; \"and, intruth,I fear we cannot decently refuse Mr. Langton's request. I see little goodof such a friend, doctor, who never lets one know he is alive till he hasa favor to ask.\"\"Nay; but I have received much good at his hand,\"replied Dr. Melmoth;\"and, if he asked more of me, it should be done with a willing heart. Iremember in my youth, when my worldly goods were few and ill managed (Iwas a bachelor, then, dearest Sarah, with none tolook after myhousehold), how many times I have been beholden to him. And see--in hisletter he speaks of presents, of the produce of the country, which he hassent both to you and me.\"\"If the girl were country-bred,\"continued the lady, \"we might give herhouse-room, and no harm done. Nay, she might even be a help to me; forEsther, our maid-servant, leaves us at the mouth's end. But I warrant sheknows as little of householdmatters as you do yourself, doctor.\"\"My friend's sister was well grounded in the _re familiari_\" answeredher husband; \"and doubtless she hath imparted somewhat of her skill tothis damsel. Besides, the child is oftender years, and will profit muchby your instruction and mine.\"\"The child is eighteen years of age, doctor,\" observed Mrs. Melmoth, \"andshe has cause to be thankful that she will have better instruction thanyours.\"Thiswas a proposition that Dr. Melmoth did not choose to dispute; thoughhe perhaps thought that his long and successful experience in theeducation of the other sex might make him an able coadjutor to his wife inthe careof Ellen Langton. He determined to journey in person to theseaport where his young charge resided, leaving the concerns of HarleyCollege to the direction of the two tutors. Mrs. Melmoth, who, indeed,anticipated withpleasure the arrival of a new subject to her authority,threw no difficulties in the way of his intention. To do her justice, herpreparations for his journey, and the minute instructions with which shefavored him, were suchas only a woman's true affection could havesuggested. The traveller met with no incidents important to this tale;and, after an absence of about a fortnight, he and Ellen alighted fromtheir steeds (for on horseback hadthe journey been performed) in safetyat his own door.If pen could give an adequate idea of Ellen Langton's loveliness, it wouldachieve what pencil (the pencils, at least, of the colonial artists whoattempted it) nevercould; for, though the dark eyes might be painted, thepure and pleasant thoughts that peeped through them could only be seen andfelt. But descriptions of beauty are never satisfactory. It must,therefore, be left to theimagination of the reader to conceive ofsomething not more than mortal, nor, indeed, quite the perfection ofmortality, but charming men the more, because they felt, that, lovely asshe was, she was of like nature tothemselves.From the time that Ellen entered Dr. Melmoth's habitation, the sunny daysseemed brighter and the cloudy ones less gloomy, than he had ever beforeknown them. He naturally delighted in children; andEllen, though heryears approached to womanhood, had yet much of the gayety and simplehappiness, because the innocence, of a child. She consequently became thevery blessing of his life,--the rich recreation that hepromised himselffor hours of literary toil. On one occasion, indeed, he even made her hiscompanion in the sacred retreat of his study, with the purpose of enteringupon a course of instruction in the learned languages.This measure,however, he found inexpedient to repeat; for Ellen, having discovered anold romance among his heavy folios, contrived, by the charm of her sweetvoice, to engage his attention therein till all moreimportant concernswere forgotten.With Mrs. Melmoth, Ellen was not, of course, so great a favorite as withher husband; for women cannot so readily as men, bestow upon the offspringof others those affections thatnature intended for their own; and thedoctor's extraordinary partiality was anything rather than a pledge of hiswife's. But Ellen differed so far from the idea she had previously formedof her, as a daughter of one of theprincipal merchants, who were then, asnow, like nobles in the land, that the stock of dislike which Mrs. Melmothhad provided was found to be totally inapplicable. The young strangerstrove so hard, too (and undoubtedlyit was a pleasant labor), to win herlove, that she was successful to a degree of which the lady herself wasnot, perhaps, aware. It was soon seen that her education had not beenneglected in those points which Mrs.Melmoth deemed most important. Thenicer departments of cookery, after sufficient proof of her skill, werecommitted to her care; and the doctor's table was now covered withdelicacies, simple indeed, but as temptingon account of their intrinsicexcellence as of the small white hands that made them. By such arts asthese,--which in her were no arts, but the dictates of an affectionatedisposition,--by making herself useful where it waspossible, andagreeable on all occasions, Ellen gained the love of everyone within thesphere of her influence.But the maiden's conquests were not confined to the members of Dr.Melmoth's family. She had numerousadmirers among those whose situationcompelled them to stand afar off, and gaze upon her loveliness, as if shewere a star, whose brightness they saw, but whose warmth they could notfeel. These were the young menof Harley College, whose chiefopportunities of beholding Ellen were upon the Sabbaths, when sheworshipped with them in the little chapel, which served the purposes of achurch to all the families of the vicinity. There"}
{"doc_id":"doc_7","qid":"","text":"Wild Things: Diamonds in the Rough Script at IMSDb.
WILD THINGS: DIAMONDS IN THE ROUGH Written by Andy Hurst &Ross Helford INT. MUSEUM - DAY A perfect rainbow is trapped inside two flawlessDIAMONDS, glinting in the morning sun. Tounted on crushed velvet, the identical diamonds are on a glass covered pedal stool in the middle of a vast, marble MUSEUMHALL. The stunning beauty of the stones is matched only by the breathtaking beauty of the young woman who's admiring them. MARIE CLIFFORD's creamy seventeen year old skin isdappled in the cornucopia of colors emanating from the diamonds... She reaches out tentatively towards the glass case. Not to touch the diamonds, but to run her fingers over apicture that's mounted in the case below the priceless jewels. It's of a MOTHER cradling her BABY DAUGHTER... MARIE Today's the day,Mom... CURATOR (O.S.) You here again, Marie? Marie spins round, sees the bespectacled CURATOR, 60's, standing behindher. MARIE Just leaving. Marie carefully adjusts the sign atop the glass case... 'THE MOTHER DAUGHTERDIAMONDS...' EXT. MUSEUM - DAY Marie fires up her powerful BMW, parked right outside the austere Museum building. The powerful stereo blasts,sending the birds fluttering skywards... CREDITS appear over... ARIEL FOOTAGE of a narrow highway, Marie's BMW streaking through the endless tract ofFlorida wetlands. In the water, GATORS, warm themselves in the early morning sun... MOVING over the vast tracts of swampland, flocks of tropical BIRDS stretch their majesticwings, locals speed across the stagnant waters in their deafening AIRBOATS... Through thick trees and foliage to trailer homes and tract housing and into the town of Blue Bay, wherethe nip/tucked denizens sip three martini lunches and tee off at the local countryclub. 03/22/2004 2. Marie steers her BMW into the showroom-like parking lot ofBlue Bay High School. INT. MARIE'S BMW - MORNING Marie guides her powerful car towards her parking spot,when... SCCCREEEECCCHHHH! She SLAMS on the brakes as a figure darts in front of her car. Almost gives her a heart attack, throwing her forward,flailing arms crashing into the stereo, then snapped back by her seatbelt. She sits stock still for a second, then looks up, out of her windshield at the young woman scouring at her,only inches from the front bumper of the BMW. The sudden jolt has changed the radio station. A newscaster rambles on... RADIONEWSCASTER (V.O.) ... operation, aimed at finally capturing the Black Widow suspect after a six month trail of embezzlement and fraud, once again failed tosnare its subject. ELENA SANDOVAL, 17, stands defiantly in front of the BMW, her don't-fuck-with-me stare in direct contrast with hercome-fuck-me clothes. RADIO NEWSCASTER (V.O.) Blue Bay Police Detective Michael Morrison was able to recoverover $400,000 in stolen money, but the suspect, described as Female, between eighteen and thirty, remains at large... Marie reaches out with a tremblinghand, turns off the stereo, then leans out of the car window. MARIE I'm... so... sorry... Elena smileswryly. ELENA You will be. And she meansit... 03/22/2004 3. INT. BLUE BAY HIGH AUDITORIUM -MORNING The auditorium is packed with the Blue Bay High student body. The natural order is clear, the pastel flock at the front, the meat headed jocks in the center, and therejects at the back. Marie is amongst her sweater monkey friends, but she's still shocked by what happened out in the parkinglot... JENNY (handing over a present) Happy birthday, babe. They ain't diamonds, but you're just gonna haveto wait for those... Marie tentatively opens the gift, sees a pair of OPALEARRINGS. MARIE (unconvincing) Thank you. Thank you so much... JENNY Areyou OK, hon? Marie looks back, to the far reaches of the auditorium where the freaks and geeks crowd round Elena, worshipping her like the Goddess sheis... MARIE I...yeah...I'll be fine...It's just...that new girl...I almost hit her in the parkinglot... JENNY You mean the towel girl, the one who transferred in? Jesus, she's trouble. You know the only reason she'sslinging towels is 'cos it's court ordered... Marie and Elena make brief, electric eye contact, across the sea of hormonally challenged students as Principal LIONEL MOSSTER,his ill-fitting sports jacket coffee-stained, steps onstage. MOSSTER We're here today to address a growing epidemic that affects all ofyou. He pauses, waits for the student body to quiet down... MOSSTER National studies report sexual activity amongstudents at an all-time high. 03/22/2004 4. The students all cheer,naturally. MOSSTER We'll see who's cheering when you've got an unwanted pregnancy on your hands, or get slapped with apaternity suit...Or arrested for date rape. But don't take my word for it... He motions behind him to KRISTEN RICHARDS, early 30's, a natural beauty who's doingher best to hide behind a bland gray suit and glasses, and CHAD BORMAN, late 20s, devilishly handsome... PRINCIPAL MOSSTER Miss Richards and Dr.Borman are here to tell you about the pitfalls first hand... Kristen steps up to the lectern. KRISTEN Good morning, myname is Kristen Richards. I'm an officer for the Miami juvenile parole board, as some of you already know... Quick glance at Elena who rolls hereyes... KRISTEN But that's not what brings me here today. When I heard about Principal Mosster's sex education program I thoughtI'd volunteer my own personal story, in hopes that you might learn from the mistakes I made. Back in High school all I wanted to do was get drunk, stoned andlaid... The students roar their approval. KRISTEN By my junior year, my life was a blur of cheap beer, anonymous sex,partying every night of the week... Elena covers her mouth, as if to cough... ELENA (through fakecoughs) ...whore... Kristen ignores theslur. 03/22/2004 5. KRISTEN And then, one night atsome pathetic frat party, someone slipped a roofie in my drink...and raped me. This quiets theauditorium. KRISTEN There isn't a day goes by my skin doesn't crawl when I think of the violation and humiliation I endured. I canpromise you that if you make the same kind of wrong- headed choices I did, you'll be seeing Dr. Borman... Chad steps to thepodium. CHAD Thank you, Miss Richards. My name's Dr. Chad Borman. I run the forensics lab at the police department, where mywork has helped convict hundreds of sex offenders. Most teens like Ms. Richards never get their lives together. The physical scars may go away, but the emotionaldamage stays forever. While Chad drones on, MUDDY, a Gremlin-eyed drooler, sitting in front of Elena, looks back at her shapely legs as she puts them up on the back of"}
{"doc_id":"doc_8","qid":"","text":"Cinema Paradiso Script at IMSDb.
CINEMA PARADISO by Giuseppe TornatoreCINEMA PARADISO by Giuseppe TornatoreFOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY Shooting Script 1 GIANCALDO. SALVATORE'S MOTHER'S HOUSE. EXT/INT. DAYThe October sun slashes through the gray clouds, cuts across the shadow towards the sea, along the coast where the new suburbs of the city of Giancaldo have been built up. Bright light streams through thewindows, glancing off the white walls in an almost blinding reflection. MARIA, a woman a little over sixty, is trying to find somebody on the phone. MARIA ...Salvatore, that's right, Salvatore. Di VitaSalvatore ...But, miss, what do you mean you don't know him?!...I...Yes... (She gives a nervous sigh. She has dialed her way through endless numbers but still hasn't managed to speak to Mr. Di Vita. She finally heavesa sigh of relief.) ...That's right, good for you! Oh!...yes...And I'm his mother. I'm calling from Sicily. Been trying all day...Ah, he's not there...But would you be so kind as to give me...?...Yes... (She nods at anotherwoman around forty sitting nearby: it is LIA, her daughter, who jots down the numbers her mother dictates:) ...Six, five, six, two, two, oh, six...Thanks ever so much...Goodbye. Goodbye. She hangs up,takes the number LIA has jotted down, determined to have still another try. LIA speaks to her as if she were a baby, to be more convincing. LIA Look, Ma...It's useless calling him. He'll be terriblybusy, God knows where he is. Besides he might not even remember. Do as I say, forget it...He hasn't been here for thirty years. You know how he is. MARIA pauses to think it over. The decision she has tomake is important. Then, stubbornly. MARIA He'll remember! He'll remember! (She puts on her glasses and starts dialing the number.) ...I'm positive. I know him better than you do. If he were tofind out we hadn't told him, he'd be angry. I know. (She takes off her glasses.) ...Hello? Good morning. Could I please speak to Mr. Salvatore Di Vita. I'm his mother... 2 ROME. STREETS. EXT/INT.NIGHT It's late, but there is still traffic on the streets heading downtown. Inside a high-powered car, a man around fifty is driving. It is SALVATORE Dl VITA. Elegant, just growing gray, a handsome facecreased by deep wrinkles. His weary expression hides the determined, sell-assured manner of the successful self-made man. He must be a heavy smoker judging by the way he draws the last puffs on his cigarette. He stops at a red light. He stubs out the cigarette and rolls down the window, as a little Fiat Uno pulls up alongside. A rock tune plays full blast on the radio. SALVATORE turns instinctively to have a look at theman at the wheel a BOY with a brush cut standing straight in the latest fashion. He studies the Boy's expression with almost exaggerated attention, but devoid of curiosity, coldly. The GIRL sitting beside him, lots ofcurly hair, overripe red lips, returns SALVATORE'5 look, provocatively. The BOY notices, turns to SALVATORE in a surly voice: BOY Hey! What the fuck you looking at!? Green light. TheFiat Uno shoots off, leaving a trail of music in its wake. 3 ROME. SALVATORE S APARTMENT. INT. NIGHT The apartment is luxurious, tastefully furnished. There is no one waiting forSALVATORE. Through the picture window on the terrace, the city can be seen slumbering in the night. SALVATORE gets undressed on his way to the bedroom. He moves quietly, as if to make no noise. He doesn't eventurn on the light, finishes getting undressed in the pale blue glow coming from the picture window. A rustling sound, a movement on the bed, the voice of a woman waking up. CLARA Salvatore...But what time is it? She turns on the bedside light. It is CLARA, a young woman around thirty. SALVATORE climbs in beside her under the covers, kisses her sweetly, then in a whisper. SALVATORE It's late, Clara. Sorry, but I wasn't able to let you know I wouldn't be corning... (He fondles her, but he is tired, feels like sleeping.) Go to sleep now. Sleep. He turns over on theother side. CLARA shuts her eyes, is about to drop off, but whispers. CLARA Your mother phoned. She took me for somebody else... SALVATORE (Surprised) And what'd youtell her? CLARA I played dumb, so as not to disappoint her. We had a nice little talk. She says you never go see her, and when she wants to see you she has to come to Rome...Is it true?SALVATORE doesn't answer. God only knows how often he's heard that question before. SALVATORE She phoned just to say that? She reaches out to switch of the light, buries her headinto the pillow. CLARA She said a certain Alfredo had died. And the funeral's taking place tomorrow afternoon... (A strange look suddenly comes into SALVATORE'S eyes. The idea of going to sleephas clearly left him. It's a piece of news he didn't expect. That's taken him off-guard. CLARA would like to carry on the conversation, but sleepiness makes it almost impossible. An she can manage is one last question ina faint little voice:) Who is it? A relative of yours? SALVATORE No. Sleep. Go to sleep. She falls asleep in the dead silence of the night. SALVATORE is seized by a sort of chill a deep,troubled feeling. He gazes through the window al the city, with its shimmering lights still moving in the darkness, suddenly shrouded in a heavy curtain of rain. But he gazes off, beyond the row of houses, beyond thedark sky; the shadow of a wind chime plays across his face summoning up endless memories, drawing forth from the infinite depths of oblivion a past that he thought had vanished, been wiped out, and instead nowre-emerges, comes back to life, takes on light, superimposing itself on the mellow middle-aged features of his face, in the shadow of the city shaken by the storm, until another image is formed, an ancient, remoteimage... 4 GIANCALDO. CHURCH AND SACRISTY. INT. MORNING An image from over forty years before. In the baroque church of Giancaldo. SALVATORE is nine years old. Dressed as analtar boy, he is kneeling by the altar with a little silver bell in his hands. The congregation is also kneeling. The PRIEST is consecrating the Host. Little SALVATORE has just got out of bed, is still half-asleep, yawns anddoesn't notice that the PRIEST is standing there with the Host in the air glaring at him, as if trying to tell him something. PRIEST Pss! Pssst! SALVATORE finishes yawning and opening hiseyes meets the withering look of the PRIEST. He gets the message at once and rings the bell. Now the PRIEST can carry on, lifts the chalice and the bell is heard again. Cut to: The service is over.The PRIEST is in the sacristy removing his vestments. And SALVATORE is also there, removing his altar-boy tunic. PRIEST But how can I make you understand? Without the bell I just can't go on!Always half asleep, you are! What do you do at night anyway? Eat instead of sleep? SALVATORE Father, at my house we don't even eat at noon. That's why I'm always sleepy. That's what the vetsays. The PRIEST has finished disrobing. He takes the bell SALVATORE was holding during the service and turns to leave. PRIEST All right, Toto, get moving, I've got things to do. Sayhello to your mother. SALVATORE Can I... PRIEST (Interrupting him) And don't ask if you can come... Because you can't!! Shoo, shoo, off with you!! SALVATOREgives a shrug and leaves. The PRIEST goes down a corridor, opens a door, another corridor, and finally a door leading to an outside courtyard. He cuts across it and disappears into another door.5 CINEMA PARADISO AND PROJECTION BOOTH. INT. MORNING The PRIEST enters a movie house. Not very big 200 seats on the main floor and another seventy in the balcony. Along the walls, postersof films to be shown are stuck up between the light fixtures. In one corner, a statue of the Virgin Mary with flowers. The CLEANING LADY has finished work and is leaving. Up in the balcony, over the last row of seats,are the holes of the projection booth. The middle hole is camouflaged by the huge head of a roaring lion, all in plaster, and the lens of the projector can be glimpsed between its sharp teeth. there are two smaller holes,through which the figure of a man can be made out, appearing and disappearing...It is ALFREDO, the projectionist. He is around forty, skinny and bony with a tough peasant face. He has finished loading the projectorand is checking the carbons in the arc lamp. Then he removes the glass from one of the holes and looks down into the theatre, at the PRIEST who waves his hand. PRIEST OK, Alfredo, you canstart!! He sits down an by himself in the middle of the empty theatre. Up in the booth, ALFREDO lights the arc lamp and sets the projector going. Down in the theatre, the light goes off and out ofthe lion's mouth streams the glowing ray aimed al the screen. String music, sweet and ominous, spreads through the theatre. On the screen appear the credit titles of an American film of the 1940s. The PRIEST screwsup his face and holds the bell in his right hand resting on the arm of his seat. At the back of the theatre, behind the last row, a curtain moves, opens a crack and SALVATORE'S gaunt little face appears. He hasmanaged to sneak in somehow and stands there without a word, spellbound, watching the 'movie' on the glowing screen. The credit titles have long come and gone. The story is at a turning-point. Up above,in the hole of the booth next to the lion, ALFREDO watches the film, but his eyes keep looking down at the PRIEST, who is now drumming the bell with his fingers. On the screen, the male and female lead, twoHollywood stars, are in close-up; the dialogue is passionate, romantic. SALVATORE, carried away by those faces, by the way they talk, by the beauty of the woman, slowly slips down the length of the curtain until he issitting on the floor, his eyes glued to the screen. The love scene reaches a climax, the music crescendos, and the love-struck couple finally fall into each other's arms and kiss. Instinctively, the PRIEST raisesthe bell into the air, as in some age-old ceremony, and gives it a loud ring... Up in the booth ALFREDO hears the bell; it's the signal he's been waiting for. He takes a slip of paper from a pad prepared for thatpurpose and sticks it into the loops of the film containing that specific scene as it winds on to the reel. The projection continues... ...And also the kiss of the two actors. The PRIEST'S nervous look lingers onthose black-and-white lips meeting and now pulling apart for one last declaration of love before separating. SALVATORE is wide-eyed, he's probably never seen a man and woman kiss before, it's a vision that for him"}
{"doc_id":"doc_9","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Last Chronicle of Barset, by AnthonyTrollopeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Last Chronicle of BarsetAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: January, 2002 [eBook#3045][Most recently updated: December 1, 2010]Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET***E-text prepared by Kenneth David Cooperand revised byJoseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the 64 illustrations by George Housman Thomas from the First Edition (Smith, Elder and Co.,1867). See 3045-h.htm or 3045-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3045/3045-h/3045-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3045/3045-h.zip)THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSETbyANTHONYTROLLOPEFirst published in monthly installments from December 1, 1866, toJuly 6, 1867, and in book form in 1867[Illustration: Mr. Crawley before the Magistrates. (Frontispiece)]CONTENTS I. How Did He GetIt? II. By Heavens He Had Better Not! III. The Archdeacon's Threat IV. The Clergyman's House at Hogglestock V. What the World Thought About It VI. Grace Crawley VII. Miss Prettyman'sPrivate Room VIII. Mr. Crawley Is Taken to Silverbridge IX. Grace Crawley Goes to Allington X. Dinner at Framley Court XI. The Bishop Sends His Inhibition XII. Mr. Crawley Seeks forSympathy XIII. The Bishop's Angel XIV. Major Grantly Consults a Friend XV. Up in London XVI. Down at Allington XVII. Mr. Crawley Is Summoned to Barchester XVIII. The Bishop of Barchester IsCrushed XIX. Where Did It Come From? XX. What Mr. Walker Thought About It XXI. Mr. Robarts on His Embassy XXII. Major Grantly at Home XXIII. Miss Lily Dale's Resolution XXIV. Mrs. DobbsBroughton's Dinner-party XXV. Miss Madalina Demolines XXVI. The Picture XXVII. A Hero at Home XXVIII. Showing How Major Grantly Took a Walk XXIX. Miss Lily Dale's Logic XXX. Showing WhatMajor Grantly Did After His Walk XXXI. Showing How Major Grantly Returned to Guestwick XXXII. Mr. Toogood XXXIII. The Plumstead Foxes XXXIV. Mrs. Proudie Sends for Her Lawyer XXXV. Lily DaleWrites Two Words in Her Book XXXVI. Grace Crawley Returns Home XXXVII. Hook Court XXXVIII. Jael XXXIX. A New Flirtation XL. Mr. Toogood's Ideas About Society XLI. Grace Crawley atHome XLII. Mr. Toogood Travels Professionally XLIII. Mr. Crosbie Goes into the City XLIV. \"I Suppose I Must Let You Have It\" XLV. Lily Dale Goes to London XLVI. The Bayswater Romance XLVII. Dr.Tempest at the Palace XLVIII. The Softness of Sir Raffle Buffle XLIX. Near the Close L. Lady Lufton's Proposition LI. Mrs. Dobbs Broughton Piles Her Fagots LII. Why Don't You Have an \"It\" forYourself? LIII. Rotten Row LIV. The Clerical Commission LV. Framley Parsonage LVI. The Archdeacon Goes to Framley LVII. A Double Pledge LVIII. The Cross-grainedness of Men LIX. A LadyPresents Her Compliments to Miss L. D. LX. The End of Jael and Sisera LXI. \"It's Dogged as Does It\" LXII. Mr. Crawley's Letter to the Dean LXIII. Two Visitors to Hogglestock LXIV. The Tragedy inHook Court LXV. Miss Van Siever Makes Her Choice LXVI. Requiescat in Pace LXVII. In Memoriam LXVIII. The Obstinacy of Mr. Crawley LXIX. Mr. Crawley's Last Appearance in His Own Pulpit LXX.Mrs. Arabin Is Caught LXXI. Mr. Toogood at Silverbridge LXXII. Mr. Toogood at \"The Dragon of Wantly\" LXXIII. There Is Comfort at Plumstead LXXIV. The Crawleys Are Informed LXXV. Madalina's Heart IsBleeding LXXVI. I Think He Is Light of Heart LXXVII. The Shattered Tree LXXVIII. The Arabins Return to Barchester LXXIX. Mr. Crawley Speaks of His Coat LXXX. Miss Demolines Desires to Become aFinger-post LXXXI. Barchester Cloisters LXXXII. The Last Scene at Hogglestock LXXXIII. Mr. Crawley Is Conquered LXXXIV. ConclusionTITLED ILLUSTRATIONS Mr. Crawley before theMagistrates. Frontispiece Mr. and Mrs. Crawley. Chapter I \"I love you as though you were my own,\" said the Schoolmistress. Chapter VI \"A convicted thief,\" repeated Mrs.Proudie. Chapter XI \"Speak out, Dan.\" Chapter XII Grace Crawley is introduced to Squire Dale. Chapter XVI Farmer Mangle and Mr. Crawley. Chapter XVII \"She's more like Eleanorthan any one else.\" Chapter XXII \"I am very glad to have the opportunity of shaking hands with you.\" Chapter XXIV \"What do you think of it, Mrs. Broughton?\" Chapter XXVI Squire Dale and MajorGrantly. Chapter XXVIII \"Never mind Mr. Henry.\" Chapter XXXIII Lily wishes that they might swear to be Brother and Sister. Chapter XXXV She read thebeginning--\"Dearest Grace.\" Chapter XXXVI \"Mamma, I've got something to tell you.\" Chapter XLI Mr. Toogood and the old Waiter. Chapter XLII They pronounced her to be very much like aLady. Chapter XLV \"As right as a trivet, Uncle.\" Chapter XLVIII Posy and her Grandpapa. Chapter XLIX Mrs. Dobbs Broughton piles her Fagots. ChapterLI \"Because of Papa's disgrace.\" Chapter LV \"But it will never pass away,\" said Grace. Chapter LVII \"Honour thy Father,--that thy days may be long in the Land.\" Chapter LVIII \"It'sdogged as does it.\" Chapter LXI Mrs. Proudie's Emissary. Chapter LXIII \"You do not know what starving is, my dear.\" Chapter LXV \"They will come to hear a ruined man declare hisown ruin.\" Chapter LXIX \"No sale after all?\" Chapter LXXI \"These are the young Hogglestockians, are they?\" Chapter LXXIV The lastDenial. Chapter LXXVII \"What is it that I behold?\" Chapter LXXX \"Peradventure he signifies his Consent.\" Chapter LXXXIICHAPTER I.HOW DID HE GET IT?[Illustration]\"I can neverbring myself to believe it, John,\" said Mary Walker,the pretty daughter of Mr. George Walker, attorney of Silverbridge.Walker and Winthrop was the name of the firm, and they wererespectable people, who did all thesolicitors' business that hadto be done in that part of Barsetshire on behalf of the Crown, wereemployed on the local business of the Duke of Omnium who is great inthose parts, and altogether held their heads up high,as provinciallawyers often do. They,--the Walkers,--lived in a great brickhouse in the middle of the town, gave dinners, to which the countygentlemen not unfrequently condescended to come, and in a mild wayled thefashion in Silverbridge. \"I can never bring myself to believeit, John,\" said Miss Walker.\"You'll have to bring yourself to believe it,\" said John, withouttaking his eyes from his book.\"A clergyman,--and such a clergymantoo!\"\"I don't see that that has anything to do with it.\" And as he nowspoke, John did take his eyes off his book. \"Why should not aclergyman turn thief as well as anybody else? You girls always seemto forget thatclergymen are only men after all.\"\"Their conduct is likely to be better than that of other men, Ithink.\"\"I deny it utterly,\" said John Walker. \"I'll undertake to say thatat this moment there are more clergymen in debt inBarsetshire thanthere are either lawyers or doctors. This man has always been indebt. Since he has been in the county I don't think he has ever beenable to show his face in the High Street of Silverbridge.\"\"John, that issaying more than you have a right to say,\" said Mrs.Walker.\"Why, mother, this very cheque was given to a butcher who hadthreatened a few days before to post bills all about the county,giving an account of the debtthat was due to him, if the money wasnot paid at once.\"\"More shame for Mr. Fletcher,\" said Mary. \"He has made a fortune asbutcher in Silverbridge.\"\"What has that to do with it? Of course a man likes to havehismoney. He had written three times to the bishop, and he had senta man over to Hogglestock to get his little bill settled six daysrunning. You see he got it at last. Of course, a tradesman must lookfor hismoney.\"\"Mamma, do you think that Mr. Crawley stole the cheque?\" Mary, as sheasked the question, came and stood over her mother, looking at herwith anxious eyes.\"I would rather give no opinion, my dear.\"\"But youmust think something when everybody is talking about it,mamma.\"\"Of course my mother thinks he did,\" said John, going back to hisbook. \"It is impossible that she should think otherwise.\"\"That is not fair, John,\" saidMrs. Walker; \"and I won't have youfabricate thoughts for me, or put the expression of them into mymouth. The whole affair is very painful, and as your father isengaged in the inquiry, I think that the less said about thematterin this house the better. I am sure that that would be your father'sfeeling.\"\"Of course I should say nothing about it before him,\" said Mary. \"Iknow that papa does not wish to have it talked about. But how is onetohelp thinking about such a thing? It would be so terrible for allof us who belong to the Church.\"\"I do not see that at all,\" said John. \"Mr. Crawley is not more thanany other man just because he's a clergyman. I hate allthat kind ofclap-trap. There are a lot of people here in Silverbridge who thinkthe matter shouldn't be followed up, just because the man is in aposition which makes the crime more criminal in him than it would beinanother.\"\"But I feel sure that Mr. Crawley has committed no crime at all,\"said Mary.\"My dear,\" said Mrs. Walker, \"I have just said that I would ratheryou would not talk about it. Papa will be in directly.\"\"I won't,mamma;--only--\"\"Only! yes; just only!\" said John. \"She'd go on till dinner if anyone would stay to hear her.\"\"You've said twice as much as I have, John.\" But John had left theroom before his sister's last words couldreach him.\"You know, mamma, it is quite impossible not to help thinking of it,\"said Mary.\"I dare say it is, my dear.\"\"And when one knows the people it does make it so dreadful.\"\"But do you know them? I never spoketo Mr. Crawley in my life, andI do not think I ever saw her.\"\"I knew Grace very well,--when she used to come first to MissPrettyman's school.\"\"Poor girl. I pity her.\"\"Pity her! Pity is no word for it, mamma. My heartbleeds for them.And yet I do not believe for a moment that he stole the cheque. Howcan it be possible? For though he may have been in debt because theyhave been so very, very poor; yet we all know that he hasbeen anexcellent clergyman. When the Robartses were dining here last, Iheard Mrs. Robarts say that for piety and devotion to his duties shehad hardly ever seen any one equal to him. And the Robartses knowmore ofthem than anybody.\"\"They say that the dean is his great friend.\"\"What a pity it is that the Arabins should be away just now when heis in such trouble.\" And in this way the mother and daughter wenton discussing thequestion of the clergyman's guilt in spite of Mrs.Walker's previously expressed desire that nothing more might be saidabout it. But Mrs. Walker, like many other mothers, was apt to bemore free in converse with herdaughter than she was with her son.While they were thus talking the father came in from his office, andthen the subject was dropped. He was a man between fifty and sixtyyears of age, with grey hair, rather short, andsomewhat corpulent,but still gifted with that amount of personal comeliness whichcomfortable position and the respect of others will generally seem togive. A man rarely carries himself meanly, whom the world holdshighin esteem.\"I am very tired, my dear,\" said Mr. Walker.\"You look tired. Come and sit down for a few minutes before youdress. Mary, get your father's slippers.\" Mary instantly ran to thedoor.\"Thanks, my darling,\"said the father. And then he whispered to hiswife, as soon as Mary was out of hearing, \"I fear that unfortunateman is guilty. I fear he is! I fear he is!\"\"Oh, heavens! what will become of them?\"\"What indeed? She hasbeen with me to-day.\"\"Has she? And what could you say to her?\"\"I told her at first that I could not see her, and begged her not tospeak to me about it. I tried to make her understand that she shouldgo to some oneelse. But it was of no use.\"\"And how did it end?\"\"I asked her to go in to you, but she declined. She said you could donothing for her.\"\"And does she think her husband guilty?\"\"No, indeed. She think him guilty! Nothingon earth,--or from heaveneither, as I take it, would make her suppose it to be possible. Shecame to me simply to tell me how good he was.\"\"I love her for that,\" said Mrs. Walker.\"So did I. But what is the good of lovingher? Thank you, dearest.I'll get your slippers for you some day, perhaps.\"The whole county was astir in this matter of this alleged guilt ofthe Reverend Josiah Crawley,--the whole county, almost as keenly asthe familyof Mr. Walker, of Silverbridge. The crime laid to hischarge was the theft of a cheque for twenty pounds, which he was saidto have stolen out of a pocket-book left or dropped in his house, andto have passed as moneyinto the hands of one Fletcher, a butcherof Silverbridge, to whom he was indebted. Mr. Crawley was in thosedays the perpetual curate of Hogglestock, a parish in the northernextremity of East Barsetshire; a man knownby all who knew anythingof him to be very poor,--an unhappy, moody, disappointed man, uponwhom the troubles of the world always seemed to come with a doubleweight. But he had ever been respected as aclergyman, since hisold friend Mr. Arabin, the dean of Barchester, had given him thesmall incumbency which he now held. Though moody, unhappy, anddisappointed, he was a hard-working, conscientious pastoramongthe poor people with whom his lot was cast; for in the parish ofHogglestock there resided only a few farmers higher in degree thanfield labourers, brickmakers, and such like. Mr. Crawley had nowpassed some tenyears of his life at Hogglestock; and during thoseyears he had worked very hard to do his duty, struggling to teach thepeople around him perhaps too much of the mystery, but something alsoof the comfort, of religion.That he had become popular in his parishcannot be said of him. He was not a man to make himself popular inany position. I have said that he was moody and disappointed. He waseven worse than this; he was morose,sometimes almost to insanity.There had been days in which even his wife had found it impossibleto deal with him otherwise than as with an acknowledged lunatic. Andthis was known among the farmers, who talkedabout their clergymanamong themselves as though he were a madman. But among the very poor,among the brickmakers of Hoggle End,--a lawless, drunken, terriblyrough lot of humanity,--he was held in high respect;for they knewthat he lived hardly, as they lived; that he worked hard, as theyworked; and that the outside world was hard to him, as it was tothem; and there had been an apparent sincerity of godliness about theman,and a manifest struggle to do his duty in spite of the world'sill-usage, which had won its way even with the rough; so that Mr.Crawley's name had stood high with many in his parish, in spite ofthe unfortunate peculiarityof his disposition. This was the man whowas now accused of stealing a cheque for twenty pounds.But before the circumstances of the alleged theft are stated, a wordor two must be said as to Mr. Crawley's family. It isdeclared that agood wife is a crown to her husband, but Mrs. Crawley had been muchmore than a crown to him. As had regarded all the inner life of theman,--all that portion of his life which had not been passed inthepulpit or in pastoral teaching,--she had been crown, throne, andsceptre all in one. That she had endured with him and on his behalfthe miseries of poverty, and the troubles of a life which had knownno smiles, isperhaps not to be alleged as much to her honour.She had joined herself to him for better or worse, and it was hermanifest duty to bear such things; wives always have to bear them,knowing when they marry that theymust take their chance. Mr. Crawleymight have been a bishop, and Mrs. Crawley, when she married him,perhaps thought it probable that such would be his fortune. Insteadof that he was now, just as he wasapproaching his fiftieth year, aperpetual curate, with an income of one hundred and thirty poundsper annum,--and a family. That had been Mrs. Crawley's luck in life,and of course she bore it. But she had also donemuch more thanthis. She had striven hard to be contented, or, rather, to appearto be contented, when he had been most wretched and most moody.She had struggled to conceal from him her own conviction as tohishalf-insanity, treating him at the same time with the respect dueto an honoured father of a family, and with the careful measuredindulgence fit for a sick and wayward child. In all the terribletroubles of their life hercourage had been higher than his. Themetal of which she was made had been tempered to a steel which wasvery rare and fine, but the rareness and fineness of which he hadfailed to appreciate. He had often told herthat she was withoutpride, because she had stooped to receive from others, on his behalfand on behalf of her children, things which were very needful, butwhich she could not buy. He had told her that she was abeggar, andthat it was better to starve than to beg. She had borne the rebukewithout a word in reply, and had then begged again for him, and hadendured the starvation herself. Nothing in their poverty had, foryearspast, been a shame to her; but every accident of their povertywas still, and ever had been, a living disgrace to him.[Illustration: Mr. and Mrs. Crawley.]They had had many children, and three were still alive. Oftheeldest, Grace Crawley, we shall hear much in the coming story. Shewas at this time nineteen years old, and there were those who saidthat, in spite of her poverty, her shabby outward apparel, and acertain thin,unfledged, unrounded form of person, a want of fulnessin the lines of her figure, she was the prettiest girl in that partof the world. She was living now at a school in Silverbridge, wherefor the last year she had been ateacher; and there were many inSilverbridge who declared that very bright prospects were opening toher,--that young Major Grantly of Cosby Lodge, who, though a widowerwith a young child, was the cynosure of allfemale eyes in andround Silverbridge, had found beauty in her thin face, and thatGrace Crawley's fortune was made in the teeth, as it were, of theprevailing ill-fortune of her family. Bob Crawley, who was twoyearsyounger, was now at Marlbro' School, from whence it was intended thathe should proceed to Cambridge, and be educated there at the expenseof his godfather, Dean Arabin. In this also the world saw a strokeofgood luck. But then nothing was lucky to Mr. Crawley. Bob, indeed,who had done very well at school, might do well at Cambridge,--mightdo great things there. But Mr. Crawley would almost have preferredthat the boyshould work in the fields, than that he should beeducated in a manner so manifestly eleemosynary. And then hisclothes! How was he to be provided with clothes fit either for schoolor for college? But the dean and Mrs.Crawley between them managedthis, leaving Mr. Crawley very much in the dark, as Mrs. Crawley wasin the habit of leaving him. Then there was a younger daughter, Jane,still at home, who passed her life between hermother's work-tableand her father's Greek, mending linen and learning to scaniambics,--for Mr. Crawley in his early days had been a ripe scholar.And now there had come upon them all this terribly-crushingdisaster.That poor Mr. Crawley had gradually got himself into a mess of debtat Silverbridge, from which he was quite unable to extricate himself,was generally known by all the world both of SilverbridgeandHogglestock. To a great many it was known that Dean Arabin hadpaid money for him, very much contrary to his own consent, andthat he had quarrelled, or attempted to quarrel, with the dean inconsequence,--hadso attempted, although the money had in part passedthrough his own hands. There had been one creditor, Fletcher, thebutcher of Silverbridge, who had of late been specially hard uponpoor Crawley. This man, who hadnot been without good nature in hisdealings, had heard stories of the dean's good-will and such like,and had loudly expressed his opinion that the perpetual curate ofHogglestock would show a higher pride in allowing"}
{"doc_id":"doc_10","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Child Christopher, by William MorrisThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Child ChristopherAuthor: William MorrisRelease Date: July 1, 2008 [EBook #234]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD CHRISTOPHER ***Produced by John HammCHILD CHRISTOPHER AND GOLDILIND THE FAIRby William Morris1895CHAPTER I. OF THE KING OF OAKENREALM, ANDHIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD.Of old there was a land which was so much a woodland, that a minstrelthereof said it that a squirrel might go from end to end, and all about,from tree to tree, and never touch the earth:therefore was that landcalled Oakenrealm.The lord and king thereof was a stark man, and so great a warrior thatin his youth he took no delight in aught else save battle and tourneys.But when he was hard on fortyyears old, he came across a daughter ofa certain lord, whom he had vanquished, and his eyes bewrayed himinto longing, so that he gave back to the said lord the havings he hadconquered of him that he might lay themaiden in his kingly bed. So hebrought her home with him to Oakenrealm and wedded her.Tells the tale that he rued not his bargain, but loved her so dearlythat for a year round he wore no armour, save when shebade him play inthe tilt-yard for her desport and pride.So wore the days till she went with child and was near her time, andthen it betid that three kings who marched on Oakenrealm banded themtogether against him,and his lords and thanes cried out on him to leadthem to battle, and it behoved him to do as they would.So he sent out the tokens and bade an hosting at his chief city, andwhen all was ready he said farewell to his wifeand her babe unborn, andwent his ways to battle once more: but fierce was his heart against thefoemen, that they had dragged him away from his love and his joy.Even amidst of his land he joined battle with the hostof the ravagers,and the tale of them is short to tell, for they were as the wheat beforethe hook. But as he followed up the chase, a mere thrall of the fleersturned on him and cast his spear, and it reached him whereashis hawberkwas broken, and stood deep in, so that he fell to earth unmighty: andwhen his lords and chieftains drew about him, and cunning men strove toheal him, it was of no avail, and he knew that his soul wasdeparting.Then he sent for a priest, and for the Marshal of the host, who was agreat lord, and the son of his father's brother, and in few words badehim look to the babe whom his wife bore about, and if it were a man,tocherish him and do him to learn all that a king ought to know; and if itwere a maiden, that he should look to her wedding well and worthily: andhe let swear him on his sword, on the edges and the hilts, that hewoulddo even so, and be true unto his child if child there were: and he badehim have rule, if so be the lords would, and all the people, till thechild were of age to be king: and the Marshal swore, and all the lordswhostood around bare witness to his swearing. Thereafter the priesthouselled the King, and he received his Creator, and a little whileafter his soul departed.But the Marshal followed up the fleeing foe, and two battles morehefought before he beat them flat to earth; and then they craved forpeace, and he went back to the city in mickle honour.But in the King's city of Oakenham he found but little joy; for boththe King was bemoaned,whereas he had been no hard man to his folk; andalso, when the tidings and the King's corpse came back to Oakenrealm,his Lady and Queen took sick for sorrow and fear, and fell into labourof her child, and in childingof a man-bairn she died, but the ladlived, and was like to do well.So there was one funeral for the slain King and for her whom his slayinghad slain: and when that was done, the little king was borne to thefont, and athis christening he gat to name Christopher.Thereafter the Marshal summoned all them that were due thereto to comeand give homage to the new king, and even so did they, though he werebut a babe, yea, and whohad but just now been a king lying in hismother's womb. But when the homage was done, then the Marshal calledtogether the wise men, and told them how the King that was had given himin charge his son as thenunborn, and the ruling of the realm till thesaid son were come to man's estate: but he bade them seek one worthierif they had heart to gainsay the word of their dying lord. Then all theysaid that he was worthy andmighty and the choice of their dear lord,and that they would have none but he.So then was the great folk-mote called, and the same matter was laidbefore all the people, and none said aught against it, whereas nomanwas ready to name another to that charge and rule, even had it been hisown self.Now then by law was the Marshal, who hight Rolf, lord and earl of theland of Oakenrealm. He ruled well and strongly, and was a fellwarrior:he was well befriended by many of the great; and the rest of them fearedhim and his friends: as for the commonalty, they saw that he held therealm in peace; and for the rest, they knew little and saw less ofhim,and they paid to his bailiffs and sheriffs as little as they could, andmore than they would. But whereas that left them somewhat to grind theirteeth on, and they were not harried, they were not so ill content. SotheMarshal throve, and lacked nothing of a king's place save the barename.CHAPTER II. OF THE KING'S SON.As for the King's son, to whom the folk had of late done homage as king,he was at first seen about a corner ofthe High House with his nurses;and then in a while it was said, and the tale noted, but not much, thathe must needs go for his health's sake, and because he was puny, to somestead amongst the fields, and folk heardsay that he was gone to thestrong house of a knight somewhat stricken in years, who was called LordRichard the Lean. The said house was some twelve miles from Oakenham,not far from the northern edge of thewild-wood. But in a while, scarcemore than a year, Lord Richard brake up house at the said castle, andwent southward through the forest. Of this departure was little said,for he was not a man amongst the foremost. Asfor the King's little son,if any remembered that he was in the hands of the said Lord Richard,none said aught about it; for if any thought of the little babe at all,they said to themselves, Never will he come to be king.Nowas for Lord Richard the Lean, he went far through the wood, anduntil he was come to another house of his, that stood in a clearingsomewhat near to where Oakenrealm marched on another country, whichhightMeadham; though the said wild-wood ended not where Oakenrealmended, but stretched a good way into Meadham; and betwixt one and theother much rough country there was.It is to be said that amongst those whowent to this stronghold of thewoods was the little King Christopher, no longer puny, but a stoutbabe enough: so he was borne amongst the serving men and thralls tothe castle of the Outer March; and he was in no wisetreated as a greatman's son; but there was more than one woman who was kind to him, andas he waxed in strength and beauty month by month, both carle andquean fell to noting him, and, for as little as he was, hebegan to bewell-beloved.As to the stead where he was nourished, though it were far away amongstthe woods, it was no such lonely or savage place: besides the castle andthe houses of it, there was a merry thorpe inthe clearing, the houseswhereof were set down by the side of a clear and pleasant little stream.Moreover the goodmen and swains of the said township were no ill folk,but bold of heart, free of speech, and goodly offavour; and the womenof them fair, kind, and trusty. Whiles came folk journeying in toOakenrealm or out to Meadham, and of these some were minstrels, who hadwith them tidings of what was astir whereas folk werethicker in theworld, and some chapmen, who chaffered with the thorpe-dwellers, andtook of them the woodland spoil for such outland goods as those woodmenneeded.So wore the years, and in Oakenham KingChristopher was well nighforgotten, and in the wild-wood had never been known clearly for King'sson. At first, by command of Rolf the Marshal, a messenger cameevery year from Lord Richard with a letter that told ofhow the ladChristopher did. But when five years were worn, the Marshal bade sendhim tidings thereof every three years; and by then it was come to thetwelfth year, and still the tidings were that the lad throve ever,andmeanwhile the Marshal sat fast in his seat with none to gainsay, theword went to Lord Richard that he should send no more, for that he, theMarshal, had heard enough of the boy; and if he throve it were well, andifnot, it was no worse. So wore the days and the years.CHAPTER III. OF THE KING OF MEADHAM AND HIS DAUGHTER.Tells the tale that in the country which lay south of Oakenrealm, andwas called Meadham, there wasin these days a king whose wife was dead,but had left him a fair daughter, who was born some four years afterKing Christopher. A good man was this King Roland, mild, bounteous, andno regarder of persons in hisjustice; and well-beloved he was of hisfolk: yet could not their love keep him alive; for, whenas his daughterwas of the age of twelve years, he sickened unto death; and so, when heknew that his end drew near, he sentfor the wisest of his wise men,and they came unto him sorrowing in the High House of his chiefest city,which hight Meadhamstead. So he bade them sit down nigh unto his bed,and took up the word and spake:\"Masters,and my good lords, ye may see clearly that a sundering is athand, and that I must needs make a long journey, whence I shall comeback never; now I would, and am verily of duty bound thereto, that Ileave behind mesome good order in the land. Furthermore, I would thatmy daughter, when she is of age thereto, should be Queen in Meadham, andrule the land; neither will it be many years before she shall be of ripeage for ruling, ifever she may be; and I deem not that there shall beany lack in her, whereas her mother could all courtesy, and was as wiseas a woman may be. But how say ye, my masters?\"So they all with one consent said Yea, andthey would ask for no betterking than their lady his daughter. Then said the King:\"Hearken carefully, for my time is short: Yet is she young and a maiden,though she be wise. Now therefore do I need some man welllooked to ofthe folk, who shall rule the land in her name till she be of eighteenwinters, and who shall be her good friend and counsellor into all wisdomthereafter. Which of you, my masters, is meet for this matter?\"Thenthey all looked one on the other, and spake not. And the King said:\"Speak, some one of you, without fear; this is no time for tarrying.\"Thereon spake an elder, the oldest of them, and said: \"Lord, this isthe very truth,that none of us here present are meet for this office:whereas, among other matters, we be all unmeet for battle; some of ushave never been warriors, and other some are past the age for leading anhost. To say thesooth, King, there is but one man in Meadham who may dowhat thou wilt, and not fail; both for his wisdom, and his might afield,and the account which is had of him amongst the people; and that man isEarl Geoffrey, ofthe Southern Marches.\"\"Ye say sooth,\" quoth the King; \"but is he down in the South, or nigherto hand?\"Said the elder: \"He is as now in Meadhamstead, and may be in thischamber in scant half an hour.\" So the Kingbade send for him, and therewas silence in the chamber till he came in, clad in a scarlet kirtle anda white cloak, and with his sword by his side. He was a tall man,bigly made; somewhat pale of face, black and curly ofhair; blue-eyed,thin-lipped, and hook-nosed as an eagle; a man warrior-like, andsomewhat fierce of aspect. He knelt down by the King's bedside, andasked him in a sorrowful voice what he would, and the King said: \"Iaska great matter of thee, and all these my wise men, and I myself,withal, deem that thou canst do it, and thou alone--nay, hearken: I amdeparting, and I would have thee hold my place, and do unto my peopleevenwhat I would do if I myself were living; and to my daughter asnigh to that as may be. I say all this thou mayst do, if thou wilt be astrusty and leal to me after I am dead, as thou hast seemed to all men'seyes to havebeen while I was living. What sayest thou?\"The Earl had hidden his face in the coverlet of the bed while the Kingwas speaking; but now he lifted up his face, weeping, and said: \"Kinsmanand friend and King; this isnought hard to do; but if it were, yetwould I do it.\"\"It is well,\" said the King: \"my heart fails me and my voice; so giveheed, and set thine ear close to my mouth: hearken, belike my daughterGoldilind shall be one of thefairest of women; I bid thee wed her tothe fairest of men and the strongest, and to none other.\"Thereat his voice failed him indeed, and he lay still; but he died not,till presently the priest came to him, and, as he might,houselled him:then he departed.As for Earl Geoffrey, when the King was buried, and the homages done tothe maiden Goldilind, he did no worse than those wise men deemed of him,but bestirred him, and looked fullsagely into all the matters of thekingdom, and did so well therein that all men praised his rule perforce,whether they loved him or not; and sooth to say he was not much beloved.CHAPTER IV. OF THE MAIDENGOLDILIND.AMIDST of all his other business Earl Geoffrey bethought him in a whileof the dead King's daughter, and he gave her in charge to a gentlewoman,somewhat stricken in years, a widow of high lineage, but notoverwealthy. She dwelt in her own house in a fair valley some twenty milesfrom Meadhamstead: thereabode Goldilind till a year and a half was worn,and had due observance, but little love, and not much kindnessfromthe said gentlewoman, who hight Dame Elinor Leashowe. Howbeit, timeand again came knights and ladies and lords to see the little lady, andkissed her hand and did obeisance to her; yet more came to her inthefirst three months of her sojourn at Leashowe than the second, and morein the second than the third.At last, on a day when the said year and a half was fully worn, thithercame Earl Geoffrey with a company ofknights and men-at-arms, and he didobeisance, as due was, to his master's daughter, and then spake awhileprivily with Dame Elinor; and thereafter they went into the hall, he,and she, and Goldilind, and there beforeall men he spake aloud andsaid:\"My Lady Goldilind, meseemeth ye dwell here all too straitly; forneither is this house of Leashowe great enough for thy state, and theentertainment of the knights and lords who shallhave will to seek tothee hither; nor is the wealth of thy liege dame and governante as greatas it should be, and as thou, meseemeth, wouldst have it. Wherefore Ihave been considering thy desires herein, and if thoudeem it meet togive a gift to Dame Elinor, and live queenlier thyself than now thoudost, then mayst thou give unto her the Castle of Greenharbour, and thesix manors appertaining thereto, and withal the rights ofwild-wood andfen and fell that lie thereabout. Also, if thou wilt, thou mayst honourthe said castle with abiding there awhile at thy pleasure; and I shallsee to it that thou have due meney to go with thee thither. Howsayestthou, my lady?\"Amongst that company there were two or three who looked at each otherand half smiled; and two or three looked on the maiden, who wasgoodly as of her years, as if with compassion; but themore part keptcountenance in full courtly wise.Then spake Goldilind in a quavering voice (for she was afraid and wise),and she said: \"Cousin and Earl, we will that all this be done; and itlikes me well to eke the wealth ofthis lady and my good friend DameElinor.\"Quoth Earl Geoffrey: \"Kneel before thy lady, Dame, and put thine handsbetween hers and thank her for the gift.\" So Dame Elinor knelt down, anddid homage and obeisance forher new land; and Goldilind raised herup and kissed her, and bade her sit down beside her, and spake to herkindly; and all men praised the maiden for her gentle and courteousways; and Dame Elinor smiled upon herand them, what she could.She was small of body and sleek; but her cheeks somewhat flagging; browneyes she had, long, half opened; thin lips, and chin somewhat fallingaway from her mouth; hard on fifty winters hadshe seen; yet there havebeen those who were older and goodlier both.CHAPTER V. GOLDILIND COMES TO GREENHARBOUR.But a little while tarried the Earl Geoffrey at Leashowe, but departednext morning and cameto Meadhamstead. A month thereafter came folk fromhim to Leashowe, to wit, the new meney for the new abode of Goldilind;amongst whom was a goodly band of men-at-arms, led by an old lordpinched and peevish offace, who kneeled to Goldilind as the newburgreve of Greenharbour; and a chaplain, a black canon, young,broad-cheeked and fresh-looking, but hard-faced and unlovely; threenew damsels withal were come for theyoung Queen, not young maids, butstalworth women, well-grown, and two of them hard-featured; the third,tall, black-haired, and a goodly-fashioned body.Now when these were come, who were all under the rule ofDame Elinor,there was no gainsaying the departure to the new home; and in two days'time they went their ways from Leashowe. But though Goldilind was young,she was wise, and her heart misgave her, when she wasamidst this newmeney, that she was not riding toward glory and honour, and a world ofworship and friends beloved. Howbeit, whatso might lie before her, sheput a good face upon it, and did to those about her queenlyand with allcourtesy.Five days they rode from Leashowe north away, by thorpe and town andmead and river, till the land became little peopled, and the sixth daythey rode the wild-wood ways, where was no folk, savenow and again thelittle cot of some forester or collier; but the seventh day, aboutnoon, they came into a clearing of the wood, a rugged little plain oflea-land, mingled with marish, with a little deal of acre-land inbarleyand rye, round about a score of poor frame-houses set down scattermealabout the lea. But on a long ridge, at the northern end of the saidplain, was a grey castle, strong, and with big and high towers, yetnot somuch greater than was Leashowe, deemed Goldilind, as for adwelling-house.Howbeit, they entered the said castle, and within, as without, it wassomewhat grim, though nought was lacking of plenishing due forfolkknightly. Long it were to tell of its walls and baileys and chambers;but let this suffice, that on the north side, toward the thick forest,was a garden of green-sward and flowers and potherbs; and a garth-wallof greystone, not very high, was the only defence thereof toward thewood, but it was overlooked by a tall tower of the great wall, whichhight the Foresters' Tower. In the said outer garth-wall also was apostern, whereby therewas not seldom coming in and going out.Now when Goldilind had been in her chamber for a few days, she found outfor certain, what she had before misdoubted, that she had been broughtfrom Leashowe and thepeopled parts near to Meadhamstead unto theuttermost parts of the realm to be kept in prison there.Howbeit, it was in a way prison courteous; she was still served withobservance, and bowed before, and called mylady and queen, and soforth: also she might go from chamber to hall and chapel, to and fro,yet scarce alone; and into the garden she might go, yet not for the morepart unaccompanied; and even at whiles she went outa-gates, but thenever with folk on the right hand and the left. Forsooth, whiles andagain, within the next two years of her abode at Greenharbour, out ofgates she went and alone; but that was as the prisoner whostrives to befree (although she had, forsooth, no thought or hope of escape), and asthe prisoner brought back was she chastised when she came within gatesagain.Everywhere, to be short, within and about the Castleof Greenharbour,did Goldilind meet the will and the tyranny of the little sleek widow,Dame Elinor, to whom both carle and quean in that corner of the worldwere but as servants and slaves to do her will; and the saidElinor, whoat first was but spiteful in word and look toward her lady, waxed worseas time wore and as the blossom of the King's daughter's womanhood beganto unfold, till at last the she-jailer had scarce feasted anydaywhen she had not in some wise grieved and tormented her prisoner; andwhatever she did, none had might to say her nay.But Goldilind took all with a high heart, and her courage grew withher years, nor would shebow the head before any grief, but took to herwhatsoever solace might come to her; as the pleasure of the sun and thewind, and the beholding of the greenery of the wood, and the fowl andthe beasts playing, which oft"}
{"doc_id":"doc_11","qid":"","text":"From Dusk Till Dawn Script at IMSDb.
CELESTE AND JESSE FOREVER Writtenby Rashida Jones & Will McCormack 5.01.11 1MONTAGE OVER THE OPENING CREDITS TO SUNNY LEVINE'S \"LOVE 1 RHINO\": A progression of images of CELESTE and JESSE, ages 18 to 30. Visualmedia evolves with them throughout the years. A1 POLAROIDS OF HIGH SCHOOL MOMENTS: A1 Celeste is a chronic overachiever and Jesse is sweet,goofy and funny. He makes her laugh. They are best friends but it's clear that Jesse wishes they were more. Close-up of their hands crossed, making \"C\" and \"J\" shapes. Celeste and herfootball player boyfriend, Mike, kissing. Jesse watches enviously from the sidelines, holding Mike's helmet. B1 DIPOSABLE CAMERA PHOTOS:B1 They go to college together, study together, drink together. They are still best friends. Junior year, Celeste with Saleem, her hot, black militant boyfriend. They kisspassionately. A moment later, Jesse poses reluctantly with the couple, holding up a \"Black Power\" fist, weakly. C1 SUPER 8 FOOTAGE: C1 Senioryear, Jesse draws \"C AND J FOREVER\" in a pristine, snowy forest with a stick; he and Celeste laugh. A moment later, they kiss deeply. They are finallytogether. D1 DIGITAL VIDEO FOOTAGE OF \"CELESTE AND JESSE FOREVER\": D1 On an engraved necklace, carved into a tree, written on a wet beach,and on their wedding cake. E1 BLACK AND WHITE HI-RES PHOTOS SHOW THEM MARRIED: E1 Moving into their house, dancing, reading side byside, kissing. This is true, everlasting love, the real kind. F1 SHUTTERFLY ALBUM PHOTOS FROM FRIENDS' PARTIES: F1 Celeste and Jesse, in silence,amongst joyful party guests. Jesse telling a joke and Celeste no longer laughing. Jesse and Celeste on a bench, distant. The next picture, hugging. G1MACBOOK PHOTO BOOTH SNAPSHOT: G1 Jesse asleep on Celeste's shoulder as she kisses him on the head. 2. 2 INT. TOYOTAPRIUS-DAY 2 It's a bright, clear Los Angeles Saturday afternoon. Celeste and Jesse, now 30, both sing along to \"Love Rhino,\" the song heard under the montage. Jesse driveswhile Celeste is on her Blackberry. Jesse, boyishly handsome, wears an old tee and a hooded sweatshirt. Celeste is wearing all black workout gear. She is always wearing allblack. JESSE I'm a Love Rhino... CELESTE JESSE Don't worry `bout me, I've Dont' worry `bout me, I've gota enough love for got enough love, for the two the...(her Blackberry rings) us. Oh please... oh shit, I gotta take this. Turn it down. JESSE (CONT'D)(CONTD) ...I'm a Love... CELESTE Jess, turn it down, seriously! She playfully slaps him. He turns it down. Alittle. CELESTE (CONT'D) (CONTD) Hello? Hi. With Jesse, running errands. (to Jesse) Turn it down. More. (back to the phone) Yeah, I can do it now. No, it'llbe fast, right? (To Jesse) Hey, I have to give a quick sound bite for the New York Times, so no noise please? For a second? JESSE Maybe. Imay have an important call coming in too, so... They both know he has no important call coming in. CELESTE (on the phone) Okay.Ready? This year all trends point towards simplicity and comfort. Celeste is momentarily distracted by a bad driver in front of them. CELESTE(CONT'D) (CONTD) Jess, just go around him! (To the phone) Sorry. (MORE) 3. CELESTE (CONT'D)(CONTD) Consumers will be less likely to go out for entertainment. While Celeste is dictating, Jesse is getting bored. He starts looking through the middle console. Hefinds something. A melted tube of Chapstick. Ew. Ooh, a cigarette. Jesse lights the cigarette, takes a drag. Celeste looks at Jesse and signals to him, \"Can I have adrag?\" CELESTE (CONT'D) (CONTD) Uhhh, things like Voodoo, casual wear and cookbooks will see a huge spike in the market. He handsher the cigarette and she promptly chucks it out the window. JESSE What the shit?? CELESTE (she whispersto Jesse) Shhh. Phone call.(back to her call) That's enough of a blurb, right? Jesse is now checking out nose hairs in the visor mirror. He then looks at histeeth. JESSE Does this tooth look dark? Celeste just glares at him. CELESTE Okay. Call meback if they need more. Jesse looks at his tooth again in the rearview mirror. JESSE Like a little darker than therest? Celeste waves her hand to quiet Jesse. CELESTE Okay, thanks bye. (to Jesse) Can't you just sit still for two minutes? Andwe talked about this, no more smoking! JESSE I wasn't smoking, I just foundit. 4. CELESTE Come on. They drive by \"Urban Light,\" Chris Burden's installation at the entrance ofLACMA. They are rows of restored street lamps. Celeste sneers. CELESTE (CONT'D) (CONTD) Really? Street lamps? No. Not doin' it. That is notart. JESSE I think it's beautiful. A beat passes. Then, Jesse pulls over. CELESTE What areyou doing? Why are you stopping? JESSE Well, your appointment is not until noon and this is that place with the deadstock vintageItalian fabric. I thought it would be good for the guest room windows. Celeste is truly touched by the gesture. CELESTE Ohwow...you are so thoughtful. Jesse smiles, proud of himself. CELESTE (CONT'D) (CONTD) Thanks, Jess. She gives him a kiss onthe cheek. Jesse's phone rings, he answers. JESSE Whassup, muthafucka?? Celeste rolls her eyes and gets out of the car to lookat fabric. CUT TO: 3 INT. TOYOTA PRIUS-10 MINUTES LATER 3 Celeste is getting back inthe car with some fabric swatches. 5. CELESTE Jess, that place is insane. They have tassels that weremanufactured for Mussolini's mistress... JESSE (covering the phone) Sorry, I'm on the phone. It'simportant. CELESTE Okay then. Celeste sits quietly while Jesse is on his call. JESSE Really?I just...don't know what to say. Thank you so much for calling me. Celeste throws her hands up in silentcelebration. CELESTE (whispers) Did you get the job?? Jesse signals with his finger, \"oneminute.\" JESSE Well, sometimes things are just meant to work out. Celeste looks at him withanticipation. JESSE (CONT'D) (CONTD) Okay, great. Great. Talk soon. Bye. CELESTE Was that the job? Did you getthe book job? JESSE No, but Celeste... He looks at her and grabs her hand, with tears in his eyes. JESSE(CONT'D) (CONTD) ...a swell came in last night. Out of the Northeast. It's overhead and it's glassy. CELESTE What the fuck are youtalking about? 6. JESSE Malibu. The waves are peelingout there. CELESTE Is this about surfing? You're talking about goingsurfing. Unbelievable. JESSE No, this is best part. Skillz got a hi-def digital camera and he's gonna filmme!!! CELESTE Oh, god. JESSE And we're gonna upload it on"}
{"doc_id":"doc_16","qid":"","text":"Flash Gordon Script at IMSDb.
FLASH GORDON Written by Lorenzo SempleJr. FADE IN: EXT. WIDE AFRICAN LANDSCAPE - MORNING At first only darkness, then the rising sun paints in an endlesssavanna from horizon to horizon. We hear savage drums beating in the distance coming from some unknown place. The sun clears the horizon. Suddenly it changes amazingly: thewhite disc goes through a rapid series of color transitions, from yellow to green to purple to an incredible BLOOD RED. From it shoots a RED LIGHTNING BOLT. The sky echoes withTHUNDER. We hear a HOWLING ethereal wind, but not a twig of the brush stirs as bolt after bolt of RED LIGHTNING rips the sky, with each one a TITLE or CREDITappearing. Under FINAL CREDIT snow is beginning to fall on the burning blood-red savanna. EXT. PLANE IN FLIGHT - DAY I's aTwin Otter with the logo of some commuter airline. It buzzes along over pleasant countryside, through a sky that's almost unnaturally serene and filled with fleecy whiteclouds. INT. PLANE IN FLIGHT - DAY There are just two passengers in the cabin. One is DALE ARDEN, a great looking dark-haired girl sitting by herselfand reading a book entitled \"KARATE FOR THE SINGLE GIRL.... A Guide to Survival In The City.\" A few rows forward, near the open door into the pilots' compartment, is FLASH GORDON. He'sstudying a football play-sheet, one of those diagrammed things with X's and 0's for the players and dotted-line arrows indicating the directions of movement. Suddenly the planemakes a violent bump. It almost knocks the book from DALE'S hand. She looks out the window with sudden fright, tossing hair out of her eyes, in a gesture that's habitual to her in moments ofstress. There's nothing to see outside but the pretty clouds. She looks forward again and watches FLASH standing up easily, leaning in t..e cockpit doorway to speak to thePILOTS. INT. PLANE/ COCKPIT - CONTINUOUS (CO-P:ILOT, DALE, FLASH, PILOT) FLASH What was that,fellas? 2. PILOT Clear-air turbulence, is all.Nothing SERIOUS CO-PILOT But nothing you'd want to toss a third-down pass through either -- (Grinning backat FLASH) Can I have an autograph for my kid, Mr. Gordon? FLASH Sure -- my pleasure. As FLASHtakes a bit of paper from the CO-PILOT, the plane takes another jolt, even more violent than the first. PILOT Wow. Call Westchester Approach, see whatthey've got. FLASH I sure hope we don't have to turn back. I mean this is first day of training camp, I wouldn't want to be LATE-- PILOT Seat-belt time. FLASH starts back to his seat. The plane jumps again, shudders violently. He holds on, calls upfront: FLASH Maybe it'd be smoother if you went HIGHER -- DALE Will you SHUTUP? (as FLASH's head SWIVELS) Look, Mister Flash Gordon, they have their hands full -- just let 'em drive. INT. PLANE -CONTINUOUS (DALE, FLASH) The plane buffets. FLASH is sent reeling, catches hold of the rack above DALE, lowers himself into the seat next to her. He bucklesfast, takes out a candy bar and offers it to her. 3. FLASH When you're nervous, it can help to chew onsomething DALE Thanks a lot -- I look dumb enough to take candy from a stranger? FLASH I'm not astranger exactly -- You know my name. DALE Who doesn't. Number one draft pick, cover of PEOPLE mag -- what'd the GIANTS sign you for,eighty-nine million? Big deal! FLASH Of course. DALE God, I hate flying -- I'm Dale Arden it's crazyof me to hate flying -- I'm a travel agent, you see? -- I've just been checking out a little hotel in Vermont -- can I still have that candy bar? (and in the same breath) Are wegoing backward? FLASH Backwards? DALE (GASP) Holy cow! Look at the clouds! EXT.SKY - POV FROM PLANE WINDOW - DAY The pretty white clouds are changing above and beginning to surround the airplane. Over the engines we HEAR that same ethereal windrising which we heard in the opening. Slowly and terrifyingly, the sun starts turning BLOOD RED. The clouds race faster, faster, until they are actually streaming past the plane frombehind. INT. PLANE - DAY FLASH and DALE -- faces bathed in the eerie light. Speechless- DALE grasps the football player's hand with all herstrength. EXT. A FANTASTIC GREENHOUSE - DAY It is a huge and rambling, antique, standing in semiruinous isolation in a pretty country landscape. Thesun has turned 4. the SAME BLOOD RED we saw from the airplane, and clouds race across it with unnatural velocity. In the center of thegreenhouse rises a glass-paned tower through which we glimpse something MIRROR BRIGHT. Floating high in the air above the structure are several silvery helium- filled balloons, secured by wires.As we move closer, we discern a MAN moving about actively on a platform inside the central tower, about half-way up: INT. GREENHOUSE TOWER -DAY (MUNSON, TV NEWSMAN, ZARKOV) The man is DR. HANS ZARKOV: big, bearded, feverish looking and seemingly half mad with exhaustion. In strikingcontrast to the antique greenhouse exterior, here there are all kinds of computers and displays connected together in a slapdash fashion. Quantities of neglected plants, most brown and dead ordying, hide the works in here from outside view. As Zarkov runs around throwing switches and eyeing displays, a grim-voiced TV. NEWSMAN is appearing and speaking from a good-sized televisionscreen above the main control console: TV NEWSMAN The extraordinary weather disturbances reported from Africa this morning are now crossing theAtlantic, and are expected to reach the East Coast of the United States by noon. According to scientists at NASA, the Earth is being struck by an immense stream of cosmic energy,apparently the result of some catastrophic stellar accident beyond the reaches OF -- ZARKOV whirls, slams the TV SOUND OFF and yells atthe silently mouthing NEWSMAN on the screen. ZARKOV Fools! Can't you understand? This is no accident-- it's an ATTACK! An attack planned by aMIND! This is ATTACK! MUNSON, a scared looking assistant, comes running up the stairs with a computer print-outsheet. MUNSON Dr. Zarkov! Look at the report from the last balloon! ZARKOV grabs it, eyesit. 5. ZARKOV I predicted it, didn't I? MUNSON Yes, sir -- you sure did. And this funny suntoo --- ZARKOV Ozone layer starting to crack up. By tonight Carbon dioxide will be combining with free nitrogen to form -- (breaks off,crumpling THE SHEET) Well, this is it. MUNSON Sir, the President is on the TV behind YOU-- ZARKOV What the hell do I care? I tried to warn him -- he called me mad, like all the others. BOOM! The TV screenEXPLODES in a fine shower of glass. ZARKOV (CONT'D) Time for us to go, Munson. Get your toothbrush andwhatever. MUNSON Go where? ZARKOV Up. Up and at him. Stunned, MUNSON turns hishead and glances at something big and MIRROR BRIGHT gleaming behind foliage in center of tower. MUNSON You're crazy! Perfectlycalm except for the maniacal glint in his eyes, ZARKOV pulls out a revolver and points it at MUNSON. ZARKOV I can't handle the capsule alone get yourtoothbrush. INT. COCKPIT TO SKY - POV (CO-PILOT, PILOT) The PILOTS watch these clouds also, transfixed with disbelief. They speakwith that incredible calmness characteristic of professional airmen in a moment of impending catastrophe. 6. PILOT What's ,e word fromWestchester Approach, Bill? CO-PILOT Zip. All chanels dead. (Reacting to the panel) Say, get a load of the VOR's.... The"}
{"doc_id":"doc_17","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's Stories from Pentamerone, by Giambattista BasileThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Stories from PentameroneAuthor: Giambattista BasilePosting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook #2198]ReleaseDate: May, 2000Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORIES FROM PENTAMERONE ***Produced by Batsy Bybell. HTML version by Al Haines.Stories from PentameronebyGiambattistaBasileNOTEThe collection of folk-tales known as Il Pentamerone was firstpublished at Naples and in the Neopolitan dialect, by GiambattistaBasile, Conte di Torrone, who is believed to have collected themchiefly in Creteand Venice, and to have died about the year 1637.CONTENTS 1. How the Tales came to be told 2. The Myrtle 3. Peruonto 4. Vardiello 5. The Flea 6. Cenerentola 7. The Merchant 8. Goat-Face 9. TheEnchanted Doe 10. Parsley 11. The Three Sisters 12. Violet 13. Pippo 14. The Serpent 15. The She-Bear 16. The Dove 17. Cannetella 18. Corvetto 19. The Booby 20. The Stone in the Cock's Head 21. The ThreeEnchanted Princes 22. The Dragon 23. The Two Cakes 24. The Seven Doves 25. The Raven 26. The Months 27. Pintosmalto 28. The Golden Root 29. Sun, Moon, and Talia 30. Nennillo and Nennella 31. The Three Citrons32. ConclusionIHOW THE TALES CAME TO BE TOLDIt is an old saying, that he who seeks what he should not, finds whathe would not. Every one has heard of the ape who, in trying to pull onhis boots, was caught by thefoot. And it happened in like manner to awretched slave, who, although she never had shoes to her feet, wantedto wear a crown on her head. But the straight road is the best; and,sooner or later, a day comes whichsettles all accounts. At last,having by evil means usurped what belonged to another, she fell to theground; and the higher she had mounted, the greater was her fall--asyou shall see.Once upon a time the King of WoodyValley had a daughter named Zoza,who was never seen to laugh. The unhappy father, who had no othercomfort in life but this only daughter, left nothing untried to driveaway her melancholy. So he sent for folks whowalk on stilts, fellowswho jump through hoops, for boxers, for conjurers, for jugglers whoperform sleight-of-hand tricks, for strong men, for dancing dogs, forleaping clowns, for the donkey that drinks out of atumbler--in short,he tried first one thing and then another to make her laugh. But allwas time lost, for nothing could bring a smile to her lips.So at length the poor father, at wit's end, and to make a last trial,ordered alarge fountain of oil to be set in front of the palace gates,thinking to himself that when the oil ran down the street, along whichthe people passed like a troop of ants, they would be obliged, in ordernot to soil theirclothes, to skip like grasshoppers, leap like goats,and run like hares; while one would go picking and choosing his way,and another go creeping along the wall. In short, he hoped thatsomething might come to pass tomake his daughter laugh.So the fountain was made; and as Zoza was one day standing at thewindow, grave and demure, and looking as sour as vinegar, there came bychance an old woman, who, soaking up the oilwith a sponge, began tofill a little pitcher which she had brought with her. And as she waslabouring hard at this ingenious device, a young page of the courtpassing by threw a stone so exactly to a hair that he hit thepitcherand broke it to pieces. Whereupon the old woman, who had no hair on hertongue, turned to the page, full of wrath, and exclaimed, \"Ah, youimpertinent young dog, you mule, you gallows-rope, youspindle-legs!Ill luck to you! May you be pierced by a Catalan lance! May a thousandills befall you and something more to boot, you thief, you knave!\"The lad, who had little beard and less discretion, hearing this stringofabuse, repaid the old woman in her own coin, saying, \"Have you done,you grandmother of witches, you old hag, you child-strangler!\"When the old woman heard these compliments she flew into such a ragethat, losinghold of the bridle and escaping from the stable ofpatience, she acted as if she were mad, cutting capers in the air andgrinning like an ape. At this strange spectacle Zoza burst into such afit of laughter that she well-nighfainted away. But when the old womansaw herself played this trick, she flew into a passion, and turning afierce look on Zoza she exclaimed: \"May you never have the least littlebit of a husband, unless you take thePrince of Round-Field.\"Upon hearing this, Zoza ordered the old woman to be called; and desiredto know whether, in her words, she had laid on her a curse, or had onlymeant to insult her. And the old woman answered,\"Know then, that thePrince of whom I spoke is a most handsome creature, and is namedTaddeo, who, by the wicked spell of a fairy, having given the lasttouch to the picture of life, has been placed in a tomb outsidethewalls of the city; and there is an inscription upon a stone, sayingthat whatever woman shall in three days fill with tears a pitcher thathangs there upon a hook will bring the Prince to life and shall takehim for ahusband. But as it is impossible for two human eyes to weepso much as to fill a pitcher that would hold half a barrel, I havewished you this wish in return for your scoffing and jeering at me. AndI pray that it may cometo pass, to avenge the wrong you have done me.\"So saying, she scuttled down the stairs, for fear of a beating.Zoza pondered over the words of the old woman, and after turning over ahundred thoughts in her mind,until her head was like a mill full ofdoubts, she was at last struck by a dart of the passion that blinds thejudgment and puts a spell on the reasoning of man. She took a handfulof dollars from her father's coffers and leftthe palace, walking onand on, until she arrived at the castle of a fairy, to whom sheunburdened her heart. The fairy, out of pity for such a fair younggirl, who had two spurs to make her fall--little help and much loveforan unknown object--gave her a letter of recommendation to a sister ofhers, who was also a fairy. And this second fairy received her likewisewith great kindness; and on the following morning, when Nightcommandsthe birds to proclaim that whoever has seen a flock of black shadowsgone astray shall be well rewarded, she gave her a beautiful walnut,saying, \"Take this, my dear daughter, and keep it carefully; butneveropen it, but in time of the greatest need.\" And then she gave her alsoa letter, commending her to another sister.After journeying a long way, Zoza arrived at this fairy's castle, andwas received with the sameaffection. And the next morning this fairylikewise gave her a letter to another sister, together with a chestnut,cautioning her in the same manner. Then Zoza travelled on to the nextcastle, where she was received with athousand caresses and given afilbert, which she was never to open, unless the greatest necessityobliged her. So she set out upon her journey, and passed so manyforests and rivers, that at the end of seven years, justat the time ofday when the Sun, awakened by the coming of the cocks, has saddled hissteed to run his accustomed stages, she arrived almost lame atRound-Field.There, at the entrance to the city, she saw a marbletomb, at the footof a fountain, which was weeping tears of crystal at seeing itself shutup in a porphyry prison. And, lifting up the pitcher, she placed it inher lap and began to weep into it, imitating the fountain to maketwolittle fountains of her eyes. And thus she continued without everraising her head from the mouth of the pitcher--until, at the end oftwo days, it was full within two inches of the top. But, being weariedwith so muchweeping, she was unawares overtaken by sleep, and wasobliged to rest for an hour or so under the canopy of her eyes.Meanwhile a certain Slave, with the legs of a grasshopper, came, as shewas wont, to the fountain,to fill her water-cask. Now she knew themeaning of the fountain which was talked of everywhere; and when shesaw Zoza weeping so incessantly, and making two little streams from hereyes, she was always watchingand spying until the pitcher should befull enough for her to add the last drops to it; and thus to leave Zozacheated of her hopes. Now, therefore, seeing Zoza asleep, she seizedher opportunity; and dexterously removingthe pitcher from under Zoza,and placing her own eyes over it, she filled it in four seconds. Buthardly was it full, when the Prince arose from the white marble shrine,as if awakened from a deep sleep, and embraced thatmass of dark flesh,and carried her straightways to his palace; feasts and marvellousilluminations were made, and he took her for his wife.When Zoza awoke and saw the pitcher gone, and her hopes with it, andtheshrine open, her heart grew so heavy that she was on the point ofunpacking the bales of her soul at the custom-house of Death. But, atlast, seeing that there was no help for her misfortune, and that shecould onlyblame her own eyes, which had served her so ill, she wenther way, step by step, into the city. And when she heard of the feastswhich the Prince had made, and the dainty creature he had married, sheinstantly knewhow all this mischief had come to pass; and said toherself, sighing, \"Alas, two dark things have brought me to theground,--sleep and a black slave!\" Then she took a fine house facingthe palace of the Prince; fromwhence, though she could not see theidol of her heart, she could at least look upon the walls wherein whatshe sighed for was enclosed.But Taddeo, who was constantly flying like a bat round that black nightof a Slave,chanced to perceive Zoza and was entranced with her beauty.When the Slave saw this she was beside herself with rage, and vowedthat if Taddeo did not leave the window, she would kill her baby whenit wasborn.Taddeo, who was anxiously desiring an heir, was afraid to offend hiswife and tore himself away from the sight of Zoza; who seeing thislittle balm for the sickness of her hopes taken away from her, knewnot, atfirst, what to do. But, recollecting the fairies' gifts, sheopened the walnut, and out of it hopped a little dwarf like a doll, themost graceful toy that was ever seen in the world. Then, seatinghimself upon the window, thedwarf began to sing with such a trill andgurgling, that he seemed a veritable king of the birds.The Slave, when she saw and heard this, was so enraptured that, callingTaddeo, she said, \"Bring me the little fellow who issinging yonder, orI will kill the child when it is born.\" So the Prince, who allowed thisugly woman to put the saddle on his back, sent instantly to Zoza, toask if she would not sell the dwarf. Zoza answered she was notamerchant, but that he was welcome to it as a gift. So Taddeo acceptedthe offer, for he was anxious to keep his wife in good humour.Four days after this, Zoza opened the chestnut, when out came a henwith twelvelittle chickens, all of pure gold, and, being placed on thewindow, the Slave saw them and took a vast fancy to them; and callingTaddeo, she showed him the beautiful sight, and again ordered him toprocure the hen andchickens for her. So Taddeo, who let himself becaught in the web, and become the sport of the ugly creature, sentagain to Zoza, offering her any price she might ask for the beautifulhen. But Zoza gave the sameanswer as before, that he might have it asa gift. Taddeo, therefore, who could not do otherwise, made necessitykick at discretion, and accepted the beautiful present.But after four days more, Zoza opened thehazel-nut, and forth came adoll which spun gold--an amazing sight. As soon as it was placed at thesame window, the Slave saw it and, calling to Taddeo, said, \"I musthave that doll, or I will kill the child.\" Taddeo, wholet his proudwife toss him about like a shuttle, had nevertheless not the heart tosend to Zoza for the doll, but resolved to go himself, recollecting thesayings: \"No messenger is better than yourself,\" and \"Let him whowouldeat a fish take it by the tail.\" So he went and besought Zoza to pardonhis impertinence, on account of the caprices of his wife; and Zoza, whowas in ecstasies at beholding the cause of her sorrow, put aconstrainton herself; and so let him entreat her the longer to keep in sight theobject of her love, who was stolen from her by an ugly slave. At lengthshe gave him the doll, as she had done the other things, butbeforeplacing it in his hands, she prayed the little doll to put a desireinto the heart of the Slave to hear stories told by her. And whenTaddeo saw the doll in his hand, without his paying a single coin, hewas so filled withamazement at such courtesy that he offered hiskingdom and his life in exchange for the gift. Then, returning to hispalace, he placed it in his wife's hands; and instantly such a longingseized her to hear stories told, thatshe called her husband and said,\"Bid some story-tellers come and tell me stories, or I promise you, Iwill kill the child.\"Taddeo, to get rid of this madness, ordered a proclamation instantly tobe made, that all the womenof the land should come on the appointedday. And on that day, at the hour when the star of Venus appears, whoawakes the Dawn, to strew the road along which the Sun has to pass, theladies were all assembled at thepalace. But Taddeo, not wishing todetain such a rabble for the mere amusement of his wife, chose ten onlyof the best of the city who appeared to him most capable and eloquent.These were Bushy-haired Zeza,Bandy-legged Cecca, Wen-necked Meneca,Long-nosed Tolla, Humph-backed Popa, Bearded Antonella, Dumpy Ciulla,Blear-eyed Paola, Bald-headed Civonmetella, and Square-shoulderedJacova. Their names he wrotedown on a sheet of paper; and then,dismissing the others, he arose with the Slave from under the canopy,and they went gently to the garden of the palace, where the leafybranches were so closely interlaced, that theSun could not separatethem with all the industry of his rays. And seating themselves under apavilion, formed by a trellis of vines, in the middle of which ran agreat fountain--the schoolmaster of the courtiers, whom hetaughteveryday to murmur--Taddeo thus began:\"There is nothing in the world more glorious, my gentle dames, than tolisten to the deeds of others; nor was it without reason that the greatphilosopher placed thehighest happiness of man in listening to prettystories. In hearing pleasing things told, griefs vanish, troublesomethoughts are put to flight and life is lengthened. And, for thisreason, you see the artisans leave theirworkshops, the merchants theircountry-houses, the lawyers their cases, the shopkeepers theirbusiness, and all repair with open mouths to the barbers' shops and tothe groups of chatterers, to listen to stories, fictions,and news inthe open air. I cannot, therefore, but pardon my wife, who has takenthis strange fancy into her head of hearing the telling of tales. So,if you will be pleased to satisfy the whim of the Princess and complywithmy wishes, you will, during the next four or five days, each ofyou relate daily one of those tales which old women are wont to tellfor the amusement of the little ones. And you will come regularly tothis spot; where,after a good repast, you shall begin to tell stories,so as to pass life pleasantly--and sorrow to him that dies!\"At these words, all bowed assent to the commands of Taddeo; and thetables being meanwhile set out andfeast spread, they sat down to eat.And when they had done eating, the Prince took the paper and calling oneach in turn, by name, the stories that follow were told, in due order.IITHE MYRTLEThere lived in the village ofMiano a man and his wife, who had nochildren whatever, and they longed with the greatest eagerness to havean heir. The woman, above all, was for ever saying, \"O heavens! if Imight but have a little baby--I shouldnot care, were it even a sprigof a myrtle.\" And she repeated this song so often, and so weariedHeaven with these words, that at last her wish was granted; and at theend of nine months, instead of a little boy or girl,she placed in thehands of the nurse a fine sprig of myrtle. This she planted with greatdelight in a pot, ornamented with ever so many beautiful figures, andset it in the window, tending it morning and evening withmorediligence than the gardener does a bed of cabbages from which hereckons to pay the rent of his garden.Now the King's son happening to pass by, as he was going to hunt, tooka prodigious fancy to this beautifulplant, and sent to ask themistress of the house if she would sell it, for he would give even oneof his eyes for it. The woman at last, after a thousand difficultiesand refusals, allured by his offers, dazzled by hispromises,frightened by his threats, overcome by his prayers, gave him the pot,beseeching him to hold it dear, for she loved it more than a daughter,and valued it as much as if it were her own offspring. Then thePrincehad the flower-pot carried with the greatest care in the world into hisown chamber, and placed it in a balcony, and tended and watered it withhis own hand.It happened one evening, when the Prince had gone tobed, and put outthe candles, and all were at rest and in their first sleep, that heheard the sound of some one stealing through the house, and comingcautiously towards his bed; whereat he thought it must besomechamber-boy coming to lighten his purse for him, or some mischievousimp to pull the bed-clothes off him. But as he was a bold fellow, whomnone could frighten, he acted the dead cat, waiting to see the upshotofthe affair. When he perceived the object approach nearer, andstretching out his hand felt something smooth, and instead of layinghold, as he expected, on the prickles of a hedgehog, he touched alittle creature moresoft and fine than Barbary wool, more pliant andtender than a marten's tail, more delicate than thistle-down, he flewfrom one thought to another, and taking her to be a fairy (as indeedshe was), he conceived at once agreat affection for her. The nextmorning, before the Sun, like a chief physician, went out to visit theflowers that are sick and languid, the unknown fair one rose anddisappeared, leaving the Prince filled with curiosityand wonder.But when this had gone on for seven days, he was burning and meltingwith desire to know what good fortune this was that the stars hadshowered down on him, and what ship freighted with the graces ofLoveit was that had come to its moorings in his chamber. So one night, whenthe fair maiden was fast asleep, he tied one of her tresses to his arm,that she might not escape; then he called a chamberlain, andbiddinghim light the candles, he saw the flower of beauty, the miracle ofwomen, the looking-glass and painted egg of Venus, the fair bait ofLove--he saw a little doll, a beautiful dove, a Fata Morgana, abanner--he saw agolden trinket, a hunter, a falcon's eye, a moon inher fifteenth day, a pigeon's bill, a morsel for a king, a jewel--hesaw, in short, a sight to amaze one.In astonishment he cried, \"O sleep, sweet sleep! heap poppies ontheeyes of this lovely jewel; interrupt not my delight in viewing as longas I desire this triumph of beauty. O lovely tress that binds me! Olovely eyes that inflame me! O lovely lips that refresh me! O lovelybosom thatconsoles me! Oh where, at what shop of the wonders ofNature, was this living statue made? What India gave the gold for thesehairs? What Ethiopia the ivory to form these brows? What seashore thecarbuncles thatcompose these eyes? What Tyre the purple to dye thisface? What East the pearls to string these teeth? And from whatmountains was the snow taken to sprinkle over this bosom--snow contraryto nature, that nurturesthe flowers and burns hearts?\"So saying he made a vine of his arms, and clasping her neck, she awokefrom her sleep and replied, with a gentle smile, to the sigh of theenamoured Prince; who, seeing her open her eyes,said, \"O my treasure,if viewing without candles this temple of love I was in transports,what will become of my life now that you have lighted two lamps? Obeauteous eyes, that with a trump-card of light make thestarsbankrupt, you alone have pierced this heart, you alone can make apoultice for it like fresh eggs! O my lovely physician, take pity, takepity on one who is sick of love; who, having changed the air from thedarknessof night to the light of this beauty, is seized by a fever;lay your hand on this heart, feel my pulse, give me a prescription.But, my soul, why do I ask for a prescription? I desire no othercomfort than a touch of that littlehand; for I am certain that withthe cordial of that fair grace, and with the healing root of thattongue of thine, I shall be sound and well again.\"At these words the lovely fairy grew as red as fire, and replied, \"Notso muchpraise, my lord Prince! I am your servant, and would doanything in the world to serve that kingly face; and I esteem it greatgood fortune that from a bunch of myrtle, set in a pot of earth, I havebecome a branch of"}
{"doc_id":"doc_18","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wailing Asteroid, by Murray LeinsterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: The Wailing AsteroidAuthor: Murray LeinsterRelease Date: September 20, 2015 [EBook #50022]Language: English***START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WAILING ASTEROID ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net THE WAILINGASTEROID by Murray Leinster An Avon Original AVON BOOK DIVISION The Hearst Corporation 959 EighthAvenue New York 19, New YorkCopyright, 1960, by Murray Leinster. Published by arrangement withthe author. Printed in the U.S.A.[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover anyevidencethat the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] * * * * *There was no life on the asteroid, but the miles of rock-hewn corridorsthrough which the earth party wandered left nodoubt about the purposeof the asteroid.It was a mighty fortress, stocked with weapons of destruction beyondman's power to understand.And yet there was no life here, nor had there been for untold centuries.What racehad built this stronghold? What unimaginable power were theydefending against? Why was it abandoned? There was no answer, all wasdead.But--not quite all.For in a room above the tomb-like fortress a powerfultransmitterbeamed its birdlike, fluting sounds toward earth. Near it, on a hugestar-map of the universe, with light-years measured by inches, ten tinyred sparks were moving, crawling inexorably toward thecenter.Moving, at many times the speed of light, with the acquired massof suns ... moving, on a course that would pass through the solarsystem.The unknown aliens would not even see our sun explode from the forceoftheir passing, would not even notice the tiny speck called Earth asit died.... * * * * *Chapter 1The signals from space began a little after midnight, local time, on aFriday. They were first picked upin the South Pacific, just westwardof the International Date Line. A satellite-watching station on anisland named Kalua was the first to receive them, though nobody heardthe first four or five minutes. But it is certainthat the very firstmessage was picked up and recorded by the monitor instruments.The satellite-tracking unit on Kalua was practically a duplicate ofall its fellows. There was the station itself with a verticalantennaoutside pointing at the stars. There were various lateral antennaeheld two feet above ground by concrete posts. In the instrument roomin the building a light burned over a desk, three or four monitorlightsglowed dimly to indicate that the self-recording instrumentswere properly operating, and there was a multiple-channel tape recorderbuilt into the wall. Its twin tape reels turned sedately, winding abrown plastic ribbonfrom one to the other at a moderate pace.The staff man on duty had gone to the installation's kitchen for a cupof coffee. No sound originated in the room, unless one counted thefluttering of a piece of weighted-downpaper on the desk. Outside,palm trees whispered and rustled their long fronds in the southeasttrade wind under a sky full of glittering stars. Beyond, there wasthe dull booming of surf upon the barrier reef of the island.But theinstruments made no sound. Only the tape reels moved.The signals began abruptly. They came out of a speaker and wereinstantly recorded. They were elfin and flutelike and musical. Theywere crisp anddistinct. They did not form a melody, but nearly all thecomponents of melody were there. Pure musical notes, each with its ownpitch, all of different lengths, like quarter-notes and eighth-notesin music. The soundsneeded only rhythm and arrangement to form aplaintive tune.Nothing happened. The sounds continued for something over a minute.They stopped long enough to seem to have ended. Then they began again.When thestaff man came back into the room with a coffee cup in hishand, he heard the flutings instantly. His jaw dropped. He said, \"Whatthe hell?\" and went to look at the instruments. He spilled some of hiscoffee when he sawtheir readings.The tracking dials said that the signals came from a stationary sourcealmost directly overhead. If they were from a stationary source,no plane was transmitting them. Nor could they be coming fromanartificial satellite. A plane would move at a moderate pace across thesky. A satellite would move faster. Much faster. This source, accordingto the instruments, did not move at all.The staff man listened with a blankexpression on his face. There wasbut one rational explanation, which he did not credit for an instant.The reasonable answer would have been that somebody, somewhere, had puta satellite out into an orbit requiringtwenty-four hours for a circuitof the earth, instead of the ninety to one-hundred-twenty-four-minuteorbits of the satellites known to sweep around the world from westto east and pole to pole. But the piping, musicalsounds were notthe sort of thing that modern physicists would have contrived tocarry information about cosmic-particle frequency, space temperature,micrometeorites, and the like.The signals stopped again, and againresumed. The staff man wasgalvanized into activity. He rushed to waken other members of theoutpost. When he got back, the signals continued for a minute andstopped altogether. But they were recorded on tape,with the instrumentreadings that had been made during their duration. The staff man playedthe tape back for his companions.They felt as he did. These were signals from space where man had neverbeen. They hadlistened to the first message ever to reach mankind fromthe illimitable emptiness between the stars and planets. Man was notalone. Man was no longer isolated. Man....The staff of the tracking station was very muchupset. Most of themen were white-faced by the time the taped message had been re-playedthrough to its end. They were frightened.Considering everything, they had every reason to be.The second pick-up was inDarjeeling, in northern India. The Indiangovernment was then passing through one of its periods of enthusiasticinterest in science. It had set up a satellite-observation post in aformer British cavalry stable on theoutskirts of the town. The actinghead of the observing staff happened to hear the second broadcast toreach Earth. It arrived some seventy-nine minutes after the firstreception, and it was picked up by two stations,Kalua and Darjeeling.The Darjeeling observer was incredulous at what he heard--fiverepetitions of the same sequence of flutelike notes. After eachpause--when it seemed that the signals had stopped before theyactuallydid so--the reception was exactly the same as the one before. Itwas inconceivable that such a succession of sounds, lasting a fullminute, could be exactly repeated by any natural chain of events. Fiverepetitionswere out of the question. The notes were signals. They werea communication which was repeated to be sure it was received.The third broadcast was heard in Lebanon in addition to Kalua andDarjeeling. Reception in allthree places was simultaneous. A signalfrom a nearby satellite could not possibly have been picked up so fararound the Earth's curvature. The widening of the area of reception,too, proved that there was no newsatellite aloft with an orbit periodof exactly twenty-four hours, so that it hung motionless in the skyrelative to Earth. Tracking observations, in fact, showed the source ofthe signals to move westward, as time passed,with the apparent motionof a star. No satellite of Earth could possibly exist with such anorbit unless it was close enough to show a detectable parallax. Thisdid not.A French station picked up the next batch of plaintivesounds. Kalua,Darjeeling, and Lebanon still received. By the time the next signal wasdue, Croydon, in England, had its giant radar-telescope trained on thepart of the sky from which all the tracking stations agreed thesignalscame.Croydon painstakingly made observations during four seventy-nine-minuteintervals and four five-minute receptions of the fluting noises. Itreported that there was a source of artificial signals at anextremelygreat distance, position right ascension so-and-so, declinationsuch-and-such. The signals began every seventy-nine minutes. They couldbe heard by any receiving instrument capable of handling themicrowavefrequency involved. The broadcast was extremely broad-band. It coveredmore than two octaves and sharp tuning was not necessary. A man-madesignal would have been confined to as narrow a wave-bandas possible,to save power for one reason, so it could not be imagined that thesignal was anything but artificial. Yet no Earth science could havesent a transmitter out so far.When sunrise arrived at the tracking station onKalua, it ceased toreceive from space. On the other hand, tracking stations in the UnitedStates, the Antilles, and South America began to pick up the crypticsounds.The first released news of the happening wasbroadcast in the UnitedStates. In the South Pacific and India and the Near East and Europe,the whole matter seemed too improbable for the notification of thepublic. News pressure in the United States, though, is verygreat. Herethe news rated broadcast, and got it.That was why Joe Burke did not happen to complete the business forwhich he'd taken Sandy Lund to a suitable, romantic spot. She was hissecretary and the onlypermanent employee in the highly individualbusiness he'd begun and operated. He'd known her all his life, andit seemed to him that for most of it he'd wanted to marry her. Butsomething had happened to him when hewas quite a small boy--and stillhappened at intervals--which interposed a mental block. He'd alwayswanted to be romantic with her, but there was a matter of two moonsin a strange-starred sky, and trees with foliagelike none on Earth,and an overwhelming emotion. There was no rational explanation for it.There could be none. Often he'd told himself that Sandy was real andutterly desirable, and this lunatic repetitive experience wasat worstinsanity and at the least delusion. But he'd never been able to domore than stammer when talk between them went away from matter-of-factthings.Tonight, though, he'd parked his car where a river sparkled inthemoonlight. There was a scent of pine and arbutus in the air and a faintthread of romantic music came from his car's radio. He'd brought Sandyhere to propose to her. He was doggedly resolved to break the chainsapsychological oddity had tied him up in.He cleared his throat. He'd taken Sandy out to dinner, ostensibly tocelebrate the completion of a development job for Interiors, Inc. Burkehad started Burke Development, Inc.,some four years out of collegewhen he found he didn't like working for other people and could workfor himself. Its function was to develop designs and processes forcompanies too small to haveresearch-and-development divisions of theirown. The latest, now-finished, job was a wall-garden which thoseexpensive interior decorators, Interiors, Inc., believed might appealto the very rich. Burke had made it. Itwas a hydroponic job. A richman's house could have one or more walls which looked like a grassysward stood on edge, with occasional small flowers or even fruitsgrowing from its close-clipped surface.[A] [FootnoteA: Transcriber's Note: The following sentence has been deleted at this point: \"Interiors, Inc., would push the idea of a a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarine where it would cation.\" This is a possible printererror. A later edition of this work also has this sentence deleted.It was done. A production-job room-wall had been shipped and the checkfor it banked. Burke had toyed with the idea that growing vegetationlike thatmight be useful in a bomb shelter or in an atomic submarinewhere it would keep the air fresh indefinitely. But such ideas were forthe future. They had nothing to do with now. Now Burke was going totriumph over anobsessive dream.\"I've got something to say, Sandy,\" said Burke painfully.She did not turn her head. There was moonlight, rippling water, and thetranquil noises of the night in springtime. A perfect setting forwhatBurke had in mind, and what Sandy knew about in advance. She waited,her eyes turned away from him so he wouldn't see that they were shininga little.\"I'm something of an idiot,\" said Burke, clumsily. \"It's onlyfair totell you about it. I'm subject to a psychological gimmick that a girlI--Hm.\" He coughed. \"I think I ought to tell you about it.\"\"Why?\" asked Sandy, still not looking in his direction.\"Because I want to be fair,\" saidBurke. \"I'm a sort of crackpot.You've noticed it, of course.\"Sandy considered.\"No-o-o-o,\" she said measuredly. \"I think you're pretty normal,except--No. I think you're all right.\"\"Unfortunately,\" he told her, \"I'm not.Ever since I was a kid I'vebeen bothered by a delusion, if that's what it is. It doesn't makesense. It couldn't. But it made me take up engineering, I think,and ...\"His voice trailed away.\"And what?\"\"Made an idiot out ofme,\" said Burke. \"I was always pretty crazy aboutyou, and it seems to me that I took you to a lot of dances and such inhigh school, but I couldn't act romantic. I wanted to, but I couldn't.There was this crazydelusion....\"\"I wondered, a little,\" said Sandy, smiling.\"I _wanted_ to be romantic about you,\" he told her urgently. \"But thisdamned obsession kept me from it.\"\"Are you offering to be a brother to me now?\" askedSandy.\"No!\" said Burke explosively. \"I'm fed up with myself. I want to bedifferent. Very different. With you!\"Sandy smiled again.\"Strangely enough, you interest me,\" she told him. \"Do go on!\"But he was abruptlytongue-tied. He looked at her, struggling to speak.She waited.\"I w-want to ask you to m-m-marry me,\" said Burke desperately. \"But Ihave to tell you about the other thing first. Maybe you won't want....\"Her eyes weredefinitely shining now. There was soft music and ripplingwater and soft wind in the trees. It was definitely the time and placefor romance.But the music on the car radio cut off abruptly. A harshvoiceinterrupted:\"_Special Bulletin! Special Bulletin! Messages of unknown origin arereaching Earth from outer space! Special Bulletin! Messages from outerspace!_\"Burke reached over and turned up the sound. Perhapshe was the only manin the world who would have spoiled such a moment to listen to a newsbroadcast, and even he wouldn't have done it for a broadcast on anyother subject. He turned the sound high.\"_This is aspecial broadcast from the Academy of Sciences inWashington, D. C._\" boomed the speaker. \"_Some thirteen hours ago asatellite-tracking station in the South Pacific reported picking upsignals of unknown origin andgreat strength, using the microwavefrequencies also used by artificial satellites now in orbit aroundEarth. The report was verified shortly afterward from India, then NearEast tracking stations made the same report.European listening postsand radar telescopes were on the alert when the sky area from whichthe signals come rose above the horizon. American stations have againverified the report within the last few minutes.Artificial signals,plainly not made by men, are now reaching Earth every seventy-nineminutes from remotest space. There is as yet no hint of what themessages may mean, but that they are an attempt atcommunication iscertain. The signals have been recorded on tape, and the sounds whichfollow are those which have been sent to Earth by alien, non-human,intelligent beings no one knows how far away._\"A pause.Then the car radio, with night sounds and the calls ofnightbirds for background, gave out crisp, distinct fluting noises,like someone playing an arbitrary selection of musical notes on astrange wind instrument.The effectwas plaintive, but Burke stiffened in every muscle at thefirst of them. The fluting noises were higher and lower in turn. Atintervals, they paused as if between groups of signals constitutinga word. The enigmatic soundswent on for a full minute. Then theystopped. The voice returned:\"_These are the signals from space. What you have heard is apparentlya complete message. It is repeated five times and then ceases. An hourandnineteen minutes later it is again repeated five times...._\"The voice continued, while Burke remained frozen and motionless inthe parked car. Sandy watched him, at first hopefully, and thenbewilderedly. The voice saidthat the signal strength was very great.But the power for artificial-satellite broadcasts is only a fraction ofa watt. These signals, considering the minimum distance from which theycould come, had at least thousands ofkilowatts behind them.Somewhere out in space, farther than man's robot rockets had ever gone,huge amounts of electric energy were controlled to send these signalsto Earth. Scientists were in disagreement about thepossible distancethe signals had traveled, whether they were meant solely for Earthor not, and whether they were an attempt to open communication withhumanity. But nobody doubted that the signals were artificial.They hadbeen sent by technical means. They could not conceivably be naturalphenomena. Directional fixes said absolutely that they did not comefrom Mars or Jupiter or Saturn. Neptune and Uranus and Pluto werenotnearly in the line of the signals' travel. Of course Venus and Mercurywere to sunward of Earth, which ruled them out, since the signalsarrived only on the night side of mankind's world. Nobody could guess,as yet,where they did originate.Burke sat utterly still, every muscle tense. He was so pale that evenin the moonlight Sandy saw it. She was alarmed.\"Joe! What's the matter?\"\"Did you--hear that?\" he asked thinly. \"Thesignals?\"\"Of course. But what....\"\"I recognized them,\" said Burke, in a tone that was somehow despairing.\"I've heard signals like that every so often since I was a kid.\" Heswallowed. \"It was sounds like that, and whatwent with them, that hasbeen the--trouble with me. I was going to tell you about it--and askyou if you'd marry me anyway.\"He began to tremble a little, which was not at all like the Joe Burkethat Sandy knew.\"I don'tquite under--\"\"I'm afraid I've gone out of my head,\" he said unsteadily. \"Look,Sandy! I was going to propose to you. Instead, I'm going to take youback to the office. I'm going to play you a recording I made a yearago.I think that when you've heard it you'll decide you wouldn't wantto marry me anyhow.\"Sandy looked at him with astonished eyes.\"You mean those signals from somewhere mean something special to you?\"\"Veryspecial,\" said Burke. \"They raise the question of whether I'vebeen crazy, and am suddenly sane, or whether I've been sane up to now,and have suddenly gone crazy.\"The radio switched back to dance music. Burke cut itoff. He startedthe car's motor. He backed, swung around, and headed for the office andconstruction shed of Burke Development, Inc.Elsewhere, the profoundest minds of the planet gingerly examined theappalling factthat signals came to Earth from a place where men couldnot be. A message came from something which was not human. It was asuggestion to make cold chills run up and down any educated spine.But Burke drovetensely, and the road's surface sped toward the car'swheels and vanished under them. A warm breeze hummed and thutteredaround the windshield. Sandy sat very still.\"The way I'm acting doesn't make sense, doesit?\" Burke asked. \"Do youfeel like you're riding with a lunatic?\"\"No,\" she said. \"But I never thought that if you ever did get aroundto asking me to marry you, somebody from outer space would forbid thebanns! Can'tyou tell me what all this is about?\"\"I doubt it very much,\" he told her. \"Can you tell me what the signalsare about?\"She shook her head. He drove through the night. Presently he said,\"Aside from my private angle on thematter, there are some queerthings about this business. Why should somebody out in space send usa broadcast? It's not from a planet, they say. If there's a spaceshipon the way here, why warn us? If they want to befriends, they can'tbe sure we'll permit it. If they intend to be enemies, why throw awaythe advantage of surprise? In either case, it would be foolish to sendcryptic messages on ahead. And any message would have tobe cryptic.\"The car went whirring along the roadway. Soon twinkling lights appearedamong the trees. The small and larger buildings of Burke Development,Inc., came gradually into view. They were dark objects in a"}
{"doc_id":"doc_19","qid":"","text":"Shallow Grave Script at IMSDb.
SHALLOW GRAVE Written by JohnHodge FINAL DRAFT INT. DAY A blurred image forms on a white screen. A horizontal strip of face, eyes motionless andunblinking. DAVID (VOICE-OVER) Take trust, for instance, or friendship: these are the important things in life, the things that matter, that help you onyour way. If you can't trust your friends, well, what then? EXT. DAWN A series of fast-cut static scenes of empty streets. DAVID (VOICE-OVER) This could have been any city: they're all the same. A rapid, swerving track along deserted streets and downnarrow lanes and passageways. Accompanied by soundtrack and credits. The track ends outside a solid, fashionable Edinburgh tenement. INT. STAIRWELL.DAY At the door of a flat on the third floor of the tenement. The door is dark, heavy wood and on it is a plastic card embossed with the names of three tenants. They are AlexLaw, David Stevens, and Juliet Miller. A man climbs the stairs and reaches the door. He is Cameron Clarke, thin and in his late twenties with a blue anorak and lank, greasyhair. He is carrying an awkwardly bulky plastic bag. Cameron gives the doorbell an ineffectual ring and then stands back, shifting nervously from foot to foot until the dooris answered. CAMERON Hello, I've come about the room. Cameron enters and the door closes. INT. LIVING ROOM.DAY David, Alex, and Juliet sit in a line on the sofa directly opposite Cameron, who shifts uneasily in his armchair. Alex checks some items on a clipboard beforespeaking. ALEX What's his name? DAVID I don't know -- Campbell or something? JULIET Cameron. ALEX Cameron? JULIET Yes. ALEX (toJuliet) Really? CAMERON That's right. ALEX (to Cameron) What? Cameron is not sure what tosay. ALEX (CONTINUED) Well, Cameron, are you comfortable? CAMERON Yes,thanks. ALEX Good. Well, you've seen the flat? CAMERON Yes. ALEX And you likeit? CAMERON Oh, yes, it's great. ALEX Yes. It is, isn't it? We alllike it. And the room's nice too, don't youthink? CAMERON Yes. ALEX Spacious, quiet, bright, well appointed, all that sort of stuff, all thatcrap. CAMERON Well, yes. ALEX So tell me, Cameron, what on earth -- just tell me, because I want to know -- what on earth couldmake you think that we would want to share a flat like this with someone like you? INT. STAIRWELL. DAY As Cameron plods slowly down the stairs, hisshoes striking out against the stone steps, Alex's criticisms continue. ALEX (VOICE-OVER) I mean, my first impression, and they're rarelywrong, is that you have none of the qualities that we would normally seek in a prospective flatmate. I'm talking here about things like presence, charisma, style and charm, and I don't thinkwe're being unreasonable. Take David here, for instance: a chartered accountant he may be, but at least he tries hard. The point is, I don't think you're even trying. Cameronhas reached the bottom of the stairs. He opens the main door. ALEX (CONTINUED) And, Cameron -- I mean this -- goodluck! Cameron leaves and the main door closes behind him. ALEX (CONTINUED) Do you think he wasupset? INT. STAIRWELL. DAY Inside the hall of the flat, David approaches the door toopenit. Freeze-frame. ALEX (VOICE-OVER) David likes to keep spareshoelaces in sorted pairs in a box marked, not just shoelaces', but spareshoelaces'. David opens the door to the Woman. WOMAN I've come to see about the room. INT. STAIRWELL.DAY Outside the door of the flat a young Goth girl, aged about twenty, rings the doorbell. INT. HALL. DAY Inside the hall of theflat Alex approaches the door to open it. Freeze-frame. JULIET (VOICE-OVER) Alex is a vegetarian. Do you know why? Because he feels it providesan interesting counterpoint to his otherwise callous personality. It doesn't. He thinks he's the man for me. He isn't, though there was a time when, well, there was a timewhen... Alex opens the door to the Goth. GOTH I've come about the room. INT. STAIRWELL. DAY Atthe door of the flat a Man aged about thrity-five rings the bell. INT. HALL. DAY Inside the hall of the flat Juliet approaches the door to open it.Freeze-frame. DAVID (VOICE-OVER) Like one of those stupid posters -- you know, a gorilla cuddling a hedgehog, caption love hurts --- that's what I thinkwhen I think of Juliet. Juliet opens the door to the Man. MAN I've come about the room. INT. LIVING ROOM.DAY In the living room each of the candidates is interviewed individually with the same seating arrangements as before (i.e. the trio on the sofa and the applicant on the chair).What we see are briskly intercut excerpts from each of these interviews. We do not get the responses to the questions, although we may see some facial reaction. All ofDavid's questions are to the Woman. All of Alex's questions are to the Goth. All of Juliet's questions are to the Man. DAVID All right,just a few questions. ALEX I'd like to ask you about your hobbies. JULIET Why do you want a roomhere? DAVID Do you smoke? ALEX When you slaughter a goat and wrench its heart out with your bare hands, do you then summonhellfire? JULIET I mean, what are you actually doing here? What is the hidden agenda? DAVID Do a little freebasemaybe, from timeto time? ALEX Or maybe just phone out for a pizza? JULIET Look, it's a fairly straightforward question. You're either divorced oryou're not. DAVID OK, I'm going to play you just a few seconds of this tape -- I'd like you to name the song, the lead singer and the three hit singles subsequentlyrecorded by him with another band. ALEX When you get up in the morning, how do you decide what shade of black towear? JULIET Now, let me get this straight. This affair that you're not having, is it not with a man or not with awoman? DAVID Turning very briefly to the subject of corporate finance -- no, this is important. Leveraged buy-outs -- a good thing or abad thing? ALEX With which of the following figures do you most closely identify: Joan of Arc, Eva Braun or MarilynMonroe? JULIET It's just that you strike me as a man trapped in a crisis of emotional direction, afflicted by a realization that the partner of your dreams is, quitesimply, just that. DAVID Did you ever kill a man? ALEX And when did anyone last say to you these exact words: You are thesunshine of my life'? JULIET OK, so A has left you, B is ambivalent, you're still seeing C but D is the one you yearn for. What are we to make of this? If I were you,I'd ditch the lot. There's a lot more letters in the alphabet of love. DAVID And what if I told you that I was the antichrist? INT. SQUASH COURT.EVENING In a sports centre Juliet sits outside a glass-walled squash court. She is ready to play, but at present is watching Alex and David, who are inside thecourt. INT. SQUASH COURT. EVENING Inside the squash court, Alex is about to serve. ALEX Squash is often used as ametaphor to represent a struggle for personal domination. DAVID Serve. ALEX I was trying to educateyou. DAVID Just serve. ALEX In the same fashion as"}
{"doc_id":"doc_20","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's The House of the Seven Gables, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The House of the Seven GablesAuthor: Nathaniel HawthorneRelease Date: June 17, 2008[EBook #77]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES ***Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.THE HOUSE OF THE SEVENGABLESbyNATHANIEL HAWTHORNETable of Contents INTRODUCTORY NOTE AUTHOR'S PREFACE I. THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY II. THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW III. THE FIRST CUSTOMER IV. ADAY BEHIND THE COUNTER V. MAY AND NOVEMBER VI. MAULE'S WELL VII. THE GUEST VIII. THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY IX. CLIFFORD AND PHOEBE X. THE PYNCHEON GARDEN XI. THE ARCHEDWINDOW XII. THE DAGUERREOTYPIST XIII. ALICE PYNCHEON XIV. PHOEBE'S GOOD-BYE XV. THE SCOWL AND SMILE XVI. CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER XVII. THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS XVIII. GOVERNORPYNCHEON XIX. ALICE'S POSIES XX. THE FLOWER OF EDEN XXI. THE DEPARTURE INTRODUCTORY NOTE.THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES.IN September of the year during the February ofwhich Hawthorne hadcompleted \"The Scarlet Letter,\" he began \"The House of the SevenGables.\" Meanwhile, he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in BerkshireCounty, Massachusetts, where he occupied with his familya small redwooden house, still standing at the date of this edition, near theStockbridge Bowl.\"I sha'n't have the new story ready by November,\" he explained to hispublisher, on the 1st of October, \"for I am never goodfor anything inthe literary way till after the first autumnal frost, which hassomewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliagehere about me-multiplying and brightening its hues.\" But byvigorousapplication he was able to complete the new work about the middle ofthe January following.Since research has disclosed the manner in which the romance isinterwoven with incidents from the history of theHawthorne family,\"The House of the Seven Gables\" has acquired an interest apart fromthat by which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne (as thename was then spelled), the great-grandfather of NathanielHawthorne,was a magistrate at Salem in the latter part of the seventeenthcentury, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there.It is of record that he used peculiar severity towards a certain womanwhowas among the accused; and the husband of this woman prophesiedthat God would take revenge upon his wife's persecutors. Thiscircumstance doubtless furnished a hint for that piece of tradition inthe book whichrepresents a Pyncheon of a former generation as havingpersecuted one Maule, who declared that God would give his enemy \"bloodto drink.\" It became a conviction with the Hawthorne family that acurse had beenpronounced upon its members, which continued in force inthe time of the romancer; a conviction perhaps derived from therecorded prophecy of the injured woman's husband, just mentioned; and,here again, we have acorrespondence with Maule's malediction in thestory. Furthermore, there occurs in the \"American Note-Books\" (August27, 1837), a reminiscence of the author's family, to the followingeffect. Philip English, a characterwell-known in early Salem annals,was among those who suffered from John Hathorne's magisterialharshness, and he maintained in consequence a lasting feud with the oldPuritan official. But at his death English leftdaughters, one of whomis said to have married the son of Justice John Hathorne, whom Englishhad declared he would never forgive. It is scarcely necessary to pointout how clearly this foreshadows the final union ofthose hereditaryfoes, the Pyncheons and Maules, through the marriage of Phoebe andHolgrave. The romance, however, describes the Maules as possessing someof the traits known to have been characteristic of theHawthornes: forexample, \"so long as any of the race were to be found, they had beenmarked out from other men--not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line,but with an effect that was felt rather than spoken of--byanhereditary characteristic of reserve.\" Thus, while the generalsuggestion of the Hawthorne line and its fortunes was followed in theromance, the Pyncheons taking the place of the author's family, certaindistinguishingmarks of the Hawthornes were assigned to the imaginaryMaule posterity.There are one or two other points which indicate Hawthorne's method ofbasing his compositions, the result in the main of pure invention, onthesolid ground of particular facts. Allusion is made, in the firstchapter of the \"Seven Gables,\" to a grant of lands in Waldo County,Maine, owned by the Pyncheon family. In the \"American Note-Books\"there is an entry,dated August 12, 1837, which speaks of theRevolutionary general, Knox, and his land-grant in Waldo County, byvirtue of which the owner had hoped to establish an estate on theEnglish plan, with a tenantry to make itprofitable for him. Anincident of much greater importance in the story is the supposed murderof one of the Pyncheons by his nephew, to whom we are introduced asClifford Pyncheon. In all probability Hawthorneconnected with this,in his mind, the murder of Mr. White, a wealthy gentleman of Salem,killed by a man whom his nephew had hired. This took place a few yearsafter Hawthorne's graduation from college, and was oneof thecelebrated cases of the day, Daniel Webster taking part prominently inthe trial. But it should be observed here that such resemblances asthese between sundry elements in the work of Hawthorne's fancyanddetails of reality are only fragmentary, and are rearranged to suit theauthor's purposes.In the same way he has made his description of Hepzibah Pyncheon'sseven-gabled mansion conform so nearly to several olddwellingsformerly or still extant in Salem, that strenuous efforts have beenmade to fix upon some one of them as the veritable edifice of theromance. A paragraph in the opening chapter has perhaps assistedthisdelusion that there must have been a single original House of the SevenGables, framed by flesh-and-blood carpenters; for it runs thus:--\"Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection--for it has been anobject ofcuriosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of thebest and stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the sceneof events more full of interest perhaps than those of a gray feudalcastle--familiar as itstands, in its rusty old age, it is thereforeonly the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which itfirst caught the sunshine.\"Hundreds of pilgrims annually visit a house in Salem, belonging to onebranch of theIngersoll family of that place, which is stoutlymaintained to have been the model for Hawthorne's visionary dwelling.Others have supposed that the now vanished house of the identicalPhilip English, whose blood, as wehave already noticed, became mingledwith that of the Hawthornes, supplied the pattern; and still a thirdbuilding, known as the Curwen mansion, has been declared the onlygenuine establishment. Notwithstandingpersistent popular belief, theauthenticity of all these must positively be denied; although it ispossible that isolated reminiscences of all three may have blended withthe ideal image in the mind of Hawthorne. He, it willbe seen, remarksin the Preface, alluding to himself in the third person, that he trustsnot to be condemned for \"laying out a street that infringes uponnobody's private rights... and building a house of materials long inusefor constructing castles in the air.\" More than this, he stated topersons still living that the house of the romance was not copied fromany actual edifice, but was simply a general reproduction of a style ofarchitecturebelonging to colonial days, examples of which survivedinto the period of his youth, but have since been radically modified ordestroyed. Here, as elsewhere, he exercised the liberty of a creativemind to heighten theprobability of his pictures without confininghimself to a literal description of something he had seen.While Hawthorne remained at Lenox, and during the composition of thisromance, various other literary personagessettled or stayed for a timein the vicinity; among them, Herman Melville, whose intercourseHawthorne greatly enjoyed, Henry James, Sr., Doctor Holmes, J. T.Headley, James Russell Lowell, Edwin P. Whipple,Frederika Bremer, andJ. T. Fields; so that there was no lack of intellectual society inthe midst of the beautiful and inspiring mountain scenery of the place.\"In the afternoons, nowadays,\" he records, shortly beforebeginning thework, \"this valley in which I dwell seems like a vast basin filled withgolden Sunshine as with wine;\" and, happy in the companionship of hiswife and their three children, he led a simple, refined, idylliclife,despite the restrictions of a scanty and uncertain income. A letterwritten by Mrs. Hawthorne, at this time, to a member of her family,gives incidentally a glimpse of the scene, which may properly find aplacehere. She says: \"I delight to think that you also can lookforth, as I do now, upon a broad valley and a fine amphitheater ofhills, and are about to watch the stately ceremony of the sunset fromyour piazza. But youhave not this lovely lake, nor, I suppose, thedelicate purple mist which folds these slumbering mountains in airyveils. Mr. Hawthorne has been lying down in the sun shine, slightlyfleckered with the shadows of a tree,and Una and Julian have beenmaking him look like the mighty Pan, by covering his chin and breastwith long grass-blades, that looked like a verdant and venerablebeard.\" The pleasantness and peace of hissurroundings and of hismodest home, in Lenox, may be taken into account as harmonizing withthe mellow serenity of the romance then produced. Of the work, when itappeared in the early spring of 1851, he wrote toHoratio Bridge thesewords, now published for the first time:--\"'The House of the Seven Gables' in my opinion, is better than 'TheScarlet Letter:' but I should not wonder if I had refined upon theprincipal character a littletoo much for popular appreciation, nor ifthe romance of the book should be somewhat at odds with the humble andfamiliar scenery in which I invest it. But I feel that portions of itare as good as anything I can hope towrite, and the publisher speaksencouragingly of its success.\"From England, especially, came many warm expressions of praise,--a factwhich Mrs. Hawthorne, in a private letter, commented on as thefulfillment of apossibility which Hawthorne, writing in boyhood to hismother, had looked forward to. He had asked her if she would not likehim to become an author and have his books read in England.G. P.L. PREFACE.WHEN a writer calls his work a Romance, it need hardly be observed thathe wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion andmaterial, which he would not have felt himselfentitled to assume hadhe professed to be writing a Novel. The latter form of composition ispresumed to aim at a very minute fidelity, not merely to the possible,but to the probable and ordinary course of man'sexperience. Theformer--while, as a work of art, it must rigidly subject itself tolaws, and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerve aside fromthe truth of the human heart--has fairly a right to present thattruthunder circumstances, to a great extent, of the writer's own choosing orcreation. If he think fit, also, he may so manage his atmosphericalmedium as to bring out or mellow the lights and deepen and enrichtheshadows of the picture. He will be wise, no doubt, to make a verymoderate use of the privileges here stated, and, especially, to minglethe Marvelous rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor, thanas anyportion of the actual substance of the dish offered to thepublic. He can hardly be said, however, to commit a literary crimeeven if he disregard this caution.In the present work, the author has proposed to himself--butwith whatsuccess, fortunately, it is not for him to judge--to keep undeviatinglywithin his immunities. The point of view in which this tale comesunder the Romantic definition lies in the attempt to connect a bygonetimewith the very present that is flitting away from us. It is alegend prolonging itself, from an epoch now gray in the distance, downinto our own broad daylight, and bringing along with it some of itslegendary mist, whichthe reader, according to his pleasure, may eitherdisregard, or allow it to float almost imperceptibly about thecharacters and events for the sake of a picturesque effect. Thenarrative, it may be, is woven of so humble atexture as to requirethis advantage, and, at the same time, to render it the more difficultof attainment.Many writers lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose, atwhich they profess to aim their works. Notto be deficient in thisparticular, the author has provided himself with a moral,--the truth,namely, that the wrong-doing of one generation lives into thesuccessive ones, and, divesting itself of every temporaryadvantage,becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief; and he would feel it asingular gratification if this romance might effectually convincemankind--or, indeed, any one man--of the folly of tumbling downanavalanche of ill-gotten gold, or real estate, on the heads of anunfortunate posterity, thereby to maim and crush them, until theaccumulated mass shall be scattered abroad in its original atoms. Ingood faith, however,he is not sufficiently imaginative to flatterhimself with the slightest hope of this kind. When romances do reallyteach anything, or produce any effective operation, it is usuallythrough a far more subtile process than theostensible one. The authorhas considered it hardly worth his while, therefore, relentlessly toimpale the story with its moral as with an iron rod,--or, rather, as bysticking a pin through a butterfly,--thus at once deprivingit of life,and causing it to stiffen in an ungainly and unnatural attitude. Ahigh truth, indeed, fairly, finely, and skilfully wrought out,brightening at every step, and crowning the final development of a workof fiction, mayadd an artistic glory, but is never any truer, andseldom any more evident, at the last page than at the first.The reader may perhaps choose to assign an actual locality to theimaginary events of this narrative. Ifpermitted by the historicalconnection,--which, though slight, was essential to his plan,--theauthor would very willingly have avoided anything of this nature. Notto speak of other objections, it exposes the romance toan inflexibleand exceedingly dangerous species of criticism, by bringing hisfancy-pictures almost into positive contact with the realities of themoment. It has been no part of his object, however, to describelocalmanners, nor in any way to meddle with the characteristics of acommunity for whom he cherishes a proper respect and a natural regard.He trusts not to be considered as unpardonably offending by laying outastreet that infringes upon nobody's private rights, and appropriatinga lot of land which had no visible owner, and building a house ofmaterials long in use for constructing castles in the air. Thepersonages of thetale--though they give themselves out to be ofancient stability and considerable prominence--are really of theauthor's own making, or at all events, of his own mixing; their virtuescan shed no lustre, nor their defectsredound, in the remotest degree,to the discredit of the venerable town of which they profess to beinhabitants. He would be glad, therefore, if-especially in the quarterto which he alludes-the book may be read strictlyas a Romance, havinga great deal more to do with the clouds overhead than with any portionof the actual soil of the County of Essex.LENOX, January 27, 1851.THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLESbyNathanielHawthorne I The Old Pyncheon FamilyHALFWAY down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rustywooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards variouspoints of thecompass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. Thestreet is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and anelm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar toevery town-bornchild by the title of the Pyncheon Elm. On myoccasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn downPyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of thesetwo antiquities,--the great elm-treeand the weather-beaten edifice.The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected me like a humancountenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm andsunshine, but expressive also, of the longlapse of mortal life, andaccompanying vicissitudes that have passed within. Were these to beworthily recounted, they would form a narrative of no small interestand instruction, and possessing, moreover, a certainremarkable unity,which might almost seem the result of artistic arrangement. But thestory would include a chain of events extending over the better part oftwo centuries, and, written out with reasonable amplitude,would fill abigger folio volume, or a longer series of duodecimos, than couldprudently be appropriated to the annals of all New England during asimilar period. It consequently becomes imperative to make shortworkwith most of the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House,otherwise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the theme.With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances amid whichthefoundation of the house was laid, and a rapid glimpse at its quaintexterior, as it grew black in the prevalent east wind,--pointing, too,here and there, at some spot of more verdant mossiness on its roof andwalls,--weshall commence the real action of our tale at an epoch notvery remote from the present day. Still, there will be a connectionwith the long past--a reference to forgotten events and personages, andto manners, feelings,and opinions, almost or wholly obsolete--which,if adequately translated to the reader, would serve to illustrate howmuch of old material goes to make up the freshest novelty of humanlife. Hence, too, might be drawn aweighty lesson from thelittle-regarded truth, that the act of the passing generation is thegerm which may and must produce good or evil fruit in a far-distanttime; that, together with the seed of the merely temporarycrop, whichmortals term expediency, they inevitably sow the acorns of a moreenduring growth, which may darkly overshadow their posterity.The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks, was not thefirsthabitation erected by civilized man on precisely the same spot ofground. Pyncheon Street formerly bore the humbler appellation ofMaule's Lane, from the name of the original occupant of the soil,before whosecottage-door it was a cow-path. A natural spring of softand pleasant water--a rare treasure on the sea-girt peninsula where thePuritan settlement was made--had early induced Matthew Maule to build ahut, shaggywith thatch, at this point, although somewhat too remotefrom what was then the centre of the village. In the growth of thetown, however, after some thirty or forty years, the site covered bythis rude hovel had becomeexceedingly desirable in the eyes of aprominent and powerful personage, who asserted plausible claims to theproprietorship of this and a large adjacent tract of land, on thestrength of a grant from thelegislature. Colonel Pyncheon, theclaimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are preserved, wascharacterized by an iron energy of purpose. Matthew Maule, on theother hand, though an obscure man, wasstubborn in the defence of whathe considered his right; and, for several years, he succeeded inprotecting the acre or two of earth which, with his own toil, he hadhewn out of the primeval forest, to be his garden groundand homestead.No written record of this dispute is known to be in existence. Ouracquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from tradition.It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust, to venture adecisiveopinion as to its merits; although it appears to have been at least amatter of doubt, whether Colonel Pyncheon's claim were not undulystretched, in order to make it cover the small metes and bounds ofMatthewMaule. What greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the factthat this controversy between two ill-matched antagonists--at a period,moreover, laud it as we may, when personal influence had far moreweight thannow--remained for years undecided, and came to a close onlywith the death of the party occupying the disputed soil. The mode ofhis death, too, affects the mind differently, in our day, from what itdid a century and a"}
{"doc_id":"doc_21","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cossacks, by Leo TolstoyThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The CossacksAuthor: Leo TolstoyTranslator: Louise and Aylmer MaudeRelease Date: January 18, 2009 [EBook#4761]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COSSACKS ***Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.THE COSSACKSA Tale of1852ByLeo Tolstoy (1863)Translated by Louise and Aylmer MaudeChapter IAll is quiet in Moscow. The squeak of wheels is seldom heard in thesnow-covered street. There are no lights left in the windows and thestreetlamps have been extinguished. Only the sound of bells, borneover the city from the church towers, suggests the approach of morning.The streets are deserted. At rare intervals a night-cabman's sledgekneads up thesnow and sand in the street as the driver makes his wayto another corner where he falls asleep while waiting for a fare. Anold woman passes by on her way to church, where a few wax candles burnwith a red lightreflected on the gilt mountings of the icons. Workmenare already getting up after the long winter night and going to theirwork--but for the gentlefolk it is still evening.From a window in Chevalier's Restaurant alight--illegal at thathour--is still to be seen through a chink in the shutter. At theentrance a carriage, a sledge, and a cabman's sledge, stand closetogether with their backs to the curbstone. A three-horse sledge fromthepost-station is there also. A yard-porter muffled up and pinchedwith cold is sheltering behind the corner of the house.'And what's the good of all this jawing?' thinks the footman who sitsin the hall weary and haggard.'This always happens when I'm on duty.'From the adjoining room are heard the voices of three young men,sitting there at a table on which are wine and the remains of supper.One, a rather plain, thin, neat little man,sits looking with tiredkindly eyes at his friend, who is about to start on a journey. Another,a tall man, lies on a sofa beside a table on which are empty bottles,and plays with his watch-key. A third, wearing a short,fur-lined coat,is pacing up and down the room stopping now and then to crack an almondbetween his strong, rather thick, but well-tended fingers. He keepssmiling at something and his face and eyes are all aglow. Hespeakswarmly and gesticulates, but evidently does not find the words he wantsand those that occur to him seem to him inadequate to express what hasrisen to his heart.'Now I can speak out fully,' said the traveller. 'Idon't want todefend myself, but I should like you at least to understand me as Iunderstand myself, and not look at the matter superficially. You say Ihave treated her badly,' he continued, addressing the man withthekindly eyes who was watching him.'Yes, you are to blame,' said the latter, and his look seemed toexpress still more kindliness and weariness.'I know why you say that,' rejoined the one who was leaving. 'To belovedis in your opinion as great a happiness as to love, and if a manobtains it, it is enough for his whole life.''Yes, quite enough, my dear fellow, more than enough!' confirmed theplain little man, opening and shutting hiseyes.'But why shouldn't the man love too?' said the traveller thoughtfully,looking at his friend with something like pity. 'Why shouldn't onelove? Because love doesn't come ... No, to be beloved is a misfortune.It is amisfortune to feel guilty because you do not give something youcannot give. O my God!' he added, with a gesture of his arm. 'If it allhappened reasonably, and not all topsy-turvy--not in our way but in away of its own!Why, it's as if I had stolen that love! You think sotoo, don't deny it. You must think so. But will you believe it, of allthe horrid and stupid things I have found time to do in my life--andthere are many--this is one I do notand cannot repent of. Neither atthe beginning nor afterwards did I lie to myself or to her. It seemedto me that I had at last fallen in love, but then I saw that it was aninvoluntary falsehood, and that that was not theway to love, and Icould not go on, but she did. Am I to blame that I couldn't? What was Ito do?''Well, it's ended now!' said his friend, lighting a cigar to master hissleepiness. 'The fact is that you have not yet loved anddo not knowwhat love is.'The man in the fur-lined coat was going to speak again, and put hishands to his head, but could not express what he wanted to say.'Never loved! ... Yes, quite true, I never have! But after all, Ihavewithin me a desire to love, and nothing could be stronger than thatdesire! But then, again, does such love exist? There always remainssomething incomplete. Ah well! What's the use of talking? I've made anawfulmess of life! But anyhow it's all over now; you are quite right.And I feel that I am beginning a new life.''Which you will again make a mess of,' said the man who lay on the sofaplaying with his watch-key. But thetraveller did not listen to him.'I am sad and yet glad to go,' he continued. 'Why I am sad I don'tknow.'And the traveller went on talking about himself, without noticing thatthis did not interest the others as much as it didhim. A man is neversuch an egotist as at moments of spiritual ecstasy. At such times itseems to him that there is nothing on earth more splendid andinteresting than himself.'Dmitri Andreich! The coachman won't waitany longer!' said a youngserf, entering the room in a sheepskin coat, with a scarf tied roundhis head. 'The horses have been standing since twelve, and it's nowfour o'clock!'Dmitri Andreich looked at his serf, Vanyusha.The scarf roundVanyusha's head, his felt boots and sleepy face, seemed to be callinghis master to a new life of labour, hardship, and activity.'True enough! Good-bye!' said he, feeling for the unfastened hook andeye onhis coat.In spite of advice to mollify the coachman by another tip, he put onhis cap and stood in the middle of the room. The friends kissed once,then again, and after a pause, a third time. The man in the fur-linedcoatapproached the table and emptied a champagne glass, then took theplain little man's hand and blushed.'Ah well, I will speak out all the same ... I must and will be frankwith you because I am fond of you ... Of courseyou love her--I alwaysthought so--don't you?''Yes,' answered his friend, smiling still more gently.'And perhaps...''Please sir, I have orders to put out the candles,' said the sleepyattendant, who had been listening to thelast part of the conversationand wondering why gentlefolk always talk about one and the same thing.'To whom shall I make out the bill? To you, sir?' he added, knowingwhom to address and turning to the tall man.'Tome,' replied the tall man. 'How much?''Twenty-six rubles.'The tall man considered for a moment, but said nothing and put the billin his pocket.The other two continued their talk.'Good-bye, you are a capital fellow!' saidthe short plain man with themild eyes. Tears filled the eyes of both. They stepped into the porch.'Oh, by the by,' said the traveller, turning with a blush to the tallman, 'will you settle Chevalier's bill and write and let meknow?''All right, all right!' said the tall man, pulling on his gloves. 'HowI envy you!' he added quite unexpectedly when they were out in theporch.The traveller got into his sledge, wrapped his coat about him, andsaid:'Well then, come along!' He even moved a little to make room inthe sledge for the man who said he envied him--his voice trembled.'Good-bye, Mitya! I hope that with God's help you...' said the tallone. But his wish wasthat the other would go away quickly, and so hecould not finish the sentence.They were silent a moment. Then someone again said, 'Good-bye,' and avoice cried, 'Ready,' and the coachman touched up the horses.'Hy,Elisar!' One of the friends called out, and the other coachman andthe sledge-drivers began moving, clicking their tongues and pulling atthe reins. Then the stiffened carriage-wheels rolled squeaking over thefrozensnow.'A fine fellow, that Olenin!' said one of the friends. 'But what anidea to go to the Caucasus--as a cadet, too! I wouldn't do it foranything. ... Are you dining at the club to-morrow?''Yes.'They separated.The travellerfelt warm, his fur coat seemed too hot. He sat on thebottom of the sledge and unfastened his coat, and the three shaggypost-horses dragged themselves out of one dark street into another,past houses he had neverbefore seen. It seemed to Olenin that onlytravellers starting on a long journey went through those streets. Allwas dark and silent and dull around him, but his soul was full ofmemories, love, regrets, and a pleasanttearful feeling.Chapter II'I'm fond of them, very fond! ... First-rate fellows! ... Fine!' hekept repeating, and felt ready to cry. But why he wanted to cry, whowere the first-rate fellows he was so fond of--was more than hequiteknew. Now and then he looked round at some house and wondered why itwas so curiously built; sometimes he began wondering why the post-boyand Vanyusha, who were so different from himself, sat so near,andtogether with him were being jerked about and swayed by the tugs theside-horses gave at the frozen traces, and again he repeated: 'Firstrate ... very fond!' and once he even said: 'And how it seizes one...excellent!' and wondered what made him say it. 'Dear me, am I drunk?'he asked himself. He had had a couple of bottles of wine, but it wasnot the wine alone that was having this effect on Olenin. He rememberedallthe words of friendship heartily, bashfully, spontaneously (as hebelieved) addressed to him on his departure. He remembered the clasp ofhands, glances, the moments of silence, and the sound of a voicesaying,'Good-bye, Mitya!' when he was already in the sledge. Heremembered his own deliberate frankness. And all this had a touchingsignificance for him. Not only friends and relatives, not only peoplewho had beenindifferent to him, but even those who did not like him,seemed to have agreed to become fonder of him, or to forgive him,before his departure, as people do before confession or death. 'PerhapsI shall not return fromthe Caucasus,' he thought. And he felt that heloved his friends and some one besides. He was sorry for himself. Butit was not love for his friends that so stirred and uplifted his heartthat he could not repress themeaningless words that seemed to rise ofthemselves to his lips; nor was it love for a woman (he had never yetbeen in love) that had brought on this mood. Love for himself, lovefull of hope--warm young love for allthat was good in his own soul(and at that moment it seemed to him that there was nothing but good init)--compelled him to weep and to mutter incoherent words.Olenin was a youth who had never completed hisuniversity course, neverserved anywhere (having only a nominal post in some government officeor other), who had squandered half his fortune and had reached the ageof twenty-four without having done anything oreven chosen a career. Hewas what in Moscow society is termed un jeune homme.At the age of eighteen he was free--as only rich young Russians in the'forties who had lost their parents at an early age could be.Neitherphysical nor moral fetters of any kind existed for him; he could do ashe liked, lacking nothing and bound by nothing. Neither relatives, norfatherland, nor religion, nor wants, existed for him. He believedinnothing and admitted nothing. But although he believed in nothing hewas not a morose or blase young man, nor self-opinionated, but on thecontrary continually let himself be carried away. He had come totheconclusion that there is no such thing as love, yet his heart alwaysoverflowed in the presence of any young and attractive woman. He hadlong been aware that honours and position were nonsense, yetinvoluntarilyhe felt pleased when at a ball Prince Sergius came up andspoke to him affably. But he yielded to his impulses only in so far asthey did not limit his freedom. As soon as he had yielded to anyinfluence and becameconscious of its leading on to labour andstruggle, he instinctively hastened to free himself from the feeling oractivity into which he was being drawn and to regain his freedom. Inthis way he experimented withsociety-life, the civil service, farming,music--to which at one time he intended to devote his life--and evenwith the love of women in which he did not believe. He meditated on theuse to which he should devote thatpower of youth which is granted toman only once in a lifetime: that force which gives a man the power ofmaking himself, or even--as it seemed to him--of making the universe,into anything he wishes: should it be toart, to science, to love ofwoman, or to practical activities? It is true that some people aredevoid of this impulse, and on entering life at once place their necksunder the first yoke that offers itself and honestly labourunder itfor the rest of their lives. But Olenin was too strongly conscious ofthe presence of that all-powerful God of Youth--of that capacity to beentirely transformed into an aspiration or idea--the capacity to wishand todo--to throw oneself headlong into a bottomless abyss withoutknowing why or wherefore. He bore this consciousness within himself,was proud of it and, without knowing it, was happy in thatconsciousness. Up to thattime he had loved only himself, and could nothelp loving himself, for he expected nothing but good of himself andhad not yet had time to be disillusioned. On leaving Moscow he was inthat happy state of mind in whicha young man, conscious of pastmistakes, suddenly says to himself, 'That was not the real thing.' Allthat had gone before was accidental and unimportant. Till then he hadnot really tried to live, but now with hisdeparture from Moscow a newlife was beginning--a life in which there would be no mistakes, noremorse, and certainly nothing but happiness.It is always the case on a long journey that till the first two orthree stageshave been passed imagination continues to dwell on theplace left behind, but with the first morning on the road it leaps tothe end of the journey and there begins building castles in the air. Soit happened to Olenin.Afterleaving the town behind, he gazed at the snowy fields and feltglad to be alone in their midst. Wrapping himself in his fur coat, helay at the bottom of the sledge, became tranquil, and fell into a doze.The parting with hisfriends had touched him deeply, and memories ofthat last winter spent in Moscow and images of the past, mingled withvague thoughts and regrets, rose unbidden in his imagination.He remembered the friend who hadseen him off and his relations withthe girl they had talked about. The girl was rich. \"How could he loveher knowing that she loved me?\" thought he, and evil suspicions crossedhis mind. \"There is much dishonesty in menwhen one comes to reflect.\"Then he was confronted by the question: \"But really, how is it I havenever been in love? Every one tells me that I never have. Can it bethat I am a moral monstrosity?\" And he began to recallall hisinfatuations. He recalled his entry into society, and a friend's sisterwith whom he spent several evenings at a table with a lamp on it whichlit up her slender fingers busy with needlework, and the lower part ofherpretty delicate face. He recalled their conversations that draggedon like the game in which one passes on a stick which one keeps alightas long as possible, and the general awkwardness and restraint and hiscontinualfeeling of rebellion at all that conventionality. Some voicehad always whispered: \"That's not it, that's not it,\" and so it hadproved. Then he remembered a ball and the mazurka he danced with thebeautiful D----. \"Howmuch in love I was that night and how happy! Andhow hurt and vexed I was next morning when I woke and felt myself stillfree! Why does not love come and bind me hand and foot?\" thought he.\"No, there is no suchthing as love! That neighbour who used to tellme, as she told Dubrovin and the Marshal, that she loved the stars, wasnot IT either.\" And now his farming and work in the country recurred tohis mind, and in thoserecollections also there was nothing to dwell onwith pleasure. \"Will they talk long of my departure?\" came into hishead; but who \"they\" were he did not quite know. Next came a thoughtthat made him wince and mutterincoherently. It was the recollection ofM. Cappele the tailor, and the six hundred and seventy-eight rubles hestill owed him, and he recalled the words in which he had begged him towait another year, and the look ofperplexity and resignation which hadappeared on the tailor's face. 'Oh, my God, my God!' he repeated,wincing and trying to drive away the intolerable thought. 'All the sameand in spite of everything she loved me,'thought he of the girl theyhad talked about at the farewell supper. 'Yes, had I married her Ishould not now be owing anything, and as it is I am in debt toVasilyev.' Then he remembered the last night he had playedwithVasilyev at the club (just after leaving her), and he recalled hishumiliating requests for another game and the other's cold refusal. 'Ayear's economizing and they will all be paid, and the devil takethem!'... Butdespite this assurance he again began calculating hisoutstanding debts, their dates, and when he could hope to pay them off.'And I owe something to Morell as well as to Chevalier,' thought he,recalling the night whenhe had run up so large a debt. It was at acarousel at the gipsies arranged by some fellows from Petersburg:Sashka B---, an aide-de-camp to the Tsar, Prince D---, and that pompousold----. 'How is it those gentlemenare so self-satisfied?' thought he,'and by what right do they form a clique to which they think othersmust be highly flattered to be admitted? Can it be because they are onthe Emperor's staff? Why, it's awful what foolsand scoundrels theyconsider other people to be! But I showed them that I at any rate, onthe contrary, do not at all want their intimacy. All the same, I fancyAndrew, the steward, would be amazed to know that I am onfamiliarterms with a man like Sashka B---, a colonel and an aide-de-camp to theTsar! Yes, and no one drank more than I did that evening, and I taughtthe gipsies a new song and everyone listened to it. Though I havedonemany foolish things, all the same I am a very good fellow,' thought he.Morning found him at the third post-stage. He drank tea, and himselfhelped Vanyusha to move his bundles and trunks and sat down amongthem,sensible, erect, and precise, knowing where all his belongings were,how much money he had and where it was, where he had put his passportand the post-horse requisition and toll-gate papers, and it allseemedto him so well arranged that he grew quite cheerful and the longjourney before him seemed an extended pleasure-trip.All that morning and noon he was deep in calculations of how manyversts he had travelled,how many remained to the next stage, how manyto the next town, to the place where he would dine, to the place wherehe would drink tea, and to Stavropol, and what fraction of the wholejourney was alreadyaccomplished. He also calculated how much money hehad with him, how much would be left over, how much would pay off allhis debts, and what proportion of his income he would spend each month.Towards evening,after tea, he calculated that to Stavropol there stillremained seven-elevenths of the whole journey, that his debts wouldrequire seven months' economy and one-eighth of his whole fortune; andthen, tranquillized, hewrapped himself up, lay down in the sledge, andagain dozed off. His imagination was now turned to the future: to theCaucasus. All his dreams of the future were mingled with pictures ofAmalat-Beks, Circassian women,mountains, precipices, terribletorrents, and perils. All these things were vague and dim, but the loveof fame and the danger of death furnished the interest of that future.Now, with unprecedented courage and a strengththat amazed everyone, heslew and subdued an innumerable host of hillsmen; now he was himself ahillsman and with them was maintaining their independence against theRussians. As soon as he pictured anythingdefinite, familiar Moscowfigures always appeared on the scene. Sashka B---fights with theRussians or the hillsmen against him. Even the tailor Cappele in somestrange way takes part in the conqueror's triumph. Amidall this heremembered his former humiliations, weaknesses, and mistakes, and therecollection was not disagreeable. It was clear that there among themountains, waterfalls, fair Circassians, and dangers, suchmistakescould not recur. Having once made full confession to himself there wasan end of it all. One other vision, the sweetest of them all, mingledwith the young man's every thought of the future--the vision of awoman.And there, among the mountains, she appeared to his imagination as aCircassian slave, a fine figure with a long plait of hair and deepsubmissive eyes. He pictured a lonely hut in the mountains, and on"}
{"doc_id":"doc_22","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre and Jean, by Guy de MaupassantThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Pierre and JeanAuthor: Guy de MaupassantTranslator: Clara BellRelease Date: April 12, 2006 [EBook#3804]Last Updated: February 23, 2018Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIERRE AND JEAN ***Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; HTML file by DavidWidgerPIERRE & JEANBy Guy De MaupassantTranslated By Clara BellCHAPTER Iâ\u0000\u0000Tschah!â\u0000\u0000 exclaimed old Roland suddenly, after he had remainedmotionless for a quarter of an hour, his eyes fixed on the water,whilenow and again he very slightly lifted his line sunk in the sea.Mme. Roland, dozing in the stern by the side of Mme. Rosemilly, who hadbeen invited to join the fishing-party, woke up, and turning her head tolook ather husband, said:â\u0000\u0000Well, well! Gerome.â\u0000\u0000And the old fellow replied in a fury:â\u0000\u0000They do not bite at all. I have taken nothing since noon. Only menshould ever go fishing. Women always delay the start till it istoolate.â\u0000\u0000His two sons, Pierre and Jean, who each held a line twisted round hisforefinger, one to port and one to starboard, both began to laugh, andJean remarked:â\u0000\u0000You are not very polite to our guest,father.â\u0000\u0000M. Roland was abashed, and apologized.â\u0000\u0000I beg your pardon, Mme. Rosemilly, but that is just like me. I inviteladies because I like to be with them, and then, as soon as I feel thewater beneath me, Ithink of nothing but the fish.â\u0000\u0000Mme. Roland was now quite awake, and gazing with a softened look at thewide horizon of cliff and sea.â\u0000\u0000You have had good sport, all the same,â\u0000\u0000 she murmured.But her husbandshook his head in denial, though at the same time heglanced complacently at the basket where the fish caught by the threemen were still breathing spasmodically, with a low rustle of clammyscales and struggling fins,and dull, ineffectual efforts, gasping inthe fatal air. Old Roland took the basket between his knees and tiltedit up, making the silver heap of creatures slide to the edge that hemight see those lying at the bottom, andtheir death-throes became moreconvulsive, while the strong smell of their bodies, a wholesome reekof brine, came up from the full depths of the creel. The old fishermansniffed it eagerly, as we smell at roses, andexclaimed:â\u0000\u0000Cristi! But they are fresh enough!â\u0000\u0000 and he went on: â\u0000\u0000How many did youpull out, doctor?â\u0000\u0000His eldest son, Pierre, a man of thirty, with black whiskers trimmedsquare like a lawyer's, hismustache and beard shaved away, replied:â\u0000\u0000Oh, not many; three or four.â\u0000\u0000The father turned to the younger. â\u0000\u0000And you, Jean?â\u0000\u0000 said he.Jean, a tall fellow, much younger than his brother, fair, with afullbeard, smiled and murmured:â\u0000\u0000Much the same as Pierre--four or five.â\u0000\u0000Every time they told the same fib, which delighted father Roland. He hadhitched his line round a row-lock, and folding his arms heannounced:â\u0000\u0000I will never again try to fish after noon. After ten in the morning itis all over. The lazy brutes will not bite; they are taking their siestain the sun.â\u0000\u0000 And he looked round at the sea on all sides, withthesatisfied air of a proprietor.He was a retired jeweller who had been led by an inordinate love ofseafaring and fishing to fly from the shop as soon as he had made enoughmoney to live in modest comfort on theinterest of his savings. Heretired to le Havre, bought a boat, and became an amateur skipper.His two sons, Pierre and Jean, had remained at Paris to continue theirstudies, and came for the holidays from time to time toshare theirfather's amusements.On leaving school, Pierre, the elder, five years older than Jean, hadfelt a vocation to various professions and had tried half a dozen insuccession, but, soon disgusted with each in turn, hestarted afreshwith new hopes. Medicine had been his last fancy, and he had set to workwith so much ardour that he had just qualified after an unusually shortcourse of study, by a special remission of time from theminister. Hewas enthusiastic, intelligent, fickle, but obstinate, full of Utopiasand philosophical notions.Jean, who was as fair as his brother was dark, as deliberate as hisbrother was vehement, as gentle as his brotherwas unforgiving, hadquietly gone through his studies for the law and had just taken hisdiploma as a licentiate, at the time when Pierre had taken his inmedicine. So they were now having a little rest at home, and bothlookedforward to settling in Havre if they could find a satisfactory opening.But a vague jealousy, one of those dormant jealousies which grow upbetween brothers or sisters and slowly ripen till they burst, on theoccasionof a marriage perhaps, or of some good fortune happening toone of them, kept them on the alert in a sort of brotherly andnon-aggressive animosity. They were fond of each other, it is true, butthey watched each other.Pierre, five years old when Jean was born,had looked with the eyes of a little petted animal at that other littleanimal which had suddenly come to lie in his father's and mother's armsand to be loved and fondled by them.Jean, from his birth, had alwaysbeen a pattern of sweetness, gentleness, and good temper, and Pierre hadby degrees begun to chafe at ever-lastingly hearing the praises of thisgreat lad, whose sweetness in his eyeswas indolence, whose gentlenesswas stupidity, and whose kindliness was blindness. His parents, whosedream for their sons was some respectable and undistinguished calling,blamed him for so often changing his mind,for his fits of enthusiasm,his abortive beginnings, and all his ineffectual impulses towardsgenerous ideas and the liberal professions.Since he had grown to manhood they no longer said in so many words:â\u0000\u0000Look atJean and follow his example,â\u0000\u0000 but every time he heard them sayâ\u0000\u0000Jean did this--Jean does that,â\u0000\u0000 he understood their meaning and thehint the words conveyed.Their mother, an orderly person, a thrifty andrather sentimental womanof the middle class, with the soul of a soft-hearted book-keeper, wasconstantly quenching the little rivalries between her two big sonsto which the petty events of their life constantly gave rise.Anotherlittle circumstance, too, just now disturbed her peace of mind, andshe was in fear of some complications; for in the course of the winter,while her boys were finishing their studies, each in his own line, shehadmade the acquaintance of a neighbour, Mme. Rosemilly, the widow of acaptain of a merchantman who had died at sea two years before. The youngwidow--quite young, only three-and-twenty--a woman of strongintellectwho knew life by instinct as the free animals do, as though shehad seen, gone through, understood, and weighted every conceivablecontingency, and judged them with a wholesome, strict, and benevolentmind,had fallen into the habit of calling to work or chat for an hourin the evening with these friendly neighbours, who would give her a cupof tea.Father Roland, always goaded on by his seafaring craze, would questiontheirnew friend about the departed captain; and she would talk of him,and his voyages, and his old-world tales, without hesitation, like aresigned and reasonable woman who loves life and respects death.The two sons ontheir return, finding the pretty widow quite at home inthe house, forthwith began to court her, less from any wish to charm herthan from the desire to cut each other out.Their mother, being practical and prudent,sincerely hoped that one ofthem might win the young widow, for she was rich; but then she wouldhave liked that the other should not be grieved.Mme. Rosemilly was fair, with blue eyes, a mass of light wavinghair,fluttering at the least breath of wind, and an alert, daring, pugnaciouslittle way with her, which did not in the least answer to the sobermethod of her mind.She already seemed to like Jean best, attracted, no doubt,by anaffinity of nature. This preference, however, she betrayed only byan almost imperceptible difference of voice and look and also byoccasionally asking his opinion. She seemed to guess that Jean'sviews wouldsupport her own, while those of Pierre must inevitablybe different. When she spoke of the doctor's ideas on politics, art,philosophy, or morals, she would sometimes say: â\u0000\u0000Your crotchets.â\u0000\u0000 Thenhe would look ather with the cold gleam of an accuser drawing up anindictment against women--all women, poor weak things.Never till his sons came home had M. Roland invited her to join hisfishing expeditions, nor had he ever takenhis wife; for he liked to putoff before daybreak, with his ally, Captain Beausire, a master marinerretired, whom he had first met on the quay at high tides and with whomhe had struck up an intimacy, and the old sailorPapagris, known as JeanBart, in whose charge the boat was left.But one evening of the week before, Mme. Rosemilly, who had been diningwith them, remarked, â\u0000\u0000It must be great fun to go out fishing.â\u0000\u0000Thejeweller, flattered by her interest and suddenly fired with the wishto share his favourite sport with her, and to make a convert after themanner of priests, exclaimed: â\u0000\u0000Would you like to come?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000To besure I should.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Next Tuesday?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Yes, next Tuesday.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Are you the woman to be ready to start at five in the morning?â\u0000\u0000She exclaimed in horror:â\u0000\u0000No, indeed: that is too much.â\u0000\u0000He wasdisappointed and chilled, suddenly doubting her true vocation.However, he said:â\u0000\u0000At what hour can you be ready?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Well--at nine?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Not before?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000No, not before. Even that is veryearly.â\u0000\u0000The old fellow hesitated; he certainly would catch nothing, for when thesun has warmed the sea the fish bite no more; but the two brothers hadeagerly pressed the scheme, and organized and arrangedeverything thereand then.So on the following Tuesday the Pearl had dropped anchor under the whiterocks of Cape la Heve; they had fished till midday, then they had sleptawhile, and then fished again without catchinganything; and then itwas that father Roland, perceiving, rather late, that all that Mme.Rosemilly really enjoyed and cared for was the sail on the sea, andseeing that his lines hung motionless, had uttered in a spiritofunreasonable annoyance, that vehement â\u0000\u0000Tschah!â\u0000\u0000 which applied as much tothe pathetic widow as to the creatures he could not catch.Now he contemplated the spoil--his fish--with the joyful thrill of amiser;seeing as he looked up at the sky that the sun was getting low:â\u0000\u0000Well, boys,â\u0000\u0000 said he, â\u0000\u0000suppose we turn homeward.â\u0000\u0000The young men hauled in their lines, coiled them up, cleaned the hooksand stuckthem into corks, and sat waiting.Roland stood up to look out like a captain.â\u0000\u0000No wind,â\u0000\u0000 said he. â\u0000\u0000You will have to pull, young 'uns.â\u0000\u0000And suddenly extending one arm to the northward, heexclaimed:â\u0000\u0000Here comes the packet from Southampton.â\u0000\u0000Away over the level sea, spread out like a blue sheet, vast and sheenyand shot with flame and gold, an inky cloud was visible against the rosysky in thequarter to which he pointed, and below it they could make outthe hull of the steamer, which looked tiny at such a distance. And tosouthward other wreaths of smoke, numbers of them, could be seen, allconvergingtowards the Havre pier, now scarcely visible as a whitestreak with the lighthouse, upright, like a horn, at the end of it.Roland asked: â\u0000\u0000Is not the Normandie due to-day?â\u0000\u0000 And Jean replied:â\u0000\u0000Yes,to-day.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Give me my glass. I fancy I see her out there.â\u0000\u0000The father pulled out the copper tube, adjusted it to his eye, soughtthe speck, and then, delighted to have seen it, exclaimed:â\u0000\u0000Yes, yes, there sheis. I know her two funnels. Would you like to look,Mme. Rosemilly?â\u0000\u0000She took the telescope and directed it towards the Atlantic horizon,without being able, however, to find the vessel, for she coulddistinguishnothing--nothing but blue, with a coloured halo round it, acircular rainbow--and then all manner of queer things, winking eclipseswhich made her feel sick.She said as she returned the glass:â\u0000\u0000I never could see withthat thing. It used to put my husband in quite arage; he would stand for hours at the windows watching the ships pass.â\u0000\u0000Old Roland, much put out, retorted:â\u0000\u0000Then it must be some defect in your eye, for myglass is a very goodone.â\u0000\u0000Then he offered it to his wife.â\u0000\u0000Would you like to look?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000No, thank you. I know before hand that I could not see through it.â\u0000\u0000Mme. Roland, a woman of eight-and-forty butwho did not look it, seemedto be enjoying this excursion and this waning day more than any of theparty.Her chestnut hair was only just beginning to show streaks of white. Shehad a calm, reasonable face, a kind andhappy way with her which itwas a pleasure to see. Her son Pierre was wont to say that she knew thevalue of money, but this did not hinder her from enjoying the delightsof dreaming. She was fond of reading, of novels,and poetry, not fortheir value as works of art, but for the sake of the tender melancholymood they would induce in her. A line of poetry, often but a poor one,often a bad one, would touch the little chord, as sheexpressed it, andgive her the sense of some mysterious desire almost realized. And shedelighted in these faint emotions which brought a little flutter to hersoul, otherwise as strictly kept as a ledger.Since settling atHavre she had become perceptibly stouter, and herfigure, which had been very supple and slight, had grown heavier.This day on the sea had been delightful to her. Her husband, withoutbeing brutal, was rough withher, as a man who is the despot of hisshop is apt to be rough, without anger or hatred; to such men to give anorder is to swear. He controlled himself in the presence of strangers,but in private he let loose and gavehimself terrible vent, though hewas himself afraid of every one. She, in sheer horror of the turmoil,of scenes, of useless explanations, always gave way and never asked foranything; for a very long time she had notventured to ask Roland totake her out in the boat. So she had joyfully hailed this opportunity,and was keenly enjoying the rare and new pleasure.From the moment when they started she surrendered herselfcompletely,body and soul, to the soft, gliding motion over the waves. She was notthinking; her mind was not wandering through either memories or hopes;it seemed to her as though her heart, like her body, wasfloating onsomething soft and liquid and delicious which rocked and lulled it.When their father gave the word to return, â\u0000\u0000Come, take your places atthe oars!â\u0000\u0000 she smiled to see her sons, her two great boys, takeofftheir jackets and roll up their shirt-sleeves on their bare arms.Pierre, who was nearest to the two women, took the stroke oar, Jean theother, and they sat waiting till the skipper should say: â\u0000\u0000Give way!â\u0000\u0000 Forheinsisted on everything being done according to strict rule.Simultaneously, as if by a single effort, they dipped the oars, andlying back, pulling with all their might, began a struggle to displaytheir strength. They hadcome out easily, under sail, but the breezehad died away, and the masculine pride of the two brothers was suddenlyaroused by the prospect of measuring their powers. When they went outalone with their father theyplied the oars without any steering, forRoland would be busy getting the lines ready, while he kept a lookout inthe boat's course, guiding it by a sign or a word: â\u0000\u0000Easy, Jean, and you,Pierre, put your back intoit.â\u0000\u0000 Or he would say, â\u0000\u0000Now, then, numberone; come, number two--a little elbow grease.â\u0000\u0000 Then the one who had beendreaming pulled harder, the one who had got excited eased down, and theboat's headcame round.But to-day they meant to display their biceps. Pierre's arms were hairy,somewhat lean but sinewy; Jean's were round and white and rosy, and theknot of muscles moved under the skin.At first Pierre hadthe advantage. With his teeth set, his brow knit,his legs rigid, his hands clinched on the oar, he made it bend fromend to end at every stroke, and the Pearl was veering landward. FatherRoland, sitting in the bows, so asto leave the stern seat to the twowomen, wasted his breath shouting, â\u0000\u0000Easy, number one; pull harder,number two!â\u0000\u0000 Pierre pulled harder in his frenzy, and â\u0000\u0000number twoâ\u0000\u0000 couldnot keep time with his wildstroke.At last the skipper cried: â\u0000\u0000Stop her!â\u0000\u0000 The two oars were liftedsimultaneously, and then by his father's orders Jean pulled alone fora few minutes. But from that moment he had it all his own way; hegreweager and warmed to his work, while Pierre, out of breath and exhaustedby his first vigorous spurt, was lax and panting. Four times runningfather Roland made them stop while the elder took breath, so as togetthe boat into her right course again. Then the doctor, humiliated andfuming, his forehead dropping with sweat, his cheeks white, stammeredout:â\u0000\u0000I cannot think what has come over me; I have a stitch in myside. Istarted very well, but it has pulled me up.â\u0000\u0000Jean asked: â\u0000\u0000Shall I pull alone with both oars for a time?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000No, thanks, it will go off.â\u0000\u0000And their mother, somewhat vexed, said:â\u0000\u0000Why, Pierre, whatrhyme or reason is there in getting into such astate. You are not a child.â\u0000\u0000And he shrugged his shoulders and set to once more.Mme. Rosemilly pretended not to see, not to understand, not to hear.Her fair head wentback with an engaging little jerk every time the boatmoved forward, making the fine wayward hairs flutter about her temples.But father Roland presently called out:â\u0000\u0000Look, the Prince Albert is catching usup!â\u0000\u0000They all looked round. Long and low in the water, with her tworaking funnels and two yellow paddle-boxes like two round cheeks,the Southampton packet came ploughing on at full steam, crowdedwithpassengers under open parasols. Its hurrying, noisy paddle-wheelsbeating up the water which fell again in foam, gave it an appearance ofhaste as of a courier pressed for time, and the upright stem cut throughthewater, throwing up two thin translucent waves which glided off alongthe hull.When it had come quite near the Pearl, father Roland lifted his hat,the ladies shook their handkerchiefs, and half a dozen parasolseagerlywaved on board the steamboat responded to this salute as she went on herway, leaving behind her a few broad undulations on the still and glassysurface of the sea.There were other vessels, each with its smokycap, coming in from everypart of the horizon towards the short white jetty, which swallowed themup, one after another, like a mouth. And the fishing barks and lightercraft with broad sails and slender masts, stealingacross the sky in towof inconspicuous tugs, were coming in, faster and slower, towards thedevouring ogre, who from time to time seemed to have had a surfeit, andspewed out to the open sea another fleet of steamers,brigs, schooners,and three-masted vessels with their tangled mass of rigging. Thehurrying steamships flew off to the right and left over the smooth bosomof the ocean, while sailing vessels, cast off by the pilot-tugswhichhad hauled them out, lay motionless, dressing themselves from themain-mast to the fore-tops in canvas, white or brown, and ruddy in thesetting sun.Mme. Roland, with her eyes half-shut, murmured: â\u0000\u0000Goodheavens, howbeautiful the sea is!â\u0000\u0000And Mme. Rosemilly replied with a long sigh, which, however, had nosadness in it:â\u0000\u0000Yes, but it is sometimes very cruel, all the same.â\u0000\u0000Roland exclaimed:â\u0000\u0000Look, there isthe Normandie just going in. A big ship, isn't she?â\u0000\u0000Then he described the coast opposite, far, far away, on the other sideof the mouth of the Seine--that mouth extended over twenty kilometres,said he. He pointedout Villerville, Trouville, Houlgate, Luc,Arromanches, the little river of Caen, and the rocks of Calvados whichmake the coast unsafe as far as Cherbourg. Then he enlarged on thequestion of the sand-banks in the Seine,which shift at every tide sothat even the pilots of Quilleboeuf are at fault if they do not surveythe channel every day. He bid them notice how the town of Havre dividedUpper from Lower Normandy. In Lower Normandythe shore sloped downto the sea in pasture-lands, fields, and meadows. The coast of UpperNormandy, on the contrary, was steep, a high cliff, ravined, cleft andtowering, forming an immense white rampart all the wayto Dunkirk,while in each hollow a village or a port lay hidden: Etretat, Fecamp,Saint-Valery, Treport, Dieppe, and the rest.The two women did not listen. Torpid with comfort and impressed by thesight of the oceancovered with vessels rushing to and fro like wildbeasts about their den, they sat speechless, somewhat awed by thesoothing and gorgeous sunset. Roland alone talked on without end; hewas one of those whom nothing"}
{"doc_id":"doc_23","qid":"","text":"Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Script at IMSDb.
INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM STORYBY: GEORGE LUCAS SCREENPLAY BY: WILLARDHUYCK AND GLORIA KATZ TM* & (c) Lucasfilm Ltd., 1984 -------------- FADEIN:1. INT. \"THE DRAGON\" NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT 1. A Chinese GONG SOUNDS and the glittering doors of an art Deco pa- poda slide open to reveal a mammoth silverstairway down which rows of beautiful women start descending (BEGIN MAIN TITLES) The lovely ladies are a mix of races and they sing a strange, haunting melody -- one might think them a heavenlychoir, if it weren't for their sexy, clinging lame gowns.2. INT. CLUB ENTRANCE 2. From the ethereal beauties, we cut to a street urchin's dirty face: SHORTROUND is a ten-year-old Chinese kis wearing a beat- up American baseball cap. Sneaking into the club, Short Round weaves past the fancy gowns and silk suits, heading toward the music in the mainballroom.3. INT. THE BALLROOM 3. Short Round enters and stares across the smoky nightclub. On the stage, he sees a giant paper-mache dragon laying curledaround the pagoda. Now, the dragon's eyes light up, its nostrils exhale smoke and its enormous jaws open. Out of the dragon's mouth walks the star of the stage show: WILLIE SCOTT, a dreamybeauty singing a sultry solo white the or- chestra wails the accompaniment. But Short Round's not here to ogle crooning dames. He surveys the rich Chinese, American and European revelers. Jewelsflash and champagne flows. Short Round finally spots a table of somber-looking Chinese men in suits. Short Round chews gum and stares at the men. Then he turns to go. WU HAN, a waiter with ascar across his cheek, watches Short Round leave.4. INT. CLUB ENTRANCE 4. As Short Round hurries toward the exit, he bumps into a man in a tuxedo enteringthe club. Short Round looks up at the man, but we don't see his face. Then Short Round is grabbed by the scruff of his neck and a door- man hustles him out the door, Short Round yelling insults allthe way. A maitre d' apologizes to the man in the tuxedo and two hat-check girls smile at him familiarly as he continues into the ballroom. We notice something incongruous: the man in the tuxedo iswear- ing work boots caked with mud.5. INT. THE BALLROOM 5. The man in the tuxedo stops to watch Willie Scott singing sexily on the stage. Then he looksaround and sees the table of somber Chinese men that Short Round spotted earlier. As the man in the tuxedo walks toward the table, he removes a cigarette from a silver case. He arrives at the table justas the chorus and orchestra reach a crescendo -- And on the stage, a glistening, muscular slave swings a huge ham- mer toward an enormous brass gong -- The man in the tuxedo leans to receive alight from a cigarette- girl and, as the GONG BOOMS, the match flares to reveal his face for the first time: It's INDIANA JONES. Elegant in a tuxedo -- dressed to kill. The TITLES END and over this alegend appears on the screen: SHANGHAI - 1935 At the table, the four Chinese man in suits stare coldly at Indi- ana. LAO Dr.Jones. INDIANA Lao She. LAO Nee chin lie how ma? Lao's men laugh and assume that Indy doesn't understand hisjoke. INDIANA Wah hung how, nee nah? Wah hwey hung jing chee jah loo nee kao soo wah shu shu. LAO SHE looks angry and hismen's smiles fade. LAO You never told me you spoke my language, Dr. Jones. INDIANA I don't like toshow off. Indiana takes a seat across the table from Shanghai's notorious crime-lord. Lao is fifty, wealthy enough to now display some fat, but still muscular from his fight to the top of thegarbage heap. LAO For this special occasion, I ordered champagne and caviar. Indiana looks at the pile of caviar on the plate in front ofhim -- and stubs his cigarette out in it. The cigarette sizzles and Lao's smiles dies with it. There's applause as Wille Scott finishes her song. At the table, Lao stares at Indiana with a strangeintensity. LAO So, it is true, Dr. Jones? you found Nurhachi? INDIANA Sure, I found him. Thenlast night I had a little trouble. Somebody tried to slit my throat. Indiana looks across the table at Lao's son, CHEN, who resembles a bulldog and snarls like onenow. INDIANA (Cont'd) It was dark, but I think one of your sons tried to get Nurhachi without paying for him. Indy stares pointedly at Chen'srecently bandaged hand. Chen mutters and stands angrily -- Lao barks a command in Chinese and Chen sits down again. LAO You have insulted myson. INDIANA Next time I'll cut off more than his finger. LAO Dr. Jones -- I want Nurhachi. Lao pullsa wad of cash out of his pocket and puts it on the table. Indiana glances at it. INDIANA As I recall the deal was consid- erably more. Now apretty hand slips onto Lao's shoulder and he looks up to see Willie Scott. Lao kisses her hand. Willie is unaware of the explosive mood at the table and she smiles flirtaciously atIndi- ana. WILLIE (to Lao) Aren't you going to introduce us? LAO This isWillie Scott. (watching Indy) And this is Indiana Jones, the famous archaeologist. Willie sits down between Lao and Indy. She takes out a small mirror to checkher make-up. LAO (Cont'd) Dr. Jones found Nurhachi for me and is about to deliver him -- now. Lao nods across the table and Indy sees KAOKAN, Lao's second son, open his coat and remove a silver-plated pistol. Indiana looks worried. Willie doesn't notice as she fixes her make-up and coyly teasesIndiana. WILLIE Well -- I thought archaeologists were always funny little men searching for their mummies-- (yelping) Aaahhh! She looks down terrified at the knife Indy is poking against her ribs. WILLE (Cont'd) I was only kidding, can'tyou take a joke -- ? (to Lao) Lao, he's got a knife! INDIANA Put the gun away, sonny. Kao Kan glances at hisfather. Lao finally nods to his son and he slips the pistol back into his pocket. INDIANA Now I suggest you pay me what you promised -- or yourgirlfriend here is going to be squealing a new tune. The ritzy patrons at the tables nearby are unaware of the tawdry drama quietly unfolding at this table. Willie eyes the bladeand whimpers. She looks imploringly at Lao and he slowly reaches into his pocket. He puts ten gold coins next to the cash on the table. Indy leans forward to look at the gold coins -- so intently that hefails to notice Kao Kan spilling some powder into Indy's cham- pagne glass! INDIANA Try again Lao -- the deal was more. The knife pokes Willieand she whimpers again. Lao reaches into another pocket and brings out a folded piece of rice paper -- he opens it and a large diamond and ruby spill out onto the table. INDIANA(Cont'd) Bingo...you see, Lao, with a but of persuasion, even you can be an honest fellow. Indy smiles and jabs the knife into the middle of the table. Then he liftshis champagne glass in a toast to Lao -- who watches expectantly as Indiana moves the glass toward his lips -- Suddenly Willie stands angrily, jostling Indy's arm so that he doesn't drink hischampagne. WILLIE Look at this! He put a hole in my dress from Paris! Lao sees Indy put his champagne glass down and he snarls at Wil- lie-- LAO Sit down! Willie quickly obeys. Lao forces a smile at Indy and lifts his glass to seal the deal -- LAO (Cont'd) Toyour health, Dr. Jones. Lao sips hs champagne and watches hopefully as Indy picks up his glass and this time Indy does drink the champagne. Then he reaches for the cash -- But Chen grins and puts asilver snuff bottle next to the cash, gold and jewels -- he tips the little bottle over and some white powder spills out of it -- INDIANA What'sthat? LAO A bonus, Dr. Jones. That is poison. You just drank the rest of it. Indiana examines his champagne glass and sees a residueat the bottom of it. He swallows and feels sick, wondering it it's fear or the poison already taking effect. LAO (Cont'd) There is an antidote forthis poison. You give me Nurhachi -- I give you the antidote. Indiana is sweating. Willie looks at him and sees Indy's hand shaking. LAO(Cont'd) The poison works fast, Dr. Jones. Where is Nurhachi? Indiana finally reaches into his pocket. Next to the cash, gold, jewels and poison, Indiana sets down a beautiful"}
{"doc_id":"doc_24","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Stone Face, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Great Stone Face And Other Tales Of The White MountainsAuthor: NathanielHawthorneRelease Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #1916]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT STONE FACE ***Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and DavidWidgerTHE GREAT STONE FACE AND OTHER TALES OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINSBy Nathaniel Hawthorne1882CONTENTS Introduction The Great Stone Face The Ambitious Guest The GreatCarbuncle Sketches From MemoryINTRODUCTIONTHE first three numbers in this collection are tales of the White Hillsin New Hampshire. The passages from Sketches from Memory show thatHawthorne had visitedthe mountains in one of his occasional ramblesfrom home, but there are no entries in his Note Books which giveaccounts of such a visit. There is, however, among these notesthe following interesting paragraph, writtenin 1840 and clearlyforeshadowing The Great Stone Face:'The semblance of a human face to be formed on the side of a mountain,or in the fracture of a small stone, by a lusus naturae [freak ofnature]. The face is anobject of curiosity for years or centuries, andby and by a boy is born whose features gradually assume the aspect ofthat portrait. At some critical juncture the resemblance is found to beperfect. A prophecy may beconnected.'It is not impossible that this conceit occurred to Hawthorne before hehad himself seen the Old Man of the Mountain, or the Profile, in theFranconia Notch which is generally associated in the minds ofreaderswith The Great Stone Face.In The Ambitious Guest he has made use of the incident still told totravellers through the Notch, of the destruction of the Willey familyin August, 1826. The house occupied by thefamily was on the slope ofa mountain, and after a long drought there was a terrible tempest whichnot only raised the river to a great height but loosened the surface ofthe mountain so that a great landslide took place.The house was inthe track of the slide, and the family rushed out of doors. Had theyremained within they would have been safe, for a ledge above the houseparted the avalanche so that it was diverted into two pathsand sweptpast the house on either side. Mr. and Mrs. Willey, their five children,and two hired men were crushed under the weight of earth, rocks, andtrees.In the Sketches from Memory Hawthorne gives an intimationof the talewhich he might write and did afterward write of The Great Carbuncle. Thepaper is interesting as showing what were the actual experiences out ofwhich he formed his imaginative stories.THE GREAT STONEFACE and Other Tales Of The White MountainsTHE GREAT STONE FACEOne afternoon, when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boysat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face.Theyhad but to lift their eyes, and there it was plainly to be seen,though miles away, with the sunshine brightening all its features.And what was the Great Stone Face? Embosomed amongst a family oflofty mountains, therewas a valley so spacious that it contained manythousand inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt in log-huts, withthe black forest all around them, on the steep and difficult hillsides.Others had their homes incomfortable farm-houses, and cultivated therich soil on the gentle slopes or level surfaces of the valley. Others,again, were congregated into populous villages, where some wild,highland rivulet, tumbling down from itsbirthplace in the uppermountain region, had been caught and tamed by human cunning, andcompelled to turn the machinery of cotton-factories. The inhabitants ofthis valley, in short, were numerous, and of manymodes of life. But allof them, grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity with theGreat Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of distinguishingthis grand natural phenomenon more perfectly than manyof theirneighbors.The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of Nature in her mood of majestieplayfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by someimmense rocks, which had been thrown together in sucha position as,when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features ofthe human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, or a Titan,had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There wasthe broadarch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height; the nose, with its longbridge; and the vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would haverolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to theother.True it is, that if the spectator approached too near, he lost theoutline of the gigantic visage, and could discern only a heap ofponderous and gigantic rocks, piled in chaotic ruin one upon another.Retracing hissteps, however, the wondrous features would again be seen;and the farther he withdrew from them, the more like a human face, withall its original divinity intact, did they appear; until, as it grew dimin the distance,with the clouds and glorified vapor of the mountainsclustering about it, the Great Stone Face seemed positively to be alive.It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood withthe Great Stone Facebefore their eyes, for all the features were noble,and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glowof a vast, warm heart, that embraced all mankind in its affections, andhad room for more. It wasan education only to look at it. According tothe belief of many people, the valley owed much of its fertility to thisbenign aspect that was continually beaming over it, illuminating theclouds, and infusing its tendernessinto the sunshine.As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at theircottage-door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and talking about it. Thechild's name was Ernest.'Mother,' said he, while the Titanicvisage miled on him, 'I wish thatit could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice must needsbe pleasant. If I were to See a man with such a face, I should love himdearly.' 'If an old prophecy should come to pass,'answered his mother,'we may see a man, some time for other, with exactly such a face asthat.' 'What prophecy do you mean, dear mother?' eagerly inquiredErnest. 'Pray tell me all about it!'So his mother told him astory that her own mother had told to her, whenshe herself was younger than little Ernest; a story, not of things thatwere past, but of what was yet to come; a story, nevertheless, so veryold, that even the Indians, whoformerly inhabited this valley, hadheard it from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had beenmurmured by the mountain streams, and whispered by the wind among thetree-tops. The purport was, that, atsome future day, a child shouldbe born hereabouts, who was destined to become the greatest and noblestpersonage of his time, and whose countenance, in manhood, should bearan exact resemblance to the GreatStone Face. Not a few old-fashionedpeople, and young ones likewise, in the ardor of their hopes, stillcherished an enduring faith in this old prophecy. But others, who hadseen more of the world, had watched and waitedtill they were weary, andhad beheld no man with such a face, nor any man that proved to be muchgreater or nobler than his neighbors, concluded it to be nothing butan idle tale. At all events, the great man of theprophecy had not yetappeared.'O mother, dear mother!' cried Ernest, clapping his hands above his head,'I do hope that I shall live to see him!'His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that itwaswisest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. Soshe only said to him, 'Perhaps you may.'And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It wasalways in his mind, whenever he looked uponthe Great Stone Face.He spent his childhood in the log-cottage where he was born, and wasdutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in many things, assistingher much with his little hands, and more with his loving heart.In thismanner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild,quiet, unobtrusive boy, and sun-browned with labor in the fields, butwith more intelligence brightening his aspect than is seen in manyladswho have been taught at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher,save only that the Great Stone Face became one to him. When the toilof the day was over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he begantoimagine that those vast features recognized him, and gave him a smile ofkindness and encouragement, responsive to his own look of veneration.We must not take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake,althoughthe Face may have looked no more kindly at Ernest than at all theworld besides. But the secret was that the boy's tender and confidingsimplicity discerned what other people could not see; and thus thelove,which was meant for all, became his peculiar portion.About this time there went a rumor throughout the valley, that the greatman, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a resemblance tothe Great StoneFace, had appeared at last. It seems that, many yearsbefore, a young man had migrated from the valley and settled at adistant seaport, where, after getting together a little money, he hadset up as a shopkeeper. Hisname but I could never learn whether it washis real one, or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and successin life--was Gathergold.Being shrewd and active, and endowed by Providence with thatinscrutablefaculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, he became anexceedingly rich merchant, and owner of a whole fleet of bulky-bottomedships. All the countries of the globe appeared to join hands forthemere purpose of adding heap after heap to the mountainous accumulationof this one man's wealth. The cold regions of the north, almost withinthe gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their tribute intheshape of furs; hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of her rivers,and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of theforests; the east came bringing him the rich shawls, and spices, andteas, and theeffulgence of diamonds, and the gleaming purity of largepearls. The ocean, not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up hermighty whales, that Mr. Gathergold might sell their oil, and make aprofit on it. Be theoriginal commodity what it might, it was goldwithin his grasp. It might be said of him, as of Midas, in the fable,that whatever he touched with his finger immediately glistened, and grewyellow, and was changed at onceinto sterling metal, or, which suitedhim still better, into piles of coin. And, when Mr. Gathergold hadbecome so very rich that it would have taken him a hundred years onlyto count his wealth, he bethought himself of hisnative valley, andresolved to go back thither, and end his days where he was born. Withthis purpose in view, he sent a skilful architect to build him such apalace as should be fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in.As Ihave said above, it had already been rumored in the valley thatMr. Gathergold had turned out to be the prophetic personage so long andvainly looked for, and that his visage was the perfect and undeniablesimilitude ofthe Great Stone Face. People were the more ready tobelieve that this must needs be the fact, when they beheld the splendidedifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the site of his father'sold weather-beatenfarmhouse. The exterior was of marble, so dazzlinglywhite that it seemed as though the whole structure might melt away inthe sunshine, like those humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in hisyoung play-days, before hisfingers were gifted with the touch oftransmutation, had been accustomed to build of snow. It had a richlyornamented portico supported by tall pillars, beneath which was a loftydoor, studded with silver knobs, and madeof a kind of variegated woodthat had been brought from beyond the sea. The windows, from the floorto the ceiling of each stately apartment, were composed, respectivelyof but one enormous pane of glass, sotransparently pure that it wassaid to be a finer medium than even the vacant atmosphere. Hardlyanybody had been permitted to see the interior of this palace; but itwas reported, and with good semblance of truth, tobe far more gorgeousthan the outside, insomuch that whatever was iron or brass in otherhouses was silver or gold in this; and Mr. Gathergold's bedchamber,especially, made such a glittering appearance that noordinary man wouldhave been able to close his eyes there. But, on the other hand, Mr.Gathergold was now so inured to wealth, that perhaps he could not haveclosed his eyes unless where the gleam of it was certain tofind its waybeneath his eyelids.In due time, the mansion was finished; next came the upholsterers, withmagnificent furniture; then, a whole troop of black and white servants,the haringers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in hisown majestic person, wasexpected to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile, had beendeeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble man, the man ofprophecy, after so many ages of delay, was atlength to be made manifestto his native valley. He knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousandways in which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transformhimself into an angel of beneficence, and assumea control over humanaffairs as wide and benignant as the smile of the Great Stone Face.Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted not that what the people saidwas true, and that now he was to behold the living likeness ofthosewondrous features on the mountainside. While the boy was still gazingup the valley, and fancying, as he always did, that the Great Stone Facereturned his gaze and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheelswasheard, approaching swiftly along the winding road.'Here he comes!' cried a group of people who were assembled to witnessthe arrival. 'Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold!'A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashedround the turn of the road.Within it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared the physiognomyof the old man, with a skin as yellow as if his own Midas-hand hadtransmuted it. He had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes,puckered aboutwith innumerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made stillthinner by pressing them forcibly together.'The very image or the Great Stone Face!' shouted the people. 'Sureenough, the old prophecyis true; and here we have the great man come,at last!'And, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actually to believe thathere was the likeness which they spoke of. By the roadside there chancedto be an oldbeggar woman and two little beggar-children, stragglersfrom some far-off region, who, as the carriage rolled onward, heldout their hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most piteouslybeseeching charity. A yellowclaw the very same that had dawed togetherso much wealth--poked itself out of the coach-window, and dropt somecopper coins upon the ground; so that, though the great man's name seemsto have been Gathergold,he might just as suitably have been nicknamedScattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an earnest shout, and evidentlywith as much good faith as ever, the people bellowed 'He is the veryimage of the Great Stone Face!'But Ernest turned sadly from thewrinkled shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley,where, amid a gathering mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he couldstill distinguish those glorious features which hadimpressed themselvesinto his soul. Their aspect cheered him. What did the benign lips seemto say?'He will come! Fear not, Ernest; the man will come!'The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grownto be ayoung man now. He attracted little notice from the other inhabitantsof the valley; for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life, savethat, when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apartandgaze and meditate upon the Great Stone Face. According to their idea ofthe matter, it was a folly, indeed, but pardonable, inasmuch as Ernestwas industrious, kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty for thesakeof indulging this idle habit. They knew not that the Great StoneFace had become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment which wasexpressed in it would enlarge the young man's heart, and fill it withwider and deepersympathies than other hearts. They knew not that thencewould come a better wisdom than could be learned from books, and abetter life than could be moulded on the defaced example of other humanlives. Neither didErnest know that the thoughts and affections whichcame to him so naturally, in the fields and at the fireside, andwherever he communed with himself, were of a higher tone than thosewhich all men shared with him. Asimple soul--simple as when his motherfirst taught him the old prophecy--he beheld the marvellous featuresbeaming adown the valley, and still wondered that their humancounterpart was so long in making hisappearance.By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried; and the oddestpart of the matter was, that his wealth, which was the body and spiritof his existence, had disappeared before his death, leavingnothing ofhim but a living skeleton, covered over with a wrinkled, yellow skin.Since the melting away of his gold, it had been very generally concededthat there was no such striking resemblance, after all, betwixttheignoble features of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon themountainside. So the people ceased to honor him during his lifetime,and quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once inawhile, it is true, his memory was brought up in connection with themagnificent palace which he had built, and which had long ago beenturned into a hotel for the accommodation of strangers, multitudes ofwhom came,every summer, to visit that famous natural curiosity, theGreat Stone Face. Thus, Mr. Gathergold being discredited and thrown intothe shade, the man of prophecy was yet to come.It so happened that a native-born sonof the valley, many years before,had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard fighting,had now become an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be called inhistory, he was known in camps and on thebattlefield under the nicknameof Old Blood-and-Thunder. This war-worn veteran, being now infirm withage and wounds, and weary of the turmoil of a military life, and of theroll of the drum and the clangor of thetrumpet, that had so long beenringing in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of returning to hisnative valley, hoping to find repose where he remembered to have leftit. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and theirgrown-up children, wereresolved to welcome the renowned warrior with a salute of cannon and apublic dinner; and all the more enthusiastically, it being affirmedthat now, at last, the likeness of the Great Stone Facehad actuallyappeared. An aid-de-camp of Old Blood-and-Thunder, travelling throughthe valley, was said to have been struck with the resemblance. Moreoverthe schoolmates and early acquaintances of the general wereready totestify, on oath, that, to the best of their recollection, the aforesaidgeneral had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even when a boy,only that the idea had never occurred to them at that period.Great,therefore, was the excitement throughout the valley; and many people,who had never once thought of glancing at the Great Stone Face for yearsbefore, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake ofknowingexactly how General Blood-and-Thunder looked.On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all the other people ofthe valley, left their work, and proceeded to the spot where the sylvanbanquet was prepared.As he approached, the loud voice of the Rev. Dr.Battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things setbefore them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose honorthey were assembled. The tableswere arranged in a cleared space of thewoods, shut in by the surrounding trees, except where a vista openedeastward, and afforded a distant view of the Great Stone Face. Over thegeneral's chair, which was a relicfrom the home of Washington, therewas an arch of verdant boughs, with the laurel profusely intermixed,and surmounted by his country's banner, beneath which he had won hisvictories. Our friend Ernest raised himselfon his tiptoes, in hopesto get a glimpse of the celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowdabout the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catchany word that might fall from the general in reply;and a volunteercompany, doing duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with their bayonetsat any particularly quiet person among the throng. So Ernest, being ofan unobtrusive character, was thrust quite into the"}
{"doc_id":"doc_25","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Fortune of the Rougons, by Emile ZolaThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Fortune of the RougonsAuthor: Emile ZolaEditor: Ernest Alfred VizetellyRelease Date: April 22, 2006[EBook #5135]Last Updated: September 5, 2016Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONS ***Produced by Dagny; JohnBickers; David WidgerTHE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONSBy Emile ZolaEdited With Introduction By Ernest Alfred VizetellyINTRODUCTIONâ\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougonsâ\u0000\u0000 is the initial volume of theRougon-Macquartseries. Though it was by no means M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s first essayin fiction, it was undoubtedly his first great bid for genuine literaryfame, and the foundation of what must necessarily be regarded as hislife-work. The idea ofwriting the â\u0000\u0000natural and social history of afamily under the Second Empire,â\u0000\u0000 extending to a score of volumes, wasdoubtless suggested to M. Zola by Balzacâ\u0000\u0000s immortal â\u0000\u0000Comedie Humaine.â\u0000\u0000 He wastwenty-eight years of age when this idea first occurred to him;he was fifty-three when he at last sent the manuscript of his concludingvolume, â\u0000\u0000Dr. Pascal,â\u0000\u0000 to the press. He had spent five-and-twenty yearsinworking out his scheme, persevering with it doggedly and stubbornly,whatever rebuffs he might encounter, whatever jeers and whatever insultsmight be directed against him by the ignorant, the prejudiced, andthehypocritical. Truth was on the march and nothing could stay it; even as,at the present hour, its march, if slow, none the less continues athwartanother and a different crisis of the illustrious novelistâ\u0000\u0000s career.Itwas in the early summer of 1869 that M. Zola first began the actualwriting of â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougons.â\u0000\u0000 It was only in the followingyear, however, that the serial publication of the work commenced inthecolumns of â\u0000\u0000Le Siecle,â\u0000\u0000 the Republican journal of most influencein Paris in those days of the Second Empire. The Franco-German warinterrupted this issue of the story, and publication in book form didnot takeplace until the latter half of 1871, a time when both the warand the Commune had left Paris exhausted, supine, with little or nointerest in anything. No more unfavourable moment for the issue of anambitious work offiction could have been found. Some two or threeyears went by, as I well remember, before anything like a revival ofliterature and of public interest in literature took place. Thus, M.Zola launched his gigantic schemeunder auspices which would have mademany another man recoil. â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougons,â\u0000\u0000 and two or threesubsequent volumes of his series, attracted but a moderate degreeof attention, and it was onlyon the morrow of the publication ofâ\u0000\u0000Lâ\u0000\u0000Assommoirâ\u0000\u0000 that he awoke, like Byron, to find himself famous.As previously mentioned, the Rougon-Macquart series forms twentyvolumes. The last of these, â\u0000\u0000Dr.Pascal,â\u0000\u0000 appeared in 1893. Sincethen M. Zola has written â\u0000\u0000Lourdes,â\u0000\u0000 â\u0000\u0000Rome,â\u0000\u0000 and â\u0000\u0000Paris.â\u0000\u0000 Critics haverepeated _ad nauseam_ that these last works constitute a new departureon M.Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s part, and, so far as they formed a new series, thisis true. But the suggestion that he has in any way repented of theRougon-Macquart novels is ridiculous. As he has often told me of recentyears, it is, as far aspossible, his plan to subordinate his style andmethods to his subject. To have written a book like â\u0000\u0000Rome,â\u0000\u0000 so largelydevoted to the ambitions of the Papal See, in the same way as he hadwritten books dealingwith the drunkenness or other vices of Paris,would have been the climax of absurdity.Yet the publication of â\u0000\u0000Rome,â\u0000\u0000 was the signal for a general outcry onthe part of English and American reviewers thatZolaism, as typified bythe Rougon-Macquart series, was altogether a thing of the past. To mythinking this is a profound error. M. Zola has always remained faithfulto himself. The only difference that I perceive betweenhis latestwork, â\u0000\u0000Paris,â\u0000\u0000 and certain Rougon-Macquart volumes, is that with time,experience and assiduity, his genius has expanded and ripened, and thatthe hesitation, the groping for truth, so to say, whichmay be found insome of his earlier writings, has disappeared.At the time when â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougonsâ\u0000\u0000 was first published, nonebut the author himself can have imagined that the foundation-stone ofoneof the great literary monuments of the century had just been laid.From the â\u0000\u0000storyâ\u0000\u0000 point of view the book is one of M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s very best,although its construction--particularly as regards the long interludeofthe idyll of Miette and Silvere--is far from being perfect. Such a workwhen first issued might well bring its author a measure of popularity,but it could hardly confer fame. Nowadays, however, looking backward,andbearing in mind that one here has the genius of M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s lifework,â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougonsâ\u0000\u0000 becomes a book of exceptional interestand importance. This has been so well understood by French readersthatduring the last six or seven years the annual sales of the work haveincreased threefold. Where, over a course of twenty years, 1,000 copieswere sold, 2,500 and 3,000 are sold to-day. How many livingEnglishnovelists can say the same of their early essays in fiction, issued morethan a quarter of a century ago?I may here mention that at the last date to which I have authenticfigures, that is, Midsummer 1897 (prior, ofcourse, to what is calledâ\u0000\u0000Lâ\u0000\u0000Affaire Dreyfusâ\u0000\u0000), there had been sold of the entire Rougon-Macquartseries (which had begun in 1871) 1,421,000 copies. These were of theordinary Charpentier editions of theFrench originals. By adding theretoseveral _editions de luxe_ and the widely-circulated popular illustratededitions of certain volumes, the total amounts roundly to 2,100,000.â\u0000\u0000Rome,â\u0000\u0000 â\u0000\u0000Lourdes,â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Paris,â\u0000\u0000 and all M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s other works, apart fromthe â\u0000\u0000Rougon-Macquartâ\u0000\u0000 series, together with the translations into adozen different languages--English, German, Italian, Spanish, Dutch,Danish,Portuguese, Bohemian, Hungarian, and others--are not includedin the above figures. Otherwise the latter might well be doubled. Noris account taken of the many serial issues which have brought M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000sviews tothe knowledge of the masses of all Europe.It is, of course, the celebrity attaching to certain of M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000sliterary efforts that has stimulated the demand for his other writings.Among those which are well worthy ofbeing read for their own sakes, Iwould assign a prominent place to the present volume. Much of the storyelement in it is admirable, and, further, it shows M. Zola as agenuine satirist and humorist. The Rougonsâ\u0000\u0000yellow drawing-room andits habitues, and many of the scenes between Pierre Rougon and his wifeFelicite, are worthy of the pen of Douglas Jerrold. The whole account,indeed, of the town of Plassans, its customs and itsnotabilities, issatire of the most effective kind, because it is satire true to life,and never degenerates into mere caricature.It is a rather curious coincidence that, at the time when M. Zola wasthus portraying the life ofProvence, his great contemporary, bosomfriend, and rival for literary fame, the late Alphonse Daudet, shouldhave been producing, under the title of â\u0000\u0000The Provencal Don Quixote,â\u0000\u0000 that unrivalled presentment ofthe foibles of the French Southerner,with everyone nowadays knows as â\u0000\u0000Tartarin of Tarascon.â\u0000\u0000 It is possiblethat M. Zola, while writing his book, may have read the instalments ofâ\u0000\u0000Le Don QuichotteProvencalâ\u0000\u0000 published in the Paris â\u0000\u0000Figaro,â\u0000\u0000 and it maybe that this perusal imparted that fillip to his pen to which we owethe many amusing particulars that he gives us of the town of Plassans.Plassans, I maymention, is really the Provencal Aix, which M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000sfather provided with water by means of a canal still bearing his name.M. Zola himself, though born in Paris, spent the greater part of hischildhood there.Tarascon, as is well known, never forgave AlphonseDaudet for his â\u0000\u0000Tartarinâ\u0000\u0000; and in a like way M. Zola, who doubtlesscounts more enemies than any other literary man of the period, has nonebitterer than theworthy citizens of Aix. They cannot forget or forgivethe rascally Rougon-Macquarts.The name Rougon-Macquart has to me always suggested that splendid andamusing type of the cynical rogue, Robert Macaire. But, ofcourse, bothRougon and Macquart are genuine French names and not inventions. Indeed,several years ago I came by chance upon them both, in an old French deedwhich I was examining at the Bibliotheque Nationalein Paris. Ithere found mention of a Rougon family and a Macquart family dwellingvirtually side by side in the same village. This, however, was inChampagne, not in Provence. Both families farmed vineyards for aoncefamous abbey in the vicinity of Epernay, early in the seventeenthcentury. To me, personally, this trivial discovery meant a great deal.It somehow aroused my interest in M. Zola and his works. Of the latter Ihadthen only glanced through two or three volumes. With M. Zola himselfI was absolutely unacquainted. However, I took the liberty to inform himof my little discovery; and afterwards I read all the books that hehadpublished. Now, as it is fairly well known, I have given the greaterpart of my time, for several years past, to the task of familiarisingEnglish readers with his writings. An old deed, a chance glance,followed by thegreat friendship of my life and years of patient labour.If I mention this matter, it is solely with the object of endorsing thetruth of the saying that the most insignificant incidents frequentlyinfluence and even shape ourcareers.But I must come back to â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougons.â\u0000\u0000 It has, as I havesaid, its satirical and humorous side; but it also contains a strongelement of pathos. The idyll of Miette and Silvere is a verytouchingone, and quite in accord with the conditions of life prevailing inProvence at the period M. Zola selects for his narrative. Miette isa frank child of nature; Silvere, her lover, in certain respectsforeshadows, aquarter of a century in advance, the Abbe Pierre Fromontof â\u0000\u0000Lourdes,â\u0000\u0000 â\u0000\u0000Rome,â\u0000\u0000 and â\u0000\u0000Paris.â\u0000\u0000 The environment differs, of course,but germs of the same nature may readily be detected in bothcharacters.As for the other personages of M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s book--on the one hand, AuntDide, Pierre Rougon, his wife, Felicite, and their sons Eugene, Aristideand Pascal, and, on the other, Macquart, his daughter Gervaiseofâ\u0000\u0000Lâ\u0000\u0000Assommoir,â\u0000\u0000 and his son Jean of â\u0000\u0000La Terreâ\u0000\u0000 and â\u0000\u0000La Debacle,â\u0000\u0000 togetherwith the members of the Mouret branch of the ravenous, neurotic, duplexfamily--these are analysed or sketchedin a way which renders theirsubsequent careers, as related in other volumes of the series,thoroughly consistent with their origin and their up-bringing. I ventureto asset that, although it is possible to read individualvolumes ofthe Rougon-Macquart series while neglecting others, nobody can reallyunderstand any one of these books unless he makes himself acquaintedwith the alpha and the omega of the edifice, that is, â\u0000\u0000TheFortune ofthe Rougonsâ\u0000\u0000 and â\u0000\u0000Dr. Pascal.â\u0000\u0000With regard to the present English translation, it is based on one madefor my father several years ago. But to convey M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s meaning moreaccurately I havefound it necessary to alter, on an average, at leastone sentence out of every three. Thus, though I only claim to edit thevolume, it is, to all intents and purposes, quite a new English versionof M. Zolaâ\u0000\u0000s work.E. A. V.MERTON, SURREY: August, 1898.AUTHORâ\u0000\u0000S PREFACEI wish to explain how a family, a small group of human beings, conductsitself in a given social system after blossoming forth and giving birthto ten or twentymembers, who, though they may appear, at the firstglance, profoundly dissimilar one from the other, are, as analysisdemonstrates, most closely linked together from the point of view ofaffinity. Heredity, like gravity,has its laws.By resolving the duplex question of temperament and environment, I shallendeavour to discover and follow the thread of connection which leadsmathematically from one man to another. And when I havepossession ofevery thread, and hold a complete social group in my hands, I shallshow this group at work, participating in an historical period; I shalldepict it in action, with all its varied energies, and I shall analyseboththe will power of each member, and the general tendency of thewhole.The great characteristic of the Rougon-Macquarts, the group or familywhich I propose to study, is their ravenous appetite, the greatoutburst of ourage which rushes upon enjoyment. Physiologically theRougon-Macquarts represent the slow succession of accidents pertainingto the nerves or the blood, which befall a race after the first organiclesion, and, according toenvironment, determine in each individualmember of the race those feelings, desires and passions--briefly, allthe natural and instinctive manifestations peculiar to humanity--whoseoutcome assumes the conventionalname of virtue or vice. Historicallythe Rougon-Macquarts proceed from the masses, radiate throughout thewhole of contemporary society, and ascend to all sorts of positions bythe force of that impulsion of essentiallymodern origin, which sets thelower classes marching through the social system. And thus the dramas oftheir individual lives recount the story of the Second Empire, from theambuscade of the Coup dâ\u0000\u0000Etat to thetreachery of Sedan.For three years I had been collecting the necessary documents for thislong work, and the present volume was even written, when the fall of theBonapartes, which I needed artistically, and with, as ifby fate, Iever found at the end of the drama, without daring to hope that itwould prove so near at hand, suddenly occurred and furnished me withthe terrible but necessary denouement for my work. My scheme is,atthis date, completed; the circle in which my characters will revolveis perfected; and my work becomes a picture of a departed reign, of astrange period of human madness and shame.This work, which will compriseseveral episodes, is therefore, inmy mind, the natural and social history of a family under the SecondEmpire. And the first episode, here called â\u0000\u0000The Fortune of the Rougons,â\u0000\u0000 should scientifically be entitledâ\u0000\u0000The Origin.â\u0000\u0000EMILE ZOLA PARIS, July 1, 1871.THE FORTUNE OF THE ROUGONSCHAPTER IOn quitting Plassans by the Rome Gate, on the southern side of the town,you will find, on the right side of the road toNice, and a little waypast the first suburban houses, a plot of land locally known as the AireSaint-Mittre.This Aire Saint-Mittre is of oblong shape and on a level with thefootpath of the adjacent road, from which it isseparated by a strip oftrodden grass. A narrow blind alley fringed with a row of hovels bordersit on the right; while on the left, and at the further end, it is closedin by bits of wall overgrown with moss, above which canbe seen thetop branches of the mulberry-trees of the Jas-Meiffren--an extensiveproperty with an entrance lower down the road. Enclosed upon threesides, the Aire Saint-Mittre leads nowhere, and is only crossedbypeople out for a stroll.In former times it was a cemetery under the patronage of Saint-Mittre, agreatly honoured Provencal saint; and in 1851 the old people of Plassanscould still remember having seen the wall of thecemetery standing,although the place itself had been closed for years. The soil had beenso glutted with corpses that it had been found necessary to open a newburial-ground at the other end of town. Then the oldabandoned cemeteryhad been gradually purified by the dark thick-set vegetation which hadsprouted over it every spring. The rich soil, in which the gravediggerscould no longer delve without turning up some humanremains, waspossessed of wondrous fertility. The tall weeds overtopped the wallsafter the May rains and the June sunshine so as to be visible from thehigh road; while inside, the place presented the appearance of adeep,dark green sea studded with large blossoms of singular brilliancy.Beneath oneâ\u0000\u0000s feet amidst the close-set stalks one could feel that thedamp soil reeked and bubbled with sap.Among the curiosities of the placeat that time were some largepear-trees, with twisted and knotty boughs; but none of the housewivesof Plassans cared to pluck the large fruit which grew upon them. Indeed,the townspeople spoke of this fruit withgrimaces of disgust. No suchdelicacy, however, restrained the suburban urchins, who assembled inbands at twilight and climbed the walls to steal the pears, even beforethey were ripe.The trees and the weeds with theirvigorous growth had rapidlyassimilated all the decomposing matter in the old cemetery ofSaint-Mittre; the malaria rising from the human remains interredthere had been greedily absorbed by the flowers and the fruit;so thateventually the only odour one could detect in passing by was the strongperfume of wild gillyflowers. This had merely been a question of a fewsummers.At last the townspeople determined to utilise this commonproperty,which had long served no purpose. The walls bordering the roadway andthe blind alley were pulled down; the weeds and the pear-trees uprooted;the sepulchral remains were removed; the ground was dugdeep, and suchbones as the earth was willing to surrender were heaped up in acorner. For nearly a month the youngsters, who lamented the loss ofthe pear-trees, played at bowls with the skulls; and one nightsomepractical jokers even suspended femurs and tibias to all thebell-handles of the town. This scandal, which is still remembered atPlassans, did not cease until the authorities decided to have the bonesshot into a hole whichhad been dug for the purpose in the new cemetery.All work, however, is usually carried out with discreet dilatorinessin country towns, and so during an entire week the inhabitants saw asolitary cart removing thesehuman remains as if they had been mererubbish. The vehicle had to cross Plassans from end to end, and owing tothe bad condition of the roads fragments of bones and handfuls of richmould were scattered at everyjolt. There was not the briefest religiousceremony, nothing but slow and brutish cartage. Never before had a townfelt so disgusted.For several years the old cemetery remained an object of terror.Although it adjoinedthe main thoroughfare and was open to all comers,it was left quite deserted, a prey to fresh vegetable growth. The localauthorities, who had doubtless counted on selling it and seeinghouses built upon it, were evidentlyunable to find a purchaser. Therecollection of the heaps of bones and the cart persistently joltingthrough the streets may have made people recoil from the spot; orperhaps the indifference that was shown was due tothe indolence, therepugnance to pulling down and setting up again, which is characteristicof country people. At all events the authorities still retainedpossession of the ground, and at last forgot their desire to disposeofit. They did not even erect a fence round it, but left it open to allcomers. Then, as time rolled on, people gradually grew accustomed tothis barren spot; they would sit on the grass at the edges, walk about,or gather ingroups. When the grass had been worn away and thetrodden soil had become grey and hard, the old cemetery resembled abadly-levelled public square. As if the more effectually to efface thememory of all objectionableassociations, the inhabitants slowly changedthe very appellation of the place, retaining but the name of the saint,which was likewise applied to the blind alley dipping down at one cornerof the field. Thus there was theAire Saint-Mittre and the ImpasseSaint-Mittre.All this dates, however, from some considerable time back. For morethan thirty years now the Aire Saint-Mittre has presented a differentappearance. One day thetownspeople, far too inert and indifferent toderive any advantage from it, let it, for a trifling consideration,to some suburban wheelwrights, who turned it into a wood-yard. At thepresent day it is still littered with hugepieces of timber thirty orforty feet long, lying here and there in piles, and looking like loftyoverturned columns. These piles of timber, disposed at intervals fromone end of the yard to the other, are a continual source ofdelightto the local urchins. In some places the ground is covered with fallenwood, forming a kind of uneven flooring over which it is impossible towalk, unless one balance oneâ\u0000\u0000s self with marvellous dexterity. Troopsofchildren amuse themselves with this exercise all day long. You will seethem jumping over the big beams, walking in Indian file along the narrowends, or else crawling astride them; various games which"}
{"doc_id":"doc_26","qid":"","text":"Buffy the Vampire Slayer Script at IMSDb.
THE BEST EXOTIC MARIGOLD HOTEL Written by OlParker Based on the book THESE FOOLISH THINGS by DeborahMoggach 10/01/11 1 OVER BLACK 1 Muffled music;soothing, generic. AUTOMATED VOICE Thank you for your patience. Your call is important to us. We will be with you shortly. 2 INT. MANSION FLAT, LONDON -DAY 2 A neat, well-appointed flat, tastefully decorated. Framed against a large window which looks out over the city, an elegant woman in her 70's: EVELYN GREENSLADE. She's onthe phone, on hold. On the desk in front of her is a brand new laptop computer; the screen reads 'Getting Started ...' AUTOMATED VOICE (ONPHONE) Thank you for your patience. Your call is important to us. We will be with you shortly. Evelyn's patience is strained nonetheless. She taps her fingers on thedesk. AUTOMATED VOICE (cont'd) (ON PHONE) Thank you for your patience. Your call is - A slightly-accented voice finally interrupts. FEMALEVOICE Mrs Greenslade, thank you for WAITING - EVELYN (OVERLAPPING) Yes, now if you could stay on the phonefor a moment and talk to me, just talk to me. I'm not even clear, I don't actually understand what it is I'm trying to order. Is wireless the same as wi-fi? And what do either of themhave to do with broadband? FEMALE VOICE Mrs Greenslade, since the account is not in your name, before we can make any changes we need to speak to the accountholder. Can I please talk to the account holder? EVELYN What? FEMALEVOICE I'm asking if I can speak to the account holder. Before we can make any changes - EVELYN You can't talk to him,no. (BEAT) He's dead. He died. There's only me. 3 INT. CORRIDOR/JUDGES CHAMBERS. INNS OF COURT - NIGHT 3 GILES, a judge in full wig and robes,moves quickly down a corridor. He passes other judges, going the opposite way. He arrives at the office of GRAHAM DASHWOOD, goes in. GRAHAM is at his desk. His robes are on a hanger, hiswig is on a stand beside him. GILES We're late. 4 INT. CORRIDOR. INNS OF COURT - NIGHT 4 Moments later. Graham and Giles walk down thecorridor. GRAHAM Bloody retirement parties. Hard cheese, soft wine, and endless speeches. Why do people do that? No one ever said about any kind of party: itwas a wonderful occasion, just a shame that the speeches were so short. GILES it'll be you one day. GRAHAM One day verysoon. GILES You've been saying that for years. They walk into a large room, full of lawyers. 4A INT. HALL. INNS OF COURT - CONTINUOUS 4A At oneend of the hall, a very old JUDGE is giving a very dull speech. 3. JUDGE An occasion such asthis leads one to cast ones mind back to the days when I first entered my pupillage. I had the very good fortune of serving as a junior to Mr Justice Stancombe Graham's notlistening any more. He's looking around the room. At the old, tired faces. JUDGE (CONT'D) . the unwelcome news that I would transfer Chambers, bringing to mindthe old adage a fronte praecipitium, a tergo 1upi Everything seems to slow down, the judge's mouth moving more and more sluggishly, though his voice remains the same. The effect is strange.. then the sound of laughter. GRAHAM This is the day. Everyone looks round at him. He's almost as surprised as they are that he's spoken outloud. GILES Graham? GRAHAM This is the day. He turns and walks out. 5 INT. HOSPITAL - DAY 5 Staff bustle around a busyA & E ward. MURIEL lies on a bed in the corridor. The Head Nurse, KAREN, rushes past. MURIEL Listen, young lady. I want a cup of tea, and I want itnow. KAREN The trolley will be along shortly. MURIEL How hard d'you have to fall down before you get some proper attention? HoursI've been lying here, and not a single doctor has come to see me. 3A. KAREN Nowthat's not quite true, is it Mrs Donnelly? (MORE) 4. KAREN(CONT'D) A doctor did try and examine you, and you sent him away. MURIEL That one? She looks up to the far end of the ward, where a doctor is washinghis hands. He's black. MURIEL He can wash all he likes, that colour's not coming out. I want an English doctor. KAREN An English doctor?Why didn't you say so? I'll get one right away. She goes away, comes back moments later with a tall, handsome doctor. The bad news for Muriel is KAREN(CONT'D) This is Dr Ghujarapartidar. And this is Mrs Donnelly. 5A EXT. NEW HOUSING ESTATE - DAY 5A A crescent of identical bungalows, part of a brand new retirementfacility. A mobility scooter carrying an elderly resident trundles down the road. ESTATE AGENT (O.S.) .. with an unlimited range of leisure opportunities just a stone'sthrow away... 6 INT. NEW HOUSING DEVELOPMENT - DAY 6 A young estate agent, EVAN, is showing DOUGLAS and JEAN around a very small, and very beigebungalow. EVAN So as I say, what you're looking at here is very competitively priced, you can't get better value for your grey pound. Another little feature,not necessary right now, but give it a couple of years (POINTS) . rails on the walls to help you get around, and down here, a panic button in case of asudden fall, brings the Warden running. 4A. JEAN What if we fell somewhereelse? EVAN Sorry? JEAN It's just that we might not manage to plan our sudden fall in the exact corner where thebutton is. EVAN Yeah. As I say - 5. JEAN And would it bepossible to get the rail to go through the middle of the room as well? DOUGLAS DARLING JEAN To help us get across,not just around? DOUGLAS (TO EVAN) Could we have a moment, please? Thanks. Thanks so much. Evangoes. JEAN Thirty years in the Civil Service and this is all we can afford? DOUGLAS Would it help if Iapologized again? JEAN No. But try it anyway. 7 INT. BAR - NIGHT 7 JUDITH (40ish) is sitting opposite someone. We don'tsee whom. JUDITH And then after that I worked as a systems analyst for a few years but I just found it so dull, what I really wanted was to do somethingthat was more creative, that matched my ... (BEAT) I'm sorry. On the form they asked for our age bracket, and the age we wanted to meet . and in both cases Iticked 35-45. Now we see the man she's talking to. It's NORMAN. He's dapper, nice looking. And at least 70. NORMAN That's right, yes. So did I. They're at a speeddating evening. Numbered tables, etc. NORMAN (CONT'D) Anyway, don't stop. Something MORECREATIVE 6. JUDITH How old are you? NORMAN Early40's. JUDITH D'you mean you were born in the early 40's? NORMAN Judy, I know what you're asking- JUDITH It's Judith. NORMAN Judith. And trust me, I've still got it. The bell goes; the signal for the women to get up and move alongto the next table. Judith leaves without looking back. NORMAN (CONT'D) I just can't find anyone that wants it. Another hopeful candidate arrives opposite Norman.And looks crestfallen at what's on offer. 8 INT/EXT. BEDROOM/STAIRS/HALL. FAMILY HOUSE - DAY 8 MADGE is in her bedroom. She's arguing with her son-in-law CRAIG. Madge'ssuitcases are by the door. CRAIG This is crazy. You're crazy. You can't just up and leave like this. MADGE And yet if you watch me,"}
{"doc_id":"doc_32","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane GreyThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Riders of the Purple SageAuthor: Zane GreyPosting Date: November 7, 2009 [Etext #1300]Release Date:April, 2000Last updated: February 3, 2011Last updated: June 23, 2013Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE ***Produced by Bill Brewer and RickFaneRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGEBy Zane GreyCHAPTER I. LASSITERA sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and cloudsof yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.JaneWithersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy andtroubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message thatheld her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who werecoming to resentand attack her right to befriend a Gentile.She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to thelittle village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed,remembering that her father had foundedthis remotest border settlementof southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all theground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and thegreat ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and theswiftest horses ofthe sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdureand beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purpleupland waste. She could not escape being involved bywhatever befellCottonwoods.That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually comingin the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze--StoneBridge--Sterling, villages to the north, had risenagainst theinvasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had beenopposition to the one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoodshad begun to wake and bestir itself and grown hard.Jane prayedthat the tranquillity and sweetness of her life would not bepermanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people thanshe had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always.Troublebetween the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community wouldmake her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poorand unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and beinghappy.And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She lovedit all--the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tintedwater, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, thesleek,clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and thelean, sun-browned riders of the sage.While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. Thebray of a lazy burro broke theafternoon quiet, and it was comfortinglysuggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the greenalfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as itrolled before her. Low swells ofprairie-like ground sloped up tothe west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood outstrikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up thegradual slope, rose a broken wall, a hugemonument, looming dark purpleand stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line that fadedin the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and beauty.Northward the slope descended to a dim line ofcanyons from which rosean up-flinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purpleuplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, andgray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening,waning afternoonshadows.The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question athand. A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threwtheir bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, theleader, a tall,dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.\"Did you get my message?\" he asked, curtly.\"Yes,\" replied Jane.\"I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down tothe village. He didn'tcome.\"\"He knows nothing of it;\" said Jane. \"I didn't tell him. I've beenwaiting here for you.\"\"Where is Venters?\"\"I left him in the courtyard.\"\"Here, Jerry,\" called Tull, turning to his men, \"take the gang and fetchVentersout here if you have to rope him.\"The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the groveof cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.\"Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?\" demanded Jane. \"If youmustarrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves myhome. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It'sabsurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in thevillagelast night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me takecharge of his guns. You're only using this as a pretext. What do youmean to do to Venters?\"\"I'll tell you presently,\" replied Tull. \"But first tell me whyyoudefend this worthless rider?\"\"Worthless!\" exclaimed Jane, indignantly. \"He's nothing of the kind.He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason why I shouldn'tchampion him and every reason why I should.It's no little shame to me,Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the enmity of mypeople and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude forsaving the life of little Fay.\"\"I've heard of your lovefor Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopther. But--Jane Withersteen, the child is a Gentile!\"\"Yes. But, Elder, I don't love the Mormon children any less because Ilove a Gentile child. I shall adopt Fay if her mother willgive her tome.\"\"I'm not so much against that. You can give the child Mormon teaching,\"said Tull. \"But I'm sick of seeing this fellow Venters hang around you.I'm going to put a stop to it. You've so much love to throwaway onthese beggars of Gentiles that I've an idea you might love Venters.\"Tull spoke with the arrogance of a Mormon whose power could not bebrooked and with the passion of a man in whom jealousy had kindledaconsuming fire.\"Maybe I do love him,\" said Jane. She felt both fear and anger stir herheart. \"I'd never thought of that. Poor fellow! he certainly needs someone to love him.\"\"This'll be a bad day for Venters unless youdeny that,\" returned Tull,grimly.Tull's men appeared under the cottonwoods and led a young man out intothe lane. His ragged clothes were those of an outcast. But he stood talland straight, his wide shoulders flungback, with the muscles of hisbound arms rippling and a blue flame of defiance in the gaze he bent onTull.For the first time Jane Withersteen felt Venters's real spirit. Shewondered if she would love this splendid youth.Then her emotion cooledto the sobering sense of the issue at stake.\"Venters, will you leave Cottonwoods at once and forever?\" asked Tull,tensely.\"Why?\" rejoined the rider.\"Because I order it.\"Venters laughed in cooldisdain.The red leaped to Tull's dark cheek.\"If you don't go it means your ruin,\" he said, sharply.\"Ruin!\" exclaimed Venters, passionately. \"Haven't you already ruined me?What do you call ruin? A year ago I was a rider.I had horses and cattleof my own. I had a good name in Cottonwoods. And now when I come intothe village to see this woman you set your men on me. You hound me. Youtrail me as if I were a rustler. I've no more tolose--except my life.\"\"Will you leave Utah?\"\"Oh! I know,\" went on Venters, tauntingly, \"it galls you, the idea ofbeautiful Jane Withersteen being friendly to a poor Gentile. You wanther all yourself. You're a wivingMormon. You have use for her--andWithersteen House and Amber Spring and seven thousand head of cattle!\"Tull's hard jaw protruded, and rioting blood corded the veins of hisneck.\"Once more. Will yougo?\"\"NO!\"\"Then I'll have you whipped within an inch of your life,\" replied Tull,harshly. \"I'll turn you out in the sage. And if you ever come backyou'll get worse.\"Venters's agitated face grew coldly set and the bronzechangedJane impulsively stepped forward. \"Oh! Elder Tull!\" she cried. \"Youwon't do that!\"Tull lifted a shaking finger toward her.\"That'll do from you. Understand, you'll not be allowed to hold this boyto a friendshipthat's offensive to your Bishop. Jane Withersteen, yourfather left you wealth and power. It has turned your head. You haven'tyet come to see the place of Mormon women. We've reasoned with you,borne with you.We've patiently waited. We've let you have your fling,which is more than I ever saw granted to a Mormon woman. But you haven'tcome to your senses. Now, once for all, you can't have any furtherfriendship withVenters. He's going to be whipped, and he's got to leaveUtah!\"\"Oh! Don't whip him! It would be dastardly!\" implored Jane, with slowcertainty of her failing courage.Tull always blunted her spirit, and she grew consciousthat she hadfeigned a boldness which she did not possess. He loomed up now indifferent guise, not as a jealous suitor, but embodying the mysteriousdespotism she had known from childhood--the power of hercreed.\"Venters, will you take your whipping here or would you rather go outin the sage?\" asked Tull. He smiled a flinty smile that was morethan inhuman, yet seemed to give out of its dark aloofness a gleamofrighteousness.\"I'll take it here--if I must,\" said Venters. \"But by God!--Tull you'dbetter kill me outright. That'll be a dear whipping for you and yourpraying Mormons. You'll make me another Lassiter!\"The strangeglow, the austere light which radiated from Tull's face,might have been a holy joy at the spiritual conception of exalted duty.But there was something more in him, barely hidden, a something personaland sinister, adeep of himself, an engulfing abyss. As his religiousmood was fanatical and inexorable, so would his physical hate bemerciless.\"Elder, I--I repent my words,\" Jane faltered. The religion in her, thelong habit of obedience,of humility, as well as agony of fear, spoke inher voice. \"Spare the boy!\" she whispered.\"You can't save him now,\" replied Tull stridently.Her head was bowing to the inevitable. She was grasping the truth,when suddenlythere came, in inward constriction, a hardening of gentleforces within her breast. Like a steel bar it was stiffening all thathad been soft and weak in her. She felt a birth in her of something newand unintelligible. Oncemore her strained gaze sought the sage-slopes.Jane Withersteen loved that wild and purple wilderness. In timesof sorrow it had been her strength, in happiness its beauty was hercontinual delight. In her extremity shefound herself murmuring, \"Whencecometh my help!\" It was a prayer, as if forth from those lonely purplereaches and walls of red and clefts of blue might ride a fearless man,neither creed-bound nor creed-mad, whowould hold up a restraining handin the faces of her ruthless people.The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Thenfollowed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.\"Look!\" said one, pointing tothe west.\"A rider!\"Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against thewestern sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden down from theleft, in the golden glare of the sun, and had beenunobserved till closeat hand. An answer to her prayer!\"Do you know him? Does any one know him?\" questioned Tull, hurriedly.His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.\"He's come from far,\" saidone.\"Thet's a fine hoss,\" said another.\"A strange rider.\"\"Huh! he wears black leather,\" added a fourth.With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward in sucha way that he concealed Venters.The riderreined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slippingaction appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a peculiarmovement in its quickness and inasmuch that while performing it therider did not swerve inthe slightest from a square front to the groupbefore him.\"Look!\" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. \"He packs twoblack-butted guns--low down--they're hard to see--black akin them blackchaps.\"\"Agun-man!\" whispered another. \"Fellers, careful now about movin' yourhands.\"The stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurely manner ofgait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to walking; yet,aswell, it could have been the guarded advance of one who took no chanceswith men.\"Hello, stranger!\" called Tull. No welcome was in this greeting only agruff curiosity.The rider responded with a curt nod. The widebrim of a black sombrerocast a dark shade over his face. For a moment he closely regarded Tulland his comrades, and then, halting in his slow walk, he seemed torelax.\"Evenin', ma'am,\" he said to Jane, and removedhis sombrero with quaintgrace.Jane, greeting him, looked up into a face that she trusted instinctivelyand which riveted her attention. It had all the characteristics ofthe range rider's--the leanness, the red burn of thesun, and the setchangelessness that came from years of silence and solitude. But it wasnot these which held her, rather the intensity of his gaze, a strainedweariness, a piercing wistfulness of keen, gray sight, as if themanwas forever looking for that which he never found. Jane's subtle woman'sintuition, even in that brief instant, felt a sadness, a hungering, asecret.\"Jane Withersteen, ma'am?\" he inquired.\"Yes,\" she replied.\"Thewater here is yours?\"\"Yes.\"\"May I water my horse?\"\"Certainly. There's the trough.\"\"But mebbe if you knew who I was--\" He hesitated, with his glance onthe listening men. \"Mebbe you wouldn't let me waterhim--though I ain'taskin' none for myself.\"\"Stranger, it doesn't matter who you are. Water your horse. And if youare thirsty and hungry come into my house.\"\"Thanks, ma'am. I can't accept for myself--but for my tiredhorse--\"Trampling of hoofs interrupted the rider. More restless movements onthe part of Tull's men broke up the little circle, exposing the prisonerVenters.\"Mebbe I've kind of hindered somethin'--for a few moments,perhaps?\"inquired the rider.\"Yes,\" replied Jane Withersteen, with a throb in her voice.She felt the drawing power of his eyes; and then she saw him look at thebound Venters, and at the men who held him, and theirleader.\"In this here country all the rustlers an' thieves an' cut-throatsan' gun-throwers an' all-round no-good men jest happen to be Gentiles.Ma'am, which of the no-good class does that young feller belong to?\"\"Hebelongs to none of them. He's an honest boy.\"\"You KNOW that, ma'am?\"\"Yes--yes.\"\"Then what has he done to get tied up that way?\"His clear and distinct question, meant for Tull as well as for JaneWithersteen, stilledthe restlessness and brought a momentary silence.\"Ask him,\" replied Jane, her voice rising high.The rider stepped away from her, moving out with the same slow, measuredstride in which he had approached, and thefact that his action placedher wholly to one side, and him no nearer to Tull and his men, had apenetrating significance.\"Young feller, speak up,\" he said to Venters.\"Here stranger, this's none of your mix,\" began Tull.\"Don't try anyinterference. You've been asked to drink and eat. That's more than you'dhave got in any other village of the Utah border. Water your horse andbe on your way.\"\"Easy--easy--I ain't interferin' yet,\" repliedthe rider. The tone ofhis voice had undergone a change. A different man had spoken. Where, inaddressing Jane, he had been mild and gentle, now, with his first speechto Tull, he was dry, cool, biting. \"I've lest stumbledonto a queerdeal. Seven Mormons all packin' guns, an' a Gentile tied with a rope,an' a woman who swears by his honesty! Queer, ain't that?\"\"Queer or not, it's none of your business,\" retorted Tull.\"Where I was raised awoman's word was law. I ain't quite outgrowed thatyet.\"Tull fumed between amaze and anger.\"Meddler, we have a law here something different from woman'swhim--Mormon law!... Take care you don't transgressit.\"\"To hell with your Mormon law!\"The deliberate speech marked the rider's further change, this time fromkindly interest to an awakening menace. It produced a transformation inTull and his companions. The leadergasped and staggered backward ata blasphemous affront to an institution he held most sacred. The manJerry, holding the horses, dropped the bridles and froze in his tracks.Like posts the other men stoodwatchful-eyed, arms hanging rigid, allwaiting.\"Speak up now, young man. What have you done to be roped that way?\"\"It's a damned outrage!\" burst out Venters. \"I've done no wrong. I'veoffended this Mormon Elder bybeing a friend to that woman.\"\"Ma'am, is it true--what he says?\" asked the rider of Jane, but hisquiveringly alert eyes never left the little knot of quiet men.\"True? Yes, perfectly true,\" she answered.\"Well, young man, itseems to me that bein' a friend to such a womanwould be what you wouldn't want to help an' couldn't help.... What's tobe done to you for it?\"\"They intend to whip me. You know what that means--in Utah!\"\"I reckon,\"replied the rider, slowly.With his gray glance cold on the Mormons, with the restive bit-champingof the horses, with Jane failing to repress her mounting agitations,with Venters standing pale and still, the tension of themomenttightened. Tull broke the spell with a laugh, a laugh without mirth, alaugh that was only a sound betraying fear.\"Come on, men!\" he called.Jane Withersteen turned again to the rider.\"Stranger, can you donothing to save Venters?\"\"Ma'am, you ask me to save him--from your own people?\"\"Ask you? I beg of you!\"\"But you don't dream who you're askin'.\"\"Oh, sir, I pray you--save him!\"\"These are Mormons, an' I...\"\"At--atany cost--save him. For I--I care for him!\"Tull snarled. \"You love-sick fool! Tell your secrets. There'll be a wayto teach you what you've never learned.... Come men out of here!\"\"Mormon, the young man stays,\" said therider.Like a shot his voice halted Tull.\"What!\"\"Who'll keep him? He's my prisoner!\" cried Tull, hotly. \"Stranger, againI tell you--don't mix here. You've meddled enough. Go your way now or--\"\"Listen!... Hestays.\"Absolute certainty, beyond any shadow of doubt, breathed in the rider'slow voice.\"Who are you? We are seven here.\"The rider dropped his sombrero and made a rapid movement, singular inthat it left himsomewhat crouched, arms bent and stiff, with the bigblack gun-sheaths swung round to the fore.\"LASSITER!\"It was Venters's wondering, thrilling cry that bridged the fatefulconnection between the rider's singularposition and the dreaded name.Tull put out a groping hand. The life of his eyes dulled to the gloomwith which men of his fear saw the approach of death. But death, whileit hovered over him, did not descend, for therider waited for thetwitching fingers, the downward flash of hand that did not come. Tull,gathering himself together, turned to the horses, attended by his palecomrades.CHAPTER II. COTTONWOODSVenters appearedtoo deeply moved to speak the gratitude his faceexpressed. And Jane turned upon the rescuer and gripped his hands.Her smiles and tears seemingly dazed him. Presently as something likecalmness returned, she wentto Lassiter's weary horse.\"I will water him myself,\" she said, and she led the horse to a troughunder a huge old cottonwood. With nimble fingers she loosened the bridleand removed the bit. The horse snorted and benthis head. The trough wasof solid stone, hollowed out, moss-covered and green and wet and cool,and the clear brown water that fed it spouted and splashed from a woodenpipe.\"He has brought you far to-day?\"\"Yes,ma'am, a matter of over sixty miles, mebbe seventy.\"\"A long ride--a ride that--Ah, he is blind!\"\"Yes, ma'am,\" replied Lassiter.\"What blinded him?\"\"Some men once roped an' tied him, an' then held white-iron close tohiseyes.\"\"Oh! Men? You mean devils.... Were they your enemies--Mormons?\"\"Yes, ma'am.\"\"To take revenge on a horse! Lassiter, the men of my creed areunnaturally cruel. To my everlasting sorrow I confess it. Theyhave beendriven, hated, scourged till their hearts have hardened. But we womenhope and pray for the time when our men will soften.\"\"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am--that time will never come.\"\"Oh, it will!... Lassiter, doyou think Mormon women wicked? Has yourhand been against them, too?\"\"No. I believe Mormon women are the best and noblest, the mostlong-sufferin', and the blindest, unhappiest women on earth.\"\"Ah!\" She gavehim a grave, thoughtful look. \"Then you will break breadwith me?\"Lassiter had no ready response, and he uneasily shifted his weightfrom one leg to another, and turned his sombrero round and round in hishands.\"Ma'am,\" he began, presently, \"I reckon your kindness of heartmakes you overlook things. Perhaps I ain't well known hereabouts, butback up North there's Mormons who'd rest uneasy in their graves at theidea of mesittin' to table with you.\"\"I dare say. But--will you do it, anyway?\" she asked.\"Mebbe you have a brother or relative who might drop in an' be offended,an' I wouldn't want to--\"\"I've not a relative in Utah that I know of."}
{"doc_id":"doc_33","qid":"","text":"It Happened One Night Script at IMSDb.
IT HAPPENED ONENIGHT Written by Robert previous hit Riskin based on a story by Samuel HopkinsAdams The HARBOR at Miami Beach fades in, providing quick views of yachts, aquaplanes, andluxurious ship-craft lying at anchor in the calm, tranquil waters of tropical Florida. This dissolves to the NAME PLATE on the side of a yacht,reading \"ELSPETH II,\" and this in turn to a YACHT CORRIDOR where a steward is standing in front of a cabin door, near a small collapsible tableupon which there is a tray of steaming food. He lifts lids and examines the contents. A heavy-set sailor stands guard near the cabin door.[1] STEWARD Fine! Fine! She ought to like this. (to the guard) Open thedoor. GUARD (without moving) Who's gonna takeit in to her? You? STEWARD Oh,no. (turning) Mullison! Come on! The view widens to includeMullison, a waiter. His eye is decorated with a\"shiner.\" MULLISON Not me, sir. She threw a ketchup bottle at me thismorning. STEWARD Well, orders are orders! Somebody's gotta take itin. (he turns to someone else) Fredericks! The view movesto another waiter, who has a patch of bandage on his face. FREDERICKS Before I bring her another meal, I'll be put offthe ship first. STEWARD'S VOICE Henri! The viewmoves over to a Frenchman. HENRI (vehemently) No,Monsieur. When I leave the Ritz you do not say I have to wait on crazy womans. The view moves back to include theSteward and the others grouped around him. ANOTHER WAITER (ACOCKNEY) My wife was an angel compared to this one, sir. And I walked out on her . ? 208? GUARD (impatiently) Come on! Make upyour mind! A petty officer approaches. He is blustering and officious, but the type that is feeble and ineffective. His nameis Lacey. LACEY (talkingquickly\u0000staccato) What's up? What's up? There is a fairly close picture of the GROUP featuringLacey and the Steward. STEWARD These pigs! They're afraid to takeher food in. LACEY That's ridiculous! Afraid of amere girl! (he wheels on the steward) Why didn't you do ityourself? STEWARD (more afraid than the others\u0000stammering) Why\u0000I\u0000well, I never thought about\u0000 LACEY (shoving himaside) I never heard of such a thing! Afraid of a mere girl. (moving to thetray) I'll take it in myself. They all stand around and watch him, much relieved. He picks up thetray and starts toward the door of the cabin. LACEY (as hewalks\u0000muttering) Can't get a thing done unless you do it yourself. (as he approaches thedoor) Open the door. We see him at the CABIN DOOR as the guard quickly and gingerly unlocksit. LACEY Afraid of a mere girl! Ridiculous. Lacey stalks in bravely, the tray held majestically in front of him, while the steward and waiters form acircle around the door, waiting expectantly. There is a short pause, following which Lacey comes hurling out backwards and lands on his back, thetray of food scattering all over him. The steward quickly bangs the door shut and turns the key as the waiters stare silently. The scene dissolves to the MAIN DECK of the yacht, first affording a close view of a pair of well-shodmasculine feet, as they pace agitatedly back and forth. Then as the scene draws back, the possessor of the pacing feet is discovered to be AlexanderAndrews, immaculately groomed in yachting clothes. In front of him stands a uniformed Captain, but Andrews, brows wrinkled, deep in thought,continues his pacing. ? 209? ANDREWS (murmuring to himself) On ahunger strike, huh? (a grunt) When'd she eatlast? CAPTAIN She hasn't had a thingyesterday\u0000or today. ANDREWS Been sending her meals in regularly? CAPTAIN Yessir. She refuses themall. ANDREWS (snappily) Why didn't you jam itdown her throat? CAPTAIN It's not quite that"}
{"doc_id":"doc_34","qid":"","text":"Interstellar Script at IMSDb.
INTERSTELLAR Writtenby Jonathan Nolan STORY BY Jonathan Nolan, Kip Thorne &Lynda Obst MARCH 122008 SPACE. But not the dark lonely corner of it we're used to. This is a glittering inferno -- the center of a distant galaxy. Suddenly,something TEARS past at incredible speed: a NEUTRON STAR. It SMASHES headlong through everything it encounters... planets, stars. Can anything stop this juggernaut? Yes.Something looms at the heart of the galaxy, hidden inside the blinding starlight, a dark flaw in the fabric of existence itself: a BLACK HOLE. The neutron star is pulled into the blackhole's swirl, spiraling closer and closer to destruction. Finally, it contacts the hole's edge and EXPLODES. The EXPLOSION is so powerful that it sends shock waves into thefabric of space-time itself. We ride one of these waves, racing back out from the black hole. Suddenly, a portion of the wave disappears down a crystal- like hole, emerging in a muchdarker region of the universe -- a backwater that, as the wave races past a giant red planet with a distinctive eye, we recognize as our own. The wave, now just an infinitesimalripple, finally reaches our blue planet. It drops into our atmosphere over North America, toward the high desert east of the Cascades, and through the roof of a nondescriptwarehouse. The wave tickles the atoms in the steel shell of a vacuum chamber, then dances a tiny jig with a laser beam reflected in a heavy piece ofglass. The wave shoots back out of the building and disappears in the fractal branches of a tumbleweed resting against a concrete tube that stretches for miles in thedesert. An SUV speeds past the tumbleweed and we follow it till it parks at another plain-looking building at the opposite end of the tube. A MAN climbs out of theSUV. INT. CONTROL ROOM, WAREHOUSE -- DAY The man lets himself into a large room that looks like Mission Control. He pours himself a cup of coffee. Itis the weekend and the place is empty. No one has been there to see the displays flashing a distinctive shape -- a pulse followed by a series of echoes. The man looks up at thescreen, then DROPS his cup of coffee. CUT TO: 2. INT. LIGO OFFICES, CALTECH, PASADENA --DAY The Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory headquarters at Caltech is a frenzy of activity. POSTDOCS and RESEARCHERS huddle around monitors andprintouts, arguing. ANSEN, 60s, the director of LIGO, walks through the frenzy. A postdoc hands him a printout: a pulse followed by echoes. INT. LIGODIRECTOR'S OFFICE, CALTECH -- DAY Ansen steps into the relative calm of a large, sunlit office, which overlooks a grassy stretch of Caltech's campus. HisASSISTANT, 30s, is on the phone, on hold. He looks up at Ansen as he enters. ASSISTANT I'm on hold with the INS. (COVERSMICROPHONE) Don't you think we should double check the triangulation before we CALL ANYBODY- ANSEN We havedouble checked it. Someone finally picks up the line. ASSISTANT Yes. I'm trying to reach- (pause, listens) No, I don't think youunderstand how serious this is. (PAUSE) Because if you did, we'd be having this conversation in person. He listens for a moment, then hangs upthe phone, confused. ANSEN What did they say? ASSISTANT They said we should look outthe window. Ansen steps to the window and looks out: In the courtyard below, coeds are scrambling to get out of the way as a military helicopter sets downin the middle of the quad and dozens of ARMED FEDERAL AGENTS converge on his building. 3. INT. MAIN CONFERENCE ROOM, LIGO, CALTECH --DAY Ansen sits, alone, on one side of a conference table. The other side is filled with GOVERNMENT MEN -- NSA mostly, some DIA. The door opens and hisassistant steps in. Armed guards pat him down, then shove him into a seat. ANSEN Is that really necessary? One of the NSA agentsleans forward. NSA AGENT You've been complaining for years that the government doesn't take your project seriously enough,Doctor. (SMILES) You can't have it both ways. Ansen motions to his assistant, who turns on a projector. On-screen, we see the familiar pulse andechoes. ANSEN Yesterday morning, our facility in Hanford identified this signal: a neutron star colliding with a supermassive black hole. Wewent through the last year's data and triangulated the source. The pulse is translated into a crude animatic of a neutron star circling into the blackhole. NSA AGENT We know that, Doctor. What we don't know is why, according to your numbers, this event took place right here in our own solarsystem. Suddenly, the image overlays the sun, the earth, and the rest of our solar system around the black hole. ANSEN It didn't.Because if it had we'd all be dead by now. On-screen, Jupiter, then the Earth and the inner planets are consumed by the black hole. Only the sun survives, pulled into orbitaround its new master. ANSEN (CONT'D) Which leaves only one explanation: The signal traveled through a (MORE) 4. ANSEN (CONT'D) wormhole. A gateway to a distant corner of the universe. The black hole is on the far side. On-screen,the black hole system is removed to a distant corner, connected to ours by a tunnel through space-time. A gravity wave from the collision travels through thetunnel. NSA AGENT I've read your book, Doctor. You said that wormholes are impossible. ANSEN There isnothing quite as satisfying as being proved utterly wrong. (SMILES) I said that a wormhole couldn't exist naturally. Not for more than a few billionths of a second.It would have to be... stabilized. NSA AGENT Stabilized by what? Ansen pauses, unsure. His assistant steps in to hisdefense. ASSISTANT We don't have any way to answer that question. NSA AGENT (IGNORESHIM) You're not under peer review here, Doctor. I don't care about your reputation. I need to know how that thing got there. Now. Ansen finally speaksup. ANSEN If you're worried about an invasion, I would start drafting the articles of surrender. (SMILES) Whoeverthey are, if they can build a wormhole, they could erase us in the blink of an eye. Luckily, that also means we have nothing they could be interestedin. NSA AGENT Then why is it there? 5. ANSEN I don't know. Maybe it's an invitation. Achance to commune with an advanced species. The assistant, embarrassed, looks down. The agent notices. NSA AGENT You don'tagree? ASSISTANT (DELICATE) No. I don't think we can assume an alien intelligence built thewormhole. (CHANGES TACK) But the opportunity it represents is incredible. We could explore parts of the universe we never dreamt of reaching in ourlifetimes. The agent exchanges a look with one of his colleagues, who steps out of the room. ANSEN We need to get back to work. Ihave a conference call with our European partners in fifteen minutes. NSA AGENT We severed the connections to your European partners thismorning. ANSEN (INDIGNANT) You can't do that. The Europeans put up some of thefunding... GOVERNMENT MAN We'll send them a check. (STANDS) Your project is now classified under the State SecretsAct. He steps out the door, leaving the men alone. The assistant, outraged, turns back to his boss. ASSISTANT They can't keep this a"}
{"doc_id":"doc_35","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cousin Henry, by Anthony TrollopeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Cousin HenryAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: January 1, 2008 [eBook #24103]Language:English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COUSIN HENRY***E-text prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.COUSIN HENRYbyANTHONY TROLLOPEFirst published in serial form in the _Manchester WeeklyTimes_ andthe _North British Weekly Mail_ in the spring of 1879 and in bookform in October, 1879CONTENTS I. Uncle Indefer II. Isabel Brodrick III. Cousin Henry IV. The Squire's Death V. Preparingfor the Funeral VI. Mr Apjohn's Explanation VII. Looking for the Will VIII. The Reading of the Will IX. Alone at Llanfeare X. Cousin Henry Dreams a Dream XI. Isabel at Hereford XII. MrOwen XIII. The _Carmarthen Herald_ XIV. An Action for Libel XV. Cousin Henry Makes Another Attempt XVI. Again at Hereford XVII. Mr Cheekey XVIII. Cousin Henry Goes to Carmarthen XIX. MrApjohn Sends for Assistance XX. Doubts XXI. Mr Apjohn's Success XXII. How Cousin Henry Was Let Off Easily XXIII. Isabel's Petition XXIV. ConclusionCHAPTER IUncle Indefer\"I have a conscience, my dear,on this matter,\" said an old gentlemanto a young lady, as the two were sitting in the breakfast parlour ofa country house which looked down from the cliffs over the sea on thecoast of Carmarthenshire.\"And so have I,Uncle Indefer; and as my conscience is backed by myinclination, whereas yours is not--\"\"You think that I shall give way?\"\"I did not mean that.\"\"What then?\"\"If I could only make you understand how very strong ismyinclination, or disinclination--how impossible to be conquered,then--\"\"What next?\"\"Then you would know that I could never give way, as you call it, andyou would go to work with your own conscience to see whetherit beimperative with you or not. You may be sure of this,--I shall neversay a word to you in opposition to your conscience. If there be aword to be spoken it must come from yourself.\"There was a long pause in theconversation, a silence for an hour,during which the girl went in and out of the room and settled herselfdown at her work. Then the old man went back abruptly to the subjectthey had discussed. \"I shall obey myconscience.\"\"You ought to do so, Uncle Indefer. What should a man obey but hisconscience?\"\"Though it will break my heart.\"\"No; no, no!\"\"And will ruin you.\"\"That is a flea's bite. I can brave my ruin easily, but notyourbroken heart.\"\"Why should there be either, Isabel?\"\"Nay, sir; have you not said but now, because of our consciences?Not to save your heart from breaking,--though I think your heartis dearer to me than anythingelse in the world,--could I marrymy cousin Henry. We must die together, both of us, you and I, orlive broken-hearted, or what not, sooner than that. Would I not doanything possible at your bidding?\"\"I used to thinkso.\"\"But it is impossible for a young woman with a respect for herselfsuch as I have to submit herself to a man that she loathes. Do asyour conscience bids you with the old house. Shall I be less tenderto you while youlive because I shall have to leave the place whenyou are dead? Shall I accuse you of injustice or unkindness inmy heart? Never! All that is only an outside circumstance to me,comparatively of little moment. But to bethe wife of a man Idespise!\" Then she got up and left the room.A month passed by before the old man returned to the subject, whichhe did seated in the same room, at the same hour of the day,--atabout four o'clock,when the dinner things had been removed.\"Isabel,\" he said, \"I cannot help myself.\"\"As to what, Uncle Indefer?\" She knew very well what was the matterin which, as he said, he could not help himself. Had therebeenanything in which his age had wanted assistance from her youth therewould have been no hesitation between them; no daughter was ever moretender; no father was ever more trusting. But on this subject itwasnecessary that he should speak more plainly before she could reply tohim.\"As to your cousin and the property.\"\"Then in God's name do not trouble yourself further in looking forhelp where there is none to be had.You mean that the estate ought togo to a man and not to a woman?\"\"It ought to go to a Jones.\"\"I am not a Jones, nor likely to become a Jones.\"\"You are as near to me as he is,--and so much dearer!\"\"But not on thataccount a Jones. My name is Isabel Brodrick. A womannot born to be a Jones may have the luck to become one by marriage,but that will never be the case with me.\"\"You should not laugh at that which is to me aduty.\"\"Dear, dear uncle!\" she said, caressing him, \"if I seemed tolaugh\"--and she certainly had laughed when she spoke of the luck ofbecoming a Jones--\"it is only that you may feel how little importanceI attach to it allon my own account.\"\"But it is important,--terribly important!\"\"Very well. Then go to work with two things in your mind fixed asfate. One is that you must leave Llanfeare to your nephew HenryJones, and the other that Iwill not marry your nephew Henry Jones.When it is all settled it will be just as though the old place wereentailed, as it used to be.\"\"I wish it were.\"\"So do I, if it would save you trouble.\"\"But it isn't the same;--it can't bethe same. In getting back theland your grandfather sold I have spent the money I had saved foryou.\"\"It shall be all the same to me, and I will take pleasure in thinkingthat the old family place shall remain as you wouldhave it. I can beproud of the family though I can never bear the name.\"\"You do not care a straw for the family.\"\"You should not say that, Uncle Indefer. It is not true. I careenough for the family to sympathise with youaltogether in what youare doing, but not enough for the property to sacrifice myself inorder that I might have a share in it.\"\"I do not know why you should think so much evil of Henry.\"\"Do you know any reason why Ishould think well enough of him tobecome his wife? I do not. In marrying a man a woman should be ableto love every little trick belonging to him. The parings of his nailsshould be a care to her. It should be pleasant toher to serve him inthings most menial. Would it be so to me, do you think, with HenryJones?\"\"You are always full of poetry and books.\"\"I should be full of something very bad if I were to allow myself tostand at the altarwith him. Drop it, Uncle Indefer. Get it out ofyour mind as a thing quite impossible. It is the one thing I can'tand won't do, even for you. It is the one thing that you ought not toask me to do. Do as you like with theproperty,--as you think right.\"\"It is not as I like.\"\"As your conscience bids you, then; and I with myself, which is theonly little thing that I have in the world, will do as I like, or asmy conscience bids me.\"These lastwords she spoke almost roughly, and as she said them sheleft him, walking out of the room with an air of offended pride.But in this there was a purpose. If she were hard to him, hard andobstinate in her determination,then would he be enabled to be soalso to her in his determination, with less of pain to himself. Shefelt it to be her duty to teach him that he was justified in doingwhat he liked with his property, because she intended todo whatshe liked with herself. Not only would she not say a word towardsdissuading him from this change in his old intentions, but she wouldmake the change as little painful to him as possible by teaching himto thinkthat it was justified by her own manner to him.For there was a change, not only in his mind, but in his declaredintentions. Llanfeare had belonged to Indefer Joneses for manygenerations. When the late Squire had died,now twenty years ago,there had been remaining out of ten children only one, the eldest,to whom the property now belonged. Four or five coming in successionafter him had died without issue. Then there had been aHenry Jones,who had gone away and married, had become the father of the HenryJones above mentioned, and had then also departed. The youngest, adaughter, had married an attorney named Brodrick, and she alsohaddied, having no other child but Isabel. Mr Brodrick had marriedagain, and was now the father of a large family, living at Hereford,where he carried on his business. He was not very \"well-to-do\" in theworld. The newMrs Brodrick had preferred her own babies to Isabel,and Isabel when she was fifteen years of age had gone to her bacheloruncle at Llanfeare. There she had lived for the last ten years,making occasional visits to herfather at Hereford.Mr Indefer Jones, who was now between seventy and eighty years old,was a gentleman who through his whole life had been disturbed byreflections, fears, and hopes as to the family property onwhich hehad been born, on which he had always lived, in possession of whichhe would certainly die, and as to the future disposition of whichit was his lot in life to be altogether responsible. It had beenentailed upon himbefore his birth in his grandfather's time, whenhis father was about to be married. But the entail had not beencarried on. There had come no time in which this Indefer Jones hadbeen about to be married, and theformer old man having been given toextravagance, and been generally in want of money, had felt it morecomfortable to be without an entail. His son had occasionally beeninduced to join with him in raising money.Thus not only since he hadhimself owned the estate, but before his father's death, there hadbeen forced upon him reflections as to the destination of Llanfeare.At fifty he had found himself unmarried, and unlikely tomarry.His brother Henry was then alive; but Henry had disgraced thefamily,--had run away with a married woman whom he had married aftera divorce, had taken to race courses and billiard-rooms, and hadbeenaltogether odious to his brother Indefer. Nevertheless the boy whichhad come from this marriage, a younger Henry, had been educated athis expense, and had occasionally been received at Llanfeare. Hehad beenpopular with no one there, having been found to be a slyboy, given to lying, and, as even the servants said about the place,unlike a Jones of Llanfeare. Then had come the time in which Isabelhad been brought toLlanfeare. Henry had been sent away from Oxfordfor some offence not altogether trivial, and the Squire had declaredto himself and others that Llanfeare should never fall into hishands.Isabel had so endeared herself tohim that before she had beentwo years in the house she was the young mistress of the place.Everything that she did was right in his eyes. She might haveanything that she would ask, only that she would ask fornothing. Atthis time the cousin had been taken into an office in London, and hadbecome,--so it was said of him,--a steady young man of business. Butstill, when allowed to show himself at Llanfeare, he wasunpalatableto them all--unless it might be to the old Squire. It was certainlythe case that in his office in London he made himself useful, and itseemed that he had abandoned that practice of running into debt andhavingthe bills sent down to Llanfeare which he had adopted early inhis career.During all this time the old Squire was terribly troubled aboutthe property. His will was always close at his hand. Till Isabelwas twenty-one this willhad always been in Henry's favour,--witha clause, however, that a certain sum of money which the Squirepossessed should go to her. Then in his disgust towards his nephew hechanged his purpose, and made anotherwill in Isabel's favour. Thisremained in existence as his last resolution for three years; butthey had been three years of misery to him. He had endured but badlythe idea that the place should pass away out of what heregarded asthe proper male line. To his thinking it was simply an accident thatthe power of disposing of the property should be in his hands. Itwas a religion to him that a landed estate in Britain should go fromfather toeldest son, and in default of a son to the first male heir.Britain would not be ruined because Llanfeare should be allowed to goout of the proper order. But Britain would be ruined if Britons didnot do their duty in thatsphere of life to which it had pleased Godto call them; and in this case his duty was to maintain the old orderof things.And during this time an additional trouble added itself to thoseexisting. Having made up his mind toact in opposition to his ownprinciples, and to indulge his own heart; having declared both to hisnephew and to his niece that Isabel should be his heir, there cameto him, as a consolation in his misery, the power ofrepurchasinga certain fragment of the property which his father, with hisassistance, had sold. The loss of these acres had been always a sorewound to him, not because of his lessened income, but from a feelingthat noowner of an estate should allow it to be diminished duringhis holding of it. He never saw those separated fields estranged fromLlanfeare, but he grieved in his heart. That he might get them backagain he had savedmoney since Llanfeare had first become his own.Then had come upon him the necessity of providing for Isabel. Butwhen with many groans he had decided that Isabel should be the heir,the money could be allowed togo for its intended purpose. It hadso gone, and then his conscience had become too strong for him, andanother will was made.It will be seen how he had endeavoured to reconcile things. Whenit was found that HenryJones was working like a steady man at theLondon office to which he was attached, that he had sown his wildoats, then Uncle Indefer began to ask himself why all his dearestwishes should not be carried out together bya marriage between thecousins. \"I don't care a bit for his wild oats,\" Isabel had said,almost playfully, when the idea had first been mooted to her. \"Hisoats are too tame for me rather than too wild. Why can't he lookanyone in the face?\" Then her uncle had been angry with her, thinkingthat she was allowing a foolish idea to interfere with the happinessof them all.But his anger with her was never enduring; and, indeed, beforethetime at which our story commenced he had begun to acknowledge tohimself that he might rather be afraid of her anger than she of his.There was a courage about her which nothing could dash. She had grownupunder his eyes strong, brave, sometimes almost bold, with a dashof humour, but always quite determined in her own ideas of wrongor right. He had in truth been all but afraid of her when he foundhimself compelled totell her of the decision to which his consciencecompelled him. But the will was made,--the third, perhaps the fourthor fifth, which had seemed to him to be necessary since his mind hadbeen exercised in this matter. Hemade this will, which he assuredhimself should be the last, leaving Llanfeare to his nephew oncondition that he should prefix the name of Indefer to that of Jones,and adding certain stipulations as to further entail. Theneverythingof which he might die possessed, except Llanfeare itself and thefurniture in the house, he left to his niece Isabel.\"We must get rid of the horses,\" he said to her about a fortnightafter the conversation lastrecorded.\"Why that?\"\"My will has been made, and there will be so little now for you, thatwe must save what we can before I die.\"\"Oh, bother me!\" said Isabel, laughing.\"Do you suppose it is not dreadful to me to haveto reflect howlittle I can do for you? I may, perhaps, live for two years, and wemay save six or seven hundred a year. I have put a charge on theestate for four thousand pounds. The property is only a small thing,afterall;--not above fifteen hundred a year.\"\"I will not hear of the horses being sold, and there is an end of it.You have been taken out about the place every day for the last twentyyears, and it would crush me if I were tosee a change. You have donethe best you can, and now leave it all in God's hands. Pray,--praylet there be no more talking about it. If you only knew how welcomehe is to it!\"CHAPTER IIIsabel BrodrickWhen Mr IndeferJones spoke of living for two years, he spoke morehopefully of himself than the doctor was wont to speak to Isabel. Thedoctor from Carmarthen visited Llanfeare twice a week, and havingbecome intimate andconfidential with Isabel, had told her that thecandle had nearly burnt itself down to the socket. There was nospecial disease, but he was a worn-out old man. It was well that heshould allow himself to be driven out aboutthe place every day. Itwas well that he should be encouraged to get up after breakfast, andto eat his dinner in the middle of the day after his old fashion.It was well to do everything around him as though he were notaconfirmed invalid. But the doctor thought that he would not lastlong. The candle, as the doctor said, had nearly burnt itself out inthe socket.And yet there was no apparent decay in the old man's intellect. Hehad neverbeen much given to literary pursuits, but that which he hadalways done he did still. A daily copy of whatever might be the mostthoroughly Conservative paper of the day he always read carefullyfrom the beginning tothe end; and a weekly copy of the _Guardian_nearly filled up the hours which were devoted to study. On Sundayhe read two sermons through, having been forbidden by the doctor totake his place in the church becauseof the draughts, and thinking,apparently, that it would be mean and wrong to make that an excusefor shirking an onerous duty. An hour a day was devoted by himreligiously to the Bible. The rest of his time wasoccupied by thecare of his property. Nothing gratified him so much as the comingin of one of his tenants, all of whom were so intimately known tohim that, old as he was, he never forgot the names even oftheirchildren. The idea of raising a rent was abominable to him. Aroundthe house there were about two hundred acres which he was supposed tofarm. On these some half-dozen worn-out old labourers weremaintainedin such a manner that no return from the land was ever forthcoming.On this subject he would endure remonstrance from no one,--not evenfrom Isabel.Such as he has been here described, he would havebeen a happyold man during these last half-dozen years, had not his mind beenexercised day by day, and hour by hour, by these cares as to theproperty which were ever present to him. A more loving heart thanhiscould hardly be found in a human bosom, and all its power of love hadbeen bestowed on Isabel. Nor could any man be subject to a strongerfeeling of duty than that which pervaded him; and this feeling ofdutyinduced him to declare to himself that in reference to hisproperty he was bound to do that which was demanded of him by theestablished custom of his order. In this way he had become an unhappyman, troubled byconflicting feelings, and was now, as he wasapproaching the hour of his final departure, tormented by the thoughtthat he would leave his niece without sufficient provision for herwants.But the thing was done. The newwill was executed and tied in on thetop of the bundle which contained the other wills which he had made.Then, naturally enough, there came back upon him the idea, hardlyamounting to a hope, that something mighteven yet occur to setmatters right by a marriage between the cousins. Isabel had spokento him so strongly on the subject that he did not dare to repeat hisrequest. And yet, he thought, there was no good reason whythey twoshould not become man and wife. Henry, as far as he could learn, hadgiven up his bad courses. The man was not evil to the eye, a somewhatcold-looking man rather than otherwise, tall withwell-formedfeatures, with light hair and blue-grey eyes, not subject to bespoken of as being unlike a gentleman, if not noticeable as beinglike one. That inability of his to look one in the face when he wasspeaking hadnot struck the Squire forcibly as it had done Isabel. Hewould not have been agreeable to the Squire had there been no bondbetween them,--would still have been the reverse, as he had beenformerly, but for thatconnexion. But, as things were, there was roomfor an attempt at love; and if for an attempt at love on his part,why not also on Isabel's? But he did not dare to bid Isabel even totry to love this cousin.\"I think I wouldlike to have him down again soon,\" he said to hisniece.\"By all means. The more the tenants know him the better it will be. Ican go to Hereford at any time.\"\"Why should you run away from me?\"\"Not from you, UncleIndefer, but from him.\"\"And why from him?\"\"Because I don't love him.\"\"Must you always run away from the people you do not love?\"\"Yes, when the people, or person, is a man, and when the man has beentold that heought specially to love me.\"When she said this she looked into her uncle's face, smiling indeed,but still asking a serious question. He dared to make no answer, butby his face he told the truth. He had declared his"}
{"doc_id":"doc_36","qid":"","text":"Charlie's Angels Script at IMSDb.
SHREK Written by William Steig & TedElliott SHREK Once upon a time there was a lovely princess. But she had an enchantment upon her of a fearful sort whichcould only be broken by love's first kiss. She was locked away in a castle guarded by a terrible fire-breathing dragon. Many brave knights hadattempted to free her from this dreadful prison, but non prevailed. She waited in the dragon's keep in the highest room of the tallest tower for hertrue love and true love's first kiss. (laughs) Like that's ever gonna happen. What a load of - (toilet flush) Allstar - by Smashmouth begins to play.Shrek goes about his day. While in a nearby town, the villagers get together to go after the ogre. NIGHT - NEAR SHREK'SHOME MAN1 Think it's in there? MAN2 All right. Let's getit! MAN1 Whoa. Hold on. Do you know what that thing can do to you? MAN3 Yeah, it'llgrind your bones for it's bread. Shrek sneaks up behind them and laughs. SHREK Yes, well, actually, that would bea giant. Now, ogres, oh they're much worse. They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin. MEN No! SHREK They'll shave your liver. Squeeze the jelly from your eyes! Actually,it's quite good on toast. MAN1 Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya! (waves the torch at Shrek.) Shrekcalmly licks his fingers and extinguishes the torch. The men shrink back away from him. Shrek roars very loudly and long and his breath extinguishes all the remaining torches untilthe men are in the dark. SHREK This is the part where you run away. (The men scramble to get away. Helaughs.) And stay out! (looks down and picks up a piece of paper. Reads.) \"Wanted. Fairy tale creatures.\"(He sighs and throws the paper over hisshoulder.) THE NEXT DAY There is a line of fairy tale creatures. The head of the guard sits at a table paying people for bringing the fairy talecreatures to him. There are cages all around. Some of the people in line are Peter Pan, who is carrying Tinkerbell in a cage, Gipetto who's carrying Pinocchio, and a farmer who is carryingthe three little pigs. GUARD All right. This one's full. Take it away! Move it along. Come on! Get up! HEAD GUARD Next! GUARD (taking the witch's broom) Give methat! Your flying days are over. (breaks the broom in half) HEAD GUARD That's 20 pieces of silver for thewitch. Next! GUARD Get up! Come on! HEAD GUARD Twentypieces. LITTLE BEAR (crying) This cage is too small. DONKEY Please, don't turn me in. I'llnever be stubborn again. I can change. Please! Give me another chance! OLD WOMAN Oh, shut up. (jerks hisrope) DONKEY Oh! HEAD GUARD Next! What have yougot? GIPETTO This little wooden puppet. PINOCCHIO I'm not a puppet. I'm a real boy. (his nosegrows) HEAD GUARD Five shillings for the possessed toy. Take it away. PINOCCHIO Father, please! Don't let them do this! Help me! Gipetto takes the money and walks off. The old woman stepsup to the table. HEAD GUARD Next! What have you got? OLD WOMAN Well, I've got a talkingdonkey. HEAD GUARD Right. Well, that's good for ten shillings, if you can prove it. OLDWOMAN Oh, go ahead, little fella. Donkey just looks up at her. HEAD GUARD Well? OLDWOMAN Oh, oh, he's just...he's just a little nervous. He's really quite a chatterbox. Talk, you boneheaded dolt... HEADGUARD That's it. I've heard enough. Guards! OLD WOMAN No, no, he talks! He does.(pretends to be Donkey) I can talk. I love to talk. I'm the talkingest damn thing you ever saw. HEADGUARD Get her out of my sight. OLD WOMAN No, no! I swear! Oh! He can talk! The guards grab the old woman and she struggles withthem. One of her legs flies out and kicks Tinkerbell out of Peter Pan's hands, and her cage drops on Donkey's head. He gets sprinkled with fairy dust and he's able to fly. DONKEY Hey! I can fly! PETER PAN He can fly! 3 LITTLEPIGS He can fly! HEAD GUARD He can talk! DONKEY Ha, ha! That's right, fool! NowI'm a flying, talking donkey. You might have seen a housefly, maybe even a superfly but I bet you ain't never seen a donkey fly. Ha, ha! (the pixiedust begins to wear off) Uh-oh. (he begins to sink to the ground.) He hits the ground with a thud. HEADGUARD Seize him! (Donkey takes of running.) After him! GUARDS He's getting away! Get him! Thisway! Turn! Donkey keeps running and he eventually runs into Shrek. Literally. Shrek turns around to see who bumped into him. Donkey looks scared for amoment then he spots the guards coming up the path. He quickly hides behind Shrek. HEAD GUARD You there.Ogre! SHREK Aye? HEAD GUARD By the order of Lord Farquaad I am authorized to place youboth under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement facility. SHREK Oh, really? You and whatarmy? He looks behind the guard and the guard turns to look as well and we see that the other men have run off. The guard tucks tail and runs off. Shrek laughs and goes back about hisbusiness and begins walking back to his cottage. DONKEY Can I say something to you? Listen, you was really, really, reallysomethin' back here. Incredible! SHREK Are you talkin' to...(he turns around and Donkey is gone) me? (he turnsback around and Donkey is right in front of him.) Whoa! DONKEY Yes. I was talkin' to you. Can Itell you that you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they was all of that. Then you showed up, and bam! They was trippin'over themselves like babes in the woods. That really made me feel good to see that. SHREK Oh, that's great.Really. DONKEY Man, it's good to be free. SHREK Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedomwith your own friends? Hmm? DONKEY But, uh, I don't have any friends. And I'm not goin' out there by myself.Hey, wait a minute! I got a great idea! I'll stick with you. You're mean, green, fightin' machine. Together we'll scare the spit out of anybody thatcrosses us. Shrek turns and regards Donkey for a moment before roaring very loudly. DONKEY Oh, wow!That was really scary. If you don't mind me sayin', if that don't work, your breath certainly will get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic"}
{"doc_id":"doc_39","qid":"","text":"Big White, The Script at IMSDb.
THE BIG WHITE Written by CollinFriesen FADE IN: EXT. ROAD - WINTER DAY A police car, nothing more than a speck on the landscape, is intermittently visible through the blowing snow. INT. POLICE CAR -SAME A CORPORAL (20s), behind the wheel, with a bored DETECTIVE BOYLE (60s) at his side. CORPORAL So his hand is like, off, right. So he puts ona tourniquet, puts the hand in his pocket, walks five miles through the bush til he gets to the highway, where he passes out, on the road, right. Then this logging truck comesalong... DETECTIVE BOYLE (looking ahead) Hey. The Corporal looks forward. CAR'S POV: Through the windshield of a WOMAN (40s), dressed inher pajamas and a parka, skipping down the middle of the road. EXT. ROAD The police car pulls to a stop, just as the woman does a pirouette and falls over backwards. Detective Boyle andthe other Cop get out and walk over. CORPORAL (into his radio) Dispatch, this is unit 611, we need a first responsder-- DETECTIVE BOYLE Cancel that. The Woman kicks up a leg, wiggles her foot. DETECTIVE BOYLE (cont'd) I know where she belongs. Asthey lift her up...1 INT. INSIDE A TRASH DUMPSTER - LATE AFTERNOON 1 The dumpster lid opens on a bitterly cold, gray winter's day in an Alaskan city. A chunky, shiveringHAIR STYLIST with jet black bangs shakes out a box of conditioning samples. HAIR STYLIST (to someone O.S.) She says \"I haven't eaten all day,\" then,right there on the bus she pulls out this, like, salmon steak and I'm...2 INT. INSIDE A TRASH DUMPSTER - LATE AFTERNOON 2 The dumpster lid BANGS shut,reopens a beat later. A moment of calm until two garbage bags SLAM against the inside of the lid. It falls shut with a CLANG.3 EXT. TRASH DUMPSTER -NIGHT 3 The lid reopens. Night time now, as a street lamp BUZZES to life. A middle aged MAN in work clothes checks to make sure he's alone. He gently lowers thelid, opens it again a moment later, this time balancing a mini-bar fridge on his shoulder. He dumps the appliance into the bin and runs off.4 INT. INSIDE A TRASH DUMPSTER -NIGHT 4 The lid reopens. SIRENS off in the distance... MEN'S VOICES (O.S.) One, two, three... up. The lifeless body of a fair-sizedman comes CRASHING into the garbage. SIRENS closer. A man seen only in silhouette leans in to pull some garbage over the corpse. A second man looks in, then pulls the first manaway. MAN'S VOICE We'll get him later. C'mon. The lid drops.5 EXT. TRASH DUMPSTER - MORNING 5 Black. Thedumpster reopens. Morning now. A Korean-American TEENAGER wearing an apron and headphones sings along to an old KISS tune as he deposits two large orange garbagebags. TEENAGER \"...Get up, everybody's gonna move their feet, get down, everybody's gonna leave their seat...gonna lose your mind in...\" He shuts thelid with care. Black.6 EXT. CITY STREET - DAY 6 A cookie-cutter subdivision. Old pine trees poke through the snow cover that blankets theneighborhood. HOWARD (30s), a burly outdoors type, is trying to unload a new snowmobile from the back of his pickup. TED WATTERS (late 20s) half hidden under a heavy dress coat, walks down the street.He stops by Howard's driveway. TED Need a hand? HOWARD (turning) Yeah. Could ya grab me those two byeights? Ted walks up the driveway, grabs the wood slats, makes a ramp by leaning them against the rear bumper. HOWARD (cont'd) Thanks. Howard maneuvers thesnowmobile down the ramp, his back turned toward Ted -- who has taken out a small cam-corder and is taping Howard. HOWARD (cont'd) I tell ya, it may look fast but it sure ain'tlight. You the guy who just moved in to the Stevens old house? TED No. Name's Ted. HOWARD Hey Ted, I'mHoward. TED Hey Howard. What is that, an Arctic Cat? What do those go for?7 P.O.V. CAMCORDER VIEWFINDER 7 Howard finally has the snowmobile on the ground. He's breathing heavy as he pulls off his mitt to shakehands. HOWARD More than I could normally afford, I'll tell ya. (seeing the camera) Hey! What do you think you're you doing? As Ted and Howardcontinue to talk, we PULL BACK to reveal we are watching Ted's video playing on a VCR that is --8 INT. INSURANCE OFFICE / COMMON AREA - DAY 8 A group of officeWORKERS look on, very much impressed, as a stunned Howard stares at the camera. TED (O.S.) Howard, you seem like a reasonable kind of guy. Lets you and metalk. TIGHT ON: WATTERS at his nearby cubicle, typing frenetically on his computer. At first, he appears to be working, until we realize that on his computer screen pixilated Zombies die in silent anguishbeneath an unholy hail of bullets. A Miami Dolphins sticker is the sole cubicle decoration. As the tape finishes, a smattering of APPLAUSE from his colleagues. Ted gives a small wave over the cubiclewall. TED (cont'd) Thank you. Just happy to give something back to Liberty Capital... (to himself - bitter) After all they've done for me.9 INT.INSURANCE OFFICE / COMMON AREA - DAY 9 CAM (30s), Native-American Alaskan walks over. Ted immediately hits a key that turns the screen to aspread-sheet. CAM That was really cool. It was like... watching \"Cops\". TED He was pretty spry for a man with a herniateddisc. CAM You know, I don't want to bitch or anything, but you were supposed to take me along on that one. TED Couldn'tfind you. CAM I know you know this, but the sooner they think I can handle calls on my own, the sooner they'll kick you back downsouth. TED I've been hearing that for 13 months and six days, Cam. After a while, it gets a little old. (off Cam's look) Next time,okay. Good enough. Cam moves off. Back to the zombie blood bath. The phone RINGS. Ted picks up, his eyes never wavering from the gore intensive computer game. TED(cont'd) Claims, Ted Watters. Sure. A final key stroke separates one last zombie from its entrails.10 INT. INSURANCE OFFICE / BRANCH'S OFFICE - MOMENTSLATER 10 TIGHT ON: A MOUNTED SALMON We PULL BACK to see the walls lined with souvenirs of a life spent on the edge of the wilderness; citations from the Rotarians,pictures of sponsored hockey teams... We are -- FRANK BRANCH (50s), a mid-level management type sits across from PAUL BARNELL (40s), a mild-mannered everyman wrapped in a cheapsuit. Paul takes in the display. The two men sit in silence, smiling politely at one another. PAUL That's... quite the fish. Branch is about to answer when Ted enters witha slim file. BRANCH Paul Barnell, Ted Watters. Handshakes. Paul makes steady eye contact. Ted notices. BRANCH (cont'd) Mr. Barnellwants to talk to us about his brother's life insurance policy. Ted sits and flips open the file. TED Raymond, isn'tit? PAUL Yes, Raymond. You see, as I've already explained to Mr. Branch, he's been gone for five years now, and I thought it might be time to... moveon. TED By move on you mean...? BRANCH ...cash in Raymond's policy. Ted smiles tohimself. PAUL I just thought, well, it's pretty unlikely he's still alive. My Dad always wanted us to be able to look after each other if anything should everhappen. And to be frank, money's a little -- TED I understand Mr. Barnell, but here's the thing. With no actual body, under Alaskan statutes a personmust be missing for seven years before he or she can be legally declared dead and that's not withstanding an investigation period where concerned parties can take up to anotheryear to file interventions concerning the motion. So, even though your brother's status is undetermined at this point, there's really very little we can do for you. Ted flips the fileshut. Case closed. Branch, not entirely happy with Ted's demeanor, forces a smile. BRANCH Of course we are extremely sorry for your loss. Branch looks at Ted. Tedturns to Paul. TED Oh, absolutely.11 EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT 11 The city skyline rises in the distance as heat vents belchsteam against the rapidly setting sun. But that's miles away. Here on the outskirts is a rapidly failing five store strip mall; a \"Porn-a-copia\" XXX Video store, hair stylist, small engine repair shop, fish andchips joint and the \"Barnell Great Escapes\" travel agency. We might notice a big trash dumpster in the corner. Paul's car, a Ford Taurus, pulls onto the parking pad.12 INT. PAUL'S CAR -"}
{"doc_id":"doc_40","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Wheels of Chance, by H. G. WellsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Wheels of Chance A Bicycling IdyllAuthor: H. G. WellsRelease Date: April, 1998 [Etext#1264]Posting Date: November 10, 2009 [EBook #1264]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHEELS OF CHANCE ***Produced by Dianne BeanTHE WHEELS OF CHANCE; ABICYCLING IDYLLBy H.G. Wells1896I. THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER IN THE STORYIf you (presuming you are of the sex that does such things)--if you hadgone into the Drapery Emporium--which is really onlymagnificent forshop--of Messrs. Antrobus & Co.--a perfectly fictitious \"Co.,\" bythe bye--of Putney, on the 14th of August, 1895, had turned to theright-hand side, where the blocks of white linen and piles of blanketsriseup to the rail from which the pink and blue prints depend, youmight have been served by the central figure of this story that is nowbeginning. He would have come forward, bowing and swaying, he would haveextendedtwo hands with largish knuckles and enormous cuffs over thecounter, and he would have asked you, protruding a pointed chin andwithout the slightest anticipation of pleasure in his manner, what hemight have thepleasure of showing you. Under certain circumstances--as,for instance, hats, baby linen, gloves, silks, lace, or curtains--hewould simply have bowed politely, and with a drooping expression, andmaking a kind of circularsweep, invited you to \"step this way,\"and so led you beyond his ken; but under other and happierconditions,--huckaback, blankets, dimity, cretonne, linen, calico, arecases in point,--he would have requested you totake a seat, emphasisingthe hospitality by leaning over the counter and gripping a chair back ina spasmodic manner, and so proceeded to obtain, unfold, and exhibithis goods for your consideration. Under which happiercircumstances youmight--if of an observing turn of mind and not too much of a housewifeto be inhuman--have given the central figure of this story less cursoryattention.Now if you had noticed anything about him, itwould have been chiefly tonotice how little he was noticeable. He wore the black morning coat, theblack tie, and the speckled grey nether parts (descending into shadowand mystery below the counter) of his craft. Hewas of a pallidcomplexion, hair of a kind of dirty fairness, greyish eyes, and askimpy, immature moustache under his peaked indeterminate nose.His features were all small, but none ill-shaped. A rosette ofpinsdecorated the lappel of his coat. His remarks, you would observe, wereentirely what people used to call cliche, formulae not organic to theoccasion, but stereotyped ages ago and learnt years since by heart.\"This,madam,\" he would say, \"is selling very well.\" \"We are doing avery good article at four three a yard.\" \"We could show you somethingbetter, of course.\" \"No trouble, madam, I assure you.\" Such were thesimple countersof his intercourse. So, I say, he would have presentedhimself to your superficial observation. He would have danced aboutbehind the counter, have neatly refolded the goods he had shown you,have put on one sidethose you selected, extracted a little book witha carbon leaf and a tinfoil sheet from a fixture, made you out a littlebill in that weak flourishing hand peculiar to drapers, and have bawled\"Sayn!\" Then a puffy littleshop-walker would have come into view,looked at the bill for a second, very hard (showing you a partingdown the middle of his head meanwhile), have scribbled a still moreflourishing J. M. all over the document, haveasked you if therewas nothing more, have stood by you--supposing that you were payingcash--until the central figure of this story reappeared with the change.One glance more at him, and the puffy little shop-walkerwould have beenbowing you out, with fountains of civilities at work all about you. Andso the interview would have terminated.But real literature, as distinguished from anecdote, does not concernitself with superficialappearances alone. Literature is revelation.Modern literature is indecorous revelation. It is the duty of theearnest author to tell you what you would not have seen--even at thecost of some blushes. And the thing thatyou would not have seen aboutthis young man, and the thing of the greatest moment to this story, thething that must be told if the book is to be written, was--let us faceit bravely--the Remarkable Condition of thisYoung Man's Legs.Let us approach the business with dispassionate explicitness. Let usassume something of the scientific spirit, the hard, almost professorialtone of the conscientious realist. Let us treat this young man'slegs asa mere diagram, and indicate the points of interest with the unemotionalprecision of a lecturer's pointer. And so to our revelation. On theinternal aspect of the right ankle of this young man you wouldhaveobserved, ladies and gentlemen, a contusion and an abrasion; on theinternal aspect of the left ankle a contusion also; on its externalaspect a large yellowish bruise. On his left shin there were twobruises, one aleaden yellow graduating here and there into purple,and another, obviously of more recent date, of a blotchy red--tumid andthreatening. Proceeding up the left leg in a spiral manner, an unnaturalhardness and rednesswould have been discovered on the upper aspect ofthe calf, and above the knee and on the inner side, an extraordinaryexpanse of bruised surface, a kind of closely stippled shading ofcontused points. The right legwould be found to be bruised in amarvellous manner all about and under the knee, and particularly on theinterior aspect of the knee. So far we may proceed with our details.Fired by these discoveries, an investigatormight perhaps have pursuedhis inquiries further--to bruises on the shoulders, elbows, and even thefinger joints, of the central figure of our story. He had indeed beenbumped and battered at an extraordinary number ofpoints. But enoughof realistic description is as good as a feast, and we have exhibitedenough for our purpose. Even in literature one must know where to drawthe line.Now the reader may be inclined to wonder how arespectable young shopmanshould have got his legs, and indeed himself generally, into such adreadful condition. One might fancy that he had been sitting with hisnether extremities in some complicated machinery, athreshing-machine,say, or one of those hay-making furies. But Sherlock Holmes (now happilydead) would have fancied nothing of the kind. He would have recognisedat once that the bruises on the internal aspect of theleft leg,considered in the light of the distribution of the other abrasions andcontusions, pointed unmistakably to the violent impact of the MountingBeginner upon the bicycling saddle, and that the ruinous state oftheright knee was equally eloquent of the concussions attendant on thatperson's hasty, frequently causeless, and invariably ill-conceiveddescents. One large bruise on the shin is even more characteristic ofthe 'prenticecyclist, for upon every one of them waits the jest of theunexpected treadle. You try at least to walk your machine in an easymanner, and whack!--you are rubbing your shin. So out of innocence weripen. Two bruises onthat place mark a certain want of aptitude inlearning, such as one might expect in a person unused to muscularexercise. Blisters on the hands are eloquent of the nervous clutchof the wavering rider. And so forth, untilSherlock is presentlyexplaining, by the help of the minor injuries, that the machine riddenis an old-fashioned affair with a fork instead of the diamond frame, acushioned tire, well worn on the hind wheel, and a grossweight all onof perhaps three-and-forty pounds.The revelation is made. Behind the decorous figure of the attentiveshopman that I had the honour of showing you at first, rises a visionof a nightly struggle, of two darkfigures and a machine in a darkroad,--the road, to be explicit, from Roehampton to Putney Hill,--andwith this vision is the sound of a heel spurning the gravel, a gaspingand grunting, a shouting of \"Steer, man, steer!\" awavering unsteadyflight, a spasmodic turning of the missile edifice of man and machine,and a collapse. Then you descry dimly through the dusk the centralfigure of this story sitting by the roadside and rubbing his legatsome new place, and his friend, sympathetic (but by no means depressed),repairing the displacement of the handle-bar.Thus even in a shop assistant does the warmth of manhood assert itself,and drive him againstall the conditions of his calling, against thecounsels of prudence and the restrictions of his means, to seek thewholesome delights of exertion and danger and pain. And our firstexamination of the draper reveals beneathhis draperies--the man! Towhich initial fact (among others) we shall come again in the end.IIBut enough of these revelations. The central figure of our story is nowgoing along behind the counter, a draper indeed, withyour purchases inhis arms, to the warehouse, where the various articles you have selectedwill presently be packed by the senior porter and sent to you. Returningthence to his particular place, he lays hands on a foldedpiece ofgingham, and gripping the corners of the folds in his hands, begins tostraighten them punctiliously. Near him is an apprentice, apprenticed tothe same high calling of draper's assistant, a ruddy, red-haired ladina very short tailless black coat and a very high collar, who isdeliberately unfolding and refolding some patterns of cretonne. Bytwenty-one he too may hope to be a full-blown assistant, even as Mr.Hoopdriver. Printsdepend from the brass rails above them, behind arefixtures full of white packages containing, as inscriptions testify,Lino, Hd Bk, and Mull. You might imagine to see them that the two wereboth intent upon nothing butsmoothness of textile and rectitude offold. But to tell the truth, neither is thinking of the mechanicalduties in hand. The assistant is dreaming of the delicious time--onlyfour hours off now--when he will resume the taleof his bruises andabrasions. The apprentice is nearer the long long thoughts of boyhood,and his imagination rides cap-a-pie through the chambers of his brain,seeking some knightly quest in honour of that Fair Lady,the last butone of the girl apprentices to the dress-making upstairs. He inclinesrather to street fighting against revolutionaries--because then shecould see him from the window.Jerking them back to the present comesthe puffy little shop-walker,with a paper in his hand. The apprentice becomes extremely active. Theshopwalker eyes the goods in hand. \"Hoopdriver,\" he says, \"how's thatline of g-sez-x ginghams?\"Hoopdriver returnsfrom an imaginary triumph over the uncertainties ofdismounting. \"They're going fairly well, sir. But the larger checks seemhanging.\"The shop-walker brings up parallel to the counter. \"Any particular timewhen you wantyour holidays?\" he asks.Hoopdriver pulls at his skimpy moustache. \"No--Don't want them too late,sir, of course.\"\"How about this day week?\"Hoopdriver becomes rigidly meditative, gripping the corners of theginghamfolds in his hands. His face is eloquent of conflictingconsiderations. Can he learn it in a week? That's the question.Otherwise Briggs will get next week, and he will have to wait untilSeptember--when the weather is oftenuncertain. He is naturally of asanguine disposition. All drapers have to be, or else they could neverhave the faith they show in the beauty, washability, and unfadingexcellence of the goods they sell you. The decisioncomes at last.\"That'll do me very well,\" said Mr. Hoopdriver, terminating the pause.The die is cast.The shop-walker makes a note of it and goes on to Briggs in the\"dresses,\" the next in the strict scale of precedence ofthe DraperyEmporium. Mr. Hoopdriver in alternating spasms anon straightens hisgingham and anon becomes meditative, with his tongue in the hollow ofhis decaying wisdom tooth.IIIAt supper that night, holiday talkheld undisputed sway. Mr. Pritchardspoke of \"Scotland,\" Miss Isaacs clamoured of Bettws-y-Coed, Mr. Judsondisplayed a proprietary interest in the Norfolk Broads. \"I?\" saidHoopdriver when the question came to him.\"Why, cycling, of course.\"\"You're never going to ride that dreadful machine of yours, day afterday?\" said Miss Howe of the Costume Department.\"I am,\" said Hoopdriver as calmly as possible, pulling at theinsufficientmoustache. \"I'm going for a Cycling Tour. Along the SouthCoast.\"\"Well, all I hope, Mr. Hoopdriver, is that you'll get fine weather,\"said Miss Howe. \"And not come any nasty croppers.\"\"And done forget some tinscher ofarnica in yer bag,\" said the juniorapprentice in the very high collar. (He had witnessed one of the lessonsat the top of Putney Hill.)\"You stow it,\" said Mr. Hoopdriver, looking hard and threateninglyat the juniorapprentice, and suddenly adding in a tone of bittercontempt,--\"Jampot.\"\"I'm getting fairly safe upon it now,\" he told Miss Howe.At other times Hoopdriver might have further resented the satiricalefforts of theapprentice, but his mind was too full of the projectedTour to admit any petty delicacies of dignity. He left the supper tableearly, so that he might put in a good hour at the desperate gymnasticsup the Roehampton Roadbefore it would be time to come back for lockingup. When the gas was turned off for the night he was sitting on the edgeof his bed, rubbing arnica into his knee--a new and very big place--andstudying a Road Map ofthe South of England. Briggs of the \"dresses,\"who shared the room with him, was sitting up in bed and trying to smokein the dark. Briggs had never been on a cycle in his life, but he feltHoopdriver's inexperience andoffered such advice as occurred to him.\"Have the machine thoroughly well oiled,\" said Briggs, \"carry one ortwo lemons with you, don't tear yourself to death the first day, and situpright. Never lose control of themachine, and always sound the bell onevery possible opportunity. You mind those things, and nothing very muchcan't happen to you, Hoopdriver--you take my word.\"He would lapse into silence for a minute, saveperhaps for a curse or soat his pipe, and then break out with an entirely different set of tips.\"Avoid running over dogs, Hoopdriver, whatever you do. It's one ofthe worst things you can do to run over a dog. Never letthe machinebuckle--there was a man killed only the other day through his wheelbuckling--don't scorch, don't ride on the foot-path, keep your own sideof the road, and if you see a tramline, go round the corner atonce,and hurry off into the next county--and always light up before dark. Youmind just a few little things like that, Hoopdriver, and nothing muchcan't happen to you--you take my word.\"\"Right you are!\" saidHoopdriver. \"Good-night, old man.\"\"Good-night,\" said Briggs, and there was silence for a space, savefor the succulent respiration of the pipe. Hoopdriver rode off intoDreamland on his machine, and was scarcely therebefore he was pitchedback into the world of sense again.--Something--what was it?\"Never oil the steering. It's fatal,\" a voice that came from rounda fitful glow of light, was saying. \"And clean the chain dailywithblack-lead. You mind just a few little things like that--\"\"Lord LOVE us!\" said Hoopdriver, and pulled the bedclothes over hisears.IV. THE RIDING FORTH OF MR. HOOPDRIVEROnly those who toil six long days out ofthe seven, and all the yearround, save for one brief glorious fortnight or ten days in the summertime, know the exquisite sensations of the First Holiday Morning. Allthe dreary, uninteresting routine drops from yousuddenly, your chainsfall about your feet. All at once you are Lord of yourself, Lord ofevery hour in the long, vacant day; you may go where you please, callnone Sir or Madame, have a lappel free of pins, doff your blackmorningcoat, and wear the colour of your heart, and be a Man. You grudge sleep,you grudge eating, and drinking even, their intrusion on those exquisitemoments. There will be no more rising before breakfast incasualold clothing, to go dusting and getting ready in a cheerless,shutter-darkened, wrappered-up shop, no more imperious cries of,\"Forward, Hoopdriver,\" no more hasty meals, and weary attendance onfitful oldwomen, for ten blessed days. The first morning is by farthe most glorious, for you hold your whole fortune in your hands.Thereafter, every night, comes a pang, a spectre, that will not beexorcised--the premonition ofthe return. The shadow of going back, ofbeing put in the cage again for another twelve months, lies blacker andblacker across the sunlight. But on the first morning of the ten theholiday has no past, and ten days seemsas good as infinity.And it was fine, full of a promise of glorious days, a deep blue skywith dazzling piles of white cloud here and there, as though celestialhaymakers had been piling the swathes of last night's clouds intococksfor a coming cartage. There were thrushes in the Richmond Road, and alark on Putney Heath. The freshness of dew was in the air; dew orthe relics of an overnight shower glittered on the leaves andgrass.Hoopdriver had breakfasted early by Mrs. Gunn's complaisance. He wheeledhis machine up Putney Hill, and his heart sang within him. Halfway up, adissipated-looking black cat rushed home across the road andvanishedunder a gate. All the big red-brick houses behind the variegated shrubsand trees had their blinds down still, and he would not have changedplaces with a soul in any one of them for a hundred pounds.He hadon his new brown cycling suit--a handsome Norfolk jacket thingfor 30/(sp.)--and his legs--those martyr legs--were more than consoledby thick chequered stockings, \"thin in the foot, thick in the leg,\" forall they hadendured. A neat packet of American cloth behind the saddlecontained his change of raiment, and the bell and the handle-bar and thehubs and lamp, albeit a trifle freckled by wear, glittered blindinglyin the risingsunlight. And at the top of the hill, after onlyone unsuccessful attempt, which, somehow, terminated on the green,Hoopdriver mounted, and with a stately and cautious restraint in hispace, and a dignified curvature ofpath, began his great Cycling Touralong the Southern Coast.There is only one phrase to describe his course at this stage, and thatis--voluptuous curves. He did not ride fast, he did not ride straight,an exacting criticmight say he did not ride well--but he rodegenerously, opulently, using the whole road and even nibbling at thefootpath. The excitement never flagged. So far he had never passed orbeen passed by anything, but as yetthe day was young and the road wasclear. He doubted his steering so much that, for the present, he hadresolved to dismount at the approach of anything else upon wheels. Theshadows of the trees lay very long andblue across the road, the morningsunlight was like amber fire.At the cross-roads at the top of West Hill, where the cattle troughstands, he turned towards Kingston and set himself to scale the littlebit of ascent. An earlyheath-keeper, in his velveteen jacket, marvelledat his efforts. And while he yet struggled, the head of a carter roseover the brow.At the sight of him Mr. Hoopdriver, according to his previousdetermination, resolved todismount. He tightened the brake, and themachine stopped dead. He was trying to think what he did with his rightleg whilst getting off. He gripped the handles and released the brake,standing on the left pedal andwaving his right foot in the air.Then--these things take so long in the telling--he found the machine wasfalling over to the right. While he was deciding upon a plan of action,gravitation appears to have been busy. Hewas still irresolute when hefound the machine on the ground, himself kneeling upon it, and a vaguefeeling in his mind that again Providence had dealt harshly with hisshin. This happened when he was just level with theheathkeeper. The manin the approaching cart stood up to see the ruins better.\"THAT ain't the way to get off,\" said the heathkeeper.Mr. Hoopdriver picked up the machine. The handle was twisted askew againHe saidsomething under his breath. He would have to unscrew the beastlything.\"THAT ain't the way to get off,\" repeated the heathkeeper, after asilence.\"_I_ know that,\" said Mr. Hoopdriver, testily, determined to overlookthenew specimen on his shin at any cost. He unbuckled the wallet behindthe saddle, to get out a screw hammer.\"If you know it ain't the way to get off--whaddyer do it for?\" said theheath-keeper, in a tone of friendlycontroversy.Mr. Hoopdriver got out his screw hammer and went to the handle. He wasannoyed. \"That's my business, I suppose,\" he said, fumbling with thescrew. The unusual exertion had made his hands shakefrightfully.The heath-keeper became meditative, and twisted his stick in hishands behind his back. \"You've broken yer 'andle, ain't yer?\" hesaid presently. Just then the screw hammer slipped off the nut. Mr.Hoopdriver"}
{"doc_id":"doc_41","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Variable Man, by Philip K. DickThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Variable ManAuthor: Philip K. DickIllustrator: Alex EbelRelease Date: April 27, 2010 [EBook #32154][Lastupdated: May 4, 2011]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VARIABLE MAN ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction September 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication wasrenewed.[Illustration]THE VARIABLE MANBY PHILIP K. DICKILLUSTRATED BY EBEL He fixed things--clocks, refrigerators, vidsenders and destinies. But he had no business in the future, where the calculators couldnot handle him. He was Earth's only hope--and its sure failure!Security Commissioner Reinhart rapidly climbed the front steps andentered the Council building. Council guards stepped quickly aside andhe entered thefamiliar place of great whirring machines. His thinface rapt, eyes alight with emotion, Reinhart gazed intently up at thecentral SRB computer, studying its reading.\"Straight gain for the last quarter,\" observed Kaplan,the laborganizer. He grinned proudly, as if personally responsible. \"Not bad,Commissioner.\"\"We're catching up to them,\" Reinhart retorted. \"But too damn slowly.We must finally go over--and soon.\"Kaplan was in atalkative mood. \"We design new offensive weapons, theycounter with improved defenses. And nothing is actually made!Continual improvement, but neither we nor Centaurus can stop designinglong enough to stabilizefor production.\"\"It will end,\" Reinhart stated coldly, \"as soon as Terra turns out aweapon for which Centaurus can build no defense.\"\"Every weapon has a defense. Design and discord. Immediateobsolescence. Nothinglasts long enough to--\"\"What we count on is the _lag_,\" Reinhart broke in, annoyed. His hardgray eyes bored into the lab organizer and Kaplan slunk back. \"Thetime lag between our offensive design and their counterdevelopment.The lag varies.\" He waved impatiently toward the massed banks of SRBmachines. \"As you well know.\"At this moment, 9:30 AM, May 7, 2136, the statistical ratio on the SRBmachines stood at 21-17 on theCentauran side of the ledger. All factsconsidered, the odds favored a successful repulsion by ProximaCentaurus of a Terran military attack. The ratio was based on thetotal information known to the SRB machines, on agestalt of the vastflow of data that poured in endlessly from all sectors of the Sol andCentaurus systems.21-17 on the Centauran side. But a month ago it had been 24-18 in theenemy's favor. Things were improving,slowly but steadily. Centaurus,older and less virile than Terra, was unable to match Terra's rate oftechnocratic advance. Terra was pulling ahead.\"If we went to war now,\" Reinhart said thoughtfully, \"we wouldlose.We're not far enough along to risk an overt attack.\" A harsh, ruthlessglow twisted across his handsome features, distorting them into astern mask. \"But the odds are moving in our favor. Our offensivedesigns aregradually gaining on their defenses.\"\"Let's hope the war comes soon,\" Kaplan agreed. \"We're all on edge.This damn waiting....\"The war would come soon. Reinhart knew it intuitively. The air wasfull of tension, the_elan_. He left the SRB rooms and hurried downthe corridor to his own elaborately guarded office in the Securitywing. It wouldn't be long. He could practically feel the hot breath ofdestiny on his neck--for him apleasant feeling. His thin lips set ina humorless smile, showing an even line of white teeth against histanned skin. It made him feel good, all right. He'd been working at ita long time.First contact, a hundred yearsearlier, had ignited instant conflictbetween Proxima Centauran outposts and exploring Terran raiders. Flashfights, sudden eruptions of fire and energy beams.And then the long, dreary years of inaction between enemieswherecontact required years of travel, even at nearly the speed of light.The two systems were evenly matched. Screen against screen. Warshipagainst power station. The Centauran Empire surrounded Terra, an ironringthat couldn't be broken, rusty and corroded as it was. Radicalnew weapons had to be conceived, if Terra was to break out.Through the windows of his office, Reinhart could see endlessbuildings and streets, Terranshurrying back and forth. Bright specksthat were commute ships, little eggs that carried businessmen andwhite-collar workers around. The huge transport tubes that shot massesof workmen to factories and labor campsfrom their housing units. Allthese people, waiting to break out. Waiting for the day.Reinhart snapped on his vidscreen, the confidential channel. \"Give meMilitary Designs,\" he orderedsharply. * * * * *He sat tense, his wiry body taut, as the vidscreen warmed into life.Abruptly he was facing the hulking image of Peter Sherikov, directorof the vast network of labs under the UralMountains.Sherikov's great bearded features hardened as he recognized Reinhart.His bushy black eyebrows pulled up in a sullen line. \"What do youwant? You know I'm busy. We have too much work to do, as itis.Without being bothered by--politicians.\"\"I'm dropping over your way,\" Reinhart answered lazily. He adjustedthe cuff of his immaculate gray cloak. \"I want a full description ofyour work and whatever progress you'vemade.\"\"You'll find a regular departmental report plate filed in the usualway, around your office someplace. If you'll refer to that you'll knowexactly what we--\"\"I'm not interested in that. I want to _see_ what you'redoing. And Iexpect you to be prepared to describe your work fully. I'll be thereshortly. Half an hour.\" * * * * *Reinhart cut the circuit. Sherikov's heavy features dwindled andfaded. Reinhartrelaxed, letting his breath out. Too bad he had towork with Sherikov. He had never liked the man. The big Polishscientist was an individualist, refusing to integrate himself withsociety. Independent, atomistic in outlook.He held concepts of theindividual as an end, diametrically contrary to the accepted organicstate Weltansicht.But Sherikov was the leading research scientist, in charge of theMilitary Designs Department. And on Designsthe whole future of Terradepended. Victory over Centaurus--or more waiting, bottled up in theSol System, surrounded by a rotting, hostile Empire, now sinking intoruin and decay, yet still strong.Reinhart got quickly tohis feet and left the office. He hurried downthe hall and out of the Council building.A few minutes later he was heading across the mid-morning sky in hishighspeed cruiser, toward the Asiatic land-mass, the vastUralmountain range. Toward the Military Designs labs.Sherikov met him at the entrance. \"Look here, Reinhart. Don't thinkyou're going to order me around. I'm not going to--\"\"Take it easy.\" Reinhart fell into step besidethe bigger man. Theypassed through the check and into the auxiliary labs. \"No immediatecoercion will be exerted over you or your staff. You're free tocontinue your work as you see fit--for the present. Let's getthisstraight. My concern is to integrate your work with our total socialneeds. As long as your work is sufficiently productive--\"Reinhart stopped in his tracks.\"Pretty, isn't he?\" Sherikov said ironically.\"What the hell isit?\"Icarus, we call him. Remember the Greek myth? The legend of Icarus.Icarus flew.... This Icarus is going to fly, one of these days.\"Sherikov shrugged. \"You can examine him, if you want. I suppose thisis what youcame here to see.\"Reinhart advanced slowly. \"This is the weapon you've been working on?\"\"How does he look?\"Rising up in the center of the chamber was a squat metal cylinder, agreat ugly cone of dark gray.Technicians circled around it, wiring upthe exposed relay banks. Reinhart caught a glimpse of endless tubesand filaments, a maze of wires and terminals and parts criss-crossingeach other, layer on layer.\"What is it?\"Reinhart perched on the edge of a workbench, leaning hisbig shoulders against the wall. \"An idea of Jamison Hedge--the sameman who developed our instantaneous interstellar vidcasts forty yearsago. He was trying tofind a method of faster than light travel whenhe was killed, destroyed along with most of his work. After that ftlresearch was abandoned. It looked as if there were no future in it.\"\"Wasn't it shown that nothing couldtravel faster than light?\"\"The interstellar vidcasts do! No, Hedge developed a valid ftl drive.He managed to propel an object at fifty times the speed of light. Butas the object gained speed, its length began to diminishand its massincreased. This was in line with familiar twentieth-century conceptsof mass-energy transformation. We conjectured that as Hedge's objectgained velocity it would continue to lose length and gain massuntilits length became nil and its mass infinite. Nobody can imagine suchan object.\"\"Go on.\"\"But what actually occurred is this. Hedge's object continued to loselength and gain mass until it reached the theoretical limitofvelocity, the speed of light. At that point the object, still gainingspeed, simply ceased to exist. Having no length, it ceased to occupyspace. It disappeared. However, the object had not been _destroyed_.It continuedon its way, gaining momentum each moment, moving in anarc across the galaxy, away from the Sol system. Hedge's objectentered some other realm of being, beyond our powers of conception.The next phase ofHedge's experiment consisted in a search for someway to slow the ftl object down, back to a sub-ftl speed, hence backinto our universe. This counterprinciple was eventually worked out.\"\"With what result?\"\"The deathof Hedge and destruction of most of his equipment. Hisexperimental object, in re-entering the space-time universe, came intobeing in space already occupied by matter. Possessing an incrediblemass, just below infinitylevel, Hedge's object exploded in a titaniccataclysm. It was obvious that no space travel was possible with sucha drive. Virtually all space contains _some_ matter. To re-enter spacewould bring automatic destruction.Hedge had found his ftl drive andhis counterprinciple, but no one before this has been able to put themto any use.\"Reinhart walked over toward the great metal cylinder. Sherikov jumpeddown and followed him. \"I don'tget it,\" Reinhart said. \"You said theprinciple is no good for space travel.\"\"That's right.\"\"What's this for, then? If the ship explodes as soon as it returns toour universe--\"\"This is not a ship.\" Sherikov grinned slyly. \"Icarusis the firstpractical application of Hedge's principles. Icarus is a bomb.\"\"So this is our weapon,\" Reinhart said. \"A bomb. An immense bomb.\"\"A bomb, moving at a velocity greater than light. A bomb which willnot exist inour universe. The Centaurans won't be able to detect orstop it. How could they? As soon as it passes the speed of light itwill cease to exist--beyond all detection.\"\"But--\"\"Icarus will be launched outside the lab, on thesurface. He willalign himself with Proxima Centaurus, gaining speed rapidly. By thetime he reaches his destination he will be traveling at ftl-100.Icarus will be brought back to this universe within Centaurus itself.Theexplosion should destroy the star and wash away most of itsplanets--including their central hub-planet, Armun. There is no waythey can halt Icarus, once he has been launched. No defense ispossible. Nothing can stophim. It is a real fact.\"\"When will he be ready?\"Sherikov's eyes flickered. \"Soon.\"\"Exactly how soon?\"The big Pole hesitated. \"As a matter of fact, there's only one thingholding us back.\"Sherikov led Reinhart around to theother side of the lab. He pushed alab guard out of the way.\"See this?\" He tapped a round globe, open at one end, the size of agrapefruit. \"This is holding us up.\"\"What is it?\"\"The central control turret. This thing bringsIcarus back to sub-ftlflight at the correct moment. It must be absolutely accurate. Icaruswill be within the star only a matter of a microsecond. If the turretdoes not function exactly, Icarus will pass out the other sideandshoot beyond the Centauran system.\"\"How near completed is this turret?\"Sherikov hedged uncertainly, spreading out his big hands. \"Who cansay? It must be wired with infinitely minuteequipment--microscopegrapples and wires invisible to the naked eye.\"\"Can you name any completion date?\"Sherikov reached into his coat and brought out a manila folder. \"I'vedrawn up the data for the SRB machines,giving a date of completion.You can go ahead and feed it. I entered ten days as the maximumperiod. The machines can work from that.\"Reinhart accepted the folder cautiously. \"You're sure about the date?I'm notconvinced I can trust you, Sherikov.\"Sherikov's features darkened. \"You'll have to take a chance,Commissioner. I don't trust you any more than you trust me. I know howmuch you'd like an excuse to get me out of hereand one of yourpuppets in.\"Reinhart studied the huge scientist thoughtfully. Sherikov was goingto be a hard nut to crack. Designs was responsible to Security, notthe Council. Sherikov was losing ground--but he wasstill a potentialdanger. Stubborn, individualistic, refusing to subordinate his welfareto the general good.\"All right.\" Reinhart put the folder slowly away in his coat. \"I'llfeed it. But you better be able to come through.There can't be anyslip-ups. Too much hangs on the next few days.\"\"If the odds change in our favor are you going to give themobilization order?\"\"Yes,\" Reinhart stated. \"I'll give the order the moment I see theoddschange.\" * * * * *Standing in front of the machines, Reinhart waited nervously for theresults. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was warm, apleasant May afternoon. Outside thebuilding the daily life of theplanet went on as usual.As usual? Not exactly. The feeling was in the air, an expandingexcitement growing every day. Terra had waited a long time. The attackon Proxima Centaurus had tocome--and the sooner the better. Theancient Centauran Empire hemmed in Terra, bottled the human race up inits one system. A vast, suffocating net draped across the heavens,cutting Terra off from the brightdiamonds beyond.... And it had toend.The SRB machines whirred, the visible combination disappearing. For atime no ratio showed. Reinhart tensed, his body rigid. He waited.The new ratio appeared.Reinhart gasped.7-6. Toward Terra!Within five minutes the emergency mobilization alert had been flashedto all Government departments. The Council and President Duffe hadbeen called to immediate session. Everything washappening fast.But there was no doubt. 7-6. In Terra's favor. Reinhart hurriedfrantically to get his papers in order, in time for the Councilsession.At histo-research the message plate was quickly pulled fromtheconfidential slot and rushed across the central lab to the chiefofficial.\"Look at this!\" Fredman dropped the plate on his superior's desk.\"Look at it!\"Harper picked up the plate, scanning it rapidly. \"Sounds like therealthing. I didn't think we'd live to see it.\"Fredman left the room, hurrying down the hall. He entered the timebubble office. \"Where's the bubble?\" he demanded, looking around.One of the technicians looked slowly up.\"Back about two hundredyears. We're coming up with interesting data on the War of 1914.According to material the bubble has already brought up--\"\"Cut it. We're through with routine work. Get the bubble back tothepresent. From now on all equipment has to be free for Military work.\"\"But--the bubble is regulated automatically.\"\"You can bring it back manually.\"\"It's risky.\" The technician hedged. \"If the emergency requires it,Isuppose we could take a chance and cut the automatic.\"\"The emergency requires _everything_,\" Fredman said feelingly.\"But the odds might change back,\" Margaret Duffe, President of theCouncil, said nervously. \"Anyminute they can revert.\"\"This is our chance!\" Reinhart snapped, his temper rising. \"What thehell's the matter with you? We've waited years for this.\"The Council buzzed with excitement. Margaret Duffehesitateduncertainly, her blue eyes clouded with worry. \"I realize theopportunity is here. At least, statistically. But the new odds havejust appeared. How do we know they'll last? They stand on the basis ofa singleweapon.\"\"You're wrong. You don't grasp the situation.\" Reinhart held himselfin check with great effort. \"Sherikov's weapon tipped the ratio in ourfavor. But the odds have been moving in our direction for months. Itwasonly a question of time. The new balance was inevitable, sooner orlater. It's not just Sherikov. He's only one factor in this. It's allnine planets of the Sol System--not a single man.\"One of the Councilmen stood up. \"ThePresident must be aware theentire planet is eager to end this waiting. All our activities for thepast eighty years have been directed toward--\"Reinhart moved close to the slender President of the Council. \"If youdon'tapprove the war, there probably will be mass rioting. Publicreaction will be strong. Damn strong. And you know it.\"Margaret Duffe shot him a cold glance. \"You sent out the emergencyorder to force my hand. You werefully aware of what you were doing.You knew once the order was out there'd be no stopping things.\"A murmur rushed through the Council, gaining volume. \"We have toapprove the war!... We're committed!... It's toolate to turn back!\"Shouts, angry voices, insistent waves of sound lapped around MargaretDuffe. \"I'm as much for the war as anybody,\" she said sharply. \"I'monly urging moderation. An inter-system war is a big thing.We'regoing to war because a machine says we have a statistical chance ofwinning.\"\"There's no use starting the war unless we can win it,\" Reinhart said.\"The SRB machines tell us whether we can win.\"\"They tell us our_chance_ of winning. They don't guarantee anything.\"\"What more can we ask, beside a good chance of winning?\"Margaret Duffe clamped her jaw together tightly. \"All right. I hearall the clamor. I won't stand in the wayof Council approval. The votecan go ahead.\" Her cold, alert eyes appraised Reinhart. \"Especiallysince the emergency order has already been sent out to all Governmentdepartments.\"\"Good.\" Reinhart stepped away withrelief. \"Then it's settled. We canfinally go ahead with full mobilization.\"Mobilization proceeded rapidly. The next forty-eight hours were alivewith activity.Reinhart attended a policy-level Military briefing in theCouncilrooms, conducted by Fleet Commander Carleton.\"You can see our strategy,\" Carleton said. He traced a diagram on theblackboard with a wave of his hand. \"Sherikov states it'll take eightmore days to completethe ftl bomb. During that time the fleet we havenear the Centauran system will take up positions. As the bomb goes offthe fleet will begin operations against the remaining Centauran ships.Many will no doubt survivethe blast, but with Armun gone we should beable to handle them.\"Reinhart took Commander Carleton's place. \"I can report on theeconomic situation. Every factory on Terra is converted to armsproduction. With Armunout of the way we should be able to promotemass insurrection among the Centauran colonies. An inter-system Empireis hard to maintain, even with ships that approach light speed. Localwar-lords should pop up all overthe place. We want to have weaponsavailable for them and ships starting _now_ to reach them in time.Eventually we hope to provide a unifying principle around which thecolonies can all collect. Our interest is moreeconomic thanpolitical. They can have any kind of government they want, as long asthey act as supply areas for us. As our eight system planets act now.\"Carleton resumed his report. \"Once the Centauran fleet hasbeenscattered we can begin the crucial stage of the war. The landing ofmen and supplies from the ships we have waiting in all key areasthroughout the Centauran system. In this stage--\"Reinhart moved away. It washard to believe only two days had passedsince the mobilization order had been sent out. The whole system wasalive, functioning with feverish activity. Countless problems werebeing solved--but much remained.Heentered the lift and ascended to the SRB room, curious to see ifthere had been any change in the machines' reading. He found it thesame. So far so good. Did the Centaurans know about Icarus? No doubt;but therewasn't anything they could do about it. At least, not ineight days.Kaplan came over to Reinhart, sorting a new batch of data that hadcome in. The lab organizer searched through his data. \"An amusing itemcame in. Itmight interest you.\" He handed a message plate toReinhart.It was from histo-research: May 9, 2136 This is to report that in bringing the research time bubble up to the present the manual return"}
{"doc_id":"doc_42","qid":"","text":"My Week with Marilyn Script at IMSDb.
MY WEEK WITH MARILYN Written by AdrianHodges 1 EXT. TILBURY DOCKS. DAY. 1 Over a DARK SCREEN we see the caption: \"This is a fairy story, an episode out of time and space, which nevertheless was real\" - ColinClark. Then, FADE UP ON: Newsreel footage of SIR LAURENCE OLIVIER AND VIVIEN LEIGH arriving back at Tilbury Docks to be greeted by an excited crowd of fans. As they progress downthe gangplank and stop to sign autographs we HEAR an excited commentary OVER: COMMENTATOR \"Returning to England are Britain's acting royalty Sir LaurenceOlivier and Lady Olivier, better known as stunning Gone With The Wind star Vivien Leigh. Sir Laurence has added a new string to his bow with the announcement that he is todirect and star in a screen version of Terence Rattigan's stage play The Sleeping Prince with none other than Hollywood siren Marilyn Monroe. When the world's greatest actorromances the most famous woman alive, we can be sure that sparks will fly. Now, now Lady Olivier, don't worry - any romance is strictly for the camera!\" As OLIVIER andVIVIEN smile for the photographers, we - CUT TO: 2 EXT. SALTWOOD CASTLE. DAY. 2 It is 1956. Saltwood Castle, the family home of theClark family, looms over the landscape, framed by the setting sun. It is majestic, an Englishman's dream of a home, complete with turrets and even a moat. There is a feeling of timelessbeauty and stability about the scene, something profoundly English. We are a very long way from Hollywood. CUT TO: 3 EXT. SALTWOOD CASTLE.GARDEN. DAY. 3 COLIN CLARK, 23, hurries across the lawn carrying a bag, he is casually dressed, boyish and handsome. He heads towards a beautiful, ramshackle building and through theancient oak doors. MY WEEK WITH MARILYN 2. 3A INT. SALTWOOD CASTLE. LIBRARY STAIRS. DAY. 3A COLIN bounds up the stairs into theLibrary. 3B INT. SALTWOOD CASTLE. LIBRARY. DAY. 3B As COLIN enters, he sees SIR KENNETH CLARK, standing in front of a painting on an easel by the Italian Baroquepainter, Annibale Carracci. He has two STUDENTS with him, a man and a woman in their early 20s, and is in mid-description of the painting. KENNETH ... and thisis one of Carracci's earlier works and one is able to see the emergence of his now famous Baroque style, which is clearly rooted in the tradition of high renaissance andantiquity... COLIN pauses briefly and hurries towards them. Throughout the scene there is a sense of his urgency and desire to go. The whole thing should be played at breakneck pace. KENNETHbeams affectionately. KENNETH Colin! Come in. Have you met James and Anna? Two very brilliant pupils. He has the avuncular air of a benign academic,affable and a little eccentric. COLIN smiles hurriedly at the students, no time to waste. COLIN I'm leaving for London now,Pa. KENNETH Ah, yes. Well, bon chance, dear boy... He puts a friendly arm around COLIN's shoulder and starts to walk him back to thedoor. KENNETH I can always get you a research position at the V&A when you've grown up a bit and got this film idea out of your system... COLIN's smilesbut before he can reply JANE CLARK whirls into the room, a ball of energy, talking nineteen to the dozen. JANE Kenneth, you might have told Cook we were another twofor dinner. What is everyone supposed to eat? Cabbage soup? Oh, Colin, darling, there you are... MY WEEK WITH MARILYN 2A. She looks wonderful in agood quality but elderly dress, eccentrically combined with gardening attire, her mind on a dozen things at once. COLIN I'm off now,Mama. JANE Off? COLIN My job interview, remember..? But she is already continuing her journey. COLIN smiles hurriedly at KENNETH,who gives him an affectionate wave as COLIN dashes after his mother. She leaves the Library. CUT TO: 3C INT. SALTWOOD CASTLE. GARDEN. DAY.3C JANE strides across the lawn with COLIN rushing to catch up. JANE Can't you stay for dinner? There's nothing to eat but I'm sure the conversation will becharming. COLIN I don't want to be late in the morning. As COLIN hurries after JANE he is nearly run down by an elderly GARDENER with a lawn mower, and hasto take lightning evasive action. JANE doesn't notice. JANE I'm sure they won't mind. You'll be a famous film director in no time. I know your father's put in aword. COLIN I wish he hadn't done that. I can manage on my own. She stops so abruptly he nearly slams into her. JANE looks around the garden with afrown. JANE I have to watch Jenkins like a hawk. One more of his murderous prunings and we'll lose the tea roses for ever. And she's off again, with COLINstill following. He can't help smiling at the madness of it all. CUT TO: MY WEEK WITH MARILYN 2B. 4 EXT. SALTWOOD CASTLE. DRIVEWAY.DAY. 4 The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the castle. COLIN and JANE emerge from the front door, COLIN pauses in the driveway and dumps his bag in the back of his oldbut racy MG Sports car. Only now does JANE really turn her attention fully to him for the first time. JANE Now go and have a lovely time, darling. We're alwayshere when you're ready to talk your future. COLIN wants to protest but before he can get the words out JANE sees a YOUNG GARDENER walking at the side of the house with a wheel barrow.Her face lights up. JANE Mullins! Be an angel - find Cook and ask her how many pork chops we need for tonight. Then bring the car round. I must get tothe village before the shop shuts... She dashes away after the GARDENER, turning back as an afterthought to blow a kiss at COLIN as she goes. COLIN smiles, then pauses for a moment tolook at the house. We can sense both his affection for it but more pressingly his need to get away. He gets in, puts the car in gear and the Bristol pulls out of the drive and across the moat.In the last rays of the sun, the countryside looks magical, but Colin only has eyes for the road ahead. MY WEEK WITH MARILYN 3. 5 EXT. LONDON STREETSMONTAGE. EVENING 5 CUT TO CREDITS OVER A MONTAGE OF SCENES OF LONDON IN THE 1950s FROM COLIN'S POINT OF VIEW. AS HE MAKES HIS WAY INTO THE CITY WESEE THE STATUE OF EROS AGAINST THE LIGHTS OF PICCADILLY CIRCUS, CROWDS MILLING AROUND TRAFALGAR SQUARE, YOUNG PEOPLE SPILLING OUT OF CLUBSAND COFFEE BARS IN SOHO, UNTIL, WE FADE TO: 6 EXT. PICCADILLY STREETS. DAY. 6 A sharp contrast with the hazy beauty of the countryside. Itis early morning in the heart of London's West End. The streets hum with activity as OFFICE WORKERS in hats and raincoats stream from the tube stations. COLIN pushes his way through the earlymorning crowds in Piccadilly. This is his patch; he is very much at home here, negotiating the busy streets with ease. As he passes by the upmarket Burlington Arcade a TAILOR pausesin measuring a suit for a client to give him a familiar wave. COLIN waves back. CUT TO: 7 EXT. 144 PICCADILLY. LONDON. DAY.7 Checking his watch he runs the last few yards then stops outside the imposing facade of 144 Piccadilly. A plaque outside the door announces: LAURENCE OLIVIERPRODUCTIONS. Colin fingers his carefully knotted tie to make sure everything is correctly in place, then goes to the door and rings the bell. CUT TO: MY WEEKWITH MARILYN 4. 8 INT. 144 PICCADILLY. RECEPTION AREA. DAY. 8 The reception area is luxurious - deep pile carpets and plush sofas. VANESSA, the beautifulsecretary, sits behind her imposing desk, gazing doubtfully at COLIN. VANESSA You're not in Mr. Perceval's diary. COLIN Larry told meto come. She pauses dubiously, then reaches for her telephone. We hear a man answer in an office down the hall, his voice carryingirritably. PERCEVAL (OFF) Yes? VANESSA I have a Mr. Colin Clark here. He says Sir Laurence sent him. Shestresses the proper name in disapproval of Colin's familiarity. PERCEVAL (OFF) Oh, God... not another one of Vivien's prettyboys. VANESSA looks at COLIN with amusement. His smile falters as he feels himself coming down to earth with a bump. CUT TO: 9 INT. 144PICCADILLY. HUGH PERCEVAL'S OFFICE. DAY. 9 HUGH PERCEVAL (40s) is Laurence Olivier's production executive. He is tall and gloomy, with black-rimmed spectacles and thinning dark hair.He looks at COLIN grimly as he stuffs his pipe with tobacco. PERCEVAL Well, what do you want? COLIN A job on your Marilyn"}
{"doc_id":"doc_43","qid":"","text":"Hitchcock Script at IMSDb.
HITCHCOCK Written by John J.McLaughlin Based on the book Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho by Stephen Rebello FADEIN: EXT. MARSHLAND - DUSK We move across smoldering embers and reach a small grass fire. Dirt is thrown over the flames before a BOOTfinishes stamping them out. SUPER: PLAINFIELD, WISCONSIN, 1944 HENRY GEIN (O.S.) We're just lucky it didn't reachthe trees... We move up two dirty pairs of overalls to find HENRY and ED GEIN sweating away as they continue shovelling out the flames. Both are in their forties and wearingflannel shirts. Ed wears an Elmer Fudd hat. HENRY GEIN (CONT'D) There's gonna be a lot more jobs at that factory by Milwaukee come June. I could put in aword. ED GEIN You can't leave us, Henry. She needs both OF US-- HENRY GEIN Canyou stop being a momma's boy for one second? Henry looks at Ed and he shrinks back. HENRY GEIN (CONT'D) I'm not trying to hurt you butJesus you got to live your own life someday. That woman can take care of her own goddamn -- CLANG. Henry is hit by the shovel in the back of the head and goesdown. Ed steps slowly forward and puts down the shovel. The look on his face isn't anger. It's BLANK. He pulls at the flaps of his Elmer Fudd hat... then calmly walksaway. The camera pans until we discover : ALFRED HITCHCOCK in his trademark black Mariani suit. He's been watchingthe whole thing, standing in the smouldering field only a few feet away, holding a rose-patterned cup and saucer oftea... (CONTINUED) CONTINUED: He takes a sip and turns to address the camera-- ALFRED HITCHCOCK Good evening. He places his cup daintily back on the saucer. ALFRED HITCHCOCK(CONT'D) Brother has been slaying brother since Cain and Abel, yet even I did not see that coming. I was as blind-sided as poor Henry over there. He glancesback over at the murder scene. ALFRED HITCHCOCK (CONT'D) Apparently the authorities shared my naivete and believed the young man's tale that Henry fell andhit his head on a stone and died of smoke asphyxiation. He shrugs: `Who would've thought it?' ALFRED HITCHCOCK (CONT'D) Of course if theyhadn't believed him, Ed never would have had the opportunity to commit the heinous acts for which he became famous... and we wouldn't have our little movie. Instead, we'd havemore nice, safe, predictable ones like these... CUT TO: A RAPID MONTAGE OF CLIPS from variousTechnicolor Films of the era: Peyton Place, with Lana Turner and Betty Field. Pillow Talk with Doris Day and Rock Hudson. A Summer Place with Sandra Dee -- EXT. MARSHLAND- AS BEFORE ALFRED HITCHCOCK Mere Technicolor baubles. He shudders with distaste. As if on cue the sky THUNDERS LOUDLYabove him. He looks up and from behind the tree stump produces an umbrella. ALFRED HITCHCOCK (CONT'D) Ah. A bit of doom and gloom. Now, that's more likeit. (CONTINUED) CONTINUED: As Hitch opens his brolly and the RAINstarts to bucket down WE -- CUT TO : EXT. MARQUEE OF UNITED ARTISTS THEATER, CHICAGO -NIGHT Equally torrential rain lit up by rotating KLEIG LIGHTS as they scan a MARQUEE: \"WORLD PREMIERE! NORTH BY NORTHWEST. DIRECTED BY ALFRED HITCHCOCK.\"JOSTLING CROWDS run the length of the block. SUPER: JULY 8, 1959. A PUDGY HAND discreetly squeezes a tiny, delicateone. ALFRED AND ALMA HITCHCOCK Step out into a sea of FLASHBULBS. Hitch basks in the limelight while Alma, his razor-sharp, charming wife ofover 30 years stands in the background, uncomfortable with all the attention. Hitchcock's agent LEW WASSERMAN, 45, dynamic, charismatic, comes intoview. LEW WASSERMAN This thing is going to be gigantic. I wish I had twenty percent of the take. Lew hustles them through the throngof REPORTERS and PHOTOGRAPHERS under their BLACK UMBRELLAS. REPORTER ONE Does tonight's incredible reaction surprise you, Mr.Hitchcock? ALFRED HITCHCOCK No, when I was planning North by Northwest I could already hear the screams and laughter. (then, to aBEAUTIFUL BLONDE FAN) Any questions, my dear? The blonde fan, holding out her autograph book, shakes her head `no' andgiggles. ALFRED HITCHCOCK (CONT'D) Apity. (CONTINUED) CONTINUED: The reporters crackup. Alma manages a polite smile as Lew helps her into the limo, leaving Hitchcock alone for a moment to sign his autograph for the blond fan... REPORTERTWO Mr. Hitchcock, you've directed forty-six motion pictures. You host a hit TV show seen around the world. You're the most famous director in the history of the medium... butyou're sixty years old. Shouldn't you just quit while you're ahead? HOLDING ON HITCHCOCK motionless and quietly devastated as FLASHBULBSCRACKLE over his face. The whiteness transforms into... INT. THE HITCHCOCKS' BEL AIR HOME - BATHROOM - MORNING THE GLEAMING WHITE TILES ofa bathroom. We move past chrome fixtures that evoke those in Spellbound and Psycho and arrive at that same pudgy hand pouring CHATEAU CHEVAL BLANC '53 into a cut crystalglass. HITCHCOCK soaks in the tub. The champagne glass beside him, his corpulent frame is covered only by the London Timeshe's reading. Even in this deeply vulnerable state, he maintains the air of a haughty mischievous emperor. At the sound of a bedroom bureau being opened, Hitch's eyes shiftto the FULL-LENGTH MIRROR on the bathroom door. IN THE MIRROR We catch fleeting glimpses of Alma in a white half-slip and matching bra. She takesout some NYLONS and holds them up to the light. Hitchcock watches enthralled. He puts down his glass and shifts a little in the tub, causing the water to lap against thesides. BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS Alma pauses when she hears the small splashes. Neither upset nor amused she continues about her business, taking askirt from the drawer. (CONTINUED) CONTINUED: ALMA Muhammad had the eyes of peeping Toms gouged out with arrows. Hitchcock clears his throat, rattling his paper as if he'd been reading thewhole time. ALFRED HITCHCOCK Talking of arrows, did you read Mr. Weiler's review in the New York Times? Apparently, he found \"the climax\" to be-- and I quote -- \"overdrawn.\" ALMA I doubt whether Mr. Weiler has had a climax in years. Alma steps into her skirt as Hitchopens the London Times. ALFRED HITCHCOCK And how about this little grenade? (READING) North by Northwest reminds usof Hitchcock's earlier, more youthfully inventive spy thrillers.\" (BEAT) And just to drive the nail into the coffin, there's a handy accompanying guide to thenew masters of suspense. Hitchcock zeroes in on the photographs. They're all young. Thinner. And with hair. ALFRED HITCHCOCK (CONT'D) Whydo they keep looking for new masters of suspense when they still have the original? ALMA Don't be maudlin, you know how much it aggravatesme. He catches his reflection in the mirror again and sinks further down into the water to hide his protruding belly. Alma comes in, takes the newspapers from himand puts them on the side. ALMA (CONT'D) Stop reading them. You've been reading them for a week now. She puts down theTOILET SEAT and sits on it. (CONTINUED) CONTINUED: (2) ALFRED"}
{"doc_id":"doc_44","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Age of Innocence, by Edith WhartonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Age of InnocenceAuthor: Edith WhartonPosting Date: August 12, 2008 [EBook #541]Release Date:May, 1996Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AGE OF INNOCENCE ***Produced by Judith Boss and Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines.The Age of InnocencebyEdithWhartonJTABLE 6 18 1JTABLE 6 16 19Book II.On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson wassinging in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.Though there was already talk of the erection, inremote metropolitandistances \"above the Forties,\" of a new Opera House which shouldcompete in costliness and splendour with those of the great Europeancapitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassembleeverywinter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy.Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thuskeeping out the \"new people\" whom New York was beginning to dreadandyet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historicassociations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always soproblematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.It was Madame Nilsson'sfirst appearance that winter, and what thedaily press had already learned to describe as \"an exceptionallybrilliant audience\" had gathered to hear her, transported through theslippery, snowy streets in privatebroughams, in the spacious familylandau, or in the humbler but more convenient \"Brown coupe.\" To come tothe Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arrivingas in one's own carriage; anddeparture by the same means had theimmense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion todemocratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance inthe line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gincongested nose ofone's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It wasone of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to havediscovered that Americans want to get away fromamusement even morequickly than they want to get to it.When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box thecurtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason whythe young manshould not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven,alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over acigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases andfinial-topped chairs whichwas the only room in the house where Mrs.Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was ametropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was \"not thething\" to arrive early at the opera; and whatwas or was not \"thething\" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as theinscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of hisforefathers thousands of years ago.The second reason for his delaywas a personal one. He had dawdledover his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking overa pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than itsrealisation. This was especially the case whenthe pleasure was adelicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion themoment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in qualitythat--well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with theprimadonna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a moresignificant moment than just as she was singing: \"He loves me--heloves me not--HE LOVES ME!--\" and sprinkling the falling daisypetalswith notes as clear as dew.She sang, of course, \"M'ama!\" and not \"he loves me,\" since anunalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that theGerman text of French operas sung by Swedishartists should betranslated into Italian for the clearer understanding ofEnglish-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archeras all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as thedutyof using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blueenamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without aflower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.\"M'ama ... non m'ama ...\" the primadonna sang, and \"M'ama!\", with afinal burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy toher lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance ofthe little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainlytrying, in a tight purplevelvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artlessvictim.Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box,turned his eyes from the stage and scanned theopposite side of thehouse. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott,whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her toattend the Opera, but who was always represented onfashionable nightsby some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, thefront of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. LovellMingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawnbehindthese brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstaticallyfixed on the stagelovers. As Madame Nilsson's \"M'ama!\" thrilled outabove the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking duringtheDaisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her browto the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of herbreast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with asinglegardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet oflilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw herwhite-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath ofsatisfied vanity and his eyesreturned to the stage.No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to bevery beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with theOpera houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground,to the footlights,was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distancesymmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formedthe base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded withlarge pinkand red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses,and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by femaleparishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneaththerose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branchflowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-offprodigies.In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in whitecashmereslashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a bluegirdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of hermuslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul'simpassioned wooing, andaffected a guileless incomprehension of hisdesigns whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated theground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely fromthe right wing.\"The darling!\" thoughtNewland Archer, his glance flitting back to theyoung girl with the lilies-of-the-valley. \"She doesn't even guess whatit's all about.\" And he contemplated her absorbed young face with athrill of possessorship in whichpride in his own masculine initiationwas mingled with a tender reverence for her abysmal purity. \"We'llread Faust together ... by the Italian lakes ...\" he thought, somewhathazily confusing the scene of his projectedhoney-moon with themasterpieces of literature which it would be his manly privilege toreveal to his bride. It was only that afternoon that May Welland hadlet him guess that she \"cared\" (New York's consecrated phraseof maidenavowal), and already his imagination, leaping ahead of the engagementring, the betrothal kiss and the march from Lohengrin, pictured her athis side in some scene of old European witchery.He did not in theleast wish the future Mrs. Newland Archer to be asimpleton. He meant her (thanks to his enlightening companionship) todevelop a social tact and readiness of wit enabling her to hold her ownwith the most popularmarried women of the \"younger set,\" in which itwas the recognised custom to attract masculine homage while playfullydiscouraging it. If he had probed to the bottom of his vanity (as hesometimes nearly did) he wouldhave found there the wish that his wifeshould be as worldly-wise and as eager to please as the married ladywhose charms had held his fancy through two mildly agitated years;without, of course, any hint of the frailtywhich had so nearly marredthat unhappy being's life, and had disarranged his own plans for awhole winter.How this miracle of fire and ice was to be created, and to sustainitself in a harsh world, he had never taken thetime to think out; buthe was content to hold his view without analysing it, since he knew itwas that of all the carefully-brushed, white-waistcoated,button-hole-flowered gentlemen who succeeded each other in theclubbox, exchanged friendly greetings with him, and turned theiropera-glasses critically on the circle of ladies who were the productof the system. In matters intellectual and artistic Newland Archerfelt himself distinctlythe superior of these chosen specimens of oldNew York gentility; he had probably read more, thought more, and evenseen a good deal more of the world, than any other man of the number.Singly they betrayed theirinferiority; but grouped together theyrepresented \"New York,\" and the habit of masculine solidarity made himaccept their doctrine on all the issues called moral. He instinctivelyfelt that in this respect it would betroublesome--and also rather badform--to strike out for himself.\"Well--upon my soul!\" exclaimed Lawrence Lefferts, turning hisopera-glass abruptly away from the stage. Lawrence Lefferts was, onthe whole, theforemost authority on \"form\" in New York. He hadprobably devoted more time than any one else to the study of thisintricate and fascinating question; but study alone could not accountfor his complete and easycompetence. One had only to look at him,from the slant of his bald forehead and the curve of his beautiful fairmoustache to the long patent-leather feet at the other end of his leanand elegant person, to feel that theknowledge of \"form\" must becongenital in any one who knew how to wear such good clothes socarelessly and carry such height with so much lounging grace. As ayoung admirer had once said of him: \"If anybody cantell a fellow justwhen to wear a black tie with evening clothes and when not to, it'sLarry Lefferts.\" And on the question of pumps versus patent-leather\"Oxfords\" his authority had never been disputed.\"My God!\" he said;and silently handed his glass to old SillertonJackson.Newland Archer, following Lefferts's glance, saw with surprise that hisexclamation had been occasioned by the entry of a new figure into oldMrs. Mingott's box. It wasthat of a slim young woman, a little lesstall than May Welland, with brown hair growing in close curls about hertemples and held in place by a narrow band of diamonds. The suggestionof this headdress, which gave herwhat was then called a \"Josephinelook,\" was carried out in the cut of the dark blue velvet gown rathertheatrically caught up under her bosom by a girdle with a largeold-fashioned clasp. The wearer of this unusualdress, who seemedquite unconscious of the attention it was attracting, stood a moment inthe centre of the box, discussing with Mrs. Welland the propriety oftaking the latter's place in the front right-hand corner; thensheyielded with a slight smile, and seated herself in line with Mrs.Welland's sister-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, who was installed in theopposite corner.Mr. Sillerton Jackson had returned the opera-glass toLawrenceLefferts. The whole of the club turned instinctively, waiting to hearwhat the old man had to say; for old Mr. Jackson was as great anauthority on \"family\" as Lawrence Lefferts was on \"form.\" He knew alltheramifications of New York's cousinships; and could not onlyelucidate such complicated questions as that of the connection betweenthe Mingotts (through the Thorleys) with the Dallases of SouthCarolina, and that of therelationship of the elder branch ofPhiladelphia Thorleys to the Albany Chiverses (on no account to beconfused with the Manson Chiverses of University Place), but could alsoenumerate the leading characteristics of eachfamily: as, for instance,the fabulous stinginess of the younger lines of Leffertses (the LongIsland ones); or the fatal tendency of the Rushworths to make foolishmatches; or the insanity recurring in every secondgeneration of theAlbany Chiverses, with whom their New York cousins had always refusedto intermarry--with the disastrous exception of poor Medora Manson,who, as everybody knew ... but then her mother was aRushworth.In addition to this forest of family trees, Mr. Sillerton Jacksoncarried between his narrow hollow temples, and under his soft thatch ofsilver hair, a register of most of the scandals and mysteries thathadsmouldered under the unruffled surface of New York society within thelast fifty years. So far indeed did his information extend, and soacutely retentive was his memory, that he was supposed to be the onlyman whocould have told you who Julius Beaufort, the banker, reallywas, and what had become of handsome Bob Spicer, old Mrs. MansonMingott's father, who had disappeared so mysteriously (with a large sumof trust money)less than a year after his marriage, on the very daythat a beautiful Spanish dancer who had been delighting throngedaudiences in the old Opera-house on the Battery had taken ship forCuba. But these mysteries, andmany others, were closely locked in Mr.Jackson's breast; for not only did his keen sense of honour forbid hisrepeating anything privately imparted, but he was fully aware that hisreputation for discretion increased hisopportunities of finding outwhat he wanted to know.The club box, therefore, waited in visible suspense while Mr. SillertonJackson handed back Lawrence Lefferts's opera-glass. For a moment hesilently scrutinised theattentive group out of his filmy blue eyesoverhung by old veined lids; then he gave his moustache a thoughtfultwist, and said simply: \"I didn't think the Mingotts would have triedit on.\"II.Newland Archer, during thisbrief episode, had been thrown into astrange state of embarrassment.It was annoying that the box which was thus attracting the undividedattention of masculine New York should be that in which his betrothedwasseated between her mother and aunt; and for a moment he could notidentify the lady in the Empire dress, nor imagine why her presencecreated such excitement among the initiated. Then light dawned on him,andwith it came a momentary rush of indignation. No, indeed; no onewould have thought the Mingotts would have tried it on!But they had; they undoubtedly had; for the low-toned comments behindhim left no doubt inArcher's mind that the young woman was MayWelland's cousin, the cousin always referred to in the family as \"poorEllen Olenska.\" Archer knew that she had suddenly arrived from Europea day or two previously; hehad even heard from Miss Welland (notdisapprovingly) that she had been to see poor Ellen, who was stayingwith old Mrs. Mingott. Archer entirely approved of family solidarity,and one of the qualities he most admiredin the Mingotts was theirresolute championship of the few black sheep that their blameless stockhad produced. There was nothing mean or ungenerous in the young man'sheart, and he was glad that his future wifeshould not be restrained byfalse prudery from being kind (in private) to her unhappy cousin; butto receive Countess Olenska in the family circle was a different thingfrom producing her in public, at the Opera of allplaces, and in thevery box with the young girl whose engagement to him, Newland Archer,was to be announced within a few weeks. No, he felt as old SillertonJackson felt; he did not think the Mingotts would have triedit on!He knew, of course, that whatever man dared (within Fifth Avenue'slimits) that old Mrs. Manson Mingott, the Matriarch of the line, woulddare. He had always admired the high and mighty old lady, who, inspite ofhaving been only Catherine Spicer of Staten Island, with afather mysteriously discredited, and neither money nor position enoughto make people forget it, had allied herself with the head of thewealthy Mingott line,married two of her daughters to \"foreigners\" (anItalian marquis and an English banker), and put the crowning touch toher audacities by building a large house of pale cream-coloured stone(when brown sandstoneseemed as much the only wear as a frock-coat inthe afternoon) in an inaccessible wilderness near the Central Park.Old Mrs. Mingott's foreign daughters had become a legend. They nevercame back to see their mother,and the latter being, like many personsof active mind and dominating will, sedentary and corpulent in herhabit, had philosophically remained at home. But the cream-colouredhouse (supposed to be modelled on theprivate hotels of the Parisianaristocracy) was there as a visible proof of her moral courage; and shethroned in it, among pre-Revolutionary furniture and souvenirs of theTuileries of Louis Napoleon (where she had shonein her middle age), asplacidly as if there were nothing peculiar in living aboveThirty-fourth Street, or in having French windows that opened likedoors instead of sashes that pushed up.Every one (including Mr. SillertonJackson) was agreed that oldCatherine had never had beauty--a gift which, in the eyes of New York,justified every success, and excused a certain number of failings.Unkind people said that, like her Imperial namesake,she had won herway to success by strength of will and hardness of heart, and a kind ofhaughty effrontery that was somehow justified by the extreme decencyand dignity of her private life. Mr. Manson Mingott had diedwhen shewas only twenty-eight, and had \"tied up\" the money with an additionalcaution born of the general distrust of the Spicers; but his bold youngwidow went her way fearlessly, mingled freely in foreignsociety,married her daughters in heaven knew what corrupt and fashionablecircles, hobnobbed with Dukes and Ambassadors, associated familiarlywith Papists, entertained Opera singers, and was the intimate friendofMme. Taglioni; and all the while (as Sillerton Jackson was the first toproclaim) there had never been a breath on her reputation; the onlyrespect, he always added, in which she differed from the earlierCatherine.Mrs.Manson Mingott had long since succeeded in untying her husband'sfortune, and had lived in affluence for half a century; but memories ofher early straits had made her excessively thrifty, and though, whenshe bought adress or a piece of furniture, she took care that itshould be of the best, she could not bring herself to spend much on thetransient pleasures of the table. Therefore, for totally differentreasons, her food was as poor asMrs. Archer's, and her wines didnothing to redeem it. Her relatives considered that the penury of hertable discredited the Mingott name, which had always been associatedwith good living; but people continued to cometo her in spite of the\"made dishes\" and flat champagne, and in reply to the remonstrances ofher son Lovell (who tried to retrieve the family credit by having thebest chef in New York) she used to saylaughingly: \"What's the use oftwo good cooks in one family, now that I've married the girls and can'teat sauces?\"Newland Archer, as he mused on these things, had once more turned hiseyes toward the Mingottbox. He saw that Mrs. Welland and hersister-in-law were facing their semicircle of critics with theMingottian APLOMB which old Catherine had inculcated in all her tribe,and that only May Welland betrayed, by aheightened colour (perhaps dueto the knowledge that he was watching her) a sense of the gravity ofthe situation. As for the cause of the commotion, she sat gracefullyin her corner of the box, her eyes fixed on thestage, and revealing,as she leaned forward, a little more shoulder and bosom than New Yorkwas accustomed to seeing, at least in ladies who had reasons forwishing to pass unnoticed.Few things seemed to NewlandArcher more awful than an offence against\"Taste,\" that far-off divinity of whom \"Form\" was the mere visiblerepresentative and vicegerent. Madame Olenska's pale and serious faceappealed to his fancy as suited to theoccasion and to her unhappysituation; but the way her dress (which had no tucker) sloped away fromher thin shoulders shocked and troubled him. He hated to think of MayWelland's being exposed to the influence of ayoung woman so carelessof the dictates of Taste.\"After all,\" he heard one of the younger men begin behind him(everybody talked through the Mephistopheles-and-Martha scenes), \"afterall, just WHAT"}
{"doc_id":"doc_45","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's The Playboy of the Western World, by J. M. SyngeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Playboy of the Western WorldAuthor: J. M. SyngePosting Date: August 27, 2008 [EBook#1240]Release Date: March, 1998Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD ***Produced by Judy BossTHE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLDACOMEDY IN THREE ACTSBy J. M. SyngePREFACEIn writing THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD, as in my other plays, Ihave used one or two words only that I have not heard among the countrypeople of Ireland, orspoken in my own nursery before I could read thenewspapers. A certain number of the phrases I employ I have heard alsofrom herds and fishermen along the coast from Kerry to Mayo, orfrom beggar-women andballad-singers nearer Dublin; and I am glad toacknowledge how much I owe to the folk imagination of these fine people.Anyone who has lived in real intimacy with the Irish peasantry willknow that the wildest sayingsand ideas in this play are tame indeed,compared with the fancies one may hear in any little hillside cabin inGeesala, or Carraroe, or Dingle Bay. All art is a collaboration; andthere is little doubt that in the happy ages ofliterature, strikingand beautiful phrases were as ready to the story-teller's or theplaywright's hand, as the rich cloaks and dresses of his time. It isprobable that when the Elizabethan dramatist took his ink-horn andsatdown to his work he used many phrases that he had just heard, as he satat dinner, from his mother or his children. In Ireland, those of us whoknow the people have the same privilege. When I was writing \"TheShadowof the Glen,\" some years ago, I got more aid than any learning couldhave given me from a chink in the floor of the old Wicklow house whereI was staying, that let me hear what was being said by the servantgirlsin the kitchen. This matter, I think, is of importance, for in countrieswhere the imagination of the people, and the language they use, is richand living, it is possible for a writer to be rich and copious in hiswords, andat the same time to give the reality, which is the rootof all poetry, in a comprehensive and natural form. In the modernliterature of towns, however, richness is found only in sonnets, orprose poems, or in one or twoelaborate books that are far away from theprofound and common interests of life. One has, on one side, Mallarmeand Huysmans producing this literature; and on the other, Ibsen and Zoladealing with the reality of lifein joyless and pallid words. On thestage one must have reality, and one must have joy; and that is why theintellectual modern drama has failed, and people have grown sick of thefalse joy of the musical comedy, thathas been given them in place ofthe rich joy found only in what is superb and wild in reality. In a goodplay every speech should be as fully flavoured as a nut or apple, andsuch speeches cannot be written by anyone whoworks among people whohave shut their lips on poetry. In Ireland, for a few years more, wehave a popular imagination that is fiery and magnificent, and tender; sothat those of us who wish to write start with a chancethat is not givento writers in places where the springtime of the local life has beenforgotten, and the harvest is a memory only, and the straw has beenturned into bricks. J. M. S. January 21st,1907.PERSONS CHRISTOPHER MAHON. OLD MAHON, his father, a squatter. MICHAEL JAMES FLAHERTY (called MICHAEL JAMES), a publican. MARGARET FLAHERTY (called PEGEEN MIKE), hisdaughter. WIDOW QUIN, a woman of about thirty. SHAWN KEOUGH, her cousin, a young farmer. PHILLY CULLEN AND JIMMY FARRELL, small farmers. SARA TANSEY, SUSAN BRADY, AND HONOR BLAKE,village girls. A BELLMAN. SOME PEASANTS.The action takes place near a village, on a wild coast of Mayo. Thefirst Act passes on an evening of autumn, the other two Acts on thefollowing day.THE PLAYBOY OF THEWESTERN WORLDACT I.SCENE: [Country public-house or shebeen, very rough and untidy. Thereis a sort of counter on the right with shelves, holding many bottles andjugs, just seen above it. Empty barrels stand nearthe counter. At back,a little to left of counter, there is a door into the open air, then,more to the left, there is a settle with shelves above it, with morejugs, and a table beneath a window. At the left there is a largeopenfire-place, with turf fire, and a small door into inner room. Pegeen, awild looking but fine girl, of about twenty, is writing at table. She isdressed in the usual peasant dress.]PEGEEN -- [slowly as she writes.] -- Sixyards of stuff for to make ayellow gown. A pair of lace boots with lengthy heels on them and brassyeyes. A hat is suited for a wedding-day. A fine tooth comb. To besent with three barrels of porter in Jimmy Farrell'screel cart on theevening of the coming Fair to Mister Michael James Flaherty. With thebest compliments of this season. Margaret Flaherty.SHAWN KEOGH -- [a fat and fair young man comes in as she signs, looksroundawkwardly, when he sees she is alone.] -- Where's himself?PEGEEN -- [without looking at him.] -- He's coming. (She directs theletter.) To Mister Sheamus Mulroy, Wine and Spirit Dealer, Castlebar.SHAWN --[uneasily.] -- I didn't see him on the road.PEGEEN. How would you see him (licks stamp and puts it on letter) and itdark night this half hour gone by?SHAWN -- [turning towards the door again.] -- I stood a whileoutsidewondering would I have a right to pass on or to walk in and see you,Pegeen Mike (comes to fire), and I could hear the cows breathing, andsighing in the stillness of the air, and not a step moving any placefromthis gate to the bridge.PEGEEN -- [putting letter in envelope.] -- It's above at the cross-roadshe is, meeting Philly Cullen; and a couple more are going along with himto Kate Cassidy's wake.SHAWN -- [looking at herblankly.] -- And he's going that length in thedark night?PEGEEN -- [impatiently.] He is surely, and leaving me lonesome on thescruff of the hill. (She gets up and puts envelope on dresser, thenwinds clock.) Isn't it longthe nights are now, Shawn Keogh, to beleaving a poor girl with her own self counting the hours to the dawn ofday?SHAWN -- [with awkward humour.] -- If it is, when we're wedded in ashort while you'll have no call tocomplain, for I've little will to bewalking off to wakes or weddings in the darkness of the night.PEGEEN -- [with rather scornful good humour.] -- You're making mightycertain, Shaneen, that I'll wed you now.SHAWN.Aren't we after making a good bargain, the way we're only waitingthese days on Father Reilly's dispensation from the bishops, or theCourt of Rome.PEGEEN -- [looking at him teasingly, washing up at dresser.] -- It'sawonder, Shaneen, the Holy Father'd be taking notice of the likes of you;for if I was him I wouldn't bother with this place where you'll meetnone but Red Linahan, has a squint in his eye, and Patcheen is lame inhis heel,or the mad Mulrannies were driven from California and theylost in their wits. We're a queer lot these times to go troubling theHoly Father on his sacred seat.SHAWN -- [scandalized.] If we are, we're as good this placeas another,maybe, and as good these times as we were for ever.PEGEEN -- [with scorn.] -- As good, is it? Where now will you meet thelike of Daneen Sullivan knocked the eye from a peeler, or Marcus Quin,God resthim, got six months for maiming ewes, and he a great warrant totell stories of holy Ireland till he'd have the old women sheddingdown tears about their feet. Where will you find the like of them, I'msaying?SHAWN --[timidly.] If you don't it's a good job, maybe; for (withpeculiar emphasis on the words) Father Reilly has small conceit to havethat kind walking around and talking to the girls.PEGEEN -- [impatiently, throwing waterfrom basin out of the door.] --Stop tormenting me with Father Reilly (imitating his voice) when I'masking only what way I'll pass these twelve hours of dark, and not takemy death with the fear. [Looking out ofdoor.]SHAWN -- [timidly.] Would I fetch you the widow Quin, maybe?PEGEEN. Is it the like of that murderer? You'll not, surely.SHAWN -- [going to her, soothingly.] -- Then I'm thinking himself willstop along with youwhen he sees you taking on, for it'll be a longnight-time with great darkness, and I'm after feeling a kind of fellowabove in the furzy ditch, groaning wicked like a maddening dog, the wayit's good cause you have,maybe, to be fearing now.PEGEEN -- [turning on him sharply.] -- What's that? Is it a man youseen?SHAWN -- [retreating.] I couldn't see him at all; but I heard himgroaning out, and breaking his heart. It should havebeen a young manfrom his words speaking.PEGEEN -- [going after him.] -- And you never went near to see was hehurted or what ailed him at all?SHAWN. I did not, Pegeen Mike. It was a dark, lonesome place tobehearing the like of him.PEGEEN. Well, you're a daring fellow, and if they find his corpsestretched above in the dews of dawn, what'll you say then to thepeelers, or the Justice of the Peace?SHAWN -- [thunderstruck.] Iwasn't thinking of that. For the love ofGod, Pegeen Mike, don't let on I was speaking of him. Don't tell yourfather and the men is coming above; for if they heard that story, they'dhave great blabbing this night at thewake.PEGEEN. I'll maybe tell them, and I'll maybe not.SHAWN. They are coming at the door, Will you whisht, I'm saying?PEGEEN. Whisht yourself.[She goes behind counter. Michael James, fat jovial publican, comesinfollowed by Philly Cullen, who is thin and mistrusting, and JimmyFarrell, who is fat and amorous, about forty-five.]MEN -- [together.] -- God bless you. The blessing of God on this place.PEGEEN. God bless youkindly.MICHAEL -- [to men who go to the counter.] -- Sit down now, and takeyour rest. (Crosses to Shawn at the fire.) And how is it you are, ShawnKeogh? Are you coming over the sands to Kate Cassidy'swake?SHAWN. I am not, Michael James. I'm going home the short cut to my bed.PEGEEN -- [speaking across the counter.] -- He's right too, and haveyou no shame, Michael James, to be quitting off for the whole night,andleaving myself lonesome in the shop?MICHAEL -- [good-humouredly.] Isn't it the same whether I go for thewhole night or a part only? and I'm thinking it's a queer daughter youare if you'd have me crossingbackward through the Stooks of the DeadWomen, with a drop taken.PEGEEN. If I am a queer daughter, it's a queer father'd be leaving melonesome these twelve hours of dark, and I piling the turf with the dogsbarking,and the calves mooing, and my own teeth rattling with the fear.JIMMY -- [flatteringly.] -- What is there to hurt you, and you a fine,hardy girl would knock the head of any two men in the place?PEGEEN -- [workingherself up.] -- Isn't there the harvest boys withtheir tongues red for drink, and the ten tinkers is camped in the eastglen, and the thousand militia -- bad cess to them! -- walking idlethrough the land. There's lots surelyto hurt me, and I won't stop alonein it, let himself do what he will.MICHAEL. If you're that afeard, let Shawn Keogh stop along with you.It's the will of God, I'm thinking, himself should be seeing to you now.[They allturn on Shawn.]SHAWN -- [in horrified confusion.] -- I would and welcome, MichaelJames, but I'm afeard of Father Reilly; and what at all would the HolyFather and the Cardinals of Rome be saying if they heard I didthe likeof that?MICHAEL -- [with contempt.] -- God help you! Can't you sit in by thehearth with the light lit and herself beyond in the room? You'll do thatsurely, for I've heard tell there's a queer fellow above, going madorgetting his death, maybe, in the gripe of the ditch, so she'd be saferthis night with a person here.SHAWN -- [with plaintive despair.] -- I'm afeard of Father Reilly, I'msaying. Let you not be tempting me, and we nearmarried itself.PHILLY -- [with cold contempt.] -- Lock him in the west room. He'll staythen and have no sin to be telling to the priest.MICHAEL -- [to Shawn, getting between him and the door.] -- Go up now.SHAWN --[at the top of his voice.] -- Don't stop me, Michael James. Letme out of the door, I'm saying, for the love of the Almighty God. Let meout (trying to dodge past him). Let me out of it, and may God grant youHisindulgence in the hour of need.MICHAEL -- [loudly.] Stop your noising, and sit down by the hearth.[Gives him a push and goes to counter laughing.]SHAWN -- [turning back, wringing his hands.] -- Oh, Father Reillyandthe saints of God, where will I hide myself to-day? Oh, St. Joseph andSt. Patrick and St. Brigid, and St. James, have mercy on me now! [Shawnturns round, sees door clear, and makes a rush for it.]MICHAEL --[catching him by the coattail.] -- You'd be going, is it?SHAWN -- [screaming.] Leave me go, Michael James, leave me go, you oldPagan, leave me go, or I'll get the curse of the priests on you, andof the scarlet-coatedbishops of the courts of Rome. [With a suddenmovement he pulls himself out of his coat, and disappears out of thedoor, leaving his coat in Michael's hands.]MICHAEL -- [turning round, and holding up coat.] -- Well,there's thecoat of a Christian man. Oh, there's sainted glory this day in thelonesome west; and by the will of God I've got you a decent man, Pegeen,you'll have no call to be spying after if you've a score of younggirls,maybe, weeding in your fields.PEGEEN [taking up the defence of her property.] -- What right have youto be making game of a poor fellow for minding the priest, when it'syour own the fault is, not paying a pennypot-boy to stand along withme and give me courage in the doing of my work? [She snaps the coat awayfrom him, and goes behind counter with it.]MICHAEL -- [taken aback.] -- Where would I get a pot-boy? Would youhaveme send the bell-man screaming in the streets of Castlebar?SHAWN -- [opening the door a chink and putting in his head, in a smallvoice.] -- Michael James!MICHAEL -- [imitating him.] -- What ails you?SHAWN.The queer dying fellow's beyond looking over the ditch. He's comeup, I'm thinking, stealing your hens. (Looks over his shoulder.) Godhelp me, he's following me now (he runs into room), and if he's heardwhat I said,he'll be having my life, and I going home lonesome in thedarkness of the night. [For a perceptible moment they watch the doorwith curiosity. Some one coughs outside. Then Christy Mahon, a slightyoung man, comes invery tired and frightened and dirty.]CHRISTY -- [in a small voice.] -- God save all here!MEN. God save you kindly.CHRISTY -- [going to the counter.] -- I'd trouble you for a glass ofporter, woman of the house. [He putsdown coin.]PEGEEN -- [serving him.] -- You're one of the tinkers, young fellow, isbeyond camped in the glen?CHRISTY. I am not; but I'm destroyed walking.MICHAEL -- [patronizingly.] Let you come up then to the fire.You'relooking famished with the cold.CHRISTY. God reward you. (He takes up his glass and goes a little wayacross to the left, then stops and looks about him.) Is it often thepolice do be coming into this place, master ofthe house?MICHAEL. If you'd come in better hours, you'd have seen \"Licensed forthe sale of Beer and Spirits, to be consumed on the premises,\" writtenin white letters above the door, and what would the polis wantspyingon me, and not a decent house within four miles, the way every livingChristian is a bona fide, saving one widow alone?CHRISTY -- [with relief.] -- It's a safe house, so. [He goes over to thefire, sighing andmoaning. Then he sits down, putting his glass besidehim and begins gnawing a turnip, too miserable to feel the othersstaring at him with curiosity.]MICHAEL -- [going after him.] -- Is it yourself fearing the polis?You'rewanting, maybe?CHRISTY. There's many wanting.MICHAEL. Many surely, with the broken harvest and the ended wars. (Hepicks up some stockings, etc., that are near the fire, and carries themaway furtively.) It shouldbe larceny, I'm thinking?CHRISTY -- [dolefully.] I had it in my mind it was a different word anda bigger.PEGEEN. There's a queer lad. Were you never slapped in school, youngfellow, that you don't know the name ofyour deed?CHRISTY -- [bashfully.] I'm slow at learning, a middling scholar only.MICHAEL. If you're a dunce itself, you'd have a right to know thatlarceny's robbing and stealing. Is it for the like of thatyou'rewanting?CHRISTY -- [with a flash of family pride.] -- And I the son of a strongfarmer (with a sudden qualm), God rest his soul, could have boughtup the whole of your old house a while since, from the butt ofhistailpocket, and not have missed the weight of it gone.MICHAEL -- [impressed.] If it's not stealing, it's maybe something big.CHRISTY -- [flattered.] Aye; it's maybe something big.JIMMY. He's a wicked-looking youngfellow. Maybe he followed after ayoung woman on a lonesome night.CHRISTY -- [shocked.] Oh, the saints forbid, mister; I was all times adecent lad.PHILLY -- [turning on Jimmy.] -- You're a silly man, Jimmy Farrell.Hesaid his father was a farmer a while since, and there's himself now ina poor state. Maybe the land was grabbed from him, and he did what anydecent man would do.MICHAEL -- [to Christy, mysteriously.] -- Was itbailiffs?CHRISTY. The divil a one.MICHAEL. Agents?CHRISTY. The divil a one.MICHAEL. Landlords?CHRISTY -- [peevishly.] Ah, not at all, I'm saying. You'd see the likeof them stories on any little paper of a Munstertown. But I'm notcalling to mind any person, gentle, simple, judge or jury, did the likeof me. [They all draw nearer with delighted curiosity.]PHILLY. Well, that lad's a puzzle--the world.JIMMY. He'd beat Dan Davies'circus, or the holy missioners makingsermons on the villainy of man. Try him again, Philly.PHILLY. Did you strike golden guineas out of solder, young fellow, orshilling coins itself?CHRISTY. I did not, mister, not sixpencenor a farthing coin.JIMMY. Did you marry three wives maybe? I'm told there's a sprinklinghave done that among the holy Luthers of the preaching north.CHRISTY -- [shyly.] -- I never married with one, let alone with acoupleor three.PHILLY. Maybe he went fighting for the Boers, the like of the manbeyond, was judged to be hanged, quartered and drawn. Were you off east,young fellow, fighting bloody wars for Kruger and the freedomof theBoers?CHRISTY. I never left my own parish till Tuesday was a week.PEGEEN -- [coming from counter.] -- He's done nothing, so. (To Christy.)If you didn't commit murder or a bad, nasty thing, or false coining,orrobbery, or butchery, or the like of them, there isn't anything thatwould be worth your troubling for to run from now. You did nothing atall.CHRISTY -- [his feelings hurt.] -- That's an unkindly thing to be sayingto a poororphaned traveller, has a prison behind him, and hangingbefore, and hell's gap gaping below.PEGEEN [with a sign to the men to be quiet.] -- You're only saying it.You did nothing at all. A soft lad the like of you wouldn'tslit thewindpipe of a screeching sow.CHRISTY -- [offended.] You're not speaking the truth.PEGEEN -- [in mock rage.] -- Not speaking the truth, is it? Would youhave me knock the head of you with the butt of thebroom?CHRISTY -- [twisting round on her with a sharp cry of horror.] -- Don'tstrike me. I killed my poor father, Tuesday was a week, for doing thelike of that.PEGEEN [with blank amazement.] -- Is it killed yourfather?CHRISTY -- [subsiding.] With the help of God I did surely, and that theHoly Immaculate Mother may intercede for his soul.PHILLY -- [retreating with Jimmy.] -- There's a daring fellow.JIMMY. Oh, glory be toGod!MICHAEL -- [with great respect.] -- That was a hanging crime, misterhoney. You should have had good reason for doing the like of that.CHRISTY -- [in a very reasonable tone.] -- He was a dirty man, Godforgivehim, and he getting old and crusty, the way I couldn't put upwith him at all.PEGEEN. And you shot him dead?CHRISTY -- [shaking his head.] -- I never used weapons. I've no license,and I'm a law-fearing man.MICHAEL.It was with a hilted knife maybe? I'm told, in the big worldit's bloody knives they use.CHRISTY -- [loudly, scandalized.] -- Do you take me for a slaughter-boy?PEGEEN. You never hanged him, the way Jimmy Farrellhanged his dog fromthe license, and had it screeching and wriggling three hours at the buttof a string, and himself swearing it was a dead dog, and the peelersswearing it had life?CHRISTY. I did not then. I just riz theloy and let fall the edge ofit on the ridge of his skull, and he went down at my feet like an emptysack, and never let a grunt or groan from him at all.MICHAEL -- [making a sign to Pegeen to fill Christy's glass.] --Andwhat way weren't you hanged, mister? Did you bury him then?CHRISTY -- [considering.] Aye. I buried him then. Wasn't I digging spudsin the field?MICHAEL. And the peelers never followed after you the eleven days"}
{"doc_id":"doc_46","qid":"","text":"Zerophilia Script at IMSDb.
ZEROPHILIA Written by MartinCurland Revised: March 1,2004 1. FADE IN: EXT. WILDERNESS -NIGHT Mist. Dark trees. Dripping vines. An ENGINE RUMBLES in the distance. The full moon shimmers on a puddle. A FROG SPLATSIN, splashing a one man pup tent. INSIDE THE TENT LUKE's eyes pop open, disoriented, realizing he's fallen asleep reading by flashlight. He'snineteen, still slightly awkward and unaware he's growing handsome. He listens as the ENGINE RUMBLES LOUDER, closer. He peers out through the tent flap. Glaringhead lamps ROAR toward him. Scrambling out of his sleeping bag, he HURLS himself against the side of the tent, as... OUTSIDE an RV CAMPERnearly plows down the tent, skidding to a stop in the mud. Stillness. Luke extricates himself from the tent. He runs to the driver- side window of theRV. LUKE Are you all right? Inside, ALEXA, thirties, earthy, looks up at him bleary-eyed. She nods'yes.' LUKE (CONT'D) How did you even get here? There's noroad. ALEXA I'm sorry. I'm from Utah. LUKE It'sokay. ALEXA Are you alone outhere? 2. He nods 'yes.' She bursts intoTEARS. ALEXA (CONT'D) My husband. Bastard. I've been driving for days. I don't even know where I'mgoing. LUKE Oh, wow. I'm really sorry. She gathers herself, sniffling. I have warmapple kringel in the camper. Would you like some? LUKE Uh, what isit? ALEXA Pastry. INSIDE RV CAMPER Luke stands at the RV's tiny kitchen counter,wolfing pastry off a paper plate. ALEXA So, this \"Survival Quest\" isyour vacation? LUKE Yeah. It's my third try. Kind a' lame,huh? ALEXA No. Seven days alone in the wilderness? I'd be afraid. LUKE It's justsomething I really wanted to do. Luke notices an odd pile of stuff by the sink. ALEXA His shoes. Fishinglures. The electricdrill. LUKE Good. 3. Shesmiles, grateful, eyeing his torn t-shirt and shorts. ALEXA You're all wet and muddy. Why don't I hang those up todry? LUKE Thanks. I'm okay. ALEXA I'm propositioningyou. LUKE Oh... Oh, wow. You are? He considers, fearful, butthrilled. EXT. LANGFORD UNIVERSITY - MORNING Students crisscross on bikes in front of the quadrangle. The huge roundheadlights and muscular front grill of an old SEMI-TRUCK RUMBLES up to the curb. It's the cab only, like the sliced-off front of a train engine. Luke hops down, startling his friends,KEENAN and JANINE, passionately making out on the sidewalk. Twenty, brainy and athletic, Janine adjusts her glasses, the only remnant of a bookish past, as she thoughtfullyconsiders Luke's massive truck. JANINE It's remarkable. Sort of retro. I thought you were gettin' apickup? LUKE I changed my mind. Hoping for a more enthusiastic response, he turns to Keenan, who climbs up and peeks insidethe cab. He's rugged, streetwise, perpetually bemused, -maybe Ed Norton and Bill Murray had a son... KEENAN It's awesome. It'spleather. LUKE Fuck you. You think it'sstupid. 4. Janine stares at him. LUKE(CONT'D) What? She shrugs, trying to put her finger on it, and when Luke rolls up his T-shirt sleeves, she grins. LUKE(CONT'D) What?! JANINE Oh my God. You got laid. Finally! Who is she? Luke glares atKeenan. KEENAN I didn't say a word! I swear! You know Janine. She's got X-ray vision. (toJanine) Camping! A total stranger. JANINE I knew that whole \"waitin' to meet the right girl\" thing wascrap. Congratulations! I have to get to Physics. The truck's great. KEENAN See ya',hottie. JANINE Could find something to call me, other than what every guy in the world wouldsay? KEENAN \"Sweetheart?\" \"Babe?\" \"Aphrodite?\" Janine sneers. At a loss, Keenan grabs her and kissesher passionately. She walks off rolling her eyes, but secretly loves it. Keenan climbs up into the cab. KEENAN(CONT'D) So this is gonna' be like yourcar? 5. LUKE Look, I know it's dopey. Butdon't you recognize it? It's painted and the muffler's switched out, -but this was my dad's. Keenan looks around with fresh eyes. He reaches an armway up under the glove box and GRINS, pulling out a small stash of weed. KEENAN Ten years. A little driedout. EXT. COUNTRY HIGHWAY - DAY The truck barrels along through the trees. Luke and Keenan share ajoint. LUKE First off, that woman. We didn't go all the way, youknow? KEENAN Yeah? Okay, so? LUKE You think technically I'm stilla virgin? KEENAN Were you insideher? LUKE Yeah. KEENAN Itcounts. Next. ...What? LUKE I been havin' this weird dream. The thing is, I think maybe the dream's real. Forget it. Noway I'm tellin' you. KEENAN You know enough of my secrets to get me shot. Sharon's mom on Thanksgiving? Whatthe fuck dream is there you can't tellme? 6. LUKE It's about part of me"}
{"doc_id":"doc_47","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Persuasion, by Jane AustenThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: PersuasionAuthor: Jane AustenRelease Date: June 5, 2008 [EBook #105]Last Updated: February 15, 2015Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PERSUASION ***Produced by Sharon Partridge and Martin Ward. HTML versionby Al Haines.PersuasionbyJane Austen(1818)Chapter 1Sir Walter Elliot, ofKellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; therehe found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressedone; there his facultieswere roused into admiration and respect, bycontemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there anyunwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturallyinto pity and contempt as heturned over the almost endless creationsof the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, hecould read his own history with an interest which never failed. Thiswas the page at which the favouritevolume always opened: \"ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.\"Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county ofGloucester, by whichlady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, bornJune 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5,1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791.\"Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood fromthe printer'shands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information ofhimself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--\"Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of CharlesMusgrove,Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset,\" and by inserting mostaccurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectablefamily, inthe usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,representing a borough in three successive parliaments, exertions ofloyalty, and dignity of baronet,in the first year of Charles II, withall the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether twohandsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with the arms andmotto:--\"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in thecounty of Somerset,\" andSir Walter's handwriting again in this finale:--\"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of thesecond Sir Walter.\"Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot'scharacter;vanity of person and of situation. He had been remarkably handsome inhis youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man. Few womencould think more of their personal appearance than he did, norcouldthe valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he heldin society. He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only tothe blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who unitedthesegifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect anddevotion.His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; sinceto them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to anythingdeserved by his own. Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman,sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they might bepardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot, had neverrequiredindulgence afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, orconcealed his failings, and promoted his real respectability forseventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the worldherself, had found enoughin her duties, her friends, and her children,to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference to herwhen she was called on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldestsixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy fora mother to bequeath, anawful charge rather, to confide to the authority and guidance of aconceited, silly father. She had, however, one very intimate friend, asensible, deserving woman, who had been brought, bystrong attachmentto herself, to settle close by her, in the village of Kellynch; and onher kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best helpand maintenance of the good principles and instruction which shehadbeen anxiously giving her daughters.This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have beenanticipated on that head by their acquaintance. Thirteen years hadpassed away since Lady Elliot's death,and they were still nearneighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower, the othera widow.That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely wellprovided for, should have no thought of asecond marriage, needs noapology to the public, which is rather apt to be unreasonablydiscontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not; butSir Walter's continuing in singleness requiresexplanation. Be itknown then, that Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with oneor two private disappointments in very unreasonable applications),prided himself on remaining single for his dear daughters'sake. Forone daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any thing,which he had not been very much tempted to do. Elizabeth hadsucceeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her mother's rightsandconsequence; and being very handsome, and very like himself, herinfluence had always been great, and they had gone on together mosthappily. His two other children were of very inferior value. Mary hadacquired alittle artificial importance, by becoming Mrs CharlesMusgrove; but Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness ofcharacter, which must have placed her high with any people of realunderstanding, was nobody witheither father or sister; her word had noweight, her convenience was always to give way--she was only Anne.To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valuedgod-daughter, favourite, and friend. LadyRussell loved them all; butit was only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl, but herbloom had vanished early; and as even in its height, herfather hadfound little to admire in her, (so totally different were her delicatefeatures and mild dark eyes from his own), there could be nothing inthem, now that she was faded and thin, to excite his esteem. Hehadnever indulged much hope, he had now none, of ever reading her name inany other page of his favourite work. All equality of alliance mustrest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely connected herself with anoldcountry family of respectability and large fortune, and had thereforegiven all the honour and received none: Elizabeth would, one day orother, marry suitably.It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer attwenty-nine than shewas ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has beenneither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcelyany charm is lost. It was so with Elizabeth, still the samehandsomeMiss Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and Sir Waltermight be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age, or, at least, bedeemed only half a fool, for thinking himself and Elizabeth asbloomingas ever, amidst the wreck of the good looks of everybody else; for hecould plainly see how old all the rest of his family and acquaintancewere growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face intheneighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow's foot aboutLady Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment.Thirteen years hadseen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding anddirecting with a self-possession and decision which could never havegiven the idea of her being younger than she was. For thirteen yearshad she been doing thehonours, and laying down the domestic law athome, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walkingimmediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms anddining-rooms in the country. Thirteenwinters' revolving frosts hadseen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhoodafforded, and thirteen springs shewn their blossoms, as she travelledup to London with her father, for a few weeks' annualenjoyment of thegreat world. She had the remembrance of all this, she had theconsciousness of being nine-and-twenty to give her some regrets andsome apprehensions; she was fully satisfied of being still quiteashandsome as ever, but she felt her approach to the years of danger, andwould have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited bybaronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two. Then might she againtakeup the book of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth,but now she liked it not. Always to be presented with the date of herown birth and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest sister,made thebook an evil; and more than once, when her father had left itopen on the table near her, had she closed it, with averted eyes, andpushed it away.She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book, andespeciallythe history of her own family, must ever present the remembrance of.The heir presumptive, the very William Walter Elliot, Esq., whoserights had been so generously supported by her father, haddisappointedher.She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to be,in the event of her having no brother, the future baronet, meant tomarry him, and her father had always meant that sheshould. He had notbeen known to them as a boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's death, SirWalter had sought the acquaintance, and though his overtures had notbeen met with any warmth, he had persevered in seeking it,makingallowance for the modest drawing-back of youth; and, in one of theirspring excursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first bloom, MrElliot had been forced into the introduction.He was at that time a veryyoung man, just engaged in the study of thelaw; and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in hisfavour was confirmed. He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talkedof and expected all the rest ofthe year; but he never came. Thefollowing spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable,again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come; andthe next tidings were that he wasmarried. Instead of pushing hisfortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot, hehad purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman ofinferior birth.Sir Walter had resented it. As the headof the house, he felt that heought to have been consulted, especially after taking the young man sopublicly by the hand; \"For they must have been seen together,\" heobserved, \"once at Tattersall's, and twice in thelobby of the House ofCommons.\" His disapprobation was expressed, but apparently very littleregarded. Mr Elliot had attempted no apology, and shewn himself asunsolicitous of being longer noticed by the family, asSir Walterconsidered him unworthy of it: all acquaintance between them hadceased.This very awkward history of Mr Elliot was still, after an interval ofseveral years, felt with anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the manforhimself, and still more for being her father's heir, and whose strongfamily pride could see only in him a proper match for Sir WalterElliot's eldest daughter. There was not a baronet from A to Z whom herfeelingscould have so willingly acknowledged as an equal. Yet somiserably had he conducted himself, that though she was at this presenttime (the summer of 1814) wearing black ribbons for his wife, she couldnot admit him tobe worth thinking of again. The disgrace of his firstmarriage might, perhaps, as there was no reason to suppose itperpetuated by offspring, have been got over, had he not done worse;but he had, as by theaccustomary intervention of kind friends, theyhad been informed, spoken most disrespectfully of them all, mostslightingly and contemptuously of the very blood he belonged to, andthe honours which were hereafter tobe his own. This could not bepardoned.Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations; such the caresto alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness and the elegance, theprosperity and the nothingness of herscene of life; such the feelingsto give interest to a long, uneventful residence in one country circle,to fill the vacancies which there were no habits of utility abroad, notalents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.Butnow, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to beadded to these. Her father was growing distressed for money. Sheknew, that when he now took up the Baronetage, it was to drive theheavy bills ofhis tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of MrShepherd, his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch property wasgood, but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the state requiredin its possessor. While LadyElliot lived, there had been method,moderation, and economy, which had just kept him within his income; butwith her had died all such right-mindedness, and from that period hehad been constantly exceeding it. Ithad not been possible for him tospend less; he had done nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot wasimperiously called on to do; but blameless as he was, he was not onlygrowing dreadfully in debt, but was hearing of it sooften, that itbecame vain to attempt concealing it longer, even partially, from hisdaughter. He had given her some hints of it the last spring in town;he had gone so far even as to say, \"Can we retrench? Does it occurtoyou that there is any one article in which we can retrench?\" andElizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first ardour of female alarm,set seriously to think what could be done, and had finally proposedthese twobranches of economy, to cut off some unnecessary charities,and to refrain from new furnishing the drawing-room; to whichexpedients she afterwards added the happy thought of their taking nopresent down to Anne, ashad been the usual yearly custom. But thesemeasures, however good in themselves, were insufficient for the realextent of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter found himself obligedto confess to her soonafterwards. Elizabeth had nothing to propose ofdeeper efficacy. She felt herself ill-used and unfortunate, as did herfather; and they were neither of them able to devise any means oflessening their expenses withoutcompromising their dignity, orrelinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could disposeof; but had every acre been alienable, it would have madenodifference. He had condescended to mortgage as far as he had thepower, but he would never condescend to sell. No; he would neverdisgrace his name so far. The Kellynch estate should be transmittedwhole andentire, as he had received it.Their two confidential friends, Mr Shepherd, who lived in theneighbouring market town, and Lady Russell, were called to advise them;and both father and daughter seemed to expect thatsomething should bestruck out by one or the other to remove their embarrassments andreduce their expenditure, without involving the loss of any indulgenceof taste or pride.Chapter 2Mr Shepherd, a civil, cautiouslawyer, who, whatever might be his holdor his views on Sir Walter, would rather have the disagreeable promptedby anybody else, excused himself from offering the slightest hint, andonly begged leave to recommendan implicit reference to the excellentjudgement of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense he fullyexpected to have just such resolute measures advised as he meant to seefinally adopted.Lady Russell was mostanxiously zealous on the subject, and gave itmuch serious consideration. She was a woman rather of sound than ofquick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to any decision in thisinstance were great, from theopposition of two leading principles.She was of strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as solicitousfor the credit of the family, as aristocratic in herideas of what wasdue to them, as anybody of sense and honesty could well be. She was abenevolent, charitable, good woman, and capable of strong attachments,most correct in her conduct, strict in her notions ofdecorum, and withmanners that were held a standard of good-breeding. She had acultivated mind, and was, generally speaking, rational and consistent;but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had a valueforrank and consequence, which blinded her a little to the faults of thosewho possessed them. Herself the widow of only a knight, she gave thedignity of a baronet all its due; and Sir Walter, independent of hisclaims asan old acquaintance, an attentive neighbour, an obliginglandlord, the husband of her very dear friend, the father of Anne andher sisters, was, as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension, entitled toa great deal ofcompassion and consideration under his presentdifficulties.They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt. But she was veryanxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him andElizabeth. She drew upplans of economy, she made exact calculations,and she did what nobody else thought of doing: she consulted Anne, whonever seemed considered by the others as having any interest in thequestion. She consulted,and in a degree was influenced by her inmarking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted toSir Walter. Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of honestyagainst importance. She wantedmore vigorous measures, a more completereformation, a quicker release from debt, a much higher tone ofindifference for everything but justice and equity.\"If we can persuade your father to all this,\" said LadyRussell,looking over her paper, \"much may be done. If he will adopt theseregulations, in seven years he will be clear; and I hope we may be ableto convince him and Elizabeth, that Kellynch Hall has a respectabilityinitself which cannot be affected by these reductions; and that thetrue dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far from lessened in theeyes of sensible people, by acting like a man of principle. What willhe be doing, in fact,but what very many of our first families havedone, or ought to do? There will be nothing singular in his case; andit is singularity which often makes the worst part of our suffering, asit always does of our conduct. Ihave great hope of prevailing. Wemust be serious and decided; for after all, the person who hascontracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to thefeelings of the gentleman, and the head of ahouse, like your father,there is still more due to the character of an honest man.\"This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to beproceeding, his friends to be urging him. She considered it as an actofindispensable duty to clear away the claims of creditors with allthe expedition which the most comprehensive retrenchments could secure,and saw no dignity in anything short of it. She wanted it to beprescribed, andfelt as a duty. She rated Lady Russell's influencehighly; and as to the severe degree of self-denial which her ownconscience prompted, she believed there might be little more difficultyin persuading them to a complete,than to half a reformation. Herknowledge of her father and Elizabeth inclined her to think that thesacrifice of one pair of horses would be hardly less painful than ofboth, and so on, through the whole list of LadyRussell's too gentlereductions.How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been taken is of littleconsequence. Lady Russell's had no success at all: could not be put upwith, were not to be borne. \"What! everycomfort of life knocked off!Journeys, London, servants, horses, table--contractions andrestrictions every where! To live no longer with the decencies even ofa private gentleman! No, he would sooner quit Kellynch Hallat once,than remain in it on such disgraceful terms.\"\"Quit Kellynch Hall.\" The hint was immediately taken up by MrShepherd, whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter'sretrenching, and who was perfectlypersuaded that nothing would be donewithout a change of abode. \"Since the idea had been started in thevery quarter which ought to dictate, he had no scruple,\" he said, \"inconfessing his judgement to be entirely onthat side. It did notappear to him that Sir Walter could materially alter his style ofliving in a house which had such a character of hospitality and ancientdignity to support. In any other place Sir Walter might judgeforhimself; and would be looked up to, as regulating the modes of life inwhatever way he might choose to model his household.\"Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more ofdoubt and"}
{"doc_id":"doc_48","qid":"","text":"Saving Private Ryan Script at IMSDb.
BURIED Written by ChrisSparling FADE IN: INT. UNKNOWN ROOM - NIGHT Darkness. Silence. After a long beat, we hear movement, confined and contained. Wethen hear the sound of a man, PAUL CONROY, groaning, making confused attempts at words. We hear his movement; short, abrupt shifting, ending almost immediately with the sound of his bodybanging against wood. He screams, though it's clear from the sound that his mouth is covered by something. After attempting to sit up, he immediately bangs his head against something. It'sterribly warm and his breaths are labored. He attempts to move to his left and right, only to find that he is confined on those sides, as well. He frantically shifts about, only to discover, by touch,that he is encased in something. Something is very wrong, and he doesn't need to see to know that. Finally, we see him, lit by the flame of the Zippo he holds in his hands, which arebound together in front of him with rope. A rolled-up, dirty rag is tied tightly around his head, stretched across his mouth. Dried blood stains his hair and forehead. We see thathe is lying in an old fashioned, wooden coffin. Nothing more than a few rotted-out planks of wood nailed together. Realizing the same, Paul is struck by an overwhelming, instant panic. Withgreat difficulty, and while still holding the lit Zippo, Paul removes the muzzle from his mouth. PAUL What...? What is this? His words become almost unintelligible as heflails about, though fear is understood in his every utterance. He screams aloud, but his voice is captured by thecoffin walls. 2. PAUL Oh my God! Help me!! Help me!! He kicks and slams his hands against the top and sides ofthe coffin, all to no avail. His violent movements cause small grains of sand to trickle in through the space between the sides and top of the coffin, as well as a small gap that exists between oneof the coffin's broken wooden planks. Sweat cascades down the side of his neck, dripping from his dampened brow. The heat inside the extremely close confines of the coffin isstifling. PAUL (CONT'D) Somebody help me! Please!! Paul continues with his futile efforts to pry off the top of the coffin. The sides, the top, the bottom -- all aretoo thoroughly reinforced by the force of what surrounds the coffin. Sand. It becomes clear to him that he is buried. He tries his best to calm himself, though he has trouble catching his breath.It takes him some time, but he eventually achieves some semblance of calm. Getting a good look at him for the first time, we see that Paul is somewhere around 37 years old. Unshavenand physically unremarkable, he embodies the blue-collar American everyman. He coughs. The minimal amount of oxygen in the coffin makes it hard for him to breathe. His eyes widen abit upon seeing an exposed, rusty nail. He tries desperately to use the nail to cut through the old, frayed ropes that bind his hands. Doing so is no easy task. The incredibly tight quarters makes hisevery action nearly impossible. After a lengthy struggle, the rope snaps. Paul quickly frees his hands. A small victory. Very small. The heat is unbearable. Paul takes off hisbutton-down shirt, leaving him in a T-shirt. His body battles against the walls and the ceiling of the coffin with every move he makes. He tosses his button-down shirt down by his feet.His undershirt is drenched through with sweat. Still trying to calm himself, but having little success in doing so, Paul looks around the coffin. His feet, though only his body-length away, seemmiles from him. 3. He looks at the top of the coffin, and then back at his feet. With great difficulty, he shifts his body so that his feet are pressedagainst the top of the coffin. He attempts to use his leg strength to push the top off of him, but it doesn't move even a millimeter. After several failed attempts, and with his legs exhausted, Pauldrops his feet from the top of the coffin. He lay for a moment in silence, followed by an outburst of crying. Close to his head, on the corner of the floor, we see there's another broken plank. A smallhole. He closes his cigarette lighter, extinguishing the flame. In total darkness, he continues to cry. PAUL (CONT'D) What is this? With his sobbingslowly subsiding, the coffin soon grows eerily silent. The sound of Paul's labored breaths are all we hear, softened under the blanket of absolute darkness. After a beat, the silence is interruptedby a subtle buzzing sound. The muted sight of strange, blueish light flickers in the coffin, by Paul's feet. He is extremely startled. The buzzing continues, as does the minimal splashing of light.It's coming from underneath his discarded button-down shirt, down near his feet. He lights the Zippo to get a better look. Pulling the shirt away, he realizes that what he ishearing and seeing is the vibrating ring and display features of an older model cell phone. He frantically reaches for it, though the coffin is far too small for him to reposition himself soeasily. To his dismay, the phone stops ringing. But, his efforts to reach it continue. He uses his feet to search for the phone. After some trouble finding it, he eventually locates it. Clamping thephone together between his clasped feet, Paul then painfully angles his body so that he can reach his feet with his hands and grab it. He is soon able to reach it. Immediately thereafter, he flipsopen the phone and puts the receiver in front of him. 4. We see that there is a Text Message waiting for Paul on the phone. However, Paul barelynotices. The time on the phone reads 6:12pm. While the numbers and display screen icons are familiar to Americans, all the words are in Arabic. What he does notices is that the phone barelyhas one bar of signal strength. Worse yet, there is only half of the battery life remaining. He tries to remember the Safe Number he was given. With the phone open and ready to be dialed, Paulstruggles to recall the information. PAUL (CONT'D) Come on, come on. What was it? Getting only two digits into dialing the number, hecannot remember much more and closes the phone. He wedges the lit Zippo into sand, which is compacted against a small hole in the wall of the coffin. Paul reaches into his pants pocket,frantically searching for something. He hastily removes a prescription pill bottle and a small, metal flask. Both are not what he was looking for. He then reaches to his back pocket and removes hiswallet. It's empty. His license, his credit cards, his cash and, most importantly at that very moment, a piece of paper with the Safe Number written on it, are all missing. PAUL(CONT'D) No. Where the hell is it? Son of a...Come on! He screams aloud again, hoping greatly that someone can hear him. His frenzied maneuvering puts out the flameof the Zippo. PAUL (CONT'D) Help me! Please! Somebody help me! His words barely make it pass the coffin walls. With the cell phone still in hand, andlaboring to reclaim the breath he just expended, Paul turns to desperation. He dials the international code of 001, and then dials 911. A FEMALE 911 OPERATOR answers almostimmediately. 5. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR 911, please hold. The Female 911 Operator places Paul onhold. PAUL No! Wait! Paul accidentally bangs the cap of the Zippo against the coffin wall, putting out the flame. She quickly returns. FEMALE911 OPERATOR 911. What is your emergency? PAUL Hello? FEMALE 911 OPERATOR 911. What's the problem, sir? Paul is soincredibly panicked that he has trouble remaining coherent. After a few sparks, the Zippo is re-lit. PAUL I'm buried. You have to help me. You have to help me, Ican't breathe... FEMALE 911 OPERATOR SIR -- PAUL I'm buried in a coffin. Please help me! Send someone tofind me... FEMALE 911 OPERATOR Sir...slow down. What is your name? PAUL Paul. Paul Conroy. FEMALE 911OPERATOR Okay, Mister Conroy. Can you tell me your location? PAUL I don't know. I'm in a coffin. I don't know where. I'm scared. Please helpme. 6. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR You're in a coffin? PAUL Yeah, it's, like, one of thoseold, wooden ones. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR Are you at a funeral home? PAUL No. I don't know. No. FEMALE 911OPERATOR How are calling me right now? PAUL What? FEMALE 911 OPERATOR If you're buried in a coffin, where are you callingfrom? PAUL A cell phone. There was an old cell phone in the coffin. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR You're calling from yourcell phone? PAUL Yes. No. It's not mine, but yes, I'm calling from a cell phone. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR There was a cell phone inthe coffin when you climbed in? PAUL I didn't climb in. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR How did you end up in thecoffin, sir? PAUL I was put here. FEMALE 911 OPERATOR In the coffin? PAUL Yes. Please send"}
{"doc_id":"doc_54","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Woggle-Bug Book, by L. Frank Baum,Illustrated by Ike MorganThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Woggle-Bug BookAuthor: L. Frank BaumRelease Date: June 23, 2007 [eBook#21914]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOK***E-text prepared by Michael Gray(Lost_Gamer@comcast.net)Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 21914-h.htm or21914-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/1/9/1/21914/21914-h/21914-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/1/9/1/21914/21914-h.zip)THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOKbyL. FRANK BAUMPictures byIke MorganChicagoThe Reilly & Britton Co.1905Copyright1905byL. Frank BaumEvery Right ReservedThe Unique Adventures of the WOGGLE-BUGONE day Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E., becoming separated fromhiscomrades who had accompanied him from the Land of Oz, and finding thattime hung heavy on his hands (he had four of them), decided to walkdown the Main street of the City and try to discover something orotherof interest.The initials \"H. M.\" before his name meant \"Highly Magnified,\" for thisWoggle-Bug was several thousand times bigger than any other woggle-bugyou ever saw. And the initials \"T. E.\" after his namedmeant \"ThoroughlyEducated\"--and so he was, in the Land of Oz. But his education, beingapplied to a woggle-bug intellect, was not at all remarkable in thiscountry, where everything is quite different than Oz. YettheWoggle-Bug did not suspect this, and being, like so many other thoroughlyeducated persons, proud of his mental attainments, he marched along thestreet with an air of importance that made one wonder whatgreatthoughts were occupying his massive brain.Being about as big, in his magnified state, as a man, the Woggle-Bugtook care to clothe himself like a man; only, instead of choosing sobercolors for his garments, hedelighted in the most gorgeous reds andyellows and blues and greens; so that if you looked at him long thebrilliance of his clothing was liable to dazzle your eyes.I suppose the Waggle-Bug did not realize at all what aqueer appearancehe made. Being rather nervous, he seldom looked into a mirror; and asthe people he met avoided telling him he was unusual, he had falleninto the habit of considering himself merely an ordinarycitizen of thebig city wherein he resided.So the Woggle-Bug strutted proudly along the street, swinging a cane inone hand, flourishing a pink handkerchief in the other, fumbling hiswatch-fob with another, and feeling hisnecktie was straight withanother. Having four hands to use would prove rather puzzling to you orme, I imagine; but the Woggie-Bug was thoroughly accustomed to them.Presently he came to a very fine store with bigplate-glass windows,and standing in the center of the biggest window was a creature sobeautiful and radiant and altogether charming that the first glance ather nearly took his breath away. Her complexion was lovely,for it waswax; but the thing which really caught the Woggle-Bug's fancy was themarvelous dress she wore. Indeed, it was the latest (last year's) Parismodel, although the Woggle-Bug did not know that; and thedesigner musthave had a real woggly love for bright colors, for the gown was made ofred cloth covered with big checks which were so loud the fashion bookscalled them \"Wagnerian Plaids.\"Never had our friend theWoggle-Bug seen such a beautiful gown before,and it afflicted him so strongly that he straightaway fell in love withthe entire outfit--even to the wax-complexioned lady herself! Verypolitely he tipped his to her; but shestared coldly back without inany way acknowledging the courtesy.\"Never mind,\" he thought; \"'faint heart never won fair lady.' And I'mdetermined to win this kaliedoscope of beauty or perish in theattempt!\" You willnotice that our insect had a way of using big wordsto express himself, which leads us to suspect that the school system inOz is the same they employ in Boston.As, with swelling heart, the Woggle-Bug feasted his eyesupon theenchanting vision, a small green tag that was attached to a button ofthe waist suddenly attracted his attention. Upon the tag was marked:\"Price $7.93--GREATLY REDUCED.\"\"Ah!\" murmured the Woggle-Bug;\"my darling is in greatly reducedcircumstances, and $7.93 will make her mine! Where, oh where, shall Ifind the seven ninety-three wherewith to liberate this divinity andmake her Mrs. Woggle-Bug?\"\"Move on!\" said agruff policeman, who came along swinging his club.And the Woggle-Bug obediently moved on, his brain working fast andfurious in the endeavor to think of a way to procure seven dollars andninety-three cents.You see,in the Land of Oz they use no money at all, so that when theWoggle-Bug arrived in America he did not possess a single penny. And noone had presented him with any money since.\"Yet there must be several ways toprocure money in this country,\" hereflected; \"for otherwise everybody would be as penniless as I am. Buthow, I wonder, do they manage to get it?\"Just then he came along a side street where a number of men wereatwork digging a long and deep ditch in which to lay a new sewer.\"Now these men,\" thought the Woggle-Bug, \"must get money for shovelingall that earth, else they wouldn't do it. Here is my chance to win thecharmingvision of beauty in the shop window!\"Seeking out the foreman, he asked for work, and the foreman agreed tohire him.\"How much do you pay these workmen?\" asked the highly magnified one.\"Two dollars a day,\"answered the foreman.\"Then,\" said the Woggle-Bug, \"you must pay me four dollars a day; for Ihave four arms to their two, and can do double their work.\"\"If that is so, I'll pay you four dollars,\" agreed the man.TheWoggle-Bug was delighted.\"In two days,\" he told himself, as he threw off his brilliant coat andplaced his hat upon it, and rolled up his sleeves; \"in two days I canearn eight dollars--enough to purchase my greatlyreduced darling andbuy her seven cents worth of caramels besides.\"He seized two spades and began working so rapidly with his four armsthat the foreman said: \"You must have been forewarned.\"\"Why?\" asked theInsect.\"Because there's a saying that to be forewarned is to be four-armed,\"replied the other.\"That is nonsense,\" said the Woggle-Bug, digging with all his might;\"for they call you the foreman, and yet I only see one ofyou.\"\"Ha, ha!\" laughed the man, and he was so proud of his new worker thathe went into the corner saloon to tell his friend the barkeeper what atreasure he had found.It was just after noon that the Woggle-Bug hiredas a ditch-digger inorder to win his heart's desire; so at noon on the second day he quitwork, and having received eight silver dollars he put on his coat andrushed away to the store that he might purchase his intendedbride.But, alas for the uncertainty of all our hopes! Just as the Woggle-Bugreached the door he saw a lady coming out of the store dressed inidentical checks with which he had fallen in love!At first he did not know whatto do or say, for the young lady'scomplexion was not wax--far from it. But a glance into the windowshowed him the wax lady now dressed in a plain black tailor-made suit,and at once he knew the wearer of theWagnerian plaids was his reallove, and not the stiff creature behind the glass.\"Beg pardon!\" he exclaimed, stopping the young lady; \"but you're mine.Here's the seven ninety-three, and seven cents for candy.\"But sheglanced at him in a haughty manner, and walked away with hernose slightly elevated.He followed. He could not do otherwise with those delightful checksshining before him like beacon-lights to urge him on.The younglady stepped into a car, which whirled away rapidly. For amoment he was nearly paralyzed at his loss; then he started after thecar as fast as he could go, and this was very fast indeed--he being awoggle-bug.Somebodycried: \"Stop, thief!\" and a policeman ran out to arrest him.But the Woggle-Bug used his four hands to push the officer aside, andthe astonished man went rolling into the gutter so recklessly that hisuniform bore marksof the encounter for many days.Still keeping an eye on the car, the Woggle-Bug rushed on. Hefrightened two dogs, upset a fat gentleman who was crossing the street,leaped over an automobile that shot in front of him,and finally ranplump into the car, which had abruptly stopped to let off a passenger.Breathing hard from his exertions, he jumped upon the rear platform ofthe car, only to see his charmer step off at the front andwalkmincingly up the steps of a house. Despite his fatigue, he flew afterher at once, crying out:\"Stop, my variegated dear--stop! Don't you know you're mine?\"But she slammed the door in his face, and he sat downupon the stepsand wiped his forehead with his pink handkerchief and fanned himselfwith his hat and tried to think what he should do next.Presently a very angry man came out of the house. He had a revolver inonehand and a carving-knife in the other.\"What do you mean by insulting my wife?\" he demanded.\"Was that your wife?\" asked the Woggle-Bug, in meek astonishment.\"Of course it is my wife,\" answered the man.\"Oh, Ididn't know,\" said the insect, rather humbled. \"But I'll giveyou seven ninety-three for her. That's all she's worth, you know; for Isaw it marked on the tag.\"The man gave a roar of rage and jumped into the air with theintentionof falling on the Woggle-Bug and hurting him with the knife and pistol.But the Woggle-Bug was suddenly in a hurry, and didn't wait to bejumped on. Indeed, he ran so very fast that the man was content tolethim go, especially as the pistol wasn't loaded and the carving-knifewas as dull as such knives usually are.But his wife had conceived a great dislike for the Wagnerian checkcostume that had won for her theWoggle-Bug's admiration. \"I'll neverwear it again!\" she said to her husband, when he came in and told herthat the Woggle-Bug was gone.\"Then,\" he replied, \"you'd better give it to Bridget; for she's beenbothering meabout her wages lately, and the present will keep herquite for a month longer.\"So she called Bridget and presented her with the dress, and thedelighted servant decided to wear it that night to MickeySchwartz'sball.Now the poor Woggle-Bug, finding his affection scorned, was feelingvery blue and unhappy that evening, When he walked out, dressed (amongother things) in a purple-striped shirt, with a yellow necktieandpea-green gloves, he looked a great deal more cheerful than he reallywas. He had put on another hat, for the Woggle-Bug had a superstitionthat to change his hat was to change his luck, and luck seemed tohaveoverlooked the fact that he was in existence.The hat may really have altered his fortunes, as the Insect shortly metIkey Swanson, who gave him a ticket to Mickey Schwartz's ball; forIkey's clean dickey had notcome home from the laundry, and so he couldnot go himself.The Woggle-Bug, thinking to distract his mind from his dreams of love,attended the hall, and the first thing he saw as he entered the roomwas Bridgetclothed in that same gorgeous gown of Wagnerian plaid thathad so fascinated his bugly heart.The dear Bridget had added to her charms by putting seven full-blownimitation roses and three second-hand ostrich-plumesin her red hair;so that her entire person glowed like a sunset in June.The Woggle-bug was enraptured; and, although the divine Bridget waswaltzing with Fritzie Casey, the Insect rushed to her side and, seizingher withall his four arms at once, cried out in his truly educatedBostonian way:\"Oh, my superlative conglomeration of beauty! I have found you atlast!\"Bridget uttered a shriek, and Fritzie Casey doubled two fists thatlooked liketombstones, and advanced upon the intruder.Still embracing the plaid costume with two arms, the Woggle-Bug tippedMr. Casey over with the other two. But Bridget made a bound and landedwith her broad heel, whichsupported 180 pounds, firmly upon theInsect's toes. He gave a yelp of pain and promptly released the lady,and a moment later he found himself flat upon the floor with a dozen ofthe dancers piled upon him--all ofwhom were pummeling each other withmuch pleasure and a firm conviction that the diversion had been plannedfor their special amusement.But the Woggle-Bug had the strength of many men, and when he floppedthebig wings that were concealed by the tails of his coat, thegentlemen resting upon him were scattered like autumn leaves in a gustof wind.The Insect stood up, rearranged his dress, and looked about him.Bridget had runaway and gone home, and the others were still fightingamongst themselves with exceeding cheerfulness. So the Woggle-Bugselected a hat which fit him (his own having been crushed out of shape)and walkedsorrowfully back to his lodgings.\"Evidently that was not a lucky hat I wore to the ball,\" he reflected;\"but perhaps this one I now have will bring about a change in myfortunes.\"Bridget needed money; and as she hadworn her brilliant costume onceand allowed her friends to see how becoming it was, she carried it thenext morning to a second-hand dealer and sold it for three dollars incash.Scarcely had she left the shop when a ladyof Swedish extraction--awidow with four small children in her train--entered and asked to lookat a gown. The dealer showed her the one he had just bought fromBridget, and its gay coloring so pleased the widow thatshe immediatelypurchased it for $3.65.\"Ay tank ets a good deal money, by sure,\" she said to herself; \"but dasleedle children mus' have new fadder to mak mind un tak care deremudder like, by yimminy! An' Ay tank noman look may way in das oledress I been wearing.\"She took the gown and the four children to her home, where she lost notime in trying on the costume, which fitted her as perfectly as aflour-sack does a peck ofpotatoes.\"Das _beau_--tiful!\" she exclaimed, in rapture, as she tried to seeherself in a cracked mirror. \"Ay go das very afternoon to valk in dapark, for das man-folks go crazy-like ven he sees may fine frocks!\"Then shetook her green parasol and a hand-bag stuffed with papers (tomake it look prosperous and aristocratic) and sallied forth to thepark, followed by all her interesting flock.The men didn't fail to look at her, as you mayguess; but none lookedwith yearning until the Woggle-Bug, sauntering gloomily along a path,happened to raise his eyes and see before him his heart's delight thevery identical Wagnerian plaids which had filled him withsuchunbounded affection.\"Aha, my excruciatingly lovely creation!\" he cried, running up andkneeling before the widow; \"I have found you once again. Do not, I begof you, treat me with coldness!\"For he had learnedfrom experience not to unduly startle his charmer attheir first moment of meeting; so he made a firm attempt to controlhimself, that the wearer of the checked gown might not scorn him.The widow had no greataffection for bugs, having wrestled with thespecies for many years; but this one was such a big-bug and sohandsomely dressed that she saw no harm in encouraging him--especiallyas the men she had sought tocaptivate were proving exceedingly shy.\"So you tank Ay I ban loavely?\" she asked, with a coy glance at theInsect.\"I do! With all my heart I do!\" protested the Woggle-Bug, placing allfour hands, one after another, overthat beating organ.\"Das mak plenty trouble by you. I don'd could be yours!\" sighed thewidow, indeed regretting her admirer was not an ordinary man.\"Why not?\" asked the Woggle-Bug. \"I have still the sevenninety-three;and as that was the original price, and you are now slightly worn andsecond-handed, I do not see why I need despair of calling you my own.\"It is very queer, when we think of it, that the Woggle-Bug couldnotseparate the wearer of his lovely gown from the gown itself. Indeed, healways made love directly to the costume that had so enchanted him,without any regard whatsoever to the person inside it; and the onlywaywe can explain this remarkable fact is to recollect that the Woggle-Bugwas only a woggle-bug, and nothing more could be expected of him. Thewidow did not, of course, understand his speech in the least; butshegathered the fact that the Woggle-Bug had id money, so she sighed andhinted that she was very hungry, and that there was a good short-orderrestaurant just outside the park.The Woggle-Bug became thoughtful atthis. He hated to squander hismoney, which he had come to regard a sort of purchase price with whichto secure his divinity. But neither could he allow those darling checksto go hungry; so he said:\"If you will come withme to the restaurant, I will gladly supply youwith food.\"The widow accepted the invitation at once, and the Woggle-Bug walkedproudly beside her, leading all of the four children at once with hisfour hands.Two such gaycostumes as those worn by the widow and the Woggle-Bug areseldom found together, and the restaurant man was so impressed by thesight that he demanded his money in advance.The four children, jabberingdelightedly in their broken English,clambered upon four stools, and the widow sat upon another. And theWoggle-Bug, who was not hungry (being engaged in feasting his eyes uponthe checks), laid down a silver dollaras a guarantee of good faith.It was wonderful to see so much pie and cake and bread-and-butter andpickles and dough-nuts and sandwiches disappear into the mouths of thefour innocents and their comparativelyinnocent mother. The Woggle-Bughad to add another quarter to the vanished dollar before the scorewas finally settled; and no sooner had the tribe trooped outrestaurant than they turned into the open portals of anIce-CreamParlor, where they all attacked huge stacks of pale ice-cream andconsumed several plates of lady-fingers and cream-puffs.Again the Woggle-Bug reluctantly abandoned a dollar; but the end wasnot yet. Thedear children wanted candy and nuts; and then they warnedpink lemonade; and then pop-corn and chewing-gum; and always theWoggle-Bug, after a glance at the entrancing costume, found himselfunable to resistpaying for the treat.It was nearly evening when the widow pleaded fatigue and asked to betaken home. For none of them was able to eat another morsel, and theWoggle-Bug wearied her with his protestations ofboundless admiration.\"Will you permit me to call upon you this evening?\" asked the Insect,pleadingly, as he bade the wearer of the gown good-bye on herdoor-step.\"Sure like!\" she replied, not caring to dismiss himharshly; and thehappy Woggle-Bug went home with a light heart, murmuring to himself:\"At last the lovely plaids are to be my own! The new hat I found at theball has certainly brought me luck.\"I am glad our friend theWoggle-Bug had those few happy moments, for hewas destined to endure severe disappointments in the near future.That evening he carefully brushed his coat, put on a green satinnecktie and a purple embroideredwaist-coat, and walked briskly towardsthe house of the widow. But, alas! as he drew near to the dwelling amost horrible stench greeted his nostrils, a sense of great depressioncame over him, and upon pausing beforethe house his body began totremble and his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets.For the wily widow, wishing to escape her admirer, had sprinkled thedoor-step and the front walk with insect Exterminator, and not eventheWoggle-Bug's love for the enchanting checked gown could induce him tolinger longer in that vicinity.Sick and discouraged, he returned home, where his first act was tosmash the luckless hat and replace it withanother. But it was sometime before he recovered from the horrors of that near approach toextermination, and he passed a very wakeful and unhappy night, indeed.Meantime the widow had traded with a friend of hers(who had once beena wash-lady for General Funston) the Wagnerian costume for a crazyquilt and a corset that was nearly as good as new and a pair of silkstockings that were not mates. It was a good bargain for bothof them,and the wash-lady being colored--that is, she had a deep mahoganycomplexion--was delighted with her gorgeous gown and put it on the verynext morning when she went to deliver the wash to thebrick-layer'swife.Surely it must have been Fate that directed the Woggle-Bug's steps;for, as he walked disconsolately along, an intuition caused him toraise his eyes, and he saw just ahead of him his affinity--carryingalarge clothes-basket.\"Stop!\" he called our, anxiously; \"stop, my fair Grenadine, I imploreyou!\"The colored lady cast one glance behind her and imagined that Satan hadat last arrived to claim her. For she had never"}
{"doc_id":"doc_55","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Villette, by Charlotte BrontëThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: VilletteAuthor: Charlotte BrontëPosting Date: August 23, 2010 [EBook #9182]Release Date: October, 2005FirstPosted: September 12, 2003[Last updated: March 2, 2016]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VILLETTE ***Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks and DistributedProofreadersVILLETTE.BYCHARLOTTE BRONTÃ\u0000.CONTENTSCHAPTER I. BRETTON II. PAULINA III. THE PLAYMATES IV. MISS MARCHMONT V. TURNING A NEWLEAF VI. LONDON VII. VILLETTE VIII. MADAME BECK IX. ISIDORE X. DR. JOHN XI. THE PORTRESS'S CABINET XII. THE CASKET XIII. A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON XIV. THEFÃ\u0000TE XV. THE LONG VACATION XVI. AULD LANG SYNE XVII. LA TERRASSE XVIII. WE QUARREL XIX. THE CLEOPATRA XX. THE CONCERT XXI. REACTION XXII. THELETTER XXIII. VASHTI XXIV. M. DE BASSOMPIERRE XXV. THE LITTLE COUNTESS XXVI. A BURIAL XXVII. THE HÃ\u0000TEL CRÃ\u0000CY XXVIII. THE WATCHGUARD XXIX. MONSIEUR'S FÃ\u0000TE XXX. M.PAUL XXXI. THE DRYAD XXXII. THE FIRST LETTER XXXIII. M. PAUL KEEPS HIS PROMISE XXXIV. MALEVOLA XXXV. FRATERNITY XXXVI. THE APPLE OF DISCORD XXXVII. SUNSHINEXXXVIII. CLOUD XXXIX. OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCE XL. THE HAPPY PAIR XLI. FAUBOURG CLOTILDE XLII. FINISVILLETTE.CHAPTER I.BRETTON.My godmother lived in a handsome house in the cleanand ancient town ofBretton. Her husband's family had been residents there for generations,and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace--Bretton of Bretton:whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestorhad been apersonage of sufficient importance to leave his name to hisneighbourhood, I know not.When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well Iliked the visit. The house and its inmates speciallysuited me. Thelarge peaceful rooms, the well-arranged furniture, the clear widewindows, the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street,where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide--so quiet wasitsatmosphere, so clean its pavement--these things pleased me well.One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of,and in a quiet way I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton,who hadbeen left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; herhusband, a physician, having died while she was yet a young andhandsome woman.She was not young, as I remember her, but she was still handsome,tall,well-made, and though dark for an Englishwoman, yet wearing always theclearness of health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pairof fine, cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity thatshehad not conferred her complexion on her son, whose eyes wereblue--though, even in boyhood, very piercing--and the colour of hislong hair such as friends did not venture to specify, except as the sunshone on it, whenthey called it golden. He inherited the lines of hismother's features, however; also her good teeth, her stature (or thepromise of her stature, for he was not yet full-grown), and, what wasbetter, her health without flaw,and her spirits of that tone andequality which are better than a fortune to the possessor.In the autumn of the year ---- I was staying at Bretton; my godmotherhaving come in person to claim me of the kinsfolk withwhom was at thattime fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then plainly sawevents coming, whose very shadow I scarce guessed; yet of which thefaint suspicion sufficed to impart unsettled sadness, and mademe gladto change scene and society.Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother's side; not withtumultuous swiftness, but blandly, like the gliding of a full riverthrough a plain. My visits to her resembled thesojourn of Christianand Hopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with \"green trees on eachbank, and meadows beautified with lilies all the year round.\" The charmof variety there was not, nor the excitement ofincident; but I likedpeace so well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the latter cameI almost felt it a disturbance, and wished rather it had still heldaloof.One day a letter was received of which the contentsevidently causedMrs. Bretton surprise and some concern. I thought at first it was fromhome, and trembled, expecting I know not what disastrous communication:to me, however, no reference was made, and the cloudseemed to pass.The next day, on my return from a long walk, I found, as I entered mybedroom, an unexpected change. In, addition to my own French bed in itsshady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, drapedwith white; andin addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewoodchest. I stood still, gazed, and considered.\"Of what are these things the signs and tokens?\" I asked. The answerwas obvious. \"Asecond guest is coming: Mrs. Bretton expects othervisitors.\"On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I wastold, would shortly be my companion: the daughter of a friend anddistant relation of the lateDr. Bretton's. This little girl, it wasadded, had recently lost her mother; though, indeed, Mrs. Bretton erelong subjoined, the loss was not so great as might at first appear.Mrs. Home (Home it seems was the name) hadbeen a very pretty, but agiddy, careless woman, who had neglected her child, and disappointedand disheartened her husband. So far from congenial had the unionproved, that separation at last ensued--separation bymutual consent,not after any legal process. Soon after this event, the lady havingover-exerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and diedafter a very brief illness. Her husband, naturally a man of verysensitivefeelings, and shocked inexpressibly by too suddencommunication of the news, could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded butthat some over-severity on his part--some deficiency in patience andindulgence--hadcontributed to hasten her end. He had brooded over thisidea till his spirits were seriously affected; the medical men insistedon travelling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs. Bretton hadoffered to take chargeof his little girl. \"And I hope,\" added mygodmother in conclusion, \"the child will not be like her mamma; assilly and frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible man was weak enoughto marry. For,\" said she, \"Mr. Home _is_ asensible man in his way,though not very practical: he is fond of science, and lives half hislife in a laboratory trying experiments--a thing his butterfly wifecould neither comprehend nor endure; and indeed\" confessedmygodmother, \"I should not have liked it myself.\"In answer to a question of mine, she further informed me that her latehusband used to say, Mr. Home had derived this scientific turn from amaternal uncle, a Frenchsavant; for he came, it seems; of mixed Frenchand Scottish origin, and had connections now living in France, of whommore than one wrote _de_ before his name, and called himself noble.That same evening at nineo'clock, a servant was despatched to meet thecoach by which our little visitor was expected. Mrs. Bretton and I satalone in the drawing-room waiting her coming; John Graham Bretton beingabsent on a visit to one ofhis schoolfellows who lived in the country.My godmother read the evening paper while she waited; I sewed. It was awet night; the rain lashed the panes, and the wind sounded angry andrestless.\"Poor child!\" said Mrs.Bretton from time to time. \"What weather forher journey! I wish she were safe here.\"A little before ten the door-bell announced Warren's return. No soonerwas the door opened than I ran down into the hall; there lay atrunkand some band-boxes, beside them stood a person like a nurse-girl, andat the foot of the staircase was Warren with a shawled bundle in hisarms.\"Is that the child?\" I asked.\"Yes, miss.\"I would have opened theshawl, and tried to get a peep at the face, butit was hastily turned from me to Warren's shoulder.\"Put me down, please,\" said a small voice when Warren opened thedrawing-room door, \"and take off this shawl,\"continued the speaker,extracting with its minute hand the pin, and with a sort of fastidioushaste doffing the clumsy wrapping. The creature which now appeared madea deft attempt to fold the shawl; but the draperywas much too heavyand large to be sustained or wielded by those hands and arms. \"Give itto Harriet, please,\" was then the direction, \"and she can put it away.\"This said, it turned and fixed its eyes on Mrs.Bretton.\"Come here, little dear,\" said that lady. \"Come and let me see if youare cold and damp: come and let me warm you at the fire.\"The child advanced promptly. Relieved of her wrapping, she appearedexceedinglytiny; but was a neat, completely-fashioned little figure,light, slight, and straight. Seated on my godmother's ample lap, shelooked a mere doll; her neck, delicate as wax, her head of silky curls,increased, I thought, theresemblance.Mrs. Bretton talked in little fond phrases as she chafed the child'shands, arms, and feet; first she was considered with a wistful gaze,but soon a smile answered her. Mrs. Bretton was not generallyacaressing woman: even with her deeply-cherished son, her manner wasrarely sentimental, often the reverse; but when the small strangersmiled at her, she kissed it, asking, \"What is my little one'sname?\"\"Missy.\"\"But besides Missy?\"\"Polly, papa calls her.\"\"Will Polly be content to live with me?\"\"Not _always_; but till papa comes home. Papa is gone away.\" She shookher head expressively.\"He will return to Polly, orsend for her.\"\"Will he, ma'am? Do you know he will?\"\"I think so.\"\"But Harriet thinks not: at least not for a long while. He is ill.\"Her eyes filled. She drew her hand from Mrs. Bretton's and made amovement to leave herlap; it was at first resisted, but shesaid--\"Please, I wish to go: I can sit on a stool.\"She was allowed to slip down from the knee, and taking a footstool, shecarried it to a corner where the shade was deep, and thereseatedherself. Mrs. Bretton, though a commanding, and in grave matters even aperemptory woman, was often passive in trifles: she allowed the childher way. She said to me, \"Take no notice at present.\" But I didtakenotice: I watched Polly rest her small elbow on her small knee, herhead on her hand; I observed her draw a square inch or two ofpocket-handkerchief from the doll-pocket of her doll-skirt, and then Iheard herweep. Other children in grief or pain cry aloud, withoutshame or restraint; but this being wept: the tiniest occasional snifftestified to her emotion. Mrs. Bretton did not hear it: which was quiteas well. Ere long, a voice,issuing from the corner, demanded--\"May thebell be rung for Harriet!\"I rang; the nurse was summoned and came.\"Harriet, I must be put to bed,\" said her little mistress. \"You mustask where my bed is.\"Harriet signifiedthat she had already made that inquiry.\"Ask if you sleep with me, Harriet.\"\"No, Missy,\" said the nurse: \"you are to share this young lady's room,\"designating me.Missy did not leave her seat, but I saw her eyes seek me.After someminutes' silent scrutiny, she emerged from her corner.\"I wish you, ma'am, good night,\" said she to Mrs. Bretton; but shepassed me mute.\"Good-night, Polly,\" I said.\"No need to say good-night, since we sleepin the same chamber,\" wasthe reply, with which she vanished from the drawing-room. We heardHarriet propose to carry her up-stairs. \"No need,\" was again heranswer--\"no need, no need:\" and her small step toiledwearily up thestaircase.On going to bed an hour afterwards, I found her still wide awake. Shehad arranged her pillows so as to support her little person in asitting posture: her hands, placed one within the other, restedquietlyon the sheet, with an old-fashioned calm most unchildlike. I abstainedfrom speaking to her for some time, but just before extinguishing thelight, I recommended her to lie down.\"By and by,\" was the answer.\"Butyou will take cold, Missy.\"She took some tiny article of raiment from the chair at her crib side,and with it covered her shoulders. I suffered her to do as she pleased.Listening awhile in the darkness, I was aware that shestillwept,--wept under restraint, quietly and cautiously.On awaking with daylight, a trickling of water caught my ear. Behold!there she was risen and mounted on a stool near the washstand, withpains and difficultyinclining the ewer (which she could not lift) soas to pour its contents into the basin. It was curious to watch her asshe washed and dressed, so small, busy, and noiseless. Evidently shewas little accustomed to performher own toilet; and the buttons,strings, hooks and eyes, offered difficulties which she encounteredwith a perseverance good to witness. She folded her night-dress, shesmoothed the drapery of her couch quite neatly;withdrawing into acorner, where the sweep of the white curtain concealed her, she becamestill. I half rose, and advanced my head to see how she was occupied.On her knees, with her forehead bent on her hands, Iperceived that shewas praying.Her nurse tapped at the door. She started up.\"I am dressed, Harriet,\" said she; \"I have dressed myself, but I do notfeel neat. Make me neat!\"\"Why did you dress yourself, Missy?\"\"Hush!speak low, Harriet, for fear of waking _the girl_\" (meaning me,who now lay with my eyes shut). \"I dressed myself to learn, against thetime you leave me.\"\"Do you want me to go?\"\"When you are cross, I have many atime wanted you to go, but not now.Tie my sash straight; make my hair smooth, please.\"\"Your sash is straight enough. What a particular little body you are!\"\"It must be tied again. Please to tie it.\"\"There, then. When Iam gone you must get that young lady to dress you.\"\"On no account.\"\"Why? She is a very nice young lady. I hope you mean to behave prettilyto her, Missy, and not show your airs.\"\"She shall dress me on noaccount.\"\"Comical little thing!\"\"You are not passing the comb straight through my hair, Harriet; theline will be crooked.\"\"Ay, you are ill to please. Does that suit?\"\"Pretty well. Where should I go now that I amdressed?\"\"I will take you into the breakfast-room.\"\"Come, then.\"They proceeded to the door. She stopped.\"Oh! Harriet, I wish this was papa's house! I don't know these people.\"\"Be a good child, Missy.\"\"I am good, butI ache here;\" putting her hand to her heart, andmoaning while she reiterated, \"Papa! papa!\"I roused myself and started up, to check this scene while it was yetwithin bounds.\"Say good-morning to the young lady,\"dictated Harriet. She said,\"Good-morning,\" and then followed her nurse from the room. Harriettemporarily left that same day, to go to her own friends, who lived inthe neighbourhood.On descending, I found Paulina(the child called herself Polly, but herfull name was Paulina Mary) seated at the breakfast-table, by Mrs.Bretton's side; a mug of milk stood before her, a morsel of breadfilled her hand, which lay passive on thetable-cloth: she was noteating.\"How we shall conciliate this little creature,\" said Mrs. Bretton tome, \"I don't know: she tastes nothing, and by her looks, she has notslept.\"I expressed my confidence in the effects of timeand kindness.\"If she were to take a fancy to anybody in the house, she would soonsettle; but not till then,\" replied Mrs. Bretton.CHAPTER II.PAULINA.Some days elapsed, and it appeared she was not likely to take muchof afancy to anybody in the house. She was not exactly naughty or wilful:she was far from disobedient; but an object less conducive tocomfort--to tranquillity even--than she presented, it was scarcelypossible to havebefore one's eyes. She moped: no grown person couldhave performed that uncheering business better; no furrowed face ofadult exile, longing for Europe at Europe's antipodes, ever bore morelegibly the signs of homesickness than did her infant visage. Sheseemed growing old and unearthly. I, Lucy Snowe, plead guiltless ofthat curse, an overheated and discursive imagination; but whenever,opening a room-door, I found her seatedin a corner alone, her head inher pigmy hand, that room seemed to me not inhabited, but haunted.And again, when of moonlight nights, on waking, I beheld her figure,white and conspicuous in its night-dress, kneelingupright in bed, andpraying like some Catholic or Methodist enthusiast--some precociousfanatic or untimely saint--I scarcely know what thoughts I had; butthey ran risk of being hardly more rational and healthy thanthatchild's mind must have been.I seldom caught a word of her prayers, for they were whispered low:sometimes, indeed, they were not whispered at all, but put upunuttered; such rare sentences as reached my ear stillbore the burden,\"Papa; my dear papa!\" This, I perceived, was a one-idea'd nature;betraying that monomaniac tendency I have ever thought the mostunfortunate with which man or woman can be cursed.What mighthave been the end of this fretting, had it continuedunchecked, can only be conjectured: it received, however, a sudden turn.One afternoon, Mrs. Bretton, coaxing her from her usual station in acorner, had lifted her intothe window-seat, and, by way of occupyingher attention, told her to watch the passengers and count how manyladies should go down the street in a given time. She had satlistlessly, hardly looking, and not counting,when--my eye being fixedon hers--I witnessed in its iris and pupil a startling transfiguration.These sudden, dangerous natures--_sensitive_ as they are called--offermany a curious spectacle to those whom a coolertemperament has securedfrom participation in their angular vagaries. The fixed and heavy gazeswum, trembled, then glittered in fire; the small, overcast browcleared; the trivial and dejected features lit up; the sadcountenancevanished, and in its place appeared a sudden eagerness, an intenseexpectancy. \"It _is_!\" were her words.Like a bird or a shaft, or any other swift thing, she was gone from theroom. How she got thehouse-door open I cannot tell; probably it mightbe ajar; perhaps Warren was in the way and obeyed her behest, whichwould be impetuous enough. I--watching calmly from the window--saw her,in her black frock andtiny braided apron (to pinafores she had anantipathy), dart half the length of the street; and, as I was on thepoint of turning, and quietly announcing to Mrs. Bretton that the childwas run out mad, and ought instantly tobe pursued, I saw her caughtup, and rapt at once from my cool observation, and from the wonderingstare of the passengers. A gentleman had done this good turn, and now,covering her with his cloak, advanced torestore her to the housewhence he had seen her issue.I concluded he would leave her in a servant's charge and withdraw; buthe entered: having tarried a little while below, he came up-stairs.His reception immediatelyexplained that he was known to Mrs. Bretton.She recognised him; she greeted him, and yet she was fluttered,surprised, taken unawares. Her look and manner were even expostulatory;and in reply to these, rather thanher words, he said,--\"I could nothelp it, madam: I found it impossible to leave the country withoutseeing with my own eyes how she settled.\"\"But you will unsettle her.\"\"I hope not. And how is papa's little Polly?\"Thisquestion he addressed to Paulina, as he sat down and placed hergently on the ground before him.\"How is Polly's papa?\" was the reply, as she leaned on his knee, andgazed up into his face.It was not a noisy, not awordy scene: for that I was thankful; but itwas a scene of feeling too brimful, and which, because the cup did notfoam up high or furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. On alloccasions of vehement,unrestrained expansion, a sense of disdain orridicule comes to the weary spectator's relief; whereas I have everfelt most burdensome that sort of sensibility which bends of its ownwill, a giant slave under the sway ofgood sense.Mr. Home was a stern-featured--perhaps I should rather say, ahard-featured man: his forehead was knotty, and his cheekbones weremarked and prominent. The character of his face was quite Scotch;butthere was feeling in his eye, and emotion in his now agitatedcountenance. His northern accent in speaking harmonised with hisphysiognomy. He was at once proud-looking and homely-looking. He laidhis hand on thechild's uplifted head. She said--\"Kiss Polly.\"He kissed her. I wished she would utter some hysterical cry, so that Imight get relief and be at ease. She made wonderfully little noise: sheseemed to have got what shewanted--_all_ she wanted, and to be in atrance of content. Neither in mien nor in features was this creaturelike her sire, and yet she was of his strain: her mind had been filledfrom his, as the cup from the"}
{"doc_id":"doc_56","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's Search the Sky, by Frederik Pohl and C. M. KornbluthThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost norestrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: Search the SkyAuthor: Frederik Pohl C. M. KornbluthRelease Date: June 3, 2016 [EBook #52228]Language:EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEARCH THE SKY *** By Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth _THE SPACEMERCHANTS_ _SEARCH THE SKY_------------------------------------------------------------------------ SEARCHTHE SKY by Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth BALLANTINE BOOKS · NEWYORK------------------------------------------------------------------------ COPYRIGHT, 1954, BY FREDERIK POHL AND C. M. KORNBLUTH LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUE CARDNO. 54-6478 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BALLANTINE BOOKS, INC. 404 Fifth Avenue, New York 18, N.Y. ------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publicationwas renewed.------------------------------------------------------------------------ SEARCH THE SKY..... 1DECAY.Ross stood on the tradersâ\u0000\u0000 ramp, overlooking the Yards, andthe wordkept bobbing to the top of his mind.Decay.About all of Halseyâ\u0000\u0000s Planet there was the imperceptible reek of decay.The clean, big, bustling, efficient spaceport only made the sensationstronger. From wherehe stood on the height of the Ramp, he could seethe Yards, the spires of Halsey City ten kilometers awayâ\u0000\u0000and thetumble-down gray acres of Ghost Town between.Ross wrinkled his nose. He wasnâ\u0000\u0000t a man givento brooding, but the scentof decay had saturated his nostrils that morning. He had tossed andturned all the night, wrestling with a decision. And he had got upearly, so early that the only thing that made sense was towalk to work.And that meant walking through Ghost Town. He hadnâ\u0000\u0000t done that in a longtime, not since childhood. Ghost Town was a wonderful place to play.â\u0000\u0000Tag,â\u0000\u0000 â\u0000\u0000Follow My Fuehrer,â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Senators and Presidentâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000all the ancientgames took on new life when you could dodge and turn among crumblingruins, dart down unmarked lanes, gallop through sagging shacks where youmight stir out ascreeching, unexpected recluse.But it was clear thatâ\u0000\u0000in the fifteen years between childhood games and atroubled manâ\u0000\u0000s walk to workâ\u0000\u0000Ghost Town had grown.Everybody knew that! Ask the right specialists,and theyâ\u0000\u0000d tell you howmuch and how fast. An acre a year, a street a month, a block a week, thespecialists would twinkle at you, convinced that the acre, street, blockwas under control, since they could measureit.Ask the right specialists and they would tell you why it was happening.One answer per specialist, with an ironclad guarantee that there wouldbe no overlapping of replies. â\u0000\u0000A purely psychological phenomenon,Mr.Ross. A vibration of the pendulum toward greater municipal compactness,a huddling, a mature recognition of the facts of interdependence,basically a step forward....â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000A purely biological phenomenon, Mr.Ross. Falling birth rate due tobiochemical deficiency of trace elements processed out of our planetarydiet. Fortunately the situation has been recognized in time and my billbefore the Chamber will provide....â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Apurely technological problem, Mr. Ross. Maintenance of a sprawlingcity is inevitably less efficient than that of a compact unit.Inevitably there has been a drift back to the central areas and theconvenience ofair-conditioned walkways, winterized plazas....â\u0000\u0000Yes. It was a purely psychological-biological-technological-educational-demographic problem, and it was basically a step forward.Ross wondered how many GhostTowns lay corpselike on the surface ofHalseyâ\u0000\u0000s Planet. Decay, he thought. Decay.But it had nothing to do with his problem, the problem that had kept himawake all the night, the problem that blighted the viewbefore him now.The trading bell clanged. The dayâ\u0000\u0000s work began.For Ross it might be his last dayâ\u0000\u0000s work at the Yards. * * * * *He walked slowly from the ramp to the offices of theOldham TradingCorporation. â\u0000\u0000Morning, Ross boy,â\u0000\u0000 his breezy young boss greeted him.Charles Oldham IVâ\u0000\u0000s father had always taken a paternal attitude towardhis help, and Charles Oldham IV was not goingto change anything thatDaddy had done. He shook Rossâ\u0000\u0000s hand at the door of the suite andapologized because they hadnâ\u0000\u0000t been able to find a new secretary for himyet. Theyâ\u0000\u0000d been looking for two weeks,but the three applicants theyhad been able to dredge up had all been hopeless. â\u0000\u0000Itâ\u0000\u0000s the damnChamber,â\u0000\u0000 said Charles Oldham IV, winsomely gesturing with his hands toshow how helpless men of affairswere against the blunderinginterference of Government. â\u0000\u0000Damn labor shortage is nothing but a damnartificial scarcity crisis. Daddy saw it; he knew it was coming.â\u0000\u0000Ross almost told him he was quitting, but heldback. Maybe it wasbecause he didnâ\u0000\u0000t want to spoil Oldhamâ\u0000\u0000s day with bad news, right on topof the opening bell. Or maybe it was because, in spite of a sleeplessnight, he still wasnâ\u0000\u0000t quite sure.Themorningâ\u0000\u0000s work helped him to become sure. It was the same monotonousgrind.Three freighters had arrived at dawn from Halseyâ\u0000\u0000s third moon, but noneof them was any affair of his. There was an exportshipment of jewelryand watches to be attended to, but the ship was not to take off foranother week. It scarcely classified as urgent. Ross worked on themanifests for a couple of hours, stared through his window for anhour,and then it was time for lunch.Little Marconi hailed him as he passed through the tradersâ\u0000\u0000 lounge.Of all the juniors on the Exchange, Marconi was the one Ross foundeasiest to take. He was lean and dark whereRoss was solid and fair;worse, he stood four ranks above Ross in seniority. But, since Rossworked for Oldham, and Marconi worked for Haarlandâ\u0000\u0000s, the differencecould be waived in social intercourse.Ross suspectedthat, to Marconi as to him, trading was only a jobâ\u0000\u0000a dullone, and not a crusade. And he knew that Marconiâ\u0000\u0000s reading was notconfined to bills of lading. â\u0000\u0000Lunch?â\u0000\u0000 asked Marconi. â\u0000\u0000Sure,â\u0000\u0000 Rosssaid.And he knew heâ\u0000\u0000d probably spill his secret to the little man fromHaarlandâ\u0000\u0000s.The skyroom was crowdedâ\u0000\u0000comparatively. All eight of the usual tableswere taken; they pushed on into the roped-off area bythe windows andfound a table overlooking the Yards. Marconi blew dust off his chair.â\u0000\u0000Been a long time since this was used,â\u0000\u0000 he grumbled. â\u0000\u0000Drink?â\u0000\u0000 He raisedhis eyebrows when Ross nodded. It made abreak; Marconi was the oneusually who had a drink with lunch, Ross never touched it.When the drinks came, each of them said to the other in perfectsynchronism: â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000ve got something to tell you.â\u0000\u0000Theylooked startledâ\u0000\u0000then laughed. â\u0000\u0000Go ahead,â\u0000\u0000 said Ross.The little man didnâ\u0000\u0000t even argue. Rapturously he drew a photo out of hispocket.God, thought Ross wearily, Lurline again! He studied the picture withashow of interest. â\u0000\u0000New snap?â\u0000\u0000 he asked brightly. â\u0000\u0000Lovely girlâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000 Then henoticed the inscription: _To my fiance, with crates of love._ â\u0000\u0000Well!â\u0000\u0000 hesaid, â\u0000\u0000Fiance, is it? Congratulations,Marconi!â\u0000\u0000Marconi was almost drooling on the photo. â\u0000\u0000Next month,â\u0000\u0000 he said happily.â\u0000\u0000A big, big wedding. For keeps, Rossâ\u0000\u0000for keeps. With children!â\u0000\u0000Ross made an expression of polite surprise.â\u0000\u0000You donâ\u0000\u0000t say!â\u0000\u0000 he said.â\u0000\u0000Itâ\u0000\u0000s all down in black and white! She agrees to have two children inthe first five yearsâ\u0000\u0000no permissive clause, a straight guarantee. Fifteenhundred annual allowance perchild. And, Ross, do you know what? Herlawyer told her right in front of me that she ought to ask for threethousand, and she told him, â\u0000\u0000No, Mr. Turek. I happen to be in love.â\u0000\u0000 Howdo you like that,Ross?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000A girl in a million,â\u0000\u0000 Ross said feebly. His private thoughts were thatMarconi had been gaffed and netted like a sugar perch. Lurline was ofthe Old Landowners, who didnâ\u0000\u0000t own anything much butland these days,and Marconi was an undersized nobody who happened to make a very goodliving. Sure she happened to be in love. Smartest thing she could be. Ofcourse, promising to have children sounded prettyspecial; but thepapers were full of those things every day. Marconi could reliably becounted on to hang himself. Heâ\u0000\u0000d promise her breakfast in bed everythird week end, or the maid that he couldnâ\u0000\u0000t possibly findon the labormarket, and the courts would throw all the promises on both sides out ofthe contract as a matter of simple equity. But the marriage would stick,all right.Marconi had himself a final moist, fatuous sigh andreturned the phototo his pocket. â\u0000\u0000And now,â\u0000\u0000 he asked brightly, craning his neck for thewaiter, â\u0000\u0000whatâ\u0000\u0000s your news?â\u0000\u0000Ross sipped his drink, staring out at the nuzzling freighters in theirhemisphericalslips. He said abruptly, â\u0000\u0000I might be on one of those nextweek. Fallonâ\u0000\u0000s got a purserâ\u0000\u0000s berth open.â\u0000\u0000Marconi forgot the waiter and gaped. â\u0000\u0000Quitting?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000ve got to do something!â\u0000\u0000 Rossexploded. His own voice scared him;there was a knife blade of hysteria in the sound of it. He gripped theedge of the table and forced himself to be calm and deliberate.Marconi said tardily, â\u0000\u0000Easy,Ross.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Easy! Youâ\u0000\u0000ve said it, Marconi: â\u0000\u0000Easy.â\u0000\u0000 Everythingâ\u0000\u0000s so damned easy andso damned boring that Iâ\u0000\u0000m just about ready to blow! Iâ\u0000\u0000ve got to dosomething,â\u0000\u0000 he repeated.â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000m getting nowhere! I push papers around andthen I push them back again. You know what happens next. You get softand paunchy. You find yourself going by the book instead of by yourhead. Youâ\u0000\u0000recovered, if you go by the bookâ\u0000\u0000no matter what happens. Andyou might just as well be dead!â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Now, Rossâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Now, hell!â\u0000\u0000 Ross flared. â\u0000\u0000Marconi, I swear I think thereâ\u0000\u0000ssomethingwrong with me! Look, take Ghost Town for instance. Ever wonder whynobody lives there, except a couple of crazy old hermits?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Why, itâ\u0000\u0000s Ghost Town,â\u0000\u0000 Marconi explained. â\u0000\u0000Itâ\u0000\u0000sdeserted.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000And why is it deserted? What happened to the people who used to livethere?â\u0000\u0000Marconi shook his head. â\u0000\u0000You need a vacation, son,â\u0000\u0000 he saidsympathetically. â\u0000\u0000That was a long time ago.Hundreds of years, maybe.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000But where did the people go?â\u0000\u0000 Ross persisted desperately. â\u0000\u0000All of thecity was inhabited hundreds of years agoâ\u0000\u0000the city was twice as big as itis now. Howcome?â\u0000\u0000Marconi shrugged. â\u0000\u0000Dunno.â\u0000\u0000Ross collapsed. â\u0000\u0000Donâ\u0000\u0000t know. You donâ\u0000\u0000t know, I donâ\u0000\u0000t know, nobody knows.Only thing is, I care! Iâ\u0000\u0000m curious. Marconi, I getâ\u0000\u0000well,moody.Depressed. I get to worrying about crazy things. Ghost Town, for one.And why canâ\u0000\u0000t they find a secretary for me? And am I really differentfrom everybody else or do I just think soâ\u0000\u0000and doesnâ\u0000\u0000t thatmean that Iâ\u0000\u0000minsane?â\u0000\u0000He laughed. Marconi said warmly, â\u0000\u0000Ross, you arenâ\u0000\u0000t the only one; donâ\u0000\u0000tever think you are. I went through it myself. Found the answer, too. Youwait, Ross.â\u0000\u0000He paused.Ross said suspiciously, â\u0000\u0000Yeah?â\u0000\u0000Marconi tapped the breast pocket with the photo of Lurline. â\u0000\u0000Sheâ\u0000\u0000ll comealong,â\u0000\u0000 he said.Ross managed not to sneer in his face. â\u0000\u0000No,â\u0000\u0000 he said wearily.â\u0000\u0000Look, Idonâ\u0000\u0000t advertise it, but I was married once. I was eighteen, it lastedfor a year and Iâ\u0000\u0000m the one who walked out. Flat-fee settlement; it tookme five years to pay off the loan, but I never regrettedit.â\u0000\u0000Marconi began gravely, â\u0000\u0000Sexual incompatibilityâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Ross cut him off with an impatient gesture. â\u0000\u0000In that department,â\u0000\u0000 hesaid, â\u0000\u0000it so happens she was a genius.Butâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000But?â\u0000\u0000Ross shrugged. â\u0000\u0000I must have been crazy,â\u0000\u0000 he said shortly. â\u0000\u0000I keptthinking that she was half-dead, dying on the vine like the rest ofHalseyâ\u0000\u0000s Planet. And I must still becrazy, because I still think so.â\u0000\u0000The little man involuntarily felt his breast pocket. He said gently,â\u0000\u0000Maybe youâ\u0000\u0000ve been working too hard.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Too hard!â\u0000\u0000 Ross laughed, a curious blend of true humorandself-disgust. â\u0000\u0000Well,â\u0000\u0000 he admitted, â\u0000\u0000I need a change, anyhow. I might aswell be on a longliner. At least Iâ\u0000\u0000d have my spree to look back on.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000No!â\u0000\u0000 Marconi said, so violently that Rossslopped the drink he waslifting to his mouth.Ross looked hard at the little manâ\u0000\u0000hard and speculatively. â\u0000\u0000No, then,â\u0000\u0000he said. â\u0000\u0000It was just a figure of speech, of course. But tell mesomething, wonâ\u0000\u0000tyou, Marconi?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Tell you what?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Tell me why such a violent reaction to the word â\u0000\u0000longliner.â\u0000\u0000 I want toknow.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Hell, Ross,â\u0000\u0000 the little man grumbled, â\u0000\u0000you know what a longlineris.Gutter-scrapings for crews; nothing for a man like you.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000I want to know more,â\u0000\u0000 Ross insisted. â\u0000\u0000When I ask you what a longlineris, what the crew do with themselves for two or three centuries,youchange the subject. You always change the subject! Maybe you knowsomething I donâ\u0000\u0000t know. I want to know what it is, and this time thesubject doesnâ\u0000\u0000t get changed. You donâ\u0000\u0000t get off the hook until Ifindout.â\u0000\u0000 He took a sip of his drink and leaned back. â\u0000\u0000Tell me aboutlongliners,â\u0000\u0000 he said. â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000ve never seen one coming in; itâ\u0000\u0000s been fifteenyears or so since that bucket from Sirius IV, hasnâ\u0000\u0000tit? But you were onthe job then.â\u0000\u0000Marconi was no longer a man in love or one of the few people whom Rossconsidered to be wholly aliveâ\u0000\u0000like him. He was a hard-eyed littlestranger with a stubborn mouth and aningratiating veneer. In short hewas again a trader, and a good one.â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000ll tell you anything I know,â\u0000\u0000 Marconi declared positively, andinsincerely. â\u0000\u0000Tend to that fellow first though, will you?â\u0000\u0000 He pointedtoa uniformed Yards messenger whose eye had just alighted on Ross. The manthreaded his way, stumbling, through the tables and laid a sealedenvelope down in the puddle left by Rossâ\u0000\u0000s drink.â\u0000\u0000Sorry, sir,â\u0000\u0000he said crisply, wiped off the envelope with hishandkerchief and, for lagniappe, wiped the puddle off the table intoRossâ\u0000\u0000s lap.Speechless, Ross signed for the envelope on a red-tabbed slip markedURGENT *PRIORITY * RUSH. The messenger saluted, almost putting his owneye out, and left, crashing into tables and chairs.â\u0000\u0000Half-dead,â\u0000\u0000 Ross muttered, following him with his eyes. â\u0000\u0000How the devildo they stay aliveat all?â\u0000\u0000Marconi said, unsmiling, â\u0000\u0000Youâ\u0000\u0000re taking this kick pretty seriously,Ross. I admit heâ\u0000\u0000s a little clumsy, butâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000But nothing,â\u0000\u0000 said Ross. â\u0000\u0000Donâ\u0000\u0000t try to tell me youdonâ\u0000\u0000t knowsomethingâ\u0000\u0000s wrong, Marconi! Heâ\u0000\u0000s a bumbling incompetent, and half hisgeneration is just like him.â\u0000\u0000 He looked bitterly at the envelope anddropped it on the table again. â\u0000\u0000Moremanifests,â\u0000\u0000 he said. â\u0000\u0000I swear Iâ\u0000\u0000llstart throwing tableware if I have to check another bill of lading.Brighten my day, Marconi; tell me about the longliners. Youâ\u0000\u0000re not offthe hook yet, youknow.â\u0000\u0000Marconi signaled for another drink. â\u0000\u0000All right,â\u0000\u0000 he said. â\u0000\u0000Marconi tellsall about longliners. Theyâ\u0000\u0000re ships. They go from the planet of one starto the planet of another star. It takes a long time,because stars aremany light-years apart and rocket ships cannot travel as fast as light.Einstein said soâ\u0000\u0000whoever he was. Do we start with the Sirius IV ship? Iwas around when it came in, all right. Fifteen years ago,and Halseyâ\u0000\u0000sPlanet is still enjoying the benefits of it. And so is Leverett and SonsTrading Corporation. They did fine on flowers from seeds that bucketbrought, they did fine on sugar perch from eggs that bucketbrought.Iâ\u0000\u0000ve never had it myself. Raw fish for dessert! But some people swear byitâ\u0000\u0000at five shields a portion. They can have it.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000The hook, Marconi,â\u0000\u0000 Ross reminded grimly.Trader Marconi laughedamiably. â\u0000\u0000Sorry. Well, what else? Pictures andmusic, but Iâ\u0000\u0000m not much on them. I do read, though, and as a reader Isay, God bless that bucket from Sirius IV. We never had a novelist likeMorris Halliday on thisplanetâ\u0000\u0000or an essayist like Jay Waring. Letâ\u0000\u0000ssee, there have been eight Halliday novels off the microfilms so far,and I think Leverett still has a couple in the vaults. Leverett mustbeâ\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Marconi. Idonâ\u0000\u0000t want to hear about Leverett and Sons. Or MorrisHalliday, or Waring. I want to hear about longliners.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000m trying to tell you,â\u0000\u0000 Marconi said sullenly, the mask down.â\u0000\u0000No, youâ\u0000\u0000re not.Youâ\u0000\u0000re telling me that the longline ships go from onestellar system to another with merchandise. I know that.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Then what do you want?â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Donâ\u0000\u0000t be difficult, Marconi. I want to know the facts. Allaboutlongliners. The big hush-hush. The candid explanations that explainnothingâ\u0000\u0000except that a starship is a starship. I know that theyâ\u0000\u0000reclosed-system, multigeneration jobs; a group of people get in on SiriusIVand their great-great-great-great-grandchildren come giggling andstumbling out on Halseyâ\u0000\u0000s Planet. I know that every couple ofgenerations your firmâ\u0000\u0000and mine, for that matterâ\u0000\u0000builds one with profitsthatwould be taxed off anyway and slings it out, stocked with seeds andfilm and sound tape and patent designs and manufacturing specificationsfor every new gimmick on the market, in the hope that itâ\u0000\u0000ll be backlongafter weâ\u0000\u0000re dead with a similar cargo to enrich your firmâ\u0000\u0000s and myfirmâ\u0000\u0000s then-current owners. Sounds sillyâ\u0000\u0000but, as I say, itâ\u0000\u0000s tax moneyanyhow. I know that your firm and mine staff the shipswith half a dozenbums of each sex, who are loaded aboard with a dandy case of deliriumtremens, contracted from spending their bounty money the only way theyknow how. And thatâ\u0000\u0000s just about all I know. Take itfrom there, Marconi.And be specific.â\u0000\u0000The little man shrugged irritably. â\u0000\u0000That gagâ\u0000\u0000s beginning to wear thin,Ross,â\u0000\u0000 he complained. â\u0000\u0000What do you want me to tell youâ\u0000\u0000the number ofwelds inBulkhead 47 of â\u0000\u0000Starship 74â\u0000\u0000? Whatâ\u0000\u0000s the difference? As yousaid, a starship is a starship is a longliner. Without them theinhabited solar systems would have no means of contact or commerce. Whatelse isthere to say?â\u0000\u0000Ross looked suddenly lost. â\u0000\u0000Iâ\u0000\u0000donâ\u0000\u0000t know,â\u0000\u0000 he said. â\u0000\u0000Donâ\u0000\u0000t you know,Marconi?â\u0000\u0000Marconi hesitated, and for a moment Ross was sure he did knowâ\u0000\u0000knewsomething, atany rate, something that might be an answer to the doubtsand nagging inconsistencies that were bothering him. But then Marconishrugged and looked at his watch and ordered another drink.But there was somethingwrong. Ross felt himself in the position of adiagnostician whose patient willfully refuses to tell where it hurts.The planet was sickâ\u0000\u0000but wouldnâ\u0000\u0000t admit it. Sick? Dying! Maybe he was onthe wrong track entirely.Maybe the starships had nothing to do with it.Maybe there was nothing that Marconi knew that would fit a piece intothe puzzle and make the answer come out all clearâ\u0000\u0000but Ghost Towncontinued to grow acre byacre, year by year. And Oldham still hadnâ\u0000\u0000tfound him a secretary capable of writing her own name.â\u0000\u0000According to the historians, everything fits nicely into place,â\u0000\u0000 Rosssaid, dubiously. â\u0000\u0000They say we camehere ourselves in longliners once,Marconi. Our ancestors under some man named Halsey colonized this place,fourteen hundred years ago. According to the longliners that come infrom other stars, their ancestorscolonized wherever they came from instarships from a place called Earth. Where is this Earth, Marconi?â\u0000\u0000Marconi said succinctly, â\u0000\u0000Look in the star charts. Itâ\u0000\u0000s there.â\u0000\u0000â\u0000\u0000Yes,"}
{"doc_id":"doc_57","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tale of Two Bad Mice, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Tale of Two Bad MiceAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: March 31, 2014 [EBook#45264]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE ***Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net(This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE FOR =W. M. L. W.= THE LITTLE GIRL WHO HAD THE DOLL'S HOUSE[Illustration] THE TALEOF TWO BAD MICE BY BEATRIX POTTER _Author of 'The Tale of Peter Rabbit,' &c._ [Illustration] LONDON FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1904 [_All rights reserved_] COPYRIGHT1904 BY FREDERICK WARNE & CO. ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.[Illustration]ONCE upon a time there was a very beautiful doll's-house; it was redbrick with white windows, and it had real muslin curtains anda frontdoor and a chimney.IT belonged to two Dolls called Lucinda and Jane; at least it belongedto Lucinda, but she never ordered meals.Jane was the Cook; but she never did any cooking, because the dinnerhad beenbought ready-made, in a box full of shavings.[Illustration][Illustration]THERE were two red lobsters and a ham, a fish, a pudding, and somepears and oranges.They would not come off the plates, but they wereextremely beautiful.ONE morning Lucinda and Jane had gone out for a drive in the doll'sperambulator. There was no one in the nursery, and it was very quiet.Presently there was a little scuffling, scratching noise in acornernear the fire-place, where there was a hole under the skirting-board.Tom Thumb put out his head for a moment, and then popped it in again.Tom Thumb was a mouse.[Illustration][Illustration]A MINUTEafterwards, Hunca Munca, his wife, put her head out, too; andwhen she saw that there was no one in the nursery, she ventured out onthe oilcloth under the coal-box.THE doll's-house stood at the other side of thefire-place. Tom Thumband Hunca Munca went cautiously across the hearthrug. They pushed thefront door--it was not fast.[Illustration][Illustration]TOM THUMB and Hunca Munca went upstairs and peeped intothedining-room. Then they squeaked with joy!Such a lovely dinner was laid out upon the table! There were tinspoons, and lead knives and forks, and two dolly-chairs--all _so_convenient!TOM THUMB set to work at onceto carve the ham. It was a beautifulshiny yellow, streaked with red.The knife crumpled up and hurt him; he put his finger in his mouth.\"It is not boiled enough; it is hard. You have a try, HuncaMunca.\"[Illustration][Illustration]HUNCA MUNCA stood up in her chair, and chopped at the ham with anotherlead knife.\"It's as hard as the hams at the cheesemonger's,\" said Hunca Munca.THE ham broke off the platewith a jerk, and rolled under the table.\"Let it alone,\" said Tom Thumb; \"give me some fish, Hunca Munca!\"[Illustration][Illustration]HUNCA MUNCA tried every tin spoon in turn; the fish was glued to thedish.Then TomThumb lost his temper. He put the ham in the middle of thefloor, and hit it with the tongs and with the shovel--bang, bang,smash, smash!The ham flew all into pieces, for underneath the shiny paint it wasmade ofnothing but plaster!THEN there was no end to the rage and disappointment of Tom Thumb andHunca Munca. They broke up the pudding, the lobsters, the pears and theoranges.As the fish would not come off the plate,they put it into the red-hotcrinkly paper fire in the kitchen; but it would not burn either.[Illustration][Illustration]TOM THUMB went up the kitchen chimney and looked out at the top--therewas no soot.WHILE TomThumb was up the chimney, Hunca Munca had anotherdisappointment. She found some tiny canisters upon the dresser,labelled--Rice--Coffee--Sago--but when she turned them upside down,there was nothing insideexcept red and blue beads.[Illustration][Illustration]THEN those mice set to work to do all the mischief theycould--especially Tom Thumb! He took Jane's clothes out of the chest ofdrawers in her bedroom, and he threwthem out of the top floor window.But Hunca Munca had a frugal mind. After pulling half the feathers outof Lucinda's bolster, she remembered that she herself was in want of afeather bed.WITH Tom Thumb's assistanceshe carried the bolster downstairs, andacross the hearth-rug. It was difficult to squeeze the bolster into themouse-hole; but they managed it somehow.[Illustration][Illustration]THEN Hunca Munca went back andfetched a chair, a book-case, abird-cage, and several small odds and ends. The book-case and thebird-cage refused to go into the mouse-hole.HUNCA MUNCA left them behind the coal-box, and went to fetch acradle.[Illustration][Illustration]HUNCA MUNCA was just returning with another chair, when suddenly therewas a noise of talking outside upon the landing. The mice rushed backto their hole, and the dolls came into thenursery.WHAT a sight met the eyes of Jane and Lucinda!Lucinda sat upon the upset kitchen stove and stared; and Jane leantagainst the kitchen dresser and smiled--but neither of them madeanyremark.[Illustration][Illustration]THE book-case and the bird-cage were rescued from under thecoal-box--but Hunca Munca has got the cradle, and some of Lucinda'sclothes.SHE also has some useful pots and pans,and several other things.[Illustration][Illustration]THE little girl that the doll's-house belonged to, said,--\"I will geta doll dressed like a policeman!\"BUT the nurse said,--\"I will set a mouse-trap!\"[Illustration]SO that isthe story of the two Bad Mice,--but they were not so veryvery naughty after all, because Tom Thumb paid for everything he broke.He found a crooked sixpence under the hearthrug; and upon ChristmasEve, he andHunca Munca stuffed it into one of the stockings of Lucindaand Jane.[Illustration][Illustration]AND very early every morning--before anybody is awake--Hunca Muncacomes with her dust-pan and her broom to sweepthe Dollies' house! THE END. PRINTED BY EDMUND EVANS, THE RACQUET COURT PRESS, LONDON, S.E.End of Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Two Bad Mice, by Beatrix Potter*** END OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF TWO BAD MICE ******** This file should be named 45264.txt or 45264.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be foundin: http://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/2/6/45264/Produced by David Edwards, Emmy and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously madeavailable by TheInternet Archive)Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright inthese works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. 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{"doc_id":"doc_58","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Ginger and Pickles, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Tale of Ginger and PicklesAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: February 2, 2005 [EBook#14877]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF GINGER AND PICKLES ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam.THE TALE OF GINGER AND PICKLESDEDICATEDWITH VERY KIND REGARDS TO OLD MR. JOHN TAYLOR,WHO \"THINKS HE MIGHT PASS AS A DORMOUSE!\" (THREE YEARS IN BED AND NEVER AGRUMBLE!)[Illustration]THE TALE OF GINGER & PICKLESBY BEATRIX POTTER_Author of \"The Tale of Peter Rabbit,\" &c._[Illustration]FREDERICK WARNE1909 by Frederick Warne & Co.Printed and bound in Great BritainbyWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles and London[Illustration]Once upon a time there was a village shop. The name over the window was\"Ginger and Pickles.\"It was a little small shop just the right size for Dolls--Lucindaand JaneDoll-cook always bought their groceries at Ginger and Pickles.The counter inside was a convenient height for rabbits. Ginger andPickles sold red spotty pocket-handkerchiefs at a penny three farthings.They alsosold sugar, and snuff and galoshes.In fact, although it was such a small shop it sold nearlyeverything--except a few things that you want in a hurry--like bootlaces,hair-pins and mutton chops.Ginger and Pickles werethe people who kept the shop. Ginger was a yellowtom-cat, and Pickles was a terrier.The rabbits were always a little bit afraid of Pickles.[Illustration][Illustration]The shop was also patronized by mice--only the micewere rather afraid ofGinger.Ginger usually requested Pickles to serve them, because he said it madehis mouth water.\"I cannot bear,\" said he, \"to see them going out at the door carryingtheir little parcels.\"\"I have thesame feeling about rats,\" replied Pickles, \"but it wouldnever do to eat our own customers; they would leave us and go to TabithaTwitchit's.\"\"On the contrary, they would go nowhere,\" replied Ginger gloomily.(TabithaTwitchit kept the only other shop in the village. She did notgive credit.)[Illustration][Illustration]Ginger and Pickles gave unlimited credit.Now the meaning of \"credit\" is this--when a customer buys a bar of soap,insteadof the customer pulling out a purse and paying for it--she saysshe will pay another time.And Pickles makes a low bow and says, \"With pleasure, madam,\" and it iswritten down in a book.The customers come again andagain, and buy quantities, in spite of beingafraid of Ginger and Pickles.But there is no money in what is called the \"till.\"[Illustration][Illustration]The customers came in crowds every day and bought quantities,especiallythe toffee customers. But there was always no money; they never paid foras much as a pennyworth of peppermints.But the sales were enormous, ten times as large as Tabitha Twitchit's.[Illustration]As therewas always no money, Ginger and Pickles were obliged to eattheir own goods.Pickles ate biscuits and Ginger ate a dried haddock.They ate them by candle-light after the shop was closed.[Illustration]When it came toJan. 1st there was still no money, and Pickles was unableto buy a dog licence.\"It is very unpleasant, I am afraid of the police,\" said Pickles.\"It is your own fault for being a terrier; _I_ do not require a licence,and neitherdoes Kep, the Collie dog.\"\"It is very uncomfortable, I am afraid I shall be summoned. I have triedin vain to get a licence upon credit at the Post Office;\" said Pickles.\"The place is full of policemen. I met one as I wascoming home.\"\"Let us send in the bill again to Samuel Whiskers, Ginger, he owes 22/9for bacon.\"\"I do not believe that he intends to pay at all,\" replied Ginger.[Illustration]\"And I feel sure that Anna Maria pocketsthings--Where are all the creamcrackers?\"\"You have eaten them yourself,\" replied Ginger.[Illustration]Ginger and Pickles retired into the back parlour.They did accounts. They added up sums and sums, andsums.\"Samuel Whiskers has run up a bill as long as his tail; he has had anounce and three-quarters of snuff since October.\"\"What is seven pounds of butter at 1/3, and a stick of sealing wax andfour matches?\"\"Send inall the bills again to everybody 'with comp'ts,'\" replied Ginger.[Illustration][Illustration]After a time they heard a noise in the shop, as if something had beenpushed in at the door. They came out of the back parlour.There was anenvelope lying on the counter, and a policeman writing in a note-book!Pickles nearly had a fit, he barked and he barked and made little rushes.\"Bite him, Pickles! bite him!\" spluttered Ginger behind asugar-barrel,\"he's only a German doll!\"The policeman went on writing in his notebook; twice he put his pencil inhis mouth, and once he dipped it in the treacle.Pickles barked till he was hoarse. But still the policemantook no notice.He had bead eyes, and his helmet was sewed on with stitches.[Illustration]At length on his last little rush--Pickles found that the shop was empty.The policeman had disappeared.But the enveloperemained.[Illustration][Illustration]\"Do you think that he has gone to fetch a real live policeman? I am afraidit is a summons,\" said Pickles.\"No,\" replied Ginger, who had opened the envelope, \"it is the rates andtaxes,£3 19 11-3/4.\"\"This is the last straw,\" said Pickles, \"let us close the shop.\"They put up the shutters, and left. But they have not removed from theneighbourhood. In fact some people wish they had gonefurther.[Illustration]Ginger is living in the warren. I do not know what occupation he pursues;he looks stout and comfortable.[Illustration][Illustration]Pickles is at present a gamekeeper.[Illustration]The closing of theshop caused great inconvenience. Tabitha Twitchitimmediately raised the price of everything a half-penny; and she continuedto refuse to give credit.Of course there are the trades-men's carts--the butcher, the fish-manandTimothy Baker.But a person cannot live on \"seed wigs\" and sponge-cake andbutter-buns--not even when the sponge-cake is as good as Timothy's![Illustration]After a time Mr. John Dormouse and his daughterbegan to sell peppermintsand candles.But they did not keep \"self-fitting sixes\"; and it takes five mice tocarry one seven inch candle.[Illustration][Illustration]Besides--the candles which they sell behave very strangelyin warmweather.[Illustration]And Miss Dormouse refused to take back the ends when they were broughtback to her with complaints.And when Mr. John Dormouse was complained to, he stayed in bed, and wouldsaynothing but \"very snug;\" which is not the way to carry on a retailbusiness.[Illustration][Illustration]So everybody was pleased when Sally Henny Penny sent out a printed posterto say that she was going to re-open theshop--\"Henny's Opening Sale!Grand co-operative Jumble! Penny's penny prices! Come buy, come try, comebuy!\"The poster really was most 'ticing.[Illustration]There was a rush upon the opening day. The shop wascrammed withcustomers, and there were crowds of mice upon the biscuit canisters.Sally Henny Penny gets rather flustered when she tries to count outchange, and she insists on being paid cash; but she is quiteharmless.[Illustration]And she has laid in a remarkable assortment of bargains.There is something to please everybody.End of Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Ginger and Pickles, by Beatrix Potter*** END OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF GINGER AND PICKLES ******** This file should be named 14877-8.txt or 14877-8.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be foundin: http://www.gutenberg.net/1/4/8/7/14877/Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editionswillbe renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United Stateswithoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. 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{"doc_id":"doc_59","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ruth, by Elizabeth Cleghorn GaskellThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: RuthAuthor: Elizabeth Cleghorn GaskellRelease Date: December 26, 2001 [eBook #4275]Most recently updatedMarch 1, 2008Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH***E-text prepared by Charles Aldarondoand revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.RUTHbyELIZABETH GASKELLFirst publishedin book form by Chapman and Hall in 1853CONTENTS I. The Dressmaker's Apprentice at Work II. Ruth Goes to the Shire-Hall III. Sunday at Mrs Mason's IV. Treading in Perilous Places V. In NorthWales VI. Troubles Gather About Ruth VII. The Crisis--Watching and Waiting VIII. Mrs Bellingham \"Does the Thing Handsomely\" IX. The Storm-Spirit Subdued X. A Note and the Answer XI.Thurstan and Faith Benson XII. Losing Sight of the Welsh Mountains XIII. The Dissenting Minister's Household XIV. Ruth's First Sunday at Eccleston XV. Mother and Child XVI. Sally Tells of HerSweethearts, and Discourses on the Duties of Life XVII. Leonard's Christening XVIII. Ruth Becomes a Governess in Mr Bradshaw's Family XIX. After Five Years XX. Jemima Refuses to BeManaged XXI. Mr Farquhar's Attentions Transferred XXII. The Liberal Candidate and His Precursor XXIII. Recognition XXIV. The Meeting on the Sands XXV. Jemima Makes a Discovery XXVI. MrBradshaw's Virtuous Indignation XXVII. Preparing to Stand on the Truth XXVIII. An Understanding Between Lovers XXIX. Sally Takes Her Money Out of the Bank XXX. The Forged Deed XXXI. An Accident tothe Dover Coach XXXII. The Bradshaw Pew Again Occupied XXXIII. A Mother to Be Proud Of XXXIV. \"I Must Go and Nurse Mr Bellingham\" XXXV. Out of Darkness into Light XXXVI. The End Drop, drop, slowtears! And bathe those beauteous feet, Which brought from heaven The news and Prince of peace. Cease not, wet eyes, For mercy to entreat: To cry for vengeance Sin doth never cease. In your deepfloods Drown all my faults and fears; Nor let His eye See sin, but through my tears. _Phineas Fletcher_CHAPTER IThe Dressmaker's Apprentice at WorkThere is an assize-town in one of the eastern counties whichwas muchdistinguished by the Tudor sovereigns, and, in consequence of theirfavour and protection, attained a degree of importance that surprisesthe modern traveller.A hundred years ago its appearance was that ofpicturesque grandeur.The old houses, which were the temporary residences of such of thecounty-families as contented themselves with the gaieties of aprovincial town, crowded the streets and gave them the irregularbutnoble appearance yet to be seen in the cities of Belgium. The sidesof the streets had a quaint richness, from the effect of the gables,and the stacks of chimneys which cut against the blue sky above;while, if the eyefell lower down, the attention was arrested by allkinds of projections in the shape of balcony and oriel; and it wasamusing to see the infinite variety of windows that had been crammedinto the walls long before Mr Pitt'sdays of taxation. The streetsbelow suffered from all these projections and advanced stories above;they were dark, and ill-paved with large, round, jolting pebbles, andwith no side-path protected by kerb-stones; therewere no lamp-postsfor long winter nights; and no regard was paid to the wants of themiddle class, who neither drove about in coaches of their own, norwere carried by their own men in their own sedans into theveryhalls of their friends. The professional men and their wives, theshopkeepers and their spouses, and all such people, walked about atconsiderable peril both night and day. The broad unwieldy carriageshemmed themup against the houses in the narrow streets. Theinhospitable houses projected their flights of steps almost into thecarriage-way, forcing pedestrians again into the danger they hadavoided for twenty or thirty paces.Then, at night, the only lightwas derived from the glaring, flaring oil-lamps hung above the doorsof the more aristocratic mansions; just allowing space for thepassers-by to become visible, before they againdisappeared into thedarkness, where it was no uncommon thing for robbers to be in waitingfor their prey.The traditions of those bygone times, even to the smallest socialparticular, enable one to understand moreclearly the circumstanceswhich contributed to the formation of character. The daily lifeinto which people are born, and into which they are absorbed beforethey are well aware, forms chains which only one in a hundredhasmoral strength enough to despise, and to break when the right timecomes--when an inward necessity for independent individual actionarises, which is superior to all outward conventionalities. Thereforeit is well toknow what were the chains of daily domestic habit whichwere the natural leading-strings of our forefathers before theylearnt to go alone.The picturesqueness of those ancient streets has departed now.The Astleys, theDunstans, the Waverhams--names of power in thatdistrict--go up duly to London in the season, and have sold theirresidences in the county-town fifty years ago, or more. And when thecounty-town lost its attraction forthe Astleys, the Dunstans, theWaverhams, how could it be supposed that the Domvilles, the Bextons,and the Wildes would continue to go and winter there in theirsecond-rate houses, and with their increasedexpenditure? So thegrand old houses stood empty awhile; and then speculators venturedto purchase, and to turn the deserted mansions into many smallerdwellings, fitted for professional men, or even (bend your earlower,lest the shade of Marmaduke, first Baron Waverham, hear) into shops!Even that was not so very bad, compared with the next innovation onthe old glories. The shopkeepers found out that the oncefashionablestreet was dark, and that the dingy light did not show off theirgoods to advantage; the surgeon could not see to draw his patient'steeth; the lawyer had to ring for candles an hour earlier than hewasaccustomed to do when living in a more plebeian street. In short, bymutual consent, the whole front of one side of the street was pulleddown, and rebuilt in the flat, mean, unrelieved style of George theThird. Thebody of the houses was too solidly grand to submit toalteration; so people were occasionally surprised, after passingthrough a commonplace-looking shop, to find themselves at the foot ofa grand carved oakenstaircase, lighted by a window of stained glass,storied all over with armorial bearings.Up such a stair--past such a window (through which the moonlight fellon her with a glory of many colours)--Ruth Hilton passedwearily oneJanuary night, now many years ago. I call it night; but, strictlyspeaking, it was morning. Two o'clock in the morning chimed forththe old bells of St Saviour's. And yet more than a dozen girls stillsat in theroom into which Ruth entered, stitching away as if forvery life, not daring to gape, or show any outward manifestation ofsleepiness. They only sighed a little when Ruth told Mrs Mason thehour of the night, as the resultof her errand; for they knew that,stay up as late as they might, the work-hours of the next day mustbegin at eight, and their young limbs were very weary.Mrs Mason worked away as hard as any of them; but she wasolder andtougher; and, besides, the gains were hers. But even she perceivedthat some rest was needed. \"Young ladies! there will be an intervalallowed of half an hour. Ring the bell, Miss Sutton. Martha shallbring youup some bread and cheese and beer. You will be so good asto eat it standing--away from the dresses--and to have your handswashed ready for work when I return. In half an hour,\" said she oncemore, very distinctly;and then she left the room.It was curious to watch the young girls as they instantaneouslyavailed themselves of Mrs Mason's absence. One fat, particularlyheavy-looking damsel laid her head on her folded arms and wasasleepin a moment; refusing to be wakened for her share in the frugalsupper, but springing up with a frightened look at the sound ofMrs Mason's returning footstep, even while it was still far off onthe echoing stairs.Two or three others huddled over the scantyfireplace, which, with every possible economy of space, and noattempt whatever at anything of grace or ornament, was inserted inthe slight, flat-looking wall, that had beenrun up by the presentowner of the property to portion off this division of the grand olddrawing-room of the mansion. Some employed the time in eating theirbread and cheese, with as measured and incessant a motionof the jaws(and almost as stupidly placid an expression of countenance), as youmay see in cows ruminating in the first meadow you happen to pass.Some held up admiringly the beautiful ball-dress in progress,whileothers examined the effect, backing from the object to be criticisedin the true artistic manner. Others stretched themselves into allsorts of postures to relieve the weary muscles; one or two gave ventto all theyawns, coughs, and sneezes that had been pent up so longin the presence of Mrs Mason. But Ruth Hilton sprang to the large oldwindow, and pressed against it as a bird presses against the bars ofits cage. She put backthe blind, and gazed into the quiet moonlightnight. It was doubly light--almost as much so as day--for everythingwas covered with the deep snow which had been falling silently eversince the evening before. Thewindow was in a square recess; the oldstrange little panes of glass had been replaced by those which gavemore light. A little distance off, the feathery branches of a larchwaved softly to and fro in the scarcelyperceptible night-breeze.Poor old larch! the time had been when it had stood in a pleasantlawn, with the tender grass creeping caressingly up to its verytrunk; but now the lawn was divided into yards and squalidbackpremises, and the larch was pent up and girded about withflag-stones. The snow lay thick on its boughs, and now and then fellnoiselessly down. The old stables had been added to, and altered intoa dismal street ofmean-looking houses, back to back with the ancientmansions. And over all these changes from grandeur to squalor, bentdown the purple heavens with their unchanging splendour!Ruth pressed her hot forehead againstthe cold glass, and strainedher aching eyes in gazing out on the lovely sky of a winter's night.The impulse was strong upon her to snatch up a shawl, and wrapping itround her head, to sally forth and enjoy the glory;and time was whenthat impulse would have been instantly followed; but now, Ruth's eyesfilled with tears, and she stood quite still, dreaming of the daysthat were gone. Some one touched her shoulder while herthoughts werefar away, remembering past January nights, which had resembled this,and were yet so different.\"Ruth, love,\" whispered a girl who had unwillingly distinguishedherself by a long hard fit of coughing, \"comeand have some supper.You don't know yet how it helps one through the night.\"\"One run--one blow of the fresh air would do me more good,\" saidRuth.\"Not such a night as this,\" replied the other, shivering at theverythought.\"And why not such a night as this, Jenny?\" answered Ruth. \"Oh! athome I have many a time run up the lane all the way to the mill, justto see the icicles hang on the great wheel; and when I was once out,Icould hardly find in my heart to come in, even to mother, sittingby the fire;--even to mother,\" she added, in a low, melancholy tone,which had something of inexpressible sadness in it. \"Why, Jenny!\"said she, rousingherself, but not before her eyes were swimmingwith tears, \"own, now, that you never saw those dismal, hateful,tumble-down old houses there look half so--what shall I call them?almost beautiful--as they do now, withthat soft, pure, exquisitecovering; and if they are so improved, think of what trees, andgrass, and ivy must be on such a night as this.\"Jenny could not be persuaded into admiring the winter's night, whichto her cameonly as a cold and dismal time, when her cough was moretroublesome, and the pain in her side worse than usual. But she puther arm round Ruth's neck, and stood by her, glad that the orphanapprentice, who was notyet inured to the hardship of a dressmaker'sworkroom, should find so much to give her pleasure in such a commonoccurrence as a frosty night.They remained deep in separate trains of thought till Mrs Mason'sstep washeard, when each returned, supperless but refreshed, to herseat.Ruth's place was the coldest and the darkest in the room, althoughshe liked it the best; she had instinctively chosen it for the sakeof the wall opposite toher, on which was a remnant of the beautyof the old drawing-room, which must once have been magnificent, tojudge from the faded specimen left. It was divided into panels ofpale sea-green, picked out with white andgold; and on these panelswere painted--were thrown with the careless, triumphant hand of amaster--the most lovely wreaths of flowers, profuse and luxuriantbeyond description, and so real-looking, that you couldalmostfancy you smelt their fragrance, and heard the south wind go softlyrustling in and out among the crimson roses--the branches of purpleand white lilac--the floating golden-tressed laburnum boughs.Besides these,there were stately white lilies, sacred to theVirgin--hollyhocks, fraxinella, monk's-hood, pansies, primroses;every flower which blooms profusely in charming old-fashioned countrygardens was there, depicted among itsgraceful foliage, but not inthe wild disorder in which I have enumerated them. At the bottom ofthe panel lay a holly-branch, whose stiff straightness was ornamentedby a twining drapery of English ivy and mistletoe andwinter aconite;while down either side hung pendant garlands of spring and autumnflowers; and, crowning all, came gorgeous summer with the sweetmusk-roses, and the rich-coloured flowers of June and July.SurelyMonnoyer, or whoever the dead and gone artist might be, wouldhave been gratified to know the pleasure his handiwork, even in itswane, had power to give to the heavy heart of a young girl; for theyconjured up visionsof other sister-flowers that grew, and blossomed,and withered away in her early home.Mrs Mason was particularly desirous that her workwomen should exertthemselves to-night, for, on the next, the annual hunt-ballwas totake place. It was the one gaiety of the town since the assize-ballshad been discontinued. Many were the dresses she had promised shouldbe sent home \"without fail\" the next morning; she had not let oneslipthrough her fingers, for fear, if it did, it might fall into thehands of the rival dressmaker, who had just established herself inthe very same street.She determined to administer a gentle stimulant to the flaggingspirits,and with a little preliminary cough to attract attention,she began:\"I may as well inform you, young ladies, that I have been requestedthis year, as on previous occasions, to allow some of my young peopleto attend inthe ante-chamber of the assembly-room with sandalribbon, pins, and such little matters, and to be ready to repair anyaccidental injury to the ladies' dresses. I shall send four--of themost diligent.\" She laid a markedemphasis on the last words, butwithout much effect; they were too sleepy to care for any of thepomps and vanities, or, indeed, for any of the comforts of thisworld, excepting one sole thing--their beds.Mrs Mason was avery worthy woman, but, like many other worthy women,she had her foibles; and one (very natural to her calling) was topay an extreme regard to appearances. Accordingly, she had alreadyselected in her own mindthe four girls who were most likely to docredit to the \"establishment;\" and these were secretly determinedupon, although it was very well to promise the reward to the mostdiligent. She was really not aware of thefalseness of this conduct;being an adept in that species of sophistry with which peoplepersuade themselves that what they wish to do is right.At last there was no resisting the evidence of weariness. They weretold to goto bed; but even that welcome command was languidlyobeyed. Slowly they folded up their work, heavily they moved about,until at length all was put away, and they trooped up the wide, darkstaircase.\"Oh! how shall Iget through five years of these terrible nights! inthat close room! and in that oppressive stillness! which lets everysound of the thread be heard as it goes eternally backwards andforwards,\" sobbed out Ruth, as shethrew herself on her bed, withouteven undressing herself.\"Nay, Ruth, you know it won't be always as it has been to-night. Weoften get to bed by ten o'clock; and by-and-by you won't mind thecloseness of the room.You're worn out to-night, or you would nothave minded the sound of the needle; I never hear it. Come, let meunfasten you,\" said Jenny.\"What is the use of undressing? We must be up again and at work inthreehours.\"\"And in those three hours you may get a great deal of rest, if youwill but undress yourself and fairly go to bed. Come, love.\"Jenny's advice was not resisted; but before Ruth went to sleep, shesaid:\"Oh! I wish Iwas not so cross and impatient. I don't think I used tobe.\"\"No, I am sure not. Most new girls get impatient at first; but itgoes off, and they don't care much for anything after awhile. Poorchild! she's asleep already,\" saidJenny to herself.She could not sleep or rest. The tightness at her side was worse thanusual. She almost thought she ought to mention it in her lettershome; but then she remembered the premium her father hadstruggledhard to pay, and the large family, younger than herself, that had tobe cared for, and she determined to bear on, and trust that when thewarm weather came both the pain and the cough would go away.Shewould be prudent about herself.What was the matter with Ruth? She was crying in her sleep as if herheart would break. Such agitated slumber could be no rest; so Jennywakened her.\"Ruth! Ruth!\"\"Oh, Jenny!\" saidRuth, sitting up in bed, and pushing back themasses of hair that were heating her forehead, \"I thought I saw mammaby the side of the bed, coming, as she used to do, to see if I wereasleep and comfortable; and whenI tried to take hold of her, shewent away and left me alone--I don't know where; so strange!\"\"It was only a dream; you know you'd been talking about her to me,and you're feverish with sitting up late. Go to sleepagain, and I'llwatch, and waken you if you seem uneasy.\"\"But you'll be so tired. Oh, dear! dear!\" Ruth was asleep again, evenwhile she sighed.Morning came, and though their rest had been short, the girlsaroserefreshed.\"Miss Sutton, Miss Jennings, Miss Booth, and Miss Hilton, you willsee that you are ready to accompany me to the shire-hall by eighto'clock.\"One or two of the girls looked astonished, but themajority,having anticipated the selection, and knowing from experience theunexpressed rule by which it was made, received it with the sullenindifference which had become their feeling with regard to mostevents--adeadened sense of life, consequent upon their unnaturalmode of existence, their sedentary days, and their frequent nights oflate watching.But to Ruth it was inexplicable. She had yawned, and loitered, andlooked off atthe beautiful panel, and lost herself in thoughts ofhome, until she fully expected the reprimand which at any other timeshe would have been sure to receive, and now, to her surprise, shewas singled out as one of themost diligent!Much as she longed for the delight of seeing the nobleshire-hall--the boast of the county--and of catching glimpses of thedancers, and hearing the band; much as she longed for some variety tothe dull,monotonous life she was leading, she could not feel happyto accept a privilege, granted, as she believed, in ignorance of thereal state of the case; so she startled her companions by risingabruptly and going up to MrsMason, who was finishing a dress whichought to have been sent home two hours before:\"If you please, Mrs Mason, I was not one of the most diligent; I amafraid--I believe--I was not diligent at all. I was very tired;andI could not help thinking, and when I think, I can't attend to mywork.\" She stopped, believing she had sufficiently explained hermeaning; but Mrs Mason would not understand, and did not wish for anyfurtherelucidation.\"Well, my dear, you must learn to think and work too; or, if youcan't do both, you must leave off thinking. Your guardian, you know,expects you to make great progress in your business, and I am sureyouwon't disappoint him.\"But that was not to the point. Ruth stood still an instant, althoughMrs Mason resumed her employment in a manner which any one but a \"newgirl\" would have known to be intelligible enough, that"}
{"doc_id":"doc_60","qid":"","text":"Save the Last Dance Script at IMSDb.
SAVE THE LAST DANCE by Duane G. Adler revisionsby Toni-Ann Johnson Current Revisions by Cheryl Edwards (6/11/99)REWRITE -- FIRST SET OF REVISIONSCort/Madden CompanyParamount Studios5555 MelroseAvenueChevalier Building, Ste. 203Los Angeles, CaliforniaJUNE 11, 1999 FADE IN:1 EXT. PENNSYLVANIA COUNTRYSIDE - LONG SHOT - DAY 1 of an empty stretch ofland parted down the middle by railroad tracks. An Amtrak Commuter crests the horizon, heads TOWARD us. As it gets CLOSER, we GO IN TIGHTER to see --2 FACE OF SARAJOHNSON 2 17, pressed at one of its windows.3 REVERSE ANGLE - REFLECTION IN TRAIN'S WINDOW - 3 SARA'S FACE distant and lovely and sad.SUPERIMPOSED against an endless stream of sky and trees. The train speeds up and SARA's face flies by, disappearing FROM FRAME.4 INT. AMTRAK TRAIN - MOVING - DUSK 4 Azaftig BLACK WOMAN clumsily negotiates the aisle. Stops at the first of a few empty seats left in the car. WOMAN This seat taken? ANGLE ON SARA looking up,around. She shakes her head, clears her backpack and magazines from the seat beside her. The Woman drops down, settles in. A long silence. The Woman glances at the American Ballet magazine on Sara'slap. Tries to make conversation. WOMAN I love ballet. Never had the body for it. Do you dance? Sara folds her arms, turns away mumbling underbreath. SARA Used to. Sara gazes out the window. The world outside begins to dissolve melting into images from another time, another place. Her eyes stare blankly OUT ATus, blinded by her memories. 2.5 FLASHBACK - INT. AUDITORIUM - KINDERGARTEN RECITAL - DAY 5 A stage full of five-year-olds in tightsand tutus. A little girl performs center stage. She's remarkably poised, remarkably good. CAMERA PANS TO the audience. A woman in an Irish clover necklace springs to her feet clapping loudly. The little girl'seyes catch the glint of the necklace's gold. Mommy. She flashes a megawatt smile, ends the dance with an unscripted bow, as we... DISSOLVE TO:6 INT. BALLETCLASS - EVENING (FIVE YEARS LATER) 6 Young Sara, lithe and earnest, dances. A budding beauty blessed with long limbs and natural grace, she makes it look easy. Gliding past the enviousstares of classmates, she scans the hall for a glint of gold. Finds it in the back of the room where her mother, Glynn, stands watching her. Their eyes connect with mutual smiles and those smiles CARRY usTO:7 INT. SARA'S EXETER HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY 7 A pair of flexing feet in ballet slippers on a hardwood floor. PAN UP and PULL BACK to reveal Sara at 17, dancing in the spaceopened up by cornered furniture and rolled up rugs. As Glynn looks on, Sara completes the routine with a pirouette. She spins out of it with a preoccupied frown on herface. GLYNN What's the matter? It was good. SARA (checks her stance in mirror) Everybody there's going tobe good, Mom. I have to be better. (then, beginning again) My knees still knock when I do my free form. Did you noticethat? GLYNN I noticed that it was fine. SARA (escalating frustration) It's not supposed to be fine. It'ssupposed to be special. (MORE) (CONTINUED) 3.7 CONTINUED: 7 SARA (CONT'D) And it just lays there, it doesn't do anything. I bet they notice that. That it doesn't do anything. That I don'tdo anything special enough to get in. GLYNN Sara. You'll get in. SARA Don't lie because you love me. My freeform sucks. GLYNN (giving up that battle) I've got something for you. Come on. Sit. Mouth closed, eyes shut. Nopouting. No peeking. Sara flops down on the sofa beside her. Closes her eyes. Glynn removes the clover chain from her neck, fastens it around Sara's. GLYNN For lucktomorrow. Not that you'll need it. You dance like an angel. The necklace is Glynn's talisman. Sara knows what it means to her. She throws her arms around Glynn, holds onto hertightly. SARA I love the necklace but you're still the best luck I'll ever have. Glynn, not one to choke up, chokes up. They cling to eachother.8 INT. AMTRAK TRAIN (MOVING) - ON SARA - DUSK (PRESENT) 8 In the blink of her eyes, the memory fades. She pulls the window shade, shifts in her seat. Her fingers travel to the clovernecklace at her throat. Linger. The Woman regards her. WOMAN Nice... the necklace. (CONTINUED) 4.8 CONTINUED: 8 SARA Oh. It's a good luck charm. Doesn't alwayswork. The Woman's wearing a crucifix. She indicates it. Smiles. WOMAN Mine either.9 FLASHBACK - INT./EXT. BUS/RURAL ROAD -MORNING 9 A sea of young white faces. A jock entertains the troops with two straws up his nose. Sara sits next to her best friend, LINDSAY, 17. Lindsay, chomping on a wad of gum, turnsfrom the jock to Sara with a bubble in bloom, bursts it with her teeth. LINDSAY Wanna pray? You're leaving for Philly after first period. I won't seeyou. We should pray. SARA (stupefied) Lindsay... no. Not here. Lindsay grabs Sara's hand and bows her head. Sara, embarrassed, aligns her headwith Lindsay's. She's praying nobody sees them. LINDSAY 'Awesome, Father, S.J. auditions today. She's ready for them. Please make themready for her. Even if she screws up. Thanks. Amen.' (sure shrug; another bubble) God's gotten me outta all kinds of shit. He oughta beable to get you into Juilliard.10 EXT. EXETER SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL - LATER THAT MORNING 10 Sara exits with a bouquet of roses, takes the steps two and three at a time. Glynn'swaiting in a flower van at the curb. 5.11 INT./EXT. FLOWER VAN (DRIVING)/RESIDENTIAL STREETS 11 Sara and Glynn. The back ofthe van is filled with flower arrangements. Glynn takes note of the roses in Sara's hand. GLYNN Where'd you get those,traitor? SARA Ellison -- Mr. Ellison. He actually told me to break a leg. GLYNN Roses from the principal, even droopy,out-of-season yellow ones, is beyond cool, kiddo. You're definitely movin' up in the world. Sara looks through the windshield. It's startingto drizzle. SARA Know what would be great? If you didn't drop me off at the bus station. If we just kept going until we get toPhilly. GLYNN Ruin everyone's Valentine's Day and not have a shop when I get back. That's your definition of great? I can see theheadline now: 'Starving Artist Kills Unfit Mother.' (gently) Sweetheart, we talked about this. I'll get there as soon as I can. Sara looks at her and Glynn instantlyfeels guilty. SARA Right. This is the hardest, most important day of my life and all you can do is get there as soon as you can. Thanks,Mom.12 EXT. GREYHOUND BUS STATION (READING, PA) - 12 CONTINUOUS ACTION Glynn pulls the van into the parking lot. Smiles at Sara. Sara doesn't smile back. She's tooangry. Too scared. (CONTINUED) 6.12 CONTINUED: 12 SARA So I guess I'll see you later. GLYNN I won't miss your audition, Sara. I'll be there, okay? If I have to swimthe Susquehanna, I'll be there. SARA Swim? You can't swim, Mom. GLYNN I'll float then. A moment. They look at eachother. Sara finally smiles. They embrace and she hops out the van. Glynn calls after her. GLYNN Hey... Happy Valentine's Day.13 INT. AMTRAK TRAIN (MOVING) - ONSARA - NIGHT (PRESENT) 13 Feigning sleep. From the corner of her eye, she watches the Woman beside her flip through the American Ballet Magazine. We move back in time through theirpages.14 FLASHBACK - INT. UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA - WAITING 14 ROOM - DAY Sara, in costume, flips through a magazine. She taps her toes, checks her watch. A phalanx ofparents and dancers are clustered around a sign posted on the door: JUILLIARD SCHOOL OF DANCE AUDITIONS. Sara stares at it. Re-checks her watch. An official with a clipboard walks toward her. Where'sher mother?15 INT. UNIV. OF PENNSYLVANIA - STAGE/AUDITORIUM - 15 MOMENTS LATER Sara on stage. She looks past a row of Juilliard JUDGES into the audience. No glint of"}
{"doc_id":"doc_61","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James JoyceThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-useit under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManAuthor: James JoycePosting Date: July 2, 2009 [EBook#4217]Release Date: July, 2003First Posted: December 8, 2001[Last updated: March 30, 2014]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PORTRAIT--ARTIST AS YOUNG MAN ***Produced byCol Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.A Portrait of the Artist as a Young ManbyJames Joyce
_\"Et ignotas animum dimittit in artes.\"Ovid, Metamorphoses, VIII., 18._
Chapter 1Once upon a time and a very goodtime it was there was a moocow comingdown along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the roadmet a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...His father told him that story: his father looked at himthrough aglass: he had a hairy face.He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrnelived: she sold lemon platt. O, the wild rose blossoms On the little green place.He sang that song. Thatwas his song. O, the green wothe botheth.When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother puton the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played onthe pianothe sailor's hornpipe for him to dance. He danced: Tralala lala, Tralala tralaladdy, Tralala lala, Tralala lala.Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his father andmother but uncle Charleswas older than Dante.Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the maroon velvetback was for Michael Davitt and the brush with the green velvet backwas for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou every time hebrought her apiece of tissue paper.The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father andmother. They were Eileen's father and mother. When they were grown uphe was going to marry Eileen. He hid underthe table. His mother said:--O, Stephen will apologize.Dante said:--O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.-- Pull out his eyes, Apologize, Apologize, Pull out his eyes. Apologize, Pull out hiseyes, Pull out his eyes, Apologize.* * * * *The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and theprefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air was pale andchilly and after everycharge and thud of the footballers the greasyleather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept onthe fringe of his line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reachof the rude feet, feigning to run now andthen. He felt his body smalland weak amid the throng of the players and his eyes were weak andwatery. Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of thethird line all the fellows said.Rody Kickham was adecent fellow but Nasty Roche was a stink. RodyKickham had greaves in his number and a hamper in the refectory. NastyRoche had big hands. He called the Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket.And one day he hadasked:--What is your name?Stephen had answered: Stephen Dedalus.Then Nasty Roche had said:--What kind of a name is that?And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked:--What is yourfather?Stephen had answered:--A gentleman.Then Nasty Roche had asked:--Is he a magistrate?He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line, makinglittle runs now and then. But his hands were bluish withcold. He kepthis hands in the side pockets of his belted grey suit. That was a beltround his pocket. And belt was also to give a fellow a belt. One day afellow said to Cantwell:--I'd give you such a belt in asecond.Cantwell had answered:--Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. I'd like to seeyou. He'd give you a toe in the rump for yourself.That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him not tospeakwith the rough boys in the college. Nice mother! The first day in thehall of the castle when she had said goodbye she had put up her veildouble to her nose to kiss him: and her nose and eyes were red. But hehadpretended not to see that she was going to cry. She was a nicemother but she was not so nice when she cried. And his father had givenhim two five-shilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had toldhim if hewanted anything to write home to him and, whatever he did,never to peach on a fellow. Then at the door of the castle the rectorhad shaken hands with his father and mother, his soutane fluttering inthe breeze, and thecar had driven off with his father and mother onit. They had cried to him from the car, waving their hands:--Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!--Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!He was caught in the whirl of a scrimmage and,fearful of the flashingeyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through the legs. The fellowswere struggling and groaning and their legs were rubbing and kickingand stamping. Then Jack Lawton's yellow boots dodgedout the ball andall the other boots and legs ran after. He ran after them a little wayand then stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be goinghome for the holidays. After supper in the study hall he wouldchangethe number pasted up inside his desk from seventy-seven to seventy-six.It would be better to be in the study hall than out there in the cold.The sky was pale and cold but there were lights in the castle.Hewondered from which window Hamilton Rowan had thrown his hat on theha-ha and had there been flowerbeds at that time under the windows. Oneday when he had been called to the castle the butler had shown himthemarks of the soldiers' slugs in the wood of the door and had given hima piece of shortbread that the community ate. It was nice and warm tosee the lights in the castle. It was like something in a book.PerhapsLeicester Abbey was like that. And there were nice sentences in DoctorCornwell's Spelling Book. They were like poetry but they were onlysentences to learn the spelling from. Wolsey died in LeicesterAbbey Where the abbots buried him. Canker is a disease of plants, Cancer one of animals.It would be nice to lie on the hearthrug before the fire, leaning hishead upon his hands, and think on those sentences. Heshivered as if hehad cold slimy water next his skin. That was mean of Wells to shoulderhim into the square ditch because he would not swop his little snuffbox for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, the conqueror offorty. Howcold and slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big ratjump into the scum. Mother was sitting at the fire with Dante waitingfor Brigid to bring in the tea. She had her feet on the fender andherjewelly slippers were so hot and they had such a lovely warm smell!Dante knew a lot of things. She had taught him where the MozambiqueChannel was and what was the longest river in America and what wasthename of the highest mountain in the moon. Father Arnall knew more thanDante because he was a priest but both his father and uncle Charlessaid that Dante was a clever woman and a well-read woman. AndwhenDante made that noise after dinner and then put up her hand to hermouth: that was heartburn.A voice cried far out on the playground:--All in!Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines:--All in! Allin!The players closed around, flushed and muddy, and he went among them,glad to go in. Rody Kickham held the ball by its greasy lace. A fellowasked him to give it one last: but he walked on without evenansweringthe fellow. Simon Moonan told him not to because the prefect waslooking. The fellow turned to Simon Moonan and said:--We all know why you speak. You are McGlade's suck.Suck was a queer word. Thefellow called Simon Moonan that name becauseSimon Moonan used to tie the prefect's false sleeves behind his backand the prefect used to let on to be angry. But the sound was ugly.Once he had washed his hands inthe lavatory of the Wicklow Hotel andhis father pulled the stopper up by the chain after and the dirty waterwent down through the hole in the basin. And when it had all gone downslowly the hole in the basin had made asound like that: suck. Onlylouder.To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made him feel coldand then hot. There were two cocks that you turned and water came out:cold and hot. He felt cold and then alittle hot: and he could see thenames printed on the cocks. That was a very queer thing.And the air in the corridor chilled him too. It was queer and wettish.But soon the gas would be lit and in burning it made a lightnoise likea little song. Always the same: and when the fellows stopped talking inthe playroom you could hear it.It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum on the boardand then said:--Now then, who willwin? Go ahead, York! Go ahead, Lancaster!Stephen tried his best, but the sum was too hard and he felt confused.The little silk badge with the white rose on it that was pinned on thebreast of his jacket began to flutter.He was no good at sums, but hetried his best so that York might not lose. Father Arnall's face lookedvery black, but he was not in a wax: he was laughing. Then Jack Lawtoncracked his fingers and Father Arnall lookedat his copybook and said:--Right. Bravo Lancaster! The red rose wins. Come on now, York! Forgeahead!Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge with thered rose on it looked very rich because he hada blue sailor top on.Stephen felt his own face red too, thinking of all the bets about whowould get first place in elements, Jack Lawton or he. Some weeks JackLawton got the card for first and some weeks he got thecard for first.His white silk badge fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the nextsum and heard Father Arnall's voice. Then all his eagerness passed awayand he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must bewhitebecause it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the sumbut it did not matter. White roses and red roses: those were beautifulcolours to think of. And the cards for first place and second place andthirdplace were beautiful colours too: pink and cream and lavender.Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps awild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song aboutthe wildrose blossoms on the little green place. But you could nothave a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.The bell rang and then the classes began to file out of the rooms andalong the corridorstowards the refectory. He sat looking at the twoprints of butter on his plate but could not eat the damp bread. Thetablecloth was damp and limp. But he drank off the hot weak tea whichthe clumsy scullion, girt with awhite apron, poured into his cup. Hewondered whether the scullion's apron was damp too or whether all whitethings were cold and damp. Nasty Roche and Saurin drank cocoa thattheir people sent them in tins. Theysaid they could not drink the tea;that it was hogwash. Their fathers were magistrates, the fellows said.All the boys seemed to him very strange. They had all fathers andmothers and different clothes and voices. Helonged to be at home andlay his head on his mother's lap. But he could not: and so he longedfor the play and study and prayers to be over and to be in bed.He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said:--What'sup? Have you a pain or what's up with you?--I don't know, Stephen said.--Sick in your breadbasket, Fleming said, because your face lookswhite. It will go away.--O yes, Stephen said.But he was not sick there. Hethought that he was sick in his heart ifyou could be sick in that place. Fleming was very decent to ask him. Hewanted to cry. He leaned his elbows on the table and shut and openedthe flaps of his ears. Then he heardthe noise of the refectory everytime he opened the flaps of his ears. It made a roar like a train atnight. And when he closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a traingoing into a tunnel. That night at Dalkey the trainhad roared likethat and then, when it went into the tunnel, the roar stopped. Heclosed his eyes and the train went on, roaring and then stopping;roaring again, stopping. It was nice to hear it roar and stop and thenroarout of the tunnel again and then stop.Then the higher line fellows began to come down along the matting inthe middle of the refectory, Paddy Rath and Jimmy Magee and theSpaniard who was allowed to smoke cigarsand the little Portuguese whowore the woolly cap. And then the lower line tables and the tables ofthe third line. And every single fellow had a different way of walking.He sat in a corner of the playroom pretending towatch a game ofdominoes and once or twice he was able to hear for an instant thelittle song of the gas. The prefect was at the door with some boys andSimon Moonan was knotting his false sleeves. He was tellingthemsomething about Tullabeg.Then he went away from the door and Wells came over to Stephen andsaid:--Tell us, Dedalus, do you kiss your mother before you go to bed?Stephen answered:--I do.Wells turned to theother fellows and said:--O, I say, here's a fellow says he kisses his mother every nightbefore he goes to bed.The other fellows stopped their game and turned round, laughing.Stephen blushed under their eyes andsaid:--I do not.Wells said:--O, I say, here's a fellow says he doesn't kiss his mother before hegoes to bed.They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them. He felt hiswhole body hot and confused in a moment.What was the right answer tothe question? He had given two and still Wells laughed. But Wells mustknow the right answer for he was in third of grammar. He tried to thinkof Wells's mother but he did not dare to raisehis eyes to Wells'sface. He did not like Wells's face. It was Wells who had shouldered himinto the square ditch the day before because he would not swop hislittle snuff box for Wells's seasoned hacking chestnut, theconquerorof forty. It was a mean thing to do; all the fellows said it was. Andhow cold and slimy the water had been! And a fellow had once seen a bigrat jump plop into the scum.The cold slime of the ditch covered hiswhole body; and, when the bellrang for study and the lines filed out of the playrooms, he felt thecold air of the corridor and staircase inside his clothes. He stilltried to think what was the right answer. Was it right to kisshismother or wrong to kiss his mother? What did that mean, to kiss? Youput your face up like that to say good night and then his mother puther face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek;her lipswere soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tinylittle noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?Sitting in the study hall he opened the lid of his desk and changed thenumber pasted up insidefrom seventy-seven to seventy-six. But theChristmas vacation was very far away: but one time it would comebecause the earth moved round always.There was a picture of the earth on the first page of his geography:abig ball in the middle of clouds. Fleming had a box of crayons and onenight during free study he had coloured the earth green and the cloudsmaroon. That was like the two brushes in Dante's press, the brush withthegreen velvet back for Parnell and the brush with the maroon velvetback for Michael Davitt. But he had not told Fleming to colour themthose colours. Fleming had done it himself.He opened the geography to study thelesson; but he could not learn thenames of places in America. Still they were all different places thathad different names. They were all in different countries and thecountries were in continents and the continents werein the world andthe world was in the universe.He turned to the flyleaf of the geography and read what he had writtenthere: himself, his name and where he was. Stephen Dedalus Class of Elements ClongowesWood College Sallins County Kildare Ireland Europe The World The UniverseThat was in his writing: and Fleming one night for a cod had written onthe opposite page: Stephen Dedalus is myname, Ireland is my nation. Clongowes is my dwellingplace And heaven my expectation.He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry. Then heread the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till hecame to his ownname. That was he: and he read down the page again. What was after theuniverse?Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where itstopped before the nothing place began?It couldnot be a wall; but there could be a thin thin line there allround everything. It was very big to think about everything andeverywhere. Only God could do that. He tried to think what a bigthought that must be; but hecould only think of God. God was God'sname just as his name was Stephen. DIEU was the French for God and thatwas God's name too; and when anyone prayed to God and said DIEU thenGod knew at once that it wasa French person that was praying. But,though there were different names for God in all the differentlanguages in the world and God understood what all the people whoprayed said in their different languages, still Godremained always thesame God and God's real name was God.It made him very tired to think that way. It made him feel his headvery big. He turned over the flyleaf and looked wearily at the greenround earth in themiddle of the maroon clouds. He wondered which wasright, to be for the green or for the maroon, because Dante had rippedthe green velvet back off the brush that was for Parnell one day withher scissors and had toldhim that Parnell was a bad man. He wonderedif they were arguing at home about that. That was called politics.There were two sides in it: Dante was on one side and his father and MrCasey were on the other side buthis mother and uncle Charles were onno side. Every day there was something in the paper about it.It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant and that hedid not know where the universe ended. He feltsmall and weak. Whenwould he be like the fellows in poetry and rhetoric? They had bigvoices and big boots and they studied trigonometry. That was very faraway. First came the vacation and then the next term andthen vacationagain and then again another term and then again the vacation. It waslike a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the noise ofthe boys eating in the refectory when you opened and closed theflapsof the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise, stop. How far away itwas! It was better to go to bed to sleep. Only prayers in the chapeland then bed. He shivered and yawned. It would be lovely in bed afterthesheets got a bit hot. First they were so cold to get into. Heshivered to think how cold they were first. But then they got hot andthen he could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Nightprayers and then bed:he shivered and wanted to yawn. It would belovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from the coldshivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm all over, ever sowarm and yet he shivered alittle and still wanted to yawn.The bell rang for night prayers and he filed out of the study hallafter the others and down the staircase and along the corridors to thechapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the chapel wasdarkly lit.Soon all would be dark and sleeping. There was cold night air in thechapel and the marbles were the colour the sea was at night. The seawas cold day and night: but it was colder at night. It was cold anddarkunder the seawall beside his father's house. But the kettle wouldbe on the hob to make punch.The prefect of the chapel prayed above his head and his memory knew theresponses: O Lord open our lips And ourmouths shall announce Thy praise. Incline unto our aid, O God! O Lord make haste to help us!There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy smell. Itwas not like the smell of the old peasants who kneltat the back of thechapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air and rain and turf andcorduroy. But they were very holy peasants. They breathed behind him onhis neck and sighed as they prayed. They lived in Clane, afellow said:there were little cottages there and he had seen a woman standing atthe half-door of a cottage with a child in her arms as the cars hadcome past from Sallins. It would be lovely to sleep for one night inthatcottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the dark lit by thefire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of the peasants, air andrain and turf and corduroy. But O, the road there between the treeswas dark! You would belost in the dark. It made him afraid to thinkof how it was.He heard the voice of the prefect of the chapel saying the lastprayers. He prayed it too against the dark outside under the trees. VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, OLORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVE AWAY FROM IT ALL THE SNARES OF THE ENEMY. MAY THY HOLY ANGELS DWELL HEREIN TO PRESERVE US IN PEACE AND MAY THY BLESSINGS BE ALWAYS UPON US THROUGH"}
{"doc_id":"doc_62","qid":"","text":"Manhunter Script at IMSDb.
\"REDDRAGON\" Screenplay By Michael Mann SECOND DRAFT July 20, 1984EXT. MARATHON, FLORIDA, BEACH -GRAHAM + CRAWFORD - DAYThe highlit aqua water burns out sections of the two menimposed in front of it. The beach is white sand. JACKCRAWFORD -- mid-forties, large -- came down from Washington.Hissuitcoat over the driftwood log and his rolled-up whitesleeves says City, not Florida Keys. WILL GRAHAM -- latethirties -- in a faded Hawaiian number and sun-bleached vio-let shorts, belongs. Graham smokes. Crawforddrinks froma glass of iced tea. Then: CRAWFORD I should have caught you at the boat yard when you got off work. You don't want to talk about ithere... GRAHAM I don't want to talk about it anywhere. (beat) If you brought pictures, leave them in the briefcase. Molly and Kevin will be backsoon. CRAWFORD How much do you know? GRAHAM What was in the 'Miami Herald' and the'Times.' (beat) Confessions? CRAWFORD Eighty-six so far. All cranks. He smashes the mirrors and uses the pieces. (beat) None ofthem knew that; GRAHAM What else did you keep out of the papers? CRAWFORD Blond, right-handed, really strong, wears a sizeeleven shoe. The prints are all smooth gloves. He's on a full moon cycle. Both times. His blood is AB Positive. GRAHAM Somebody hurthim? CRAWFORD Typed him from semen. He's a secretor.Crawford takes a sip of the iced tea and looks at Graham.2.Graham flips his cigarette into thesurf. CRAWFORD Will... you saw this in the papers. The second one was all over TV. Did you ever think about givin' mea call? GRAHAM No. CRAWFORD Why not? GRAHAM The Bureau already has the best lab. Plus youhave Bloom at the University of Chicago... CRAWFORD And I got you down here fixing fuckin' boat motors. GRAHAM You don't needme. I wouldn't be useful to you anymore, Jack. CRAWFORD Last two like this we had, you caught. GRAHAM That was three years ago.And by doing the same things you and the rest of them at the lab are doing. CRAWFORD That's not entirely true, Will. It's the way youthink. GRAHAM I think there has been a lot of bullshit about the way I think. (beat) I came down here to get away from allthat. CRAWFORD You look all right now. GRAHAM I am all right.Crawford pulls two pictures from his shirt pocket. He keepsthem face down. Theydraw at Will. Crawford knows this.3. CRAWFORD If you can't look anymore, I understand... GRAHAM As long as they'redead... CRAWFORD These are all dead, Will. PICTURES If we expected gory crime photos, these are not them. Two snapshots: a woman followed by three children and aduck carrying picnic items up a bank of a pond. A second family behind a birthday cake at a table. They're all smiling. CLOSE: GRAHAM looks at the pictures for a full twenty seconds. Then he puts them downand looks along the beach. GRAHAM'S POV: MOLLY + KEVIN KEVIN -- lanky and tall at eleven -- hunkers down at the water's edge, 50 yards away examining something in the sand. MOLLY -- suntanned,blonde and sensuous at thirty stands watching the two men, her hand on her hip. Waves careen around her ankles. Her body language openly states hostility. It's towards Crawford. GRAHAM(O.S.) Let's talk after dinner. Stay and eat. CRAWFORD (O.S.) I'LL come back later. I got messages at the Holiday Inn to collect Molly starts walkingforward. On it... CUT TO: INT. GRAHAM'S KITCHEN - MOLLY + GRAHAM - NIGHT are doing dishes. Graham wipes while Mollywashes. MOLLY He stopped by to see me at the shop before he came out here. GRAHAM What did hewant?4. MOLLY He asked how you are. GRAHAM And you said? MOLLY I saidyou are fine, he should leave you the hell alone. GRAHAM I'm a forensic specialist, Molly. You've seen mydiploma? (sarcastic) I got a diploma and everything. MOLLY You mended a crack in the wallpaper with yourdiploma. (heat) You are open and easy now... It took you a lot of work to get to that... GRAHAM We have it good, don'twe? MOLLY All the things that happened to you before make you know that... There is a soft pleading in hervoice. GRAHAM What the hell can I do? MOLLY (after a pause) What you've already decided. You're notreally asking. GRAHAM If I were? MOLLY (facing him) Stay here with me. Me. Me. Me. AndKevin. (heat) That's selfish, huh? GRAHAM (touches the side of her face) I don'tcare. (beat> He'll never see me or know my name. If we find him, the police will have to take him down. Not me, I'm just looking atevidence.5.As he puts an arm around Molly... CUT TO:EXT. BEACH - KEVIN - TWILIGHTis working in the sand. Behind him Graham is staplingchicken wire totwo foot-high fence posts. KEVIN Will it keep them out? GRAHAM Yeah. .. KEVIN How many turtle eggs you thinkare in here? GRAHAM In this hatchery? Forty to fifty. KEVIN Crabs would get most of the newborns before they made it to the sea,huh? GRAHAM Yeah, but not now.. These will all make it... guaranteed. CUT TO:EXT. GRAHAM HOUSE - CRAWFORD + MOLLY -NIGHTOn the porch swing. Beyond them at the water's edge Grahamnothing to each other the fence. Crawford and Molly sayor a while. Then, finally: MOLLY Whatever I say,you'll take him away, won't you? CRAWFORD I have to. MOLLY You're his friend, Jack. Why can't you leave himalone? CRAWFORD Because it's his bad luck to be special. MOLLY He thinks you want him to lookat evidence.6. CRAWFORD Nobody's better with evidence. But he has the other thing, too. He doesn't like that part ofit... MOLLY You wouldn't like it, either if you had it.There is a pause between them. Molly lights a cigarette.Crawford leans forward, resting his thick, pale, forearmson hisknees. CRAWFORD Talking about 'like,' you don't like me very much, do you? MOLLY No. (beat) I don't like people whopark in the 'handicapped zone'... CRAWFROD I'LL try to keep him as far away from it as I can... CUT TO:EXT. ATLANTASTREET - WIDE - NIGHTSmall poplars line the curb. It rained. The sidewalks arewet. They are drying in splotches. The street is deserted.The front walk vertically bisects the FRAME. An AtlantaPolice department carpulls to the curb and stops. The dooropens, lighting the interior and Will Graham starts out thepassenger side. GRAHAM (distant) Thanks for thelift. OFFICER I'll come inside with you, if you like, but Mr. Crawford said you'd probably want to be alone. GRAHAM That'sright. OFFTCER There's a VTR setup waiting in your hotel room, that you asked for They transferred the home movies of both families once half-inchVHS.7. GRAHAM (getting out) Thanks. Graham exits the car and walks TOWARDS us. We PAN AROUND as he moves through EXTREME CLOSEUP and see theLeeds family house with all of the Atlanta Police department \"crime scene\" postings Graham doesn't enter the front door. Be walks around the side. CUT TO: INT. LEEDSHOUSE, KITCHEN - WIDE - NIGHT Three big sliding glass doors. The center one has been re- placed with plywood. It's dark. A flashlight's beam starts playing through the bushes in the side yard.., then the lightappears and blasts IN the LENS. It lights lots of dishes in the sink. The dark kitchen looks like anybody's kitchen. The house feels occupied. The Leed's possessions have been undisturbed. CLOSE: GLASS"}
{"doc_id":"doc_63","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tarzan of the Apes, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Tarzan of the ApesAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsRelease Date: June 23, 2008 [EBook #78]Lastupdated: May 5, 2012Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TARZAN OF THE APES ***Produced by Judith Boss. HTML version by Al Haines.Tarzan of the ApesByEdgar RiceBurroughs CONTENTS I Out to Sea II The Savage Home III Life and Death IV The Apes V The White Ape VI Jungle Battles VII The Light of Knowledge VIII The Tree-top Hunter IX Manand Man X The Fear-Phantom XI \"King of the Apes\" XII Man's Reason XIII His Own Kind XIV At the Mercy of the Jungle XV The Forest God XVI \"Most Remarkable\" XVII Burials XVIII The JungleToll XIX The Call of the Primitive XX Heredity XXI The Village of Torture XXII The Search Party XXIII Brother Men XXIV Lost Treasure XXV The Outpost of the World XXVI The Height ofCivilization XXVII The Giant Again XXVIII ConclusionChapter IOut to SeaI had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or toany other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage uponthenarrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulityduring the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale.When my convivial host discovered that he had told me so much, and thatI was prone todoubtfulness, his foolish pride assumed the task the oldvintage had commenced, and so he unearthed written evidence in the formof musty manuscript, and dry official records of the British ColonialOffice to supportmany of the salient features of his remarkablenarrative.I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness the happeningswhich it portrays, but the fact that in the telling of it to you I havetaken fictitious names for theprincipal characters quite sufficientlyevidences the sincerity of my own belief that it MAY be true.The yellow, mildewed pages of the diary of a man long dead, and therecords of the Colonial Office dovetail perfectly withthe narrative ofmy convivial host, and so I give you the story as I painstakinglypieced it out from these several various agencies.If you do not find it credible you will at least be as one with me inacknowledging that it isunique, remarkable, and interesting.From the records of the Colonial Office and from the dead man's diarywe learn that a certain young English nobleman, whom we shall call JohnClayton, Lord Greystoke, wascommissioned to make a peculiarly delicateinvestigation of conditions in a British West Coast African Colony fromwhose simple native inhabitants another European power was known to berecruiting soldiers for its nativearmy, which it used solely for theforcible collection of rubber and ivory from the savage tribes alongthe Congo and the Aruwimi. The natives of the British Colonycomplained that many of their young men were enticedaway through themedium of fair and glowing promises, but that few if any ever returnedto their families.The Englishmen in Africa went even further, saying that these poorblacks were held in virtual slavery, since aftertheir terms ofenlistment expired their ignorance was imposed upon by their whiteofficers, and they were told that they had yet several years to serve.And so the Colonial Office appointed John Clayton to a new postinBritish West Africa, but his confidential instructions centered on athorough investigation of the unfair treatment of black Britishsubjects by the officers of a friendly European power. Why he wassent, is, however, oflittle moment to this story, for he never made aninvestigation, nor, in fact, did he ever reach his destination.Clayton was the type of Englishman that one likes best to associatewith the noblest monuments of historicachievement upon a thousandvictorious battlefields--a strong, virile man--mentally, morally, andphysically.In stature he was above the average height; his eyes were gray, hisfeatures regular and strong; his carriagethat of perfect, robusthealth influenced by his years of army training.Political ambition had caused him to seek transference from the army tothe Colonial Office and so we find him, still young, entrusted with adelicateand important commission in the service of the Queen.When he received this appointment he was both elated and appalled. Thepreferment seemed to him in the nature of a well-merited reward forpainstaking andintelligent service, and as a stepping stone to postsof greater importance and responsibility; but, on the other hand, hehad been married to the Hon. Alice Rutherford for scarce a threemonths, and it was the thought oftaking this fair young girl into thedangers and isolation of tropical Africa that appalled him.For her sake he would have refused the appointment, but she would nothave it so. Instead she insisted that he accept, and,indeed, take herwith him.There were mothers and brothers and sisters, and aunts and cousins toexpress various opinions on the subject, but as to what they severallyadvised history is silent.We know only that on abright May morning in 1888, John, LordGreystoke, and Lady Alice sailed from Dover on their way to Africa.A month later they arrived at Freetown where they chartered a smallsailing vessel, the Fuwalda, which was tobear them to their finaldestination.And here John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice, his wife, vanished fromthe eyes and from the knowledge of men.Two months after they weighed anchor and cleared from the portofFreetown a half dozen British war vessels were scouring the southAtlantic for trace of them or their little vessel, and it was almostimmediately that the wreckage was found upon the shores of St. Helenawhichconvinced the world that the Fuwalda had gone down with all onboard, and hence the search was stopped ere it had scarce begun; thoughhope lingered in longing hearts for many years.The Fuwalda, a barkentine ofabout one hundred tons, was a vessel ofthe type often seen in coastwise trade in the far southern Atlantic,their crews composed of the offscourings of the sea--unhanged murderersand cutthroats of every race andevery nation.The Fuwalda was no exception to the rule. Her officers were swarthybullies, hating and hated by their crew. The captain, while acompetent seaman, was a brute in his treatment of his men. He knew, oratleast he used, but two arguments in his dealings with them--abelaying pin and a revolver--nor is it likely that the motleyaggregation he signed would have understood aught else.So it was that from the second day outfrom Freetown John Clayton andhis young wife witnessed scenes upon the deck of the Fuwalda such asthey had believed were never enacted outside the covers of printedstories of the sea.It was on the morning of thesecond day that the first link was forgedin what was destined to form a chain of circumstances ending in a lifefor one then unborn such as has never been paralleled in the history ofman.Two sailors were washing downthe decks of the Fuwalda, the first matewas on duty, and the captain had stopped to speak with John Clayton andLady Alice.The men were working backwards toward the little party who were facingaway from thesailors. Closer and closer they came, until one of themwas directly behind the captain. In another moment he would havepassed by and this strange narrative would never have been recorded.But just that instant theofficer turned to leave Lord and LadyGreystoke, and, as he did so, tripped against the sailor and sprawledheadlong upon the deck, overturning the water-pail so that he wasdrenched in its dirty contents.For an instantthe scene was ludicrous; but only for an instant. Witha volley of awful oaths, his face suffused with the scarlet ofmortification and rage, the captain regained his feet, and with aterrific blow felled the sailor to thedeck.The man was small and rather old, so that the brutality of the act wasthus accentuated. The other seaman, however, was neither old norsmall--a huge bear of a man, with fierce black mustachios, and a greatbullneck set between massive shoulders.As he saw his mate go down he crouched, and, with a low snarl, sprangupon the captain crushing him to his knees with a single mighty blow.From scarlet the officer's face wentwhite, for this was mutiny; andmutiny he had met and subdued before in his brutal career. Withoutwaiting to rise he whipped a revolver from his pocket, firing pointblank at the great mountain of muscle toweringbefore him; but, quickas he was, John Clayton was almost as quick, so that the bullet whichwas intended for the sailor's heart lodged in the sailor's leg instead,for Lord Greystoke had struck down the captain's arm ashe had seen theweapon flash in the sun.Words passed between Clayton and the captain, the former making itplain that he was disgusted with the brutality displayed toward thecrew, nor would he countenance anythingfurther of the kind while heand Lady Greystoke remained passengers.The captain was on the point of making an angry reply, but, thinkingbetter of it, turned on his heel and black and scowling, strode aft.He did not careto antagonize an English official, for the Queen'smighty arm wielded a punitive instrument which he could appreciate, andwhich he feared--England's far-reaching navy.The two sailors picked themselves up, the olderman assisting hiswounded comrade to rise. The big fellow, who was known among his matesas Black Michael, tried his leg gingerly, and, finding that it bore hisweight, turned to Clayton with a word of gruffthanks.Though the fellow's tone was surly, his words were evidently wellmeant. Ere he had scarce finished his little speech he had turned andwas limping off toward the forecastle with the very apparent intentionofforestalling any further conversation.They did not see him again for several days, nor did the captain accordthem more than the surliest of grunts when he was forced to speak tothem.They took their meals in his cabin,as they had before the unfortunateoccurrence; but the captain was careful to see that his duties neverpermitted him to eat at the same time.The other officers were coarse, illiterate fellows, but little abovethe villainouscrew they bullied, and were only too glad to avoidsocial intercourse with the polished English noble and his lady, sothat the Claytons were left very much to themselves.This in itself accorded perfectly with their desires,but it alsorather isolated them from the life of the little ship so that they wereunable to keep in touch with the daily happenings which were toculminate so soon in bloody tragedy.There was in the whole atmosphere ofthe craft that undefinablesomething which presages disaster. Outwardly, to the knowledge of theClaytons, all went on as before upon the little vessel; but that therewas an undertow leading them toward someunknown danger both felt,though they did not speak of it to each other.On the second day after the wounding of Black Michael, Clayton came ondeck just in time to see the limp body of one of the crew beingcarriedbelow by four of his fellows while the first mate, a heavy belaying pinin his hand, stood glowering at the little party of sullen sailors.Clayton asked no questions--he did not need to--and the following day,as thegreat lines of a British battleship grew out of the distanthorizon, he half determined to demand that he and Lady Alice be putaboard her, for his fears were steadily increasing that nothing butharm could result fromremaining on the lowering, sullen Fuwalda.Toward noon they were within speaking distance of the British vessel,but when Clayton had nearly decided to ask the captain to put themaboard her, the obviousridiculousness of such a request becamesuddenly apparent. What reason could he give the officer commandingher majesty's ship for desiring to go back in the direction from whichhe had just come!What if he told themthat two insubordinate seamen had been roughlyhandled by their officers? They would but laugh in their sleeves andattribute his reason for wishing to leave the ship to but onething--cowardice.John Clayton, LordGreystoke, did not ask to be transferred to theBritish man-of-war. Late in the afternoon he saw her upper works fadebelow the far horizon, but not before he learned that which confirmedhis greatest fears, and causedhim to curse the false pride which hadrestrained him from seeking safety for his young wife a few short hoursbefore, when safety was within reach--a safety which was now goneforever.It was mid-afternoon thatbrought the little old sailor, who had beenfelled by the captain a few days before, to where Clayton and his wifestood by the ship's side watching the ever diminishing outlines of thegreat battleship. The old fellow waspolishing brasses, and as he cameedging along until close to Clayton he said, in an undertone:\"'Ell's to pay, sir, on this 'ere craft, an' mark my word for it, sir.'Ell's to pay.\"\"What do you mean, my good fellow?\" askedClayton.\"Wy, hasn't ye seen wats goin' on? Hasn't ye 'eard that devil's spawnof a capting an' is mates knockin' the bloomin' lights outen 'arf thecrew?\"Two busted 'eads yeste'day, an' three to-day. Black Michael's asgoodas new agin an' 'e's not the bully to stand fer it, not 'e; an' mark myword for it, sir.\"\"You mean, my man, that the crew contemplates mutiny?\" asked Clayton.\"Mutiny!\" exclaimed the old fellow. \"Mutiny! Theymeans murder, sir,an' mark my word for it, sir.\"\"When?\"\"Hit's comin', sir; hit's comin' but I'm not a-sayin' wen, an' I'vesaid too damned much now, but ye was a good sort t'other day an' Ithought it no more'n right towarn ye. But keep a still tongue in yer'ead an' when ye 'ear shootin' git below an' stay there.\"That's all, only keep a still tongue in yer 'ead, or they'll put apill between yer ribs, an' mark my word for it, sir,\" and theoldfellow went on with his polishing, which carried him away from wherethe Claytons were standing.\"Deuced cheerful outlook, Alice,\" said Clayton.\"You should warn the captain at once, John. Possibly the troublemayyet be averted,\" she said.\"I suppose I should, but yet from purely selfish motives I am almostprompted to 'keep a still tongue in my 'ead.' Whatever they do now theywill spare us in recognition of my stand for thisfellow Black Michael,but should they find that I had betrayed them there would be no mercyshown us, Alice.\"\"You have but one duty, John, and that lies in the interest of vestedauthority. If you do not warn the captainyou are as much a party towhatever follows as though you had helped to plot and carry it out withyour own head and hands.\"\"You do not understand, dear,\" replied Clayton. \"It is of you I amthinking--there lies my firstduty. The captain has brought thiscondition upon himself, so why then should I risk subjecting my wife tounthinkable horrors in a probably futile attempt to save him from hisown brutal folly? You have no conception,dear, of what would followwere this pack of cutthroats to gain control of the Fuwalda.\"\"Duty is duty, John, and no amount of sophistries may change it. Iwould be a poor wife for an English lord were I to be responsibleforhis shirking a plain duty. I realize the danger which must follow, butI can face it with you.\"\"Have it as you will then, Alice,\" he answered, smiling. \"Maybe we areborrowing trouble. While I do not like the looks ofthings on boardthis ship, they may not be so bad after all, for it is possible thatthe 'Ancient Mariner' was but voicing the desires of his wicked oldheart rather than speaking of real facts.\"Mutiny on the high sea may havebeen common a hundred years ago, butin this good year 1888 it is the least likely of happenings.\"But there goes the captain to his cabin now. If I am going to warnhim I might as well get the beastly job over for I havelittle stomachto talk with the brute at all.\"So saying he strolled carelessly in the direction of the companionwaythrough which the captain had passed, and a moment later was knockingat his door.\"Come in,\" growled thedeep tones of that surly officer.And when Clayton had entered, and closed the door behind him:\"Well?\"\"I have come to report the gist of a conversation I heard to-day,because I feel that, while there may be nothing toit, it is as wellthat you be forearmed. In short, the men contemplate mutiny andmurder.\"\"It's a lie!\" roared the captain. \"And if you have been interferingagain with the discipline of this ship, or meddling in affairsthatdon't concern you you can take the consequences, and be damned. Idon't care whether you are an English lord or not. I'm captain of thishere ship, and from now on you keep your meddling nose out ofmybusiness.\"The captain had worked himself up to such a frenzy of rage that he wasfairly purple of face, and he shrieked the last words at the top of hisvoice, emphasizing his remarks by a loud thumping of the tablewith onehuge fist, and shaking the other in Clayton's face.Greystoke never turned a hair, but stood eying the excited man withlevel gaze.\"Captain Billings,\" he drawled finally, \"if you will pardon my candor,I mightremark that you are something of an ass.\"Whereupon he turned and left the captain with the same indifferent easethat was habitual with him, and which was more surely calculated toraise the ire of a man of Billings'class than a torrent of invective.So, whereas the captain might easily have been brought to regret hishasty speech had Clayton attempted to conciliate him, his temper wasnow irrevocably set in the mold in whichClayton had left it, and thelast chance of their working together for their common good was gone.\"Well, Alice,\" said Clayton, as he rejoined his wife, \"I might havesaved my breath. The fellow proved mostungrateful. Fairly jumped atme like a mad dog.\"He and his blasted old ship may hang, for aught I care; and until weare safely off the thing I shall spend my energies in looking after ourown welfare. And I rather fancythe first step to that end should beto go to our cabin and look over my revolvers. I am sorry now that wepacked the larger guns and the ammunition with the stuff below.\"They found their quarters in a bad state ofdisorder. Clothing fromtheir open boxes and bags strewed the little apartment, and even theirbeds had been torn to pieces.\"Evidently someone was more anxious about our belongings than we,\" saidClayton. \"Let'shave a look around, Alice, and see what's missing.\"A thorough search revealed the fact that nothing had been taken butClayton's two revolvers and the small supply of ammunition he had savedout for them.\"Those arethe very things I most wish they had left us,\" said Clayton,\"and the fact that they wished for them and them alone is mostsinister.\"\"What are we to do, John?\" asked his wife. \"Perhaps you were right inthat our bestchance lies in maintaining a neutral position.\"If the officers are able to prevent a mutiny, we have nothing to fear,while if the mutineers are victorious our one slim hope lies in nothaving attempted to thwart orantagonize them.\"\"Right you are, Alice. We'll keep in the middle of the road.\"As they started to straighten up their cabin, Clayton and his wifesimultaneously noticed the corner of a piece of paper protrudingfrombeneath the door of their quarters. As Clayton stooped to reach for ithe was amazed to see it move further into the room, and then herealized that it was being pushed inward by someone from without.Quickly andsilently he stepped toward the door, but, as he reached forthe knob to throw it open, his wife's hand fell upon his wrist.\"No, John,\" she whispered. \"They do not wish to be seen, and so wecannot afford to see them. Donot forget that we are keeping to themiddle of the road.\"Clayton smiled and dropped his hand to his side. Thus they stoodwatching the little bit of white paper until it finally remained atrest upon the floor just inside thedoor.Then Clayton stooped and picked it up. It was a bit of grimy, whitepaper roughly folded into a ragged square. Opening it they found acrude message printed almost illegibly, and with many evidences ofanunaccustomed task.Translated, it was a warning to the Claytons to refrain from reportingthe loss of the revolvers, or from repeating what the old sailor hadtold them--to refrain on pain of death.\"I rather imagine we'llbe good,\" said Clayton with a rueful smile.\"About all we can do is to sit tight and wait for whatever may come.\"Chapter IIThe Savage HomeNor did they have long to wait, for the next morning as Clayton wasemergingon deck for his accustomed walk before breakfast, a shot rangout, and then another, and another.The sight which met his eyes confirmed his worst fears. Facing thelittle knot of officers was the entire motley crew ofthe Fuwalda, andat their head stood Black Michael.At the first volley from the officers the men ran for shelter, and frompoints of vantage behind masts, wheel-house and cabin they returned thefire of the five men who"}
{"doc_id":"doc_64","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher, by Beatrix PotterThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it underthe terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: The Tale of Mr. Jeremy FisherAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: February 16, 2005 [EBook #15077]Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER ***Produced by David Newman, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net[Transcriber's Note: This book is heavily illustrated; references to theillustrations have been removed from this text version. Please look forthe fully illustrated html version athttp://www.gutenberg.net.]THE TALE OFMR. JEREMY FISHERBYBEATRIX POTTER_Author of__\"The Tale of Peter Rabbit,\" &c._FREDERICK WARNE & CO., INC.NEW YORKCOPYRIGHT, 1906BYFREDERICK WARNE &COFORSTEPHANIEFROMCOUSIN B.Once upon a time there was a frog called Mr. Jeremy Fisher; he lived in alittle damp house amongst the buttercups at the edge of a pond.The water was all slippy-sloppy in the larderand in the back passage.But Mr. Jeremy liked getting his feet wet; nobody ever scolded him, and henever caught a cold!He was quite pleased when he looked out and saw large drops of rain,splashing in the pond--\"Iwill get some worms and go fishing and catch a dish of minnows for mydinner,\" said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. \"If I catch more than five fish, I willinvite my friends Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise and Sir Isaac Newton.TheAlderman, however, eats salad.\"Mr. Jeremy put on a macintosh, and a pair of shiny goloshes; he took hisrod and basket, and set off with enormous hops to the place where he kepthis boat.The boat was round andgreen, and very like the other lily-leaves. It wastied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond.Mr. Jeremy took a reed pole, and pushed the boat out into open water. \"Iknow a good place for minnows,\" said Mr. JeremyFisher.Mr. Jeremy stuck his pole into the mud and fastened the boat to it.Then he settled himself cross-legged and arranged his fishing tackle. Hehad the dearest little red float. His rod was a tough stalk of grass, hislinewas a fine long white horse-hair, and he tied a little wriggling wormat the end.The rain trickled down his back, and for nearly an hour he stared at thefloat.\"This is getting tiresome, I think I should like some lunch,\" saidMr.Jeremy Fisher.He punted back again amongst the water-plants, and took some lunch out ofhis basket.\"I will eat a butterfly sandwich, and wait till the shower is over,\" saidMr. Jeremy Fisher.A great big water-beetlecame up underneath the lily leaf and tweaked thetoe of one of his goloshes.Mr. Jeremy crossed his legs up shorter, out of reach, and went on eatinghis sandwich.Once or twice something moved about with a rustle anda splash amongstthe rushes at the side of the pond.\"I trust that is not a rat,\" said Mr. Jeremy Fisher; \"I think I had betterget away from here.\"Mr. Jeremy shoved the boat out again a little way, and dropped in thebait.There was a bite almost directly; the float gave a tremendousbobbit!\"A minnow! a minnow! I have him by the nose!\" cried Mr. Jeremy Fisher,jerking up his rod.But what a horrible surprise! Instead of a smooth fatminnow, Mr. Jeremylanded little Jack Sharp the stickleback, covered with spines!The stickleback floundered about the boat, pricking and snapping until hewas quite out of breath. Then he jumped back into thewater.And a shoal of other little fishes put their heads out, and laughed atMr. Jeremy Fisher.And while Mr. Jeremy sat disconsolately on the edge of his boat--suckinghis sore fingers and peering down into the water--a_much_ worse thinghappened; a really _frightful_ thing it would have been, if Mr. Jeremy hadnot been wearing a macintosh!A great big enormous trout came up--ker-pflop-p-p-p! with a splash--andit seized Mr. Jeremywith a snap, \"Ow! Ow! Ow!\"--and then it turned anddived down to the bottom of the pond!But the trout was so displeased with the taste of the macintosh, that inless than half a minute it spat him out again; and theonly thing itswallowed was Mr. Jeremy's goloshes.Mr. Jeremy bounced up to the surface of the water, like a cork and thebubbles out of a soda water bottle; and he swam with all his might to theedge of the pond.Hescrambled out on the first bank he came to, and he hopped home acrossthe meadow with his macintosh all in tatters.\"What a mercy that was not a pike!\" said Mr. Jeremy Fisher. \"I have lostmy rod and basket; but itdoes not much matter, for I am sure I shouldnever have dared to go fishing again!\"He put some sticking plaster on his fingers, and his friends both came todinner. He could not offer them fish, but he had somethingelse in hislarder.Sir Isaac Newton wore his black and gold waistcoat,And Mr. Alderman Ptolemy Tortoise brought a salad with him in a stringbag.And instead of a nice dish of minnows--they had a roastedgrasshopperwith lady-bird sauce; which frogs consider a beautiful treat; but _I_think it must have been nasty!THE ENDEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher, by Beatrix Potter*** END OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TALE OF MR. JEREMY FISHER ******** This file should be named 15077.txt or 15077.zip *****This and all associated files of various formats will be foundin: http://www.gutenberg.net/1/5/0/7/15077/Produced by David Newman, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.netUpdated editions will replace the previousone--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editions means that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in theUnited States withoutpermission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply tocopying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic workstoprotect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. ProjectGutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if youcharge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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{"doc_id":"doc_65","qid":"","text":"JFK Script at IMSDb. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push(['_setAccount', 'UA-3785444-3']); _gaq.push(['_trackPageview']); (function() { var ga = document.createElement('script'); ga.type = 'text/javascript';ga.async = true; ga.src = ('https:' == document.location.protocol ? 'https://ssl' : 'http://www') + '.google-analytics.com/ga.js'; var s = document.getElementsByTagName('script')[0];s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();
JFK By Oliver Stone & ZacharySklar Based on books by Jim Marrs & Jim Garrison FADE IN Credits run incounterpoint through a 7 to 10 minute sequence of documentary images setting the tone of John F. Kennedy's Presidency and the atmosphere of those tense times, 1960 through1963. An omniscient narrator's voice marches us through in old time Pathe' newsreel fashion. VOICE January, 1961 - President DwightD. Eisenhower's Farewell Address to the Nation - EISENHOWER ADDRESS EISENHOWER The conjunction of animmense military establishment and a large arms industry is new in the American experience. The total influence - economic, political, evenspiritual - is felt in every city, every statehouse, every office of the Federal Government... In the councils of government we must guardagainst the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for thedisastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist... We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties ordemocratic processes. We should take nothing for granted... ELECTION IMAGERY School kids reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. WPA filmsof farmers harvesting the Texas plains. Rain, thunderheads, a dusty car coming from far away on a road moving towards Dallas. Cowboys round up the cattle. Young marrieds ina church. Hillsides of tract homes going up. The American breadbasket, the West. Over this we hear Eisenhower's address. As we move into the election campaign of 1960,we see the TV debates, Nixon vs. Kennedy, Mayor Daley, Kennedy victorious... Against this is juxtaposed other forces: segregation, J. Edgar Hoover, military advisors, Castro,Marilyn Monroe, Lumumba... three frames of the Zapruder film counter-cut... ending with the Kennedy inauguration and the irony of Earl Warren administering the oath as he willKennedy's eulogy. VOICE 2 November, 1960 - Senator John F. Kennedy of Massachusetts wins one of the narrowest electionvictories in American history over the Vice- President Richard Nixon by a little more than 100,000 votes. Rumors abound that he stole the electionin Illinois through the Democratic political machine of Mayor Daley... (inauguration shots) At his inauguration, at a timewhen American males all wore hats, he let his hair blow free in the wind. Alongside his beautiful and elegant wife of French origin,Jacqueline Bouvier, J.F.K. is the symbol of the new freedom of the 1960's, signifying change and upheaval to the American public, scaring many andhated passionately by some. To win the election and to appease their fears, Kennedy at first takes a tough Cold War stance. BAY OFPIGS IMAGERY The beach, the bombardment, the rounding up of prisoners, Kennedy's public apology, Allen Dulles standing next to J.F.K., both uncomfortable with the smalltalk... VOICE 3 He inherits a secret war against the Communist Castro dictatorship in Cuba, a war run by the CIA andangry Cuban exiles out of bases in the Southern United States, Panama, Nicaragua and Guatemala. Castro is a successful revolutionaryfrightening to American business interests in Latin America - companies like Cabot's United Fruit, Continental Can, and Rockefeller's StandardOil. This war culminates in the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion in April 1961, when Kennedy refuses to provide air cover for the exile brigade. Of the1600 men who invade, 114 are killed, 1200 are captured. The Cuban exiles and the CIA are furious at Kennedy's irresolution... Kennedy, takingpublic responsibility for the failure, privately claims the CIA lied to him and tried to manipulate him into ordering an all-out Americaninvasion of Cuba. He vows to splinter the CIA into a thousand pieces and fires Director Allen Dulles, Deputies Charles Cabell and RichardBissell, the top leadership of the Agency. SECRET WAR IMAGERY Cuban rallies, footage of training camps, espionage activities, boats, cases of weapons, RobertKennedy... John Roselli, Sam Giancana, Santos Trafficante, Richard Helms (the new CIA chief), Bill Harvey, Head of ZR/RIFLE, Howard Hunt... VOICE4 The CIA, however, continues it's secret war on Castro with dozens of sabotage and assassination attempts under it's ZR/RIFLE andMONGOOSE programs - The Agency collaborates with organized crime elements such as John Roselli, Sam Giancana, and Santos Trafficante ofTampa, whose casino operations in Cuba, worth more than a hundred million dollars a year in income, Castro has shut down. CUBANMISSILE CRISIS Khrushchev, Kennedy, Castro on television, meetings with Cabinet, Russian vessels in Caribbean, U.S. nuclear bases on alert, civilians going to underground safeareas... the Russian ship turning around, the country smiling... VOICE 5 In October 1962, the world comes to the brink of nuclear warwhen Kennedy quarantines Cuba after announcing the presence of offensive Soviet nuclear missiles 90 miles off American shores. The Joint Chiefsof Staff and the CIA call for an invasion. Kennedy refuses. Soviet ships with more missiles sail towards the island, but at the last moment turnback. The world breathes with relief but backstage in Washington, rumors abound that J.F.K. has cut a secret deal with Russian Premier Khrushchevnot to invade Cuba in return for a Russian withdrawal of missiles. Suspicions abound that Kennedy is \"soft on Communism.\" NUCLEARTEST BAN IMAGERY Closing down Cuban Camps, McNamara speaking, Khrushchev and Kennedy, the \"hot line\" telephone system inaugurated, Kennedy with Jackie and childrensailing off Cape Cod... Vietnam introduction, early shots, Green Berets, counterinsurgency programs, De Lansdale, leading up to the Test Ban signings... then J.F.K. at AmericanUniversity, June 10, 1963. VOICE 6 In the ensuing months, Kennedy clamps down on Cuban exile activities, closing training camps,restricting covert operations, prohibiting shipment of weapons out of the country. The covert arm of the CIA nevertheless continues its planto assassinate Castor... In March '63, Kennedy announces drastic cuts in the defense budget. In November 1963, he orders the withdrawalby Christmas of the first 1000 troops of the 16,000 stationed in Vietnam. He tells several of his intimates that he will withdraw allVietnam troops after the '64 election, saying to the Assistant Secretary of State, Roger Hilsman, \"The Bay of Pigs has taught me one, not to trustgenerals or the CIA, and two, that if the American people do not want to use American troops to remove a Communist regime 90 miles from ourcoast, how can I ask them to use troops to remove a Communist regime 9,000 miles away?\"... Finally, in August 1963, over the objections of theJoint Chiefs of Staff, the United States, Great Britain and the Soviet Union sign a treaty banning nuclear bomb tests in the atmosphere,underwater and in space... Early that fateful summer, Kennedy speaks of his new vision at American Universityin Washington. JFK What kind of peace do we seek? Not a pax Americana enforced on the world by Americanweapons of war... We must re-examine our own attitudes towards the Soviet Union... If we cannot now end our differences at least we can helpmake the world safe for diversity. For, in the final analysis, our most basic link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe thesame air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal... CONCLUDING KENNEDY IMAGERY Diplomats at the United Nations... AdlaiStevenson, Castor... Martin Luther King and the March on Washington (a snatch of his \"I Have a Dream\" speech)... Bobby Kennedy and Jimmy Hoffa going at it... U.S. Steel Chairman's"}
{"doc_id":"doc_66","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Duke's Children, by Anthony TrollopeThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Duke's ChildrenAuthor: Anthony TrollopeRelease Date: January, 2003 [eBook #3622]Most recentlyupdated: August 20, 2007Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUKE'S CHILDREN***E-text prepared by Kenneth David Cooper and revised by Joseph E.Loewenstein, M.D.THEDUKE'S CHILDRENbyANTHONY TROLLOPEFirst published in serial form in _All the Year Round_in 1879 and 1880 and in book form in 1880CONTENTS I. When the Duchess Was Dead II. Lady MaryPalliser III. Francis Oliphant Tregear IV. Park Lane V. \"It Is Impossible\" VI. Major Tifto VII. Conservative Convictions VIII. \"He Is a Gentleman\" IX. \"In Medias Res\" X. \"Why Not LikeRomeo If I Feel Like Romeo?\" XI. \"Cruel\" XII. At Richmond XIII. The Duke's Injustice XIV. The New Member for Silverbridge XV. The Duke Receives a Letter,--and Writes One XVI. \"PoorBoy\" XVII. The Derby XVIII. One of the Results of the Derby XIX. \"No; My Lord, I Do Not\" XX. \"Then He Will Come Again\" XXI. Sir Timothy Beeswax XXII. The Duke in His Study XXIII. FrankTregear Wants a Friend XXIV. \"She Must Be Made to Obey\" XXV. A Family Breakfast-Table XXVI. Dinner at the Beargarden XXVII. Major Tifto and the Duke XXVIII. Mrs. Montacute Jones'sGarden-Party XXIX. The Lovers Meet XXX. What Came of the Meeting XXXI. Miss Boncassen's River-Party. No. 1 XXXII. Miss Boncassen's River-Party. No. 2 XXXIII. The Langham Hotel XXXIV. LordPopplecourt XXXV. \"Don't You Think--?\" XXXVI. Tally-Ho Lodge XXXVII. Grex XXXVIII. Crummie-Toddie XXXIX. Killancodlem XL. \"And Then!\" XLI. Ischl XLII. Again at Killancodlem XLIII.What Happened at Doncaster XLIV. How It Was Done XLV. \"There Shall Not Be Another Word About It\" XLVI. Lady Mary's Dream XLVII. Miss Boncassen's Idea of Heaven XLVIII. The Party at Custins IsBroken Up XLIX. The Major's Fate L. The Duke's Arguments LI. The Duke's Guests LII. Miss Boncassen Tells the Truth LIII. \"Then I Am As Proud As a Queen\" LIV. \"I Don't Think She Is aSnake\" LV. Polpenno LVI. The News Is Sent to Matching LVII. The Meeting at \"The Bobtailed Fox\" LVIII. The Major Is Deposed LIX. No One Can Tell What May Come to Pass LX. Lord Gerald inFurther Trouble LXI. \"Bone of My Bone\" LXII. The Brake Country LXIII. \"I've Seen 'Em Like That Before\" LXIV. \"I Believe Him to Be a Worthy Young Man\" LXV. \"Do You Ever Think What MoneyIs?\" LXVI. The Three Attacks LXVII. \"He Is Such a Beast\" LXVIII. Brook Street LXIX. \"Pert Poppet!\" LXX. \"Love May Be a Great Misfortune\" LXXI. \"What Am I to Say, Sir?\" LXXII. CarltonTerrace LXXIII. \"I Have Never Loved You\" LXXIV. \"Let Us Drink a Glass of Wine Together\" LXXV. The Major's Story LXXVI. On Deportment LXXVII. \"Mabel, Good-Bye\" LXXVIII. The Duke Returns toOffice LXXIX. The First Wedding LXXX. The Second WeddingCHAPTER IWhen the Duchess Was DeadNo one, probably, ever felt himself to be more alone in the worldthan our old friend, the Duke of Omnium, whenthe Duchess died. Whenthis sad event happened he had ceased to be Prime Minister. Duringthe first nine months after he had left office he and the Duchessremained in England. Then they had gone abroad, taking withthemtheir three children. The eldest, Lord Silverbridge, had been atOxford, but had had his career there cut short by some more thanordinary youthful folly, which had induced his father to agree withthe collegeauthorities that his name had better be taken off thecollege books,--all which had been cause of very great sorrow tothe Duke. The other boy was to go to Cambridge; but his father hadthought it well to give him atwelvemonth's run on the Continent,under his own inspection. Lady Mary, the only daughter, was theyoungest of the family, and she also had been with them on theContinent. They remained the full year abroad,travelling with alarge accompaniment of tutors, lady's-maids, couriers, and sometimesfriends. I do not know that the Duchess or the Duke had enjoyed itmuch; but the young people had seen something of foreigncourts andmuch of foreign scenery, and had perhaps perfected their French. TheDuke had gone to work at his travels with a full determination tocreate for himself occupation out of a new kind of life. He hadstudiedDante, and had striven to arouse himself to ecstatic joyamidst the loveliness of the Italian lakes. But through it all hehad been aware that he had failed. The Duchess had made no suchresolution,--had hardly, perhaps,made any attempt; but, in truth,they had both sighed to be back among the war-trumpets. They had bothsuffered much among the trumpets, and yet they longed to return. Hetold himself from day to day, that thoughhe had been banished fromthe House of Commons, still, as a peer, he had a seat in Parliament,and that, though he was no longer a minister, still he might beuseful as a legislator. She, in her career as a leader offashion,had no doubt met with some trouble,--with some trouble but with nodisgrace; and as she had been carried about among the lakes andmountains, among the pictures and statues, among the countsandcountesses, she had often felt that there was no happiness except inthat dominion which circumstances had enabled her to achieve once,and might enable her to achieve again--in the realms of Londonsociety.Then,in the early spring of 187--, they came back to England, havingpersistently carried out their project, at any rate in regard totime. Lord Gerald, the younger son, was at once sent up to Trinity.For the eldest son a seatwas to be found in the House of Commons,and the fact that a dissolution of Parliament was expected served toprevent any prolonged sojourn abroad. Lady Mary Palliser was at thattime nineteen, and her entrance intothe world was to be her mother'sgreat care and great delight. In March they spent a few days inLondon, and then went down to Matching Priory. When she left town theDuchess was complaining of cold, sore throat, anddebility. A weekafter their arrival at Matching she was dead.Had the heavens fallen and mixed themselves with the earth, had thepeople of London risen in rebellion with French ideas of equality,had the Queenpersistently declined to comply with the constitutionaladvice of her ministers, had a majority in the House of Commons lostits influence in the country,--the utter prostration of the berefthusband could not have beenmore complete. It was not only that hisheart was torn to pieces, but that he did not know how to look outinto the world. It was as though a man should be suddenly called uponto live without hands or even arms. Hewas helpless, and knew himselfto be helpless. Hitherto he had never specially acknowledged tohimself that his wife was necessary to him as a component part of hislife. Though he had loved her dearly, and had in allthings consultedher welfare and happiness, he had at times been inclined to thinkthat in the exuberance of her spirits she had been a troublerather than a support to him. But now it was as though all outsideapplianceswere taken away from him. There was no one of whom hecould ask a question.For it may be said of this man that, though throughout his life hehad had many Honourable and Right Honourable friends, and thatthoughhe had entertained guests by the score, and though he had achievedfor himself the respect of all good men and the thorough admirationof some few who knew him, he had hardly made for himself asingleintimate friend--except that one who had now passed away from him. Toher he had been able to say what he thought, even though she wouldoccasionally ridicule him while he was declaring his feelings. Buttherehad been no other human soul to whom he could open himself.There were one or two whom he loved, and perhaps liked; but hisloving and his liking had been exclusively political. He had sohabituated himself to devotehis mind and his heart to the service ofhis country, that he had almost risen above or sunk below humanity.But she, who had been essentially human, had been a link between himand the world.There were his threechildren, the youngest of whom was now nearlynineteen, and they surely were links! At the first moment of hisbereavement they were felt to be hardly more than burdens. A moreloving father there was not in England,but nature had made him soundemonstrative that as yet they had hardly known his love. In alltheir joys and in all their troubles, in all their desires and alltheir disappointments, they had ever gone to their mother. Shehadbeen conversant with everything about them, from the boys' billsand the girl's gloves to the innermost turn in the heart and thedisposition of each. She had known with the utmost accuracy thenature of the scrapesinto which Lord Silverbridge had precipitatedhimself, and had known also how probable it was that Lord Geraldwould do the same. The results of such scrapes she, of course,deplored; and therefore she would give goodcounsel, pointing out howimperative it was that such evil-doings should be avoided; but withthe spirit that produced the scrapes she fully sympathised. Thefather disliked the spirit almost worse than the results; andwastherefore often irritated and unhappy.And the difficulties about the girl were almost worse to bear thanthose about the boys. She had done nothing wrong. She had given nosigns of extravagance or other juvenilemisconduct. But she wasbeautiful and young. How was he to bring her out into the world? Howwas he to decide whom she should or whom she should not marry? Howwas he to guide her through the shoals and rockswhich lay in thepath of such a girl before she can achieve matrimony?It was the fate of the family that, with a world of acquaintance,they had not many friends. From all close connection with relativeson the side of theDuchess they had been dissevered by old feelingsat first, and afterwards by want of any similitude in the habitsof life. She had, when young, been repressed by male and femaleguardians with an iron hand. Suchrepression had been needed, and hadbeen perhaps salutary, but it had not left behind it much affection.And then her nearest relatives were not sympathetic with the Duke. Hecould obtain no assistance in the care of hisgirl from that source.Nor could he even do it from his own cousins' wives, who were hisnearest connections on the side of the Pallisers. They were womento whom he had ever been kind, but to whom he had neveropened hisheart. When, in the midst of the stunning sorrow of the first week,he tried to think of all this, it seemed to him that there wasnobody.There had been one lady, a very dear ally, staying in the house withthemwhen the Duchess died. This was Mrs. Finn, the wife of PhineasFinn, who had been one of the Duke's colleagues when in office.How it had come to pass that Mrs. Finn and the Duchess had becomesingularly boundtogether has been told elsewhere. But there had beenclose bonds,--so close that when the Duchess on their return from theContinent had passed through London on her way to Matching, ill atthe time and verycomfortless, it had been almost a thing of course,that Mrs. Finn should go with her. And as she had sunk, and thendespaired, and then died, it was this woman who had always been ather side, who had ministered toher, and had listened to the fearsand the wishes and hopes she had expressed respecting the children.At Matching, amidst the ruins of the old Priory, there is a parishburying-ground, and there, in accordance with herown wish, almostwithin sight of her own bedroom-window, she was buried. On the dayof the funeral a dozen relatives came, Pallisers and M'Closkies, whoon such an occasion were bound to show themselves, asmembers of thefamily. With them and his two sons the Duke walked across to thegraveyard, and then walked back; but even to those who stayed thenight at the house he hardly spoke. By noon on the following daytheyhad all left him, and the only stranger in the house was Mrs. Finn.On the afternoon of the day after the funeral the Duke and his guestmet, almost for the first time since the sad event. There had beenjust apressure of the hand, just a glance of compassion, just somemurmur of deep sorrow,--but there had been no real speech betweenthem. Now he had sent for her, and she went down to him in the roomin which hecommonly sat at work. He was seated at his table when sheentered, but there was no book open before him, and no pen ready tohis hand. He was dressed of course in black. That, indeed, was usualwith him, but nowthe tailor by his funereal art had added somedeeper dye of blackness to his appearance. When he rose and turned toher she thought that he had at once become an old man. His hair wasgrey in parts, and he had neveraccustomed himself to use that skillin managing his outside person by which many men are able to preservefor themselves a look, if not of youth, at any rate of freshness.He was thin, of an adust complexion, and hadacquired a habit ofstooping which, when he was not excited, gave him an appearance ofage. All that was common to him; but now it was so much exaggeratedthat he who was not yet fifty might have been taken to beover sixty.He put out his hand to greet her as she came up to him.\"Silverbridge,\" he said, \"tells me that you go back to Londonto-morrow.\"\"I thought it would be best, Duke. My presence here can be of nocomfort toyou.\"\"I will not say that anything can be of comfort. But of course itis right that you should go. I can have no excuse for asking you toremain. While there was yet a hope for her--\" Then he stopped, unableto say a wordfurther in that direction, and yet there was no sign ofa tear and no sound of a sob.\"Of course I would stay, Duke, if I could be of any service.\"\"Mr. Finn will expect you to return to him.\"\"Perhaps it would be better that Ishould say that I would stay wereit not that I know that I can be of no real service.\"\"What do you mean by that, Mrs. Finn?\"\"Lady Mary should have with her at such a time some other friend.\"\"There was none otherwhom her mother loved as she loved you--none,none.\" This he said almost with energy.\"There was no one lately, Duke, with whom circumstances causedher mother to be so closely intimate. But even that perhapswasunfortunate.\"\"I never thought so.\"\"That is a great compliment. But as to Lady Mary, will it notbe as well that she should have with her, as soon as possible,someone,--perhaps someone of her own kindred if it bepossible, or,if not that, at least one of her own kind?\"\"Who is there? Whom do you mean?\"\"I mean no one. It is hard, Duke, to say what I do mean, but perhapsI had better try. There will be,--probably there havebeen,--someamong your friends who have regretted the great intimacy which chanceproduced between me and my lost friend. While she was with us no suchfeeling would have sufficed to drive me from her. She hadchosen forherself, and if others disapproved her choice that was nothing to me.But as regards Lady Mary, it will be better, I think, that from thebeginning she should be taught to look for friendship and guidancetothose--to those who are more naturally connected with her.\"\"I was not thinking of any guidance,\" said the Duke.\"Of course not. But with one so young, where there is intimacy therewill be guidance. There should besomebody with her. It was almostthe last thought that occupied her mother's mind. I could not tellher, Duke, but I can tell you, that I cannot with advantage to yourgirl be that somebody.\"\"Cora wished it.\"\"Her wishes,probably, were sudden and hardly fixed.\"\"Who should it be, then?\" asked the father, after a pause.\"Who am I, Duke, that I should answer such a question?\"After that there was another pause, and then the conferencewas endedby a request from the Duke that Mrs. Finn would stay at Matching foryet two days longer. At dinner they all met,--the father, the threechildren, and Mrs. Finn. How far the young people among themselveshadbeen able to throw off something of the gloom of death need nothere be asked; but in the presence of their father they were sad andsombre, almost as he was. On the next day, early in the morning, theyounger ladreturned to his college, and Lord Silverbridge went up toLondon, where he was supposed to have his home.\"Perhaps you would not mind reading these letters,\" the Duke said toMrs. Finn, when she again went to him, incompliance with a messagefrom him asking for her presence. Then she sat down and read twoletters, one from Lady Cantrip, and the other from a Mrs. JeffreyPalliser, each of which contained an invitation for hisdaughter,and expressed a hope that Lady Mary would not be unwilling to spendsome time with the writer. Lady Cantrip's letter was long, and wentminutely into circumstances. If Lady Mary would come to her, shewouldabstain from having other company in the house till her youngfriend's spirits should have somewhat recovered themselves. Nothingcould be more kind, or proposed in a sweeter fashion. There had,however, beenpresent to the Duke's mind as he read it a feeling thata proposition to a bereaved husband to relieve him of the societyof an only daughter, was not one which would usually be made toa father. In such a position achild's company would probablybe his best solace. But he knew,--at this moment he painfullyremembered,--that he was not as are other men. He acknowledged thetruth of this, but he was not the less grieved andirritated by thereminder. The letter from Mrs. Jeffrey Palliser was to the sameeffect, but was much shorter. If it would suit Mary to come to themfor a month or six weeks at their place in Gloucestershire, theywould bothbe delighted.\"I should not choose her to go there,\" said the Duke, as Mrs. Finnrefolded the latter letter. \"My cousin's wife is a very good woman,but Mary would not be happy with her.\"\"Lady Cantrip is an excellent friendfor her.\"\"Excellent. I know no one whom I esteem more than Lady Cantrip.\"\"Would you wish her to go there, Duke?\"There came a wistful piteous look over the father's face. Why shouldhe be treated as no other fatherwould be treated? Why should itbe supposed that he would desire to send his girl away from him?But yet he felt that it would be better that she should go. It washis present purpose to remain at Matching through aportion of thesummer. What could he do to make a girl happy? What comfort wouldthere be in his companionship?\"I suppose she ought to go somewhere,\" he said.\"I had not thought of it,\" said Mrs. Finn.\"I understoodyou to say,\" replied the Duke, almost angrily, \"thatshe ought to go to someone who would take care of her.\"\"I was thinking of some friend coming to her.\"\"Who would come? Who is there that I could possibly ask? Youwill notstay.\"\"I certainly would stay, if it were for her good. I was thinking,Duke, that perhaps you might ask the Greys to come to you.\"\"They would not come,\" he said, after a pause.\"When she was told that it was forher sake, she would come, Ithink.\"Then there was another pause. \"I could not ask them,\" he said; \"forhis sake I could not have it put to her in that way. Perhaps Mary hadbetter go to Lady Cantrip. Perhaps I had betterbe alone here for atime. I do not think that I am fit to have any human being here withme in my sorrow.\"CHAPTER IILady Mary PalliserIt may as well be said at once that Mrs. Finn knew something of LadyMary whichwas not known to the father, and which she was not yetprepared to make known to him. The last winter abroad had been passedat Rome, and there Lady Mary Palliser had become acquainted with acertain Mr.Tregear,--Francis Oliphant Tregear. The Duchess, who hadbeen in constant correspondence with her friend, had asked questionsby letter as to Mr. Tregear, of whom she had only known that hewas the younger son of aCornish gentleman, who had become LordSilverbridge's friend at Oxford. In this there had certainly been butlittle to recommend him to the intimacy of such a girl as Lady MaryPalliser. Nor had the Duchess, whenwriting, ever spoken of him as aprobable suitor for her daughter's hand. She had never connected thetwo names together. But Mrs. Finn had been clever enough to perceivethat the Duchess had become fond of Mr.Tregear, and would willinglyhave heard something to his advantage. And she did hear something tohis advantage,--something also to his disadvantage. At his mother'sdeath this young man would inherit a property"}
{"doc_id":"doc_67","qid":"","text":"Nurse Betty Script at IMSDb.
\"NURSE BETTY\" -- by John C. Richards & James Flamberg
NURSE BETTYScreenplay by John C. Richards & JamesFlambergStory by John C. Richards
Shooting Script(FINAL) 3/9/99 FADE IN: 1 INT. OPERATING ROOM - DAY 1 A tensesurgery in progress. Meters flicker, instruments flash in the bright overhead light. In the midst of it all stands DR. DAVID RAVELL, 35. The master of his domain. Ravell leans forward so a NURSEcan mop the sweat from his brow as he completes a last, delicate procedure. His co workers sigh collectively with relief. DAVID (to Asst.Surgeon) Close her up, will you? 2 INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - DAY 2 Dr. Ravell comes out of surgery, clearly exhausted. Without his surgical mask heis ruggedly handsome. TWO NURSES follow, attending him like a fighter fresh from the ring: CHLOE, 25, Raven-haired and striking, and JASMINE, 24, an exotic mix of African-American andAsian. BLAKE DANIELS, 58, the silver-haired Chief Surgeon, rushes up the corridor. On his heels is DR. LONNIE WALSH, 33. Lonnie is also conspicuously handsome, but he'll always be secondto David. In everything. The look on Blake's face stops David in his tracks. BLAKE There's been a train crash near Santa Barbara. They'reflying an aortal trauma here now. How can I ask you this, David... David rubs his eyes. Thinks about it. DAVID I can do it,Blake. His bravery isn't lost on the two nurses, although Chloe exchanges a quick, covert glance with Lonnie. CHLOE Is he crazy, Jasmine? He's been onhis feet for fourteen hours. JASMINE Chloe, it's been this way since Leslie died. Losing himself in his work,poor thing... 2. YOUNGERMAN'S VOICE (O.S.) ... I'll give you something to lose yourself in... OLDER MAN'SVOICE (O.S.) Excuse me, miss? PULL BACK TO REVEAL: WE ARE LOOKING AT A TELEVISION SCREEN BEHIND THE COUNTER OF ASMALL-TOWN DINER. INSERT: FAIR OAKS, KANSAS 3 INT. TIP TOP DINER - DAY 3 Quaint, Midwestern eatery. Knick-knacks and photosabound. The booths and counter are packed with LOCALS. A family dining section off in one corner. TWO GUYS sitting at the counter in team jackets. The older of the two holds up hisempty coffee cup. But his WAITRESS, standing a couple seats down from him, doesn't move. She's completely absorbed in watching the soap opera that plays on two battered, fuzzy TVsets. BETTY SIZEMORE, 30, has a wholesome attractiveness that competes with a bit too much makeup and a cheesy white waitress uniform. TWO OTHER WAITRESSES attend tocustomers behind her. The younger of the two guys is involved in the soap opera. But the older one, still wants coffee. He gestures toward Betty. OLDERMAN Miss? Betty leans forward, grabs the coffee pot and moves in front of him. Without taking her eyes from the TV, she pours the java, which somehow lands in his cupwithout spilling a drop. OLDER MAN (cont'd) Very impressive. That is very... (turning to others) Did anybody seethat? The LOCAL GUYS around him don't even bother to look up. Of course, they've seen it before. Bettysmiles. 3. OLDER MAN (cont'd) Thank you. Could I bother you for a littlemore...? Before he can even finish, Betty is topping him off with milk. BETTY Skim, right? (tears open an Equal) And half apack, if I remember correct... The older gentleman's mouth works a bit but nothing comes out. He is flabbergasted by her attention to detail. She looks at the younger man, who is still followingthe show and gobbling down a huge bacon burger. BETTY (cont'd) You know, you're never too young to start on a lean meatsubstitute... (BEAT) You wanna try some turkey bacon on that? YOUNGER MAN You want a tip when I'mthrough? BETTY It's your body... Betty turns back to change pots. The older man watches her intently as the younger of the two mumbles tohimself. YOUNGER MAN (to himself) That's right, so why don't you get up off it... OLDERMAN Wesley... (to Betty) I've told him the same thing. Thanks for the suggestion. BETTY Noproblem. Betty flashes the men a winning smile and moves off, one eye always on the TV as she approaches two local types. SHERIFF ELDEN BALLARD, 32, a short, tightly wound littleman, sitting at his own booth. Ballard is spit and polish all the way: creases in his shirt, a glossy shine on his shoes. Badge proudly displayed. He sitswith 4. ROY OSTREY, 31, a gangly, bookish local reporter. Betty drops five ketchup packets and four mayonnaise packets on the table forhim. Another smile. ROY Hi, Betty. You're looking good... BETTY Thanks, Roy, you're sweet... a big liar, butsweet. I liked your editorial this morning... ROY Oh, appreciate it. I was trying to, ahh, give a sense of historyto... BALLARD (interrupting) Yeah, it was great. Really put the whole idea of \"church bake sales\"in perspective... ROY You know, Elden, some people actually read more than just theClassifieds... BALLARD Why don't you go back to doing something you're good at... like that Lonelyhearts column? (chucklesto himself) I'll take a refill there, Betty... His cup is full before he can even finish the sentence. BETTY Hey, Sheriff. How'severything? BALLARD Oh, you know, the usual... keeping the world safe. BETTY ... I meant yourfood. BALLARD Oh, right... 's fine. Thanks. ROY I thought you said the eggsweren't... BALLARD It's fine. Mind your own meal... 5. ROY Youshould get the order you want. BALLARD And you should keep your nose out of another man's omelette... (to Betty) It's nobig deal, Betty. BETTY There's yolks in there, huh? It's no prob'... gotta keep you on track. Betty grabs Ballard's plate without another word, giveshim a reassuring rub on the shoulders and moves off. He smiles appreciatively after her, then turns on Roy. BALLARD Why you always gotta embarrassme? I been eating lunch with you since grade school and you always gotta embarrass me! ROY They're just eggs, Elden,how embarrassing can eggs be? BALLARD ... plenty ROY Who eats eggs for lunch,anyhow? BALLARD Mind your own business. You just said that shit so you could look at her a little longer, anyway... Still carryingBallard's plate, she returns to the counter. BETTY Come on, guys, I told you it's egg whites only for the Sheriff... (quietly) ...I put him in that 'zone' thing. COOK #1 Well, it better be a pretty good size zone if he's in it... Betty and the cooks share a quick laugh. They move tochange his order while Betty glances up at the TV. 6. 4 INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - RETURN TO TV SCREEN 4 Lonniecatches up to Blake in the corridor. LONNIE Blake, I can handle that transplant! BLAKE We need someone with the right kindof experience, Lonnie. LONNIE Even if he's falling asleep on his feet? BLAKE Lonnie, it's a complex"}
{"doc_id":"doc_68","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Uncle Silas, by J. S. LeFanuThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: Uncle Silas A Tale of Bartram-HaughAuthor: J. S. LeFanuRelease Date: January 31, 2005 [EBook#14851]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNCLE SILAS ***Produced by Suzanne Shell, Bob McKillip and the Online DistributedProofreading Team.[Transcriber's note: The spellinginconsistencies of the original havebeen retained in this etext.]UNCLE SILASA Tale of Bartram-HaughBy J. S. LeFanu1899TOTHE RIGHT HON.THE COUNTESS OF GIFFORD,AS A TOKEN OFRESPECT, SYMPATHY, ANDADMIRATION_This Tale_IS INSCRIBED BYTHE AUTHOR_A PRELIMINARY WORD_The writer of this Tale ventures, in his own person, to address a very fewwords, chiefly of explanation, to his readers. A leading situationin this'Story of Bartram-Haugh' is repeated, with a slight variation, from a shortmagazine tale of some fifteen pages written by him, and published long agoin a periodical under the title of 'A Passage in the SecretHistory of anIrish Countess,' and afterwards, still anonymously, in a small volume underan altered title. It is very unlikely that any of his readers should haveencountered, and still more so that they should remember,this trifle. Thebare possibility, however, he has ventured to anticipate by this briefexplanation, lest he should be charged with plagiarism--always a disrespectto a reader.May he be permitted a few words also ofremonstrance against thepromiscuous application of the term 'sensation' to that large school offiction which transgresses no one of those canons of construction andmorality which, in producing the unapproachable'Waverley Novels,' theirgreat author imposed upon himself? No one, it is assumed, would describeSir Walter Scott's romances as 'sensation novels;' yet in that marvellousseries there is not a single tale in which death,crime, and, in some form,mystery, have not a place.Passing by those grand romances of 'Ivanhoe,' 'Old Mortality,' and'Kenilworth,' with their terrible intricacies of crime and bloodshed,constructed with so fine a masteryof the art of exciting suspense andhorror, let the reader pick out those two exceptional novels in the serieswhich profess to paint contemporary manners and the scenes of common life;and remembering in the'Antiquary' the vision in the tapestried chamber,the duel, the horrible secret, and the death of old Elspeth, the drownedfisherman, and above all the tremendous situation of the tide-bound partyunder the cliffs; and in'St. Ronan's Well,' the long-drawn mystery, thesuspicion of insanity, and the catastrophe of suicide;--determine whetheran epithet which it would be a profanation to apply to the structure ofany, even the most excitingof Sir Walter Scott's stories, is fairlyapplicable to tales which, though illimitably inferior in execution, yetobserve the same limitations of incident, and the same moral aims.The author trusts that the Press, to whosemasterly criticism and generousencouragement he and other humble labourers in the art owe so much, willinsist upon the limitation of that degrading term to the peculiar type offiction which it was originally intended toindicate, and prevent, as theymay, its being made to include the legitimate school of tragic Englishromance, which has been ennobled, and in great measure founded, by thegenius of Sir WalterScott.CONTENTSCHAPTERI. AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTERII. UNCLE SILASIII. A NEW FACEIV. MADAME DE LA ROUGIERREV. SIGHTS AND NOISESVI. A WALK IN THE WOODVII. CHURCHSCARSDALEVIII. THE SMOKERIX. MONICA KNOLLYSX. LADY KNOLLYS REMOVES A COVERLETXI. LADY KNOLLYS SEES THE FEATURESXII. A CURIOUS CONVERSATIONXIII. BEFORE AND AFTER BREAKFASTXIV. ANGRYWORDSXV. A WARNINGXVI. DOCTOR BRYERLY LOOKS INXVII. AN ADVENTUREXVIII. A MIDNIGHT VISITORXIX. AU REVOIRXX. AUSTIN RUTHYN SETS OUT ON HIS JOURNEYXXI. ARRIVALSXXII. SOMEBODY IN THEROOM WITH THE COFFINXXIII. I TALK WITH DOCTOR BRYERLYXXIV. THE OPENING OF THE WILLXXV. I HEAR FROM UNCLE SILASXXVI. THE STORY OF UNCLE SILASXXVII. MORE ABOUT TOM CHARKE'S SUICIDEXXVIII.I AM PERSUADEDXXIX. HOW THE AMBASSADOR FAREDXXX. ON THE ROADXXXI. BARTRAM-HAUGHXXXII. UNCLE SILASXXXIII. THE WINDMILL WOODXXXIV. ZAMIELXXXV. WE VISIT A ROOM IN THE SECONDSTOREYXXXVI. AN ARRIVAL AT DEAD OF NIGHTXXXVII. DOCTOR BRYERLY EMERGESXXXVIII. A MIDNIGHT DEPARTUREXXXIX. COUSIN MONICA AND UNCLE SILAS MEETXL. IN WHICH I MAKE ANOTHER COUSIN'SACQUAINTANCEXLI. MY COUSIN DUDLEYXLII. ELVERSTON AND ITS PEOPLEXLIII. NEWS AT BARTRAM GATEXLIV. A FRIEND ARISESXLV. A CHAPTER-FULL OF LOVERSXLVI. THE RIVALSXLVII. DOCTOR BRYERLYREAPPEARSXLVIII. QUESTION AND ANSWERXLIX. AN APPARITIONL. MILLY'S FAREWELLLI. SARAH MATILDA COMES TO LIGHTLII. THE PICTURE OF A WOLFLIII. AN ODD PROPOSALLIV. IN SEARCH OF MR. CHARKE'SSKELETONLV. THE FOOT OF HERCULESLVI. I CONSPIRELVII. THE LETTERLVIII. LADY KNOLLYS' CARRIAGELIX. A SUDDEN DEPARTURELX. THE JOURNEYLXI. OUR BED-CHAMBERLXII. A WELL-KNOWN FACE LOOKSINLXIII. SPICED CLARETLXIV. THE HOUR OF DEATHLXV. IN THE OAK PARLOURCONCLUSIONUNCLE SILASA Tale of Bartram-HaughCHAPTER I_AUSTIN RUTHYN, OF KNOWL, AND HIS DAUGHTER_It was winter--that is,about the second week in November--and great gustswere rattling at the windows, and wailing and thundering among our talltrees and ivied chimneys--a very dark night, and a very cheerful fireblazing, a pleasantmixture of good round coal and spluttering dry wood, ina genuine old fireplace, in a sombre old room. Black wainscoting glimmeredup to the ceiling, in small ebony panels; a cheerful clump of wax candleson thetea-table; many old portraits, some grim and pale, others pretty,and some very graceful and charming, hanging from the walls. Few pictures,except portraits long and short, were there. On the whole, I think youwouldhave taken the room for our parlour. It was not like our modernnotion of a drawing-room. It was a long room too, and every way capacious,but irregularly shaped.A girl, of a little more than seventeen, looking, Ibelieve, younger still;slight and rather tall, with a great deal of golden hair, dark grey-eyed,and with a countenance rather sensitive and melancholy, was sitting at thetea-table, in a reverie. I was that girl.The only otherperson in the room--the only person in the house related tome--was my father. He was Mr. Ruthyn, of Knowl, so called in his county,but he had many other places, was of a very ancient lineage, who hadrefused abaronetage often, and it was said even a viscounty, being of aproud and defiant spirit, and thinking themselves higher in station andpurer of blood than two-thirds of the nobility into whose ranks, it wassaid, they hadbeen invited to enter. Of all this family lore I knew butlittle and vaguely; only what is to be gathered from the fireside talk ofold retainers in the nursery.I am sure my father loved me, and I know I loved him. With thesureinstinct of childhood I apprehended his tenderness, although it was neverexpressed in common ways. But my father was an oddity. He had been earlydisappointed in Parliament, where it was his ambition tosucceed. Though aclever man, he failed there, where very inferior men did extremely well.Then he went abroad, and became a connoisseur and a collector; took a part,on his return, in literary and scientific institutions,and also in thefoundation and direction of some charities. But he tired of this mimicgovernment, and gave himself up to a country life, not that of a sportsman,but rather of a student, staying sometimes at one of hisplaces andsometimes at another, and living a secluded life.Rather late in life he married, and his beautiful young wife died, leavingme, their only child, to his care. This bereavement, I have been told,changedhim--made him more odd and taciturn than ever, and his temper also,except to me, more severe. There was also some disgrace about his youngerbrother--my uncle Silas--which he felt bitterly.He was now walking upand down this spacious old room, which, extendinground an angle at the far end, was very dark in that quarter. It was hiswont to walk up and down thus, without speaking--an exercise which used toremind me ofChateaubriand's father in the great chamber of the Châteaude Combourg. At the far end he nearly disappeared in the gloom, and thenreturning emerged for a few minutes, like a portrait with a background ofshadow,and then again in silence faded nearly out of view.This monotony and silence would have been terrifying to a person lessaccustomed to it than I. As it was, it had its effect. I have known myfather a whole day withoutonce speaking to me. Though I loved him verymuch, I was also much in awe of him.While my father paced the floor, my thoughts were employed about the eventsof a month before. So few things happened at Knowlout of the accustomedroutine, that a very trifling occurrence was enough to set people wonderingand conjecturing in that serene household. My father lived in remarkableseclusion; except for a ride, he hardly ever leftthe grounds of Knowl; andI don't think it happened twice in the year that a visitor sojourned amongus.There was not even that mild religious bustle which sometimes besets thewealthy and moral recluse. My father hadleft the Church of England forsome odd sect, I forget its name, and ultimately became, I was told, aSwedenborgian. But he did not care to trouble me upon the subject. So theold carriage brought my governess, when Ihad one, the old housekeeper,Mrs. Rusk, and myself to the parish church every Sunday. And my father, inthe view of the honest rector who shook his head over him--'a cloud withoutwater, carried about of winds, and awandering star to whom is reserved theblackness of darkness'--corresponded with the 'minister' of his church, andwas provokingly contented with his own fertility and illumination; andMrs. Rusk, who was a sound andbitter churchwoman, said he fancied he sawvisions and talked with angels like the rest of that 'rubbitch.'I don't know that she had any better foundation than analogy and conjecturefor charging my father withsupernatural pretensions; and in all pointswhen her orthodoxy was not concerned, she loved her master and was a loyalhousekeeper.I found her one morning superintending preparations for the reception ofa visitor, inthe hunting-room it was called, from the pieces of tapestrythat covered its walls, representing scenes _à la Wouvermans_, of falconry,and the chase, dogs, hawks, ladies, gallants, and pages. In the midst ofwhom Mrs.Rusk, in black silk, was rummaging drawers, counting linen, andissuing orders.'Who is coming, Mrs. Rusk?'Well, she only knew his name. It was a Mr. Bryerly. My papa expected him todinner, and to stay for somedays.'I guess he's one of those creatures, dear, for I mentioned his name justto Dr. Clay (the rector), and he says there _is_ a Doctor Bryerly, a greatconjurer among the Swedenborg sect--and that's him, I dosuppose.'In my hazy notions of these sectaries there was mingled a suspicion ofnecromancy, and a weird freemasonry, that inspired something of awe andantipathy.Mr. Bryerly arrived time enough to dress at hisleisure, before dinner. Heentered the drawing-room--a tall, lean man, all in ungainly black, with awhite choker, with either a black wig, or black hair dressed in imitationof one, a pair of spectacles, and a dark, sharp,short visage, rubbing hislarge hands together, and with a short brisk nod to me, whom he plainlyregarded merely as a child, he sat down before the fire, crossed his legs,and took up a magazine.This treatment wasmortifying, and I remember very well the resentment ofwhich _he_ was quite unconscious.His stay was not very long; not one of us divined the object of his visit,and he did not prepossess us favourably. He seemedrestless, as men of busyhabits do in country houses, and took walks, and a drive, and read in thelibrary, and wrote half a dozen letters.His bed-room and dressing-room were at the side of the gallery, directlyopposite tomy father's, which had a sort of ante-room _en suite_, in whichwere some of his theological books.The day after Mr. Bryerly's arrival, I was about to see whether my father'swater caraffe and glass had been duly laid onthe table in this ante-room,and in doubt whether he was there, I knocked at the door.I suppose they were too intent on other matters to hear, but receiving noanswer, I entered the room. My father was sitting in hischair, with hiscoat and waistcoat off, Mr. Bryerly kneeling on a stool beside him, ratherfacing him, his black scratch wig leaning close to my father's grizzledhair. There was a large tome of their divinity lore, I suppose,open onthe table close by. The lank black figure of Mr. Bryerly stood up, and heconcealed something quickly in the breast of his coat.My father stood up also, looking paler, I think, than I ever saw him tillthen, and hepointed grimly to the door, and said, 'Go.'Mr. Bryerly pushed me gently back with his hands to my shoulders, andsmiled down from his dark features with an expression quite unintelligibleto me.I had recovered myselfin a second, and withdrew without a word. The lastthing I saw at the door was the tall, slim figure in black, and the dark,significant smile following me: and then the door was shut and locked, andthe twoSwedenborgians were left to their mysteries.I remember so well the kind of shock and disgust I felt in the certaintythat I had surprised them at some, perhaps, debasing incantation--asuspicion of this Mr. Bryerly, of theill-fitting black coat, and whitechoker--and a sort of fear came upon me, and I fancied he was assertingsome kind of mastery over my father, which very much alarmed me.I fancied all sorts of dangers in the enigmaticalsmile of the lankhigh-priest. The image of my father, as I had seen him, it might be,confessing to this man in black, who was I knew not what, haunted me withthe disagreeable uncertainties of a mind very uninstructedas to the limitsof the marvellous.I mentioned it to no one. But I was immensely relieved when the sinistervisitor took his departure the morning after, and it was upon thisoccurrence that my mind was nowemployed.Some one said that Dr. Johnson resembled a ghost, who must be spoken tobefore it will speak. But my father, in whatever else he may have resembleda ghost, did not in that particular; for no one but I in hishousehold--andI very seldom--dared to address him until first addressed by him. I had nonotion how singular this was until I began to go out a little among friendsand relations, and found no such rule in force anywhereelse.As I leaned back in my chair thinking, this phantasm of my father came, andturned, and vanished with a solemn regularity. It was a peculiar figure,strongly made, thick-set, with a face large, and very stern; hewore aloose, black velvet coat and waistcoat. It was, however, the figure of anelderly rather than an old man--though he was then past seventy--but firm,and with no sign of feebleness.I remember the start with which,not suspecting that he was close by me, Ilifted my eyes, and saw that large, rugged countenance looking fixedly onme, from less than a yard away.After I saw him, he continued to regard me for a second or two; andthen,taking one of the heavy candlesticks in his gnarled hand, he beckoned me tofollow him; which, in silence and wondering, I accordingly did.He led me across the hall, where there were lights burning, and intoalobby by the foot of the back stairs, and so into his library.It is a long, narrow room, with two tall, slim windows at the far end, nowdraped in dark curtains. Dusky it was with but one candle; and he pausednear thedoor, at the left-hand side of which stood, in those days, anold-fashioned press or cabinet of carved oak. In front of this he stopped.He had odd, absent ways, and talked more to himself, I believe, than to allthe rest ofthe world put together.'She won't understand,' he whispered, looking at me enquiringly. 'No, shewon't. _Will_ she?'Then there was a pause, during which he brought forth from his breastpocket a small bunch of somehalf-dozen keys, on one of which he lookedfrowningly, every now and then balancing it a little before his eyes,between his finger and thumb, as he deliberated.I knew him too well, of course, to interpose a word.'Theyare easily frightened--ay, they are. I'd better do it another way.'And pausing, he looked in my face as he might upon a picture.'They _are_--yes--I had better do it another way--another way; yes--andshe'll notsuspect--she'll not suppose.'Then he looked steadfastly upon the key, and from it to me, suddenlylifting it up, and said abruptly, 'See, child,' and, after a second or two,'_Remember_ this key.'It was oddly shaped, andunlike others.'Yes, sir.' I always called him 'sir.''It opens that,' and he tapped it sharply on the door of the cabinet. 'Inthe daytime it is always here,' at which word he dropped it into his pocketagain. 'You see?--and atnight under my pillow--you hear me?''Yes, sir.''You won't forget this cabinet--oak--next the door--on your left--you won'tforget?''No, sir.''Pity she's a girl, and so young--ay, a girl, and so young--nosense--giddy. Yousay, you'll _remember_?''Yes, sir.''It behoves you.'He turned round and looked full upon me, like a man who has taken a suddenresolution; and I think for a moment he had made up his mind to tell me agreat dealmore. But if so, he changed it again; and after another pause,he said slowly and sternly--'You will tell nobody what I have said, underpain of my displeasure.''Oh! no, sir!''Good child!''_Except_,' he resumed, 'under onecontingency; that is, in case I shouldbe absent, and Dr. Bryerly--you recollect the thin gentleman, in spectaclesand a black wig, who spent three days here last month--should come andenquire for the key, youunderstand, in my absence.''Yes, sir.'So he kissed me on the forehead, and said--'Let us return.'Which, accordingly, we did, in silence; the storm outside, like a dirge ona great organ, accompanying our flitting.CHAPTERII_UNCLE SILAS_When we reached the drawing-room, I resumed my chair, and my father hisslow and regular walk to and fro, in the great room. Perhaps it was theuproar of the wind that disturbed the ordinary tenor ofhis thoughts; but,whatever was the cause, certainly he was unusually talkative that night.After an interval of nearly half an hour, he drew near again, and sat downin a high-backed arm-chair, beside the fire, and nearlyopposite to me, andlooked at me steadfastly for some time, as was his wont, before speaking;and said he--'This won't do--you must have a governess.'In cases of this kind I merely set down my book or work, as itmight be,and adjusted myself to listen without speaking.'Your French is pretty well, and your Italian; but you have no German.Your music may be pretty good--I'm no judge--but your drawing might bebetter--yes--yes.I believe there are accomplished ladies--finishinggovernesses, they call them--who undertake more than any one teacher wouldhave professed in my time, and do very well. She can prepare you, andnext winter, then,you shall visit France and Italy, where you may beaccomplished as highly as you please.''Thank you, sir.''You shall. It is nearly six months since Miss Ellerton left you--too longwithout a teacher.'Then followed aninterval.'Dr. Bryerly will ask you about that key, and what it opens; you show allthat to _him_, and no one else.''But,' I said, for I had a great terror of disobeying him in ever so minutea matter, 'you will then be absent,sir--how am I to find the key?'He smiled on me suddenly--a bright but wintry smile--it seldom came, andwas very transitory, and kindly though mysterious.'True, child; I'm glad you are so wise; _that_, you will find, Ihaveprovided for, and you shall know exactly where to look. You have remarkedhow solitarily I live. You fancy, perhaps, I have not got a friend, andyou are nearly right--_nearly_, but not altogether. I have a verysurefriend--_one_--a friend whom I once misunderstood, but now appreciate.'I wondered silently whether it could be Uncle Silas.'He'll make me a call, some day soon; I'm not quite sure when. I won't tellyou hisname--you'll hear that soon enough, and I don't want it talked of;and I must make a little journey with him. You'll not be afraid of beingleft alone for a time?''And have you promised, sir?' I answered, with anotherquestion, mycuriosity and anxiety overcoming my awe. He took my questioning verygood-humouredly.'Well--_promise_?--no, child; but I'm under condition; he's not to bedenied. I must make the excursion with him"}
{"doc_id":"doc_69","qid":"","text":"The Project Gutenberg EBook of Queen of the Black Coast, by Robert E. HowardThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it awayorre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Queen of the Black CoastAuthor: Robert E. HowardRelease Date: February 24, 2013 [EBook#42183]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUEEN OF THE BLACK COAST ***Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net QUEEN OF THE BLACK COAST By Robert E. Howard [Transcriber's Note: This etext was first published in Weird Tales May 1934. Extensive research did not uncoverany evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]1 Conan Joins the Pirates _Believe green buds awaken in the spring, That autumn paints the leaves with somber fire; Believe I held myheart inviolate To lavish on one man my hot desire._ THE SONG OF BÃ\u0000LITHoofs drummed down the street that sloped to the wharfs. The folk thatyelled and scattered had only a fleeting glimpse of a mailedfigure on ablack stallion, a wide scarlet cloak flowing out on the wind. Far up thestreet came the shout and clatter of pursuit, but the horseman did notlook back. He swept out onto the wharfs and jerked the plungingstallionback on its haunches at the very lip of the pier. Seamen gaped up athim, as they stood to the sweep and striped sail of a high-prowed,broad-waisted galley. The master, sturdy and black-bearded, stood inthebows, easing her away from the piles with a boat-hook. He yelled angrilyas the horseman sprang from the saddle and with a long leap landedsquarely on the mid-deck.'Who invited you aboard?''Get under way!'roared the intruder with a fierce gesture thatspattered red drops from his broadsword.'But we're bound for the coasts of Kush!' expostulated the master.'Then I'm for Kush! Push off, I tell you!' The other cast a quickglanceup the street, along which a squad of horsemen were galloping; farbehind them toiled a group of archers, crossbows on their shoulders.'Can you pay for your passage?' demanded the master.'I pay my way withsteel!' roared the man in armor, brandishing thegreat sword that glittered bluely in the sun. 'By Crom, man, if youdon't get under way, I'll drench this galley in the blood of its crew!'The shipmaster was a good judge ofmen. One glance at the dark scarredface of the swordsman, hardened with passion, and he shouted a quickorder, thrusting strongly against the piles. The galley wallowed outinto clear water, the oars began to clackrhythmically; then a puff ofwind filled the shimmering sail, the light ship heeled to the gust, thentook her course like a swan, gathering headway as she skimmed along.On the wharfs the riders were shaking theirswords and shouting threatsand commands that the ship put about, and yelling for the bowmen tohasten before the craft was out of arbalest range.'Let them rave,' grinned the swordsman hardily. 'Do you keep her onhercourse, master steersman.'The master descended from the small deck between the bows, made his waybetween the rows of oarsmen, and mounted the mid-deck. The strangerstood there with his back to the mast,eyes narrowed alertly, swordready. The shipman eyed him steadily, careful not to make any movetoward the long knife in his belt. He saw a tall powerfully built figurein a black scale-mail hauberk, burnished greavesand a blue-steel helmetfrom which jutted bull's horns highly polished. From the mailedshoulders fell the scarlet cloak, blowing in the sea-wind. A broadshagreen belt with a golden buckle held the scabbard of thebroadswordhe bore. Under the horned helmet a square-cut black mane contrasted withsmoldering blue eyes.'If we must travel together,' said the master, 'we may as well be atpeace with each other. My name is Tito,licensed master-shipman of theports of Argos. I am bound for Kush, to trade beads and silks and sugarand brass-hilted swords to the black kings for ivory, copra, copper ore,slaves and pearls.'The swordsman glancedback at the rapidly receding docks, where thefigures still gesticulated helplessly, evidently having trouble infinding a boat swift enough to overhaul the fast-sailing galley.'I am Conan, a Cimmerian,' he answered. 'I cameinto Argos seekingemployment, but with no wars forward, there was nothing to which I mightturn my hand.''Why do the guardsmen pursue you?' asked Tito. 'Not that it's any of mybusiness, but I thoughtperhaps----''I've nothing to conceal,' replied the Cimmerian. 'By Crom, though I'vespent considerable time among you civilized peoples, your ways are stillbeyond my comprehension.'Well, last night in a tavern, acaptain in the king's guard offeredviolence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran himthrough. But it seems there is some cursed law against killingguardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It wasbruited about thatI was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judgeasked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend ofmine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxedwrath, and the judgetalked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and otherthings I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown.By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I hadexplained myposition.'But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that Ihad shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into adungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeingthey were allmad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way outof the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, Irode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound forforeignparts.''Well,' said Tito hardily, 'the courts have fleeced me too often insuits with rich merchants for me to owe them any love. I'll havequestions to answer if I ever anchor in that port again, but I can proveI actedunder compulsion. You may as well put up your sword. We'repeaceable sailors, and have nothing against you. Besides, it's as wellto have a fighting-man like yourself on board. Come up to the poop-deckand we'll have atankard of ale.''Good enough,' readily responded the Cimmerian, sheathing his sword.The _Argus_ was a small sturdy ship, typical of those trading-craftwhich ply between the ports of Zingara and Argos and thesoutherncoasts, hugging the shoreline and seldom venturing far into the openocean. It was high of stern, with a tall curving prow; broad in thewaist, sloping beautifully to stem and stern. It was guided by thelongsweep from the poop, and propulsion was furnished mainly by the broadstriped silk sail, aided by a jibsail. The oars were for use in tackingout of creeks and bays, and during calms. There were ten to the side,fivefore and five aft of the small mid-deck. The most precious part ofthe cargo was lashed under this deck, and under the fore-deck. The menslept on deck or between the rowers' benches, protected in bad weatherbycanopies. With twenty men at the oars, three at the sweep, and theshipmaster, the crew was complete.So the _Argus_ pushed steadily southward, with consistently fairweather. The sun beat down from day to day withfiercer heat, and thecanopies were run up--striped silken cloths that matched the shimmeringsail and the shining goldwork on the prow and along the gunwales.They sighted the coast of Shem--long rollingmeadowlands with the whitecrowns of the towers of cities in the distance, and horsemen withblue-black beards and hooked noses, who sat their steeds along the shoreand eyed the galley with suspicion. She did not putin; there was scantprofit in trade with the sons of Shem.Nor did master Tito pull into the broad bay where the Styx river emptiedits gigantic flood into the ocean, and the massive black castles ofKhemi loomed over theblue waters. Ships did not put unasked into thisport, where dusky sorcerers wove awful spells in the murk of sacrificialsmoke mounting eternally from blood-stained altars where naked womenscreamed, and where Set,the Old Serpent, arch-demon of the Hyboriansbut god of the Stygians, was said to writhe his shining coils among hisworshippers.Master Tito gave that dreamy glass-floored bay a wide berth, even whenaserpent-prowed gondola shot from behind a castellated point of land, andnaked dusky women, with great red blossoms in their hair, stood andcalled to his sailors, and posed and postured brazenly.Now no moreshining towers rose inland. They had passed the southernborders of Stygia and were cruising along the coasts of Kush. The seaand the ways of the sea were never-ending mysteries to Conan, whosehomeland wasamong the high hills of the northern uplands. The wandererwas no less of interest to the sturdy seamen, few of whom had ever seenone of his race.They were characteristic Argosean sailors, short and stockilybuilt.Conan towered above them, and no two of them could match his strength.They were hardy and robust, but his was the endurance and vitality of awolf, his thews steeled and his nerves whetted by the hardness ofhislife in the world's wastelands. He was quick to laugh, quick andterrible in his wrath. He was a valiant trencherman, and strong drinkwas a passion and a weakness with him. Naïve as a child in many ways,unfamiliarwith the sophistry of civilization, he was naturallyintelligent, jealous of his rights, and dangerous as a hungry tiger.Young in years, he was hardened in warfare and wandering, and hissojourns in many lands wereevident in his apparel. His horned helmetwas such as was worn by the golden-haired Ã\u0000sir of Nordheim; his hauberkand greaves were of the finest workmanship of Koth; the fine ring-mailwhich sheathed his arms andlegs was of Nemedia; the blade at his girdlewas a great Aquilonian broadsword; and his gorgeous scarlet cloak couldhave been spun nowhere but in Ophir.So they beat southward, and master Tito began to look forthehigh-walled villages of the black people. But they found only smokingruins on the shore of a bay, littered with naked black bodies. Titoswore.'I had good trade here, aforetime. This is the work of pirates.''And if wemeet them?' Conan loosened his great blade in its scabbard.'Mine is no warship. We run, not fight. Yet if it came to a pinch, wehave beaten off reavers before, and might do it again; unless it wereBêlit's_Tigress_.''Who is Bêlit?''The wildest she-devil unhanged. Unless I read the signs a-wrong, it washer butchers who destroyed that village on the bay. May I some day seeher dangling from the yard-arm! She is calledthe queen of the blackcoast. She is a Shemite woman, who leads black raiders. They harry theshipping and have sent many a good tradesman to the bottom.'From under the poop-deck Tito brought out quilted jerkins,steel caps,bows and arrows.'Little use to resist if we're run down,' he grunted. 'But it rasps thesoul to give up life without a struggle.' * * * * *It was just at sunrise when the lookout shouted awarning. Around thelong point of an island off the starboard bow glided a long lethalshape, a slender serpentine galley, with a raised deck that ran fromstem to stern. Forty oars on each side drove her swiftly throughthewater, and the low rail swarmed with naked blacks that chanted andclashed spears on oval shields. From the masthead floated a long crimsonpennon.'Bêlit!' yelled Tito, paling. 'Yare! Put her about! Intothatcreek-mouth! If we can beach her before they run us down, we have achance to escape with our lives!'So, veering sharply, the _Argus_ ran for the line of surf that boomedalong the palm-fringed shore, Tito stridingback and forth, exhortingthe panting rowers to greater efforts. The master's black beardbristled, his eyes glared.'Give me a bow,' requested Conan. 'It's not my idea of a manly weapon,but I learned archery among theHyrkanians, and it will go hard if Ican't feather a man or so on yonder deck.'Standing on the poop, he watched the serpent-like ship skimming lightlyover the waters, and landsman though he was, it was evident to himthatthe _Argus_ would never win that race. Already arrows, arching from thepirate's deck, were falling with a hiss into the sea, not twenty pacesastern.'We'd best stand to it,' growled the Cimmerian; 'else we'll all diewithshafts in our backs, and not a blow dealt.''Bend to it, dogs!' roared Tito with a passionate gesture of his brawnyfist. The bearded rowers grunted, heaved at the oars, while theirmuscles coiled and knotted, and sweatstarted out on their hides. Thetimbers of the stout little galley creaked and groaned as the men fairlyripped her through the water. The wind had fallen; the sail hung limp.Nearer crept the inexorable raiders, and theywere still a good milefrom the surf when one of the steersmen fell gagging across a sweep, along arrow through his neck. Tito sprang to take his place, and Conan,bracing his feet wide on the heaving poop-deck, liftedhis bow. He couldsee the details of the pirate plainly now. The rowers were protected bya line of raised mantelets along the sides, but the warriors dancing onthe narrow deck were in full view. These were painted andplumed, andmostly naked, brandishing spears and spotted shields.On the raised platform in the bows stood a slim figure whose white skinglistened in dazzling contrast to the glossy ebon hides about it. Bêlit,without adoubt. Conan drew the shaft to his ear--then some whim orqualm stayed his hand and sent the arrow through the body of a tallplumed spearman beside her.Hand over hand the pirate galley was overhauling the lightership.Arrows fell in a rain about the _Argus_, and men cried out. All thesteersmen were down, pincushioned, and Tito was handling the massivesweep alone, gasping black curses, his braced legs knots of strainingthews.Then with a sob he sank down, a long shaft quivering in hissturdy heart. The _Argus_ lost headway and rolled in the swell. The menshouted in confusion, and Conan took command in characteristic fashion.'Up, lads!' heroared, loosing with a vicious twang of cord. 'Grab yoursteel and give these dogs a few knocks before they cut our throats!Useless to bend your backs any more: they'll board us ere we can rowanother fifty paces!'Indesperation the sailors abandoned their oars and snatched up theirweapons. It was valiant, but useless. They had time for one flight ofarrows before the pirate was upon them. With no one at the sweep, the_Argus_rolled broadside, and the steel-baked prow of the raider crashedinto her amidships. Grappling-irons crunched into the side. From thelofty gunwales, the black pirates drove down a volley of shafts thattore through thequilted jackets of the doomed sailormen, then sprangdown spear in hand to complete the slaughter. On the deck of the piratelay half a dozen bodies, an earnest of Conan's archery.The fight on the _Argus_ was shortand bloody. The stocky sailors, nomatch for the tall barbarians, were cut down to a man. Elsewhere thebattle had taken a peculiar turn. Conan, on the high-pitched poop, wason a level with the pirate's deck. As thesteel prow slashed into the_Argus_, he braced himself and kept his feet under the shock, castingaway his bow. A tall corsair, bounding over the rail, was met in midairby the Cimmerian's great sword, which sheared himcleanly through thetorso, so that his body fell one way and his legs another. Then, with aburst of fury that left a heap of mangled corpses along the gunwales,Conan was over the rail and on the deck of the _Tigress_.Inan instant he was the center of a hurricane of stabbing spears andlashing clubs. But he moved in a blinding blur of steel. Spears bent onhis armor or swished empty air, and his sword sang its death-song.Thefighting-madness of his race was upon him, and with a red mist ofunreasoning fury wavering before his blazing eyes, he cleft skulls,smashed breasts, severed limbs, ripped out entrails, and littered thedeck like ashambles with a ghastly harvest of brains and blood.Invulnerable in his armor, his back against the mast, he heaped mangledcorpses at his feet until his enemies gave back panting in rage andfear. Then as they liftedtheir spears to cast them, and he tensedhimself to leap and die in the midst of them, a shrill cry froze thelifted arms. They stood like statues, the black giants poised for thespear-casts, the mailed swordsman with hisdripping blade. * * * * *Bêlit sprang before the blacks, beating down their spears. She turnedtoward Conan, her bosom heaving, her eyes flashing. Fierce fingers ofwonder caught at his heart. Shewas slender, yet formed like a goddess:at once lithe and voluptuous. Her only garment was a broad silkengirdle. Her white ivory limbs and the ivory globes of her breasts drovea beat of fierce passion through theCimmerian's pulse, even in thepanting fury of battle. Her rich black hair, black as a Stygian night,fell in rippling burnished clusters down her supple back. Her dark eyesburned on the Cimmerian.She was untamed as adesert wind, supple and dangerous as a she-panther.She came close to him, heedless of his great blade, dripping with bloodof her warriors. Her supple thigh brushed against it, so close she cameto the tall warrior. Herred lips parted as she stared up into hissomber menacing eyes.'Who are you?' she demanded. 'By Ishtar, I have never seen your like,though I have ranged the sea from the coasts of Zingara to the fires ofthe ultimatesouth. Whence come you?''From Argos,' he answered shortly, alert for treachery. Let her slimhand move toward the jeweled dagger in her girdle, and a buffet of hisopen hand would stretch her senseless on the deck.Yet in his heart hedid not fear; he had held too many women, civilized or barbaric, in hisiron-thewed arms, not to recognize the light that burned in the eyes ofthis one.'You are no soft Hyborian!' she exclaimed. 'You arefierce and hard as agray wolf. Those eyes were never dimmed by city lights; those thews werenever softened by life amid marble walls.''I am Conan, a Cimmerian,' he answered.To the people of the exotic climes, thenorth was a mazy half-mythicalrealm, peopled with ferocious blue-eyed giants who occasionallydescended from their icy fastnesses with torch and sword. Their raidshad never taken them as far south as Shem, and thisdaughter of Shemmade no distinction between Ã\u0000sir, Vanir or Cimmerian. With the unerringinstinct of the elemental feminine, she knew she had found her lover,and his race meant naught, save as it invested him withthe glamor offar lands.'And I am Bêlit,' she cried, as one might say, 'I am queen.''Look at me, Conan!' She threw wide her arms. 'I am Bêlit, queen of theblack coast. Oh, tiger of the North, you are cold as the snowymountainswhich bred you. Take me and crush me with your fierce love! Go with meto the ends of the earth and the ends of the sea! I am a queen by fireand steel and slaughter--be thou my king!'His eyes swept theblood-stained ranks, seeking expressions of wrath orjealousy. He saw none. The fury was gone from the ebon faces. Herealized that to these men Bêlit was more than a woman: a goddess whosewill was unquestioned.He glanced at the _Argus_, wallowing in thecrimson sea-wash, heeling far over, her decks awash, held up by thegrappling-irons. He glanced at the blue-fringed shore, at the far greenhazes of the ocean, at the vibrantfigure which stood before him; andhis barbaric soul stirred within him. To quest these shining blue realmswith that white-skinned young tiger-cat--to love, laugh, wander andpillage--'I'll sail with you,' he grunted,shaking the red drops from his blade.'Ho, N'Yaga!' her voice twanged like a bowstring. 'Fetch herbs and dressyour master's wounds! The rest of you bring aboard the plunder and castoff.'As Conan sat with his backagainst the poop-rail, while the old shamanattended to the cuts on his hands and limbs, the cargo of the ill-fated_Argus_ was quickly shifted aboard the _Tigress_ and stored in smallcabins below deck. Bodies of thecrew and of fallen pirates were castoverboard to the swarming sharks, while wounded blacks were laid in thewaist to be bandaged. Then the grappling-irons were cast off, and as the_Argus_ sank silently into theblood-flecked waters, the _Tigress_ movedoff southward to the rhythmic clack of the oars.As they moved out over the glassy blue deep, Bêlit came to the poop. Hereyes were burning like those of a she-panther in thedark as she toreoff her ornaments, her sandals and her silken girdle and cast them athis feet. Rising on tiptoe, arms stretched upward, a quivering line ofnaked white, she cried to the desperate horde: 'Wolves of theblue sea,behold ye now the dance--the mating-dance of Bêlit, whose fathers werekings of Askalon!'And she danced, like the spin of a desert whirlwind, like the leaping ofa quenchless flame, like the urge of creation"}
{"doc_id":"doc_70","qid":"","text":"Project Gutenberg's He Walked Around the Horses, by Henry Beam PiperThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: He Walked Around the HorsesAuthor: Henry Beam PiperIllustrator: CartierRelease Date: July 11, 2006[EBook #18807]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HE WALKED AROUND THE HORSES ***Produced by Greg Weeks, William Woods and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.netTranscriber's note:This etext was produced from Astounding Science Fiction April 1948.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyrighton this publication wasrenewed.[Illustration]HE WALKEDAROUND THE HORSESBY H. BEAM PIPERIllustrated by Cartier_This tale is based on an authenticated,documented fact. A man vanished--rightout of this world. And where hewent--__In November 1809, an Englishman named Benjamin Bathurst vanished,inexplicably and utterly.__He was en route to Hamburg from Vienna, where he had been servingas his government's envoy to the courtof what Napoleon had leftof the Austrian Empire. At an inn in Perleburg, in Prussia, whileexamining a change of horses for his coach, he casually steppedout of sight of his secretary and his valet. He was not seentoleave the inn yard. He was not seen again, ever.__At least, not in this continuum...._(From Baron Eugen von Krutz, Minister of Police, to His Excellencythe Count von Berchtenwald, Chancellor to His MajestyFriedrichWilhelm III of Prussia.)25 November, 1809Your Excellency:A circumstance has come to the notice of this Ministry, thesignificance of which I am at a loss to define, but, since itappears to involve matters ofState, both here and abroad, I amconvinced that it is of sufficient importance to be brought toyour personal attention. Frankly, I am unwilling to take anyfurther action in the matter without your advice.Briefly, thesituation is this: We are holding, here at theMinistry of Police, a person giving his name as Benjamin Bathurst,who claims to be a British diplomat. This person was taken intocustody by the police at Perleburg yesterday,as a result of adisturbance at an inn there; he is being detained on technicalcharges of causing disorder in a public place, and of being asuspicious person. When arrested, he had in his possession adispatch case,containing a number of papers; these are of such anextraordinary nature that the local authorities declined to assumeany responsibility beyond having the man sent here to Berlin.After interviewing this person andexamining his papers, I am,I must confess, in much the same position. This is not, I amconvinced, any ordinary police matter; there is something verystrange and disturbing here. The man's statements, taken alone,areso incredible as to justify the assumption that he is mad. Icannot, however, adopt this theory, in view of his demeanor,which is that of a man of perfect rationality, and because of theexistence of these papers. Thewhole thing is mad; incomprehensible!The papers in question accompany, along with copies of thevarious statements taken at Perleburg, a personal letter to mefrom my nephew, Lieutenant Rudolf von Tarlburg. Thislast isdeserving of your particular attention; Lieutenant von Tarlburgis a very level-headed young officer, not at all inclined to befanciful or imaginative. It would take a good deal to affect himas he describes.The mancalling himself Benjamin Bathurst is now lodged in anapartment here at the Ministry; he is being treated with everyconsideration, and, except for freedom of movement, accordedevery privilege.I am, most anxiouslyawaiting your advice, et cetera, et cetera,Krutz(Report of Traugott Zeller, _Oberwachtmeister_, _Staatspolizei_,made at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)At about ten minutes past two of the afternoon of Saturday,25November, while I was at the police station, there entered a manknown to me as Franz Bauer, an inn servant employed by ChristianHauck, at the sign of the Sword & Scepter, here in Perleburg.This man Franz Bauermade complaint to _Staatspolizeikapitan_Ernst Hartenstein, saying that there was a madman making troubleat the inn where he, Franz Bauer, worked. I was, therefore,directed, by _Staatspolizeikapitan_ Hartenstein,to go to theSword & Scepter Inn, there to act at discretion to maintain thepeace.Arriving at the inn in company with the said Franz Bauer, I founda considerable crowd of people in the common room, and, in themidst ofthem, the innkeeper, Christian Hauck, in altercation witha stranger. This stranger was a gentlemanly-appearing person,dressed in traveling clothes, who had under his arm a smallleather dispatch case. As I entered, Icould hear him, speaking inGerman with a strong English accent, abusing the innkeeper, thesaid Christian Hauck, and accusing him of having drugged his, thestranger's, wine, and of having stolen his, thestranger's,coach-and-four, and of having abducted his, the stranger's,secretary and servants. This the said Christian Hauck was loudlydenying, and the other people in the inn were taking theinnkeeper's part, andmocking the stranger for a madman.On entering, I commanded everyone to be silent, in the king's name,and then, as he appeared to be the complaining party of the dispute,I required the foreign gentleman to state tome what was thetrouble. He then repeated his accusations against the innkeeper,Hauck, saying that Hauck, or, rather, another man who resembledHauck and who had claimed to be the innkeeper, had drugged hiswineand stolen his coach and made off with his secretary and hisservants. At this point, the innkeeper and the bystanders all beganshouting denials and contradictions, so that I had to pound on atable with mytruncheon to command silence.I then required the innkeeper, Christian Hauck, to answer thecharges which the stranger had made; this he did with a completedenial of all of them, saying that the stranger had had nowinein his inn, and that he had not been inside the inn until a fewminutes before, when he had burst in shouting accusations, andthat there had been no secretary, and no valet, and no coachman,and nocoach-and-four, at the inn, and that the gentleman wasraving mad. To all this, he called the people who were in thecommon room to witness.I then required the stranger to account for himself. He saidthat his namewas Benjamin Bathurst, and that he was a Britishdiplomat, returning to England from Vienna. To prove this, heproduced from his dispatch case sundry papers. One of these wasa letter of safe-conduct, issued by thePrussian Chancellery, inwhich he was named and described as Benjamin Bathurst. The otherpapers were English, all bearing seals, and appearing to beofficial documents.Accordingly, I requested him to accompany meto the police station,and also the innkeeper, and three men whom the innkeeper wanted tobring as witnesses.Traugott Zeller_Oberwachtmeister_Report approved,Ernst Hartenstein_Staatspolizeikapitan_(Statement ofthe self-so-called Benjamin Bathurst, taken at thepolice station at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)My name is Benjamin Bathurst, and I am Envoy Extraordinary andMinister Plenipotentiary of the government of HisBritannic Majestyto the court of His Majesty Franz I, Emperor of Austria, or, atleast, I was until the events following the Austrian surrendermade necessary my return to London. I left Vienna on the morningof Monday,the 20th, to go to Hamburg to take ship home; I wastraveling in my own coach-and-four, with my secretary, Mr. BertramJardine, and my valet, William Small, both British subjects, anda coachman, Josef Bidek, anAustrian subject, whom I had hiredfor the trip. Because of the presence of French troops, whom Iwas anxious to avoid, I was forced to make a detour west as faras Salzburg before turning north toward Magdeburg,where Icrossed the Elbe. I was unable to get a change of horses for mycoach after leaving Gera, until I reached Perleburg, where Istopped at the Sword & Scepter Inn.Arriving there, I left my coach in the inn yard, and Iand mysecretary, Mr. Jardine, went into the inn. A man, not this fellowhere, but another rogue, with more beard and less paunch, andmore shabbily dressed, but as like him as though he were hisbrother, representedhimself as the innkeeper, and I dealt withhim for a change of horses, and ordered a bottle of wine formyself and my secretary, and also a pot of beer apiece for myvalet and the coachman, to be taken outside to them.Then Jardineand I sat down to our wine, at a table in the common room, untilthe man who claimed to be the innkeeper came back and told usthat the fresh horses were harnessed to the coach and ready togo. Then wewent outside again.I looked at the two horses on the off side, and then walked aroundin front of the team to look at the two nigh-side horses, and as Idid I felt giddy, as though I were about to fall, and everythingwentblack before my eyes. I thought I was having a faintingspell, something I am not at all subject to, and I put out my handto grasp the hitching bar, but could not find it. I am sure, now,that I was unconscious for sometime, because when my headcleared, the coach and horses were gone, and in their place was abig farm wagon, jacked up in front, with the right front wheeloff, and two peasants were greasing the detached wheel.Ilooked at them for a moment, unable to credit my eyes, andthen I spoke to them in German, saying, \"Where the devil's mycoach-and-four?\"They both straightened, startled: the one who was holding the wheelalmostdropped it.\"Pardon, excellency,\" he said, \"there's been no coach-and-four here,all the time we've been here.\"\"Yes,\" said his mate, \"and we've been here since just after noon.\"I did not attempt to argue with them. Itoccurred to me--andit is still my opinion--that I was the victim of some plot; thatmy wine had been drugged, that I had been unconscious for sometime, during which my coach had been removed and thiswagonsubstituted for it, and that these peasants had been put to workon it and instructed what to say if questioned. If my arrival atthe inn had been anticipated, and everything put in readiness,the whole businesswould not have taken ten minutes.I therefore entered the inn, determined to have it out withthis rascally innkeeper, but when I returned to the common room,he was nowhere to be seen, and this other fellow, who hasgivenhis name as Christian Hauck, claimed to be the innkeeper anddenied knowledge of any of the things I have just stated.Furthermore, there were four cavalrymen, Uhlans, drinking beerand playing cards at the tablewhere Jardine and I had had ourwine, and they claimed to have been there for several hours.I have no idea why such an elaborate prank, involving theparticipation of many people, should be played on me, except attheinstigation of the French. In that case, I cannot understandwhy Prussian soldiers should lend themselves to it.Benjamin Bathurst(Statement of Christian Hauck, innkeeper, taken at the policestation at Perleburg, 25November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Christian Hauck, and I keepan inn at the sign of the Sword & Scepter, and have these pastfifteen years, and my father, and his father, before me, for thepast fiftyyears, and never has there been a complaint like thisagainst my inn. Your honor, it is a hard thing for a man whokeeps a decent house, and pays his taxes, and obeys the laws,to be accused of crimes of this sort.I knownothing of this gentleman, nor of his coach, nor hissecretary, nor his servants; I never set eyes on him before hecame bursting into the inn from the yard, shouting and ravinglike a madman, and crying out, \"Where thedevil's that rogue ofan innkeeper?\"I said to him, \"I am the innkeeper; what cause have you tocall me a rogue, sir?\"The stranger replied:\"You're not the innkeeper I did business with a few minutes ago,and he's therascal I want to see. I want to know what the devil'sbeen done with my coach, and what's happened to my secretary andmy servants.\"I tried to tell him that I knew nothing of what he was talkingabout, but he wouldnot listen, and gave me the lie, saying thathe had been drugged and robbed, and his people kidnaped. He evenhad the impudence to claim that he and his secretary had beensitting at a table in that room, drinkingwine, not fifteenminutes before, when there had been four noncommissioned officersof the Third Uhlans at that table since noon. Everybody in theroom spoke up for me, but he would not listen, and was shoutingthat wewere all robbers, and kidnapers, and French spies, and Idon't know what all, when the police came.Your honor, the man is mad. What I have told you about this is thetruth, and all that I know about this business, sohelp me God.Christian Hauck(Statement of Franz Bauer, inn servant, taken at the police stationat Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Franz Bauer, and I am aservant at the Sword &Scepter Inn, kept by Christian Hauck.This afternoon, when I went into the inn yard to empty a bucket ofslops on the dung heap by the stables, I heard voices and turnedaround, to see this gentleman speaking toWilhelm Beick and FritzHerzer, who were greasing their wagon in the yard. He had not beenin the yard when I had turned away to empty the bucket, and Ithought that he must have come in from the street. Thisgentlemanwas asking Beick and Herzer where was his coach, and when theytold him they didn't know, he turned and ran into the inn.Of my own knowledge, the man had not been inside the inn beforethen, nor hadthere been any coach, or any of the people he spokeof, at the inn, and none of the things he spoke of happened there,for otherwise I would know, since I was at the inn all day.When I went back inside, I found him inthe common room shoutingat my master, and claiming that he had been drugged and robbed. Isaw that he was mad and was afraid that he would do some mischief,so I went for the police.Franz Bauerhis (x)mark(Statements of Wilhelm Beick and Fritz Herzer, peasants, taken atthe police station at Perleburg, 25 November, 1809.)May it please your honor, my name is Wilhelm Beick, and I ama tenant on the estate of theBaron von Hentig. On this day, Iand Fritz Herzer were sent into Perleburg with a load of potatoesand cabbages which the innkeeper at the Sword & Scepter hadbought from the estate superintendent. After we hadunloadedthem, we decided to grease our wagon, which was very dry, beforegoing back, so we unhitched and began working on it. We tookabout two hours, starting just after we had eaten lunch, and inall that time,there was no coach-and-four in the inn yard. Wewere just finishing when this gentleman spoke to us, demanding toknow where his coach was. We told him that there had been nocoach in the yard all the time we hadbeen there, so he turnedaround and ran into the inn. At the time, I thought that he hadcome out of the inn before speaking to us, for I know that hecould not have come in from the street. Now I do not know wherehecame from, but I know that I never saw him before that moment.Wilhelm Beickhis (x) markI have heard the above testimony, and it is true to my ownknowledge, and I have nothing to add to it.Fritz Herzerhis (x)mark(From _Staatspolizeikapitan_ Ernst Hartenstein, to His Excellency,the Baron von Krutz, Minister of Police.)25 November, 1809Your Excellency:The accompanying copies of statements taken this day will explainhowthe prisoner, the self-so-called Benjamin Bathurst, came intomy custody. I have charged him with causing disorder and being asuspicious person, to hold him until more can be learned abouthim. However, as herepresents himself to be a British diplomat,I am unwilling to assume any further responsibility, and amhaving him sent to your excellency, in Berlin.In the first place, your excellency, I have the strongest doubtsof theman's story. The statement which he made before me, andsigned, is bad enough, with a coach-and-four turning into a farmwagon, like Cinderella's coach into a pumpkin, and three peoplevanishing as though swallowedby the earth. But all this isperfectly reasonable and credible, beside the things he said tome, of which no record was made.Your excellency will have noticed, in his statement, certainallusions to the Austrian surrender,and to French troops inAustria. After his statement had been taken down, I noticed theseallusions, and I inquired, what surrender, and what were Frenchtroops doing in Austria. The man looked at me in apityingmanner, and said:\"News seems to travel slowly, hereabouts; peace was concludedat Vienna on the 14th of last month. And as for what Frenchtroops are doing in Austria, they're doing the same thingsBonaparte'sbrigands are doing everywhere in Europe.\"\"And who is Bonaparte?\" I asked.He stared at me as though I had asked him, \"Who is the Lord Jehovah?\"Then, after a moment, a look of comprehension came into hisface.\"So, you Prussians concede him the title of Emperor, and referto him as Napoleon,\" he said. \"Well, I can assure you that HisBritannic Majesty's government haven't done so, and never will;not so long as oneEnglishman has a finger left to pull a trigger.General Bonaparte is a usurper; His Britannic Majesty's governmentdo not recognize any sovereignty in France except the House ofBourbon.\" This he said very sternly, asthough rebuking me.[Illustration]It took me a moment or so to digest that, and to appreciate all itsimplications. Why, this fellow evidently believed, as a matter offact, that the French Monarchy had been overthrown bysome militaryadventurer named Bonaparte, who was calling himself the EmperorNapoleon, and who had made war on Austria and forced a surrender. Imade no attempt to argue with him--one wastes time arguingwithmadmen--but if this man could believe that, the transformation of acoach-and-four into a cabbage wagon was a small matter indeed. So,to humor him, I asked him if he thought General Bonaparte's agentswereresponsible for his trouble at the inn.\"Certainly,\" he replied. \"The chances are they didn't know meto see me, and took Jardine for the minister, and me for thesecretary, so they made off with poor Jardine. I wonder,though,that they left me my dispatch case. And that reminds me; I'llwant that back. Diplomatic papers, you know.\"I told him, very seriously, that we would have to check hiscredentials. I promised him I would makeevery effort to locatehis secretary and his servants and his coach, took a completedescription of all of them, and persuaded him to go into anupstairs room, where I kept him under guard. I did startinquiries, calling in allmy informers and spies, but, as Iexpected, I could learn nothing. I could not find anybody, even,who had seen him anywhere in Perleburg before he appeared at theSword & Scepter, and that rather surprised me, assomebody shouldhave seen him enter the town, or walk along the street.In this connection, let me remind your excellency of thediscrepancy in the statements of the servant, Franz Bauer, and ofthe two peasants. Theformer is certain the man entered the innyard from the street; the latter are just as positive that he didnot. Your excellency, I do not like such puzzles, for I am surethat all three were telling the truth to the best oftheirknowledge. They are ignorant common folk, I admit, but theyshould know what they did or did not see.After I got the prisoner into safekeeping, I fell to examining hispapers, and I can assure your excellency thatthey gave me a shock.I had paid little heed to his ravings about the King of Francebeing dethroned, or about this General Bonaparte who called himselfthe Emperor Napoleon, but I found all these things mentioned inhispapers and dispatches, which had every appearance of being officialdocuments. There was repeated mention of the taking, by the French,of Vienna, last May, and of the capitulation of the AustrianEmperor to thisGeneral Bonaparte, and of battles being fought allover Europe, and I don't know what other fantastic things. Yourexcellency, I have heard of all sorts of madmen--one believinghimself to be the Archangel Gabriel, orMohammed, or a werewolf,and another convinced that his bones are made of glass, or that heis pursued and tormented by devils--but so help me God, this is thefirst time I have heard of a madman who haddocumentary proof forhis delusions! Does your excellency wonder, then, that I want nopart of this business?But the matter of his credentials was even worse. He had papers,sealed with the seal of the British ForeignOffice, and to everyappearance genuine--but they were signed, as Foreign Minister, byone George Canning, and all the world knows that Lord Castlereaghhas been Foreign Minister these last five years. And to cap itall,"}
{"doc_id":"doc_71","qid":"","text":"Jurassic Park: The Lost World Script at IMSDb.
THE LOST WORLD JURASSIC PARK Screenplay by David Koepp based on the novel by Michael Crichton EXT. TROPICAL LAGOON -DAY A 135-foot-luxury yacht is anchored just offshore in a tropical lagoon. The beach is a stunning crescent of white sand at the jungle fringe, utterly deserted. ISLA SORNA 87 miles southeast of NublarTwo SHIP HANDS, dressed in white uniforms, have set up a picnic table with three chairs on the sand and are carefully laying out luncheon service -- fine china, silver, crystal decanters with red and white wine. PAULBOWMAN, fortyish, sits in a chair off to the side, reading. MRS. BOWMAN, painfully thin, with the perpetually surprised look of a woman who's had her eyes done more than once, supervises the settings of the table.She looks up and sees a little girl, CATHY, seven or eight years old, wandering off down the beach. MRS. BOWMAN Cathy! Don't wander off! Cathy keeps wandering. MRS. BOWMAN (cont'd) Cathy, comeback! You can look for shells right here! Cathy gestures, pretending she can't hear. BOWMAN (eyes still in his book) Leave her alone. MRS. BOWMAN What about snakes? BOWMAN There'sno snakes on a beach. Let her have fun, for once. FURTHER DOWN THE BEACH, Cathy keeps wandering away, MUTTERING to herself as her parents' quarreling voices fade in the distance. CATHYPlease be quiet, please be quiet please be quiet... Rounding a curve in the beach, her parents disappear from view behind her. A RUSTLING sound draws her attention, and she turns, toward where the thick junglefoliage gives way to the sand. A large bush, maybe twelve feet tall, is moving, its branches swaying and shaking. Curious, Cathy walks up to the bush, which abruptly stops moving. A small, lizard-like animal, darkgreen with brown stripes along its back, steps out from the bush. Only about a foot tall, it stands on its hind legs, balancing on its thick tail. It walks upright, bobbing its head like a chicken. CATHY Well, hellothere! The animal (a COMPSOGNATHUS) just stares at her. Cathy squats down on her haunches. CATHY (cont'd) What are you? A little bird or something? She opens her hand. She's got a handful of goldfish crackers.CATHY (cont'd) Are you hungry? You want a goldfish? The compy bobs forward a few steps, cautiously. CATHY (cont'd) Come on. I won't hurt you. The compy draws closer. Cathy holds the cracker in the palm of herhand. The compy gets closer still -- -- and hops numbly up onto Cathy's palm. Her arm dips a bit under the weight, but it's not that heavy, and she holds it up easily. It bobs its head, scarfs up the goldfish, and eatsit. Enchanted, Cathy breaks into an enormous grin and returns her hand, calling back over her shoulder. CATHY (cont'd) Mom! Dad! You gotta come see this! I found something! She turns back. Thirty more compyshave come out onto the sand. They're standing there, bobbing anxiously, staring at her from a few feet away. Cathy's smile fades. She turns her head slowly to the right. TWENTY MORE COMPYS have come in fromthat side, forming a semi-circle, bobbing and CHIPPING as they surround her. CATHY (cont'd) (terrified) What do you guys want? BACK ON THE BEACH, the table is set. Mrs. Bowman calls out. MRS.BOWMAN Cathy, sweetheart! Lunch is ready! From around the curve of the beach, a flock of birds bolts from the jungle trees as Cathy's shrill SCREAMS suddenly pierce the air. MRS. BOWMANPAUL! She takes off, running down the beach, Mr. Bowman leaps out of his chair and follows, and all available deck hands race off to help, kicking up geysers of sand behind them. DOWN THE BEACH,Mrs. Bowman stops dead in her tracks when she rounds the bend in the beach. We don't see what she sees, but we hear the frenzied SQUEAKING of the strange compys. Mr. Bowman and the Hands race past her tohelp Cathy as Mrs. Bowman lets loose a horrified, slack-jawed SCREAM, her mouth a perfect oval. DISSOLVE TO: INT. BOARD ROOM - DAY Mrs. Bowman's screaming face dissolves slowly over theYAWNING face of a bored CORPORATE EXECUTIVE, TWENTY OTHER EXECUTIVES sit around a conference table in the boardroom of a monied corporation. All are in expensive suits, most are over sixty. There are rowsof BACKBENCHERS too, whispering in their lawyers who sit behind their clients, whispering in their ears. Empty coffee cups and fast food containers on the table hint that everyone's been here a long time. A familiarVOICE resounds through the boardroom as we move down the long table, pat the grim faces of the board members. VOICE (O.S.) The hurricane seemed like a disaster at the time, but now I think it was ablessing, nature's way of freeing those animals from their human confines. Of giving them another chance to survive, but this time as they were meant to, without man's interference. The source of the voice is JOHNHAMMOND, the founder of InGen and creator of Jurassic Park. But he's not in the room. His image is on a closed circuit TV screen, which has been wheeled up to the end of the table. And he doesn't look good. He'sterribly infirmed, propped up in bed, his face pale and drawn, medical equipment BEEPING around him. HAMMOND (cont'd) There are some corporate issues that are not about the bottom line. We have so much still tolearn about those creatures. A whole world of intricate, interlocking behaviors, vanished everywhere -- except for Site B. Please. Let's not do what is good for more men at the expense at what is best for all mankind.The CHAIRMAN, seventyish, nods awkwardly to the television. CHAIRMAN Thank you, John. Mr. Ludlow? He turns to PETER LUDLOW, late thirties, a man with the anxious look of someone who insists the buckstop on his desk. Ludlow flips open a file, pulls out a stack of black and white eight by tens, and tosses them on the table. LUDLOW (an accent similar to Hammond's) These pictures were taken in a hospital inCosta Rica forty-eight hours ago, after an American family on a yacht cruise stumbled onto Site B. The little girl will be fine, but her parents are wealthy, angry, and very fond of lawsuits. But that's hardly new to us, isit? (takes a paper from the file) Wrongful death settlements, partial list: family of Donald Gennaro, 36.5 million dollars; family of Robert Muldoon, 12.6 million. Damaged or destroyed equipment, 17.3 million.Demolition, de-construction, and disposal of Isla Nublar facilities, organic and inorganic, one hundred and twenty-six million dollars. The list goes on, gentlemen -- research funding, media payoffs. Silence is expensive.He's warming up. Not a bad performer. LUDLOW (cont'd) This corporation has been bleeding from the throat for four years. You, our board of directors, have set patiently and listened to ecology lectures while Mr.Hammond signed your checks and spent your money. You have watched your stock drop from seventy-eight and a quarter to nineteen flat with no good and in sight. And all along, we have held a significant productasset that we could have safely harvested and displayed for profit. Enormous profit. He reaches out to a model on the table and gives it a shove, sending it sliding down the length of the table in front of them. It's amini-mall version of a zoo. Cages hold tiny replicas of various kinds of dinosaurs while Boy Scout troops and Tourists look on in wonder. LUDLOW (cont'd) Enough money to wipe out four years of lawsuits and damagecontrol and unpleasant infighting, enough to not only send our stock back to where it was but to double it. And the one thing, the only thing standing between us and this asset is a born-again naturalist who happens tobe our own CEO. Well, I don't work for Mother Nature. I work for you. Two of his Backbenchers distribute documents from a stack. Ludlow takes one and reads from it. LUDLOW (cont'd) \"Whereas the Chief ExecutiveOfficer has engaged in wasteful and negligent business practices to further his own personal environmental beliefs -- Whereas these practices have affected the financial performance of the company by incurringsignificant losses -- Whereas the shareholders have been materially harmed by these losses -- Thereby, be it resolved that John Parker Hammond should be resolved from the office of Chief Executive Officer, affectiveimmediately.\" Mr. Chairman, I move the resolution be put to an immediate vote. Do I have a second? BOARD MEMBER I second the motion, Mr. Chairman, Please poll the members by a show of hands. TheCHAIRMAN signs heavily, feeling like a traitor. He can't bear to look at Hammond on the TV monitor. CHAIRMAN All those in favor of InGen Corporate Resolution 213C, please signify your approval by raisingyour right hand. It starts slowly, guiltily, but every hand in the room goes up. Ludlow sits back, victorious. Hammond, furious, raises his right hand, which holds a remote control, and points it at the TV screen. It goesblank. CUT TO: EXT. WELDER'S YARD - NIGHT Sparks fly out the windows and doors of a shed in the middle of a welder's yard. Scrap iron and steel lies everywhere. Somewhere inside the shed, aphone RINGS. The WHOOSH of the arc welder shuts off. DIETER STARK, a big barrel-chested man of forty or so, his face streaked with soot and grime, steps outside with a cordless phone, a cigarette dangling from hislips. DIETER Yeah. He takes a deep drag while someone talks on the other end. He smiles and blows out a cloud of smoke. CUT TO: INT. NEW YORK SUBWAY - NIGHT Smoke turns intosteam as a subway THUNDER into a station underneath Manhattan. The door WHOOSH open, spit out some COMMUTERS and suck up a few more. A tall man hurries down the platform, limping heavily, moving as fastas he can. The subway doors begin to close, but just before they meet -- -- the man jams a cane in between, stopping them. The man is IAN MALCOLM, fortyish, dressed in black from head to toe. There's a hardwisdom in Malcolm's eyes that may not have been there's a few years ago -- he know what you think, and he doesn't care. INT. SUBWAY CAR - NIGHT MALCOLM finds a seat on the crowded subway car andsits down. He looks awful. Tired. Weathered. He notices a CURIOUS MAN across from his is staring at his. Malcolm looks away. The Curious Man still stares. Nervy, the Curious Man gets up and approaches.MALCOLM (under his breath) Shit. The Curious Man sits down next to Malcolm, grinning. MAN You're him, aren't you? MALCOLM Excuse me? MAN The guy. The scientist. I saw you onTV. (conspiratorially) I believed you. No response from Malcolm. The guy leans in even closer. MAN (cont'd) Roooooarr. MALCOLM (a withering look) I was misquoted. I was merely speculating on theevolutionary scenario of a Lost World. I never said I was in any such place. He gets up and moves to another seat on the car, away from the Curious Man. As he sits down, he notices two other COMMUTERS across"}
{"doc_id":"doc_72","qid":"","text":"Broadcast News Script at IMSDb.
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