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                            THE ARTIST                            Written by                       Michel Hazanavicius    Silent film, illustratedmusically, with some title cards to    indicate the dialogues, with actors whose lips move when they    speak although we never hear their voices. The images arein    black and white, in format 1.33.1   TITLES                                                       1    The letters of the titles come up on a title card typical of    the1920s. Elegant motifs around the edge of the frame, and,    in the background, there are geometrical shapes reminiscent    of the light beams of a film première.Behind is a stylized    town. The titles end in a fade to black. On black, the date    appears on the screen: 19272   INT. LABORATORY -DAY                                        2    In a "futuristic" 1920s laboratory, a man in tail coat and    bow tie is being tortured. Ultrasound is being piped intohis    ears. It's incredibly painful! He's screaming.    Title card:    I'm not telling!   I won't talk!!!    His torturers, cold men of science in white coats,gradually    increase the volume. The pain seems unbearable, the volume    reaches level 10 (maximum), the man passes out!3   INT. CELLS & CORRIDORS -DAY                                 3    Guards wearing long leather overcoats throw the man into a    cell!    As the man is lying there on the ground, a dogwiggles    through the bars at the window. The dog, a Jack Russell,    jumps on top of the man - visibly his master - and begins to    lick his face. The man opensone eye! When he sees his dog,    he can't help cracking a smile...    The man, now on his feet, looks in pain. Despite the pain, he    motions to his dog who


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                                            REPO MAN                                           Written by                                            AlexCox                                          Transcript by                                           Steve Farmer               Repo Man theme music now begins playing. Map is shown inbackground                (green text on black background), zoomed in on Los Alamos, New                Mexico. While remaining credits are shown, the map travelsto                Sante Fe, then Albuquerque, then begins following US66 west through                Arizona to California, finally ending up a few miles eastof                Goffs (northwest of Needles).                Green '64 Chevy Malibu               Malibu is weaving down the highway in the desert, passesbillboard                with motorcycle cop behind it. Cop pulls out behind Malibu.                                                     J. FRANKPARNELL                         Forty-niner and his daughter Clementine.                          Oh my darlin, oh my darlin...                Motorcycle cop pullsthe car over, gets off motorcycle and raps                on car window.                                      J. FRANK PARNELL                         ClementineClemen-                                     COUNTY SHERIFF                         Let me see your driverslicense.                                     RADIO                         Post ten-eighteen. Post ten-eighteen.                                                              COUNTY SHERIFF                         From out of town, hmm? What's you


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<title>PhoneBooth</title>
                          PHONE BOOTH                              by                          Larry Cohen FADE IN: NEW YORKCITY - AERIAL VIEW OF DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN - DAY MULTIPLE STREET SCENES - DAY The sidewalks crowded as usual.  A sea ofhumanity.  People come and go -- always in a hurry.  Oblivious of one another. A TRAFFIC JAM -- A STREET being torn up by construction workers; ASANITATION TRUCK loading up refuse; VENDORS PEDDLING nuts and salted pretzels; PANHANDLERS blocking a passerby.  Intimidating.  Demanding.  Almostmocking. We're surrounded by the teeming life of the city as we've come to expect it -- complete with a cacophony of sound. MULTIPLE CUTS -- Phone kiosks andphone booths on the East Side and West Side -- uptown and down. One frustrated caller has lost his money in the slot and he takes it out on the equipment --smashing the receiver violently against the coin box until the instrument splinters into a dozen pieces. NARRATOR There are 237,911 pay telephones inthe five burroughs of the city of New York.  Many of them are still in working order. DOZENS OF QUICK CUTS -- NEW YORKERS on the phone in extremeclose up.  We don't hear the words.  Only the facial expressions inform us that these are human beings under tremendous pressure.  Life in the city is wearingthem down. MULTIPLE SHOTS - JUST MOUTHS Lips jabbering into receivers.  Cross-cut against one another. NARRATOR Despite increased


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<TITLE>Clueless</TITLE>
<TT>Directed by AmyHeckerling</TT>

<TT><FONTSIZE=+1>CAST:</TT>

<TT>Alicia Silverstone.........Cher HorowitzStaceyDash................DionneBrittany Murphy............TaiPaul Stephen Rudd..........JoshDonald Adeosun Faison......MurrayElisa Donovan..............AmberBreckinMeyer..............TravisJeremy Sisto...............EltonDan Hedaya.................MelAida Linares...............LucyWallace Shawn..............Mr. HallTwinkCaplan...............Miss GeistJustin Walker..............ChristianSabastian Rashidi..........ParoudasmHerb Hall..................PrincipalJulie Brown................MissStoegerSusan Mohun................HeatherNicole Bilderback..........SummerRon Orbach.................DMV TesterSean Holland...............LawrenceRogerKabler...............College GuyJace Alexander.............RobberJosh Lozoff................LoganCarl Gottlieb..............MinisterJoseph D. Reitman..........StudentAnthonyBeninati...........BartenderMicki Duran................DancerGregg Russell..............DancerJermaine Montell...........DancerDanielleEckert............Dancer</TT>

<TT>Written by      Jane Austen   (novel


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Efficiency Expert, by Edgar Rice BurroughsThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org/licenseTitle: The Efficiency ExpertAuthor: Edgar Rice BurroughsPosting Date: May 6, 2012 [EBook #3475]Release Date: October,2002  [Etext #3475][The actual date this file first posted = 10/30/01]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EFFICIENCYEXPERT ***Produced by Fred M. Adams (fsadams@magma.cs)THE EFFICIENCY EXPERTCHAPTER I.JIMMY TORRANCE, JR.The gymnasium was packed as JimmyTorrance stepped into the ring for thefinal event of the evening that was to decide the boxing championship ofthe university. Drawing to a close were the nearlyfour years of hiscollege career--profitable years, Jimmy considered them, and certainlysuccessful up to this point. In the beginning of his senior year hehadcaptained the varsity eleven, and in the coming spring he would againsally forth upon the diamond as the star initial sacker of collegedom.His footballtriumphs were in the past, his continued baseball successesa foregone conclusion--if he won to-night his cup of happiness, and anunassailably dominant positionamong his fellows, would be assured,leaving nothing more, in so far as Jimmy reasoned, to be desired fromfour years attendance at one of America's oldest andmost famousuniversities.The youth who would dispute the right to championship honors with Jimmywas a dark horse to the extent that he was a freshman, and,therefore,practically unknown. He had worked hard, however, and given a goodaccount of himself in his preparations for the battle, and there wererumors, asthere always are about every campus, of marvelous exploitsprior to his college days. It was even darkly hinted that he was aprofessional pugilist. As a matter offact, he was the best exponent ofthe manly art of self-defense that Jimmy Torrance had ever faced, and inaddition thereto he outweighed the senior andoutreached him.The boxing contest, as the faculty members of the athletic committeepreferred to call it, was, from the tap of the gong, as pretty atwo-fistedscrap as ever any aggregation of low-browed fight fanswitnessed. The details of this gory contest, while interesting, have noparticular bearing upon thedevelopment of this tale. What interests usis the outcome, which occurred in the middle of a very bloody fourthround, in which Jimmy Torrance scored a cleanknock-out.It was a battered but happy Jimmy who sat in his room the followingMonday afternoon, striving to concentrate his mind upon a collegetext-book whichshould, by all the laws of fiction, have been 'wellthumbed,' but in reality, possessed unruffled freshness which belied itsreal age."I wish," mused Jimmy, "that Icould have got to the bird who inventedmathematics before he inflicted all this unnecessary anguish upon analready unhappy world. In about three rounds I couldhave savedthousands from the sorrow which I feel every time I open this bloomingbook."He was still deeply engrossed in the futile attempt of accomplishing inanhour that for which the college curriculum set aside several monthswhen there came sounds of approaching footsteps rapidly ascending thestairway. His door wasunceremoniously thrown open, and there appearedone of those strange apparitions which is the envy and despair of thesmall-town youth--a naturallygood-looking young fellow, the sartorialarts of whose tailor had elevated his waist-line to his arm-pits,dragged down his shoulders, and caved in his front until hehad theappearance of being badly dished from chin to knees. His trousersappeared to have been made for a man with legs six inches longer thanhis, while his hatwas evidently several sizes too large, since it wouldhave entirely extinguished his face had it not been supported by hisears."Hello, Kid!" cried Jimmy.  "What'snew?""Whiskers wants you," replied the other.  "Faculty meeting. They justgot through with me.""Hell!" muttered Jimmy feelingly.  "I don't know what Whiskerswantswith me, but he never wants to see anybody about anything pleasant.""I am here," agreed the other, "to announce to the universe that you areright,Jimmy. He didn't have anything pleasant to say to me. In fact, heinsinuated that dear old alma mater might be able to wiggle alongwithout me if I didn't abjuremy criminal life. Made some nastycomparison between my academic achievements and foxtrotting. I wonder,Jimmy, how they get that way?""That's why they areprofs," explained Jimmy.  "There are two kinds ofpeople in this world--human beings and profs. When does he want me?""Now."Jimmy arose and put on his hatand coat.  "Good-by, Kid," he said."Pray for me, and leave me one cigarette to smoke when I get back,"and, grinning, he left the room.James Torrance, Jr., wasnot greatly abashed as he faced the dourtribunal of the faculty. The younger members, among whom were several heknew to be mighty good fellows at heart, satat the lower end of thelong table, and with owlish gravity attempted to emulate the appearanceand manners of their seniors. At the head of the table satWhiskers, asthe dignified and venerable president of the university was popularlynamed. It was generally believed and solemnly sworn to throughout thelargecorps of undergraduates that within the knowledge of any livingman Whiskers had never been known to smile, and to-day he was runningtrue to form."Mr.Torrance," he said, sighing, "it has been my painful duty on morethan one occasion to call your attention to the uniformly low average ofyour academic standing.At the earnest solicitation of the facultymembers of the athletic committee, I have been influenced, against mybetter judgment, to temporize with an utterlyinsufferable condition."You are rapidly approaching the close of your senior year, and in thelight of the records which I have before me I am constrained tobelievethat it will be utterly impossible for you to graduate, unless from nowto the end of the semester you devote yourself exclusively to youracademic work. Ifyou cannot assure me that you will do this, I believeit would be to the best interests of the university for you to resignnow, rather than to fail of graduation. Andin this decision I am fullyseconded by the faculty members of the athletic committee, who realizethe harmful effect upon university athletics in the future weresoprominent an athlete as you to fail at graduation."If they had sentenced Jimmy to be shot at sunrise the blow couldscarcely have been more stunning than thatwhich followed therealization that he was not to be permitted to round out his fourthsuccessful season at first base. But if Jimmy was momentarily stunnedhegave no outward indication of the fact, and in the brief interval ofsilence following the president's ultimatum his alert mind functionedwith the rapidity which ithad often shown upon the gridiron, thediamond, and the squared circle.Just for a moment the thought of being deprived of the pleasure andexcitement of thecoming baseball season filled his mind to theexclusion of every other consideration, but presently a less selfishimpulse projected upon the screen of recollectionthe figure of thefather he idolized. The boy realized the disappointment that this manwould feel should his four years of college end thus disastrously andwithoutthe coveted diploma.And then it was that he raised his eyes to those of the president."I hope, sir," he said, "that you will give me one more chance--that youwilllet me go on as I have in the past as far as baseball is concerned,with the understanding that if at the end of each month between now andcommencement I donot show satisfactory improvement I shall not bepermitted to play on the team. But please don't make that restrictionbinding yet. If I lay off the track work Ibelieve I can make up enoughso that baseball will not interfere with my graduation."And so Whiskers, who was much more human than the student body gavehimcredit for being, and was, in the bargain, a good judge of boys, gaveJimmy another chance on his own terms, and the university's heavyweightchampionreturned to his room filled with determination to make good atthe eleventh hour.Possibly one of the greatest obstacles which lay in Jimmy's path towardacademichonors was the fact that he possessed those qualities ofcharacter which attracted others to him, with the result that there wasseldom an hour during the day thathe had his room to himself. On hisreturn from the faculty meeting he found a half-dozen of his classmatesthere, awaiting his return."Well?" they inquired as heentered."It's worse than that," said Jimmy, as he unfolded the harrowing detailsof what had transpired at his meeting with the faculty. "And now," hesaid, "if youbirds love me, keep out of here from now untilcommencement. There isn't a guy on earth can concentrate on anythingwith a roomful of you mental ciphers sittingaround and yapping aboutgirls and other non-essential creations.""Non-essential!" gasped one of his visitors, letting his eyes wanderover the walls of Jimmy'sstudy, whereon were nailed, pinned or hungcountless framed and unframed pictures of non-essential creations."All right, Jimmy," said another.  "We are withyou, horse, foot andartillery. When you want us, give us the high-sign and we will come.Otherwise we will leave you to your beloved books. It is too bad,though,as the bar-boy was just explaining how the great drought mightbe circumvented by means of carrots, potato peelings, dish-water, and araisin.""Go on," saidJimmy; "I am not interested," and the boys left him to his"beloved" books.Jimmy Torrance worked hard, and by dint of long hours and hard-workingtutors hefinished his college course and won his diploma. Nor did hehave to forego the crowning honors of his last baseball season,although, like Ulysses S. Grant, hewould have graduated at the head ofhis class had the list been turned upside down.CHAPTER II.JIMMY WILL ACCEPT A POSITION.Following his graduation hewent to New York to visit with one of hisclassmates for a short time before returning home. He was a veryself-satisfied Jimmy, nor who can wonder, since almostfrom hismatriculation there had been constantly dinned into his ears theplaudits of his fellow students. Jimmy Torrance had been the one bigoutstanding featureof each succeeding class from his freshman to hissenior year, and as a junior and senior he had been the acknowledgedleader of the student body and as populara man as the university hadever known.To his fellows, as well as to himself, he had been a great success--thesuccess of the university--and he and they saw inthe future onlycontinued success in whatever vocation he decided to honor with hispresence. It was in a mental attitude that had become almost habitualwithhim, and which was superinduced by these influences, that Jimmyapproached the new life that was opening before him. For a while hewould play, but in the fall itwas his firm intention to settle down tosome serious occupation, and it was in this attitude that he opened aletter from his father--the first that he had receivedsince hisgraduation.The letter was written on the letterhead of the Beatrice Corn Mills,Incorporated, Beatrice, Nebraska, and in the upper left-hand corner, insmall


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Voodoo Planet, by Andre NortonThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Voodoo PlanetAuthor: Andre NortonRelease Date: July 16, 2006 [EBook #18846]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK VOODOO PLANET ***Produced by Greg Weeks, LN Yaddanapudi and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team athttp://www.pgdp.net[Illustration (Cover):DUEL OF THE COSMIC MAGICIANSVOODOOPLANETANDRE NORTONComplete Novel]CHALLENGE ME WITHMONSTERS!"From between the two shuffling dancers padded something on four feet.The canine-feline creature was more than just a head; it was aloose-limbed,graceful body fully eight feet in length, and the red eyesin the prick-eared head were those of a killer.... Words issued frombetween those curved fangs, wordswhich Dane might not understand...."Dane slid his blade out surreptitiously, setting its point against thepalm of his hand and jabbing painfully; but the terriblecreaturecontinued to advance.... There was no blurring of its lines...."Dane Thorson of the space-ship _Solar Queen_ knew there was only one wayto win out overthis hideous thing--a battle to the end between hisrational mind and the hypnotic witchcraft of Lumbrilo, the mental wizardof the planet Khatka.CAST OFCHARACTERSDane ThorsonHe wanted to spend a short vacation on Khatka, not the rest of his life.Medic TauWas he physician or magician--or a little bit ofboth?Chief Ranger AsakiTracking the forests had taught him that mad animals--whether real orimaginary--were to be feared.Captain JellicoWould his knowledgeof alien life-forms help him in his fight againstalien ghosts?NymaniNot even this pilot's most scientific skill could overcome a voodoocharm'sground-drag.LumbriloOn his own planet he was a witch doctor; on Earth he'd have been amaster politician.VOODOO PLANETbyANDRE NORTONACE BOOKS,INC.23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y.VOODOO PLANETCopyright (c), 1959, by Ace Books, Inc.All Rights ReservedPrinted in U. S.A.  +--------------------------------------------------------------+  |                                                              |  |                      Transcriber'sNote                      |  |                                                              |  | There is no evidence that the copyright on this publication  |  |                         wasrenewed.                         |  |                                                              |  +--------------------------------------------------------------+ITalk of heat--or betternot--on Xecho. This water-logged world combinedall the most unattractive features of a steam bath and one could onlydream of coolness, greenness--more landthan a stingy string of islands.The young man on the promontory above the crash of the waves wore thewinged cap of a spaceman with the insignia of acargo-master and notmuch else, save a pair of very short shorts. He wiped one hand absentlyacross his bare chest and brought it away damp as he studied,throughprotective sun goggles, the treacherous promise of the bright sea. One_could_ swim--if he wanted to lose most of his skin. There were minuteorganismsin that liquid that smacked their lips--if they hadlips--every time they thought of a Terran.Dane Thorson licked his own lips, tasting salt, and plodded backthroughthe sand of the spaceport to the berth of the _Solar Queen_. This hadbeen a long day, and one with more snarl-ups than he cared to count,keeping himon a constant, dogged trot between the ship and the fittingyard where riggers labored with the slowest motions possible to thehuman body--or so it seemed tothe exasperated acting-Cargo-Master ofthe Free Trader. Captain Jellico had long ago taken refuge in his cabinto preserve the remnants of his temper. Dane hadbeen allowed no suchescape.The _Queen_ had a schedule for refitting to serve as a mail ship, andthat time allowance did not allow for humidity playing the devilwiththe innards of robot fitters. She _had_ to be ready to lift when theCombine ship now plying that run set down and formally signed off in herfavor. Luckily,most of the work was done and Dane had given a lastsearching inspection before signing the rigger's book and reporting tohis captain.The air-conditioned interiorof the _Queen_ comforted him as he climbedto his quarters. Ship air was flat, chemically pure but unappetizingstuff. Today it was a relief to breathe. Dane wenton to the bather. Atleast there was no lack of water--with the local skinners filtered out.It was chill but relaxing on his gaunt young body.He was sealing on hislightest tunic when the ramp buzzer sounded. Avisitor--oh, not the supervisor-rigger again! Dane went to answer withdragging feet. For the crew of the _Queen_at the moment numberedexactly four, with himself for general errand boy. Captain Jellico wasin his quarters two levels above, Medic Tau was presumablyoverhaulinghis supplies, and Sindbad, ship's cat, asleep in some empty cabin.Dane jerked his tunic into place, very much on his guard as he came tothe head ofthe ramp. But it was not the supervisor-rigger. Dane,thoroughly used to unusual-appearing strangers, both human and alien,was impressed by this visitor.He wastall, this quiet man, his great height accented by a fitleanness, a narrowness of waist and hip, a length of leg and arm. Hismain article of clothing was theuniversal shorts of the Xecho settler.But, being fashioned of saffron yellow, they were the more brilliantbecause of his darkness of skin. For he was not the warmbrown of theTerran Negroes Dane had served beside, though he shared their generalfeatures. His flesh was really black, black with an almost bluishsheen.Instead of shirt or tunic, his deep chest was crossed by two widestraps, the big medallion marking their intersection giving forthflashes of gem fire when hebreathed. He wore at his belt not thestandard stun gun of a spaceman, but a weapon which resembled the moredeadly Patrol blaster, as well as a long knifehoused in a jeweled andfringed sheath. To the eye he was an example of barbaric force tamedand trimmed to civilized efficiency.He saluted, palm out, and spokeGalactic Basic with only a suggestion ofaccent."I am Kort Asaki. I believe Captain Jellico expects me.""Yes, sir!" Dane snapped to attention. So this was the ChiefRanger fromfabulous Khatka, Xecho's sister planet.The other ascended the cat ladder easily, missing no detail of theship's interior as he passed. His expressionwas still one of politeinterest as his guide rapped on the panel door of Jellico's cabin. And ahorrible screech from Queex, the captain's pet hoobat, drowned outanyimmediate answer. Then followed that automatic thump on the floor of theblue-feathered, crab-parrot-toad's cage, announcing that its master wasinresidence.Since the captain's cordial welcome extended only to his guest, Daneregretfully descended to the mess cabin to make unskilled preparationsforsupper--though there was not much you could do to foul upconcentrates in an automatic cooker."Company?" Tau sat beyond the cooking unit nursing a mug ofTerrancoffee. "And do you _have_ to serve music with the meals, especiallythat particular selection?"Dane flushed, stopped whistling in mid-note. "Terra Bound"_was_ oldand pretty well worn out; he didn't know why he always unconsciouslysounded off with that."A Chief Ranger from Khatka just came on board," hereported, carefullyoffhand, as he busied himself reading labels. He knew better than toserve fish or any of its derivatives in disguise again."Khatka!" Tau sat upstraighter. "Now there's a planet worth visiting.""Not on a Free Trader's pay," commented Dane."You can always hope to make a big strike, boy. But what Iwouldn't giveto lift ship for there!""Why? You're no hunter. How come you want to heat jets for that port?""Oh, I don't care about the game preserves, thoughthey're worth seeing,too. It's the people themselves--""But they're Terran settlers, or at least from Terran stock, aren'tthey?""Sure," Tau sipped his coffee slowly."But there are settlers andsettlers, son. And a lot depends upon when they left Terra and why, andwho they were--also what happened to them after they landedout here.""And Khatkans are really special?""Well, they have an amazing history. The colony was founded by escapedprisoners--and just one racial stock. Theytook off from Earth close tothe end of the Second Atomic War. That was a race war, remember? Whichmade it doubly ugly." Tau's mouth twisted in disgust. "As ifthe colorof a man's skin makes any difference in what lies under it! One side inthat line-up tried to take over Africa--herded most of the natives intoa giantconcentration camp and practiced genocide on a grand scale. Thenthey were cracked themselves, hard and heavy. During the confusion somesurvivors in thecamp staged a revolt, helped by the enemy. Theycaptured an experimental station hidden in the center of the camp andmade a break into space in two shipswhich had been built there. Thatvoyage must have been a nightmare, but they were desperate. Somehow theymade it out here to the rim and set down onKhatka without power enoughto take off again--and by then most of them were dead."But we humans, no matter what our race, are a tough breed. Therefugeesdiscovered that climatically their new world was not too different fromAfrica, a lucky chance which might happen only once in a thousand times.So theythrived, the handful who survived. But the white techniciansthey had kidnaped to run the ships didn't. For they set up a color barin reverse. The lighter your skin,the lower you were in the socialscale. By that kind of selective breeding the present Khatkans are verydark indeed."They reverted to the primitive for survival.Then, about two hundredyears ago, long before the first Survey Scout discovered them, somethinghappened. Either the parent race mutated, or, as sometimesoccurs, aline of people of superior gifts emerged--not in a few isolated births,but with surprising regularity in five family clans. There was a shortperiod of powerstruggle until they realized the foolishness of civilwar and formed an oligarchy, heading a loose tribal organization. Withthe Five Families to push and lead, a newcivilization developed, andwhen Survey came to call they were no longer savages. Combine bought thetrade rights about seventy-five years ago. Then theCompany and the FiveFamilies got together and marketed a luxury item to the galaxy. You knowhow every super-jet big shot on twenty-five planets wants to sayhe'shunted on Khatka. And if he can point out a graz head on his wall, orwear a tail bracelet, he's able to strut with the best. To holiday onKhatka is both fabulousand fashionable--and very, very profitable forthe natives and for Combine who sells transportation to the travelers.""I hear they have poachers, too," Daneremarked."Yes, that naturally follows. You know what a glam skin brings on themarket. Wherever you have a rigidly controlled export you're going tohavepoachers and smugglers. But the Patrol doesn't go to Khatka. Thenatives handle their own criminals. Personally, I'd cheerfully take aninety-nine-year sentence in


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Maid of Sker, by Richard Doddridge BlackmoreThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Maid of SkerAuthor: Richard Doddridge BlackmoreRelease Date: July 1, 2014 [EBook #46156]Language: EnglishCharacter setencoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAID OF SKER ***Produced by Matthias Grammel, sp1nd and the OnlineDistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)                        THE MAID OFSKER.[Illustration: "_All for captain, crew and cargo, was a little helplesschild._"]                        THE MAID OF SKER.                               BY                         R.D. BLACKMORE,                            AUTHOR OF      'LORNA DOONE,' 'CLARA VAUGHAN,' AND 'CRADOCK NOWELL.'         á¾½Îá¿¥á¿¥Îµ, Î¸ÎµÎ¿á¿ÏÎ¯Î½Ïá¾½ á¼ÏÎ¸Ïá¼, Îºá¼Î¹ á¼Î½Î¸ÏÏÏÎ¿Î¹ÏÎ¹Î½ á¼ ÏÎ¹ÏÏÎµ,             ÏÏ ÏÏá¿³ á½Ï á¼Î½ Îºá½Î»Ïá¿² ÏÎ¿á¼±ÎºÎ¯Î»Î¿Î½á¼Î¹ÏÎµÏ á½ ÏÎ¹Î½.]                           NEW EDITION,                      WITH A FRONTISPIECE.                  WILLIAM BLACKWOOD ANDSONS                     EDINBURGH AND LONDON                          MDCCCXCIIICONTENTS     CHAP.                                          PAGE        I. FISHERMAN DAVY AFISH OUT OF WATER,         1       II. HUNGER DRIVES HIM A-FISHING,                3      III. THE FISH ARE AS HUNGRY AS HE IS,            7       IV. HE LANDS ANUNEXPECTED FISH,               12        V. A LITTLE ORPHAN MERMAID,                   15       VI. FINDS A HOME OF SOME SORT,                 21      VII. BOAT_VERSUS_ BARDIE,                      27     VIII. CHILDREN WILL BE CHILDREN,                 32       IX. SANDHILLS TURNED TO SAND-HOLES,            38        X.UNDER THE ROCK,                            44       XI. A WRECKER WRECKED,                         49      XII. HOW TO SELL FISH,                          57     XIII. THECORONER AND THE CORONET,               64      XIV. IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE EVIDENCE,           70       XV. A VERDICT ON THEJURY,                     76      XVI. TRUTH LIES SOMETIMES IN A WELL,            81     XVII. FOR A LITTLE CHANGE OF AIR,                89    XVIII. PUBLICAPPROBATION,                        97      XIX. A CRAFT BEYOND THE LAW,                   106       XX. CONFIDENTIAL INTERCOURSE,                 112      XXI.CROSS-EXAMINATION,                        119     XXII. ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT,                   125    XXIII. INTO GOOD SOCIETY,                        131     XXIV.SOUND INVESTMENTS,                        137      XXV. A LONG GOOD-BYE,                          145     XXVI. BRAUNTON BURROWS,                         151    XXVII. AFINE SPECTACLE,                         158   XXVIII. SOMETHING ABOUT HIM,                      164     XXIX. A VISIT TO A PARSON,                      171      XXX. ONDUTY,                                  182     XXXI. TWO LOVERS,                               189    XXXII. AMONG THE SAVAGES,                        194   XXXIII. IN A STATE OFNATURE,                     203    XXXIV. WAITING AND LEARNING,                     212     XXXV. THE POLITE FERRYMAN,                      220    XXXVI. UNDER FAIRERAUSPICES,                    227   XXXVII. TWO POOR CHILDREN,                        234  XXXVIII. A FINE OLD GENTLEMAN,                     241    XXXIX. NOTICE TOQUIT,                           250       XL. FORCIBLE EJECTMENT,                       257      XLI. THE RIGHT MAN IN THE RIGHT PLACE,         267     XLII. THE LITTLEMAID AND THE MIDSHIPMAN,       276    XLIII. A FINE PRICE FOR BARDIE,                  283     XLIV. PROVIDES FOR EDUCATION,                   292      XLV.INTRODUCES A REAL HERO,                   298     XLVI. AFTER SEVEN YEARS,                        305    XLVII. MISCHIEF IN A HOUSEHOLD,                  312   XLVIII.A BREATHLESS DISINTERMENT,                320     XLIX. ONE WHO HAS INTERRED HIMSELF,             327        L. A BRAVE MAN RUNSAWAY,                    334       LI. TRIPLE EDUCATION,                         341      LII. GREAT MARCH OF INTELLECT,                 347     LIII. BEATING UP FOR THENAVY,                  356      LIV. TAMING OF THE SAVAGES,                    368       LV. UPON FOREIGN SERVICE,                     374      LVI. EXILES OFSOCIETY,                        380     LVII. MANY WEAK MOMENTS,                        387    LVIII. MORE HASTE, LESS SPEED,                   398      LIX. IN A ROCKYBOWER,                         403       LX. NELSON AND THE NILE,                      411      LXI. A SAVAGE DEED,                            415     LXII. A RASH YOUNGCAPTAIN,                     421    LXIII. POLLY AT HOME,                            430     LXIV. SUSAN QUITE ACQUITS HERSELF,              438      LXV. SO DOES POOROLD DAVY,                    447     LXVI. THE MAID AT LAST IS "DENTIFIED,"          453    LXVII. DOG EATS DOG,                             458   LXVIII. THE OLDPITCHER AT THE WELL AGAIN,        465THE MAID OF SKER.CHAPTER I.FISHERMAN DAVY A FISH OUT OF WATER.I am but an ancient fisherman upon the coast ofGlamorganshire, withwork enough of my own to do, and trouble enough of my own to heed, ingetting my poor living. Yet no peace there is for me among myfriendsand neighbours, unless I will set to and try--as they bid me twice a-dayperhaps--whether I cannot tell the rights of a curious adventure whichit pleasedProvidence should happen, off and on, amidst us, now for agood many years, and with many ins and outs to it. They assure me, also,that all good people who canread and write for ten, or it may betwenty, miles around the place I live in, will buy my book--if I canmake it--at a higher price, perhaps, per lb., than they wouldgive meeven for sewin, which are the very best fish I catch: and henceprovision may be found for the old age and infirmities, now gaining uponme, every time Itry to go out fishing.In this encouragement and prospect I have little faith, knowing how muchmore people care about what they eat than what they read.Nevertheless Iwill hope for the best, especially as my evenings now are very long andwearisome; and I was counted a hopeful scholar, fifty years agoneperhaps,in our village school here--not to mention the Royal Navy; andmost of all, because a very wealthy gentleman, whose name will appear inthis story, has promisedto pay all expenses, and Â£50 down (if I do itwell), and to leave me the profit, if any.Notwithstanding this, the work of writing must be very dull to me,after allthe change of scene, and the open air and sea, and the manysprees ashore, and the noble fights with Frenchmen, and the power ofoaths that made me jump soin his Majesty's navy. God save the King, andQueen, and members of the Royal Family, be they as many as theywill--and they seem, in faith, to be manifold. ButHis power is equal toit all, if they will but try to meet Him.However, not to enter upon any view of politics--all of which are farbeyond the cleverest hand at a baitamong us--I am inditing of a thingvery plain and simple, when you come to understand it; yet containing alittle strangeness, and some wonder, here and there,and apt to movegood people's grief at the wrongs we do one another. Great part of itfell under mine own eyes, for a period of a score of years, orsomethingthereabout. My memory still is pretty good; but if I contradict myself,or seem to sweep beyond my reach, or in any way to meddle with thingswhich Ihad better have let alone, as a humble man and a Christian, Ipray you to lay the main fault thereof on the badness of the times, andthe rest upon human nature.For I have been a roving man, and may havegathered much of evil from contact with my fellow-men, although byorigin meant for good. In this I take some blameto myself; for if I hadpolished my virtue well, the evil could not have stuck to it.Nevertheless, I am, on the whole, pretty well satisfied with myself;hoping to be ofsuch quality as the Lord prefers to those perfectcreatures with whom He has no trouble at all, and therefore noenjoyment.But sometimes, taking up a book, I ampestered with a troop of doubts;not only about my want of skill, and language, and experience, butchiefly because I never have been a man of consummateinnocence,excellence, and high wisdom, such as all these writers are, if we go bytheir own opinions.Now, when I plead among my neighbours, at the mouth of theold well, allthe above, my sad shortcomings, and my own strong sense of them (whichperhaps is somewhat over-strong), they only pat me on the back, andsmileat one another, and make a sort of coughing noise, according to mybashfulness. And then if I look pleased (which for my life I cannot helpdoing), they wink, as itwere, at one another, and speak up like this:--"Now, Davy, you know better. You think yourself at least as good as anyone of us, Davy, and likely far above us all.Therefore, Davy thefisherman, out with all you have to say, without any French palaver.You have a way of telling things so that we can see them."With this, andwith that, and most of all with hinting about aFrenchman, they put me on my mettle, so that I sit upon the side-stonesof the old-well gallery (which aresomething like the companion-rail ofa fore-and-after), and gather them around me, with the householders putforemost, according to their income, and thechildren listening betweentheir legs; and thus I begin, but never end, the tale I now begin toyou, and perhaps shall never end it.CHAPTER II.HUNGER DRIVESHIM A-FISHING.In the summer of the year 1782, I, David Llewellyn, of Newton-Nottage,fisherman and old sailor, was in great distress and trouble, more thanIlike to tell you. My dear wife (a faithful partner for eight-and-twentyyears, in spite of a very quick temper) was lately gone to a betterworld; and I missed hertongue and her sharp look-out at almost everycorner. Also my son (as fine a seaman as ever went aloft), after helpingLord Rodney to his great victory over Grassthe Frenchman, had been lostin a prize-ship called the Tonner, of 54 guns and 500 Crappos, whichsank with all hands on her way home to Spithead, underAdmiral Graves.His young wife (who had been sent to us to see to, with his blessing) nosooner heard of this sad affair as in the Gazette reported, and his paythatweek stopped on her, but she fell into untimely travail, and wasdead ere morning. So I buried my wife and daughter-in-law, and lost allchance to bury my son,between two Bridgend market-days.Now this is not very much, of course, compared with the troubles somepeople have. But I had not been used to this matter,except in case of amessmate; and so I was greatly broken down, and found my eyes so weak ofa morning, that I would not be seen out of doors, almost.The onlyone now to keep a stir or sound of life in my little cottage,which faces to the churchyard, was my orphan grandchild "Bunny,"daughter of my son just drowned,and his only child that we knew of.Bunny was a rare strong lass, five years old about then, I think; astout and hearty-feeding child, able to chew every bit of hervictuals,and mounting a fine rosy colour, and eyes as black as Archangel pitch.One day, when I was moping there, all abroad about my bearings, and nobetter


ï»¿Project Gutenberg's Captain Brassbound's Conversion, by George Bernard ShawThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost norestrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.orgTitle: Captain Brassbound's ConversionAuthor: George Bernard ShawPosting Date: January 17, 2009 [EBook #3418]Release Date:September, 2002Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSION ***Produced by EveSobolCAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSIONBy Bernard ShawACT IOn the heights overlooking the harbor of Mogador, a seaport on the westcoast of Morocco, themissionary, in the coolness of the late afternoon,is following the precept of Voltaire by cultivating his garden. He isan elderly Scotchman, spiritually a littleweatherbeaten, as having tonavigate his creed in strange waters crowded with other craft but stilla convinced son of the Free Church and the North AfricanMission, witha faithful brown eye, and a peaceful soul. Physically a wiry small-knitman, well tanned, clean shaven, with delicate resolute features anda twinkle ofmild humor. He wears the sun helmet and pagri, theneutral-tinted spectacles, and the white canvas Spanish sand shoes ofthe modern Scotch missionary: butinstead of a cheap tourist's suit fromGlasgow, a grey flannel shirt with white collar, a green sailor knot tiewith a cheap pin in it, he wears a suit of clean whitelinen, acceptablein color, if not in cut, to the Moorish mind.The view from the garden includes much Atlantic Ocean and a long stretchof sandy coast to the south,swept by the north east trade wind,and scantily nourishing a few stunted pepper trees, mangy palms, andtamarisks. The prospect ends, as far as the land isconcerned, inlittle hills that come nearly to the sea: rudiments, these, of the AtlasMountains. The missionary, having had daily opportunities of looking atthisseascape for thirty years or so, pays no heed to it, being absorbedin trimming a huge red geranium bush, to English eyes unnaturallybig, which, with a dustysmilax or two, is the sole product of his petflower-bed. He is sitting to his work on a Moorish stool. In the middleof the garden there is a pleasant seat in theshade of a tamarisk tree.The house is in the south west corner of the garden, and the geraniumbush in the north east corner.At the garden-door of the housethere appears presently a man who isclearly no barbarian, being in fact a less agreeable product peculiarto modern commercial civilization. His frame and fleshare those of anill-nourished lad of seventeen; but his age is inscrutable: only theabsence of any sign of grey in his mud colored hair suggests that he isat allevents probably under forty, without prejudice to the possibilityof his being under twenty. A Londoner would recognize him at once as anextreme but hardyspecimen of the abortion produced by nature in a cityslum. His utterance, affectedly pumped and hearty, and naturally vulgarand nasal, is ready and fluent:nature, a Board School education, andsome kerbstone practice having made him a bit of an orator. His dialect,apart from its base nasal delivery, is not unlike thatof smart Londonsociety in its tendency to replace diphthongs by vowels (sometimesrather prettily) and to shuffle all the traditional vowelpronunciations. Hepronounces ow as ah, and i as aw, using the ordinaryow for o, i for a, a for u, and e for a, with this reservation, thatwhen any vowel is followed by an r hesignifies its presence, not bypronouncing the r, which he never does under these circumstances, but byprolonging and modifyinq the vowel, sometimes even tothe extreme degreeof pronouncing it properly. As to his yol for l (a compendious deliveryof the provincial eh-al), and other metropolitan refinements, amazingtoall but cockneys, they cannot be indicated, save in the above imperfectmanner, without the aid of a phonetic alphabet. He is dressed insomebody else's verysecond best as a coast-guardsman, and gives himselfthe airs of a stage tar with sufficient success to pass as a possiblefish porter of bad character in casualemployment during busy timesat Billingsgate. His manner shows an earnest disposition to ingratiatehimself with the missionary, probably for some dishonestpurpose.THE MAN. Awtenoon, Mr. Renkin. (The missionary sits up quickly, andturns, resigning himself dutifully to the interruption.) Yr honor'seolth.RANKIN(reservedly). Good afternoon, Mr. Drinkwotter.DRINKWATER. You're not best pleased to be hinterrupted in yr bit ogawdnin bow the lawk o me, gavner.RANKIN. Amissionary knows nothing of leks of that soart, or of dislekseither, Mr. Drinkwotter. What can I do for ye?DRINKWATER (heartily). Nathink, gavner. Awve brortnoos fer yer.RANKIN. Well, sit ye doon.DRINKWATER. Aw thenk yr honor. (He sits down on the seat under the treeand composes himself for conversation.) Heverear o Jadge Ellam?RANKIN. Sir Howrrd Hallam?DRINKWATER. Thet's im-enginest jadge in Hingland!--awlus gives the ketwen it's robbry with voylence, bless isawt. Aw sy nathink agin im: awmall fer lor mawseolf, AW em.RANKIN. Well?DRINKWATER. Hever ear of is sist-in-lor: Lidy Sisly Winefleet?RANKIN. Do ye meanthe celebrated Leddy--the traveller?DRINKWATER. Yuss: should think aw doo. Walked acrost Harfricar withnathink but a little dawg, and wrowt abaht it in the DilyMile (theDaily Mail, a popular London newspaper), she did.RANKIN. Is she Sir Howrrd Hallam's sister-in-law?DRINKWATER. Deeceased wawfe's sister: yuss: thet'swot SHE is.RANKIN. Well, what about them?DRINKWATER. Wot abaht them! Waw, they're EAH. Lannid aht of a steamyacht in Mogador awber not twenty minnitsagow. Gorn to the Britishcornsl's. E'll send em orn to you: e ynt got naowheres to put em. Sor emawr (hire) a Harab an two Krooboys to kerry their laggige. Thortawd caman teoll yer.RANKIN. Thank you. It's verra kind of you, Mr. Drinkwotter.DRINKWATER. Down't mention it, gavner. Lor bless yer, wawn't it youasconverted me? Wot was aw wen aw cam eah but a pore lorst sinner? Down'taw ow y'a turn fer thet? Besawds, gavner, this Lidy Sisly Winefleet mawtwor't totike a walk crost Morocker--a rawd inter the mahntns or sechlawk. Weoll, as you knaow, gavner, thet cawn't be done eah withaht ahescort.RANKIN. It'simpoassible: th' would oall b' murrdered. Morocco is notlek the rest of Africa.DRINKWATER. No, gavner: these eah Moors ez their religion; an it mikesemdinegerous. Hever convert a Moor, gavner?RANKIN (with a rueful smile). No.DRINKWATER (solemnly). Nor never will, gavner.RANKIN. I have been at work herefor twenty-five years, Mr. Drinkwotter;and you are my first and only convert.DRINKWATER. Down't seem naow good, do it, gavner?RANKIN. I don't say that. Ihope I have done some good. They come to mefor medicine when they are ill; and they call me the Christian who isnot a thief. THAT is something.DRINKWATER.Their mawnds kennot rawse to Christiennity lawk hahrsken, gavner: thet's ah it is. Weoll, ez haw was syin, if a hescortis wornted, there's maw friend andcommawnder Kepn Brarsbahnd of theschooner Thenksgivin, an is crew, incloodin mawseolf, will see the lidyan Jadge Ellam through henny little excursion inreason. Yr honor mawtmention it.RANKIN. I will certainly not propose anything so dangerous as anexcursion.DRINKWATER (virtuously). Naow, gavner, nor wouldI awst you to. (Shakinghis head.) Naow, naow: it IS dinegerous. But hall the more call for ahescort if they should ev it hin their mawnds to gow.RANKIN. I hopethey won't.DRINKWATER. An sow aw do too, gavner.RANKIN (pondering). 'Tis strange that they should come to Mogador, ofall places; and to my house! I oncemet Sir Howrrd Hallam, years ago.DRINKWATER (amazed). Naow! didger? Think o thet, gavner! Waw, sow aw didtoo. But it were a misunnerstedin, thet wors.Lef the court withaht astine on maw kerrickter, aw did.RANKIN (with some indignation). I hope you don't think I met Sir Howrrdin that way.DRINKWATER. Mawtyeppn to the honestest, best meanin pusson, aw doassure yer, gavner.RANKIN. I would have you to know that I met him privately, Mr.Drinkwotter. His brotherwas a dear friend of mine. Years ago. He wentout to the West Indies.DRINKWATER. The Wust Hindies! Jist acrost there, tather sawd thethowcean (pointingseaward)! Dear me! We cams hin with vennity, an wedeepawts in dawkness. Down't we, gavner?RANKIN (pricking up his ears). Eh? Have you been reading thatlittlebook I gave you?DRINKWATER. Aw hev, et odd tawms. Very camfitn, gavner. (He rises,apprehensive lest further catechism should find him unprepared.)Awllsy good awtenoon, gavner: you're busy hexpectin o Sr Ahrd an Lidy Sisly,ynt yer? (About to go.)RANKIN (stopping him). No, stop: we're oalways ready fortravellershere. I have something else to say--a question to ask you.DRINKWATER (with a misgiving, which he masks by exaggerating his heartysailor manner).An weollcome, yr honor.RANKIN. Who is this Captain Brassbound?DRINKWATER (guiltily). Kepn Brarsbahnd! E's-weoll, e's maw Kepn, gavner.RANKIN. Yes.Well?DRINKWATER (feebly). Kepn of the schooner Thenksgivin, gavner.RANKIN (searchingly). Have ye ever haird of a bad character in theseseas called BlackPaquito?DRINKWATER (with a sudden radiance of complete enlightenment). Aoh, naraw tikes yer wiv me, yr honor. Nah sammun es bin a teolln you thetKepnBrarsbahnd an Bleck Pakeetow is hawdentically the sime pussn. Ynt thetsow?RANKIN. That is so. (Drinkwater slaps his knee triumphantly. Themissionaryproceeds determinedly) And the someone was a verra honest,straightforward man, as far as I could judge.DRINKWATER (embracing the implication). Course awors, gavner: Ev awsaid a word agin him? Ev aw nah?RANKIN. But is Captain Brassbound Black Paquito then?DRINKWATER. Waw, it's the nime is blessed mathergive im at erknee, bless is little awt! Ther ynt naow awm in it. She ware a WustHinjin--howver there agin, yer see (pointing seaward)--leastwaws, naowsheworn't: she were a Brazilian, aw think; an Pakeetow's Brazilian fora bloomin little perrit--awskin yr pawdn for the word. (Sentimentally)Lawk as a Hinglish lidymawt call er little boy Birdie.RANKIN (not quite convinced). But why BLACK Paquito?DRINKWATER (artlessly). Waw, the bird in its netral stite bein green, aneevin bleck air, y' knaow--RANKIN (cutting him short). I see. And now I will put ye anotherquestion. WHAT is Captain Brassbound, or Paquito, or whatever hecallshimself?DRINKWATER (officiously). Brarsbahnd, gavner. Awlus calls isseolfBrarsbahnd.RANKIN. Well. Brassbound, then. What is he?DRINKWATER(fervently). You awsks me wot e is, gavner?RANKIN (firmly). I do.DRINKWATER (with rising enthusiasm). An shll aw teoll yer wot e is, yrhonor?RANKIN (not at allimpressed). If ye will be so good, Mr. Drinkwotter.DRINKWATER (with overwhelming conviction). Then awll teoll you, gavner,wot he is. Ee's a Paffick Genlmn:thet's wot e is.RANKIN (gravely). Mr. Drinkwotter: pairfection is an attribute, notof West Coast captains, but of thr Maaker. And there are gentlemenandgentlemen in the world, espaecially in these latitudes. Which sort ofgentleman is he?DRINKWATER. Hinglish genlmn, gavner. Hinglish speakin; Hinglish


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                           50/50 (I'M WITH CANCER)                                                         Written by                               WillReiser                                                                                7/2/08          FADEIN:                                   OPENING TITLE SEQUENCE                                                            EXT. SAN DIEGO -DAY                                   It's another picture perfect day in San Diego. The beaches,          golf courses, and yacht clubs are packed with hundredsof          rapturous citizens.                                                            EXT. BUS STOP - DAY                                   A BUS pulls up and unloads it'spassengers.                                   We follow ADAM SCHWARTZ(25), a kind faced, mild mannered,          pragmatist - who despite his youth has the cynicism ofan old          man. He steps off the bus, crosses the street and approaches          MOUNT SINAIHOSPITAL.                                                            INT. MOUNT SINAI HOSPITAL - DAY                                   Adam enters the Hospital. Themood is calm. All the chaos one          would expect to find in a hospital of this size is tucked          away behind the sterile and monochromewalls.                                   Adam walks to the reception counter. The RECEPTIONIST is          engrossed with the latest edition of US Weekly. Sheignores          Adam who just stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do.                                   Adam gives out a small cough to grab her attention.


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<TITLE>"BLADE II" -- byDavid Goyer</TITLE>
     BLADE II -- By David Goyer            EXT. COMMUNITY BLOOD BANK -NIGHT            PULL BACK from a neon red cross ablaze in the cold December            night to REVEAL an inner-city, store-front clinic.  Trashand            leaves blow over wet, snowy pavement.            ANGLE ON a PALE FIGURE standing across the street.  He looks            feverish and strung-out, inserious need of a fix.  This is            JARED NOMAK, 20s.  He starts towards the clinic.            INT. COMMUNITY BLOOD BANK - ENTRANCE -NIGHT            Potential DONORS sit in a waiting area, filling out forms,            leafing through informational material.  A sign in the window            reads:"Se habla Espanol".  Others read: "YOU ARE MAKING A            DIFFERENCE", "GIVE LIFE", and "BECOME A PLATELET DONOR".  We            overhear abored-looking EMPLOYEE behind the information desk            quizzing someone over the phone:                                EMPLOYEE                      Haveyou recently visited a tropical                      country?  Uh-huh?  In the past twelve                      months have you gotten a tattoo, non                      sterileacupuncture, or undergone any                      ear, skin or body piercing?            We MOVE PAST the employee to Nomak,waiting.                                NURSE (O.S.)                      Jared Nomak?            Nomak looks up.  We get a better look at his face now - he            has


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<title>WHITECHRISTMAS</title>
                                    "WHITE CHRISTMAS"                                            by                      Melvin Frank, NormanKrasna and Norman Panama                               FULL SHOT - REAR AREA - (DAY) - (GLASS)               This is December 24, 1944, in the firstsafe area directly                behind the battle line, in the Italian theatre.               In the distance occasional artillery light flashes are seen                and artilleryrumbles are heard.  The battered terrain shows                the effects of battle.               In the foreground is a recreation area, coveredwith                camouflage; entertainment is in progress on a raised stage.                 Men of the division are seated about on benches, boxes, and                theground.  A camouflaged motor pool of jeeps and tanks is                nearby.               MED. SHOT - NEAR RECREATION AREA               We can HEARLAUGHTER and APPLAUSE from the men as a jeep                with two stars on the front indicating it is the General's                car jounces along a road towardthe side of the recreation                area.  A YOUNG SERGEANT is at the wheel, an ADJUTANT beside                him, and in the rear are GENERAL WAVERLY andGENERAL CARLTON.               JEEP - MED. CLOSE               As it jounces along.  General Waverly is weather-beaten and                weary; his uniform,while neat, shows the effects of long                wear.  General Carlton, on the other hand, is stiff, clean                and fresh from the Pentagon.               He is


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<title>the Ghost and theDarkness - by William Goldman</title>
"THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS"byWilliam GoldmanFADE IN ONA TINY FIGURE OF AMAN hurrying toward camera. The figure gets larger as he approaches. But as yet we cannot tell who he is or where we are. MALE VOICE (over) This is the mostfamous true story of Africa. It happened a hundred years ago, but even now, when children ask about it, you do not tell them at night. (The FIGURE continues togrow) It began with the race to build a railroad across Africa. (beat) But this is not about building a railroad- it is about Patterson.And now we can tell that theFIGURE is a YOUNG MAN, A LIEUTENANT COLONEL. This is PATTERSON. He is gifted and bright and serious, serious about his life, serious about his career. Hehas been successful in everything he's attempted, in part because of his talents, in part because he is willing to outwork anybody.AND THIS IS WHERE WEARE: ENGLAND.More specifically, in a high-ceilinged corridor of an elegant building - lovely woodwork all around. Everything is neat, everything is clean andin order. MALE VOICE (over) Patterson was thirty. A brilliant engineer. A fine man, but do not become attached to him- there are many fine men in this story butdo not become attached to any of them. (beat) So many of them die.Patterson stops at a large ornate door, knocks. Waits. MALE VOICE (over) And remember


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<title>Misery - by William Goldman</title>
                                         "MISERY"                                            by                                     WilliamGoldman                                  Based on the Novel by                                       Stephen King                               FADE IN ON:               ASINGLE CIGARETTE. A MATCH. A HOTEL ICE BUCKET that holds a                bottle of champagne. The cigarette is unlit. The match is of                the kitchenvariety. The champagne, unopened, is Dom Perignon.                There is only one sound at first: a strong WIND--               --now another sound, sharper--asudden burst of TYPING as we               PULL BACK TO REVEAL               PAUL SHELDON typing at a table in his hotel suite. It's really                acabin that's part of a lodge. Not an ornate place. Western                themed.               He is framed by a window looking out at somegorgeous                mountains. It's afternoon. The sky is grey. Snow is scattered                along the ground. We're out west somewhere. The WINDgrows                stronger--there could be a storm.               PAUL pays no attention to what's going on outside as he                continues to type.               He'sthe hero of what follows. Forty-two, he's got a good                face, one with a certain mileage to it. We are not, in other                words, looking at a virgin.He's been a novelist for eighteen                years and for half that time, the most recent half, a                remarkably successful one.               He pauses for a


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Alphabetical
        #         A        <ahref="/alphabetical/B">B        C        D        <ahref="/alphabetical/E">E        F        G        <ahref="/alphabetical/H">H
         I        J        <ahref="/alphabetical/K">K        L        M        <ahref="/alphabetical/N">N        O        P        <ahref="/alphabetical/Q">Q
         R        S        <ahref="/alphabetical/T">T        U        V        <ahref="/alphabetical/W">W        X        Y        <ahref="/alphabetical/Z">Z

Genre
 Action Adventure <ahref="/genre/Animation">Animation
 Comedy Crime <ahref="/genre/Drama">Drama
 Family Fantasy <ahref="/genre/Film-Noir">Film-Noir
 Horror Musical <ahref="/genre/Mystery">Mystery
 Romance Sci-Fi <ahref="/genre/Short">Short
 Thriller War <ahref="/genre/Western">Western

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                                                                     TERMINATOR:SALVATION                                                     Written by                                 John Brancato & MichaelFerris                                                                                REVISEDDRAFT                                                             10.12.05                                                  SUPERON BLACK:                    LONGVIEW STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY, TEXAS, 2003.                    FADE INON:                              INT.   DEATH ROW/CELL - DAWN                    START TIGHT ON MARCUS WRIGHT. He's anintense, powerful man,          20's-30's, his head shaven. Marcus stares INTO CAMERA with a          resigned expression. We hear the voice of aPRIEST:                                         PRIEST                     Yea, though I walk through the valley                     of the shadow of death, I willfear                     no evil: for thou art beside me; thy                     rod and thy staff they comfort me...                    CAMERA PULLS BACK, straightup. MARCUS lies in his cot,          staring at the ceiling. He's smoking a CIGARETTE. This          OVERHEAD ANGLE reveals a PRIEST with a BIBLE, in afolding          chair beside him. A CHESS SET, stacks of BOOKS, WRITING          MATERIALS in the cell. TWO GUARDS wait, shackles in