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                         MIAMI VICE                        Written  by                        Michael Mann                    Based on "MiamiVice"                         created by                     Anthony Yerkovich                                                       FirstDraft                                                           9/22/04                                                              WGAw                                                  FADEIN:   FADE IN:   EXT. OCEAN - CLOSE UP:  WATER - MORNING LIGHT   We are at the delicate interface between ocean and   air...liquidand gas...the event horizon where molecules   evaporate.  This interchange is ethereal.  Then, low   frequencies rumble through depths...louder...closer,now...   And the ocean surface is torn by a 46-foot catamaran and the   ROAR of 2,700 horsepower, rocketing at us at 140 knots...   OFFSHORERACER:  "BORN TO WIN"   in PROFILE.   AERIAL:  "BORN TO WIN"   ...has a canopy, low like a B-1 bomber and extends a half   mile.  It launchesoff two-foot swells, goes airborne, pushes   to 150 knots with another 1,100 RPM left...   INT. RACE BOAT - SONNY CROCKETT   pilots the "Born to Win"in full helmet.  On the throttle and   flaps is RICARDO TUBBS...   EXT. OCEAN - "BORN TO WIN"   leads the frontrunners towards a finish linedemarcated by a   couple of $10 million yachts loaded with media.  At the last   moment occurs a small power loss, and "Born to Win" gets   nosed into secondplace by the 46-foot Skater, "Goddess"...                                                  CUT TO:   EXT. MARINA - "BORN TO WIN" - LATER   thunders to


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Purple Cloud, by M.P. ShielThis 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.netTitle: The Purple CloudAuthor: M.P. ShielRelease Date: February 22, 2004 [EBook #11229]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK THE PURPLE CLOUD ***Produced by Suzanne Shell, Garrett Alley, Maria Khomenko and PGDistributed ProofreadersTHE PURPLECLOUDByM.P. Shiel1901[Greek: estai kai Samos ammos, eseitai Daelos adaelos]_Sibylline Prophecy_INTRODUCTIONAbout three months ago--that is to say,toward the end of May of thisyear of 1900--the writer whose name appears on the title-page receivedas noteworthy a letter, and packet of papers, as it has beenhis lot toexamine. They came from a very good friend of mine, whose name there isno reason that I should now conceal--Dr. Arthur Lister Browne, M.A.(Oxon.),F.R.C.P. It happened that for two years I had been spendingmost of my time in France, and as Browne had a Norfolk practice, I hadnot seen him during my visitsto London. Moreover, though our friendshipwas of the most intimate kind, we were both atrocious correspondents: sothat only two notes passed between usduring those years.Till, last May, there reached me the letter--and the packet--to which Irefer. The packet consisted of four note-books, quite crowdedthroughoutwith those giddy shapes of Pitman's shorthand, whose_ensemble_ so resembles startled swarms hovering in flighty poses on thewing. They were scribbled inpencil, with little distinction betweenthick and thin strokes, few vowels: so that their slow deciphering, Ican assure the reader, has been no holiday. The letter alsowaspencilled in shorthand; and this letter, together with the second of thenote-books which I have deciphered (it was marked 'III.'), I nowpublish.[I must say,however, that in some five instances there will occursentences rather crutched by my own guess-work; and in two instances thecharacters were so impossiblymystical, that I had to abandon thepassage with a head-ache. But all this will be found immaterial to thegeneral narrative.]The following is Browne's letter:'DEAROLD SHIEL,--I have just been lying thinking of you, and wishingthat you were here to give one a last squeeze of the hand beforeI--"_go_": for, by all appearance,"going" I am. Four days ago, I beganto feel a soreness in the throat, and passing by old Johnson's surgeryat Selbridge, went in and asked him to have a look atme. He mutteredsomething about membranous laryngitis which made me smile, but by thetime I reached home I was hoarse, and not smiling: before night Ihaddyspnoca and laryngeal stridor. I at once telegraphed to London forMorgan, and, between him and Johnson, they have been opening my trachea,and burningmy inside with chromic acid and the galvanic cautery. Thedifficulty as to breathing has subsided, and it is wonderful how littleI suffer: but I am much too old ahand not to know what's what: thebronchi are involved--_too far_ involved--and as a matter of absolutefact, there isn't any hope. Morgan is still, I believe, fondlydwellingupon the possibility of adding me to his successful-tracheotomystatistics, but prognosis was always my strong point, and I say No. Thevery smallconsolation of my death will be the beating of a specialistin his own line. So we shall see.'I have been arranging some of my affairs this morning, andrememberedthese notebooks. I intended letting you have them months ago, but myhabit of putting things off, and the fact that the lady was alive fromwhom Itook down the words, prevented me. Now she is dead, and as aliterary man, and a student of life, you should be interested, if youcan manage to read them. Youmay even find them valuable.'I am under a little morphia at present, propped up in a nice littlestate of languor, and as I am able to write without much effort, Iwilltell you in the old Pitman's something about her. Her name was Miss MaryWilson; she was about thirty when I met her, forty-five when she died,and I knewher intimately all those fifteen years. Do you know anythingabout the philosophy of the hypnotic trance? Well, that was the relationbetween us--hypnotist andsubject. She had been under another man beforemy time, but no one was ever so successful with her as I. She sufferedfrom _tic douloureux_ of the fifth nerve.She had had most of her teethdrawn before I saw her, and an attempt had been made to wrench out thenerve on the left side by the external scission. But itmade nodifference: all the clocks in hell tick-tacked in that poor woman's jaw,and it was the mercy of Providence that ever she came across _me_.Myorganisation was found to have almost complete, and quite easy, controlover hers, and with a few passes I could expel her Legion.'Well, you never saw anyoneso singular in personal appearance as myfriend, Miss Wilson. Medicine-man as I am, I could never behold hersuddenly without a sensation of shock: shesuggested so inevitably whatwe call "the _other_ world," one detecting about her some odour of theworm, with the feeling that here was rather ghost thanwoman. And yet Ican hardly convey to you the why of this, except by dry details as tothe contours of her lofty brow, meagre lips, pointed chin, and ashencheeks.She was tall and deplorably emaciated, her whole skeleton,except the thigh-bones, being quite visible. Her eyes were of the bluishhue of cigarette smoke, andhad in them the strangest, feeble, unearthlygaze; while at thirty-five her paltry wisp of hair was quite white.'She was well-to-do, and lived alone in old WoodingManor-house, fivemiles from Ash Thomas. As you know, I was "beginning" in these parts atthe time, and soon took up my residence at the manor. She insistedthatI should devote myself to her alone; and that one patient constitutedthe most lucrative practice which I ever had.'Well, I quickly found that, in the state oftrance, Miss Wilsonpossessed very remarkable powers: remarkable, I mean, not, of course,because peculiar to herself in _kind_, but because they weresoconstant, reliable, exact, and far-reaching, in degree. The veriestfledgling in psychical science will now sit and discourse finically toyou about the reportingpowers of the mind in its trance state--just asthough it was something quite new! This simple fact, I assure you, whichthe Psychical Research Society, only afterendless investigation, admitsto be scientific, has been perfectly well known to every old crone sincethe Middle Ages, and, I assume, long previously. What anunnecessary airof discovery! The certainty that someone in trance in Manchester cantell you what is going on in London, or in Pekin, was not, of course,left to theacumen of an office in Fleet Street; and the society, inestablishing the fact beyond doubt for the general public, has not goneone step toward explaining it. Theyhave, in fact, revealed nothing thatmany of us did not, with absolute assurance, know before.'But talking of poor Miss Wilson, I say that her powerswere_remarkable_, because, though not exceptional in _genre_, they were sospecial in quantity,--so "constant," and "far-reaching." I believe it tobe a fact that,_in general_, the powers of trance manifest themselvesmore particularly with regard to space, as distinct from time: thespirit roams in the present--it travelsover a plain--it does not_usually_ attract the interest of observers by great ascents, or bygreat descents. I fancy that is so. But Miss Wilson's gift was specialtothis extent, that she travelled in every direction, and easily in allbut one, north and south, up and down, in the past, the present, and thefuture.This I discovered,not at once, but gradually. She would emit a streamof sounds in the trance state--I can hardly call it _speech_, somurmurous, yet guttural, was the utterance,mixed with puffybreath-sounds at the languid lips. This state was accompanied by anintense contraction of the pupils, absence of the knee-jerk,considerablerigor, and a rapt and arrant expression. I got into thehabit of sitting long hours at her bed-side, quite fascinated by her,trying to catch the import of that opiateand visionary language whichcame puffing and fluttering in deliberate monotone from her lips.Gradually, in the course of months, my ear learned to detect thewords;"the veil was rent" for me also; and I was able to follow somewhat thecourse of her musing and wandering spirit.At the end of six months I heard her oneday repeat some words whichwere familiar to me. They were these: "Such were the arts by which theRomans extended their conquests, and attained the palm ofvictory; andthe concurring testimony of different authors enables us to describethem with precision..." I was startled: they are part of Gibbon's"Decline and Fall,"which I easily guessed that she had never read.I said in a stern voice: "Where are you?"She replied, "Us are in a room, eight hundred and eleven miles above.Aman is writing. Us are reading."I may tell you two things: first, that in trance she never spoke ofherself as "I," nor even as "we," but, for some unknown reason,in the_objective_ way, as "_us_": "us are," she would say--"us will," "uswent"; though, of course, she was an educated lady, and I don't thinkever lived in theWest of England, where they say "us" in that way;secondly, when wandering in the past, she always represented herself asbeing "_above_" (the earth?), andhigher the further back in time shewent; in describing present events she appears to have felt herself _on_(the earth); while, as regards the future, she invariablydeclared that"_us_" were so many miles "within" (the earth).To her excursions in this last direction, however, there seemed to existcertain fixed limits: I sayseemed, for I cannot be sure, and only meanthat, in spite of my efforts, she never, in fact, went far in thisdirection. Three, four thousand "miles" were commonfigures on her lipsin describing her distance "above"; but her distance "within" never gotbeyond sixty-three. Usually, she would say twenty, twenty-five.Sheappeared, in relation to the future, to resemble a diver in the deepsea, who, the deeper he strives, finds a more resistant pressure, till,at no great depth,resistance becomes prohibition, and he can no furtherstrive.'I am afraid I can't go on: though I had a good deal to tell you aboutthis lady. During fifteen years, offand on, I sat listening by her dimbed-side to her murmuring trances! At last my expert ear could detectthe sense of her faintest sigh. I heard the "Decline andFall" frombeginning to end. Some of her reports were the most frivolous nonsense:over others I have hung in a horror of interest. Certainly, my friend, Ihaveheard some amazing words proceed from those wan lips of MaryWilson. Sometimes I could hitch her repeatedly to any scene or subjectthat I chose by the mereexercise of my will; at others, the flightywaywardness of her spirit eluded and baffled me: she resisted--shedisobeyed: otherwise I might have sent you, not fournote-books, buttwenty, or forty. About the fifth year it struck me that it would bewell to jot down her more connected utterances, since I knew shorthand.Thenote-book marked "I.," [1] which seems to me the most curious,belongs to the seventh year. Its history, like those of the other three,is this: I heard her one


<title>Basic Instinct Script at IMSDb.</title><meta name="description" content="Basic Instinct script at the Internet Movie ScriptDatabase."><meta name="keywords" content="Basic Instinct script, Basic Instinct movie script, Basic Instinct film script"><meta name="viewport"content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" /><meta name="HandheldFriendly" content="true"><meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1"><meta http-equiv="Content-Language" content="EN"><meta name=objecttype CONTENT=Document><meta name=ROBOTSCONTENT="INDEX, FOLLOW"><meta name=Subject CONTENT="Movie scripts, Film scripts"><meta name=rating CONTENT=General><meta name=distributioncontent=Global><meta name=revisit-after CONTENT="2 days"><link href="/style.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"><bodytopmargin="0" bottommargin="0" id="mainbody">

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<title>Basic Instinct - byJoe Eszterhas</title>
                                  BASIC INSTINCT                                        by                                  JOEESZTERHAS                     INT. A BEDROOM - NIGHT          It is dark; we don't see clearly.  a man and woman make love           on abrass bed.  There are mirrors on the walls and ceiling.            On a side table, atop a small mirror, lines of cocaine.  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, kisseshim...          JOHNNY BOZ is in his late 40's, slim, good-looking.  We don't           see the woman's face.  She has long blonde hair.  The CAMERA           STAYSBEHIND and to the side of them.          She leans close over his face, her tongue in his mouth...  she           kisses him... she moves her hands up, holds both ofhis arms           above his head.          She moves higher atop him... she reaches to the side of the           bed... a white silk scarf is in her hand... her hips abovehis           face now, moving... slightly, oh-so slightly... his face strains           towards her.          The scarf in her hand... she ties his hands withit...            gently... to the brass bed... his eyes are closed...  tighter...           lowering hips into his face... lower... over his chest... his           navel.  The SONGplays.          He is inside her... his head arches back... his throat white.          She arches her back... her hips grind... her breasts are high...          Her back


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<TITLE>"MINORITY REPORT" -- Aug 15th 1997 rewrite by Jon Cohen</TITLE>
<FONTface="Courier, Courier New, Times, Arial, Helvetica" size=-1>               "MINORITY REPORT"                -- Aug 15th 1997 rewrite by JonCohen               DARKNESS               And then, slowly emerging from the mists of darkness, a pale,               beautifully proportionedFACE.               The oval face is female, a woman of indeterminate age, her               features as fragile as porcelain.  Her eyes are closed in               sleep, orin death ... or in something in between.               Now TWO MORE FACES emerge out of the darkness.  They are               male, and they float into position oneither side of the               female.  They are just as ethereally beautiful, just as pale,               and like the female their eyes are closed.               The ghostlylips of the female begin to twitch.  Her features,               which have been expressionless, suddenly contort, mask-like,               into the face of a woman infear.  Her eyes open.               The male face on her right contorts too.  His features warp               into an angry snarl -- the mask of a man enraged.  Hiseyes               open.               The male face on her left takes on the expression of a young               boy, a boy who is terribly frightened.  His eyes openwide.               As if they are lost in the same terrible waking dream, a               sudden and unnerving exchange begins...                                     FEMALE                              (frightened woman)                         JOHNNY,


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A DRY WHITESEASON       Rewrite by      EUZHAN PALCY         May 1987   Revised First Draft   FOR EDUCATIONAL    PURPOSESONLY"IN THE WHOLE WORLDTHERE IS NOT A SINGLEPOOR DEVIL WHO IS LYNCHED,NOT ONE MISERABLEMANWHO IS TORTURED IN WHOMI TOO, I AM NOT MURDEREDAND DEGRADED."      AimeCesairePRE-TITLE:FADE IN:EXT. DAN PIENAAR SECONDARY SCHOOL FOR BOYS - DAYDan Pienaar school is a typicalJohannesburg Afrikaanschool. The students are mainly from middle-classfamilies. School athletics are in progress. The stu-dents, in their smart school uniforms,are cheeringenthusiastically a relay race on the immaculately-keptsports ground.GORDON NGUBENE, a 47-years-old African laborer is work-ing in the schoolgarden. A few feet away is his 15-years-old son JONATHAN leaning 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 lastleg of the race. The excitement increases astheyapproach the tape. Ben is beside himself, egging his sonwith shouts. The young teacher, VIVIERS, standing nextto Ben, is shouting "come on Johan," andslapping thefather on the back.Johan breasts the tape just ahead of the other boy. Theground is invaded by boys running to congratulate Johan.Ben hurriestowards his happy but exhausted son; the proudfather pushing his way through the animated boys. As hereaches Johan he pats him on the


ï»¿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 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.netTitle: The Story of Miss MoppetAuthor: Beatrix PotterRelease Date: January 31, 2005 [EBook #14848]Language: English*** START OF THISPROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MISS MOPPET ***Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG OnlineDistributed ProofreadingTeam (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 Frederick Warne & Co.Printed and bound in Great Britain byWilliam Clowes Limited, Beccles andLondon[Illustration]This is a Pussy called Miss Moppet, she thinks she has heard a mouse!This is the Mouse peeping out behind the cupboard, and making fun ofMissMoppet. 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.Shethinks it is a very hard cupboard![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. He comes sliding down thebell-pull.[Illustration][Illustration]Miss Moppet looks worseand worse. The Mouse comes a little nearer.[Illustration]Miss Moppet holds her poor head in her paws, and looks at him through ahole in the duster. The Mousecomes _very_ close.And then all of a sudden--Miss Moppet jumps upon the Mouse![Illustration][Illustration]And because the Mouse has teased Miss Moppet--MissMoppet thinks she willtease the 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 sheforgot about that hole in the duster; and when she untiedit--there was no Mouse![Illustration][Illustration]He has wriggled out and run away; and he is dancing ajig on the top ofthe cupboard!End of Project Gutenberg's The Story of Miss Moppet, by Beatrix Potter*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORYOF 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 previous one--the old editionswill be renamed.Creating the works from public domain print editionsmeans that noone owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States withoutpermissionand without paying copyright royalties.  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ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fanshawe, by Nathaniel HawthorneThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts ofthe world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg Licenseincluded 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 arelocated 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 andthe OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.FANSHAWEBYNATHANIEL HAWTHORNE[Illustration]INTRODUCTORY NOTE.FANSHAWE.In 1828, three years aftergraduating from Bowdoin College, Hawthornepublished his first romance, "Fanshawe." It was issued at Boston by Marsh& Capen, but made little or no impressionon 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 of fiction thatcame 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 thecopies then extant.Some twelve years after his death it was resolved, in view of the interestmanifested in tracing the growth of his genius from the beginning ofhisactivity as an author, to revive this youthful romance; and the reissue of"Fanshawe" was then made.Little biographical interest attaches to it, beyond the factthat Mr.Longfellow found in the descriptions and general atmosphere of the book adecided suggestion of the situation of Bowdoin College, at Brunswick,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 chargeof the studyof English literature, and has survived both of his illustrious pupils,recalls Hawthorne's exceptional excellence in the composition of English,even atthat date (1821-1825); and it is not impossible that Hawthorneintended, through the character of Fanshawe, to present some faintprojection of what he thenthought 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 whichHawthornealludes in the dedicatory Preface to "The Snow-Image."G. P. L.FANSHAWE       *       *       *       *       *CHAPTER I.  "Our court shall be a littleAcademe."--SHAKESPEARE.In an ancient though not very populous settlement, in a retired corner ofone of the New England States, arise the walls of a seminaryof learning,which, for the convenience of a name, shall be entitled "Harley College."This institution, though the number of its years is inconsiderablecomparedwith the hoar antiquity of its European sisters, is not withoutsome claims to reverence on the score of age; for an almost countlessmultitude of rivals, by many ofwhich its reputation has been eclipsed,have sprung up since its foundation. At no time, indeed, during anexistence of nearly a century, has it acquired a veryextensive fame; andcircumstances, which need not be particularized, have, of late years,involved it in a deeper obscurity. There are now few candidates forthedegrees that the college is authorized to bestow. On two of its annual"Commencement Days," there has been a total deficiency of baccalaureates;and thelawyers and divines, on whom doctorates in their respectiveprofessions are gratuitously inflicted, are not accustomed to consider thedistinction as an honor. Yetthe sons of this seminary have alwaysmaintained their full share of reputation, in whatever paths of life theytrod. Few of them, perhaps, have been deep andfinished scholars; but thecollege has supplied--what the emergencies of the country demanded--a setof men more useful in its present state, and whosedeficiency intheoretical knowledge has not been found to imply a want of practicalability.The local situation of the college, so far secluded from the sight andsoundof the busy world, is peculiarly favorable to the moral, if not tothe literary, habits of its students; and this advantage probably causedthe founders to overlook theinconveniences that were inseparablyconnected with it. The humble edifices rear themselves almost at thefarthest extremity of a narrow vale, which, windingthrough 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 ispleasant, and idleness delicious. The neighborhood of theinstitution is not quite a solitude, though the few habitations scarcelyconstitute a village. These consistprincipally of farm-houses, of ratheran ancient date (for the settlement is much older than the college), andof a little inn, which even in that secluded spot doesnot 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 toodensepopulation. The character of the inhabitants does not seem--as there was,perhaps, room to anticipate--to be in any degree influenced by theatmosphere ofHarley College. They are a set of rough and hardy yeomen,much inferior, as respects 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, the advantages of a "liberaleducation."Having thus described the present state of Harley College, we must proceedto speak of it as it existed about eighty years since, when itsfoundationwas recent, and its prospects flattering. At the head of the institution,at this period, was a learned and Orthodox divine, whose fame was in allthechurches. He was the author of several works which evinced mucherudition and depth of research; and the public, perhaps, thought the morehighly of his abilitiesfrom a singularity in the purposes to which heapplied them, that added much to the curiosity of his labors, thoughlittle to their usefulness. But, however fancifulmight be his privatepursuits, Dr. Melmoth, it was universally allowed, was diligent andsuccessful in the arts of instruction. The young men of his chargeprosperedbeneath his eye, and regarded him with an affection that wasstrengthened by the little foibles which occasionally excited theirridicule. The president was assistedin the discharge of his duties by twoinferior officers, chosen from the alumni of the college, who, while theyimparted to others the knowledge they had alreadyimbibed, 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. Forseveral years in succession, its students amounted to nearlyfifty,--a number which, relatively to the circumstances of the country,was very considerable.From theexterior of the collegians, an accurate observer might prettysafely judge how long they had been inmates of those classic walls. Thebrown cheeks and the rusticdress 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 ofa more classic cut, woulddistinguish those who had begun to acquire the polish of their newresidence; and the air of superiority, the paler cheek, the lessrobustform, the spectacles of green, and the dress, in general of threadbareblack, would designate the highest class, who were understood to haveacquirednearly 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 thisgeneral description. A few young men had foundtheir way hither from the distant seaports; and these were the models offashion to their rustic companions, overwhom they asserted a superiorityin exterior accomplishments, which the fresh though unpolished intellectof the sons of the forest denied them in their literarycompetitions. Athird class, differing widely from both the former, consisted of a fewyoung descendants of the aborigines, to whom an impracticablephilanthropywas endeavoring to impart the benefits of civilization.If this institution did not offer all the advantages of elder and prouderseminaries, its deficiencieswere compensated to its students by theinculcation of regular habits, and of a deep and awful sense of religion,which seldom deserted them in their coursethrough 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 isneverwithout its follies, they have seldom been more harmless than they werehere. The students, indeed, ignorant of their own bliss, sometimes wishedto hastenthe time of their entrance on the business of life; but theyfound, in after-years, that many of their happiest remembrances, many ofthe scenes which they wouldwith 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, evenfrom that paternalgovernment, a weighty retribution.Dr. Melmoth, at the time when he is to be introduced to the reader, hadborne the matrimonial yoke (and inhis case it was no light burden) nearlytwenty years. The blessing of children, however, had been denied him,--acircumstance which he was accustomed toconsider 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 ofwhose domestic government often compelled him to call to mindsuch portions of the wisdom of antiquity as relate to the proper enduranceof the shrewishness ofwoman. But domestic comforts, as well as comfortsof every other kind, have their drawbacks; and, so long as the balance ison the side of happiness, a wise manwill 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 the storm 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, hesoonforgot whatever of disagreeable nature pertained to his situation. Thissmall and dark apartment was the only portion of the house to which, sinceone firmlyrepelled invasion, Mrs. Melmoth's omnipotence did not extend.Here (to reverse the words of Queen Elizabeth) there was "but one masterand no mistress"; andthat 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,


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                         WILD THINGS: DIAMONDS IN THE ROUGH                                     Written by                              Andy Hurst& Ross Helford                                                            INT. MUSEUM - DAY                    Aperfect rainbow is trapped inside two flawless DIAMONDS,          glinting in the morning sun.                    Tounted on crushed velvet, the identicaldiamonds are on a glass          covered pedal stool in the middle of a vast, marble MUSEUM HALL.                    The stunning beauty of the stones ismatched only by the          breathtaking beauty of the young woman who's admiring them. MARIE          CLIFFORD's creamy seventeen year old skin is dappled inthe          cornucopia of colors emanating from the diamonds...                    She reaches out tentatively towards the glass case. Not to touch          thediamonds, but to run her fingers over a picture that's mounted          in the case below the priceless jewels. It's of a MOTHER cradling          her BABYDAUGHTER...                                        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


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<TITLE>CINEMA PARADISO by Giuseppe Tornatore</TITLE><META http-equiv=Content-Type content="text/html;charset=windows-1252"><META content="MSHTML 6.00.2800.1141" name=GENERATOR>
  CINEMAPARADISO        by        Giuseppe Tornatore         FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY        Shooting Script    1  GIANCALDO. SALVATORE'S MOTHER'S HOUSE. EXT/INT. DAY  The October sun slashes through the grayclouds, cuts across the shadow towards the sea, along the coast where the new suburbs of the city of Giancaldo have been built up.  Bright lightstreams through the windows, glancing off the white walls in an almost blinding reflection. MARIA, a woman a little over sixty, is trying to find somebody on thephone.  MARIA   ...Salvatore, that's right, Salvatore. Di Vita Salvatore ...But, miss, what do you mean you don't know him?!...I...Yes... (Shegives a nervous sigh. She has dialed her way through endless numbers but still hasn't managed to speak to Mr. Di Vita. She finally heaves a 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 giveme...?...Yes... (She nods at another woman 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


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Last Chronicle of Barset, by AnthonyTrollopeThis 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: 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 Cooperandrevised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file      which includes the 64 illustrations by George HousmanThomas      from the First Edition (Smith, Elder and Co., 1867).      See 3045-h.htm or3045-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 CHRONICLEOF BARSETbyANTHONY TROLLOPEFirst 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 Get It?        II. By Heavens He Had Better Not!       III. The Archdeacon'sThreat        IV. The Clergyman's House at Hogglestock         V. What the World Thought About It        VI. Grace Crawley       VII. Miss Prettyman's PrivateRoom      VIII. Mr. Crawley Is Taken to Silverbridge        IX. Grace Crawley Goes to Allington         X. Dinner at Framley Court        XI. The Bishop Sends HisInhibition       XII. Mr. Crawley Seeks for Sympathy      XIII. The Bishop's Angel       XIV. Major Grantly Consults a Friend        XV. Up in London       XVI. Down atAllington      XVII. Mr. Crawley Is Summoned to Barchester     XVIII. The Bishop of Barchester Is Crushed       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 aWalk      XXIX. Miss Lily Dale's Logic       XXX. Showing What Major Grantly Did After His Walk      XXXI. Showing How Major Grantly Returned toGuestwick     XXXII. Mr. Toogood    XXXIII. The Plumstead Foxes     XXXIV. Mrs. Proudie Sends for Her Lawyer      XXXV. Lily Dale Writes Two Words in HerBook     XXXVI. Grace Crawley Returns Home    XXXVII. Hook Court   XXXVIII. Jael     XXXIX. A New Flirtation        XL. Mr. Toogood's Ideas AboutSociety       XLI. Grace Crawley at Home      XLII. Mr. Toogood Travels Professionally     XLIII. Mr. Crosbie Goes into the City      XLIV. "I Suppose I Must Let YouHave It"       XLV. Lily Dale Goes to London      XLVI. The Bayswater Romance     XLVII. Dr. Tempest at the Palace    XLVIII. The Softness of Sir RaffleBuffle      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 DoublePledge     LVIII. The Cross-grainedness of Men       LIX. A Lady Presents Her Compliments to Miss L. D.        LX. The End of Jael and Sisera       LXI. "It's Doggedas Does It"      LXII. Mr. Crawley's Letter to the Dean     LXIII. Two Visitors to Hogglestock      LXIV. The Tragedy in Hook Court       LXV. Miss Van Siever MakesHer Choice      LXVI. Requiescat in Pace     LXVII. In Memoriam    LXVIII. The Obstinacy of Mr. Crawley      LXIX. Mr. Crawley's Last Appearance in His OwnPulpit       LXX. Mrs. Arabin Is Caught      LXXI. Mr. Toogood at Silverbridge     LXXII. Mr. Toogood at "The Dragon of Wantly"    LXXIII. There Is Comfort atPlumstead     LXXIV. The Crawleys Are Informed      LXXV. Madalina's Heart Is Bleeding     LXXVI. I Think He Is Light of Heart    LXXVII. The ShatteredTree   LXXVIII. The Arabins Return to Barchester     LXXIX. Mr. Crawley Speaks of His Coat      LXXX. Miss Demolines Desires to Become a Finger-post     LXXXI.Barchester Cloisters    LXXXII. The Last Scene at Hogglestock   LXXXIII. Mr. Crawley Is Conquered    LXXXIV. ConclusionTITLED ILLUSTRATIONS   Mr. Crawleybefore the Magistrates.           Frontispiece   Mr. and Mrs. Crawley.                         Chapter I   "I love you as though you were my own,"      said theSchoolmistress.                   Chapter VI   "A convicted thief," repeated Mrs. Proudie.   Chapter XI   "Speak out, Dan."                             Chapter XII   GraceCrawley is introduced to Squire Dale.   Chapter XVI   Farmer Mangle and Mr. Crawley.                Chapter XVII   "She's more like Eleanor than any oneelse."  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 Major Grantly.                Chapter XXVIII   "Never mind Mr. Henry."                       Chapter XXXIII   Lily wishesthat they might swear      to be Brother and Sister.                  Chapter XXXV   She read the beginning--"Dearest Grace."      Chapter XXXVI   "Mamma, I've gotsomething 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.        Chapter LI   "Because of Papa's disgrace."                 Chapter LV   "But it will never pass away," said Grace.    ChapterLVII   "Honour thy Father,--that thy days      may be long in the Land."                  Chapter LVIII   "It's dogged 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      declarehis own ruin."                     Chapter LXIX   "No sale after all?"                          Chapter LXXI   "These are the young Hogglestockians,      arethey?"                                 Chapter LXXIV   The last Denial.                              Chapter LXXVII   "What is it that I behold?"                   ChapterLXXX   "Peradventure he signifies his Consent."      Chapter LXXXIICHAPTER I.HOW DID HE GET IT?[Illustration]"I can never bring myself to believe it, John," saidMary 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 the solicitors' business that hadto be done in that part of Barsetshire on behalf of the Crown, wereemployed on the local business of the Duke ofOmnium 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 themiddle of the town, gave dinners, to which the countygentlemen not unfrequently condescended to come, and in a mild wayled the fashion in Silverbridge. "I cannever 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."Aclergyman,--and such a clergyman too!""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 shouldnot aclergyman turn thief as well as anybody else? You girls always seemto forget that clergymen are only men after all.""Their conduct is likely to be better thanthat 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 in Barsetshirethanthere 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 inthe High Street of Silverbridge.""John, that is saying more than you have a right to say," said Mrs.Walker."Why, mother, this very cheque was given to a butcherwho hadthreatened a few days before to post bills all about the county,giving an account of the debt that was due to him, if the money wasnot paid atonce.""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 atlast. Of course, a tradesman must lookfor his money.""Mamma, do you think that Mr. Crawley stole the cheque?" Mary, as sheasked the question, came andstood over her mother, looking at herwith anxious eyes."I would rather give no opinion, my dear.""But you must think something when everybody is talking aboutit,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 fatherisengaged in the inquiry, I think that the less said about the matterin this house the better. I am sure that that would be your father'sfeeling.""Of course I shouldsay nothing about it before him," said Mary. "Iknow that papa does not wish to have it talked about. But how is oneto help thinking about such a thing? It wouldbe 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 aclergyman. I hate all that 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 inaposition which makes the crime more criminal in him than it would bein another.""But I feel sure that Mr. Crawley has committed no crime at all,"said Mary."Mydear," 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 lastwords could reach 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 peopleit does make it so dreadful.""But do you know them? I never spoke to Mr. Crawley in my life, andI do not think I ever saw her.""I knew Grace very well,--whenshe used to come first to MissPrettyman's school.""Poor girl. I pity her.""Pity her! Pity is no word for it, mamma. My heart bleeds for them.And yet I do not believefor 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 knowthat he has been anexcellent clergyman. When the Robartses were dining here last, Iheard Mrs. Robarts say that for piety and devotion to his duties shehadhardly ever seen any one equal to him. And the Robartses knowmore of them than anybody.""They say that the dean is his great friend.""What a pity it is that the


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Child Christopher, by William MorrisThis 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: Child ChristopherAuthor: William MorrisRelease Date: July 1, 2008 [EBook #234]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECTGUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD CHRISTOPHER ***Produced by John HammCHILD CHRISTOPHER AND GOLDILIND THE FAIRby William Morris1895CHAPTER I. OF THEKING OF OAKENREALM, AND HIS WIFE AND HIS CHILD.Of old there was a land which was so much a woodland, that a minstrelthereof said it that a squirrel mightgo 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 starkman, 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 forty years old, he came across adaughter 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 hadconqueredof him that he might lay the maiden 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 she bade him play inthe tilt-yard for her desport and pride.So wore the days till shewent 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 thanescried 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 wasready he said farewell to his wife and her babe unborn, andwent his ways to battle once more: but fierce was his heart against thefoemen, that they had draggedhim away from his love and his joy.Even amidst of his land he joined battle with the host of the ravagers,and the tale of them is short to tell, for they were as thewheat 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 whereas his hawberkwasbroken, 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 noavail, and he knew that his soul was departing.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 ifitwere 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 he woulddo 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 theMarshal swore, and all the lordswho stood around bare witness to his swearing. Thereafter the priesthouselled the King, and he received his Creator, and a littlewhileafter his soul departed.But the Marshal followed up the fleeing foe, and two battles more hefought before he beat them flat to earth; and then they cravedforpeace, 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 hehad 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 childing of a man-bairn she died, but the ladlived, and was like to do well.So there was one funeral for the slain King and forher whom his slayinghad slain: and when that was done, the little king was borne to thefont, and at his christening he gat to name Christopher.Thereafter theMarshal 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 who hadbut 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 Kingthat was had given himin charge his son as then unborn, and the ruling of the realm till thesaid son were come to man's estate: but he bade them seek oneworthierif they had heart to gainsay the word of their dying lord. Then all theysaid that he was worthy and mighty and the choice of their dear lord,and that theywould 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 ofOakenrealm. He ruled well and strongly, and was a fell warrior:he was well befriended by many of the great; and the rest of them fearedhim and his friends: asfor the commonalty, they saw that he held therealm in peace; and for the rest, they knew little and saw less of him,and they paid to his bailiffs and sheriffs aslittle 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 illcontent. Sothe Marshal 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 folkhad of late done homage as king,he was at first seen about a corner of the High House with his nurses;and then in a while it was said, and the tale noted, but notmuch, thathe must needs go for his health's sake, and because he was puny, to somestead amongst the fields, and folk heard say that he was gone to thestronghouse 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 thenorthern edge of the wild-wood. But in a while, scarcemore than a year, Lord Richard brake up house at the said castle, andwent southward through the forest. Ofthis departure was little said,for he was not a man amongst the foremost. As for the King's little son,if any remembered that he was in the hands of the said LordRichard,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.Now as for Lord Richard theLean, 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 onanother country, whichhight Meadham; though the said wild-wood ended not where Oakenrealmended, but stretched a good way into Meadham; and betwixt oneand theother much rough country there was.It is to be said that amongst those who went to this stronghold of thewoods was the little King Christopher, no longerpuny, 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 wise treated as agreatman'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 tonoting him, and, for as little as he was, he began to bewell-beloved.As to the stead where he was nourished, though it were far away amongstthe woods, it wasno such lonely or savage place: besides the castle andthe houses of it, there was a merry thorpe in the clearing, the houseswhereof were set down by the side ofa 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 of favour;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 hadwiththem tidings of what was astir whereas folk were thicker in theworld, and some chapmen, who chaffered with the thorpe-dwellers, andtook of them the woodlandspoil for such outland goods as those woodmenneeded.So wore the years, and in Oakenham King Christopher was well nighforgotten, and in the wild-wood hadnever 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 of howthe 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 heshould send no more, for that he, theMarshal, had heard enough of the boy; and if he throve it were well, andif not, it was no worse. So wore the days and theyears.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 was in 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 thisKing Roland, mild, bounteous, andno regarder of persons in his justice; and well-beloved he was of hisfolk: yet could not their love keep him alive; for, whenashis daughterwas of the age of twelve years, he sickened unto death; and so, when heknew that his end drew near, he sent for the wisest of his wise men,andthey 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 theword 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 shallcomeback never; now I would, and am verily of duty bound thereto, that Ileave behind me some 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, if ever she maybe; 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, mymasters?"So they all with one consent said Yea, and they would ask for no betterking than their lady his daughter. Then said the King:"Hearken carefully, for mytime is short: Yet is she young and a maiden,though she be wise. Now therefore do I need some man well looked to ofthe folk, who shall rule the land in hername 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 thismatter?"Then they 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."Thereonspake 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, webe all unmeet for battle; some of ushave never been warriors, and other some are past the age for leading anhost. To say the sooth, King, there is but one man inMeadham 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


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              FROM DUSK TILL DAWN                 Screenplay by               Quentin Tarantino                   Storyby                Robert Kurtzman                  Directed by               Robert RodriguezThis script was transcribed, proof read and formatted by ueli rieggemail:webmaster@studiour.tsx.org; url: http://studiour.tsx.orgCast List:Quentin Tarantino                 Richard GeckoGeorge Clooney                    Seth GeckoBrendaHillhouse                  Hostage GloriaHarvey Keitel                     JacobJuliette Lewis                    KateErnest Liu                        ScottCheechMarin                      Border Guard, Chet Pussy, CarlosSelma Hayek                       Santanico PandemoniumDanny Trejo                       Razor CharlieErnestGarcia                     Big EmilioTom Savini                        Sex MachineFred Williamson                   Frost"I earnestly wish an end would come to this bloody raceI am forced to run."                                          Countess                           in: "La Comtesse Noire"                                    by Jess Franco FADEIN: EXT. LIQUOR STORE - DAY A convenience store in a Texas Suburb. No other businesses surround it. CLOSE-UP: A light switch is flipped on.The sign on top of the store lights up. It reads: BENNY'S WORLD OF LIQUOR. TITLE CARD: BIG SPRING, TEXAS    109 MILESWEST OF ABILENE 345 MILES EAST OF THE MEXICAN BORDER A Texas Ranger patrol car pulls into the parking lot and a real live Texas Ranger,