ï»¿Project Gutenberg's The Children of the New Forest, by Captain MarryatThis 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 Children of the New ForestAuthor: Captain MarryatRelease Date: May 21, 2007 [EBook #21558]Language: English*** START OFTHIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST ***Produced by Nick Hodson of London, EnglandThe Children of the New Forest, byCaptain Marryat.________________________________________________________________________Captain Frederick Marryat was born July 10 1792, anddied August 8 1848.He retired from the British navy in 1828 in order to devote himself towriting.  In the following 20 years he wrote 26 books, many of whichareamong the very best of English literature, and some of which are stillin print.Marryat had an extraordinary gift for the invention of episodes in hisstories.  Hesays somewhere that when he sat down for the day's work, henever knew what he was going to write.  He certainly was a literarygenius."The Children of the NewForest" was published in 1847, thetwenty-fourth book to flow from Marryat's pen, and the last publishedwhilst he was still alive.  It was written for children, andhas beenphenomenally succesful: it is still in print over 150 years later.This e-text was transcribed in 1998 by Nick Hodson, and was reformattedin 2003, andagain in 2005.________________________________________________________________________THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST, BY CAPTAINFREDERICK MARRYAT.CHAPTER ONE.The circumstances which I am about to relate to my juvenile readers tookplace in the year 1647.  By referring to the historyof England of thatdate they will find that King Charles the First, against whom theCommons of England had rebelled, after a civil war of nearly five years,had beendefeated, and was confined as a prisoner at Hampton Court.  TheCavaliers, or the party who fought for King Charles, had all beendispersed, and theParliamentary army under the command of Cromwell werebeginning to control the Commons.It was in the month of November in this year that KingCharles,accompanied by Sir John Berkely Ashburnham and Legg, made his escapefrom Hampton Court, and rode as fast as the horses could carry themtowardsthat part of Hampshire which led to the New Forest.  The kingexpected that his friends had provided a vessel in which he might escapeto France; but in this hewas disappointed.  There was no vessel ready,and after riding for some time along the shore he resolved to go toTitchfield, a seat belonging to the Earl ofSouthampton.  After a longconsultation with those who attended him, he yielded to their advice,which was, to trust to Colonel Hammond, who was governor ofthe Isle ofWight for the Parliament, but who was supposed to be friendly to theking.  Whatever might be the feelings of commiseration of ColonelHammondtowards a king so unfortunately situated, he was firm in hisduties towards his employers, and the consequence was that King Charlesfound himself again aprisoner in Carisbrook Castle.But we must now leave the king, and retrace history to the commencementof the civil war.  A short distance from the town ofLymington, which isnot far from Titchfield, where the king took shelter, but on the otherside of the Southampton Water, and south of the New Forest, to whichitadjoins, was a property called Arnwood, which belonged to a Cavalier ofthe name of Beverley.  It was at that time a property of considerablevalue, being veryextensive, and the park ornamented with valuabletimber; for it abutted on the New Forest, and might have been supposedto have been a continuation of it.  ThisColonel Beverley, as we mustcall him, for he rose to that rank in the king's army, was a valuedfriend and companion of Prince Rupert's, and commanded severaltroops ofcavalry.  He was ever at his side in the brilliant charges made by thisgallant prince, and at last fell in his arms at the battle of Naseby.Colonel Beverleyhad married into the family of the Villiers, and theissue of his marriage was two sons and two daughters; but his zeal andsense of duty had induced him, at thecommencement of the war, to leavehis wife and family at Arnwood, and he was fated never to meet themagain.  The news of his death had such an effect uponMrs Beverley,already worn with anxiety on her husband's account, that a few monthsafterwards she followed him to an early tomb, leaving the four childrenunderthe charge of an elderly relative till such time as the family ofthe Villiers could protect them; but, as will appear by our history,this was not at that periodpossible.  The life of a king and many otherlives were in jeopardy, and the orphans remained at Arnwood, still underthe care of their elderly relation, at the timethat our historycommences.The New Forest, my readers are perhaps aware, was first enclosed byWilliam the Conqueror as a royal forest for his own amusement,for inthose days most crowned heads were passionately fond of the chase; andthey may also recollect that his successor, William Rufus, met his deathin thisforest by the glancing of an arrow shot by Sir Walter Tyrrell.Since that time to the present day it has continued a royal domain.  Atthe period of which we arewriting it had an establishment of verderersand keepers, paid by the Crown, amounting to some forty or fifty men.At the commencement of the civil war theyremained at their posts, butsoon found, in the disorganised state of the country, that their wageswere no longer to be obtained; and then, when the king haddecided uponraising an army, Beverley, who held a superior office in the forest,enrolled all the young and athletic men who were employed in the forest,andmarched them away with him to join the king's army.  Some fewremained, their age not rendering their services of value, and amongthem was an old andattached servant of Beverley's, a man above sixtyyears of age, whose name was Jacob Armitage, and who had obtained thesituation through Colonel Beverley'sinterest.  Those who remained inthe forest lived in cottages many miles asunder, and indemnifiedthemselves for the non-payment of their salaries by killing thedeer forsale and for their own subsistence.The cottage of Jacob Armitage was situated on the skirts of the NewForest, about a mile and a half from the mansion ofArnwood; and whenColonel Beverley went to join the king's troops, feeling how littlesecurity there would be for his wife and children in those troubledtimes, herequested the old man, by his attachment to the family, not tolose sight of Arnwood, but to call there as often as possible to see ifhe could be of service to MrsBeverley.  The colonel would havepersuaded Jacob to have altogether taken up his residence at themansion; but to this the old man objected.  He had been allhis lifeunder the greenwood tree, and could not bear to leave the forest.  Hepromised the colonel that he would watch over his family, and ever be athand whenrequired; and he kept his word.  The death of Colonel Beverleywas a heavy blow to the old forester, and he watched over Mrs Beverleyand the orphans with thegreatest solicitude; but when Mrs Beverleyfollowed her husband to the tomb he then redoubled his attentions, andwas seldom more than a few hours at a timeaway from the mansion.  Thetwo boys were his inseparable companions, and he instructed them, youngas they were, in all the secrets of his own calling.  Suchwas the stateof affairs at the time that King Charles made his escape from HamptonCourt; and I now shall resume my narrative from where it was broken off.Assoon as the escape of Charles the First was made known to Cromwelland the Parliament, troops of horse were despatched in every directionto the southward,towards which the prints of the horses' hoofs provedthat he had gone.  As they found that he had proceeded in the directionof the New Forest, the troops weresubdivided and ordered to scour theforest, in parties of twelve to twenty, while others hastened down toSouthampton, Lymington, and every other seaport or partof the coastfrom which the king might be likely to embark.  Old Jacob had been atArnwood on the day before, but on this day he had made up his mind toprocuresome venison, that he might not go there again empty-handed; forMiss Judith Villiers was very partial to venison, and was not slow toremind Jacob if the larderwas for many days deficient in that meat.Jacob had gone out accordingly; he had gained his leeward position of afine buck, and was gradually nearing him bystealth, now behind a hugeoak-tree, and then crawling through the high fern, so as to get withinshot unperceived, when on a sudden the animal, which had beenquietlyfeeding, bounded away and disappeared in the thicket.  At the same timeJacob perceived a small body of horse galloping through the glen inwhich the buckhad been feeding.  Jacob had never yet seen theParliamentary troops, for they had not during the war been sent intothat part of the country, but their ironskull-caps, their buffaccoutrements, and dark habiliments, assured him that such these mustbe; so very different were they from the gaily-equipped Cavaliercavalrycommanded by Prince Rupert.  At the time that they advanced, Jacob hadbeen lying down in the fern near to some low black-thorn-bushes; notwishing tobe perceived by them, he drew back between the bushes,intending to remain concealed until they should gallop out of sight; forJacob thought, "I am a king'sforester, and they may consider me as anenemy; and who knows how I may be treated by them?"  But Jacob wasdisappointed in his expectations of the troopsriding past him; on thecontrary, as soon as they arrived at an oak-tree within twenty yards ofwhere he was concealed, the order was given to halt and dismount;thesabres of the horsemen clattered in their iron sheaths as the order wasobeyed, and the old man expected to be immediately discovered; but oneof thethorn-bushes was directly between him and the troopers, andeffectually concealed him.  At last Jacob ventured to raise his head andpeep through the bush; andhe perceived that the men were loosening thegirths of their black horses, or wiping away the perspiration from theirsides with handfuls of fern.Apowerfully-framed man, who appeared to command the others, wasstanding with his hand upon the arched neck of his steed, which appearedas fresh andvigorous as ever, although covered with foam andperspiration.  "Spare not to rub down, my men," said he, "for we havetried the mettle of our horses, and havenow but one half-hour'sbreathing-time.  We must be on, for the work of the Lord must be done.""They say that this forest is many miles in length andbreadth,"observed another of the men, "and we may ride many a mile to no purpose;but here is James Southwold, who once was living in it as a verderer;nay, Ithink that he said that he was born and bred in these woods.  Wasit not so, James Southwold?""It is even as you say," replied an active-looking young man; "Iwasborn and bred in this forest, and my father was a verderer before me."Jacob Armitage, who listened to the conversation, immediately recognisedthe young


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  BRUCE ALMIGHTYbySteve Koren & Mark O'Keefe  Rewrite by Steve Oedekerk           7/30/02 Shady Acres EntertainmentINT. KOWOLSKI'S BAKERY -KITCHEN - DAYA news crew shuttles around a GIGANTIC COOKIE. Standing byare the KOWOLSKI BROTHERS, GUSTOV and VOL, two SHORT, STOCKY,MEN,along with MOTHER KOWOLSKI and other bakery familyemployees. A "30 YEAR ANNIVERSARY" sign hangs in thebackground.BRUCE NOLAN looks into a make-upmirror, desperately tryingto place a large segment of wayward hair.                     BRUCE          Oh, God, no! The hair's wrong.          This is a badsign.               (calling out)          We really need to get a make-up          person?!The segment producer, ALLY LOMAN, stepsover.                     ALLY          Not in the budget. And not to                         *                                                                *          worry,you're going to look great          in this.She holds out a HAIR NET.                     BRUCE          A hair net? I'm not wearing a hair          net. I just didthe hair.                     ALLY               (matter of fact)          Health code. In the kitchen or          around the cookie, you gottahave          it.                     BRUCE               (to crew: re hair net)          You guy's should tell me this          before hand, this is like ahuge          waste of...moose.Bruce spreads the hair net, bends down out of frame, comes uplooking ridiculous and verydisgruntled.                     BRUCE          Remind me to swing by an elementary                   *          school after this and serve lunch.Ally


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<title>TOMBSTONE</title>
TOMBSTONEAn original screenplayByKevin Jarre                                           Fourthdraft                                           March 15, 1993ROLL PROLOGUE OVER MAIN TITLE:  a collage of old photos, prints, etc., and silent live-action vignettes, alldark and heavily shadowed like a dimly-remembered dream.  The first images show the opulence of the Gilded Age, the epic vistas of the west, cattle drives andcowtowns with all their violence....                     V.O. NARRATION          "The economic explosion following          the Civil War createdan          unprecedented nation-wide market          for beef.  Previously worthless          cattle running wild throughout          Texas were gathered intoherds           And driven north to the railheads           In Kansas.  Fortunes were made as           Cowtowns sprang up on the           Prairies, wide-open centersof          Commerce and vice, their streets          Choked with heavily-armed young          Men fresh from the cattle drives.          In those days the correctterm          For a cowhand was 'drover'.          'Cowboy', like 'cowpoke', was          originally an insult implying          deviant sexuality and wasrarely          used.  But these invading drovers          were a wild breed for soon          shootings and wholesale drunken          riots became so frequentthat          ordinary citizens literally could          not walk down the street.  In fact          at their height the cowtowns had          higher murder rates than


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Seventeen, by Booth TarkingtonThis 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: Seventeen       A Tale Of Youth And Summer Time And The Baxter Family Especially WilliamAuthor: Booth TarkingtonRelease Date:February 21, 2006 [EBook #1611]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVENTEEN ***Produced by Charles Keller and DavidWidgerSEVENTEENA TALE OF YOUTH ANDSUMMER TIME ANDTHE BAXTER FAMILYESPECIALLY WILLIAMBy Booth TarkingtonSEVENTEENTOS.K.T.CONTENTS     I.      WILLIAM     II.     THE UNKNOWN     III.    THE PAINFUL AGE     IV.     GENESIS AND CLEMATIS     V.      SORROWS WITHIN ABOILER     VI.     TRUCULENCE     VII.    MR. BAXTER'S EVENING CLOTHES     VIII.   JANE     IX.     LITTLE SISTERS HAVE BIG EARS     X.      MR. PARCHER ANDLOVE     XI.     BEGINNING A TRUE FRIENDSHIP     XII.    PROGRESS OF THE SYMPTOMS     XIII.   AT HOME TO HIS FRIENDS     XIV.    TIME DOESFLY     XV.     ROMANCE OF STATISTICS     XVI.    THE SHOWER     XVII.   JANE'S THEORY     XVIII.  THE BIG, FAT LUMMOX     XIX.    "I DUNNO WHY ITIS"     XX.     SYDNEY CARTON     XXI.    MY LITTLE SWEETHEARTS     XXII.   FORESHADOWINGS     XXIII.  FATHERS FORGET     XXIV.   CLOTHES MAKE THEMAN     XXV.    YOUTH AND MR. PARCHER     XXVI.   MISS BOKE     XXVII.  MAROONED     XXVIII. RANNIE KIRSTED     XXIX.   ''DON'T FORGET!''     XXX.     THEBRIDE-TO-BESEVENTEENIWILLIAMWilliam Sylvanus Baxter paused for a moment of thought in front of thedrug-store at the corner of Washington Street andCentral Avenue. He hadan internal question to settle before he entered the store: he wishedto allow the young man at the soda-fountain no excuse for saying,"Well,make up your mind what it's goin' to be, can't you?" Rudeness of thiskind, especially in the presence of girls and women, was hard to bear,and thoughWilliam Sylvanus Baxter had borne it upon occasion, hehad reached an age when he found it intolerable. Therefore, to avoidoffering opportunity for anything ofthe kind, he decided upon chocolateand strawberry, mixed, before approaching the fountain. Once there,however, and a large glass of these flavors and dilutedice-creamproving merely provocative, he said, languidly--an affectation, for hecould have disposed of half a dozen with gusto: "Well, now I'm here, Imight as wellgo one more. Fill 'er up again. Same."Emerging to the street, penniless, he bent a fascinated and dramaticgaze upon his reflection in the drug-store window, andthen, as heturned his back upon the alluring image, his expression altered toone of lofty and uncondescending amusement. That was his glance at thepassingpublic. From the heights, he seemed to bestow upon the worlda mysterious derision--for William Sylvanus Baxter was seventeen longyears of age, and hadlearned to present the appearance of one whopossesses inside information about life and knows all strangers and mostacquaintances to be of inferior caste,costume, and intelligence.He lingered upon the corner awhile, not pressed for time. Indeed, hefound many hours of these summer months heavy upon his hands,for he hadno important occupation, unless some intermittent dalliance with awork on geometry (anticipatory of the distant autumn) might be thoughtimportant,which is doubtful, since he usually went to sleep on theshady side porch at his home, with the book in his hand. So, havingnothing to call him elsewhere, helounged before the drug-store in theearly afternoon sunshine, watching the passing to and fro of the lowerorders and bourgeoisie of the middle-sized midland citywhich claimedhim (so to speak) for a native son.Apparently quite unembarrassed by his presence, they went about theirbusiness, and the only people who lookedat him with any attention werepedestrians of color. It is true that when the gaze of these fell uponhim it was instantly arrested, for no colored person could havepassedhim without a little pang of pleasure and of longing. Indeed, thetropical violence of William Sylvanus Baxter's tie and the strangebrilliancy of his hat mighthave made it positively unsafe for him towalk at night through the negro quarter of the town. And though no mancould have sworn to the color of that hat,whether it was blue or green,yet its color was a saner thing than its shape, which was blurred,tortured, and raffish; it might have been the miniature model ofavolcano that had blown off its cone and misbehaved disastrously on itslower slopes as well. He had the air of wearing it as a matter of courseand with carelessease, but that was only an air--it was the apple ofhis eye.For the rest, his costume was neutral, subordinate, and even a littleneglected in the matter of a detail ortwo: one pointed flap of his softcollar was held down by a button, but the other showed a frayed threadwhere the button once had been; his low patent-leathershoes were of aluster not solicitously cherished, and there could be no doubt that heneeded to get his hair cut, while something might have been done, too,aboutthe individualized hirsute prophecies which had made independentappearances, here and there, upon his chin. He examined these from timeto time by the senseof touch, passing his hand across his face andallowing his finger-tips a slight tapping motion wherever they detecteda prophecy.Thus he fell into a pleasantmusing and seemed to forget the crowdedstreet.IITHE UNKNOWNHe was roused by the bluff greeting of an acquaintance not dissimilar tohimself in age, manner,and apparel."H'lo, Silly Bill!" said this person, halting beside William SylvanusBaxter. "What's the news?"William showed no enthusiasm; on the contrary, a frownof annoyanceappeared upon his brow. The nickname "Silly Bill"--long ago compoundedby merry child-comrades from "William" and "Sylvanus"--was not tohistaste, especially in public, where he preferred to be addressed simplyand manfully as "Baxter." Any direct expression of resentment, however,was difficult,since it was plain that Johnnie Watson intended nooffense whatever and but spoke out of custom."Don't know any," William replied, coldly."Dull times, ain't it?"said Mr. Watson, a little depressed by hisfriend's manner. "I heard May Parcher was comin' back to town yesterday,though.""Well, let her!" returned William, stillsevere."They said she was goin' to bring a girl to visit her," Johnnie began ina confidential tone. "They said she was a reg'lar ringdinger and--""Well, what if sheis?" the discouraging Mr. Baxter interrupted. "Makeslittle difference to ME, I guess!""Oh no, it don't. YOU don't take any interest in girls! OH no!""No, I do not!"was the emphatic and heartless retort. "I never saw onein my life I'd care whether she lived or died!""Honest?" asked Johnnie, struck by the conviction with whichthis speechwas uttered. "Honest, is that so?""Yes, 'honest'!" William replied, sharply. "They could ALL die, _I_wouldn't notice!"Johnnie Watson was profoundlyimpressed. "Why, _I_ didn't know you feltthat way about 'em, Silly Bill. I always thought you were kind of--""Well, I do feel that way about 'em!" said WilliamSylvanus Baxter, and,outraged by the repetition of the offensive nickname, he began to moveaway. "You can tell 'em so for me, if you want to!" he added overhisshoulder. And he walked haughtily up the street, leaving Mr. Watson toponder upon this case of misogyny, never until that moment suspected.It was beyondthe power of his mind to grasp the fact that WilliamSylvanus Baxter's cruel words about "girls" had been uttered becauseWilliam was annoyed at being called"Silly Bill" in a public place, andhad not known how to object otherwise than by showing contempt for anytopic of conversation proposed by the offender. Thislatter, being ofa disposition to accept statements as facts, was warmly interested,instead of being hurt, and decided that here was something worth talkingabout,especially with representatives of the class so sweepinglyexcluded from the sympathies of Silly Bill.William, meanwhile, made his way toward the "residencesection" of thetown, and presently--with the passage of time found himself eased of hisannoyance. He walked in his own manner, using his shoulders toemphasizean effect of carelessness which he wished to produce upon observers. Forhis consciousness of observers was abnormal, since he had it whether anyonewas looking at him or not, and it reached a crucial stage wheneverhe perceived persons of his own age, but of opposite sex, approaching.A person of thisdescription was encountered upon the sidewalk within ahundred yards of his own home, and William Sylvanus Baxter saw her whileyet she was afar off. The quietand shady thoroughfare was empty of allhuman life, at the time, save for those two; and she was upon the sameside of the street that he was; thus it becameinevitable that theyshould meet, face to face, for the first time in their lives. Hehad perceived, even in the distance, that she was unknown to him, astranger,because he knew all the girls in this part of the town whodressed as famously in the mode as that! And then, as the distancebetween them lessened, he saw thatshe was ravishingly pretty; far, farprettier, indeed, than any girl he knew. At least it seemed so, for itis, unfortunately, much easier for strangers to be beautiful.Asidefrom this advantage of mystery, the approaching vision was piquant andgraceful enough to have reminded a much older boy of a spotless whitekitten, for, inspite of a charmingly managed demureness, there wasprecisely that kind of playfulness somewhere expressed about her. Justnow it was most definite in the lookshe bent upon the light and fluffyburden which she carried nestled in the inner curve of her right arm:a tiny dog with hair like cotton and a pink ribbon round hisneck--ananimal sated with indulgence and idiotically unaware of his privilege.He was half asleep!William did not see the dog, or it is the plain, anatomicaltruththat when he saw how pretty the girl was, his heart--his physicalheart--began to do things the like of which, experienced by an elderlyperson, would havebrought the doctor in haste. In addition, hiscomplexion altered--he broke out in fiery patches. He suffered frombreathlessness and from pressure on thediaphragm.Afterward, he could not have named the color of the little parasol shecarried in her left hand, and yet, as it drew nearer and nearer, a rosyhazesuffused the neighborhood, and the whole world began to turn anexquisite pink. Beneath this gentle glow, with eyes downcast in thought,she apparently took nonote of William, even when she and William hadcome within a few yards of each other. Yet he knew that she would lookup and that their eyes must meet--a thingfor which he endeavored toprepare himself by a strange weaving motion of his neck against thefriction of his collar--for thus, instinctively, he strove toobtaingreater ease and some decent appearance of manly indifference. He feltthat his efforts were a failure; that his agitation was ruinous andmust be perceptibleat a distance of miles, not feet. And then, inthe instant of panic that befell, when her dark-lashed eyelids slowlylifted, he had a flash of inspiration.He opened his


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RETURN OF THEJEDIbyLawrence Kasdan&George LucasFrom The NovelbyGeorge LucasThird DraftProperty of Lucasfilm Ltd.Completion Date December1, 19811    SPACE                                                           The boundless heavens serve as a back-drop for the MAIN TITLE, followed by a ROLL-UP,which crawls into infinity.Episode VIRETURN OF THE JEDILuke Skywalker has returned to his home planet of Tatooine in an attempt to rescue his friendHan Solo from the clutches of theÊvile gangster Jabba the Hutt. Little does Luke know that the GALACTIC EMPIRE has secretly begun construction on a newarmored space station even more powerful than the first dreaded Death Star. When completed, this ultimate weapon will spell certain doom for the small band ofRebels struggling to restore freedom to the galaxy...PAN DOWN to reveal a monstrous half-completed Death Star, its massive superstructure curling away fromthe completed section like the arms of a giant octopus. Beyond, in benevolent contrast, floats the small, green moon of ENDOR.An Imperial Star Destroyer movesoverhead toward the massive armored space station, followed by two zipping TIE fighters. A small Imperial shuttle rockets from the main bay of the ship andhustles toward the Death Star.2    INT IMPERIAL SHUTTLE - COCKPIT The shuttle captain makes contact with the Death Star.SHUTTLECAPTAINCommand station, this is ST 321. Code Clearance Blue. We're starting our approach. Deactivate the security shield.DEATH STAR CONTROLLER


   <title>"Beloved," early draft, by Richard LaGravenese</title>
                               BELOVED                              Screenplay                                  by                          Richard LaGravenese                         Based on the Novel by                             ToniMorrison     HARPO FILMS     345 N. Maple Drive     Beverly Hills, CA 90210     (310) 278-5559 - O     (310) 278-6110 - F                           October 11,1996     FADE IN...     EXT. 124 BLUESTONE ROAD - DAWN.     It is winter in Ohio. A house sits isolated beside a barren     field. The field stretches beyond, untila line of distant     woods stops it. Around the back of the house stands a rundown     STORAGE SHED, a cold house, a privy and a water pump. A porch     with asingle door serves as the only entrance.     Camera begins a slow move toward the house as we;     SUPER - OHIO, 1865     WE HEAR SOUNDS frominside the house - BUMPS, A CHAIR FALLING     OVER...and FEET RUNNING on wooden floor boards.                                                            CUT TO:     INT.124 BLUESTONE ROAD - DAWN.     C.U. - THE HANDS OF TWO BROTHERS HOLDING EACH OTHER AS THEY     RUN DOWN THE STAIRS..     BULGAR (13 yrs. old)and HOWARD (14 yrs. old) run down the     steps from the second floor. They are fully dressed, carrying     a small bag ofbelongings.                         HOWARD               We gonna need food. Wait here.     Bulgar reluctantly lets go of Howard's hand as the latter     runs into thekitchen. Alone, he edges towards the front     door, when suddenly;     THE DOOR SLOWLY CREAKS OPEN on it's own. Scared, he steps     away slowly.     INT.KITCHEN - DAWN.     Howard is trying to toss some food into a bag. He spots A     CAKE sitting on top the wooden table, with some pieces     already eaten. Hefinds a knife and approaches the table.     He is about to cut into the cake when he sees TWO TINY HAND     PRINTS appear on the cake's surface. Howard stopscold -     dropping the knife.     INT. FRONT ENTRANCE - DAWN.     Howard exits the kitchen and takes Bulgar's hand;                         HOWARD               Comeon!                         DENVER (OS)               Bul?     The boys look up the stairs and see their baby sister, nine     year oldDENVER.                         DENVER               Where you goin?     The brothers are brokenhearted at the sight of her. They love     their sister. But there arestronger forces here.     A MIRROR on a wall beside Howard cracks down the middle.                         HOWARD               We gotta go!     Bulgar looks up toDenver. They exchange a look of deep     affection and pained longing. He wants to take her.                         HOWARD               Bye, Denver. You takecare.                         DENVER               Bye? Bul?     Bulgar is starting to cry. He rushes up the steps and hugs     his sister. He kisses her hard then breaksaway. Denver's     outstretched hand misses his shirt and hangs mid-air.                         DENVER               No..Bul...     Bulgar flies down the steps anddisappears out of the house     holding Howard's hand once more.     Denver sits alone at the top of the stairs.  She sadly looks     up and weeps, as if to thehouse itself:                         DENVER               Now what you go and do that for?     EXT. ROAD TO THE TRAIN - DAWN.     THE VOICE OF SETHE HUMMING AMELODY carries over the images     of:     The two boys running for their lives towards the train,     holding hands all the way.  Howard is the first to reachit.     As it passes by, he throws his bag upon it and jumps in.     Bulgar races beside it as Howard reaches for him.     C.U. - HOWARD'S HAND reaching forBULGAR's...They connect.     WIDE SHOT - The boys are on the train as it leaves town.     On it's route, the train passes a ramshackle GRAVEYARD.     CAMERAMOVES SLOWLY INTO THE GRAVEYARD until it reaches A     HEADSTONE, made with flecked pink stone. Upon the headstone     is only oneword:     BELOVED.     EXT. 124 BLUESTONE RD. - CONTINUOUS.     Camera moves slowly towards the side exterior of 124, into a     Close-Up of aWOMAN looking out of a second floor bedroom     window. It is SETHE, mother of the two boys and Denver. She     hums her melody, softly, sadly, with aresigned understanding     of why her boys are running away...and a deep pain that is     too constant to notice.                                                          FADEOUT;     FADE IN:     INT. 124 - BABY SUGGS BEDROOM - LATER THAT DAY.     BABY SUGGS, grandmother and mother-in-law to Sethe, sits in     her bedfondling colored fabric of BRIGHT GREEN..It is the     only vibrant color in an otherwise drab surrounding. Suggs is     bed-ridden, exhausted to her bones - herface a mosaic of     suffering and sacrifice and tested faith.                         BABY SUGGS               Ya know what I'd love to see? I loved to               see mesome lavender. You got any               lavender? Or even pink - pink'll do.     Sethe is placing folded laundry into a dresser. She stops and     checks her pocketsfor rags or swatches...She looks around     the room..                         SETHE               No. Sorry.                         BABY SUGGS               Ah, winter in Ohio isespecially rough if               you've got an appetite for color.     Suggs goes back to contemplating her green until;                         SETHE (OS)               Ohwait...     Suggs looks up to see Sethe sticking her pink tongue out at     her. Suggs smiles.                         BABY SUGGS               Oh, that's fine. Fine.     Sethelets out a small laugh. She walks toward the window,     stretching her body. Her expression changes as she thinks of     her boys. Baby Suggs reads her like abook.                         BABY SUGGS               They'll be all right. I'm surprised they               lasted here this long.                         SETHE               I don'tknow. Maybe we should have moved.                         BABY SUGGS               What'd be the point? Not a house in the               country ain't packed to therafters with               some dead Negro's grief. We lucky our               ghost is a baby. My husband spirit come               back? Or yours? Don't talk to me!Ha..You               lucky. You got one child left, still               pullin at your skirts. Be thankful. I had               eight. Eight with six fathers. Every one               ofthem gone from me. Four taken, four               chased and all, I expect, worrying               somebody's house into evil. My first born               - alls I canremember of her now is how               she loved the burned bottom of bread. Her               little hands..I wouldn't know'em if they               slapped me. Canyou beat that? Eight               children and that's all I remember.                                        SETHE                    (returning to her work)               You rememberHalle.                         BABY SUGGS               Oh, I remember bits and pieces of all               of'em I guess..Halle, of course..I had               Halle a lifetime.Almost twenty years...               My two girls, sold and gone before I               could even a heard about it, and them               without their grown up teeth yet.My               third child, my son after Halle...I let               that straw boss have me for four months               so's I could keep that boy. Next year,he               had him traded for lumber anyway and me               pregnant with his child. I couldn't love               that child. I wouldn't. Not any ofthe               rest either. God take what He               would....and He did...                         SETHE               The boys wouldn't have left if Hallewere               here.                         BABY SUGGS               Those boys didn't even know him. You had               six whole years of marriage to myHalle               Fathered every one of your children. A               blessing. I learned hard that a man's               just a man, but a son likethat...like               Halle..now that's somebody.     Sethe's mixed feelings show all over her face. Although she     loved Halle, there is clearly somethingunresolved in her.                         SETHE               Just got a few more things to do, then               I'll start supper.     Sethe exits.     EXT. 124 BLUESTONE RD.- LATE DAY.     Denver is playing in the front yard by herself.     Sethe is pumping water into a bucket for clothes washing. A     gentle breeze carries a LEAF intothe bucket. Sethe sees it     floating atop the water for a moment, then picks it up.     C.U. of SETHE as the image triggers a feeling - and the     feeling a memory- from long ago.     Sethe looks around her and finds she is no longer standing in     the barren field of 124...but rather-     MEMORY;     EXT. SWEET HOME -LATE DAY.     A stunning vista of the plantation SWEET HOME - sun beating     down on groves and rows of gorgeous sycamores for as far as     the eye can see.Sethe's figure dwarfed by the majestic     landscape.     Sethe looks frightened. Her breathing grows shallow. She     hears something;     THE SOUND OF AWAGON'S WHEELS - rolling over a road, growing     louder, coming towards her                                                          INTERCUT;     C.U. OF A WAGON WHEELMOVING RAPIDLY ON A ROAD. CAMERA PANS     UP TO THE MAN DRIVING THE WAGON - A STERN WHITE MAN WEARING A     DISTINCTIVE HAT...     SETHETURNS away from the sycamores towards the road to see;     END OF MEMORY;     EXT. 124 BLUESTONE - LATE DAY.     A MAN driving a horse and wagon withtwo children in the     back, coming up Bluestone Road. He wears no hat.     Sethe breathes easily. She looks around her -the reality of     124's barren field hasreturned. The memory of Sweet Home's     sycamores have vanished.     Denver is playing near the road. As the wagon nears 124,     Denver looks up andsmiles. The Man whips the horse hard so     as to ride past the house faster. The children stare at     Denver and 124, with horror and curiosity.     The stares ofthe children destroy Denver's smile. She     watches them go, then turns to hide her upset and sees her     mother watching her.     Sethe looks to Denver withempathy and impotence: wanting to     ease her daughter's pain and knowing full well she cannot.     Hurt and angry, Denver runs past Sethe, towards thewoods.     EXT. WOODS - LATE DAY.     Denver runs with a purpose, knowing exactly where she is     going.     She reaches FIVE BOXWOOD BUSHES planted in aring. The tall     bushes stretch toward each other four feet off the ground,     forming a round, emerald room in the center, seven feet high,     with walls fiftyinches thick of murmuring leaves.     This is Denver's private place. She bends low and crawls     through the leaves into the center. Once there, thislonely     child wipes away her tears and tries to pull herself     together. She lays her face against the cool earth.     INT. 124 BLUESTONE RD. -NIGHT.     Denver walks to her room in her night dress. She passes the     opened door of her mother's bedroom and peeks in:     INT. SETHE'S BEDROOM -NIGHT.     Sethe kneeling by her bed, as if praying...     Beside Sethe, A WHITE DRESS KNEELS as well, with it's sleeve     around Sethe's waist. Like two friendlygrown-up women,     comforting each other in prayer.     Denver tip toes away.     INT. DENVER'S ROOM - NIGHT.     Sethe enters to check on Denver, whom she


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mystery of a Hansom Cab, by Fergus HumeThis 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 Mystery of a Hansom CabAuthor: Fergus HumePosting Date: July 2, 2009 [EBook #4223]Release Date: July, 2003First Posted:December 8, 2001Last updated: February 28, 2013Last updated: June 8, 2013Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERYOF A HANSOM CAB ***Produced by Col Choat.  HTML version by Al Haines.The Mystery of a Hansom CabbyFergus HumeCONTENTS      I.  WHAT THE ARGUSSAID.     II.  THE EVIDENCE AT THE INQUEST.    III.  ONE HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD.     IV.  MR. GORBY MAKES A START.      V.  MRS. HAMILTON UNBOSOMSHERSELF.     VI.  MR. GORBY MAKES FURTHER DISCOVERIES.    VII.  THE WOOL KING.   VIII.  BRIAN TAKES A WALK AND A DRIVE.     IX.  MR. GORBY ISSATISFIED AT LAST.      X.  IN THE QUEEN'S NAME.     XI.  COUNSEL FOR THE PRISONER.    XII.  SHE WAS A TRUE WOMAN.   XIII.  MADGE MAKES ADISCOVERY.    XIV.  ANOTHER RICHMOND IN THE FIELD.     XV.  A WOMAN OF THE PEOPLE.    XVI.  MISSING.   XVII.  THE TRIAL.  XVIII.  SAL RAWLINS TELLSALL SHE KNOWS.    XIX.  THE VERDICT OF THE JURY.     XX.  THE "ARGUS" GIVES ITS OPINION.    XXI.  THREE MONTHS AFTERWARDS.   XXII.  A DAUGHTER OFEVE.  XXIII.  ACROSS THE WALNUTS AND THE WINE.   XXIV.  BRIAN RECEIVES A LETTER.    XXV.  WHAT DR. CHINSTON SAID.   XXVI.  KILSIP HAS A THEORYOF HIS OWN.  XXVII.  MOTHER GUTTERSNIPE JOINS THE MAJORITY. XXVIII.  MARK FRETTLBY HAS A VISITOR.   XXIX.  MR. CALTON'S CURIOSITY ISSATISFIED.    XXX.  NEMESIS.   XXXI.  HUSH-MONEY.  XXXII.  DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM. XXXIII.  THE CONFESSION.  XXXIV.  THE HANDS OFJUSTICE.   XXXV.  "THE LOVE THAT LIVES."PREFACEIn its original form, "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" has reached thesale of 375,000 copies in this country,and some few editions in theUnited States of America. Notwithstanding this, the present publishershave the best of reasons for believing, that there arethousands ofpersons whom the book has never reached. The causes of this havedoubtless been many, but chief among them was the form of thepublication itself.It is for this section of the public chiefly thatthe present edition is issued. In placing it before my new readers, Ihave been asked by the publishers thoroughly torevise the work, and,at the same time, to set at rest the many conflicting reportsconcerning it and myself, which have been current since its initialissue. The firstof these requests I have complied with, and the manytypographic, and other errors, which disfigured the first edition,have, I think I can safely say, nowdisappeared. The second request Iam about to fulfil; but, in order to do so, I must ask my readers to goback with me to the beginning of all things, so far as thisspecialbook is concerned.The writing of the book was due more to accident than to design. I wasbent on becoming a dramatist, but, being quite unknown, I founditimpossible to induce the managers of the Melbourne Theatres to accept,or even to read a play. At length it occurred to me I might further mypurpose by writinga novel. I should at all events secure a certainamount of local attention. Up to that time I had written only one ortwo short stories, and the "Cab" was not only thefirst book I everpublished, but the first book I ever wrote; so to youth and lack ofexperience must be ascribed whatever was wanting in the book. I repeatthat thestory was written only to attract local attention, and no onewas more astonished than I when it passed beyond the narrow circle forwhich it had originally beenintended.My mind made up on this point, I enquired of a leading Melbournebookseller what style of book he sold most of. He replied that thedetective stories ofGaboriau had a large sale; and as, at this time, Ihad never even heard of this author, I bought all his works--eleven orthereabouts--and read them carefully. Thestyle of these storiesattracted me, and I determined to write a book of the same class;containing a mystery, a murder, and a description of low life inMelbourne.This was the origin of the "Cab." The central idea i.e. themurder in a cab--came to me while driving at a late hour to St. Kilda,a suburb of Melbourne; but it tooksome time and much thought to workit out to a logical conclusion. I was two months sketching out theskeleton of the novel, but even so, when I had written it,the resultproved unsatisfactory, for I found I had not sufficiently wellconcealed the mystery upon which the whole interest of the bookdepended. In the first draftI made Frettlby the criminal, but onreading over the M.S. I found that his guilt was so obvious that Iwrote out the story for a second time, introducing thecharacter ofMoreland as a scape-goat. Mother Guttersnipe I unearthed in the slumsoff Little Bourke Street; and I gave what I am afraid was perhaps toovivid apicture of her language and personality. These I have toneddown in the present edition. Calton and the two lodging-house keeperswere actual personages whom Iknew very well, and I do not think I haveexaggerated their idiosyncracies, although many have, I believe,doubted the existence of such oddities. All the scenes inthe book,especially the slums, are described from personal observation; and Ipassed a great many nights in Little Bourke Street, gathering material.Havingcompleted the book, I tried to get it published, but every oneto whom I offered it refused even to look at the manuscript on theground that no Colonial could writeanything worth reading. They gaveno reason for this extraordinary opinion, but it was sufficient forthem, and they laughed to scorn the idea that any good couldcome outof Nazareth--i.e., the Colonies. The story thus being boycotted on allhands, I determined to publish it myself, and accordingly an editionof, I think, somefive thousand copies was brought out at my own cost.Contrary to the expectations of the publishers, and I must add to myown, the whole edition went off inthree weeks, and the public demandeda second. This also sold rapidly, and after some months, proposals weremade to me that the book should be brought out inLondon. Later on Iparted with the book to several speculators, who formed themselves intowhat they called "The Hansom Cab Publishing Company." Taking thebookto London, they published it there with great success, and it had aphenomenal sale, which brought in a large sum of money. The successwas, in the firstinstance, due, in no small degree, to a very kind andgenerous criticism written by Mr. Clement Scott. I may here state thatI had nothing to do with the Company,nor did I receive any money forthe English sale of the book beyond what I sold it for; and, as amatter of fact, I did not arrive in England until a year afterthenovel was published. I have heard it declared that the plot is foundedon a real criminal case; but such a statement is utterly withoutfoundation, as the story ispure fiction from beginning to end. Severalpeople before and since my arrival in England, have assumed theauthorship of the book to themselves; and onegentleman went so far asto declare that he would shoot me if I claimed to have written it. I amglad to say that up to the present he has not carried outhisintention. Another individual had his cards printed, "Fergus Hume.Author of 'The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,'" and also added the price forwhich he wasprepared to write a similar book. Many of the papers putthis last piece of eccentricity down to my account.I may state in conclusion, that I belong to New Zealand,and not toAustralia, that I am a barrister, and not a retired policeman, that Iam yet two decades off fifty years of age, that Fergus Hume is my realname, and nota nom-de-plume; and finally, that far from making afortune out of the book, all I received for the English and Americanrights, previous to the issue of this RevisedEdition by my presentpublishers, was the sum of fifty pounds. With this I take my leave, andI trust that the present edition may prove as successful as didthefirst.CHAPTER I.WHAT THE ARGUS SAID.The following report appeared in the Argus newspaper of Saturday, the28th July, 18--"Truth is said to be strangerthan fiction, and certainly theextraordinary murder which took place in Melbourne on Thursday night,or rather Friday morning, goes a long way towards verifyingthissaying. A crime has been committed by an unknown assassin, within ashort distance of the principal streets of this great city, and issurrounded by aninpenetrable mystery. Indeed, from the nature of thecrime itself, the place where it was committed, and the fact that theassassin has escaped without leaving atrace behind him, it would seemas though the case itself had been taken bodily from one of Gaboreau'snovels, and that his famous detective Lecoq alone wouldbe able tounravel it. The facts of the case are simply these:--"On the twenty-seventh day of July, at the hour of twenty minutes totwo o'clock in the morning, ahansom cab drove up to the police stationin Grey Street, St. Kilda, and the driver made the startling statementthat his cab contained the body of a man who hehad reason to believehad been murdered. Being taken into the presence of the inspector, thecabman, who gave his name as Malcolm Royston, related thefollowingstrange story:--"At the hour of one o'clock in the morning, he was driving down CollinsStreet East, when, as he was passing the Burke and Wills'monument, hewas hailed by a gentleman standing at the corner by the Scotch Church.He immediately drove up, and saw that the gentleman who hailed himwassupporting the deceased, who appeared to be intoxicated. Both were inevening dress, but the deceased had on no overcoat, while the otherwore a shortcovert coat of a light fawn colour, which was open. AsRoyston drove up, the gentleman in the light coat said, 'Look here,cabby, here's some fellow awfully tight,you'd better take him home!'"Royston then asked him if the drunken man was his friend, but this theother denied, saying that he had just picked him up from thefootpath,and did not know him from Adam. At this moment the deceased turned hisface up to the light of the lamp under which both were standing, andthe otherseemed to recognise him, for he recoiled a pace, letting thedrunken man fall in a heap on the pavement, and gasping out 'You?' heturned on his heel, and walkedrapidly away down Russell Street in thedirection of Bourke Street."Royston was staring after him, and wondering at his strange conduct,when he was recalled tohimself by the voice of the deceased, who hadstruggled to his feet, and was holding on to the lamp-post, swaying toand fro. 'I wan' g'ome,' he said in a thickvoice, 'St. Kilda.' He thentried to get into the cab, but was too drunk to do so, and finally satdown again on the pavement. Seeing this, Royston got down, andliftinghim up, helped him into the cab with some considerable difficulty. Thedeceased fell back into the cab, and seemed to drop off to sleep; so,after closing thedoor, Royston turned to remount his driving-seat,when he found the gentleman in the light coat whom he had seen holdingup the deceased, close to his elbow.


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                              REMEMBER ME                              Writtenby                     William Fetters & Jenny Lumet                                           Revised April16th, 20091   EXT. SMITH STREET STATION -- BROOKLYN -- NIGHT                 1    It's very late. It's quiet. Just thesounds of The City    LINDA SANTANA CRAIG, an attractive Hispanic woman in her    thirties, waits at the ELEVATED STATION for the Ftrain.    Linda looks great. She's dressed festively but tastefully.    Next to her is her eleven year old DAUGHTER, ALICIA. She is    twirling about theplatform, still jazzed from the birthday    party they attended in The City.    Alicia wears a black dress with a pink cardigan and has a pink    handbag.We notice a CHARM BRACELET with four-leaf clovers on    her right wrist.    The mother and daughter wait alone at one end of thestation    platform.    TWO TEENAGE BOYS wait at the other end. They speak soft,    SLURRED SPANISH to each other.    Linda gives the boysa glance and evaluates. She watches them    as Alicia spits a wad of gum into her mom's open hand.    The Boys approach. Linda tenses. At the lastsecond the boys    make a hard left turn and disappear down the stairwell. It's    quiet again. Linda relaxes, smiles at her daughter. The F    TRAIN is rounding thefinal bend into the station.    Their focus is on this train. It's getting closer, louder.    And so they don't see, don't hear the Boys coming back


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                                       "BRAVEHEART"                                            by                                     RandallWallace                                       Early Draft                               FADE IN:               EXT. THE SCOTTISH COUNTRYSIDE -DAY               Epic beauty: cobalt mountains beneath a glowering purple sky                fringed with pink, as if the clouds were a lid too smallfor                the earth; a cascading landscape of boulders shrouded in                deep green grass; and the blue lochs, reflecting the sky. We                hear avoice, husky, Scottish...                                     VOICE OVER                         I will tell you of William Wallace.               EXT. MACANDREWSFARM - DAY               A farmhouse and a large barn lie nestled in a Scottish valley.                Riding down the roads that lead in from opposite sidesare                Scottish noblemen in full regalia: eye-popping tartans,                sparkling chestplates. Even the horses are draped in scarlet.                Behindeach nobleman rides a single page boy.                                     VOICE OVER                         Historians from England will say I                          am aliar. But history is written by                          those who have hung heroes.               Another noble rides in from the opposite side. Two moreappear                down the road, converging on the barn.                                     VOICE OVER                         The King of Scotland had diedwithout                          a son, and the king of England, a                          cruel pagan known as Edward the                          Longshanks, claimed the throne


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                 THE PERKSOF BEING a WALLFLOWER                            Written by                          Stephen Chbosky    Final Draft    FADE IN:1   EXT. TUNNEL -NIGHT                                             1    The titles begin over black. We hear the sound of an old    typewriter. Someone reaching out to us. The belldings,    announcing the end of a line, and we see our title...    THE PERKS OF BEING A WALLFLOWER    Music begins, picture fades up, and we are inthe city.    Downtown Pittsburgh. Looking out of the back window like a    child in the back of a station wagon.    We see lights on buildings and everything thatmakes us    wonder. We see the bridge. And the river below. And then    we enter...    The Tunnel.    We keep moving backwards, watching the lights.Golden,    alive, and hypnotic. The music carries us as we float out of    the tunnel. Onto another bridge. And over the highway.    We move into the night sky,back through the trees, through a    window, and into...2   INT. CHARLIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT                                  2    It is a neat and tidy littleroom. Few posters or books.    CHARLIE is 15. He is innocent, hopeful, awkward, and likable    to everyone but his classmates. He sits at his desk, writing    aletter in pencil as he tapes the title song through the    radio on his cassette boom box.                         CHARLIE (V.O.)               Dear Friend, I amwriting to you because               she said you listen and understand and               didn't try to sleep with that person at               that party even though you


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Desperate Remedies, by Thomas HardyThis 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: Desperate RemediesAuthor: Thomas HardyRelease Date: November 2000 [EBook #3044]Posting Date: May 25, 2009 Language:English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DESPERATE REMEDIES ***Produced by Les BowlerDESPERATE REMEDIESBy ThomasHardyCONTENTSPREFATORY NOTE     I.     THE EVENTS OF THIRTY YEARS     II.    THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT     III.   THE EVENTS OF EIGHTDAYS     IV.    THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY     V.     THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY     VI.    THE EVENTS OF TWELVE HOURS     VII.   THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEENDAYS     VIII.  THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN DAYS     IX.    THE EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS     X.     THE EVENTS OF A DAY AND NIGHT     XI.    THE EVENTS OF FIVEDAYS     XII.   THE EVENTS OF TEN MONTHS     XIII.  THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY     XIV.   THE EVENTS OF FIVE WEEKS     XV.    THE EVENTS OF THREEWEEKS     XVI.   THE EVENTS OF ONE WEEK     XVII.  THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY     XVIII. THE EVENTS OF THREE DAYS     XIX.   THE EVENTS OF A DAY ANDNIGHT     XX.    THE EVENTS OF THREE HOURS     XXI.   THE EVENTS OF EIGHTEEN HOURS            SEQUELPREFATORY NOTEThe following story, the firstpublished by the author, was writtennineteen years ago, at a time when he was feeling his way to amethod. The principles observed in its composition are, nodoubt, tooexclusively those in which mystery, entanglement, surprise, and moralobliquity are depended on for exciting interest; but some of the scenes,and atleast one of the characters, have been deemed not unworthy of alittle longer preservation; and as they could hardly be reproduced in afragmentary form thenovel is reissued complete--the more readily thatit has for some considerable time been reprinted and widely circulatedin America. January 1889.To the foregoingnote I have only to add that, in the present edition of'Desperate Remedies,' some Wessex towns and other places that are commonto the scenes of several ofthese stories have been called for thefirst time by the names under which they appear elsewhere, for thesatisfaction of any reader who may care for consistencyin such matters.This is the only material change; for, as it happened that certaincharacteristics which provoked most discussion in my latest story werepresent inthis my first--published in 1871, when there was no Frenchname for them it has seemed best to let them stand unaltered.T.H. February 1896.I. THE EVENTS OFTHIRTY YEARS1. DECEMBER AND JANUARY, 1835-36In the long and intricately inwrought chain of circumstance whichrenders worthy of record some experiencesof Cytherea Graye, EdwardSpringrove, and others, the first event directly influencing the issuewas a Christmas visit.In the above-mentioned year, 1835, AmbroseGraye, a young architect whohad just begun the practice of his profession in the midland town ofHocbridge, to the north of Christminster, went to London tospend theChristmas holidays with a friend who lived in Bloomsbury. They hadgone up to Cambridge in the same year, and, after graduating together,Huntway,the friend, had taken orders.Graye was handsome, frank, and gentle. He had a quality of thoughtwhich, exercised on homeliness, was humour; on nature,picturesqueness;on abstractions, poetry. Being, as a rule, broadcast, it was all three.Of the wickedness of the world he was too forgetful. To discover evil ina newfriend is to most people only an additional experience: to him itwas ever a surprise.While in London he became acquainted with a retired officer in theNavy namedBradleigh, who, with his wife and their daughter, lived ina street not far from Russell Square. Though they were in no more thancomfortable circumstances, thecaptain's wife came of an ancient familywhose genealogical tree was interlaced with some of the most illustriousand well-known in the kingdom.The young lady,their daughter, seemed to Graye by far the mostbeautiful and queenly being he had ever beheld. She was about nineteenor twenty, and her name was Cytherea.In truth she was not so veryunlike country girls of that type of beauty, except in one respect.She was perfect in her manner and bearing, and they were not. Ameredistinguishing peculiarity, by catching the eye, is often read asthe pervading characteristic, and she appeared to him no less thanperfectionthroughout--transcending her rural rivals in very nature.Graye did a thing the blissfulness of which was only eclipsed by itshazardousness. He loved her at firstsight.His introductions had led him into contact with Cytherea and her parentstwo or three times on the first week of his arrival in London, andaccident and alover's contrivance brought them together as frequentlythe week following. The parents liked young Graye, and having fewfriends (for their equals in blood weretheir superiors in position), hewas received on very generous terms. His passion for Cytherea grew notonly strong, but ineffably exalted: she, without positivelyencouraginghim, tacitly assented to his schemes for being near her. Her father andmother seemed to have lost all confidence in nobility of birth, withoutmoney togive effect to its presence, and looked upon the buddingconsequence of the young people's reciprocal glances with placidity, ifnot actual favour.Graye's wholeimpassioned dream terminated in a sad and unaccountableepisode. After passing through three weeks of sweet experience, he hadarrived at the last stage--akind of moral Gaza--before plunging into anemotional desert. The second week in January had come round, and it wasnecessary for the young architect to leavetown.Throughout his acquaintanceship with the lady of his heart there hadbeen this marked peculiarity in her love: she had delighted in hispresence as asweetheart should do, yet from first to last she hadrepressed all recognition of the true nature of the thread whichdrew them together, blinding herself to itsmeaning and only naturaltendency, and appearing to dread his announcement of them. The presentseemed enough for her without cumulative hope: usually,even if love isin itself an end, it must be regarded as a beginning to be enjoyed.In spite of evasions as an obstacle, and in consequence of them as aspur, hewould put the matter off no longer. It was evening. He tookher into a little conservatory on the landing, and there among theevergreens, by the light of a few tinylamps, infinitely enhancing thefreshness and beauty of the leaves, he made the declaration of a love asfresh and beautiful as they.'My love--my darling, be mywife!'She seemed like one just awakened. 'Ah--we must part now!' she faltered,in a voice of anguish. 'I will write to you.' She loosened her hand andrushedaway.In a wild fever Graye went home and watched for the next morning. Whoshall express his misery and wonder when a note containing these wordswas putinto his hand?'Good-bye; good-bye for ever. As recognized lovers something divides useternally. Forgive me--I should have told you before; but your lovewassweet! Never mention me.'That very day, and as it seemed, to put an end to a painful condition ofthings, daughter and parents left London to pay off apromised visit toa relative in a western county. No message or letter of entreaty couldwring from her any explanation. She begged him not to follow her, andthemost bewildering point was that her father and mother appeared, fromthe tone of a letter Graye received from them, as vexed and sad as heat this suddenrenunciation. One thing was plain: without admitting herreason as valid, they knew what that reason was, and did not intend toreveal it.A week from that dayAmbrose Graye left his friend Huntway's houseand saw no more of the Love he mourned. From time to time his friendanswered any inquiry Graye made by letterrespecting her. But very poorfood to a lover is intelligence of a mistress filtered through a friend.Huntway could tell nothing definitely. He said he believed therehadbeen some prior flirtation between Cytherea and her cousin, an officerof the line, two or three years before Graye met her, which had suddenlybeenterminated by the cousin's departure for India, and the younglady's travelling on the Continent with her parents the whole of theensuing summer, on account ofdelicate health. Eventually Huntway saidthat circumstances had rendered Graye's attachment more hopeless still.Cytherea's mother had unexpectedly inherited alarge fortune and estatesin the west of England by the rapid fall of some intervening lives. Thishad caused their removal from the small house in Bloomsbury,and, as itappeared, a renunciation of their old friends in that quarter.Young Graye concluded that his Cytherea had forgotten him and his love.But he could notforget her.2. FROM 1843 TO 1861Eight years later, feeling lonely and depressed--a man withoutrelatives, with many acquaintances but no friends--AmbroseGraye meta young lady of a different kind, fairly endowed with money and goodgifts. As to caring very deeply for another woman after the loss ofCytherea, it wasan absolute impossibility with him. With all, thebeautiful things of the earth become more dear as they elude pursuit;but with some natures utter elusion is theone special event which willmake a passing love permanent for ever.This second young lady and Graye were married. That he did not, firstor last, love his wife ashe should have done, was known to all; butfew knew that his unmanageable heart could never be weaned from uselessrepining at the loss of its first idol.Hischaracter to some extent deteriorated, as emotional constitutionswill under the long sense of disappointment at having missed theirimagined destiny. And thus,though naturally of a gentle and pleasantdisposition, he grew to be not so tenderly regarded by his acquaintancesas it is the lot of some of those persons to be.The winning andsanguine receptivity of his early life developed by degrees a moodynervousness, and when not picturing prospects drawn from baseless hopehewas the victim of indescribable depression. The practical issue ofsuch a condition was improvidence, originally almost an unconsciousimprovidence, for every debtincurred had been mentally paid off with areligious exactness from the treasures of expectation before mentioned.But as years revolved, the same course wascontinued from the lack ofspirit sufficient for shifting out of an old groove when it has beenfound to lead to disaster.In the year 1861 his wife died, leaving him awidower with two children.The elder, a son named Owen, now just turned seventeen, was taken fromschool, and initiated as pupil to the profession of architect inhisfather's office. The remaining child was a daughter, and Owen's juniorby a year.Her christian name was Cytherea, and it is easy to guess why.3. OCTOBER THETWELFTH, 1863We pass over two years in order to reach the next cardinal event ofthese persons' lives. The scene is still the Grayes' native town ofHocbridge, butas it appeared on a Monday afternoon in the month ofOctober.The weather was sunny and dry, but the ancient borough was to be seenwearing one of its least


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                                   MEN IN BLACK 3                                      Written by                           Etan Cohen & LowellCunningham          CLOSE ON A PAIR OF MIRROR AVIATOR SUNGLASSES          Standard issue throughout the south to abusive, racistprison          guards.          Widen to reveal that, indeed, these glasses are on the          sneering face of just such a man.          We follow theguard          DOWN A DINGY PRISON HALLWAY          Paint peeling off the rusty bars. Somewhere, someone is          playing harmonica. Prisoners yellcomplaints as he passes.          He meets them all with--                         GUARD          Shut up, convict! Get yer hands          off the bars!          Theguard passes through several levels of security doors,          deeper and deeper into the more secure bowels of the prison --          home of the scum of thescum.          Meanwhile...          PRISON VISITING ROOM          The lazy-ass guards in charge of screening visitors read          magazines, watch TV.Footsteps -- someone's here. Which          pisses them off, because that means they actually have to do          their jobs.          The unseen visitor buzzes forhelp. They take their time          getting off their asses. When they finally look up, their          gaze becomes a leer. Follow it to:          DEVIL GIRL, the visitor.Too tall, too muscled, but hot if          you're into that kind of thing -- an R. Crumb drawing come to          life.          She holds a CAKE -- the cutest,perfectly-frosted pink cake          right off the cover of the Betty Crocker cookbook.                         GUARD 2          Lookie here. Yaz's visitor.