context
stringlengths 2.01k
7.08k
| word
stringlengths 4
13
| claim
stringlengths 55
64
| label
int64 0
11
|
|---|---|---|---|
shook his head. "No time for balls," said he.
"I can get you an invitation, if you like," said Denry, glancing at the
door precisely as he had glanced at the door before adding 2 to 7.
"Oh!" Shillitoe cocked his ears. He was not a native of the town, and
had no alderman to protect his legitimate interests.
To cut a shameful story short, in a week Denry was being tried on.
Shillitoe allowed him two years' credit.
The prospect of the ball gave an immense impetus to the study of the art
of dancing in Bursley, and so put quite a nice sum of money info the
pocket of Miss Earp, a young mistress in that art. She was the daughter
of a furniture dealer with a passion for the Bankruptcy Court. Miss
Earp's evening classes were attended by Denry, but none of his money
went into her pocket. She was compensated by an expression of the
Countess's desire for the pleasure of her company at the ball.
The Countess had aroused Denry's interest in women as a sex; Ruth Earp
quickened the interest. She was plain, but she was only twenty-four, and
very graceful on her feet. Denry had one or two strictly private lessons
from her in reversing. She said to him one evening, when he was
practising reversing and they were entwined in the attitude prescribed
by the latest fashion: "Never mind me! Think about yourself. It's the
same in dancing as it is in life--the woman's duty is to adapt herself
to the man." He did think about himself. He was thinking about himself
in the middle of the night, and about her too. There had been something
in her tone... her eye... At the final lesson he inquired if she would
give him the first waltz at the ball. She paused, then said yes.
V
On the evening of the ball, Denry spent at least two hours in the
operation which was necessary before he could give the Countess the
pleasure of his company. This operation took place in his minute bedroom
at the back of the cottage in Brougham Street, and it was of a complex
nature. Three weeks ago he had innocently thought that you had only to
order a dress-suit and there you were! He now knew that a dress-suit is
merely the beginning of anxiety. Shirt! Collar! Tie! Studs! Cuff-links!
Gloves! Handkerchief! (He was very glad to learn authoritatively from
Shillitoe that handkerchiefs were no longer worn in the waistcoat
opening, and that men who so wore them were barbarians and the truth was
not in them. Thus, an everyday handkerchief would do.) Boots!... Boots
were the rock on which he had struck. Shillitoe, in addition to being a
tailor was a hosier, but by some flaw in the scheme of the universe
hosiers do not sell boots. Except boots, Denry could get all he needed
on credit; boots he could not get on credit, and he could not pay cash
for them. Eventually he decided that his church boots must be dazzled up
to the level of this great secular occasion. The pity was that he
forgot--not that he was of a forgetful disposition in great matters; he
was simply over-excited--he forgot to dazzle them up until after he had
fairly put his collar on and his necktie in a bow. It is imprudent to
touch blacking in a dress-shirt, so Denry had to undo the past and begin
again. This hurried him. He was not afraid of being late for the first
waltz with Miss Ruth Earp, but he was afraid of not being out of the
house before his mother returned. Mrs Machin had been making up a lady's
own materials all day, naturally--the day being what it was! If she had
had twelve hands instead of two, she might have made up the own
materials of half-a-dozen ladies instead of one, and earned twenty-four
shillings instead of four. Denry did not want his mother to see him ere
he departed. He had lavished an enormous amount of brains and energy to
the end of displaying himself in this refined and novel attire to the
gaze of two hundred persons, and yet his secret wish was to deprive his
mother of the beautiful spectacle.
However, she slipped in, with her bag and her seamy fingers and her
rather sardonic expression, at the very moment when Denry was putting on
his overcoat in the kitchen (there being insufficient room in the
passage). He did what he could to hide his shirt-front (though she knew
all about it), and failed.
"Bless us!" she exclaimed briefly, going to the fire to warm her hands.
A harmless remark. But her tone seemed to strip bare the vanity of human
greatness.
"I'm in a hurry," said Denry, importantly, as if he was going forth to
sign a treaty involving the welfare of the nations.
"Well," said she, "happen ye are, Denry. But th' kitchen table's no
place for boot-brushes."
He had one piece of luck. It froze. Therefore no anxiety about the
condition of boots.
VI
The Countess was late; some trouble with a horse. Happily the Earl had
been in Bursley all day, and had dressed at the Conservative Club; and
his lordship had ordered that the programme of dances should be begun.
Denry learned this as soon as he emerged, effulgent, from the
gentlemen's cloak-room into the broad red-carpeted corridor which runs
from end to end of the ground-floor of the Town Hall. Many important
townspeople were chatting in the corridor--the innumerable Swetnam
family, the Stanways, the great Etches, the Fearnses, Mrs Clayton
Vernon, the Suttons, including Beatrice Sutton. Of course everybody knew
him for Duncalf's shorthand clerk and the son of the flannel-washer; but
universal white kid gloves constitute a democracy, and Shillitoe could
put more style into a suit than any other tailor in the Five Towns.
"How do?" the eldest of the Swetnam boys nodded carelessly.
"How do, Swetnam?" said Denry, with equal carelessness.
The thing was accomplished! That greeting was like a Masonic initiation,
and henceforward he was the peer of no matter
|
being
|
How many times does the word 'being' appear in the text?
| 5
|
, her black eyes penciled, and her lips painted. With a
movement of her head, she summoned a friend who was passing, a blonde
with auburn hair, likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a
whisper intended to be heard; "There is a nice fellow!"
Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: "You are lucky, my
dear boy. My congratulations!"
The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fingered the two pieces
of gold in his pocket.
The curtain fell--the orchestra played a valse--and Duroy said:
"Shall we walk around the gallery?"
"If you like."
Soon they were carried along in the current of promenaders. Duroy drank
in with delight the air, vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap
perfume, but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed.
"Let us go into the garden," he said. Turning to the left, they entered
a kind of covered garden in which two large fountains were playing.
Under the yews, men and women sat at tables drinking.
"Another glass of beer?" asked Forestier.
"Gladly."
They took their seats and watched the promenaders. Occasionally a woman
would stop and ask with a coarse smile: "What have you to offer, sir?"
Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass of water from the
fountain." And the woman would mutter, "Go along," and walk away.
At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with the blonde. They made
a handsome couple. The former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a
chair she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in a clear
voice: "Waiter, two glasses."
In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "You are not at all bashful!"
She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me; he is such a fine fellow. I
believe he has turned my head."
Duroy said nothing.
The waiter brought the beer, which the women swallowed rapidly; then
they rose, and the brunette, nodding her head and tapping Duroy's arm
with her fan, said to him: "Thank you, my dear! However, you are not
very talkative."
As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: "Tell, me, old man,
did you know that you had a charm for the weaker sex? You must be
careful."
Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: "Shall you remain any
longer? I am going; I have had enough."
Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a little longer: it is not late."
Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-bye until to-morrow. Do not
forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at seven thirty."
"I shall not forget. Thank you."
The friends shook hands and the journalist left Duroy to his own
devices.
Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and again he joyously
touched the gold pieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingled with the
crowd.
He soon discovered the blonde and the brunette. He went toward them,
but when near them dared not address them.
The brunette called out to him: "Have you found your tongue?"
He stammered: "Zounds!" too bashful to say another word. A pause
ensued, during which the brunette took his arm and together they left
the hall.
CHAPTER II.
MADAME FORESTIER
"Where does M. Forestier live?"
"Third floor on the left," said the porter pleasantly, on learning
Duroy's destination.
Georges ascended the staircase. He was somewhat embarrassed and
ill-at-ease. He had on a new suit but he was uncomfortable. He felt
that it was defective; his boots were not glossy, he had bought his
shirt that same evening at the Louvre for four francs fifty, his
trousers were too wide and betrayed their cheapness in their fit, or
rather, misfit, and his coat was too tight.
Slowly he ascended the stairs, his heart beating, his mind anxious.
Suddenly before him stood a well-dressed gentleman staring at him. The
person resembled Duroy so close that the latter retreated, then
stopped, and saw that it was his own image reflected in a pier-glass!
Not having anything but a small mirror at home, he had not been able to
see himself entirely, and had exaggerated the imperfections of his
toilette. When he saw his reflection in the glass, he did not even
recognize himself; he took himself for some one else, for a
man-of-the-world, and was really satisfied with his general appearance.
Smiling to himself, Duroy extended his hand and expressed his
astonishment, pleasure, and approbation. A door opened on the
staircase, He was afraid of being surprised and began to ascend more
rapidly, fearing that he might have been seen posing there by some of
his friend's invited guests.
On reaching the second floor, he saw another mirror, and once more
slackened his pace to look at himself. He likewise paused before the
third glass, twirled his mustache, took off his hat to arrange his
hair, and murmured half aloud, a habit of his: "Hall mirrors are most
convenient."
Then he rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately, and before
him stood a servant in a black coat, with a grave, shaven face, so
perfect in his appearance that Duroy again became confused as he
compared the cut of their garments.
The lackey asked:
"Whom shall I announce, Monsieur?" He raised a portiere and pronounced
the name.
Duroy lost his self-possession upon being ushered into a world as yet
strange to him. However, he advanced. A young, fair woman received him
alone in a large, well-lighted room. He paused, disconcerted. Who was
that smiling lady? He remembered that Forestier was married, and the
thought that the handsome blonde was his friend's wife rendered him
awkward and ill-at-ease. He stammered out:
"Madame, I am--"
She held out her hand.
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 6
|
prescription drugs. He drinks from the sink and splashes a
generous amount of water onto his head and face, cleaning his
nose.
He wipes his nose and examines the last remnants of blood on
his fingertip. Then, he dips his finger under the tap.
<b> INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - MAIN ROOM - DAY
</b>
Max's room is constantly dark because the windows are blacked
out. He flips on his desk lamp.
A tiny ANT crawls across his desk. He looks at it for a moment
before getting angry and squashing it.
Sitting on the desk are three computer monitors, which Max
flips on.
Then he pops on more lights and more switches. We pull back
revealing that Max's apartment looks more like the inside of a
computer than a human's home.
The room is knee-high in computer parts of all shapes and
sizes. The walls are covered with circuit boards. Cables hang
from the ceiling like vines in a Brazilian rain forest. They
all seem to be wired together forming a monstrous homemade
computer.
This is EUCLID, Max's creation. The computer is alive with
sounds and lights.
Max works on Euclid with his solder and drill. He cares for
the machine as if it were his dream car
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Heat's been getting
to Euclid. Feel it most in
the afternoon when I run the
set. Have to keep the fans on
all night from now on.
Otherwise, everything is
running topnotch. The stack
of 286's is now faster than
Columbia's computer science
department. I spent a couple
hundred dollars. Columbia's
cost? Half a million?
(Small snicker)
Ha...
<b>
</b> Max checks the peephole on His front door. No one is there. He
unbolts the five lock and slides into the hall.
<b> INT. APARTMENJ HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
As he secures his apartment, a Young girl named JENNA runs up
to him. Her MOM, down the hall, looks apologetic.
Jenna's eyes light up and she pulls out her Fisher Price
calculator.
<b> JENNA
</b> Max, Max! Can we do one?
<b>
</b><b> MOM
</b> (Over and over again)
Jenna! Jenna!
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Oh, no.
<b>
</b><b> JENNA
</b> What's three hundred
and twenty-two times four
hundred and ninety-one.
<b>
</b> Jenna types it into her calculator. Max finishes locking his
door.
<b> MAX
</b> (instantly)
One hundred fifty-eight thousand,
a hundred two. Right?
<b> JENNA
</b> (Eyes light up)
Right.
<b>
</b> Max heads down the staircase.
<b> MOM
</b> Jenna...
<b>
</b> Jenna screams after him.
<b> JENNA
</b> Okay, seventy-three
divided by twenty-two.
<b> MAX
</b> (instantly again)
Three point three one eight one
eight one eight...
<b> EXT. CHINATOWN - DAY
</b> Max watches people bustle through the busy intersections of
Chinatown. The streets are clogged with people.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Somewhere in there.
Somewhere. I know it's right
in front of me. The pattern.
They say it's chaos, it can't
be understood, too much
complexity.
<b> EXT. ELECTRONIC MEGADUMP - DAY
</b> Max scavenges electronic parts as he carefully navigates an
endless dump for old and rotting computers.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> History it's there.
Lurking, shaping.
structuring, hiding, right
beneath the surface.
He unscrews a random IBM Board from a keyboard and slides it
into his pocket.
<b> EXT PLAYGROUND DAY
</b><b> MOVE IN
</b> on Max looking up at something as he reclines on a public
bench.
<b> MAX (V.0.)
</b> The cycling of disease epidemics,
the wax and wane of Caribou populations
in the Arctic, sunspot cycles,
the rise and fall of the
Nile and yes! the New York Stock
Exchange, they are all the
same.
<b>
</b><b> MOVE IN
</b> on a tree branch - shaking gently in the wind.
<b> SLOW DISSOLVE TO EXTREME CLOSE-UP OF STOCK TICKER
</b> Bright stock quotes drift across the screen.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> I
|
hundred
|
How many times does the word 'hundred' appear in the text?
| 4
|
out over Tokyo.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Melodramatic music swells over the Girl's butt in pink sheer
underwear as she lies on the bed.
<b> TITLE CARDS OVER IMAGE.
</b>
<b> LOST IN TRANSLATION
</b>
<b> INT. CAR - NIGHT
</b>
POV from a car window - the colors and lights of Tokyo neon
at night blur by.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
In the backseat of a Presidential limousine, BOB (late-
forties), tired and depressed, leans against a little doily,
staring out the window.
P.O.V. from car window- We see buildings covered in bright
signs, a billboard of Brad Pitt selling jeans, another of
Bob in black & white,looking distinguished with a bottle of
whiskey in a Suntory ad... more signs, a huge TV with perky
Japanese pop stars singing.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. PARK HYATT - NIGHT
</b>
Bob's black Presidential (looks like a 60's diplomat's car)
pulls up at the entrance of the Park Hyatt, a modern sky
rise.
The automatic doors open on the car, as Bob gets out. Eager
BELLHOPS with white gloves approach at the sight of the car,
welcoming Bob and helping him with his bags.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. PARK HYATT - NIGHT
</b>
Bob stands in the back of a crowded elevator surrounded by
Japanese businessmen below his shoulders.
The elevator stops at the 50th floor and the doors open onto
the massive, streamline lobby of the Park Hyatt.
Bob follows the JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN out into the marble and
glass lobby that frames the view of Tokyo.
The CONCIERGE and several eager HOTEL MANAGERS greet Bob. He
just wants to sleep, but more STAFF continue to greet him,
ask him about his fright. They lead him to reception.
<b> INT. HOTEL RECEPTION - NIGHT
</b>
At the reception area four JAPANESE BUSINESSMEN and two WOMEN
quickly sit up from their seats on sight of Bob, and extend
handshakes and gifts. They bow and introduce themselves from
the commercial company, extend name cards and welcome him
enthusiastically.
More staff welcomes him and offer their service during his
stay.
One of them presents a fax that has come for him.
<b> INSERT -
</b>
<b
|
stops
|
How many times does the word 'stops' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and I'd hated to see the house with
him in it; but we drove out one Saturday afternoon, and we brought back
about a bushel of the stuff in the buggy-seat, and I tried it crude,
and I tried it burnt; and I liked it. M'wife she liked it too. There
wa'n't any painter by trade in the village, and I mixed it myself.
Well, sir, that tavern's got that coat of paint on it yet, and it
hain't ever had any other, and I don't know's it ever will. Well, you
know, I felt as if it was a kind of harumscarum experiment, all the
while; and I presume I shouldn't have tried it but I kind of liked to
do it because father'd always set so much store by his paint-mine. And
when I'd got the first coat on,"--Lapham called it CUT,--"I presume I
must have set as much as half an hour; looking at it and thinking how
he would have enjoyed it. I've had my share of luck in this world, and
I ain't a-going to complain on my OWN account, but I've noticed that
most things get along too late for most people. It made me feel bad,
and it took all the pride out my success with the paint, thinking of
father. Seemed to me I might 'a taken more interest in it when he was
by to see; but we've got to live and learn. Well, I called my wife
out,--I'd tried it on the back of the house, you know,--and she left
her dishes,--I can remember she came out with her sleeves rolled up and
set down alongside of me on the trestle,--and says I, 'What do you
think, Persis?' And says she, 'Well, you hain't got a paint-mine, Silas
Lapham; you've got a GOLD-mine.' She always was just so enthusiastic
about things. Well, it was just after two or three boats had burnt up
out West, and a lot of lives lost, and there was a great cry about
non-inflammable paint, and I guess that was what was in her mind.
'Well, I guess it ain't any gold-mine, Persis,' says I; 'but I guess it
IS a paint-mine. I'm going to have it analysed, and if it turns out
what I think it is, I'm going to work it. And if father hadn't had
such a long name, I should call it the Nehemiah Lapham Mineral Paint.
But, any rate, every barrel of it, and every keg, and every bottle, and
every package, big or little, has got to have the initials and figures
N.L.f. 1835, S.L.t. 1855, on it. Father found it in 1835, and I tried
it in 1855.'"
"'S.T.--1860--X.' business," said Bartley.
"Yes," said Lapham, "but I hadn't heard of Plantation Bitters then, and
I hadn't seen any of the fellow's labels. I set to work and I got a
man down from Boston; and I carried him out to the farm, and he
analysed it--made a regular Job of it. Well, sir, we built a kiln, and
we kept a lot of that paint-ore red-hot for forty-eight hours; kept the
Kanuck and his family up, firing. The presence of iron in the ore
showed with the magnet from the start; and when he came to test it, he
found out that it contained about seventy-five per cent. of the
peroxide of iron."
Lapham pronounced the scientific phrases with a sort of reverent
satisfaction, as if awed through his pride by a little lingering
uncertainty as to what peroxide was. He accented it as if it were
purr-ox-EYED; and Bartley had to get him to spell it.
"Well, and what then?" he asked, when he had made a note of the
percentage.
"What then?" echoed Lapham. "Well, then, the fellow set down and told
me, 'You've got a paint here,' says he, 'that's going to drive every
other mineral paint out of the market. Why' says he, 'it'll drive 'em
right into the Back Bay!' Of course, I didn't know what the Back Bay
was then, but I begun to open my eyes; thought I'd had 'em open before,
but I guess I hadn't. Says he, 'That paint has got hydraulic cement in
it, and it can stand fire and water and acids;' he named over a lot of
things. Says he, 'It'll mix easily with linseed oil, whether you want
to use it boiled or raw; and it ain't a-going to crack nor fade any;
and it ain't a-going to scale. When you've got your arrangements for
burning it properly, you're going to have a paint that will stand like
the everlasting hills, in every climate under the sun.' Then he went
into a lot of particulars, and I begun to think he was drawing a
long-bow, and meant to make his bill accordingly. So I kept pretty
cool; but the fellow's bill didn't amount to anything hardly--said I
might pay him after I got going; young chap, and pretty easy; but every
word he said was gospel. Well, I ain't a-going to brag up my paint; I
don't suppose you came here to hear me blow."
"Oh yes, I did," said Bartley. "That's what I want. Tell all there is
to tell, and I can boil it down afterward. A man can't make a greater
mistake with a reporter than to hold back anything out of modesty. It
may be the very thing we want to know. What we want is the whole
truth; and more; we've got so much modesty of our own that we can
temper almost any statement."
Lapham looked as if he did not quite like this tone, and he resumed a
little more quietly. "Oh, there isn't really very much more to say
about the paint itself. But you can use it for almost anything where a
paint is wanted, inside or out. It'll prevent decay, and it'll stop
it, after it's begun, in tin or iron.
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 5
|
rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the realization that
everything I'd based my life on was
false. And that my life had no
meaning.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> (to Martin)
He gets this way when he hits over
eighty-five.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> It seemed like my life was slipping
away, somehow. I was a knot in the
middle of a wet rope. Everything was
futile and nothing had value.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> That's the way life is. The only
meaning and value is what we create.
Through structure, and discipline.
Though they seem to limit our freedom,
they actually give us great comfort.
Your problem is you're looking for
some great answer. Some ultimate
truth. When what you really should
do is go to work and go home.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> And take golf lessons.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> That's a tragedy. Can I finish my
story please? I began my search for
meaning. I was a Catholic, Jew,
Scientologist, Sufi, Buddhist. I
went to a Psychologist, psychiatrist,
herbalist, nutritionist, a shaman,
and a psychic. And they all pretty
much say the same stuff.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> A Jew, a shaman, and a herbalist are
telling you the same thing? You're
insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Basically the same thing. In a very
evolved, esoteric way.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> To make a long story short...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> --Thank God--
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> ...at last I found the holistic system
of systems that opened up the doors
of heaven for me right here on earth.
And everyday I see the world through
the eyes of a child. A world of
creation and wonder.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Jesus...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Overflowing with love.
<b> MARTIN
|
through
|
How many times does the word 'through' appear in the text?
| 3
|
better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to
MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return
the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths
of his wife--an' let him lick at that."
"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.
"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for what
he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for
this."
So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a
mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage
only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" exclaimed he, "I
shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she
as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is
nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your
husband's impertinence!"
The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not
abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many
stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her
chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on
bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of
Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from
carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall make the
sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."
Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but
she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets;
for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a
perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts,
and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was
often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of
the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.
That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that
there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after some
sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had
passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite
of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the
laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would
neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and
kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he
converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of
religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every
assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by
drawing him into argument.
The laird kept his temper a long while, but at length his patience wore
out; he cut her short in all her futile attempts at spiritualization,
and mocked at her wire-drawn degrees of faith, hope, and repentance. He
also dared to doubt of the great standard doctrine of absolute
predestination, which put the crown on the lady's Christian resentment.
She declared her helpmate to be a limb of Antichrist, and one with whom
no regenerated person could associate. She therefore bespoke a separate
establishment, and, before the expiry of the first six months, the
arrangements of the separation were amicably adjusted. The upper, or
third, story of the old mansion-house was awarded to the lady for her
residence. She had a separate door, a separate stair, a separate
garden, and walks that in no instance intersected the laird's; so that
one would have thought the separation complete. They had each their own
parties, selected from their own sort of people; and, though the laird
never once chafed himself about the lady's companies, it was not long
before she began to intermeddle about some of his.
"Who is that fat bouncing dame that visits the laird so often, and
always by herself?" said she to her maid Martha one day.
"Oh dear, mem, how can I ken? We're banished frae our acquaintances
here, as weel as frae the sweet gospel ordinances."
"Find me out who that jolly dame is, Martha. You, who hold communion
with the household of this ungodly man, can be at no loss to attain
this information. I observe that she always casts her eye up toward our
windows, both in coming and going; and I suspect that she seldom
departs from the house emptyhanded."
That same evening Martha came with the information that this august
visitor was a Miss Logan, an old and intimate acquaintance of the
laird's, and a very worthy respectable lady, of good connections, whose
parents had lost their patrimony in the civil wars.
"Ha! very well!" said the lady; "very well, Martha! But, nevertheless,
go thou and watch this respectable lady's motions and behaviour the
next time she comes to visit the laird--and the next after that. You
will not, I see, lack opportunities."
Martha's information turned out of that nature that prayers were said
in the uppermost story of Dalcastle house against the Canaanitish
woman, every night and every morning; and great discontent prevailed
there, even to anathemas and tears. Letter after letter was dispatched
to Glasgow; and at length, to the lady's great consolation, the Rev.
Mr. Wringhim arrived safely and devoutly in her elevated sanctuary.
Marvellous was the conversation between these gifted people. Wringhim
had held in his doctrines that there were eight different kinds of
FAITH, all perfectly distinct in their operations and effects. But the
lady, in her secluded state, had discovered another five, making twelve
[sic] in all: the adjusting of the existence or fallacy of these five
faiths served for a most enlightened discussion of nearly seventeen
hours; in the course of which the two got warm in their arguments,
always in proportion as they receded from nature, utility, and common
|
weel
|
How many times does the word 'weel' appear in the text?
| 0
|
b> THERE IS NOTHING TO CARRY SOUND, NO
</b><b> OXYGEN, AND NO AIR PRESSURE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 3
</b><b> LIFE HERE IS IMPOSSIBLE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> TITLE-
</b>
<b> GRAVITY
</b>
<b> BLACK-
</b>
<b> OUTER SPACE, 600 KILOMETERS ABOVE-
</b>
<b> PLANET EARTH.
</b>
Like all images of Earth seen from space, this image of our
planet is mythical and majestic.
The globe seems almost tangible, slowly spinning, floating in
the endless void of space. It is a blue planet, and bright white
clouds twirl and stretch in capricious patterns across the deep
blue of the oceans and the jigsaw of continents: green, yellow
and brown.
It is noon in Cape Town and early night in India.
The sphere is almost a perfect orb except for the darkened
sliver on its Eastern edge.
It is beautiful! And so full of life.
But not here.
Here it is completely silent.
<b> SILENCE-
</b>
<b> IN THE DISTANCE-
</b>
A small metal object crosses the empty space surrounding Earth.
If it appears to be a small satellite that is only because it is
far away from us. It is the size of one football field. It is-
The INTERNATIONAL SPACE STATION (ISS).
It resembles a dragonfly. Its solar panels stretch out, like
wings, from the long body made of connected pressurized modules.
It floats with a sense of proud achievement.
|
space
|
How many times does the word 'space' appear in the text?
| 4
|
a dour nature and a
hard Aberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success,
his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For
this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateur
colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which
he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothing higher
than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had
talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there
was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood
alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was
not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and
smiled at the sight of him.
"You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck with your
worm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot."
"If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth,
I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin.
"Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't
smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early
hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your
own self. But--but--"
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of
absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet upon
which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
"Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's
witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those
names?"
"It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. But
why--what's amiss with the names?"
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment.
"Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was
horribly murdered last night!"
Chapter 2--Sherlock Holmes Discourses
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It
would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited
by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in
his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long
overstimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual
perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the
horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face
showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees
the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.
"Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!"
"You don't seem surprised."
"Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised?
I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be
important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within
an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that
the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not
surprised."
In a few short sentences he explained to the inspector the facts about
the letter and the cipher. MacDonald sat with his chin on his hands and
his great sandy eyebrows bunched into a yellow tangle.
"I was going down to Birlstone this morning," said he. "I had come to
ask you if you cared to come with me--you and your friend here. But from
what you say we might perhaps be doing better work in London."
"I rather think not," said Holmes.
"Hang it all, Mr. Holmes!" cried the inspector. "The papers will be full
of the Birlstone mystery in a day or two; but where's the mystery
if there is a man in London who prophesied the crime before ever it
occurred? We have only to lay our hands on that man, and the rest will
follow."
"No doubt, Mr. Mac. But how do you propose to lay your hands on the
so-called Porlock?"
MacDonald turned over the letter which Holmes had handed him. "Posted
in Camberwell--that doesn't help us much. Name, you say, is assumed. Not
much to go on, certainly. Didn't you say that you have sent him money?"
"Twice."
"And how?"
"In notes to Camberwell post office."
"Did you ever trouble to see who called for them?"
"No."
The inspector looked surprised and a little shocked. "Why not?"
"Because I always keep faith. I had promised when he first wrote that I
would not try to trace him."
"You think there is someone behind him?"
"I know there is."
"This professor that I've heard you mention?"
"Exactly!"
Inspector MacDonald smiled, and his eyelid quivered as he glanced
towards me. "I won't conceal from you, Mr. Holmes, that we think in
the C.I.D. that you have a wee bit of a bee in your bonnet over this
professor. I made some inquiries myself about the matter. He seems to be
a very respectable, learned, and talented sort of man."
"I'm glad you've got so far as to recognize the talent."
"Man, you can't but recognize it! After I heard your view I made it my
business to see him. I had a chat with him on eclipses. How the talk got
that way I canna think; but he had out a reflector lantern and a globe,
and made it all clear in a minute. He lent me a book; but I don't mind
saying that it was a bit above my head, though I had a good Aberdeen
upbringing. He'd have made a grand meenister with his thin face and gray
hair and solemn-like way of talking. When he put his hand on my shoulder
as we were parting, it was like a father's blessing before you go out
into the cold, cruel world."
Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. "Great!" he said. "Great! Tell me,
Friend MacDonald, this pleasing and touching interview was, I suppose,
in the professor's study?"
"That's so."
"A fine room, is it not?"
"Very fine--very handsome indeed, Mr. Holmes."
|
prophesied
|
How many times does the word 'prophesied' appear in the text?
| 0
|
nearly to the flight deck of the Aircraft Carrier USS Kitty
Hawk. The carrier plunges, driving its bow into a wall of
grey water. The deck pitches forward and back, rolls left to
right, and yaws in a corkscrew motion. The entire 93,000 ton
behemoth rises and falls in the TYPHOON-DRIVEN SWELL.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2. SOMETHING DROPS DOWN OUT OF THE NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A ROAR. Silver wings flash by, a cockpit, fiery jet
exhausts. A forty ton monster drops at 120 knots into an area
the size of a tennis court in a CONTROLLED CRASH.
<b>
</b> 2A. A SHOWER OF SPARKS, A SCREECH OF RUBBER AND METAL as
the gear hits the deck. The hook catches the 3 wire and the
F-14 TOMCAT is slammed to a halt. It's the scariest thing
you've ever seen, the most dangerous maneuver in aviation and
just another day at the office for a Naval Aviator.
<b>
</b><b> TITLES OVER
</b><b>
</b><b> HARD DRIVING ROCK AND ROLL - THE CARS - RIDE ME HIGH
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 3. FLIGHT DECK - THE LANDING SIGNAL OFFICER - (LSO)
</b><b>
</b> Leans almost horizontal into the winds. He holds the pickle,
controlling the landing lights and speaks into a mike. His
calm, professional commands belie the extreme conditions.
<b>
</b><b> LSO
</b><b> POWER, POWER...DON'T CLIMB...
</b><b> OKAY, HOLD WHAT YOU GOT.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 4. ANOTHER TOMCAT FLIES OVER THE RAMP
</b><b>
</b> It slams in. The pilot hits full power, catches the wire, slams
to a stop, cuts his engines.
<b>
</b><b> 5. OMITTED
</b><b>
</b><b> 6. AIR OPS - BELOW DECK
</b><b>
</b> Lots of scopes and electronic gear. The CARRIER CONTROL APPROACH
OFFICER (CCA) watches a blip on radar, reaches for his mike key.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 7. EXT. THE TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING - (AERIAL)
</b><b>
</b> We float like gods, above the storm, above the cloud cover,
looking down. From overhead, a probe slides into frame, then
a graceful nose. The cockpit sides by, Pilot, then Radar
Intercept Officer (RIO) barely illuminated by the orange glow
of their instruments. The fuselage gracefully swells to two
enormous air intakes, then variable angle wings, swept back
for high speed flight. Twin tailbooms cant outward,
horizontal stabilizers make constant adjustments. Enormous
twin jet exhaust ports glow red in the moonlight.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 8. INT. COCKPIT - (AERIAL)
</b><b>
</b> We become aware of WIND WHISTLE, JET ENGINE SOUNDS, RADIO
STATIC. The pilot, COUGAR, is calm, steady. The Radar
Intercept Officer in the backseat, GOOSE, is a wildman,
always an edge of humor in his voice. A UHF transmission
breaks in..
<b>
</b> STRIKE (V.O. filtered)
<b> GHOST RIDER, THIS IS STRIKE... WE
</b><b> HAVE UNKNOWN CONTACT INBOUND,
</b><b> MUSTANG. YOUR VECTOR ZERO NINE ZERO
</b><b> FOR BOGEY.
</b><b>
</b> Almost immediately the RIO picks up a target and responds.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b><b> CONTACT 20 LEFT AT 25, 900 KNOTS
</b><b> CLOSURE.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 8A. ANGLE - SECOND F-14 - 115 - COUGAR'S WINGMAN
</b><b>
</b> Come in on the cockpit with stenciled name and call signs: LT.
EVAN MITCHELL is the pilot, MAVERICK. In flight suit and oxygen
mask, we can only see his eyes. they are confident. In his
mid-twenties, he is lean, hard, athletic...the archetype fighter
pilot. His rear-seater is LTJG. WALTER MERLIN; WIZARD.
<b>
</b><b> MAVERICK
</b><b> I'LL I.D. HIM, YOU HOOK 'EM.
</b><b>
</b> Maverick peels off to right, to high cover position; 5 o'clock.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 9. INT. GHOST RIDER 117 - COUGAR'S POV
</b><b>
</b> HEADS UP DISPLAY (HUD) glows dimly on the windscreen. Directly
in front of the stick, two CRT screens display data. The bottom
screen shows a radar sweep. Wedged between
|
pilot
|
How many times does the word 'pilot' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ays you may well look thin and dejected, if you sit so constantly in the
house.â
âHelp me you cannot, Agnes; and I cannot go out with _you_âI have far too
much to do.â
âThen let me help you.â
âYou cannot, indeed, dear child. Go and practise your music, or play
with the kitten.â
There was always plenty of sewing on hand; but I had not been taught to
cut out a single garment, and except plain hemming and seaming, there was
little I could do, even in that line; for they both asserted that it was
far easier to do the work themselves than to prepare it for me: and
besides, they liked better to see me prosecuting my studies, or amusing
myselfâit was time enough for me to sit bending over my work, like a
grave matron, when my favourite little pussy was become a steady old cat.
Under such circumstances, although I was not many degrees more useful
than the kitten, my idleness was not entirely without excuse.
Through all our troubles, I never but once heard my mother complain of
our want of money. As summer was coming on she observed to Mary and me,
âWhat a desirable thing it would be for your papa to spend a few weeks at
a watering-place. I am convinced the sea-air and the change of scene
would be of incalculable service to him. But then, you see, thereâs no
money,â she added, with a sigh. We both wished exceedingly that the
thing might be done, and lamented greatly that it could not. âWell,
well!â said she, âitâs no use complaining. Possibly something might be
done to further the project after all. Mary, you are a beautiful drawer.
What do you say to doing a few more pictures in your best style, and
getting them framed, with the water-coloured drawings you have already
done, and trying to dispose of them to some liberal picture-dealer, who
has the sense to discern their merits?â
âMamma, I should be delighted if you think they _could_ be sold; and for
anything worth while.â
âItâs worth while trying, however, my dear: do you procure the drawings,
and Iâll endeavour to find a purchaser.â
âI wish _I_ could do something,â said I.
âYou, Agnes! well, who knows? You draw pretty well, too: if you choose
some simple piece for your subject, I daresay you will be able to produce
something we shall all be proud to exhibit.â
âBut I have another scheme in my head, mamma, and have had long, only I
did not like to mention it.â
âIndeed! pray tell us what it is.â
âI should like to be a governess.â
My mother uttered an exclamation of surprise, and laughed. My sister
dropped her work in astonishment, exclaiming, â_You_ a governess, Agnes!
What can you be dreaming of?â
âWell! I donât see anything so _very_ extraordinary in it. I do not
pretend to be able to instruct great girls; but surely I could teach
little ones: and I should like it so much: I am so fond of children. Do
let me, mamma!â
âBut, my love, you have not learned to take care of _yourself _yet: and
young children require more judgment and experience to manage than elder
ones.â
âBut, mamma, I am above eighteen, and quite able to take care of myself,
and others too. You do not know half the wisdom and prudence I possess,
because I have never been tried.â
âOnly think,â said Mary, âwhat would you do in a house full of strangers,
without me or mamma to speak and act for youâwith a parcel of children,
besides yourself, to attend to; and no one to look to for advice? You
would not even know what clothes to put on.â
âYou think, because I always do as you bid me, I have no judgment of my
own: but only try meâthat is all I askâand you shall see what I can do.â
At that moment my father entered and the subject of our discussion was
explained to him.
âWhat, my little Agnes a governess!â cried he, and, in spite of his
dejection, he laughed at the idea.
âYes, papa, donât _you_ say anything against it: I should like it so
much; and I am sure I could manage delightfully.â
âBut, my darling, we could not spare you.â And a tear glistened in his
eye as he addedââNo, no! afflicted as we are, surely we are not brought
to that pass yet.â
âOh, no!â said my mother. âThere is no necessity whatever for such a
step; it is merely a whim of her own. So you must hold your tongue, you
naughty girl; for, though you are so ready to leave us, you know very
well we cannot part with _you_.â
I was silenced
|
teach
|
How many times does the word 'teach' appear in the text?
| 0
|
concert. Walking out, drinking tea,
country dances, and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without the
assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon,
at which my old friend and I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I
here pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we
played together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce
ace five times running. Some months were elapsed in this manner, till
at last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the
young couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it. During the preparations
for the wedding, I need not describe the busy importance of my wife,
nor the sly looks of my daughters: in fact, my attention was fixed
on another object, the completing a tract which I intended shortly to
publish in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a
master-piece both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my
heart avoid shewing it to my old friend Mr Wilmot, as I made no doubt
of receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that
he was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with good
reason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This,
as may be expected, produced a dispute attended with some acrimony,
which threatened to interrupt our intended alliance: but on the day
before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject
at large. It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted
that I was heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined.
In the mean time, while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by
one of my relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up
the dispute, at least till my son's wedding was over. 'How,' cried
I, 'relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be an husband, already
driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as well advise me to
give up my fortune as my argument.' 'Your fortune,' returned my friend,
'I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in town,
in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute
of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound.
I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till
after the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the
argument; for, I suppose, your own prudence will enforce the necessity
of dissembling at least till your son has the young lady's fortune
secure.'--'Well,' returned I, 'if what you tell me be true, and if I am
to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to
disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company of my
circumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my former
concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to
be an husband in any sense of the expression.'
It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both
families when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what others
felt was slight to what the lovers appeared to endure. Mr Wilmot, who
seemed before sufficiently inclined to break off the match, was by
this blow soon determined: one virtue he had in perfection, which was
prudence, too often the only one that is left us at seventy-two.
CHAPTER 3
A migration. The fortunate circumstances of our lives are
generally found at last to be of our own procuring
The only hope of our family now was, that the report of our misfortunes
might be malicious or premature: but a letter from my agent in town soon
came with a confirmation of every particular. The loss of fortune to
myself alone would have been trifling; the only uneasiness I felt was
for my family, who were to be humble without an education to render them
callous to contempt.
Near a fortnight had passed before I attempted to restrain their
affliction; for premature consolation is but the remembrancer of sorrow.
During this interval, my thoughts were employed on some future means of
supporting them; and at last a small Cure of fifteen pounds a year was
offered me in a distant neighbourhood, where I could still enjoy my
principles without molestation. With this proposal I joyfully closed,
having determined to encrease my salary by managing a little farm.
Having taken this resolution, my next care was to get together the
wrecks of my fortune; and all debts collected and paid, out of fourteen
thousand pounds we had but four hundred remaining. My chief attention
therefore was now to bring down the pride of my family to their
circumstances; for I well knew that aspiring beggary is wretchedness
itself. 'You cannot be ignorant, my children,' cried I, 'that no
prudence of ours could have prevented our late misfortune; but prudence
may do much in disappointing its effects. We are now poor, my fondlings,
and wisdom bids us conform to our humble situation. Let us then, without
repining, give up those splendours with which numbers are wretched, and
seek in humbler circumstances that peace with which all may be happy.
The poor live pleasantly without our help, why then should not we learn
to live without theirs. No, my children, let us from this moment give up
all pretensions to gentility; we have still enough left for happiness
if we are wise, and let us draw upon content for the deficiencies of
fortune.' As my eldest son was bred a scholar, I determined to send him
to town, where his abilities might contribute to our support and his
own. The separation of friends and families is, perhaps, one of the most
distressful circumstances attendant on penury. The day soon arrived on
which we were to disperse for the first time. My son, after taking leave
of his mother and the rest, who mingled their tears with their kisses,
came to ask a blessing from me. This I gave him from my heart, and
which, added to five guineas, was all the patrimony I had now to bestow.
'You are going, my boy,' cried I, 'to London on foot, in the manner
Hooker, your great ancestor, travelled there before you. Take from me
the same horse that was given him by the good bishop Jewel, this staff,
and take this
|
actually
|
How many times does the word 'actually' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of DNA. His face
is chiseled, angular, perfect (too perfect). Past sparks, we
MOVE down to pick up...
<b> EXT. STREET/VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
</b>
REED RICHARDS and BEN GRIMM head toward the soaring glass-box
atrium of VDI Headquarters. Designed to inspire awe, it
does.
<b> REED
</b> High open space, exposed structural
elements. Obviously aimed at first
time visitors to create feelings of...
smallness, inadequacy.
Ben glances at Reed, who looks a little nervous.
<b> BEN
</b> Good thing it ain't workin... Reed,
what are we doing here? This guy's
fast-food, strip-mall science --
<b> REED
</b> This wasn't our first stop, in case
you forgot NASA. And Victor's not
that bad. He's just a little...
(seeing the statue)
Larger than life.
<b> INT. VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
</b>
They move past the statue, into the sprawling atrium.
<b> REED
</b> He's financed some of the biggest
breakthroughs of this century.
<b> BEN
</b> You'd never know it.
He motions to a high-tech ORB, showing FOOTAGE of VDI's
accomplishments: a safe and clean nuclear facility, the first
private Space Station.
All images have VICTOR front and center, glad-handling George
Bush, Tony Blair, shady International Leaders. The last
image is Victor holding the AMERICA'S CUP.
<b> BEN (CONT'D)
</b> Jesus. That too?
They reach three stern RECEPTIONISTS.
<b> REED
</b> Reed Richards and Ben Grimm to see --
A receptionist cuts him off, handing them each a pass.
<b> FEMALE RECEPTIONIST
</b> Executive elevator, top floor.
<b> BEN
|
statue
|
How many times does the word 'statue' appear in the text?
| 1
|
b> FOUR MONTHS LATER...
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> A BARREN LANDSCAPE
</b> beneath slate-grey sky. Frigid rock and stunted trees fall to an
ice-choked coast. Congealed sea on a desolate beach.
<b> MARKO ALEXANDROVICH RAMIUS
</b> bare-headed in cold wind, studies the inclement coast. Bottomless
eyes move slowly across the landscape, missing nothing.
<b> SUPER: POLWARNY INLET
</b> Soviet Submarine Base on the Barents Sea
500 mi north of Murmansk
Ramius wears a tar black winter uniform of Captain First Rank in
the Soviet Navy. Behind him, out of sight, someone SPEAKS:
<b> VOICE (OS)
</b> Cold this morning, Captain.
Ramius shivers. When he replies, he speaks not about the weather,
but of the land:
<b> RAMIUS
</b> It is cold.
<b> (BEAT)-
</b> And hard.
Turning his back on the icy coast, Ramius smi-I fondly at the man
who just spoke to him
<b> CAPTAIN SECOND., RANK VASILY BORODIN
</b> Ramius' executive officer, also in black uniform. Borodin's rigged
with a mike. , Brass .buttons gambol in his Nubian cap like money.
<b> RAMIUS (CONT'D)
</b> e your head a bit. No need to
crowd him.
<b> BORODIN
</b>
<b> (INTO MIKE)
</b> Come left three degrees. Make your
course three-four-zero. Sonar, let
me know when we pass fifty, fathoms.
A HELMSMAN responds on a SPEAKER in the SAIL. Nautical CROSS
TALK. Orders GIVEN and AFFIRMED. Pulling back, Ramius and
Borodin are revealed standing atop
<b> THE RED OCTOBER
</b> a huge submarine, trading a gigantic rudder a hundred yards aft
her sail. A patrol BOAT and ICEBREAKER escort her to sea. On
SPEAKERS in the SAIL:
<b> HELMSMAN (VO)
</b> Captain, political off=er Putin requests
permission to come to the bridge.
<b> RAMIUS
</b>
<b> (GLANCING AT
</b>
<b> BORODIN)
</b> Granted.
<b> BORODIN
</b> (under his breath)
Think of it, Comrade.. .son of only a
humble mM worker...
<b>
|
ramius
|
How many times does the word 'ramius' appear in the text?
| 8
|
you couldn't do better than make your bow to her, if
you can't go to work and wait till you are grown up before you begin
lovering.'
'Nat would break his fiddle over my head if I suggested such a thing.
No, thank you. Another name is engraved upon my heart as indelibly
as the blue anchor on my arm. "Hope" is my motto, and "No surrender",
yours; see who will hold out longest.'
'You silly boys think we must pair off as we did when children; but we
shall do nothing of the kind. How well Parnassus looks from here!' said
Nan, abruptly changing the conversation again.
'It is a fine house; but I love old Plum best. Wouldn't Aunt March stare
if she could see the changes here?' answered Tom, as they both paused at
the great gate to look at the pleasant landscape before them.
A sudden whoop startled them, as a long boy with a wild yellow head came
leaping over a hedge like a kangaroo, followed by a slender girl, who
stuck in the hawthorn, and sat there laughing like a witch. A pretty
little lass she was, with curly dark hair, bright eyes, and a very
expressive face. Her hat was at her back, and her skirts a good deal the
worse for the brooks she had crossed, the trees she had climbed, and the
last leap, which added several fine rents.
'Take me down, Nan, please. Tom, hold Ted; he's got my book, and I
will have it,' called Josie from her perch, not at all daunted by the
appearance of her friends.
Tom promptly collared the thief, while Nan picked Josie from among the
thorns and set her on her feet without a word of reproof; for having
been a romp in her own girlhood, she was very indulgent to like tastes
in others. 'What's the matter, dear?' she asked, pinning up the longest
rip, while Josie examined the scratches on her hands. 'I was studying my
part in the willow, and Ted came slyly up and poked the book out of my
hands with his rod. It fell in the brook, and before I could scrabble
down he was off. You wretch, give it back this moment or I'll box your
ears,' cried Josie, laughing and scolding in the same breath.
Escaping from Tom, Ted struck a sentimental attitude, and with tender
glances at the wet, torn young person before him, delivered Claude
Melnotte's famous speech in a lackadaisical way that was irresistibly
funny, ending with 'Dost like the picture, love?' as he made an object
of himself by tying his long legs in a knot and distorting his face
horribly.
The sound of applause from the piazza put a stop to these antics, and
the young folks went up the avenue together very much in the old style
when Tom drove four in hand and Nan was the best horse in the team.
Rosy, breathless, and merry, they greeted the ladies and sat down on
the steps to rest, Aunt Meg sewing up her daughter's rags while Mrs
Jo smoothed the Lion's mane, and rescued the book. Daisy appeared in a
moment to greet her friend, and all began to talk.
'Muffins for tea; better stay and eat 'em; Daisy's never fail,' said Ted
hospitably.
'He's a judge; he ate nine last time. That's why he's so fat,' added
Josie, with a withering glance at her cousin, who was as thin as a lath.
'I must go and see Lucy Dove. She has a whitlow, and it's time to lance
it. I'll tea at college,' answered Nan, feeling in her pocket to be sure
she had not forgotten her case of instruments.
'Thanks, I'm going there also. Tom Merryweather has granulated lids,
and I promised to touch them up for him. Save a doctor's fee and be good
practice for me. I'm clumsy with my thumbs,' said Tom, bound to be near
his idol while he could.
'Hush! Daisy doesn't like to hear you saw-bones talk of your work.
Muffins suit us better'; and Ted grinned sweetly, with a view to future
favours in the eating line.
'Any news of the Commodore?' asked Tom.
'He is on his way home, and Dan hopes to come soon. I long to see my
boys together, and have begged the wanderers to come to Thanksgiving, if
not before,' answered Mrs Jo, beaming at the thought.
'They'll come, every man of them, if they can. Even Jack will risk
losing a dollar for the sake of one of our jolly old dinners,' laughed
Tom.
'There's the turkey fattening for the feast. I never chase him now, but
feed him well; and he's "swellin' wisibly", bless his drumsticks!' said
Ted, pointing out the doomed fowl proudly parading in a neighbouring
field.
'If Nat goes the last of the month we shall want a farewell frolic for
him. I suppose the dear old Chirper will come home a second Ole Bull,'
said Nan to her friend.
A pretty colour came into Daisy's cheek, and the folds of muslin on her
breast rose and fell with a quick breath; but she answered placidly:
'Uncle Laurie says he has real talent, and after the training he will
get abroad he can command a good living here, though he may never be
famous.'
'Young people seldom turn out as one predicts, so it is of little use
to expect anything,' said Mrs Meg with a sigh. 'If our children are good
and useful men and women, we should be satisfied; yet it's very natural
to wish them to be brilliant and successful.'
'They are like my chickens, mighty uncertain. Now, that fine-looking
cockerel of mine is the stupidest one of the lot, and the ugly,
long-legged chap is the king of the yard, he's so smart; crows loud
enough to wake the Seven Sleepers; but the handsome one croaks, and is
no end of a coward. I get snubbed; but you wait till I grow up, and
then see'; and Ted looked so like his own long-legged pet that everyone
laughed at his modest prediction.
'I want to
|
children
|
How many times does the word 'children' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b> He caught the northbound Howard
line. Got off at Sheridan.
Stopped at 7-11. Purchased six-
pack of beer and a box of Captain
Crunch. Returned home.
The area code is identified. The first three numbers
suddenly fixed, leaving only seven flowing columns.
We begin MOVING TOWARD the screen, CLOSING IN as each
digit is matched, one by one, snapping into place like
the wheels of a slot machine.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> All right, you're relieved. Use
the usual exit.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Do you know when we're going to
make contact?
<b> TRINITY
</b> Soon.
Only two thin digits left.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Just between you and me, you don't
believe it, do you? You don't
believe this guy is the one?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus believes he is.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> I know. But what about you?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus knows things that
I don't.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, but if he's wrong --
The final number pops into place --
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Did you hear that?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Hear what?
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace complete. Call origin:
<b> #312-555-0690
</b>
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Are you sure this line is clean?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, course I'm sure.
We MOVE STILL CLOSER, the ELECTRIC HUM of the green
numbers GROWING INTO an OMINOUS ROAR.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I better go.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah. Right. See you on the other side.
She hangs up as we PASS THROUGH the numbers, entering the
netherworld of the computer screen.
Where gradually the sound of a police radio grows around
us.
<b> RADIO (V.O.)
</b> Attention all units. Attention
all units.
Suddenly, a flashlight cuts open the darkness and we find
ourselves in --
<b> INT. CHASE HOTEL - NIGHT
</b>
The hotel was abandoned after a fire licked its way
across the polyester carpeting, destroying several rooms
as it spooled soot up the walls and ceiling leaving
patterns of permanent shadow.
We FOLLOW four armed POLICE officers using flashlights as
they creep down the blackened hall and ready themselves
on either side of room 303.
The biggest of them violently kicks in the door --
The other cops pour in behind him, guns thrust before
them.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Police! Freeze!
The room is almost devoid of furniture. There is a fold-
up table and chair with a phone, a modern, and a powerbook
computer. The only light in the room is the glow of the
computer.
Sitting there, her hands still on the keyboard, is
TRINITY; a woman in black leather.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Get your hands behind your head!
Trinity rises.
<b> BIG COP
</b> Hands behind your head! Now! Do
it!
She slowly puts her hands behind her head.
<b> EXT. CHASE HOTEL - NIGHT
</b>
A black sedan with tinted windows glides in through the
police cruisers.
AGENT SMITH and AGENT BROWN get out of the car.
They wear dark suits and sunglasses even at night. They
are also always hardwired; small Secret Service earphones
in one ear, its cord coiling back into their shirt
collars.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> Lieutenant?
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Oh shit.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> Lieutenant, you were given
specific orders --
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> I'm just doing my job. You gimme
that Juris-my dick-tion and you
can cran it up your ass.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> The orders were for your protection.
The Lieutenant laughs.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> I think we can
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 4
|
snore came through the closed door of the
chief mate's room. The second mate's door was on the hook, but the
darkness in there was absolutely soundless. He, too, was young and could
sleep like a stone. Remained the steward, but he was not likely to
wake up before he was called. I got a sleeping suit out of my room and,
coming back on deck, saw the naked man from the sea sitting on the main
hatch, glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body in a
sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one I was wearing
and followed me like my double on the poop. Together we moved right aft,
barefooted, silent.
"What is it?" I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp out
of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.
"An ugly business."
He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under somewhat
heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth on his
cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped, round chin. His
expression was concentrated, meditative, under the inspecting light of
the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking hard in solitude
might wear. My sleeping suit was just right for his size. A well-knit
young fellow of twenty-five at most. He caught his lower lip with the
edge of white, even teeth.
"Yes," I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle. The warm, heavy
tropical night closed upon his head again.
"There's a ship over there," he murmured.
"Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?"
"Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her--" He paused and
corrected himself. "I should say I _was_."
"Aha! Something wrong?"
"Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man."
"What do you mean? Just now?"
"No, on the passage. Weeks ago. Thirty-nine south. When I say a man--"
"Fit of temper," I suggested, confidently.
The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the
ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had
been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense
mirror.
"A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy," murmured my
double, distinctly.
"You're a Conway boy?"
"I am," he said, as if startled. Then, slowly... "Perhaps you too--"
It was so; but being a couple of years older I had left before he
joined. After a quick interchange of dates a silence fell; and I thought
suddenly of my absurd mate with his terrific whiskers and the "Bless my
soul--you don't say so" type of intellect. My double gave me an inkling
of his thoughts by saying: "My father's a parson in Norfolk. Do you see
me before a judge and jury on that charge? For myself I can't see the
necessity. There are fellows that an angel from heaven--And I am not
that. He was one of those creatures that are just simmering all the time
with a silly sort of wickedness. Miserable devils that have no business
to live at all. He wouldn't do his duty and wouldn't let anybody else do
theirs. But what's the good of talking! You know well enough the sort of
ill-conditioned snarling cur--"
He appealed to me as if our experiences had been as identical as
our clothes. And I knew well enough the pestiferous danger of such a
character where there are no means of legal repression. And I knew well
enough also that my double there was no homicidal ruffian. I did not
think of asking him for details, and he told me the story roughly in
brusque, disconnected sentences. I needed no more. I saw it all going on
as though I were myself inside that other sleeping suit.
"It happened while we were setting a reefed foresail, at dusk. Reefed
foresail! You understand the sort of weather. The only sail we had left
to keep the ship running; so you may guess what it had been like for
days. Anxious sort of job, that. He gave me some of his cursed insolence
at the sheet. I tell you I was overdone with this terrific weather that
seemed to have no end to it. Terrific, I tell you--and a deep ship. I
believe the fellow himself was half crazed with funk. It was no time for
gentlemanly reproof, so I turned round and felled him like an ox. He up
and at me. We closed just as an awful sea made for the ship. All hands
saw it coming and took to the rigging, but I had him by the throat, and
went on shaking him like a rat, the men above us yelling, 'Look out!
look out!' Then a crash as if the sky had fallen on my head. They
say that for over ten minutes hardly anything was to be seen of the
ship--just the three masts and a bit of the forecastle head and of the
poop all awash driving along in a smother of foam. It was a miracle that
they found us, jammed together behind the forebitts. It's clear that I
meant business, because I was holding him by the throat still when they
picked us up. He was black in the face. It was too much for them.
It seems they rushed us aft together, gripped as we were, screaming
'Murder!' like a lot of lunatics, and broke into the cuddy. And the ship
running for her life, touch and go all the time, any minute her last in
a sea fit to turn your hair gray only a-looking at it. I understand that
the skipper, too, started raving like the rest of them. The man had been
deprived of sleep for more than a week, and to have this sprung on him
at the height of a furious gale nearly drove him out of his mind. I
wonder they didn't fling me overboard after getting the carcass of their
precious shipmate out of my fingers. They had rather a job to separate
us, I've been told. A sufficiently fierce story to make an old judge
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 7
|
DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. NARROW CANYON - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT. A dry watercourse threads its way through the cut
in the treeless hills. The sun is not high enough as yet to
drive night from the canyon. A man appears around a bend;
another and still another. They are McCall, Peters and Lednov,
clad in prison clothes, hatless, their heads closely cropped.
As Lednov's face comes into a closeup,
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. HILL - DAWN
</b>
LONG SHOT - DOWN ANGLE. A narrow valley lies below. Through
it runs a cottonwood-bordered stream. Smoke curls up out of
the trees. Horses graze in a small meadow near the creek.
From O.O. comes the SOUND of heavy boots crunching across
the dry, eroded earth. The three men file past camera to
stop in the immediate F.g. and look down into the valley.
They exchange glances and start down.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT - ANGLED THROUGH willows. A bearded man, Cal
Forster, and two young fellows in their late teens squat
beside a campfire eating breakfast. O.s. there is the SOUND
of movement. Lednov moves cautiously into the scene. He has
a revolver in his hand.
Forster turns toward camera and fear comes into his
expression. Lednov fires. Forster crumples near the fire.
The two boys jump to their feet and reach for rifles. Lednov
fires again and again. McCall and Peters come into the scene,
both firing revolvers.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED SHOT - ANGLED ACROSS campfire. On the fire smoulders the
prison clothes the convicts had worn. Smoke spirals up. In
the B.B. Lednov, Peters and McCall, now wearing the clothes
of the three Forsters, saddle the horses. CAMERA PANS AROUND
and ANGLES DOWN. The bodies of Forster and his sons, now
clad in underwear are sprawled by the fire. Forster's arm
lies close to the smouldering clothing.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. CREEK - DAWN
</b>
MED. LONG SHOT. Smoke climbs above the trees. Into the
clearing ride the three convicts, to cross it and move
westward. They disappear over the hill. A dust cloud
|
curls
|
How many times does the word 'curls' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and
even the fact that she was a sprig of the transatlantic democracy never
sufficiently explained her apathy on social questions. She had a mental
image of that son of the Crusaders who was to suffer her to adore him,
but like many an artist who has produced a masterpiece of idealisation
she shrank from exposing it to public criticism. It was the portrait of
a gentleman rather ugly than handsome and rather poor than rich. But his
ugliness was to be nobly expressive and his poverty delicately proud.
She had a fortune of her own which, at the proper time, after fixing on
her in eloquent silence those fine eyes that were to soften the feudal
severity of his visage, he was to accept with a world of stifled
protestations. One condition alone she was to make--that he should have
"race" in a state as documented as it was possible to have it. On this
she would stake her happiness; and it was so to happen that several
accidents conspired to give convincing colour to this artless
philosophy.
Inclined to long pauses and slow approaches herself, Euphemia was
a great sitter at the feet of breathless volubility, and there were
moments when she fairly hung upon the lips of Mademoiselle Marie de
Mauves. Her intimacy with this chosen schoolmate was founded on the
perception--all her own--that their differences were just the right
ones. Mademoiselle de Mauves was very positive, very shrewd,
very ironical, very French--everything that Euphemia felt herself
unpardonable for not being. During her Sundays en ville she had examined
the world and judged it, and she imparted her impressions to our
attentive heroine with an agreeable mixture of enthusiasm and
scepticism. She was moreover a handsome and well-grown person, on whom
Euphemia's ribbons and trinkets had a trick of looking better than on
their slender proprietress. She had finally the supreme merit of being
a rigorous example of the virtue of exalted birth, having, as she did,
ancestors honourably mentioned by Joinville and Commines, and a stately
grandmother with a hooked nose who came up with her after the holidays
from a veritable castel in Auvergne. It seemed to our own young woman
that these attributes made her friend more at home in the world than if
she had been the daughter of even the most prosperous grocer. A certain
aristocratic impudence Mademoiselle de Mauves abundantly possessed,
and her raids among her friend's finery were quite in the spirit of her
baronial ancestors in the twelfth century--a spirit regarded by
Euphemia but as a large way of understanding friendship, a freedom from
conformities without style, and one that would sooner or later express
itself in acts of surprising magnanimity. There doubtless prevailed
in the breast of Mademoiselle de Mauves herself a dimmer vision of the
large securities that Euphemia envied her. She was to become later in
life so accomplished a schemer that her sense of having further heights
to scale might well have waked up early. The especially fine appearance
made by our heroine's ribbons and trinkets as her friend wore them
ministered to pleasure on both sides, and the spell was not of a nature
to be menaced by the young American's general gentleness. The concluding
motive of Marie's writing to her grandmamma to invite Euphemia for a
three weeks' holiday to the castel in Auvergne involved, however, the
subtlest considerations. Mademoiselle de Mauves indeed, at this time
seventeen years of age and capable of views as wide as her wants, was as
proper a figure as could possibly have been found for the foreground
of a scene artfully designed; and Euphemia, whose years were of like
number, asked herself if a right harmony with such a place mightn't
come by humble prayer. It is a proof of the sincerity of the latter's
aspirations that the castel was not a shock to her faith. It was neither
a cheerful nor a luxurious abode, but it was as full of wonders as a
box of old heirlooms or objects "willed." It had battered towers and
an empty moat, a rusty drawbridge and a court paved with crooked
grass-grown slabs over which the antique coach-wheels of the lady with
the hooked nose seemed to awaken the echoes of the seventeenth century.
Euphemia was not frightened out of her dream; she had the pleasure of
seeing all the easier passages translated into truth, as the learner
of a language begins with the common words. She had a taste for old
servants, old anecdotes, old furniture, faded household colours and
sweetly stale odours--musty treasures in which the Chateau de Mauves
abounded. She made a dozen sketches in water-colours after her
conventual pattern; but sentimentally, as one may say, she was for ever
sketching with a freer hand.
Old Madame de Mauves had nothing severe but her nose, and she seemed to
Euphemia--what indeed she had every claim to pass for--the very image
and pattern of an "historical character." Belonging to a great order of
things, she patronised the young stranger who was ready to sit all day
at her feet and listen to anecdotes of the bon temps and quotations from
the family chronicles. Madame de Mauves was a very honest old woman; she
uttered her thoughts with ancient plainness. One day after pushing back
Euphemia's shining locks and blinking with some tenderness from behind
an immense face-a-main that acted as for the relegation of the girl
herself to the glass case of a museum, she declared with an energetic
shake of the head that she didn't know what to make of such a little
person. And in answer to the little person's evident wonder, "I should
like to advise you," she said, "but you seem to me so all of a piece
that I'm afraid that if I advise you I shall spoil you. It's easy to see
you're not one of us. I don't know whether you're better, but you
seem to me to have been wound up by some key that isn't kept by your
governess or your confessor or even your mother, but that you wear by
a fine black ribbon round your own neck. Little persons in my day--when
they were stupid they were very docile, but when they were clever they
were very sly! You're clever enough, I imagine, and yet if I guessed all
your
|
mauves
|
How many times does the word 'mauves' appear in the text?
| 7
|
their easily-demonstrated facts, knows that religion is of _natural_ and
not _supernatural_ origin; that it is a natural element of the
_human mind_, and not a "_direct gift from God_;" that it grows as
spontaneously out of the soul as flowers spring out of the ground. It is
as natural as eating, sleeping or breathing. This conclusion is not the
offspring of mere imagination. It is no hastily-concocted theory, but an
oft-demonstrated and scientifically-established fact, which any person
can test the truth of for himself.
And this modern discovery will, at no distant day, revolutionize
all systems of religious faith in existence, and either dissolve and
dissipate them, or modify and establish them upon a more natural and
enduring basis, expurgated of their dogmatic errors.
Let us, then, labor to banish the wide-spread delusion believed and
taught by a thousand systems of worship--Jew, Pagan and Christian--that
"religion is of supernatural or divine origin," and the many ruinous
errors; senseless dogmas and deplorable soul-crushing superstitions
so thoroughly inwrought into the Christian system will vanish like fog
before the morning sun, and be replaced by a religion which sensible,
intelligent and scientific men and women can accept, and will delight to
honor and practice.
ADDRESS TO THE CLERGY.
FRIENDS and brethren--teachers of the Christian faith: Will you believe
us when we tell you the divine claims of your religion are
gone--all swept away by the "logic of history," and nullified by the
demonstrations of science?
The recently opened fountains of historic law, many of whose potent
facts will be found interspersed through the pages of this work, sweep
away the last inch of ground on which can be predicated the least show
for either the divine origin of the Christian religion, or the divinity
of Jesus Christ.
For these facts demonstrate beyond all cavil and criticism, and with
a logical force which can leave not the vestige of a doubt upon any
unbiased mind, that all its doctrines are an outgrowth from older
heathen systems. Several systems of religion essentially the same in
character and spirit as that religion now known as Christianity, and
setting forth the same doctrines, principles and precepts, and several
personages filling a chapter in history almost identical with that of
Jesus Christ, it is now known to those who are up with the discoveries
and intelligence of the age, were venerated in the East centuries before
a religion called Christian, or a personage called Jesus Christ were
known to history.
Will you not, then, give it up that your religion is merely a human
production, reconstructed from heathen materials--from oriental systems
several thousand years older than yours--or will you continue, in spite
of the unanimous and unalterable verdict of history, science, facts and
logic, to proclaim to the world the now historically demonstrated
error which you have so long preached, that God is the author of your
religion, and Jesus Christ a Deity-begotten Messiah? Though you may have
heretofore honestly believed these doctrines to be true, you can now no
longer plead ignorance as an excuse for propagating such gigantic
and serious errors, as they are now overwhelmingly demonstrated by a
thousand facts of history to be untrue. You must abandon such exalted
claims for your religion, or posterity will mark you as being "blind
leaders of the blind." They will heap upon your honored names their
unmitigated ridicule and condemnation. They will charge you as being
either deplorably ignorant, or disloyal to the cause of truth. And shame
and ignominy will be your portion.
The following propositions (fatal to your claims for Christianity) are
established beyond confutation by the historical facts cited in this
work, viz:--
1. There were many cases of the miraculous birth of Gods reported in
history before the case of Jesus Christ.
2 Also many other cases of Gods being born of virgin mothers.
3. Many of these Gods, like Christ, were (reputedly) born on the 25th of
December.
4. Their advent into the world, like that of Jesus Christ, is in many
cases claimed to have been foretold by "inspired prophets."
5. Stars figured at the birth of several of them, as in the case of
Christ.
6. Also angels, shepherds, and magi, or "wise men."
7. Many of them, like Christ, were claimed to be of royal or princely
descent.
8. Their lives, like his, were also threatened in infancy by the ruler
of the country.
9. Several of them, like him, gave early proof of divinity.
10. And, like him, retired from the world and fasted.
11. Also, like him, declared, "My kingdom is not of this world."
12. Some of them preached a spiritual religion, too, like his.
13. And were "anointed with oil," like him.
14. Many of them, like him, were "crucified for the sins of the world."
15. And after three days' interment "rose from the dead."
16. And, finally, like him, are reported as ascending back to heaven.
17. The same violent convulsions of nature at the crucifixion of several
are reported.
18. They were nearly all called "Saviors," "Son of God," "Messiah,"
"Redeemer," "Lord," &c.
19. Each one was the second member of the trinity of "Father, Son and
Holy Ghost."
20. The doctrines of "Original Sin," "Fall of Man," "The Atonement,"
"The Trinity," "The Word," "Forgiveness," "An Angry God," "Future
Endless Punishment," etc., etc. (see the author's "Biography of Satan,")
were a part of the religion of each of these sin-atoning Gods, as
found set forth in several oriental bibles and "holy books," similar in
character and spirit to the Christian's bible, and written, like it,
by "inspired and holy men" before the time of either Christ or Moses
(before Moses, in some cases, at least). All these doctrines and
declarations, and many others not here enumerated, the historical
citations of this work abundantly prove, were taught in various
oriental heathen nations centuries before the birth of Christ, or before
|
several
|
How many times does the word 'several' appear in the text?
| 6
|
our
courtesy worth less than the trouble which it cost him. The churl! He
understood the shrill whistle of the blast, but had no intelligence for
our blithe tones of brotherhood. This lack of faith in our cordial
sympathy, on the traveller's part, was one among the innumerable tokens
how difficult a task we had in hand for the reformation of the world.
We rode on, however, with still unflagging spirits, and made such good
companionship with the tempest that, at our journey's end, we professed
ourselves almost loath to bid the rude blusterer good-by. But, to own
the truth, I was little better than an icicle, and began to be
suspicious that I had caught a fearful cold.
And now we were seated by the brisk fireside of the old farmhouse, the
same fire that glimmers so faintly among my reminiscences at the
beginning of this chapter. There we sat, with the snow melting out of
our hair and beards, and our faces all ablaze, what with the past
inclemency and present warmth. It was, indeed, a right good fire that
we found awaiting us, built up of great, rough logs, and knotty limbs,
and splintered fragments of an oak-tree, such as farmers are wont to
keep for their own hearths, since these crooked and unmanageable boughs
could never be measured into merchantable cords for the market. A
family of the old Pilgrims might have swung their kettle over precisely
such a fire as this, only, no doubt, a bigger one; and, contrasting it
with my coal-grate, I felt so much the more that we had transported
ourselves a world-wide distance from the system of society that
shackled us at breakfast-time.
Good, comfortable Mrs. Foster (the wife of stout Silas Foster, who was
to manage the farm at a fair stipend, and be our tutor in the art of
husbandry) bade us a hearty welcome. At her back--a back of generous
breadth--appeared two young women, smiling most hospitably, but looking
rather awkward withal, as not well knowing what was to be their
position in our new arrangement of the world. We shook hands
affectionately all round, and congratulated ourselves that the blessed
state of brotherhood and sisterhood, at which we aimed, might fairly be
dated from this moment. Our greetings were hardly concluded when the
door opened, and Zenobia--whom I had never before seen, important as
was her place in our enterprise--Zenobia entered the parlor.
This (as the reader, if at all acquainted with our literary biography,
need scarcely be told) was not her real name. She had assumed it, in
the first instance, as her magazine signature; and, as it accorded well
with something imperial which her friends attributed to this lady's
figure and deportment, they half-laughingly adopted it in their
familiar intercourse with her. She took the appellation in good part,
and even encouraged its constant use; which, in fact, was thus far
appropriate, that our Zenobia, however humble looked her new
philosophy, had as much native pride as any queen would have known what
to do with.
III. A KNOT OF DREAMERS
Zenobia bade us welcome, in a fine, frank, mellow voice, and gave each
of us her hand, which was very soft and warm. She had something
appropriate, I recollect, to say to every individual; and what she said
to myself was this:--"I have long wished to know you, Mr. Coverdale,
and to thank you for your beautiful poetry, some of which I have
learned by heart; or rather it has stolen into my memory, without my
exercising any choice or volition about the matter. Of course--permit
me to say you do not think of relinquishing an occupation in which you
have done yourself so much credit. I would almost rather give you up
as an associate, than that the world should lose one of its true poets!"
"Ah, no; there will not be the slightest danger of that, especially
after this inestimable praise from Zenobia," said I, smiling, and
blushing, no doubt, with excess of pleasure. "I hope, on the contrary,
now to produce something that shall really deserve to be called
poetry,--true, strong, natural, and sweet, as is the life which we are
going to lead,--something that shall have the notes of wild birds
twittering through it, or a strain like the wind anthems in the woods,
as the case may be."
"Is it irksome to you to hear your own verses sung?" asked Zenobia,
with a gracious smile. "If so, I am very sorry, for you will certainly
hear me singing them sometimes, in the summer evenings."
"Of all things," answered I, "that is what will delight me most."
While this passed, and while she spoke to my companions, I was taking
note of Zenobia's aspect; and it impressed itself on me so distinctly,
that I can now summon her up, like a ghost, a little wanner than the
life but otherwise identical with it. She was dressed as simply as
possible, in an American print (I think the dry-goods people call it
so), but with a silken kerchief, between which and her gown there was
one glimpse of a white shoulder. It struck me as a great piece of good
fortune that there should be just that glimpse. Her hair, which was
dark, glossy, and of singular abundance, was put up rather soberly and
primly--without curls, or other ornament, except a single flower. It
was an exotic of rare beauty, and as fresh as if the hothouse gardener
had just clipt it from the stem. That flower has struck deep root into
my memory. I can both see it and smell it, at this moment. So
brilliant, so rare, so costly as it must have been, and yet enduring
only for a day, it was more indicative of the pride and pomp which had
a luxuriant growth in Zenobia's character than if a great diamond had
sparkled among her hair.
Her hand, though very soft, was larger than most women would like to
have, or than they could afford to have, though not a whit too large in
proportion with the spacious plan of
|
dressed
|
How many times does the word 'dressed' appear in the text?
| 0
|
do you do, Woldemar! Ah, what a splendid horse! Where did you buy
it?"
"I bought it from the army contractor.... He made me pay for it too, the
brigand!"
"What's its name?"
"Orlando.... But it's a stupid name; I want to change.... Eh bien, eh
bien, mon garcon.... What a restless beast it is!" The horse snorted,
pawed the ground, and shook the foam off the bit.
"Lenotchka, stroke him, don't be afraid."
The little girl stretched her hand out of the window, but Orlando
suddenly reared and started. The rider with perfect self-possession gave
it a cut with the whip across the neck, and keeping a tight grip with
his legs forced it in spite of its opposition, to stand still again at
the window.
"Prenez garde, prenez garde," Marya Dmitrievna kept repeating.
"Lenotchka, pat him," said the young man, "I won't let him be perverse."
The little girl again stretched out her hand and timidly patted the
quivering nostrils of the horse, who kept fidgeting and champing the
bit.
"Bravo!" cried Marya Dmitrievna, "but now get off and come in to us."
The rider adroitly turned his horse, gave him a touch of the spur, and
galloping down the street soon reached the courtyard. A minute later
he ran into the drawing-room by the door from the hall, flourishing his
whip; at the same moment there appeared in the other doorway a tall,
slender dark-haired girl of nineteen, Marya Dmitrievna's eldest
daughter, Lisa.
Chapter IV
The name of the young man whom we have just introduced to the reader
was Vladimir Nikolaitch Panshin. He served in Petersburg on special
commissions in the department of internal affairs. He had come to the
town of O---- to carry out some temporary government commissions,
and was in attendance on the Governor-General Zonnenberg, to whom he
happened to be distantly related. Panshin's father, a retired cavalry
officer and a notorious gambler, was a man with insinuating eyes, a
battered countenance, and a nervous twitch about the mouth. He spent his
whole life hanging about the aristocratic world; frequented the English
clubs of both capitals, and had the reputation of a smart, not very
trustworthy, but jolly good-natured fellow. In spite of his smartness,
he was almost always on the brink of ruin, and the property he left his
son was small and heavily-encumbered. To make up for that, however,
he did exert himself, after his own fashion, over his son's education.
Vladimir Nikolaitch spoke French very well, English well, and German
badly; that is the proper thing; fashionable people would be ashamed
to speak German well; but to utter an occasional--generally a
humorous--phrase in German is quite correct, c'est meme tres chic,
as the Parisians of Petersburg express themselves. By the time he
was fifteen, Vladimir knew how to enter any drawing-room without
embarrassment, how to move about in it gracefully and to leave it at
the appropriate moment. Panshin's father gained many connections for his
son. He never lost an opportunity, while shuffling the cards between
two rubbers, or playing a successful trump, of dropping a hint about his
Volodka to any personage of importance who was a devotee of cards. And
Vladimir, too, during his residence at the university, which he left
without a very brilliant degree, formed an acquaintance with several
young men of quality, and gained an entry into the best houses. He was
received cordially everywhere: he was very good-looking, easy in his
manners, amusing, always in good health, and ready for everything;
respectful, when he ought to be; insolent, when he dared to be;
excellent company, un charmant garcon. The promised land lay before him.
Panshin quickly learnt the secret of getting on in the world; he knew
how to yield with genuine respect to its decrees; he knew how to take
up trifles with half ironical seriousness, and to appear to regard
everything serious as trifling; he was a capital dancer; and dressed in
the English style. In a short time he gained the reputation of being one
of the smartest and most attractive young men in Petersburg.
Panshin was indeed very smart, not less so than his father; but he was
also very talented. He did everything well; he sang charmingly, sketched
with spirit, wrote verses, and was a very fair actor. He was only
twenty-eight, and he was already a kammer-yunker, and had a very
good position. Panshin had complete confidence in himself, in his
own intelligence, and his own penetration; he made his way with
light-hearted assurance, everything went smoothly with him. He was
used to being liked by every one, old and young, and imagined that
he understood people, especially women: he certainly understood their
ordinary weaknesses. As a man of artistic leanings, he was conscious of
a capacity for passion, for being carried away, even for enthusiasm,
and consequently, he permitted himself various irregularities; he was
dissipated, associated with persons not belonging to good society, and,
in general, conducted himself in a free and easy manner; but at heart he
was cold and false, and at the moment of the most boisterous revelry
his sharp brown eye was always alert, taking everything in. This bold,
independent young man could never forget himself and be completely
carried away. To his credit it must be said, that he never boasted
of his conquests. He had found his way into Marya Dmitrievna's house
immediately he arrived in O----, and was soon perfectly at home there.
Marya Dmitrievna absolutely adored him. Panshin exchanged cordial
greetings with every one in the room; he shook hands with Marya
Dmitrievna and Lisaveta Mihalovna, clapped Gedeonovsky lightly on the
shoulder, and turning round on his heels, put his hand on Lenotchka's
head and kissed her on the forehead.
"Aren't you afraid to ride such a vicious horse?" Marya Dmitrievna
questioned him.
"I assure you he's very
|
credit
|
How many times does the word 'credit' appear in the text?
| 0
|
turned his mind to
technical microscopy when he was eighteen, and a chance friendship with
a Holborn microscope dealer had confirmed that bent. He had remarkably
skilful fingers and a love of detailed processes, and he had become one
of the most dexterous amateur makers of rock sections in the world.
He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the
little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus
and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to
a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified
manner. He did it, he said, "to distract his mind." His chief successes
he exhibited to the Lowndean Microscopical Society, where their high
technical merit never failed to excite admiration. Their scientific
value was less considerable, since he chose rocks entirely with a
view to their difficulty of handling or their attractiveness at
conversaziones when done. He had a great contempt for the sections the
"theorizers" produced. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they
were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Yet an indiscriminating,
wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions....
He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with
chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also
in order "to distract his mind." He read it in winter in the evening
after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to
monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin
slippers across the fender. She wondered occasionally why his mind
needed so much distraction. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which
he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and
carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was
younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the
impression of its predecessor. But she certainly remembered that when
she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a
bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. And
in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and
hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to
the scullery wall.
It had been Ann Veronica's lot as the youngest child to live in a home
that became less animated and various as she grew up. Her mother had
died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married
off--one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone
out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could
of her father. But he was not a father one could make much of.
His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest
quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern
vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure
and good for life. He made this simple classification of a large and
various sex to the exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that
the two classes had to be kept apart even in thought and remote from one
another. Women are made like the potter's vessels--either for worship
or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. He had never wanted
daughters. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed
his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had
sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. He was
a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his
dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real
vein of passion in his sentiment. But he had always felt (he had never
allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family
was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. He had,
however, planned brilliant careers for his two sons, and, with a certain
human amount of warping and delay, they were pursuing these. One was
in the Indian Civil Service and one in the rapidly developing motor
business. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother's care.
He had no ideas about daughters. They happen to a man.
Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough. It runs about
gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of
soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. It
is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it
does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. It makes
wonderful sentences that you can repeat in the City and are good
enough for Punch. You call it a lot of nicknames--"Babs" and "Bibs" and
"Viddles" and "Vee"; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back.
It loves to sit on your knee. All that is jolly and as it should be.
But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. There
one comes to a relationship that Mr. Stanley had never thought out.
When he found himself thinking about it, it upset him so that he at once
resorted to distraction. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved
his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any
quality of guidance. Its heroes never had daughters, they borrowed other
people's. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was
that it had rather a light way with parental rights. His instinct was in
the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound
to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his
declining years just as he thought fit. About this conception of
ownership he perceived and desired a certain sentimental glamour, he
liked everything properly dressed, but it remained ownership. Ownership
seemed only a reasonable return for the cares and expenses of a
daughter's upbringing. Daughters were not like sons. He perceived,
however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in
discountenanced these assumptions. Nothing else was put in their place,
and they remained sotto voce, as it were, in his mind. The new and
the old cancelled out; his daughters became quasi-independent
dependents--which is absurd. One married as he wished and one against
his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented
with her beautiful, safe
|
reasonable
|
How many times does the word 'reasonable' appear in the text?
| 0
|
day after her arrival, she went to choose some jewels at a famous
Italian's; this man came from Florence with the Queen, and had acquired
such immense riches by his trade, that his house seemed rather fit for
a Prince than a merchant; while she was there, the Prince of Cleves
came in, and was so touched with her beauty, that he could not
dissemble his surprise, nor could Mademoiselle de Chartres forbear
blushing upon observing the astonishment he was in; nevertheless, she
recollected herself, without taking any further notice of him than she
was obliged to do in civility to a person of his seeming rank; the
Prince of Cleves viewed her with admiration, and could not comprehend
who that fine lady was, whom he did not know. He found by her air, and
her retinue, that she was of the first quality; by her youth he should
have taken her to be a maid, but not seeing her mother, and hearing the
Italian call her madam, he did not know what to think; and all the
while he kept his eyes fixed upon her, he found that his behaviour
embarrassed her, unlike to most young ladies, who always behold with
pleasure the effect of their beauty; he found too, that he had made her
impatient to be going, and in truth she went away immediately: the
Prince of Cleves was not uneasy at himself on having lost the view of
her, in hopes of being informed who she was; but when he found she was
not known, he was under the utmost surprise; her beauty, and the modest
air he had observed in her actions, affected him so, that from that
moment he entertained a passion for her. In the evening he waited on
his Majesty's sister.
This Princess was in great consideration by reason of her interest with
the King her brother; and her authority was so great, that the King, on
concluding the peace, consented to restore Piemont, in order to marry
her with the Duke of Savoy. Though she had always had a disposition to
marry, yet would she never accept of anything beneath a sovereign, and
for this reason she refused the King of Navarre, when he was Duke of
Vendome, and always had a liking for the Duke of Savoy; which
inclination for him she had preserved ever since she saw him at Nice,
at the interview between Francis I, and Pope Paul III. As she had a
great deal of wit, and a fine taste of polite learning, men of
ingenuity were always about her, and at certain times the whole Court
resorted to her apartments.
The Prince of Cleves went there according to his custom; he was so
touched with the wit and beauty of Mademoiselle de Chartres, that he
could talk of nothing else; he related his adventure aloud, and was
never tired with the praises of this lady, whom he had seen, but did
not know; Madame told him, that there was nobody like her he described,
and that if there were, she would be known by the whole world. Madam
de Dampiere, one of the Princess's ladies of honour, and a friend of
Madam de Chartres, overhearing the conversation, came up to her
Highness, and whispered her in the ear, that it was certainly
Mademoiselle de Chartres whom the Prince had seen. Madame, returning
to her discourse with the Prince, told him, if he would give her his
company again the next morning, he should see the beauty he was so much
touched with. Accordingly Mademoiselle de Chartres came the next day
to Court, and was received by both Queens in the most obliging manner
that can be imagined, and with such admiration by everybody else, that
nothing was to be heard at Court but her praises, which she received
with so agreeable a modesty, that she seemed not to have heard them, or
at least not to be moved with them. She afterwards went to wait upon
Madame; that Princess, after having commended her beauty, informed her
of the surprise she had given the Prince of Cleves; the Prince came in
immediately after; "Come hither," said she to him, "see, if I have not
kept my word with you, and if at the same time that I show you
Mademoiselle de Chartres, I don't show you the lady you are in search
of. You ought to thank me, at least, for having acquainted her how
much you are her admirer."
The Prince of Cleves was overjoyed to find that the lady he admired was
of quality equal to her beauty; he addressed her, and entreated her to
remember that he was her first lover, and had conceived the highest
honour and respect for her, before he knew her.
The Chevalier de Guise, and the Prince, who were two bosom friends,
took their leave of Madame together. They were no sooner gone but they
began to launch out into the praises of Mademoiselle de Chartres,
without bounds; they were sensible at length that they had run into
excess in her commendation, and so both gave over for that time; but
they were obliged the next day to renew the subject, for this new-risen
beauty long continued to supply discourse to the whole Court; the Queen
herself was lavish in her praise, and showed her particular marks of
favour; the Queen-Dauphin made her one of her favourites, and begged
her mother to bring her often to her Court; the Princesses, the King's
daughters, made her a party in all their diversions; in short, she had
the love and admiration of the whole Court, except that of the Duchess
of Valentinois: not that this young beauty gave her umbrage; long
experience convinced her she had nothing to fear on the part of the
King, and she had to great a hatred for the Viscount of Chartres, whom
she had endeavoured to bring into her interest by marrying him with one
of her daughters, and who had joined himself to the Queen's party, that
she could not have the least favourable thought of a person who bore
his name, and was a great object of his friendship.
The Prince of Cleves became passionately in love with Mademoiselle de
Chartres, and ardently wished to marry her, but he was afraid the
haughtiness of her mother would not stoop to match her with one who was
not the head of his family: nevertheless his birth was illustrious, and
his elder brother, the Count d'En, had just married a lady so nearly
related to the
|
count
|
How many times does the word 'count' appear in the text?
| 0
|
anger, looking upon him with much interest. First the Ryls, who are
first cousins to the wood-nymphs, although so differently formed. For
the Ryls are required to watch over the flowers and plants, as the
nymphs watch over the forest trees. They search the wide world for the
food required by the roots of the flowering plants, while the brilliant
colors possessed by the full-blown flowers are due to the dyes placed
in the soil by the Ryls, which are drawn through the little veins in
the roots and the body of the plants, as they reach maturity. The Ryls
are a busy people, for their flowers bloom and fade continually, but
they are merry and light-hearted and are very popular with the other
immortals.
Next came the Knooks, whose duty it is to watch over the beasts of the
world, both gentle and wild. The Knooks have a hard time of it, since
many of the beasts are ungovernable and rebel against restraint. But
they know how to manage them, after all, and you will find that certain
laws of the Knooks are obeyed by even the most ferocious animals.
Their anxieties make the Knooks look old and worn and crooked, and
their natures are a bit rough from associating with wild creatures
continually; yet they are most useful to humanity and to the world in
general, as their laws are the only laws the forest beasts recognize
except those of the Master Woodsman.
Then there were the Fairies, the guardians of mankind, who were much
interested in the adoption of Claus because their own laws forbade them
to become familiar with their human charges. There are instances on
record where the Fairies have shown themselves to human beings, and
have even conversed with them; but they are supposed to guard the lives
of mankind unseen and unknown, and if they favor some people more than
others it is because these have won such distinction fairly, as the
Fairies are very just and impartial. But the idea of adopting a child
of men had never occurred to them because it was in every way opposed
to their laws; so their curiosity was intense to behold the little
stranger adopted by Necile and her sister nymphs.
Claus looked upon the immortals who thronged around him with fearless
eyes and smiling lips. He rode laughingly upon the shoulders of the
merry Ryls; he mischievously pulled the gray beards of the low-browed
Knooks; he rested his curly head confidently upon the dainty bosom of
the Fairy Queen herself. And the Ryls loved the sound of his laughter;
the Knooks loved his courage; the Fairies loved his innocence.
The boy made friends of them all, and learned to know their laws
intimately. No forest flower was trampled beneath his feet, lest the
friendly Ryls should be grieved. He never interfered with the beasts
of the forest, lest his friends the Knooks should become angry. The
Fairies he loved dearly, but, knowing nothing of mankind, he could not
understand that he was the only one of his race admitted to friendly
intercourse with them.
Indeed, Claus came to consider that he alone, of all the forest people,
had no like nor fellow. To him the forest was the world. He had no
idea that millions of toiling, striving human creatures existed.
And he was happy and content.
** Some people have spelled this name Nicklaus and others Nicolas,
which is the reason that Santa Claus is still known in some lands
as St. Nicolas. But, of course, Neclaus is his right name, and
Claus the nickname given him by his adopted mother, the fair nymph
Necile.
5. The Master Woodsman
Years pass swiftly in Burzee, for the nymphs have no need to regard
time in any way. Even centuries make no change in the dainty
creatures; ever and ever they remain the same, immortal and unchanging.
Claus, however, being mortal, grew to manhood day by day. Necile was
disturbed, presently, to find him too big to lie in her lap, and he had
a desire for other food than milk. His stout legs carried him far into
Burzee's heart, where he gathered supplies of nuts and berries, as well
as several sweet and wholesome roots, which suited his stomach better
than the belludders. He sought Necile's bower less frequently, till
finally it became his custom to return thither only to sleep.
The nymph, who had come to love him dearly, was puzzled to comprehend
the changed nature of her charge, and unconsciously altered her own
mode of life to conform to his whims. She followed him readily through
the forest paths, as did many of her sister nymphs, explaining as they
walked all the mysteries of the gigantic wood and the habits and nature
of the living things which dwelt beneath its shade.
The language of the beasts became clear to little Claus; but he never
could understand their sulky and morose tempers. Only the squirrels,
the mice and the rabbits seemed to possess cheerful and merry natures;
yet would the boy laugh when the panther growled, and stroke the bear's
glossy coat while the creature snarled and bared its teeth menacingly.
The growls and snarls were not for Claus, he well knew, so what did
they matter?
He could sing the songs of the bees, recite the poetry of the
wood-flowers and relate the history of every blinking owl in Burzee.
He helped the Ryls to feed their plants and the Knooks to keep order
among the animals. The little immortals regarded him as a privileged
person, being especially protected by Queen Zurline and her nymphs and
favored by the great Ak himself.
One day the Master Woodsman came back to the forest of Burzee. He had
visited, in turn, all his forests throughout the world, and they were
many and broad.
Not until he entered the glade where the Queen and her nymphs were
assembled to greet him did Ak remember the child he had permitted
Necile to adopt. Then he found, sitting familiarly in the circle of
lovely immortals, a broad-shouldered, stalwart youth, who, when erect,
stood fully as high as the shoulder of the Master himself.
Ak paused, silent and frowning, to
|
instances
|
How many times does the word 'instances' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b><b>
</b><b> OVER BLACK
</b><b>
</b> We listen to the immortal music of Mozart's Adagio of the
Clarinet Concerto in A.
<b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. THE SOLAR SYSTEM
</b><b>
</b> Space, infinite and empty.
<b>
</b> But then, slowly all nine planets of our Solar System move
into frame and align.
<b>
</b> The last of them is the giant, burning sphere of the sun.
<b>
</b> Just as the sun enters frame, a solar storm of gigantic
proportion unfolds. The eruptions shoot thousands of miles
into the blackness of space.
<b>
</b><b> FADE TO BLACK
</b><b>
</b><b> 2009
</b><b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. COUNTRY SIDE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b><b>
</b> Mozart's concerto filters from a jeep's stereo, fighting the
drumming sounds of the monsoon rain. PROF. FREDERIC WEST, 66,
listens to the music.
<b>
</b> An Indian BOY playing by the roadside steers his wooden toy
ship across a puddle.
<b>
</b> The Professor turns to his driver, pointing to the boy.
<b>
</b><b> PROF. WEST
</b> Watch out!
<b>
</b> But it's too late. The jeep drives straight through the
puddle at full speed, sinking the boy's toy ship.
<b>
</b> In the background, the jeep stops in front of a building. The
driver jumps out, leading the Professor towards its entrance.
<b>
</b> The sign at the door reads: `Institute for Astrophysics -
University of New Delhi'.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. NAGA-DENG MINE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b><b>
</b> An endless mine shaft. An old elevator cage comes to a
grinding halt. When Prof. West steps out we see that he is
accompanied now by a nervous DR. SATNAM TSURUTANI, 32.
<b>
</b><b>
|
mozart
|
How many times does the word 'mozart' appear in the text?
| 1
|
, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it had
been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In his
hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.
"So you have been playing the leech, Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.
"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and displaying
a wolfish set of teeth. "My master ordered me to smear the halberd with
the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him: rubbed the steel point, first on
one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then smeared it again."
"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory."
"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."
"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"
Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two, Auriol
was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the laboratory.
Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on which a large
alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task that he scarcely
noticed the entrance of the others.
"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair," he
cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction in
that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."
"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag, which
was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head protruded--"I ought
to take them back with me."
"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb
impatiently; "to-morrow--to-morrow."
Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the sufferer's
temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's injunctions,
turned to inquire what he should do next.
"Begone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of the
room, clapping the door after him.
Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and in
a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a stranger.
Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and fantastical
did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements used by the
adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts, scattered about
without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was a large
terrestrial sphere: near it was an astrolabe, and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels. On the other side lay a black,
mysterious-looking book, fastened with brazen clasps. Around it were a
ram's horn, a pair of forceps, a roll of parchment, a pestle and mortar,
and a large plate of copper, graven with the mysterious symbols of the
Isaical table. Near this was the leathern bag containing the two
decapitated heads, one of which had burst forth. On a table at the
farther end of the room, stood a large open volume, with parchment
leaves, covered with cabalistical characters, referring to the names of
spirits. Near it were two parchment scrolls, written in letters,
respectively denominated by the Chaldaic sages, "the Malachim," and "the
Passing of the River." One of these scrolls was kept in its place by a
skull. An ancient and grotesque-looking brass lamp, with two
snake-headed burners, lighted the room. From the ceiling depended a huge
scaly sea-monster, with outspread fins, open jaws garnished with
tremendous teeth, and great goggling eyes. Near it hung a celestial
sphere. The chimney-piece, which was curiously carved, and projected far
into the room, was laden with various implements of hermetic science.
Above it were hung dried bats and flitter-mice, interspersed with the
skulls of birds and apes. Attached to the chimney-piece was a horary,
sculptured in stone, near which hung a large starfish. The fireplace was
occupied by the furnace, on which, as has been stated, was placed an
alembic, communicating by means of a long serpentine pipe with a
receiver. Within the room were two skeletons, one of which, placed
behind a curtain in the deep embrasure of the window, where its polished
bones glistened in the white moonlight, had a horrible effect. The
other enjoyed more comfortable quarters near the chimney, its fleshless
feet dangling down in the smoke arising from the furnace.
Doctor Lamb, meanwhile, steadily pursued his task, though he ever and
anon paused, to fling certain roots and drugs upon the charcoal. As he
did this, various-coloured flames broke forth--now blue, now green, now
blood-red.
Tinged by these fires, the different objects in the chamber seemed to
take other forms, and to become instinct with animation. The
gourd-shaped cucurbites were transformed into great bloated toads
bursting with venom; the long-necked bolt-heads became monstrous
serpents; the worm-like pipes turned into adders; the alembics looked
like plumed helmets; the characters on the Isaical table, and those on
the parchments, seemed traced in fire, and to be ever changing; the
sea-monster bellowed and roared, and, flapping his fins, tried to burst
from his hook; the skeletons wagged their jaws, and raised their
fleshless fingers in mockery, while blue lights burnt in their eyeless
sockets; the bellows became a prodigious bat fanning the fire with its
wings; and the old alchemist assumed the appearance of the archfiend
presiding over a witches' sabbath.
Auriol's brain reeled
|
pipes
|
How many times does the word 'pipes' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, the
mistress of my heart.
"Although younger than myself, she received my civilities without
embarrassment. I asked the cause of her journey to Amiens, and whether
she had any acquaintances in the town. She ingenuously told me that
she had been sent there by her parents, to commence her novitiate for
taking the veil. Love had so quickened my perception, even in the
short moment it had been enthroned, that I saw in this announcement a
death-blow to my hopes. I spoke to her in a way that made her at once
understand what was passing in my mind; for she had more experience
than myself. It was against her consent that she was consigned to a
convent, doubtless to repress that inclination for pleasure which had
already become too manifest, and which caused, in the sequel, all her
misfortunes and mine. I combated the cruel intention of her parents
with all the arguments that my new-born passion and schoolboy eloquence
could suggest. She affected neither austerity nor reserve. She told
me, after a moment's silence, that she foresaw too clearly, what her
unhappy fate must be; but that it was, apparently, the will of Heaven,
since there were no means left her to avert it. The sweetness of her
look, the air of sorrow with which she pronounced these words, or
rather perhaps the controlling destiny which led me on to ruin, allowed
me not an instant to weigh my answer. I assured her that if she would
place reliance on my honour, and on the tender interest with which she
had already inspired me, I would sacrifice my life to deliver her from
the tyranny of her parents, and to render her happy. I have since been
a thousand times astonished in reflecting upon it, to think how I could
have expressed myself with so much boldness and facility; but love
could never have become a divinity, if he had not often worked miracles.
"I made many other pressing and tender speeches; and my unknown fair
one was perfectly aware that mine was not the age for deceit. She
confessed to me that if I could see but a reasonable hope of being able
to effect her enfranchisement, she should deem herself indebted for my
kindness in more than life itself could pay. I repeated that I was
ready to attempt anything in her behalf; but, not having sufficient
experience at once to imagine any reasonable plan of serving her, I did
not go beyond this general assurance, from which indeed little good
could arise either to her or to myself. Her old guardian having by
this time joined us, my hopes would have been blighted, but that she
had tact enough to make amends for my stupidity. I was surprised, on
his approaching us, to hear her call me her cousin, and say, without
being in the slightest degree disconcerted, that as she had been so
fortunate as to fall in with me at Amiens, she would not go into the
convent until the next morning, in order to have the pleasure of
meeting me at supper. Innocent as I was, I at once comprehended the
meaning of this ruse; and proposed that she should lodge for the night
at the house of an innkeeper, who, after being many years my father's
coachman, had lately established himself at Amiens, and who was
sincerely attached to me.
"I conducted her there myself, at which the old Argus appeared to
grumble a little; and my friend Tiberge, who was puzzled by the whole
scene, followed, without uttering a word. He had not heard our
conversation, having walked up and down the court while I was talking
of love to my angelic mistress. As I had some doubts of his
discretion, I got rid of him, by begging that he would execute a
commission for me. I had thus the happiness, on arriving at the inn,
of entertaining alone the sovereign of my heart.
"I soon learned that I was less a child than I had before imagined. My
heart expanded to a thousand sentiments of pleasure, of which I had not
before the remotest idea. A delicious consciousness of enjoyment
diffused itself through my whole mind and soul. I sank into a kind of
ecstasy, which deprived me for a time of the power of utterance, and
which found vent only in a flood of tears.
"Manon Lescaut (this she told me was her name) seemed gratified by the
visible effect of her own charms. She appeared to me not less excited
than myself. She acknowledged that she was greatly pleased with me,
and that she should be enchanted to owe to me her freedom and future
happiness. She would insist on hearing who I was, and the knowledge
only augmented her affection; for, being herself of humble birth, she
was flattered by securing for her lover a man of family.
"After many reflections we could discover no other resource than in
flight. To effect this it would be requisite to cheat the vigilance of
Manon's guardian, who required management, although he was but a
servant. We determined, therefore, that, during the night, I should
procure a post-chaise, and return with it at break of day to the inn,
before he was awake; that we should steal away quietly, and go straight
to Paris, where we might be married on our arrival. I had about fifty
crowns in my pocket, the fruit of my little savings at school; and she
had about twice as much. We imagined, like inexperienced children,
that such a sum could never be exhausted, and we counted, with equal
confidence, upon the success of our other schemes.
"After having supped, with certainly more satisfaction than I had ever
before experienced, I retired to prepare for our project. All my
arrangements were the more easy, because, for the purpose of returning
on the morrow to my father's, my luggage had been already packed. I
had, therefore, no difficulty in removing my trunk, and having a chaise
prepared for five o'clock in the morning, at which hour the gates of
the town would be opened; but I encountered an obstacle which I was
little prepared for, and which nearly upset all my plans.
"Tiberge, although only three years older than myself, was a youth of
unusually strong mind, and of the best regulated conduct. He loved me
with singular affection. The sight of so lovely a girl as Manon, my
ill-disguised impat
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 7
|
reading light, and the press machines are red-hot of touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or
obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because
it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew
intimately, and the prickly-heat covers you as with a garment, and you
sit down and write:ââA slight increase of sickness is reported from
the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in its
nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District
authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret
we record the death, etc.â
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and
reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires
and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and
the foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in
twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the
middle of their amusements say:ââGood gracious! Why canât the
paper be sparkling? Iâm sure thereâs plenty going on up here.â
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say,
âmust be experienced to be appreciated.â
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper
began running the last issue of the week on Saturday night, which is to
say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a
great convenience, for immediately after the paper was put to bed, the
dawn would lower the thermometer from 96° to almost 84° for almost
half an hour, and in that chillâyou have no idea how cold is 84° on
the grass until you begin to pray for itâa very tired man could set
off to sleep ere the heat roused him.
One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed
alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a community was going to
die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on
the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open till the
latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. It was a pitchy
black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the
red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry trees
and pretending that the rain was on its heels. Now and again a spot of
almost boiling water would fall on the dust with the flop of a frog,
but all our weary world knew that was only pretence. It was a shade
cooler in the press-room than the office, so I sat there, while the
type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows, and
the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their foreheads and
called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was,
would not come off, though the loo dropped and the last type was set,
and the whole round earth stood still in the choking heat, with its
finger on its lip, to wait the event. I drowsed, and wondered whether
the telegraph was a blessing, and whether this dying man, or struggling
people, was aware of the inconvenience the delay was causing. There was
no special reason beyond the heat and worry to make tension, but, as
the clock-hands crept up to three oâclock and the machines spun their
fly-wheels two and three times to see that all was in order, before I
said the word that would set them off, I could have shrieked aloud.
Then the roar and rattle of the wheels shivered the quiet into little
bits. I rose to go away, but two men in white clothes stood in front of
me. The first one said:ââItâs him!â The second saidââSo it
is!â And they both laughed almost as loudly as the machinery roared,
and mopped their foreheads. âWe see there was a light burning across
the road and we were sleeping in that ditch there for coolness, and I
said to my friend here, the office is open. Letâs come along and
speak to him as turned us back from the Degumber State,â said the
smaller of the two. He was the man I had met in the Mhow train, and his
fellow was the red-bearded man of Marwar Junction. There was no
mistaking the eyebrows of the one or the beard of the other.
I was not pleased, because I wished to go to sleep, not to squabble
with loafers. âWhat do you want?â I asked.
âHalf an hourâs talk with you cool and comfortable, in the
office,â said the red-bearded man. âWeâd like some drinkâthe
Contrack doesnât begin yet, Peachey, so you neednât lookâbut what
we really want is advice. We donât want money. We ask you as a favor,
because you did us a bad turn about Degumber.â
I led from the press-room to the stifling office with the maps on the
walls, and the red-haired man rubbed his hands. âThatâs something
like,â said he. âThis was the proper shop to come to. Now, Sir, let
me introduce to you Brother Peachey Carnehan, thatâs him, and Brother
Daniel Dravot, that is me, and the less said about our professions the
better, for we have been most things in our time. Soldier, sailor,
compositor, photographer, proof-reader, street-preacher, and
correspondents of
|
because
|
How many times does the word 'because' appear in the text?
| 2
|
--Like something is brewing,
about to begin--
The shadow's direction becomes purposeful - taking us down
through the clouds, whipping us on the wind towards a small
town in the distance.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Can't put me finger on what lies
<b> IN STORE--
</b> Downwards and downwards until it skittishly circles a large,
bustling park and then swoops us into the lavish gardens.
There, a ten-year-old girl plays in the lush grass; she puts
the finishing touches to a miniature version of the large
park she sits in - benches made from twigs, trees from
flowers, picnic cups from acorns - and gives a satisfied nod.
She wraps her arms tightly around her chest, lifts her face
to the sky, a half-smile threatening to break across her
concentrated face. This is the young P.L. TRAVERS (whom we
will also know as GINTY.)
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --But I feel what's to happen, all
<b> HAPPENED BEFORE--
</b> Her little brow is furrowed with imagination and then, all of
a sudden, the smile breaks free as something in her mind
becomes real.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - PAMELA'S OFFICE - LONDON - MORNING (1961)
</b>
P.L. TRAVERS sits in her rocking chair (in the same position
as above) arms clasped tightly around her body, face to the
sky. Older, beautiful; striking blue eyes aid her air of
stiff and steely determination.
Her office is a canvas of a life well travelled. Buddha
smiles from every corner, framed poetry and letters adorn the
walls alongside pictures of Pamela throughout the years with
men we will not come to know and everywhere, china hens sit
on shelves, their wings clasped to their chests, brooding.
Despite the multitude of objects, the room is peaceful,
white.
Downstairs the doorbell rings.
Pamela closes her eyes, breathes.
It rings again, Pamela shakes her head, tuts. She stands up,
smooths down her skirt with flat palms. Breathes.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - DOWNSTAIRS HALLWAY - MORNING
</b>
Pamela opens the front door and squints as a flood of
sunlight and cherry blossom petals float over the threshold.
DIARMUID RUSSELL (45) - bright, youthful - waits to be asked
inside. Pamela is not pleased to see him.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> Mrs Travers.
<b> INT. PAMELA'S LIVING ROOM - MORNING
</b>
Pamela and Diarmuid sit in silence. Diarmuid looks at her,
she looks out of the window.
<b> DIARMUID PAMELA
</b> You're ready to--? Like pink clouds on sticks.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> Excuse me?
<b> PAMELA
</b> The cherry blossoms
<b> (BEAT)
</b> I was trying to think of what they--
Diarmuid
|
despite
|
How many times does the word 'despite' appear in the text?
| 0
|
as we go.
<b> STRAIGHT CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. CIRCUS - FRONT OF CIRCUS - PEOPLE ENTERING - NIGHT
</b>
We see barkers, children, people, pushing... buying tickets,
hats, candy... SOUNDS of children laughing, MUSIC playing
from o.s. within the tent area... and we...
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BACK OF CIRCUS - NIGHT
</b>
A continuation of the animals, trainers, clowns INTERCUT
with the action of the circus customers jamming the
entranceway to get in... (complimented CUTS from backstage
to out front... building to the final crescendo... as we see
the alley empty and clear out vs. the front area clearing
and also becoming empty.)
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS PROPER - NIGHT
</b>
The fully dressed orchestra playing the oncoming people to
their respective seats as we PAN ALONG the happy faces and
excited children... DOWN and BACK within the circus backstage
and SLOWLY COME TO A STOP OUTSIDE: "CLOWN ALLEY".
<b> CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
The heartbeat of any circus... The long row of unkempt, yet
beautifully neat trunks where the clowns make up, with many
of the clowns just coming in and setting their clothes and
things around their own little areas... midgets running and
playing, like the little children they are about to
entertain... MUSIC is in the deep background... as we COME
TO A STOP at the large trunk with the letters clearly printed
<b> ...'GUSTAV - EUROPE'S PREMIER CLOWN."
</b>
We PULL BACK and AWAY from the lettering on the trunk and
REVEAL the face of a gentle but drawn man, a man whose body
and movements indicate he has been at this for a long time.
As he sits, the little midgets run close to see what they
can do to help; one pulls the chair for him to sit on; another
brings a hot cup of coffee; another takes his coat and hangs
in on the hattree, adjacent to his trunk... as we PUSH PAST
HIM to introduce the other clowns... some half made up, others
finishing their make-up... and some just sitting and rapping
together, smoking, drinking coffee, waiting for showtime...
and in the very distant b.g., almost against the wall of
clown alley, we see the trunk and the body of a "CLOWN" in
silhouette... we CRAWL TOWARDS the body and the trunk... and
COME TO A STOP... HOLDING FULL FRAME. The clown, already
made-up and dressed in his tramp outfit, has his head in his
hands, leaning down on the trunk table top, a depressed and
sad looking hulk of a man... an o.s. voice:
<b> MIDGET
</b> Coffee? It's nice and hot.
The MIDGET slides the cup in front of the clown's face... as
he picks up his head and smiles and nods yes... he sips the
coffee and we see the clown is HELMUT DORQUE (pronounced
Doork).
He is a depressed and very unhappy clown... the frown on his
face shows years of knocking around... plus fear that those
years are now over. From o.s. we HEAR the SOUND of a small
air horn being blown and carried by one of the midgets. He
is yelling through an old megaphone.
<b> MIDGET
</b> 15 Minutes to circus... 15 minutes
to circus.
Upon hearing this, "Clown Alley" really gets busy... all the
clowns get up and put their last minute touches together...
touching up their make-ups... getting their coats and props
together... and as they get themselves up and ready, they
exit the clown alley area and start for the arena. The last
one to go is Helmut, lingering behind intentionally as we:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS ARENA - CLOSEUP RINGMASTER - NIGHT
</b>
<b> RINGMASTER
</b> Ladies and gentlemen, we proudly
present... "The Clowns"!
<b> INT. CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
Helmut hangs back until the very last clown exits Clown Alley,
as we:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS PROPER - NIGHT
</b>
The MUSIC is really going strong... and the clowns come on
like all forty. They explode in the ring... doing all their
bits and pieces which ultimately brings them back to the
entrance area they just came from and they make the "West
Point" arch for the TIMPANI DRUM ROLL and the grand entrance
of "Gustav" the Great.
<b> CLOSER SHOT
</b>
"Gustav" makes his famous comedy walk into the tent with the
longest pair of tails ever seen (at least 75 feet long) and
at the end holding them from dragging on the floor is Helmut,
the "Tramp Clown".
<b> WIDER SHOT
</b>
We see Gustav taking the applause, and it is tremendous.
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 4
|
LONG SHOT
</b> The quadrangle of Army buildings is quiet and deserted. A
broken-down taxi drives in at one corner and slowly makes its
way around the quadrangle. SUPERIMPOSED over shot is the
<b> LEGEND:
</b>
<b> HAWAII, 1941
</b><b> SIX MONTHS BEFORE
</b><b> PEARL HARBOR
</b>
The taxi pulls up across the street from camera. A soldier
gets out, pulls two heavily loaded barracks bags after him.
He pays the driver, hoists the bags to his back, moves toward
camera. The taxi drives away slowly. The soldier walks toward
steps leading to a low building. He is PREWITT (called "PREW"
for short), 22 years old, well-built, good-looking. He wears
an enlisted man's uniform and on the sleeves are marks where
chevrons have been removed. He pauses, looks up over the
door. CAMERA PANS UP to sign which reads: ORDERLY ROOM - G
<b> COMPANY, 219TH REGIMENT.
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> A small thin soldier in an undershirt and fatigue pants backs
out of the screen door and into shot. He is wielding a frayed
broom. This is PRIVATE ANGELO MAGGIO. He is violent and funny
and sour and friendly. He sees Prewitt's legs but not his
face, speaks as he sweeps a cloud of dust off the porch.
<b> MAGGID
</b> Fine way to pass the time. Good for
the mind.
<b> PREW
</b> Hello, Maggio.
Maggio turns and stares at Prew, astonished.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> Prew...?
<b> PREW
</b><b> (NODS)
</b> I transferred out of Fort Shatter.
Maggio notices the marks on the sleeves where the stripes
have been removed. Prew follows his glance.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> You quit the Bugle Corps...?
<b> 2.
</b>
Prew nods. Maggio jerks his head toward the sign.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> To here...?
<b>
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 1
|
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 15}
* The less a man can be physically forced, and the more he can be
morally forced (by the mere idea of duty), so much the freer he is.
The man, for example, who is of sufficiently firm resolution and
strong mind not to give up an enjoyment which he has resolved on,
however much loss is shown as resulting therefrom, and who yet desists
from his purpose unhesitatingly, though very reluctantly, when he
finds that it would cause him to neglect an official duty or a sick
father; this man proves his freedom in the highest degree by this very
thing, that he cannot resist the voice of duty.
II. Exposition of the Notion of an End which is also a Duty
We can conceive the relation of end to duty in two ways; either
starting from the end to find the maxim of the dutiful actions; or
conversely, setting out from this to find the end which is also
duty. Jurisprudence proceeds in the former way. It is left to
everyone's free elective will what end he will choose for his
action. But its maxim is determined a priori; namely, that the freedom
of the agent must be consistent with the freedom of every other
according to a universal law.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 20}
Ethics, however, proceeds in the opposite way. It cannot start
from the ends which the man may propose to himself, and hence give
directions as to the maxims he should adopt, that is, as to his
duty; for that would be to take empirical principles of maxims, and
these could not give any notion of duty; since this, the categorical
ought, has its root in pure reason alone. Indeed, if the maxims were
to be adopted in accordance with those ends (which are all selfish),
we could not properly speak of the notion of duty at all. Hence in
ethics the notion of duty must lead to ends, and must on moral
principles give the foundation of maxims with respect to the ends
which we ought to propose to ourselves.
Setting aside the question what sort of end that is which is in
itself a duty, and how such an end is possible, it is here only
necessary to show that a duty of this kind is called a duty of virtue,
and why it is so called.
To every duty corresponds a right of action (facultas moralis
generatim), but all duties do not imply a corresponding right
(facultas juridica) of another to compel anyone, but only the
duties called legal duties. Similarly to all ethical obligation
corresponds the notion of virtue, but it does not follow that all
ethical duties are duties of virtue. Those, in fact, are not so
which do not concern so much a certain end (matter, object of the
elective will), but merely that which is formal in the moral
determination of the will (e.g., that the dutiful action must also
be done from duty). It is only an end which is also duty that can be
called a duty of virtue. Hence there are several of the latter kind
(and thus there are distinct virtues); on the contrary, there is
only one duty of the former kind, but it is one which is valid for all
actions (only one virtuous disposition).
The duty of virtue is essentially distinguished from the duty of
justice in this respect; that it is morally possible to be
externally compelled to the latter, whereas the former rests on free
self-constraint only. For finite holy beings (which cannot even be
tempted to the violation of duty) there is no doctrine of virtue,
but only moral philosophy, the latter being an autonomy of practical
reason, whereas the former is also an autocracy of it. That is, it
includes a consciousness- not indeed immediately perceived, but
rightly concluded, from the moral categorical imperative- of the power
to become master of one's inclinations which resist the law; so that
human morality in its highest stage can yet be nothing more than
virtue; even if it were quite pure (perfectly free from the
influence of a spring foreign to duty), a state which is poetically
personified under the name of the wise man (as an ideal to which one
should continually approximate).
Virtue, however, is not to be defined and esteemed merely as
habit, and (as it is expressed in the prize essay of Cochius) as a
long custom acquired by practice of morally good actions. For, if this
is not an effect of well-resolved and firm principles ever more and
more purified, then, like any other mechanical arrangement brought
about by technical practical reason, it is neither armed for all
circumstances nor adequately secured against the change that may be
wrought by new allurements.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 25}
REMARK
To virtue = + a is opposed as its logical contradictory
(contradictorie oppositum) the negative lack of virtue (moral
weakness) = 0; but vice = - a is its contrary (contrarie s. realiter
oppositum); and it is not merely a needless question but an
offensive one to ask whether great crimes do not perhaps demand more
strength of mind than great virtues. For by strength of mind we
understand the strength of purpose of a man, as a being endowed with
freedom, and consequently so far as he is master of himself (in his
senses) and therefore in a healthy condition of mind. But great crimes
are paroxysms, the very sight of which makes the man of healthy mind
shudder. The question would therefore be something like this:
whether a man in a fit of madness can have more physical strength than
if he is in his senses; and we may admit this without on that
account ascribing to him more strength of mind, if by mind we
understand the vital principle of man in the free use of his powers.
For since those crimes have their ground merely in the power of the
inclinations that weaken reason, which does not prove strength of
mind, this question would
|
hence
|
How many times does the word 'hence' appear in the text?
| 2
|
the phone and writes.
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
A gorgeous, bikini-clad BABE struts slowly into a tighly
framed glamour shot. She pauses, takes a deep breath, then
dives a 'perfect ten' dive into a house-side moat. She swims
long, slow motion strokes around the moat as the camera
tracks alonside her, lovingly admiring her tan lines and
hydrodynamic build. She slides out of the water and walks up
a cobble stone walk, dripping as she passes a seated
GENTLEMAN in a white suit. His face is unrevealed. As she
enters the house, he sets his drink down by a phone. He lifts
up the receiver and dials.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul's phone rings. He looks up at it, startled, as if no one
has ever called him before. He glances at his watch, and then
back at the phone, hesitating to answer it. He looks around
the cell block as if someone might be playing a trick on him.
Finally he answers it, pausing before saying hello. It is El
Moco.
<b> MOCO (V.O.)
</b> Good morning, Azul. Do you know who this
is?
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
Moco... What the hell do you want after
all these years?
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
MOCO is sitting on his porch drinking tequila.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
We've got a lot to talk about. I'm just a
few town away with a whole new gang. I
heard you were nearby so I thought I'd
give you a call, amigo.
<b> AZUL (V.O)
</b> That's sweet of you, asshole. I don't
suppose you could get me out of there,
and then maybe hand me over my share of
money.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
Yes, I figured you'd want your money, my
friend. That is why I have called you. I
heard you were getting out soon, and
figured I should deal with our situation.
But do you really need me to help you get
out? From what I hear, you're running
quite a business out of your cell with a
phone and some loyal men. It keeps you
well protected I hear. Not a bad idea. I
may try that myself sometime.
<b> AZUL (V.O.)
</b> I could stay in here and earn peanuts
compared to what you owe me if I were to
get out. So, yes, I want you to help
me... my friend.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
Soon my friend, soon. I'm sending you
some people in a few days to get you.
<b> AZUL (V.O.)
</b> Really? Well, that's more like it. Just
like the Moco I used to know.
Azul is walking towards his window at the sound of a truck
racing in.
<b>
|
phone
|
How many times does the word 'phone' appear in the text?
| 8
|
rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the realization that
everything I'd based my life on was
false. And that my life had no
meaning.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> (to Martin)
He gets this way when he hits over
eighty-five.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> It seemed like my life was slipping
away, somehow. I was a knot in the
middle of a wet rope. Everything was
futile and nothing had value.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> That's the way life is. The only
meaning and value is what we create.
Through structure, and discipline.
Though they seem to limit our freedom,
they actually give us great comfort.
Your problem is you're looking for
some great answer. Some ultimate
truth. When what you really should
do is go to work and go home.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> And take golf lessons.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> That's a tragedy. Can I finish my
story please? I began my search for
meaning. I was a Catholic, Jew,
Scientologist, Sufi, Buddhist. I
went to a Psychologist, psychiatrist,
herbalist, nutritionist, a shaman,
and a psychic. And they all pretty
much say the same stuff.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> A Jew, a shaman, and a herbalist are
telling you the same thing? You're
insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Basically the same thing. In a very
evolved, esoteric way.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Insane.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> To make a long story short...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #3
</b> --Thank God--
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> ...at last I found the holistic system
of systems that opened up the doors
of heaven for me right here on earth.
And everyday I see the world through
the eyes of a child. A world of
creation and wonder.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #2
</b> Jesus...
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Overflowing with love.
<b> MARTIN
|
ball
|
How many times does the word 'ball' appear in the text?
| 6
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. CEDARS-SINAI CORRIDOR - TRAVELING TWO SHOT - DAY
</b>
We DOLLY on Neil as he crosses through the long crowded
corridor. Patients, nurses, interns and doctors pass by.
A P.A. broadcasts occasional messages.
<b>PROFILE
</b>
Nail crosses under an "EMERGENCY" sign and keeps going
towards the exit doors.
<b>TRAVELING - FRONTAL
</b>
Neil APPROACHES THE CAMERA. From the other direction two
ambulance attendants wheel an old man under oxygen and
pass by Neil.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>WIDE REAR SHOT
</b>
Without breaking his stride from the moment he got off the
bus, Neil exits through the doors, examines four ambulances
parked in the slots, climbs into one and drives off. Maybe
he's stolen it. We don't know.
<b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 2.
<b>EXT. R & C CONSTRUCTION SUPPLIES - ON CHRIS - DAY
</b>
CHRIS SHIHERLIS crosses past stacks of gravel and cement
with a white-coated BLACK CLERK. Chris wears a hard hat
over a mongol cut, Levi's, black boots and a sleeveless
sweat shirt and carries on one shoulder a 150 lb., red,
Milwaukee Tool Company case. He looks like a construction
worker by day who by night hits L.A's slams, jams and raves.
He's 29, from Austin, Texas. Chris is also a highline
pro: a boxman who knows five ways to open any safe made.
Right now he's buying a hollow core drill. He and McCauley
were cellmates in San Quentin Penitentiary from 1984 to
1987. Chris hit the streets in 1988. He's a hot dog and
spends money as fast as he makes it. Right now, he and
the Clerk exit to the sales counter.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. SALES COUNTER - TWO SHOT
</b>
As they approach, the Clerk goes behind it.
<b> CLERK
</b> What you working on?
<b> CHRIS
</b> Drillin' some post holes into
concrete ...
<b> CLERK
</b> (re: toolcase)
With that you can ream solid
steel. Check, charge, or cash?
<b> CHRIS
</b> Cash. Put "Jack's Fencing" on
the receipt.
<b> CLERK
</b><b> $788. 30
</b>
Chris pays; Clerk writes receipt.
<b> CLERK
</b> (continuing)
...that a good racket? I ought
to get out from behind this
counter...
<b> CHRIS
</b> (takes receipt)
Yeah.
(beat)
Take it easy.
He leaves with the heavy red case.
<b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 3.
<b>INT. "TOYS 'R' US STORE" - ON CERRITO - DAY
</b>
MICHAEL CERRITO - at 40 - is looking at a doll house.
He's a wide, thick, coarse-featured big man. Sicilian
from Sunnyside, he's spent 15 years in Attica, Joliet and
Marion penitentiaries. He's strictly a "cowboy": his
natural inclination towards a score is "...get the guns
and let's go." He's been off smack and everything else
for five years. He's clean and sober. He's the nicest
guy on the block and a loving father. If you get in his
way, he'll kill you as soon as look at you. If you asked
him about the contradictions, he wouldn't know what you
were talking
|
neil
|
How many times does the word 'neil' appear in the text?
| 3
|
</b> This book -- It's essential that people
read it because --
(gravely, patting the
manuscript)
-- It's the truth. And only I know it.
<b> RECEPTIONIST
</b> (nodding sympathetically)
Maybe after the holidays then.
<b>INT. TILED HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
The old woman carries her manuscript haltingly down a subway
hall. She stops to catch her breath, then continues and
passes several archway with letters printed above them. When
she arrives at one topped by an LL, she slips a card in a
slot. A plastic molded chair drops into the archway. She
sits in the chair; it rises.
<b>INT. TUBE -DAY
</b>
The woman is still in the chair as it slips gracefully into a
line of chairs shooting through a glass tube. The other
chairs are peopled with commuters. We stay with the woman as
she and the others travel over New York City in the tube.
There are hundreds of these commuter tubes crisscrossing the
skyline. The woman glances at the manuscript in her lap.
It's called:
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
This serves as the movie's opening title. The other credits
follow, as the old woman studies commuters in passing tubes.
Their faces are variously harsh and sad and lonely and blank.
<b>INT. WAITING ROOM - DAY
</b>
<b>SUBTITLED: FIFTY YEARS EARLIER
</b>
Every doctor's office waiting room: chairs against the wall,
magazines on end tables, a sad-looking potted plant, generic
seascape paintings on the walls. The receptionist, Mary, 25,
can be seen typing in the reception area. Behind her are
shelves and shelves of medical files. The door opens and
Clementine enters. She's in her early thirties, zaftig in a
faux fur winter coat over an orange hooded sweatshirt. She's
decidedly funky and has blue hair. Mary looks up.
<b> MARY
</b> May I help you?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> (approaching reception area)
Yeah, hi, I have a one o'clock with Dr.
Mierzwiak. Clementine Kruczynski.
<b> MARY
</b> Yes, please have a seat. He'll be right
with you.
Clementine sits. She looks tired, maybe hungover. She picks
up a magazine at random and thumbs without interest.
<b>INT. INNER OFFICE AREA - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Mary pads down the hallway. She knocks on a closed door.
<b> MIERZWIAK (O.S.)
</b> Yes?
Mary opens the door, peeks in. Howard Mierzwiak, 40's,
professional, dry, sits behind his desk studying some papers.
<b> MARY
</b> Howard, your one o'clock.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> (not looking up)
Thanks, Mary. You can bring her in.
She smiles and nods. It's clear she's in love. It's equally
clear that Mierzwiak doesn't have a clue. Mary turns to
leave.
<b> MIERZWIAK (CONT'D)
</b> (looking up)
Mary...
<b> MARY
</b> (turning back)
Yes?
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> Order me a pastrami for after?
<b> MARY
</b> Cole slaw, ice tea?
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> (nodding)
Thanks.
<b> MARY
</b> Welcome, Howard.
She smiles and heads down the hall. Stan, 30's, tall,
spindly, and earnest in a lab coat pops out of a doorway.
<b> STAN
</b> Boo.
<b> MARY
</b> Hi.
She glances back nervously at Mierzwiak's open door.
<b> STAN
</b> Barely seen you all morning, kiddo.
He leans in to kiss her. She cranes her neck to keep him
off.
<b> MARY
</b> (reprimanding whisper)
Stan... c'mon...
<b> STAN
</b> Sorry. I just --
<b> MARY
</b> (somewhat guiltilly)
It's just...y'know... I mean...
<b> STAN
</b> I know. Anyway --
<b> MARY
</b> Anyway, I've got to do my tap
dance here.
She indicates the door to the reception area. Stan nods.
<b> STAN
</b> See you later, alligator.
<b> MARY
</b> 'kay.
<b> STAN
</b> Hey, if you're ordering lunch for
Mierzwiak, would you --
<b> MARY
</b> I better do this, Stan.
Stan nods again and Mary opens the door to the waiting room.
<b> MARY (CONT'D)
</b> Ms. Kruczynski?
<b> CLEMENTINE (O.S.)
</b> Hi.
After a moment, Clementine appears in the doorway. Mary
leads her down the hall, not looking back.
<b> MARY
</b> (professionally courteous)
|
people
|
How many times does the word 'people' appear in the text?
| 0
|
twenty-four hours of their lives they should
pass eight shut up in one room with their wives alone, and this, not
birdlike, for the mating season, but all the year round and every year.
How they settled even such minor questions as to which party should
decide whether and how much the window should be open and how many
blankets should be on the bed, and at what hour they should go to
bed and get up so as to avoid disturbing one another's sleep, seemed
insoluble questions to me. But the members of the conference did not
seem to mind. They were content to have the whole national housing
problem treated on a basis of one room for two people. That was the
essence of marriage for them.
Please remember, too, that there was nothing in their circumstances to
check intemperance. They were men of business: that is, men for the most
part engaged in routine work which exercized neither their minds nor
their bodies to the full pitch of their capacities. Compared with
statesmen, first-rate professional men, artists, and even with laborers
and artisans as far as muscular exertion goes, they were underworked,
and could spare the fine edge of their faculties and the last few inches
of their chests without being any the less fit for their daily routine.
If I had adopted their habits, a startling deterioration would have
appeared in my writing before the end of a fortnight, and frightened me
back to what they would have considered an impossible asceticism. But
they paid no penalty of which they were conscious. They had as much
health as they wanted: that is, they did not feel the need of a doctor.
They enjoyed their smokes, their meals, their respectable clothes,
their affectionate games with their children, their prospects of larger
profits or higher salaries, their Saturday half holidays and Sunday
walks, and the rest of it. They did less than two hours work a day and
took from seven to nine office hours to do it in. And they were no good
for any mortal purpose except to go on doing it. They were respectable
only by the standard they themselves had set. Considered seriously
as electors governing an empire through their votes, and choosing and
maintaining its religious and moral institutions by their powers of
social persecution, they were a black-coated army of calamity. They were
incapable of comprehending the industries they were engaged in, the
laws under which they lived, or the relation of their country to other
countries. They lived the lives of old men contentedly. They were
timidly conservative at the age at which every healthy human being ought
to be obstreperously revolutionary. And their wives went through the
routine of the kitchen, nursery, and drawing-room just as they went
through the routine of the office. They had all, as they called it,
settled down, like balloons that had lost their lifting margin of gas;
and it was evident that the process of settling down would go on until
they settled into their graves. They read old-fashioned newspapers
with effort, and were just taking with avidity to a new sort of paper,
costing a halfpenny, which they believed to be extraordinarily bright
and attractive, and which never really succeeded until it became
extremely dull, discarding all serious news and replacing it by vapid
tittle-tattle, and substituting for political articles informed by
at least some pretence of knowledge of economics, history, and
constitutional law, such paltry follies and sentimentalities, snobberies
and partisaneries, as ignorance can understand and irresponsibility
relish.
What they called patriotism was a conviction that because they were born
in Tooting or Camberwell, they were the natural superiors of Beethoven,
of Rodin, of Ibsen, of Tolstoy and all other benighted foreigners. Those
of them who did not think it wrong to go to the theatre liked above
everything a play in which the hero was called Dick; was continually
fingering a briar pipe; and, after being overwhelmed with admiration
and affection through three acts, was finally rewarded with the legal
possession of a pretty heroine's person on the strength of a staggering
lack of virtue. Indeed their only conception of the meaning of the word
virtue was abstention from stealing other men's wives or from refusing
to marry their daughters.
As to law, religion, ethics, and constitutional government, any
counterfeit could impose on them. Any atheist could pass himself off on
them as a bishop, any anarchist as a judge, any despot as a Whig, any
sentimental socialist as a Tory, any philtre-monger or witch-finder as
a man of science, any phrase-maker as a statesman. Those who did not
believe the story of Jonah and the great fish were all the readier to
believe that metals can be transmuted and all diseases cured by radium,
and that men can live for two hundred years by drinking sour milk. Even
these credulities involved too severe an intellectual effort for many of
them: it was easier to grin and believe nothing. They maintained their
respect for themselves by "playing the game" (that is, doing what
everybody else did), and by being good judges of hats, ties, dogs,
pipes, cricket, gardens, flowers, and the like. They were capable
of discussing each other's solvency and respectability with some
shrewdness, and could carry out quite complicated systems of paying
visits and "knowing" one another. They felt a little vulgar when they
spent a day at Margate, and quite distinguished and travelled when
they spent it at Boulogne. They were, except as to their clothes, "not
particular": that is, they could put up with ugly sights and sounds,
unhealthy smells, and inconvenient houses, with inhuman apathy and
callousness. They had, as to adults, a theory that human nature is so
poor that it is useless to try to make the world any better, whilst as
to children they believed that if they were only sufficiently lectured
and whipped, they could be brought to a state of moral perfection such
as no fanatic has ever ascribed to his deity. Though they were not
intentionally malicious, they practised the most appalling cruelties
from mere thoughtlessness, thinking nothing of imprisoning men and
women for periods up to twenty years for breaking into their houses; of
treating their children as wild beasts to be tamed by a system of blows
and imprisonment which they called education; and of keeping pianos in
their houses, not for musical purposes, but to torment their daughters
with a senseless stupidity that would have revolted an inquis
|
succeeded
|
How many times does the word 'succeeded' appear in the text?
| 0
|
his father loves him
much. We are the sons of one man in Canaan, and truly the youngest is
now with our father, and one other is dead."
Was he still angry? They lifted their dark eyes to the stern face of
the young Egyptian.
"I see you are spies," was the harsh reply, but his voice was softer.
"In this way I will prove you. By the king's life, you shall not go
back unless your younger brother is brought here to me. Send one among
you to bring him, and the rest of you shall be kept in prison until he
returns. So shall I prove whether what you say is true. If you will
not do this, then by the king's life you are spies indeed!" He waved
them away with his hand, and the Egyptian soldiers pushed them out at
the door, telling them that they must come away at once to prison.
As they sat on the earthen floor of the prison looking at each other in
silence, they felt amazed and full of sorrow, thinking that they would
never see their tents and their little ones again. For they did not
know that the king's officer was their own brother Joseph, and that
instead of being angry, he was really filled with joy at seeing them
after twenty years of separation. As for his angry words, he was only
trying them, and meant nothing but kindness, as we shall see.
II.
Joseph's brothers were to be kept in prison until they settled who
should ride back in haste to Hebron to bring Benjamin down into Egypt;
but Joseph's heart was tender, and after a while he began to think that
perhaps he had been too harsh with them.
One man, he told himself, could not carry enough corn to feed all the
starving families in Hebron, and it might be dangerous for him to ride
back alone. His old father, too, would be anxious. So he sent word to
the prison that the brothers might all go home but Simeon, who must
stay in prison until the rest came back with their young brother.
He also gave orders that they were to have their corn-sacks filled, and
that each man's money was to be secretly tied up again in the mouth of
his sack.
All the brothers were glad but Simeon, who begged them to come back as
quickly as they could; and riding on their high camels, with their
well-laden asses tied to each other in a long line, they left the
Egyptian city, thankful to get away, and went back to their old father
in Hebron.
Jacob was glad to see them again, but he would not believe their story
about Simeon being left behind; and he refused to let them have
Benjamin, for he said that Joseph was once taken and never came back,
and that the same fate would befall the other son of his old age.
When they said that the Egyptian ruler had ordered them to bring their
young brother down, their old father only asked, with flashing eyes,
why they told the Egyptian that they had another brother. They replied
quite truly that he asked them the question. Jacob did not believe
them, and this made him all the more determined not to trust Benjamin
with them.
But the corn which they had brought was soon finished, and the old man
urged his sons to go back to Egypt for more. They refused to do so
unless they could take Benjamin with them; and after holding out for a
long time, at last their father yielded. He bade them make up a little
present of honey and dates and simple country things for the terrible
Egyptian, hoping that the great man would not be unkind to his youngest
son. Then with hands upraised he asked God's blessing upon his sons,
and with a sorrowful heart saw them ride away.
Mounted on strong camels, and followed by a string of asses with the
empty corn-sacks on their backs, the ten brothers left the Vale of
Hebron, and rode slowly across the hot desert to one of the gates of
the great Egyptian wall. Again they came to the island, and were
ferried over to the city as before.
The camels knelt in the wide marketplace, where Joseph had been sold as
a slave twenty years before, to wait while one of the brothers went to
tell the doorkeeper of Joseph's house that the ten shepherds of Canaan
had returned with their youngest brother. After waiting for a time
they were told that the king's officer would see them.
Joseph was glad when he heard that his brothers had come back again,
and that they had brought his youngest brother with them. Pulling his
black wig down over his brow to hide his pleasure, he ordered them to
be brought in; and when they came and knelt before him, it was not on
Judah or Reuben, but on the young man Benjamin, that he fixed his
searching eyes.
His brother had grown so much that he hardly knew him for the little
boy who used to run about the camp holding his hand as he took him to
see the little lambs and the small black kids at play.
"Take these men to my house, for I shall dine with them to-day," was
all Joseph said. The brothers were amazed when the meaning of the
Egyptian words was made known to them. And when the gates of the
courtyard closed behind them, they thought they were prisoners again,
and sat down on the stone pavement to sigh and mourn.
But at noon there came a loud knocking at the gate, and the red and
green chariot of the great Egyptian drove in, and soon they were
summoned to stand before him. With their simple presents in their
hands, they went through the garden and into his beautiful house, and
kneeling, laid the gifts at his feet.
"Is your father well?" the great man asked in a kindly voice. "The old
man of whom you spoke--is he still alive?"
"Thy servant our father is alive and in good health," they answered
humbly.
"Is this your younger brother, of whom you spoke?" he asked again,
speaking as if he did not know one from another. Benjamin answered
with a low bow; and Joseph said, "May God be gracious to thee, my son!"
Then Benjamin looked up at him, and Joseph felt the tears coming into
his eyes; and rising from his chair, to the surprise of the men, he
left the hall. They did not know why he had done so. But if they
|
spies
|
How many times does the word 'spies' appear in the text?
| 1
|
tone, she started to say: "You
gave me such a shock--"
But a noise from outside interrupted her. There was a wail of sirens
and a clang of bells; it was loud and shocking.
The Burckhardts stared at each other for a heartbeat, then hurried
fearfully to the window.
There were no rumbling fire engines in the street, only a small panel
truck, cruising slowly along. Flaring loudspeaker horns crowned its
top. From them issued the screaming sound of sirens, growing in
intensity, mixed with the rumble of heavy-duty engines and the sound
of bells. It was a perfect record of fire engines arriving at a
four-alarm blaze.
Burckhardt said in amazement, "Mary, that's against the law! Do you
know what they're doing? They're playing records of a fire. What are
they up to?"
"Maybe it's a practical joke," his wife offered.
"Joke? Waking up the whole neighborhood at six o'clock in the
morning?" He shook his head. "The police will be here in ten minutes,"
he predicted. "Wait and see."
But the police weren't--not in ten minutes, or at all. Whoever the
pranksters in the car were, they apparently had a police permit for
their games.
The car took a position in the middle of the block and stood silent
for a few minutes. Then there was a crackle from the speaker, and a
giant voice chanted:
"Feckle Freezers!
Feckle Freezers!
Gotta have a
Feckle Freezer!
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle--"
It went on and on. Every house on the block had faces staring out of
windows by then. The voice was not merely loud; it was nearly
deafening.
Burckhardt shouted to his wife, over the uproar, "What the hell is a
Feckle Freezer?"
"Some kind of a freezer, I guess, dear," she shrieked back
unhelpfully.
* * * * *
Abruptly the noise stopped and the truck stood silent. It was still
misty morning; the Sun's rays came horizontally across the rooftops.
It was impossible to believe that, a moment ago, the silent block had
been bellowing the name of a freezer.
"A crazy advertising trick," Burckhardt said bitterly. He yawned and
turned away from the window. "Might as well get dressed. I guess
that's the end of--"
The bellow caught him from behind; it was almost like a hard slap on
the ears. A harsh, sneering voice, louder than the arch-angel's
trumpet, howled:
"Have you got a freezer? _It stinks!_ If it isn't a Feckle Freezer,
_it stinks_! If it's a last year's Feckle Freezer, _it stinks_! Only
this year's Feckle Freezer is any good at all! You know who owns an
Ajax Freezer? Fairies own Ajax Freezers! You know who owns a
Triplecold Freezer? Commies own Triplecold Freezers! Every freezer but
a brand-new Feckle Freezer _stinks_!"
The voice screamed inarticulately with rage. "I'm warning you! Get out
and buy a Feckle Freezer right away! Hurry up! Hurry for Feckle! Hurry
for Feckle! Hurry, hurry, hurry, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle...."
It stopped eventually. Burckhardt licked his lips. He started to say
to his wife, "Maybe we ought to call the police about--" when the
speakers erupted again. It caught him off guard; it was intended to
catch him off guard. It screamed:
"Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Cheap
freezers ruin your food. You'll get sick and throw up. You'll get sick
and die. Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle! Ever take a piece of
meat out of the freezer you've got and see how rotten and moldy it is?
Buy a Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle, Feckle. Do you want to eat
rotten, stinking food? Or do you want to wise up and buy a Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle--"
That did it. With fingers that kept stabbing the wrong holes,
Burckhardt finally managed to dial the local police station. He got a
busy signal--it was apparent that he was not the only one with the
same idea--and while he was shakingly dialing again, the noise outside
stopped.
He looked out the window. The truck was gone.
* * * * *
Burckhardt loosened his tie and ordered another Frosty-Flip from the
waiter. If only they wouldn't keep the Crystal Cafe so _hot_! The new
paint job--searing reds and blinding yellows--was bad enough, but
someone seemed to have the delusion that this was January instead of
June; the place was a good ten degrees warmer than outside.
He swallowed the Frosty-Flip in two gulps. It had a kind of peculiar
flavor, he thought, but not bad. It certainly cooled you off, just as
the waiter had promised. He reminded himself to pick up a carton of
them on the way home; Mary might like them. She was always interested
in something new.
He stood up awkwardly as the girl came across the restaurant toward
him. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in Tylerton.
Chin-height, honey-blonde hair and a figure that--well, it was all
hers. There was no doubt in the world that the dress that clung to her
was the only thing she wore. He felt as if he were blushing
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 9
|
meadow?" said Charles.
"Of course you must," answered Sheffield; "you must take a beaver walk.
I want you to go as far as Oxley, a village some little way out, all
the vicars of which, sooner or later, are made bishops. Perhaps even
walking there may do us some good."
The friends set out, from hat to boot in the most approved Oxford
bandbox-cut of trimness and prettiness. Sheffield was turning into the
High Street, when Reding stopped him: "It always annoys me," he said,
"to go down High Street in a beaver; one is sure to meet a proctor."
"All those University dresses are great fudge," answered Sheffield; "how
are we the better for them? They are mere outside, and nothing else.
Besides, our gown is so hideously ugly."
"Well, I don't go along with your sweeping condemnation," answered
Charles; "this is a great place, and should have a dress. I declare,
when I first saw the procession of Heads at St. Mary's, it was quite
moving. First----"
"Of course the pokers," interrupted Sheffield.
"First the organ, and every one rising; then the Vice-Chancellor in red,
and his bow to the preacher, who turns to the pulpit; then all the Heads
in order; and lastly the Proctors. Meanwhile, you see the head of the
preacher slowly mounting up the steps; when he gets in, he shuts-to the
door, looks at the organ-loft to catch the psalm, and the voices strike
up."
Sheffield laughed, and then said, "Well, I confess I agree with you in
your instance. The preacher is, or is supposed to be, a person of
talent; he is about to hold forth; the divines, the students of a great
University, are all there to listen. The pageant does but fitly
represent the great moral fact which is before us; I understand _this_.
I don't call _this_ fudge; what I mean by fudge is, outside without
inside. Now I must say, the sermon itself, and not the least of all the
prayer before it--what do they call it?"
"The bidding prayer," said Reding.
"Well, both sermon and prayer are often arrant fudge. I don't often go
to University sermons, but I have gone often enough not to go again
without compulsion. The last preacher I heard was from the country. Oh,
it was wonderful! He began at the pitch of his voice, 'Ye shall pray.'
What stuff! 'Ye shall _pray_;' because old Latimer or Jewell said, 'Ye
shall praie,' therefore we must not say, 'Let us pray.' Presently he
brought out," continued Sheffield, assuming a pompous and up-and-down
tone, "'especially for that pure and apostolic branch of it
_established_,'--here the man rose on his toes, '_established_ in these
dominions.' Next came, 'for our Sovereign Lady Victoria, Queen, Defender
of the Faith, in all causes and over all persons, ecclesiastical as well
as civil, within these her dominions, _supreme_'--an awful pause, with
an audible fall of the sermon-case on the cushion; as though nature did
not contain, as if the human mind could not sustain, a bigger thought.
Then followed, 'the pious and munificent founder,' in the same twang,
'of All Saints' and Leicester Colleges,' But his _chef-d'oeuvre_ was
his emphatic recognition of '_all_ the doctors, _both_ the proctors', as
if the numerical antithesis had a graphic power, and threw those
excellent personages into a charming _tableau vivant_."
Charles was amused at all this; but he said in answer, that he never
heard a sermon but it was his own fault if he did not gain good from it;
and he quoted the words of his father, who, when he one day asked him if
so-and-so had not preached a very good sermon, "My dear Charles," his
father had said, "all sermons are good." The words, simple as they were,
had retained a hold on his memory.
Meanwhile, they had proceeded down the forbidden High Street, and were
crossing the bridge, when, on the opposite side, they saw before them a
tall, upright man, whom Sheffield had no difficulty in recognizing as a
bachelor of Nun's Hall, and a bore at least of the second magnitude. He
was in cap and gown, but went on his way, as if intending, in that
extraordinary guise, to take a country walk. He took the path which they
were going themselves, and they tried to keep behind him; but they
walked too briskly, and he too leisurely, to allow of that. It is very
difficult duly to delineate a bore in a narrative, for the very reason
that he _is_ a bore. A tale must aim at condensation, but a bore acts in
solution. It is only on the long-run that he is ascertained. Then,
indeed, he is _felt_; he is oppressive; like the sirocco, which the
native detects at once, while a foreigner is often at fault. _Tenet
occiditque._ Did you hear him make but one speech, perhaps you would say
he was a pleasant, well-informed man; but when he never comes to an end,
or has one and the same prose every time you meet him, or keeps you
standing till you are fit to sink, or holds you fast when you wish to
keep an engagement, or hinders you listening to important
conversation,--then there is no mistake, the truth bursts on you,
_apparent diræ facies_, you are in the clutches of a bore. You may
yield, or you may flee; you cannot conquer. Hence it is clear that a
bore cannot be represented in a story, or the story would be the bore as
much as he. The reader, then, must believe this upright Mr. Bateman to
be what otherwise he might not discover, and thank us for our
consideration in not proving as well as asserting it.
Sheffield bowed to him courteously, and would have proceeded on his way;
but Bateman, as became his nature, would not suffer it; he seized him.
"Are you disposed," he said, "to look into the pretty chapel we
|
psalm
|
How many times does the word 'psalm' appear in the text?
| 0
|
MIME
</b>
<b> AND WHEN I DIE...WON'T YOU BURY ME
</b>
<b> ON THE"PARKING LOT OF THE A AND P
</b>
<b> BLOW OUT THE CANDLES AND BLOW OUT TIE LAMPS
</b>
<b> AND LIGHT MY PYRE WITH MY TRADING STAMPS
</b>
<b> I HAD TWO BOOKS BUT I NEEDED THREE R
</b>
<b> TO DELIVER ME FROM THE A AND P.
</b>
<b> I HAD THREE BOOKS BUT I NEEDED FOUR
</b>
<b> TO GO TO HEAVEN AND REDEEM MY SOUL.
</b> By this time the four are in front of the CAMERA. Mike is
handsome and well built. CYRIL is tall and skinny. MOOCHER
is very short. DAVE, hanging back a little, is carrying a
large trophy.
<b> DAVE
</b> Bravo, Mike! Bravo! Bellisimot
<b> CYRIL
</b> Did you really make all that up?
They pass.
<b> ANOTHER ANGLE
</b> The presence of the quarry is felt much stronger now. More
and more blocks of cut stone appear. The guys are dwarfed
by them. They have to climb over some.
<b> MIKE
</b> I sent away for this stuff from
Wyoming. It'll tell you everything.
Since you don't believe me maybe
you'll believe it when you see it.
<b> CYRIL
</b> And we'd work on the same ranch
and sleep in the bunkhouse
together, eh?
Cont.
<b> 567
</b>
<b> REVISED '"BAMBINO" - 6/16/78 2
</b>
<b> X
</b> 1 Cont.
<b> MOOCHER
</b> That's the whole point.
<b> CYRIL
</b> I always miss the whole point.
<b> MOOCHER
</b> It'd be nice to have a paying
Job again, that's for sure.
<b> DAVE
</b> Niente laborare. Niente mangare.
<b> MIKE
</b> What's that mean?
<b> DAVE
</b> You don't work. You don't eat.
<b> CYRIL
</b> That's a terrible thing to say.
<b> MED. SHOT
</b> The quarries are felt even more now. Walls of stone rise
up around the guys.
<b> CYRIL
</b>
|
moocher
|
How many times does the word 'moocher' appear in the text?
| 2
|
without her knowing it, because there are always a lot of stupid low
family jokes that nobody understands but themselves. Half the time you
can't tell what they're talking about: it just drives you wild. There
ought to be a law against a man's sister ever entering his house after
he's married. I'm as certain as that I'm sitting here that Georgina
stole those poems out of my workbox.
HE. She will not understand them, I think.
SHE. Oh, won't she! She'll understand them only too well. She'll
understand more harm than ever was in them: nasty vulgar-minded cat!
HE [going to her] Oh don't, don't think of people in that way. Don't
think of her at all. [He takes her hand and sits down on the carpet at
her feet]. Aurora: do you remember the evening when I sat here at your
feet and read you those poems for the first time?
SHE. I shouldn't have let you: I see that now. When I think of Georgina
sitting there at Teddy's feet and reading them to him for the first
time, I feel I shall just go distracted.
HE. Yes, you are right. It will be a profanation.
SHE. Oh, I don't care about the profanation; but what will Teddy think?
what will he do? [Suddenly throwing his head away from her knee]. You
don't seem to think a bit about Teddy. [She jumps up, more and more
agitated].
HE [supine on the floor; for she has thrown him off his balance] To me
Teddy is nothing, and Georgina less than nothing.
SHE. You'll soon find out how much less than nothing she is. If you
think a woman can't do any harm because she's only a scandalmongering
dowdy ragbag, you're greatly mistaken. [She flounces about the room. He
gets up slowly and dusts his hands. Suddenly she runs to him and throws
herself into his arms]. Henry: help me. Find a way out of this for me;
and I'll bless you as long as you live. Oh, how wretched I am! [She sobs
on his breast].
HE. And oh! how happy I am!
SHE [whisking herself abruptly away] Don't be selfish.
HE [humbly] Yes: I deserve that. I think if I were going to the stake
with you, I should still be so happy with you that I could hardly feel
your danger more than my own.
SHE [relenting and patting his hand fondly] Oh, you are a dear darling
boy, Henry; but [throwing his hand away fretfully] you're no use. I want
somebody to tell me what to do.
HE [with quiet conviction] Your heart will tell you at the right time. I
have thought deeply over this; and I know what we two must do, sooner or
later.
SHE. No, Henry. I will do nothing improper, nothing dishonorable. [She
sits down plump on the stool and looks inflexible].
HE. If you did, you would no longer be Aurora. Our course is perfectly
simple, perfectly straightforward, perfectly stainless and true. We love
one another. I am not ashamed of that: I am ready to go out and proclaim
it to all London as simply as I will declare it to your husband when you
see--as you soon will see--that this is the only way honorable enough
for your feet to tread. Let us go out together to our own house,
this evening, without concealment and without shame. Remember! we owe
something to your husband. We are his guests here: he is an honorable
man: he has been kind to us: he has perhaps loved you as well as his
prosaic nature and his sordid commercial environment permitted. We owe
it to him in all honor not to let him learn the truth from the lips of
a scandalmonger. Let us go to him now quietly, hand in hand; bid him
farewell; and walk out of the house without concealment and subterfuge,
freely and honestly, in full honor and self-respect.
SHE [staring at him] And where shall we go to?
HE. We shall not depart by a hair's breadth from the ordinary natural
current of our lives. We were going to the theatre when the loss of the
poems compelled us to take action at once. We shall go to the theatre
still; but we shall leave your diamonds here; for we cannot afford
diamonds, and do not need them.
SHE [fretfully] I have told you already that I hate diamonds; only Teddy
insists on hanging me all over with them. You need not preach simplicity
to me.
HE. I never thought of doing so, dearest: I know that these trivialities
are nothing to you. What was I saying--oh yes. Instead of coming
back here from the theatre, you will come with me to my home--now and
henceforth our home--and in due course of time, when you are divorced,
we shall go through whatever idle legal ceremony you may desire. I
attach no importance to the law: my love was not created in me by the
law, nor can it be bound or loosed by it. That is simple enough, and
sweet enough, is it not? [He takes the flower from the table]. Here are
flowers for you: I have the tickets: we will ask your husband to lend
us the carriage to show that there is no malice, no grudge, between us.
Come!
SHE [spiritlessly, taking the flowers without looking at them, and
temporizing] Teddy isn't in yet.
HE. Well, let us take that calmly. Let us go to the theatre as if
nothing had happened, and tell him when we come back. Now or three hours
hence: to-day or to-morrow: what does it matter, provided all is done in
honor, without shame or fear?
SHE. What did you get tickets for? Lohengrin?
HE. I tried; but Lohengrin was sold out for to-night. [He takes out two
Court Theatre tickets].
SHE. Then what did you get?
HE. Can you ask me? What is there besides Lohengrin that we two could
endure, except Candida?
SHE [springing up] Candida! No, I won't go to it again, Henry [toss
|
nothing
|
How many times does the word 'nothing' appear in the text?
| 6
|
1
</b>
A COLD WIND blows a bright red scarf tangled high on a street
lamp.
An iron waste bin is blown sideways into an intersection. A
stray dog investigates it briefly, urinates and then moves on.
A book bag drops onto the pavement.
Visible from the waist down, a LARGE YOUNG WOMAN in a
disintegrating leather jacket turns the waste bin upright and
then maneuvers it onto the sidewalk.
Once finished, her thick hands wipe each other until they
stop abruptly.
Here, for the first time, we see her PLUMP, YOUTHFUL, VACANT
AFRICAN AMERICAN FACE. It is 16-YEAR-OLD PRECIOUS JONES.
Something inside the bin has caught her attention.
Precious gazes down upon a soiled and tattered paperback book
as the breath from her nostrils steams. The title of the book
staring back up at her is unintelligible.
She pushes debris aside to get to it.
The book plunges deeper into the trash, as if trying to flee.
The sound of an ONCOMING CAR approaches.
Precious pins the book against the bottom of the bin as the
sounds of the oncoming car close in.
Precious finally comes up with the book. Its title is still
unintelligible. When she flips it over, however, the letters
on the cover, which are facing us now, make sense. They read
<b> CRYSTAL STAIR: SELECTED WORKS BY LANGSTON HUGHES.
</b>
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>1 CONTINUED: 1
</b> The car sounds incredibly close.
Precious looks sharply to her left.
AN EERIE SKID precedes an eerier THUD! Precious, almost hit,
falls back on to the pavement as her book skips across the
intersection and down into a drain.
She lays on the sidewalk pressed against the base of the
street lamp with her eyes closed.
The car reverses, skids, stops for a sec, shifts and
SCREECHES off.
The garbage bin, overturned yet again, rocks side to side
until settling, to a stop.
An ambulance eases up to the intersection.
When the stoplight changes, the ambulance motors past
Precious in no hurry. A moment later, its sirens BLARE and it
speeds off into the distance.
The stray dog returns, re-investigates the garbage bin, and
turns to Precious. He licks her face. Tom Cruise walks up to
her.
Precious' still vacant eyes finally open to see Tom, and the
red scarf falling from the street lamp towards her. Tom gives
her a hand up.
<b> TOM
</b> (flirtatious)
What's your name girl?
Precious blushes.
<b> TOM
</b> What's your name?
Precious still blushing, looks on the ground.
<b> FADE TO BLACK.
</b>
<b> PRECIOUS (V.O.)
</b> My name is Precious Jones. I wanna
take tap dance lessons. Mama said
we can't afford it.
<b> A SCHOOL BELL RINGS.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2A.
</b>
<b>R2 INT. INTERMEDIATE SCHOOL 111/HALLWAY - DAY R2
</b>
The end of a final wave of students head to class.
<b> PRECI
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 2
|
ually by the wandering tale-tellers,
bards, and rhapsodists of Persia and Central Asia.
[8] I do not mean that rhymes were not known before the days of
El Islam, but that the Arabs popularised assonance and consonance
in Southern Europe.
The great kshatriya (soldier) king Vikramaditya,[9] or Vikramarka,
meaning the âSun of Heroism,â plays in India the part of King
Arthur, and of Harun El Rashid further West. He is a semi-historical
personage. The son of Gandharba-Sena the donkey and the daughter of
the King of Dhara, he was promised by his father the strength of a
thousand male elephants. When his sire died, his grandfather, the
deity Indra, resolved that the babe should not be born, upon which
his mother stabbed herself. But the tragic event duly happening
during the ninth month, Vikram came into the world by himself, and
was carried to Indra, who pitied and adopted him, and gave him a good
education.
[9] âVikramaâ means âvalourâ or âprowess.â
The circumstances of his accession to the throne, as will presently
appear, are differently told. Once, however, made King of Malaya, the
modern Malwa, a province of Western Upper India, he so distinguished
himself that the Hindu fabulists, with their usual brave kind of
speaking, have made him âbring the whole earth under the shadow of
one umbrella.â
The last ruler of the race of Mayúra, which reigned 318 years, was
Rája-pál. He reigned 25 years, but giving himself up to effeminacy,
his country was invaded by Shakáditya, a king from the highlands
of Kumaon. Vikramaditya, in the fourteenth year of his reign,
pretended to espouse the cause of Rája-pál, attacked and destroyed
Shakáditya, and ascended the throne of Delhi. His capital was Avanti,
or Ujjayani, the modern Ujjain. It was 13 kos (26 miles) long by
18 miles wide, an area of 468 square miles, but a trifle in Indian
history. He obtained the title of Shakári, âfoe of the Shakas,â the
Sacæ or Scythians, by his victories over that redoubtable race.
In the Kali Yug, or Iron Age, he stands highest amongst the Hindu
kings as the patron of learning. Nine persons under his patronage,
popularly known as the âNine Gems of Science,â hold in India the
honourable position of the Seven Wise Men of Greece.
These learned persons wrote works in the eighteen original dialects
from which, say the Hindus, all the languages of the earth have
been derived.[10] Dhanwantari enlightened the world upon the
subjects of medicine and incantations. Kshapanaka treated the
primary elements. Amara-Singha compiled a Sanskrit dictionary and
a philosophical treatise. Shankubetálabhatta composed comments and
Ghatakarpara, a poetical work of no great merit. The books of Mihira
are not mentioned. Varáha produced two works on astrology and one on
arithmetic. And Bararúchà introduced certain improvements in grammar,
commented upon the incantations, and wrote a poem in praise of King
Mádhava.
[10] Mr. Ward of Serampore is unable to quote the names of
more than nine out of the eighteen, namely: Sanskrit, Prakrit,
Naga, Paisacha, Gandharba, Rakshasa, Ardhamágadi, Apa, and
Guhyakaâmost of them being the languages of different orders of
fabulous beings. He tells us, however, that an account of these
dialects may be found in the work called _Pingala_.
But the most celebrated of all the patronised ones was Kalidása. His
two dramas, Sakuntala,[11] and Vikram and Urvasi,[12] have descended
to our day; besides which he produced a poem on the seasons, a
work on astronomy, a poetical history of the gods, and many other
books.[13]
[11] Translated by Sir Wm. Jones, 1789; and by Professor
Williams, 1856.
[12] Translated by Professor H. H. Wilson.
[13] The time was propitious to savans. Whilst Vikramaditya
lived, Mágha, another king, caused to be written a poem called
after his name. For each verse he is said to have paid to learned
men a gold piece, which amounted to a total of 5,280_l._âa large
sum in those days, which preceded those of _Paradise Lost_. About
the same period, Karnáta, a third king, was famed for patronising
the learned men who rose to honour at Vikramâs court. Dhavaka,
a poet of nearly the same period, received from King Shriharsha
the magnificent present of 10,000_l._ for a poem called the
_Ratna-Malá_.
Vikramaditya established the Sambat era, dating from A.C. 56. After
a long, happy, and glorious reign, he lost his life in a war with
Shalivahana, King of Pratisthana. That monarch also left behind him
an era called the âShaka,â beginning with A.D. 78. It is employed,
even now, by the Hindus in recording their births, marriages, and
similar occasions.
King Vikramaditya was succeeded by his infant son Vikrama-Sena, and
father and son reigned over a period of 93 years. At last the latter
was supplanted by a devotee named Sam
|
learned
|
How many times does the word 'learned' appear in the text?
| 2
|
SUZY
</b> It feels excellent.
Her mouth finds his again. After a long kiss, he gently
pulls away from her with a teasing smile.
<b> JIM
</b> Gotta throw the anchor over.
He leaves the cabin. She slips under the bed sheets.
<b> EXT. HOUSEBOAT DECK - NIGHT
</b>
as Jim tosses a small anchor overboard.
<b> TIGHT ON WATER SURFACE
</b>
as the weighty object splashes, sinking into black
oblivion, pulling its cable down with it.
<b> JIM
</b>
glances at the lake, at their eerie surroundings. He
feels a chill, heading back inside.
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
as the anchor drifts to the lake bottom, dropping a few
feet from a THICK POWER CABLE which rests in the lake
silt.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
as Jim returns with an uneasy expression. He crawls on
top of the bed, kissing her again, but not with the same
enthusiasm as before.
<b> SUZY
</b> What's wrong?
<b> JIM
</b> Nothing.
He starts to pull off his shirt and join her. She senses
his anxiety.
<b> SUZY
</b> C'mon, Jimmy. Something's bothering
you.
Jim pauses, turning off the mood music.
<b> JIM
</b> It's just that we're right around that
old summer camp where all those
murders took place.
The boat creaks. She's instantly nervous.
<b> SUZY
</b> What murders?
<b> JIM
</b> Never mind, you don't want to know
about it.
<b> SUZY
</b> Tell me.
<b> JIM
</b> There's nothing to worry about, Suzy.
The guy's dead now, somewhere at the
bottom of this lake...if you believe
the stories.
(beat)
Let's drop it, okay?
He starts to kiss her again. She stops him.
<b> SUZY
</b> What stories?
He doesn't want to go into it but Suzy's face insists.
<b> JIM
</b> There was this boy named Jason
Voorhees who drowned in Crystal
Lake...
<b> FLASHBACK
</b>
Eight year old JASON is desperately trying to tread
water, flailing his arms like a marionette to get
attention as he gulps down gallons of mossy lake water.
<b> YOUNG JASON
</b> Hhhhelp....me....I'm drowning...
<b> JIM (V.O.)
</b> None of the counselors heard him.
<b> YOUNG JASON
</b> Mmmmmmommy....
...And Jason finally slips under the surface for good.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
<b> JIM
</b> A bunch of years went by and everybody
forgot about it.
(beat)
That's when the murders started.
<b> FLASHBACK MONTAGE (STOCK)
</b>
as our senses are bombarded with QUICK CUTS of assorted
teenagers just about to die, their screams echoing over
each other. We do not see the attacker. As the
cacophony reaches a screeching crescendo, CUT BACK TO:
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
as the silence hits us hard again.
<b> SUZY
</b> Jason did it...?
<b> JIM'
</b> That's what some people thought. But
they were wrong.
<b> FLASHBACK (STOCK)
</b>
as MRS. VOORHEES comes directly at camera wielding a huge
knife and a primal scream.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
<b> JIM
</b> His mother blamed the counselors for
his death and tried to kill them all.
(dramatic pause)
She got her head chopped off by one of
them.
We don't need to see this clip...Suzy's reaction is quite
sufficient.
<b> SUZY
</b> So the murders stopped?
He gives her a long, penetrating look.
<b> JIM
</b> No.
<b> FLASHBACK MONTAGE (STOCK)
</b>
We're bombarded with QUICK FLASHES of a hockey masked
JASON wreaking havoc on assorted teenagers...brandishing
everything from hatchets to knives to chainsaws. Just as
Jason is about to stab us, CUT BACK TO:
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
Suzy flinches as if she were getting the knife.
<b>
</b>
<b> JIM
</b> Legend has it that Jason came back to
avenge his mother's death, vowing to
|
about
|
How many times does the word 'about' appear in the text?
| 4
|
PILOT
</b>
I brought you the most amazing...
Amazing, what, we'll never know. The CARGO SHIP begins to EXPLODE, the
bubble bridge BLOWING out into space in a ball of fire.
<b>EXT.- MARS
</b>
LOW ANGLE from the planet's surface-. Two shapes BLAST through FRAME,
BUBBLE FIGHTERS, single pilot, transparent globes, racing up towards
the sudden star of the cargo ship at impossible speed.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
POV of the burning Cargo Ship, coming towards us incredibly fast.
Speed, trajectory and tactical readouts flash.
<b>EXT.-CARGO SHIP
</b>
The pulse lasers are still hammering the ravaged hull.
<b>WIDER
</b>
Two sinister ATTACK SHIPS, their lasers locked onto the Cargo Ship,
FIRE away as they BLAST overhead. The nuclear core of the Cargo Ship
overloads, the craft finally EXPLODING in a storm of fire.
A BUBBLE FIGHTER ROARS through the hurling world of flame. PUSH IN.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
A lone FIGURE stands in a gyroscopic harness, working a heads-up
holographic display, command controls spinning 360 degrees with the
pilot's Comas the fighter SCREAMS after the fleeing raider.
The harness spins, the pilot coming clearly into view. Handsome,
intense, reckless eyes. MAJOR DON WEST.
<b> WEST
</b>
Sino-Jordanian Raiders. They're
claiming the cargo ship violated
their air-space.
<b>INT.-SECOND BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
Another pilot (JEB WALKER) commands an identical craft, ROCKETING
towards the assault craft just below West's.
<b> JEB
</b>
This cold war's heating up. Where did
they come from?
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
Hell. And we're going to send them
back screaming.
West activates his targeting computer.
<b> WEST
</b>
Last one to kill a bad guy buys the
beer.
TARGETING DISPLAY-CLOSE. The fleeing Attack Ship jogs in and out of
the crosshairs on West's holographic array. West fires.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The Attack Ship SHOOTS straight up, dodging West's laser BLASTS.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
West closes on the fleeing craft, as Jeb engages the other Attack
Ship, lasers FIRING in the b.g., visible through the transparent
surface of the bubble glass under West's feet.
<b> WEST
</b>
What's that sound? must be the fat lady
warming up.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The fleeing Attack Ship loops in mid-space, reversing direction,
heading straight towards West's Bubble Fighter. A game of chicken.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
West doesn't flinch. Bears down, FIRING madly, the two space ships
heading straight for each other.
<b> WEST
</b>
That's right. Come on, come on, you wanna
play, I wanna play.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The two ships are ROCKETING towards each other, locked in collision
vectors, lasers FIRING wildly. asdasd
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
I can hear her. Oh, yes, oh yes. She's
gonna sing.
TARGETING:DISPLAY-CLOSE. The Attack Ship flashes, captured in the
targeting hatchmarks. The display expands into a tactical grid.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Target lock.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
Imminent collision.
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
The hull of the Attack Ship fills his bubble glass.
<b> WEST
</b>
The lights are dimming. The curtain's
coming down. Sing you fat, old bag,
sing!
West hits the firing stud.
<b>EXT.-DEEP SPACE
</b>
West's pulse
|
bubble
|
How many times does the word 'bubble' appear in the text?
| 9
|
TITLE OVER: TWO YEARS LATER
</b>
<b> INT. BLACK SITE - INTERROGATION ROOM
</b>
<b> DANIEL
</b> I own you, Ammar. You belong to me.
Look at me.
This is DANIEL STANTON, the CIA's man in Islamabad - a big
American, late 30's, with a long, anarchical beard snaking
down to his tattooed neck. He looks like a paramilitary
hipster, a punk rocker with a Glock.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> (explaining the rules)
If you don't look at me when I talk
to you, I hurt you. If you step off
this mat, I hurt you. If you lie to
me, I'm gonna hurt you. Now, Look
at me.
His prisoner, AMMAR, stands on a decaying gym mat, surrounded
by four GUARDS whose faces are covered in ski masks.
Ammar looks down. Instantly: the guards rush Ammar, punching
and kicking.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> Look at me, Ammar.
Notably, one of the GUARDS wearing a ski mask does not take
part in the beating.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> EXT. BLACK SITE - LATER
</b>
Daniel and the masked figures emerge from the interrogation
room into the light of day. They remove their masks and we
see that one is a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties.
She has a pale, milky innocence and bright blue eyes, thin
and somewhat frail looking, yet possessing a steely core
that we will come to realize is off-the-charts. This is
MAYA, a CIA targeter and subject-matter expert on her first
overseas assignment.
<b> DANIEL
</b> (to the guard)
Are we gonna board up these windows
or what?
<b> (TO MAYA)
</b> Just off the plane from Washington,
you're rocking your best suit for
your first interrogation, and then
you get this guy. It's not always
this intense.
<b> MAYA
</b> I'm fine.
She's not.
<b> DANIEL
</b> Just so you know, it's going to take
awhile. He has to learn how helpless
he is. Let's get a coffee.
<b> MAYA
</b> No, we should go back in.
Something about the strange intensity of her expression makes
Daniel reconsider and he turns back to the interrogation
room.
<b> DANIEL
</b> You know, there's no shame if you
wanna watch from the monitor.
She shakes her head.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> Alright.
|
daniel
|
How many times does the word 'daniel' appear in the text?
| 9
|
With your permission I will read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and
closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the
manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following
curious, old-world narrative:
"Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there
have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct
line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from
my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down
with all belief that it occurred even as is here set
forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the
same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously
forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer
and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this
story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to
be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions
whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not
again be loosed to our undoing.
"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most
earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of
Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be
gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless
man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,
seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,
but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour
which made his name a by-word through the West. It
chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark
a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter
of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,
would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So
it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five
or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon
the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and
brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had
brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper
chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long
carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass
upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing
and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from
below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville,
when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who
said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that
which might have daunted the bravest or most active man,
for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and
still covers) the south wall she came down from under the
eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three
leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's farm.
"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his
guests to carry food and drink--with other worse things,
perchance--to his captive, and so found the cage empty
and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became
as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs
into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,
flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried
aloud before all the company that he would that very
night render his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if
he might but overtake the wench. And while the revellers
stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or,
it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that
they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran
from the house, crying to his grooms that they should
saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the
hounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them to the
line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.
"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable
to understand all that had been done in such haste. But
anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed
which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything
was now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols,
|
wits
|
How many times does the word 'wits' appear in the text?
| 1
|
busied themselves
about their various concerns, they observed
and studied. Like the way a man with
a microscope might scrutinize the creatures
that swarm and multiply in a drop of
water. With infinite complacency men
went to and fro about the globe, confident
of our empire over this world. Yet,
across the gulf of space, intellects,
vast and cool and unsympathetic regarded
our plant with envious eyes. And slowly
and surely, drew their plans against
us.
<b>
</b><b> EXT. DOCK - CARGO BAY - DAWN
</b>
Ray (in his 30s, short hair, rough groomed, almost always wears
his New York baseball cap, raggedly dressed, looks like he hasn't
slept in days) is moving cargo boxes from the ship to ground
loading brackets. Shots show him inside the control room operating
the levers. As the last car is loaded, he is seen walking down
the stairs.
<b>
</b><b> SAL
</b>
Ray!! Ferrier! Whoa!
Ray turns away and laughs because he already knows what he is
going to say.
<b>
</b><b> SAL
</b>
I need you back at 4:00 instead of 12:00
I got half of Korea coming in.
<b>
</b><b> RAY
</b>
No, no, no I can't. I'm on a 12 hour
blow! Call Tadesko.
<b>
</b> Camera follows them walking down the street.
<b> SAL
</b>
Tadesko can't move 40 containers in
an hour. I need somebody who can do
double picks.
<b>
</b><b> RAY
</b>
I wish I could help you Sal. God damn
union regulations.
<b>
</b><b> SAL
</b>
(getting angry) Come on, I'm in a position
here!
<b>
</b><b> RAY
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 1
|
development, which should forever deprive
these things of their full power of pride in his soul.
But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his
youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very
early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother--and
afterwards his mother alone--in their annual visits to the city; where
naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had
insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without
enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the
country's clarion air.
Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre
deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent
long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father's fastidiously
picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led
him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful
glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this
Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless
insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and
he should madly demand more ardent fires.
Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the
youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element
of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all
gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless
the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so
thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he
who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek,
but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook
with his mother of the Holy Sacraments.
It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely
the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as
to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his
ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by
the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their
docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had
brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus
in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with
Religion's silken sash; and his great-grandfather's soldierly fate had
taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial,
furnish its wearer with Glory's shroud; so that what through life had
been worn for Grace's sake, in death might safely hold the man. But
while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father's faith,
Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty,
and Life some burdens heavier than death.
So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life
thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that
sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He
mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied
him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often lavished upon his
mother, at all supply the absent reality. This emotion was most natural;
and the full cause and reason of it even Pierre did not at that time
entirely appreciate. For surely a gentle sister is the second best gift
to a man; and it is first in point of occurrence; for the wife comes
after. He who is sisterless, is as a bachelor before his time. For much
that goes to make up the deliciousness of a wife, already lies in the
sister.
"Oh, had my father but had a daughter!" cried Pierre; "some one whom I
might love, and protect, and fight for, if need be. It must be a
glorious thing to engage in a mortal quarrel on a sweet sister's behalf!
Now, of all things, would to heaven, I had a sister!"
Thus, ere entranced in the gentler bonds of a lover; thus often would
Pierre invoke heaven for a sister; but Pierre did not then know, that if
there be any thing a man might well pray against, that thing is the
responsive gratification of some of the devoutest prayers of his youth.
It may have been that this strange yearning of Pierre for a sister, had
part of its origin in that still stranger feeling of loneliness he
sometimes experienced, as not only the solitary head of his family, but
the only surnamed male Glendinning extant. A powerful and populous
family had by degrees run off into the female branches; so that Pierre
found himself surrounded by numerous kinsmen and kinswomen, yet
companioned by no surnamed male Glendinning, but the duplicate one
reflected to him in the mirror. But in his more wonted natural mood,
this thought was not wholly sad to him. Nay, sometimes it mounted into
an exultant swell. For in the ruddiness, and flushfulness, and
vain-gloriousness of his youthful soul, he fondly hoped to have a
monopoly of glory in capping the fame-column, whose tall shaft had been
erected by his noble sires.
In all this, how unadmonished was our Pierre by that foreboding and
prophetic lesson taught, not less by Palmyra's quarries, than by
Palmyra's ruins. Among those ruins is a crumbling, uncompleted shaft,
and some leagues off, ages ago left in the quarry, is the crumbling
corresponding capital, also incomplete. These Time seized and spoiled;
these Time crushed in the egg; and the proud stone that should have
stood among the clouds, Time left abased beneath the soil. Oh, what
quenchless feud is this, that Time hath with the sons of Men!
III.
It has been said that the beautiful country round about Pierre appealed
to very proud memories. But not only through the mere chances of things,
had that fine country become ennobled by the deeds of his sires, but in
Pierre's eyes, all its hills and swales seemed as sanctified through
their very long uninterrupted possession by his race.
That fond ideality which, in the eyes of affection, hallows the least
trinket once familiar to the person of a departed love; with Pierre that
talisman touched the whole earthly landscape about him; for remembering
that on those hills his own fine fathers had gazed; through those woods,
|
ruins
|
How many times does the word 'ruins' appear in the text?
| 1
|
so he was occupying the last normal position of a
properly-fought Constitutional battle. His enemies were resolved,
more firmly than they were resolved before, to knock him altogether
on the head at the general election which he had himself called
into existence. He had been disgracefully out-voted in the House of
Commons on various subjects. On the last occasion he had gone into
his lobby with a minority of 37, upon a motion brought forward by Mr.
Palliser, the late Liberal Chancellor of the Exchequer, respecting
decimal coinage. No politician, not even Mr. Palliser himself, had
expected that he would carry his Bill in the present session. It
was brought forward as a trial of strength; and for such a purpose
decimal coinage was as good a subject as any other. It was Mr.
Palliser's hobby, and he was gratified at having this further
opportunity of ventilating it. When in power, he had not succeeded
in carrying his measure, awed, and at last absolutely beaten, by the
infinite difficulty encountered in arranging its details. But his
mind was still set upon it, and it was allowed by the whole party
to be as good as anything else for the purpose then required. The
Conservative Government was beaten for the third or fourth time, and
Mr. Daubeny dissolved the House.
The whole world said that he might as well have resigned at once. It
was already the end of July, and there must be an autumn Session with
the new members. It was known to be impossible that he should find
himself supported by a majority after a fresh election. He had been
treated with manifest forbearance; the cake had been left in his
hands for twelve months; the House was barely two years old; he
had no "cry" with which to meet the country; the dissolution was
factious, dishonest, and unconstitutional. So said all the Liberals,
and it was deduced also that the Conservatives were in their hearts
as angry as were their opponents. What was to be gained but the poor
interval of three months? There were clever men who suggested that
Mr. Daubeny had a scheme in his head--some sharp trick of political
conjuring, some "hocus-pocus presto" sleight of hand, by which he
might be able to retain power, let the elections go as they would.
But, if so, he certainly did not make his scheme known to his own
party.
He had no cry with which to meet the country, nor, indeed, had
the leaders of the Opposition. Retrenchment, army reform, navy
excellence, Mr. Palliser's decimal coinage, and general good
government gave to all the old-Whig moderate Liberals plenty of
matter for speeches to their future constituents. Those who were more
advanced could promise the Ballot, and suggest the disestablishment
of the Church. But the Government of the day was to be turned out
on the score of general incompetence. They were to be made to go,
because they could not command majorities. But there ought to have
been no dissolution, and Mr. Daubeny was regarded by his opponents,
and indeed by very many of his followers also, with an enmity that
was almost ferocious. A seat in Parliament, if it be for five or six
years, is a blessing; but the blessing becomes very questionable if
it have to be sought afresh every other Session.
One thing was manifest to thoughtful, working, eager political
Liberals. They must have not only a majority in the next Parliament,
but a majority of good men--of men good and true. There must be no
more mismanagement; no more quarrelling; no more idleness. Was it to
be borne that an unprincipled so-called Conservative Prime Minister
should go on slicing the cake after such a fashion as that lately
adopted? Old bishops had even talked of resigning, and Knights of the
Garter had seemed to die on purpose. So there was a great stir at the
Liberal political clubs, and every good and true man was summoned to
the battle.
Now no Liberal soldier, as a young soldier, had been known to be more
good and true than Mr. Finn, the Irishman, who had held office two
years ago to the satisfaction of all his friends, and who had retired
from office because he had found himself compelled to support a
measure which had since been carried by those very men from whom he
had been obliged on this account to divide himself. It had always
been felt by his old friends that he had been, if not ill-used, at
least very unfortunate. He had been twelve months in advance of his
party, and had consequently been driven out into the cold. So when
the names of good men and true were mustered, and weighed, and
discussed, and scrutinised by some active members of the Liberal
party in a certain very private room not far removed from our
great seat of parliamentary warfare; and when the capabilities,
and expediencies, and possibilities were tossed to and fro among
these active members, it came to pass that the name of Mr. Finn
was mentioned more than once. Mr. Phineas Finn was the gentleman's
name--which statement may be necessary to explain the term of
endearment which was occasionally used in speaking of him.
"He has got some permanent place," said Mr. Ratler, who was living
on the well-founded hope of being a Treasury Secretary under the new
dispensation; "and of course he won't leave it."
It must be acknowledged that Mr. Ratler, than whom no judge in such
matters possessed more experience, had always been afraid of Phineas
Finn.
"He'll lave it fast enough, if you'll make it worth his while," said
the Honourable Laurence Fitzgibbon, who also had his expectations.
"But he married when he went away, and he can't afford it," said Mr.
Bonteen, another keen expectant.
"Devil a bit," said the Honourable Laurence; "or, anyways, the poor
thing died of her first baby before it was born. Phinny hasn't an
impidiment, no more than I have."
"He's the best Irishman we ever got hold of," said Barrington
Erle--"present company always excepted, Laurence."
"Bedad, you needn't except me, Barrington. I know what a man's made
of, and what a man can do. And I know what he can't do. I'm not bad
at the outside skirmishing. I'm worth me salt. I say that with
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
strobe's instant-images -- of gasping, tough sex.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
ON A GLEAMING POOL DECK of black-and-white tile -- two women in
soaked, clinging clothes -- fight -- hands squeeze a throat.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
A SCREAM -- a sickening hollow THWACK -- an arc of blood, two
teeth fall on dark stone.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
GUNSHOTS -- Blood sprays across the glass of a picture frame --
obscures the photo inside.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
THE SURFACE OF A SPARKLING SEA -- a distant emerald island. A
40-foot sloop APPEARS -- shapes on deck -- we are about to SEE --
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
SHARKS -- underwater -- rip something into a bloody cloud.
<b> END MAIN TITLES.
</b>
<b> FADE TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BLUE BAY SCHOOL - DAY
</b>
A place of money and privilege. White coral buildings surround
an open yard. Tile roofs rise among banyan trees and banana
palms, shimmering before a blue blaze of sky.
Beyond the yard is the school's playing field and beyond that the
waters of Biscayne Bay, dappled in sunlight where the sloops of
the school's sailing class bob at their moorings.
For a moment all is quiet. Then, faintly, the HUM of many
VOICES, rising and falling, LAUGHTER.
The CAMERA PANS to the open windows of a building somewhat larger
than the others. The SOUNDS grow louder.
<b> INT. BLUE BAY AUDITORIUM - DAY
</b>
A hundred high school kids sit before a raised, hardwood stage.
The students are not unlike the campus, radiant, well-tended -- a
veritable sea of adolescent sexuality -- bronze boys who seem to
have just come from the boats or tennis courts -- girls in tight
shorts riding high up shapely thighs, as...
SAM LOMBARDO strolls out onto the stage. The man is thirtyish,
drop-dead handsome. Dressed not that differently from the kids,
in an Izod polo shirt, khakis and boat shoes.
His entrance has an effect upon the audience, particularly upon
the girls.
KAREN and JANELLE, 16, pretty blondes, whisper then giggle.
NICOLE, a dark-eyed beauty, 17 but going on 25, watches Sam's
walk, then turns to the girl at her side...
KELLY VAN RYAN, 17, a fully-developed knockout.
<b> NICOLE
</b> When we graduate the only thing I'm
going to miss is...
(with a nod to the stage)
Know what I mean?
Kelly's eyes are locked on Sam. Nicole has to nudge her.
<b> NICOLE (CONT'D)
</b> Kelly?
<b> KELLY
</b> (still staring)
Oh yeah.
Sam is at the podium. He looks out across the audience. There
are a couple of flirtatious whistles, laughter. Sam smiles,
silencing them with a wave of his hand.
<b> SAM
</b> We've come to the halfway point in my
senior seminars...
Cheers, applause. Sam waits for the kids to settle.
<b> SAM (CONT'D)
</b> Come on. Beats study hall, doesn't it?
<b> JIMMY (O.S.)
</b> No!
|
deck
|
How many times does the word 'deck' appear in the text?
| 1
|
WIND MOANS.
After a beat, the voice of an elderly black man:
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> The's right... New York.
We are TRACKING HIGH THROUGH the night sky. From the streets
far below we hear the sounds of TRAFFIC muffled by the falling
snow, and the DISTANT sound of many VOICES SINGING.
We are DRIFTING AMONG the buildings; the tops of skyscrapers
slip by left and right.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> It's 1958 -- anyway, for a few mo'
minutes it is. Come midnight it's
gonna be 1959. A whole 'nother
feelin'. The New Year. The future...
The SINGING, a little MORE AUDIBLE, but still not close, is
"Auld Lang Syne."
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...Yeah ole daddy Earth fixin' to
start one mo' trip 'round the sun,
an' evvybody hopin' this ride 'round
be a little mo' giddy, a little mo'
gay...
We are MOVING IN TOWARDS a particular skyscraper. At its top
is a large illuminated clock.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> Yep...
We hear a SERIES OF POPPING sounds.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...All over town champagne corks is
a-poppin'.
A big band WALTZ MIXES UP on the track.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...Over in the Waldorf the big shots
is dancin' to the strains of Guy
Lombardo... Down in Times Square the
little folks is a-watchin' and a-
waitin' fo' that big ball to drop...
The LOMBARDO MUSIC gives way to the CHANTING of a distant
CROWD: "Sixty! Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight!"
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...They all tryin' to catch holt a
one moment of time...
The
|
narrator
|
How many times does the word 'narrator' appear in the text?
| 6
|
...Rossen... Lieberman... Wachsberg...
BEWILDERED RURAL FACES coming down off the passenger train.
FORMS being set out on the folding tables. HANDS straightening
pens and pencils and ink pads and stamps.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...When your name is called go over
there... take this over to that
table...
TYPEWRITER KEYS rapping a name onto a list. A FACE. KEYS
typing another name. Another FACE.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...youre in the wrong line, wait
over there... you, come over here...
A MAN is taken from one long line and led to the back of
another. A HAND hammers a rubber stamp at a form. Tight on a
FACE. KEYS type another NAME. Another FACE. Another NAME.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...Biberman... Steinberg...
Chilowitz...
As a hand comes down stamping a GRAY STRIPE across a
registration card, there is absolute silence... then MUSIC,
the Hungarian love song, "Gloomy Sunday," distant... and the
stripe bleeds into COLOR, into BRIGHT YELLOW INK.
<b> INT. HOTEL ROOM - CRACOW, POLAND - NIGHT
</b>
The song plays from a radio on a rust-stained sink.
The light in the room is dismal, the furniture cheap. The
curtains are faded, the wallpaper peeling... but the clothes
laid out across the single bed are beautiful.
The hands of a man button the shirt, belt the slacks. He
slips into the double-breasted jacket, knots the silk tie,
folds a handkerchief and tucks it into the jacket pocket,
all with great deliberation.
A bureau. Some currency, cigarettes, liquor, passport. And
an elaborate gold-on-black enamel Hakenkreuz (or swastika)
which the gentleman pins to the lapel of his elegant dinner
jacket.
He steps back to consider his reflection in the mirror. He
likes what he sees: Oskar Schindler -- salesman from Zwittau --
looking almost reputable in his one nice suit.
Even in this awful room.
<b> INT. NIGHTCLUB - CRACOW, POLAND - NIGHT
</b>
A spotlight slicing across a crowded smoke-choked club to a
small stage where a cabaret performer sings.
Its September, 1939. General Sigmund List's armored
divisions, driving north from the Sudetenland, have taken
Cracow, and now, in this club, drinking, socializing,
conducting business, is a strange clientele: SS officers and
|
list
|
How many times does the word 'list' appear in the text?
| 1
|
. Claudius, seeing a mighty man before him, saw things looked
serious and understood that here he had not quite the same pre-eminence
as at Rome, where no one was his equal: the Gallic cock was worth most on
his own dunghill. So this is what he was thought to say, as far as could
be made out: "I did hope, Hercules, bravest of all the gods, that you
would take my part with the rest, and if I should need a voucher, I meant
to name you who know me so well. Do but call it to mind, how it was I used
to sit in judgment before your temple whole days together during July and
August. You know what miseries I endured there, in hearing the lawyers
plead day and night. If you had fallen amongst these, you may think
yourself very strong, but you would have found it worse than the sewers of
Augeas: I drained out more filth than you did. But since I want..."
(Some pages have fallen out, in which Hercules must have been persuaded.
The gods are now discussing what Hercules tells them).
"No wonder you have forced your way into the 8
Senate House: no bars or bolts can hold against you. Only do say what
species of god you want the fellow to be made. An Epicurean god he cannot
be: for they have no troubles and cause none. A Stoic, then? How can he be
globular, as Varro says, without a head or any other projection? There is
in him something of the Stoic god, as I can see now: he has neither heart
nor head. Upon my word, if he had asked this boon from Saturn, he would not
have got it, though he kept up Saturn's feast all the year round, a truly
Saturnalian prince. A likely thing he will get it from Jove, whom he
condemned for incest as far as in him lay: for he killed his son-in-law
Silanus, because Silanus had a sister, a most charming girl, called Venus
by all the world, and he preferred to call her Juno. Why, says he, I want
to know why, his own sister? Read your books, stupid: you may go half-way
at Athens, the whole way at Alexandria. Because the mice lick meal at Rome,
you say. Is this creature to mend our crooked ways? What goes on in his own
closet he knows not;[Footnote: Perhaps alluding to a mock marriage of
Silius and Messalina.] and now he searches the regions of the sky, wants to
be a god. Is it not enough that he has a temple in Britain, that savages
worship him and pray to him as a god, so that they may find a fool
[Footnote: Again [GREEK: morou] for [GREEK: theou] as in ch. 6.] to have
mercy upon them?"
At last it came into Jove's head, that while strangers 9
were in the House it was not lawful to speak or debate. "My lords and
gentlemen," said he, "I gave you leave to ask questions, and you have made
a regular farmyard [Footnote: Proverb: meaning unknown.] of the place. Be
so good as to keep the rules of the House. What will this person think of
us, whoever he is?" So Claudius was led out, and the first to be asked his
opinion was Father Janus: he had been made consul elect for the afternoon
of the next first of July,[Footnote: Perhaps an allusion to the shortening
of the consul's term, which was done to give more candidates a chance of
the honour.] being as shrewd a man as you could find on a summer's day: for
he could see, as they say, before and behind. [Footnote 8: II, iii, 109;
alluding here to Janus's double face.] He made an eloquent harangue,
because his life was passed in the forum, but too fast for the notary to
take down. That is why I give no full report of it, for I don't want to
change the words he used. He said a great deal of the majesty of the gods,
and how the honour ought not to be given away to every Tom, Dick, or Harry.
"Once," said he, "it was a great thing to become a god; now you have made
it a farce. Therefore, that you may not think I am speaking against one
person instead of the general custom, I propose that from this day forward
the godhead be given to none of those who eat the fruits of the earth, or
whom mother earth doth nourish. After this bill has been read a third time,
whosoever is made, said, or portrayed to be god, I vote he be delivered
over to the bogies, and at the next public show be flogged with a birch
amongst the new gladiators." The next to be asked was Diespiter, son of
Vica Pota, he also being consul elect, and a moneylender; by this trade he
made a living, used to sell rights of citizenship in a small way. Hercules
trips me up to him daintily, and tweaks him by the ear. So he uttered his
opinion in these words: "Inasmuch as the blessed Claudius is akin to the
blessed Augustus, and also to the blessed Augusta, his grandmother, whom he
ordered to be made a goddess, and whereas he far surpasses all mortal men
in wisdom, and seeing that it is for the public good that there be some one
able to join Romulus in devouring boiled turnips, I propose that from this
day forth blessed Claudius be a god, to enjoy that honour with all its
appurtenances in as full a degree as any other before him, and that a note
to that effect be added to Ovid's Metamorphoses." The meeting was divided,
and it looked as though Claudius was to win the day. For Hercules saw his
iron was in the fire, trotted here and trotted there, saying, "Don't deny
me; I make a point of the matter. I'll do as much for you again, when you
like; you roll my log, and I'll roll yours: one hand washes another."
Then arose the blessed Augustus, when his turn
|
made
|
How many times does the word 'made' appear in the text?
| 8
|
FOUR WOMEN sit in a circle on a broken down, buckling
front porch. One woman breast feeds a new born. The
others knit a large blanket.
TWO WOMEN and TWO MEN swim naked in a swimming hole.
A MAN in his forties sits alone in a room reading.
A MAN chops wood.
A bare foot TODDLER plays alone in the driveway.
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE - DAY
</b>
A large room with unfinished wood walls has several
blankets and pillows laid out like beds on the floor.
TWO WOMEN are in the kitchen preparing food.
MARTHA, sets a table for eight. Martha is beautiful but
appears run down. She is 24 years old but her weathered
face makes her look older. A bell rings off screen.
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE DINING ROOM - EVENING
</b>
The men sit around a table eating dinner.
One man sits at the head of the table, this is PATRICK.
Patrick is older than the other men. To his right is
WATTS, a man in his early twenties with a greasy patchy
beard.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
</b>
The women are scattered around the kitchen waiting. The
men finish dinner, pass through the kitchen and walk
outside.
The women file into the dining room, clear the men's
dishes, put more chairs around the table, and bring out a
new serving of food.
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE DINING ROOM - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
The women sit around the table eating very small portions
of low protein food. Katie sits at the head of the table.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE - EARLY MORNING
</b>
The kitchen is filled with dishes.
|
women
|
How many times does the word 'women' appear in the text?
| 5
|
on its journey. The feather floats above a stopped car.
The car drives off right as the feather floats down toward
the street.
The feather floats under a passing car, then is sent flying
back up in the air. A MAN sits on a bus bench. The feather
floats above the ground and finally lands on the man's
mudsoaked shoe.
The man reached down and picks up the feather. His name is
FORREST GUMP. He looks at the feather oddly, moves aside a
box of chocolates from an old suitcase, then opens the case.
Inside the old suitcase are an assortment of clothes, a
pingpong paddle, toothpaste and other personal items.
Forrest pulls out a book titled "Curious George," then places
the feather inside the book. Forrest closes the suitcase.
Something in his eyes reveals that Forrest may not be all
there.
Forrest looks right as the sound of an arriving bus is heard.
A bus pulls up. Forrest remains on the bus bench as the bus
continues on.
A BLACK WOMAN in a nurse's outfit steps up and sits down at
the bus bench next to Forrest. The nurse begins to read a
magazine as Forrest looks at her.
<b> FORREST
</b> Hello. My name's Forrest Gump.
He opens a box of chocolates and holds it out for the nurse.
<b> FORREST
</b> You want a chocolate?
The nurse shakes her head, a bit apprehensive about this
strange man next to her.
<b> FORREST
</b> I could eat about a million and a
half of these. My momma always said,
"Life was like a box of chocolates.
You never know what you're gonna
get."
Forrest eats a chocolate as he looks down at the nurse's
shoes.
<b> FORREST
</b> Those must be comfortable shoes.
I'll bet you could walk all day in
shoes like that and not feel a thing.
I wish I had shoes like that.
<b> BLACK WOMAN
</b> My feet hurt.
<b> FORREST
</b> Momma always says there's an awful
lot you could tell about a person by
their shoes. Where they're going.
|
apprehensive
|
How many times does the word 'apprehensive' appear in the text?
| 0
|
(French) Leger (L.), Nicholas Gogol,
1914.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST PORTION OF THIS WORK
Second Edition published in 1846
From the Author to the Reader
Reader, whosoever or wheresoever you be, and whatsoever be your
station--whether that of a member of the higher ranks of society or that
of a member of the plainer walks of life--I beg of you, if God shall
have given you any skill in letters, and my book shall fall into your
hands, to extend to me your assistance.
For in the book which lies before you, and which, probably, you have
read in its first edition, there is portrayed a man who is a type taken
from our Russian Empire. This man travels about the Russian land and
meets with folk of every condition--from the nobly-born to the humble
toiler. Him I have taken as a type to show forth the vices and the
failings, rather than the merits and the virtues, of the commonplace
Russian individual; and the characters which revolve around him have
also been selected for the purpose of demonstrating our national
weaknesses and shortcomings. As for men and women of the better sort, I
propose to portray them in subsequent volumes. Probably much of what I
have described is improbable and does not happen as things customarily
happen in Russia; and the reason for that is that for me to learn all
that I have wished to do has been impossible, in that human life is not
sufficiently long to become acquainted with even a hundredth part
of what takes place within the borders of the Russian Empire. Also,
carelessness, inexperience, and lack of time have led to my perpetrating
numerous errors and inaccuracies of detail; with the result that in
every line of the book there is something which calls for correction.
For these reasons I beg of you, my reader, to act also as my corrector.
Do not despise the task, for, however superior be your education, and
however lofty your station, and however insignificant, in your eyes,
my book, and however trifling the apparent labour of correcting and
commenting upon that book, I implore you to do as I have said. And you
too, O reader of lowly education and simple status, I beseech you not to
look upon yourself as too ignorant to be able in some fashion, however
small, to help me. Every man who has lived in the world and mixed with
his fellow men will have remarked something which has remained hidden
from the eyes of others; and therefore I beg of you not to deprive me
of your comments, seeing that it cannot be that, should you read my book
with attention, you will have NOTHING to say at some point therein.
For example, how excellent it would be if some reader who is
sufficiently rich in experience and the knowledge of life to be
acquainted with the sort of characters which I have described herein
would annotate in detail the book, without missing a single page, and
undertake to read it precisely as though, laying pen and paper before
him, he were first to peruse a few pages of the work, and then to recall
his own life, and the lives of folk with whom he has come in contact,
and everything which he has seen with his own eyes or has heard of from
others, and to proceed to annotate, in so far as may tally with his own
experience or otherwise, what is set forth in the book, and to jot down
the whole exactly as it stands pictured to his memory, and, lastly, to
send me the jottings as they may issue from his pen, and to continue
doing so until he has covered the entire work! Yes, he would indeed do
me a vital service! Of style or beauty of expression he would need
to take no account, for the value of a book lies in its truth and its
actuality rather than in its wording. Nor would he need to consider my
feelings if at any point he should feel minded to blame or to upbraid
me, or to demonstrate the harm rather than the good which has been
done through any lack of thought or verisimilitude of which I have
been guilty. In short, for anything and for everything in the way of
criticism I should be thankful.
Also, it would be an excellent thing if some reader in the higher walks
of life, some person who stands remote, both by life and by education,
from the circle of folk which I have pictured in my book, but who knows
the life of the circle in which he himself revolves, would undertake to
read my work in similar fashion, and methodically to recall to his mind
any members of superior social classes whom he has met, and carefully to
observe whether there exists any resemblance between one such class and
another, and whether, at times, there may not be repeated in a higher
sphere what is done in a lower, and likewise to note any additional fact
in the same connection which may occur to him (that is to say, any fact
pertaining to the higher ranks of society which would seem to confirm or
to disprove his conclusions), and, lastly, to record that fact as it may
have occurred within his own experience, while giving full details of
persons (of individual manners, tendencies, and customs) and also of
inanimate surroundings (of dress, furniture, fittings of houses, and so
forth). For I need knowledge of the classes in question, which are the
flower of our people. In fact, this very reason--the reason that I do
not yet know Russian life in all its aspects, and in the degree to
which it is necessary for me to know it in order to become a successful
author--is what has, until now, prevented me from publishing any
subsequent volumes of this story.
Again, it would be an excellent thing if some one who is endowed with
the faculty of imagining and vividly picturing to himself the various
situations wherein a character may be placed, and of mentally following
up a character's career in one field and another--by this I mean some
one who possesses the power of entering into and developing the ideas
of the author whose work he may be reading--would scan each character
herein portrayed, and tell me how each character ought to have acted
at a given juncture, and what, to judge from the beginnings of each
character, ought to have become of that character later, and what new
circumstances might be devised in connection therewith, and what new
details might advantageously be added to those already described.
Honestly can I say that to consider these points against the time when a
new edition of my book
|
character
|
How many times does the word 'character' appear in the text?
| 5
|
DIGNAN
</b> OK. That's wrong.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Dignan, it's --
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Plus where's Huggie Bear?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> He's not there. Huggie Bear isn't
in every single episode.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I think you might of dreamed this
one, Anthony.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> No. It's a real episode. The killer
is leading him across the city by
calling different pay phones.
They climb over a high wooden fence.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD. DAY
</b>
They walk through somebody's backyard.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Why?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> As part of his plan. I don't know
why.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> See, that's what I'm saying. It has
the logic of a dream.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> The point is the killer always
goes, May I speak to Starsky? He
says his name.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> (pause)
What does Starsky say?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> He says. This is he.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> This is he?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> No. This is he.
They climb another fence. There's big house on the other side.
<b>INT. HOUSE. DAY
</b>
Anthony and Dignan are inside walking through the foyer.
Anthony goes up the stairway quickly and quietly.
Dignan walks to the master bedroom. Goes in the closet and
grabs a box. Looks inside. Dumps it into his bag.
Anthony goes into a bedroom. Looks in a dresser and takes
out two watches. Digs through some socks and finds some cash.
Dignan goes in the study. Opens a drawer and closes it.
Opens another and lifts out a set of thin leather coin books.
Anthony's in a kid's room. Looking at posters of a football
player and John McEnroe on the walls. He grabs a walkman and
a calculator. Then suddenly stops moving. He crouches down.
Looks at a shelf of dozens of little metal soldiers. They're
in formations with different uniforms.
Dignan is walking down the hallway as Anthony comes down the
stairs. They walk to the door and go out.
<b>INT. DINER. DAY
</b>
A twenty-four hour diner. Anthony and Dignan are eating at
the counter.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Did you see what I meant about the
window?
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Kind of. Except we've already got
the keys.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> That's true. But what if they
change the locks?
<b> DIGNAN
</b>
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity
and dignity of style in dramatic verse of the seventeenth century,
that Moliere feels called on to apologize for a touch of realism like
this. Indeed, these lines were even omitted when the play was given.]
SCENE III
ELMIRE, MARIANE, DAMIS, CLEANTE, DORINE
ELMIRE (to Cleante)
You're very lucky to have missed the speech
She gave us at the door. I see my husband
Is home again. He hasn't seen me yet,
So I'll go up and wait till he comes in.
CLEANTE
And I, to save time, will await him here;
I'll merely say good-morning, and be gone.
SCENE IV
CLEANTE, DAMIS, DORINE
DAMIS
I wish you'd say a word to him about
My sister's marriage; I suspect Tartuffe
Opposes it, and puts my father up
To all these wretched shifts. You know, besides,
How nearly I'm concerned in it myself;
If love unites my sister and Valere,
I love his sister too; and if this marriage
Were to ...
DORINE
He's coming.
SCENE V
ORGON, CLEANTE, DORINE
ORGON
Ah! Good morning, brother.
CLEANTE
I was just going, but am glad to greet you.
Things are not far advanced yet, in the country?
ORGON
Dorine ...
(To Cleante)
Just wait a bit, please, brother-in-law.
Let me allay my first anxiety
By asking news about the family.
(To Dorine)
Has everything gone well these last two days?
What's happening? And how is everybody?
DORINE
Madam had fever, and a splitting headache
Day before yesterday, all day and evening.
ORGON
And how about Tartuffe?
DORINE
Tartuffe? He's well;
He's mighty well; stout, fat, fair, rosy-lipped.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
At evening she had nausea
And couldn't touch a single thing for supper,
Her headache still was so severe.
ORGON
And how
About Tartuffe?
DORINE
He supped alone, before her,
And unctuously ate up two partridges,
As well as half a leg o' mutton, deviled.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
All night she couldn't get a wink
Of sleep, the fever racked her so; and we
Had to sit up with her till daylight.
ORGON
How
About Tartuffe?
DORINE
Gently inclined to slumber,
He left the table, went into his room,
Got himself straight into a good warm bed,
And slept quite undisturbed until next morning.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
At last she let us all persuade her,
And got up courage to be bled; and then
She was relieved at once.
ORGON
And how about
Tartuffe?
DORINE
He plucked up courage properly,
Bravely entrenched his soul against all evils,
And to replace the blood that she had lost,
He drank at breakfast four huge draughts of wine.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
So now they both are doing well;
And I'll go straightway and inform my mistress
How pleased you are at her recovery.
SCENE VI
ORGON, CLEANTE
CLEANTE
Brother, she ridicules you to your face;
And I, though I don't want to make you angry,
Must tell you candidly that she's quite right.
Was such infatuation ever heard of?
And can a man to-day have charms to make you
Forget all else, relieve his poverty,
Give him a home, and then ... ?
ORGON
Stop there, good brother,
You do not know the man you're speaking of.
CLEANTE
Since you will have it so, I do not know him;
But after all, to tell what sort of man
He is ...
ORGON
Dear brother, you'd be charmed to know him;
Your raptures over him would have no end.
He is a man ... who ... ah! ... in fact ...a man
Whoever does his will, knows perfect peace,
And counts the whole world else, as so much dung.
His converse has transformed me quite; he weans
My heart from every friendship, teaches me
To have no love for anything on earth;
And I could see my brother, children, mother,
And wife, all die, and never care--a snap.
CLEANTE
Your feelings are humane, I must say, brother!
ORGON
Ah! If you'd seen him, as I saw him first,
You would have loved him just as much as I.
He came to church each day, with contrite mien,
Kneeled, on both knees, right opposite my place,
And drew the eyes of all the congregation,
To watch the fervour of his prayers to heaven;
With deep-drawn sighs and great ejaculations,
He humbly kissed the earth at every moment;
And when I left the church, he ran before me
To give me holy water at the door.
I learned his poverty, and who he was,
By questioning his servant, who is like him,
And gave him gifts; but in his modesty
He always wanted to return a part.
"It is too much," he'd say, "too much by half;
I am not worthy of your pity." Then,
When I refused to take it back, he'd go,
Before my eyes, and give it to the poor.
At length heaven bade me take
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 3
|
PILOT
</b>
I brought you the most amazing...
Amazing, what, we'll never know. The CARGO SHIP begins to EXPLODE, the
bubble bridge BLOWING out into space in a ball of fire.
<b>EXT.- MARS
</b>
LOW ANGLE from the planet's surface-. Two shapes BLAST through FRAME,
BUBBLE FIGHTERS, single pilot, transparent globes, racing up towards
the sudden star of the cargo ship at impossible speed.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
POV of the burning Cargo Ship, coming towards us incredibly fast.
Speed, trajectory and tactical readouts flash.
<b>EXT.-CARGO SHIP
</b>
The pulse lasers are still hammering the ravaged hull.
<b>WIDER
</b>
Two sinister ATTACK SHIPS, their lasers locked onto the Cargo Ship,
FIRE away as they BLAST overhead. The nuclear core of the Cargo Ship
overloads, the craft finally EXPLODING in a storm of fire.
A BUBBLE FIGHTER ROARS through the hurling world of flame. PUSH IN.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
A lone FIGURE stands in a gyroscopic harness, working a heads-up
holographic display, command controls spinning 360 degrees with the
pilot's Comas the fighter SCREAMS after the fleeing raider.
The harness spins, the pilot coming clearly into view. Handsome,
intense, reckless eyes. MAJOR DON WEST.
<b> WEST
</b>
Sino-Jordanian Raiders. They're
claiming the cargo ship violated
their air-space.
<b>INT.-SECOND BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
Another pilot (JEB WALKER) commands an identical craft, ROCKETING
towards the assault craft just below West's.
<b> JEB
</b>
This cold war's heating up. Where did
they come from?
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
Hell. And we're going to send them
back screaming.
West activates his targeting computer.
<b> WEST
</b>
Last one to kill a bad guy buys the
beer.
TARGETING DISPLAY-CLOSE. The fleeing Attack Ship jogs in and out of
the crosshairs on West's holographic array. West fires.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The Attack Ship SHOOTS straight up, dodging West's laser BLASTS.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
West closes on the fleeing craft, as Jeb engages the other Attack
Ship, lasers FIRING in the b.g., visible through the transparent
surface of the bubble glass under West's feet.
<b> WEST
</b>
What's that sound? must be the fat lady
warming up.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The fleeing Attack Ship loops in mid-space, reversing direction,
heading straight towards West's Bubble Fighter. A game of chicken.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
West doesn't flinch. Bears down, FIRING madly, the two space ships
heading straight for each other.
<b> WEST
</b>
That's right. Come on, come on, you wanna
play, I wanna play.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The two ships are ROCKETING towards each other, locked in collision
vectors, lasers FIRING wildly. asdasd
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
I can hear her. Oh, yes, oh yes. She's
gonna sing.
TARGETING:DISPLAY-CLOSE. The Attack Ship flashes, captured in the
targeting hatchmarks. The display expands into a tactical grid.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Target lock.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
Imminent collision.
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
The hull of the Attack Ship fills his bubble glass.
<b> WEST
</b>
The lights are dimming. The curtain's
coming down. Sing you fat, old bag,
sing!
West hits the firing stud.
<b>EXT.-DEEP SPACE
</b>
West's pulse
|
cargo
|
How many times does the word 'cargo' appear in the text?
| 5
|
TER, an irate patient who is screeching...
<b> WALTER
</b> I want my fucking Zippo now!
Walter starts yanking at his hair.
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> Walter, that is a behavior...
<b> WALTER
</b> (raking his nails against
his forearm)
Fuck you!
<b> ROSA
</b> And you are making a choice.
Her cell phone rings...
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> (to Walter)
Hold on...Hello?
<b> WALTER
</b> God!
<b> KYM
</b> Don't you get it yet, Waldo? She's
making a choice not to give you
your lighter because you'll torch
the Self-Help library again.
<b>
</b>
<b> WALTER
</b> I'm Walter. Kill anybody recently?
Run anybody over with a fucking
car?
<b>
</b> Kym grinds her cigarette under her heel and blows smoke but
gives no signal that she's heard anything. She yanks her cell
phone out of her bag as...
<b>
</b> A tan Mercedes STATION WAGON pulls up in front of the House.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> 1 CONTINUED: 1
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b>
|
rosa
|
How many times does the word 'rosa' appear in the text?
| 3
|
who, on
noticing Crain's captain-insignia, came toward him with outstretched
hand. His followers seemed to be cargo-men or deck-men, looking hardly
intelligent enough to Kent's eyes to be tube-men.
* * * * *
"Welcome to our city!" their leader exclaimed as he shook Crain's hand.
"We saw your ship drift in, but hardly expected to find anyone living in
it."
"I'll confess that we're surprised ourselves to find any life here,"
Crain told him. "You're living on one of the wrecks?"
The other nodded. "Yes, on the _Martian Queen_, a quarter-mile along the
pack's edge. It was a Saturn-Neptune passenger ship, and about a month
ago we were at this cursed dead-area's edge, when half our rocket-tubes
exploded. Eighteen of us escaped the explosion, the ship's walls still
being tight; and we drifted into the pack here, and have been living
here ever since."
"My name's Krell," he added, "and I was a tube-man on the ship. I and
another of the tube-men, named Jandron, were the highest in rank left,
all the officers and other tube-men having been killed, so we took
charge and have been keeping order."
"What about your passengers?" Liggett asked.
"All killed but one," Krell answered. "When the tubes let go they
smashed up the whole lower two decks."
Crain briefly explained to him the _Pallas'_ predicament. "Mr. Kent and
Mr. Liggett were on the point of starting a search of the wreck-pack for
fuel when you arrived," he said, "With enough fuel we can get clear of
the dead-area."
Krell's eyes lit up. "That would mean a getaway for all of us! It surely
ought to be possible!"
"Do you know whether there are any ships in the pack with fuel in their
tanks?" Kent asked. Krell shook his head.
"We've searched through the wreck-pack a good bit, but never bothered
about fuel, it being no good to us. But there ought to be some, at
least: there's enough wrecks in this cursed place to make it possible
to find almost anything.
"You'd better not start exploring, though," he added, "without some of
us along as guides, for I'm here to tell you that you can lose yourself
in this wreck-pack without knowing it. If you wait until to-morrow, I'll
come over myself and go with you."
"I think that would be wise," Crain said to Kent. "There is plenty of
time."
"Time is the one thing there's plenty of in this damned place," Krell
agreed. "We'll be getting back to the _Martian Queen_ now and give the
good news to Jandron and the rest."
"Wouldn't mind if Liggett and I came along, would you?" Kent asked. "I'd
like to see how your ship's fixed--that is, if it's all right with you,
sir," he added to his superior.
Crain nodded. "All right if you don't stay long," he said. But, to
Kent's surprise Krell seemed reluctant to endorse his proposal.
"I guess it'll be all right," he said slowly, "though there's nothing
much on the _Martian Queen_ to see."
* * * * *
Krell and his followers replaced their helmets and returned into the
airlock. Liggett followed them, and, as Kent struggled hastily into a
space-suit, he found Captain Crain at his side.
"Kent, look sharp when you get over on that ship," Crain told him. "I
don't like the look of this Krell, and his story about all the officers
being killed in the explosion sounds fishy to me."
"To me, too," Kent agreed. "But Liggett and I will have the suit-phones
in our space-suits and can call you from there in case of need."
Crain nodded, and Kent with space-suit on and transparent helmet
screwed tight, stepped into the airlock with the rest. The airlock's
inner door closed, the outer one opened, and as the air puffed out into
space, Kent and Krell and Liggett leapt out into the void, the others
following.
It was no novelty to Kent to float in a space-suit in the empty void. He
and the others now floated as smoothly as though under water toward a
wrecked liner at the _Pallas'_ right. They reached it, pulled themselves
around it, and, with feet braced against its side, propelled themselves
on through space along the border of the wreck-pack.
They passed a half-dozen wrecks thus, before coming to the _Martian
Queen_. It was a silvery, glistening ship whose stern and lower walls
were bulging and strained, but not cracked. Kent told himself that Krell
had spoken truth about the exploding rocket-tubes, at least.
They struck the _Martian Queen's_ side and entered the upper-airlock
open for them. Once through the airlock they found themselves on the
ship's upper-deck. And when Kent and Liggett removed their helmets with
the others they found a full dozen men confronting them, a brutal-faced
group who exhibited some surprise at sight of them.
* * * * *
Foremost among them stood a tall, heavy individual who regarded Kent and
Liggett with the cold, suspicious eyes of an animal.
"My comrade and fellow-ruler here, Wald Jandron," said Krell. To Jandron
he explained rapidly. "The whole crew of the _Pallas_ is alive, and they
say if they can find fuel in the wreck-pack their ship can get out of
here."
"Good," grunted Jandron. "The sooner they can do it, the better it will
be for us."
Kent saw Liggett flush angrily,
|
krell
|
How many times does the word 'krell' appear in the text?
| 10
|
LONG SHOT
</b> The quadrangle of Army buildings is quiet and deserted. A
broken-down taxi drives in at one corner and slowly makes its
way around the quadrangle. SUPERIMPOSED over shot is the
<b> LEGEND:
</b>
<b> HAWAII, 1941
</b><b> SIX MONTHS BEFORE
</b><b> PEARL HARBOR
</b>
The taxi pulls up across the street from camera. A soldier
gets out, pulls two heavily loaded barracks bags after him.
He pays the driver, hoists the bags to his back, moves toward
camera. The taxi drives away slowly. The soldier walks toward
steps leading to a low building. He is PREWITT (called "PREW"
for short), 22 years old, well-built, good-looking. He wears
an enlisted man's uniform and on the sleeves are marks where
chevrons have been removed. He pauses, looks up over the
door. CAMERA PANS UP to sign which reads: ORDERLY ROOM - G
<b> COMPANY, 219TH REGIMENT.
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> A small thin soldier in an undershirt and fatigue pants backs
out of the screen door and into shot. He is wielding a frayed
broom. This is PRIVATE ANGELO MAGGIO. He is violent and funny
and sour and friendly. He sees Prewitt's legs but not his
face, speaks as he sweeps a cloud of dust off the porch.
<b> MAGGID
</b> Fine way to pass the time. Good for
the mind.
<b> PREW
</b> Hello, Maggio.
Maggio turns and stares at Prew, astonished.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> Prew...?
<b> PREW
</b><b> (NODS)
</b> I transferred out of Fort Shatter.
Maggio notices the marks on the sleeves where the stripes
have been removed. Prew follows his glance.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> You quit the Bugle Corps...?
<b> 2.
</b>
Prew nods. Maggio jerks his head toward the sign.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> To here...?
<b>
|
maggio
|
How many times does the word 'maggio' appear in the text?
| 7
|
2
</b>
We open on an expensive looking flip cellphone sitting on a
dresser. Next to it, a large zip lock bag of marijuana. We
stay here.
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> What's your resolution?
<b> SOPHINA (O.S.)
</b> I'm gonna cut carbs.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Green (7/5/2012) 2A.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> You trippin. You look fine. Plus
you Mexican. You cut carbs and you
can't eat nothin yo grandma cooks.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Goldenrod (7/19/2012) 3.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> SOPHINA (O.S)
</b> FUCK YOU...You just gotta help me
stick to it. It only takes 30 days
to form a habit. Then it becomes
second nature.
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> Really? Who told you that?
<b> SOPHINA (O.S.)
</b> ... Oprah
Oscar laughs hard at this.
<b> SOPHINA (CONT'D)
</b> What's yours.
<b> OSCAR
</b> I'm gonna quit selling trees.
The PHONE VIBRATES and RINGS "MARCUS CALLING" shows on the
outer screen.
Oscar's moves towards the cellphone.
<b> SOPHINA (O.S.)
</b> Osc.
Oscar stops in his tracks.
<b> SOPHINA (O.S.) (CONT'D)
</b> Don't go out there tonight, stay
home.
<b>
|
oscar
|
How many times does the word 'oscar' appear in the text?
| 6
|
step
of the terrace] And yet he has never finished a course of studies in any
college; that is so surprising. What an ideal scoundrel he would have
made if he had acquired a little culture and mastered the sciences! "You
could make twenty thousand roubles in a week," he said. "You still hold
the ace of trumps: it is your title." [Laughing] He said I might get
a rich girl to marry me for it! [ANNA opens the window and looks down]
"Let me make a match between you and Martha," says he. Who is this
Martha? It must be that Balabalkina--Babakalkina woman, the one that
looks like a laundress.
ANNA. Is that you, Count?
SHABELSKI. What do you want?
ANNA laughs.
SHABELSKI. [With a Jewish accent] Vy do you laugh?
ANNA. I was thinking of something you said at dinner, do you remember?
How was it--a forgiven thief, a doctored horse.
SHABELSKI. A forgiven thief, a doctored horse, and a Christianised Jew
are all worth the same price.
ANNA. [Laughing] You can't even repeat the simplest saying without
ill-nature. You are a most malicious old man. [Seriously] Seriously,
Count you are extremely disagreeable, and very tiresome and painful to
live with. You are always grumbling and growling, and everybody to you
is a blackguard and a scoundrel. Tell me honestly, Count, have you ever
spoken well of any one?
SHABELSKI. Is this an inquisition?
ANNA. We have lived under this same roof now for five years, and I
have never heard you speak kindly of people, or without bitterness and
derision. What harm has the world done to you? Is it possible that you
consider yourself better than any one else?
SHABELSKI. Not at all. I think we are all of us scoundrels and
hypocrites. I myself am a degraded old man, and as useless as a cast-off
shoe. I abuse myself as much as any one else. I was rich once, and free,
and happy at times, but now I am a dependent, an object of charity, a
joke to the world. When I am at last exasperated and defy them, they
answer me with a laugh. When I laugh, they shake their heads sadly and
say, "The old man has gone mad." But oftenest of all I am unheard and
unnoticed by every one.
ANNA. [Quietly] Screaming again.
SHABELSKI. Who is screaming?
ANNA. The owl. It screams every evening.
SHABELSKI. Let it scream. Things are as bad as they can be already.
[Stretches himself] Alas, my dear Sarah! If I could only win a thousand
or two roubles, I should soon show you what I could do. I wish you
could see me! I should get away out of this hole, and leave the bread of
charity, and should not show my nose here again until the last judgment
day.
ANNA. What would you do if you were to win so much money?
SHABELSKI. [Thoughtfully] First I would go to Moscow to hear the Gipsies
play, and then--then I should fly to Paris and take an apartment and go
to the Russian Church.
ANNA. And what else?
SHABELSKI. I would go and sit on my wife's grave for days and days and
think. I would sit there until I died. My wife is buried in Paris. [A
pause.]
ANNA. How terribly dull this is! Shall we play a duet?
SHABELSKI. As you like. Go and get the music ready. [ANNA goes out.]
IVANOFF and LVOFF appear in one of the paths.
IVANOFF. My dear friend, you left college last year, and you are still
young and brave. Being thirty-five years old I have the right to advise
you. Don't marry a Jewess or a bluestocking or a woman who is queer in
any way. Choose some nice, common-place girl without any strange and
startling points in her character. Plan your life for quiet; the greyer
and more monotonous you can make the background, the better. My dear
boy, do not try to fight alone against thousands; do not tilt with
windmills; do not dash yourself against the rocks. And, above all,
may you be spared the so-called rational life, all wild theories and
impassioned talk. Everything is in the hands of God, so shut yourself
up in your shell and do your best. That is the pleasant, honest, healthy
way to live. But the life I have chosen has been so tiring, oh, so
tiring! So full of mistakes, of injustice and stupidity! [Catches sight
of SHABELSKI, and speaks angrily] There you are again, Uncle, always
under foot, never letting one have a moment's quiet talk!
SHABELSKI. [In a tearful voice] Is there no refuge anywhere for a poor
old devil like me? [He jumps up and runs into the house.]
IVANOFF. Now I have offended him! Yes, my nerves have certainly gone to
pieces. I must do something about it, I must----
LVOFF. [Excitedly] Ivanoff, I have heard all you have to say and--and--I
am going to speak frankly. You have shown me in your voice and manner,
as well as in your words, the most heartless egotism and pitiless
cruelty. Your nearest friend is dying simply because she is near you,
her days are numbered, and you can feel such indifference that you go
about giving advice and analysing your feelings. I cannot say all I
should like to; I have not the gift of words, but--but I can at least
say that you are deeply antipathetic to me.
IVANOFF. I suppose I am. As an onlooker, of course you see me more
clearly than I see myself, and your judgment of me is probably right.
No doubt I am terribly guilty. [Listens] I think I hear the carriage
coming. I must get ready to go. [He goes toward the house and then
stops] You dislike me,
|
would
|
How many times does the word 'would' appear in the text?
| 4
|
dawn as
promising as, well, this new day...
Sun is rising over...
A flat roof that stretches to the horizon. A vast expanse.
A plain of gravel-embedded tar, studded with...
HVAC units and power lines, the kind that service a huge
commercial building. In fact this kind of building...
A UNIMART store. A flagship of savings; a mother lode of
low, low prices. 100,000-and-then-some square feet of the
Consumer Economy...
<b> PARKING LOT
</b>
Empty thus far. A few EMPLOYEE autos arriving in their
assigned slots far from the entrance. One of those cars is a
old, not so vintage nor classic convertible...
KARMANN GHIA -- Belonging to...
LARRY CROWNE - A man as reliable (and predictable) as that
rising sun.
Actually, he's a Team Leader of this Unimart, dressed in his
un-sexy, un-fashionable, un-flattering khaki pants and
Company Polo.
Larry has had the ragtop down. He wrestles it up, locks the
cover into place.
He doesn't just walk to work, but s t r i d e s across the
asphalt field like a Sultan of Sales; a Viscount of Discount.
He cheers co-workers at the start of the day, shouting
encouragement, flashing thumbs up, knocking on car doors and
squeezing shoulders...
<b> DOROTHY GENKOS (PRE-LAP)
</b> A seven-speed Mix-o-Meter Food
Processor! $21.69!
<b> AVERY (PRE-LAP)
</b> Sweatpants! Two pair! $6.69!
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. UNIMART - DAY
</b>
The morning Circle of Sales! Employees and their wares.
Larry stands, yet to speak, ready for his moment of
pronounced enthusiasm...
<b> TEAM LEADER #1
</b> Fifteen foot jumper cables - 69
cents a foot!
<b> TEAM LEADER #2
</b> Chocolate turtles! 69 cents a
pound bag!
Go, Larry! Wave that merchandise!
<b> LARRY CROWNE
</b> Three-pack of men's elastic waist
mid-thigh boxer shorts! $2.69!
<b> FREEZE!
</b>
Words fill the screen.
<b> THIS IS LARRY CROWNE
</b>
Hold. Hold. Hold. AND...
|
merchandise
|
How many times does the word 'merchandise' appear in the text?
| 0
|
have finished mass at nine o'clock; you have three-quarters of an hour
before you. Be ready.'
"'What, uncle! must I say good-bye to this room, where for four years I
have been so happy?'
"'I have no fortune to leave you,' said he.
"'Have you not the reputation of your name to leave me, the memory of
your good works----?'
"'We need say nothing of that inheritance,' he replied, smiling. 'You do
not yet know enough of the world to be aware that a legacy of that kind
is hardly likely to be paid, whereas by taking you this morning to M. le
Comte'--Allow me," said the Consul, interrupting himself, "to speak
of my protector by his Christian name only, and to call him Comte
Octave.--'By taking you this morning to M. le Comte Octave, I hope to
secure you his patronage, which, if you are so fortunate as to please
that virtuous statesman--as I make no doubt you can--will be worth, at
least, as much as the fortune I might have accumulated for you, if my
brother-in-law's ruin and my sister's death had not fallen on me like a
thunder-bolt from a clear sky.'
"'Are you the Count's director?'
"'If I were, could I place you with him? What priest could be capable
of taking advantage of the secrets which he learns at the tribunal of
repentance? No; you owe this position to his Highness, the Keeper of
the Seals. My dear Maurice, you will be as much at home there as in your
father's house. The Count will give you a salary of two thousand four
hundred francs, rooms in his house, and an allowance of twelve hundred
francs in lieu of feeding you. He will not admit you to his table,
nor give you a separate table, for fear of leaving you to the care of
servants. I did not accept the offer when it was made to me till I was
perfectly certain that Comte Octave's secretary was never to be a mere
upper servant. You will have an immense amount of work, for the Count
is a great worker; but when you leave him, you will be qualified to fill
the highest posts. I need not warn you to be discreet; that is the first
virtue of any man who hopes to hold public appointments.'
"You may conceive of my curiosity. Comte Octave, at that time, held one
of the highest legal appointments; he was in the confidence of Madame
the Dauphiness, who had just got him made a State Minister; he led such
a life as the Comte de Serizy, whom you all know, I think; but even more
quietly, for his house was in the Marais, Rue Payenne, and he hardly
ever entertained. His private life escaped public comment by its
hermit-like simplicity and by constant hard work.
"Let me describe my position to you in a few words. Having found in the
solemn headmaster of the College Saint-Louis a tutor to whom my uncle
delegated his authority, at the age of eighteen I had gone through all
the classes; I left school as innocent as a seminarist, full of faith,
on quitting Saint-Sulpice. My mother, on her deathbed, had made my uncle
promise that I should not become a priest, but I was as pious as though
I had to take orders. On leaving college, the Abbe Loraux took me
into his house and made me study law. During the four years of study
requisite for passing all the examinations, I worked hard, but chiefly
at things outside the arid fields of jurisprudence. Weaned from
literature as I had been at college, where I lived in the headmaster's
house, I had a thirst to quench. As soon as I had read a few modern
masterpieces, the works of all the preceding ages were greedily
swallowed. I became crazy about the theatre, and for a long time I went
every night to the play, though my uncle gave me only a hundred francs
a month. This parsimony, to which the good old man was compelled by his
regard for the poor, had the effect of keeping a young man's desires
within reasonable limits.
"When I went to live with Comte Octave I was not indeed an innocent, but
I thought of my rare escapades as crimes. My uncle was so truly angelic,
and I was so much afraid of grieving him, that in all those four years
I had never spent a night out. The good man would wait till I came in
to go to bed. This maternal care had more power to keep me within bounds
than the sermons and reproaches with which the life of a young man
is diversified in a puritanical home. I was a stranger to the various
circles which make up the world of Paris society; I only knew some women
of the better sort, and none of the inferior class but those I saw as I
walked about, or in the boxes at the play, and then only from the depths
of the pit where I sat. If, at that period, any one had said to me, 'You
will see Canalis, or Camille Maupin,' I should have felt hot coals in
my head and in my bowels. Famous people were to me as gods, who neither
spoke, nor walked, nor ate like other mortals.
"How many tales of the Thousand-and-one Nights are comprehended in the
ripening of a youth! How many wonderful lamps must we have rubbed before
we understand that the True Wonderful Lamp is either luck, or work, or
genius. In some men this dream of the aroused spirit is but brief; mine
has lasted until now! In those days I always went to sleep as Grand Duke
of Tuscany,--as a millionaire,--as beloved by a princess,--or famous! So
to enter the service of Comte Octave, and have a hundred louis a year,
was entering on independent life. I had glimpses of some chance of
getting into society, and seeking for what my heart desired most, a
protectress, who would rescue me from the paths of danger, which a young
man of two-and-twenty can hardly help treading, however prudent and well
brought up he may be. I began to be afraid of myself.
"The persistent study of other people's rights into which I had plunged
was not always enough to repress painful imaginings. Yes, sometimes in
fancy I threw myself into theatrical
|
works
|
How many times does the word 'works' appear in the text?
| 1
|
continues.
He comes to a door, knocks, opens it and looks in.
<b> ATTENDANT
</b> (agitated)
Dr. Furtwängler, the Reichsminister.
The sound of heavy footsteps approaching. The attendant
turns his torch to light the way for three men in Nazi
uniform, also with attendants and torches, marching down
the corridor.
The attendant bows deeply as the REICHSMINISTER and his
aide go through the door. The other man remains in the
corridor on guard.
<b> INT. CONDUCTOR'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Candles light the room where the conductor shakes hands
with the Reichsminister.
<b> REICHSMINISTER
</b> Dr. Furtwängler, I want to apologise
personally for this power failure.
I was so enjoying the performance.
In times like these we need
spiritual nourishment.
A bomb explodes nearby.
<b> REICHSMINISTER
</b> But I welcome this unexpected
opportunity of talking to you.
(with great care)
When you came on to the platform
tonight, I thought you weren't
well. You looked tired,
(a warning)
Get away from this bombing.
Away from the war. Yes, you look
tired...
(a crooked smile)
Even in this light.
<b> INT. RUINED CINEMA - DAY
</b>
Dark. ON A SCREEN: scenes from Leni Riefenstahl's triumph
of the will. Over this:
<b> A MAN'S VOICE
</b> Look at them. Men, women, kids.
Boy, did they love him. You see,
Steve, Adolf Hitler touched
something deep, real deep and savage
and barbaric, and it won't just go
away overnight. It's got to be
rooted out. You know what I think?
|
look
|
How many times does the word 'look' appear in the text?
| 1
|
informed
the men in the boat that it was making progress slowly toward the land.
The captain, rearing cautiously in the bow, after the dingey soared on
a great swell, said that he had seen the lighthouse at Mosquito Inlet.
Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent was
at the oars then, and for some reason he too wished to look at the
lighthouse, but his back was toward the far shore and the waves were
important, and for some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn
his head. But at last there came a wave more gentle than the others,
and when at the crest of it he swiftly scoured the western horizon.
"See it?" said the captain.
"No," said the correspondent slowly, "I didn't see anything."
"Look again," said the captain. He pointed. "It's exactly in that
direction."
At the top of another wave, the correspondent did as he was bid, and
this time his eyes chanced on a small still thing on the edge of the
swaying horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pin. It took an
anxious eye to find a lighthouse so tiny.
"Think we'll make it, captain?"
"If this wind holds and the boat don't swamp, we can't do much else,"
said the captain.
The little boat, lifted by each towering sea, and splashed viciously
by the crests, made progress that in the absence of sea-weed was not
apparent to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing,
miraculously top-up, at the mercy of five oceans. Occasionally, a great
spread of water, like white flames, swarmed into her.
"Bail her, cook," said the captain serenely.
"All right, captain," said the cheerful cook.
III
It would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that
was here established on the seas. No one said that it was so. No one
mentioned it. But it dwelt in the boat, and each man felt it warm him.
They were a captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent, and they
were friends, friends in a more curiously iron-bound degree than may
be common. The hurt captain, lying against the water-jar in the bow,
spoke always in a low voice and calmly, but he could never command
a more ready and swiftly obedient crew than the motley three of the
dingey. It was more than a mere recognition of what was best for the
common safety. There was surely in it a quality that was personal
and heartfelt. And after this devotion to the commander of the boat
there was this comradeship that the correspondent, for instance, who
had been taught to be cynical of men, knew even at the time was the
best experience of his life. But no one said that it was so. No one
mentioned it.
"I wish we had a sail," remarked the captain. "We might try my overcoat
on the end of an oar and give you two boys a chance to rest." So the
cook and the correspondent held the mast and spread wide the overcoat.
The oiler steered, and the little boat made good way with her new rig.
Sometimes the oiler had to scull sharply to keep a sea from breaking
into the boat, but otherwise sailing was a success.
Meanwhile the lighthouse had been growing slowly larger. It had now
almost assumed colour, and appeared like a little grey shadow on the
sky. The man at the oars could not be prevented from turning his head
rather often to try for a glimpse of this little grey shadow.
At last, from the top of each wave the men in the tossing boat could
see land. Even as the lighthouse was an upright shadow on the sky,
this land seemed but a long black shadow on the sea. It certainly was
thinner than paper. "We must be about opposite New Smyrna," said the
cook, who had coasted this shore often in schooners. "Captain, by the
way, I believe they abandoned that life-saving station there about a
year ago."
"Did they?" said the captain.
The wind slowly died away. The cook and the correspondent were not now
obliged to slave in order to hold high the oar. But the waves continued
their old impetuous swooping at the dingey, and the little craft,
no longer under way, struggled woundily over them. The oiler or the
correspondent took the oars again.
Shipwrecks are _Ã propos_ of nothing. If men could only train for them
and have them occur when the men had reached pink condition, there
would be less drowning at sea. Of the four in the dingey none had slept
any time worth mentioning for two days and two nights previous to
embarking in the dingey, and in the excitement of clambering about the
deck of a foundering ship they had also forgotten to eat heartily.
For these reasons, and for others, neither the oiler nor the
correspondent was fond of rowing at this time. The correspondent
wondered ingenuously how in the name of all that was sane could
there be people who thought it amusing to row a boat. It was not an
amusement; it was a diabolical punishment, and even a genius of mental
aberrations could never conclude that it was anything but a horror to
the muscles and a crime against the back. He mentioned to the boat in
general how the amusement of rowing struck him, and the weary-faced
oiler smiled in full sympathy. Previously to the foundering, by the
way, the oiler had worked double-watch in the engine-room of the ship.
"Take her easy, now, boys," said the captain. "Don't spend yourselves.
If we have to run a surf you'll need all your strength, because we'll
sure have to swim for it. Take your time."
Slowly the land arose from the sea. From a black line it became a line
of black and a line of white, trees and sand. Finally, the captain
said that he could make out a house on the shore. "That's the house of
refuge, sure," said the cook. "They'll see us before long, and come out
after us."
The distant lighthouse reared high. "The keeper ought to be able to
make us out now, if he's looking through a glass," said the captain.
"He'll notify the life
|
nights
|
How many times does the word 'nights' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of Victorian
London must lament that such shrines grow fewer day by day; the great
thoroughfares know them no more; they hide nervously in old-world
corners, and in them you will meet old-world characters, who not seldom
seem to have lost themselves on their way to the pages of Charles
Dickens.
Despite the advent of electric tramways, Hampton would still be
recognized by the three clerks, 'the little village of Hampton, with its
old-fashioned country inn, and its bright, quiet, grassy river.' Hampton
is now as it then was, the 'well-loved resort of cockneydom'.
So let us alight from the tramcar at Hampton, and look about on the
outskirts of the village for 'a small old-fashioned brick house,
abutting on the road, but looking from its front windows on to a lawn
and garden, which stretched down to the river'. Surbiton Cottage it is
called. Let us peep in at that merry, happy family party; and laugh at
Captain Cuttwater, waking from his placid sleep, rubbing his eyes in
wonderment, and asking, 'What the devil is all the row about?' But it is
only with our mind's eye that we can see Surbiton Cottage--a cottage
in the air it is, but more substantial to some of us than many a real
jerry-built villa of red brick and stucco.
Old-fashioned seem to us the folk who once dwelt there, old-fashioned in
all save that their hearts were true and their outlook on life sane and
clean; they live still, though their clothes be of a quaint fashion and
their talk be of yesterday.
Who knows but that they will live long after we who love them shall be
dead and turned to dust?
W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE.
CONTENTS
I. THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES
II. THE INTERNAL NAVIGATION
III. THE WOODWARDS
IV. CAPTAIN CUTTWATER
V. BUSHEY PARK
VI. SIR GREGORY HARDLINES
VII. MR. FIDUS NEVERBEND
VIII. THE HON. UNDECIMUS SCOTT
IX. MR. MANYLODES
X. WHEAL MARY JANE
XI. THE THREE KINGS
XII. CONSOLATION
XIII. A COMMUNICATION OF IMPORTANCE
XIV. VERY SAD
XV. NORMAN RETURNS TO TOWN
XVI. THE FIRST WEDDING
XVII. THE HONOURABLE MRS. VAL AND MISS GOLIGHTLY
XVIII. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES.--MORNING
XIX. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES.--AFTERNOON
XX. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES.--EVENING
XXI. HAMPTON COURT BRIDGE
XXII. CRINOLINE AND MACASSAR; OR, MY AUNT'S WILL
XXIII. SURBITON COLLOQUIES
XXIV. MR. M'BUFFER ACCEPTS THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS
XXV. CHISWICK GARDENS
XXVI. KATIE'S FIRST BALL
XXVII. EXCELSIOR
XXVIII. OUTERMAN _v_. TUDOR
XXIX. EASY IS THE SLOPE OF HELL
XXX. MRS. WOODWARD'S REQUEST
XXXI. HOW APOLLO SAVED THE NAVVY
XXXII. THE PARLIAMENTARY COMMITTEE
XXXIII. TO STAND, OR NOT TO STAND
XXXIV. WESTMINSTER HALL
XXXV. MRS. VAL'S NEW CARRIAGE
XXXVI. TICKLISH STOCK
XXXVII. TRIBULATION
XXXVIII. ALARIC TUDOR TAKES A WALK
XXXIX. THE LAST BREAKFAST
XL. MR. CHAFFANBRASS
XLI. THE OLD BAILEY
XLII. A PARTING INTERVIEW
XLIII. MILLBANK
XLIV. THE CRIMINAL POPULATION IS DISPOSED OF
XLV. THE FATE OF THE NAVVIES
XLVI. MR. NOGO'S LAST QUESTION
XLVII. CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES
All the English world knows, or knows of, that branch of the Civil
Service which is popularly called the Weights and Measures. Every
inhabitant of London, and every casual visitor there, has admired the
handsome edifice which generally goes by that name, and which stands so
conspicuously confronting the Treasury Chambers. It must be owned that
we have but a slip-slop way of christening our public buildings. When a
man tells us that he called on a friend at the Horse Guards, or looked
in at the Navy Pay, or dropped a ticket at the Woods and Forests, we put
up with the accustomed sounds, though they are in themselves, perhaps,
indefensible. The 'Board of Commissioners for Regulating Weights and
Measures', and the 'Office of the Board of Commissioners for Regulating
Weights and Measures', are very long phrases; and as, in the course of
this tale, frequent mention will be made of the public establishment in
question, the reader's comfort will be best consulted by maintaining its
popular though improper denomination.
It is generally admitted that the Weights and Measures is a
well-conducted public office; indeed, to such a degree of efficiency has
it been brought by its present very excellent secretary, the two
|
weights
|
How many times does the word 'weights' appear in the text?
| 5
|
the Roman Empire, deformed the whole
face of the world with those ill-features of government, which at this
time are become far worse in these western parts, except Venice, which,
escaping the hands of the barbarians by virtue of its impregnable
situation, has had its eye fixed upon ancient prudence, and is attained
to a perfection even beyond the copy.
Relation being had to these two times, government (to define it de jure,
or according to ancient prudence) is an art whereby a civil society of
men is instituted and preserved upon the foundation of common right or
interest; or, to follow Aristotle and Livy, it is the empire of laws,
and not of men.
And government (to define it de facto, or according to modern prudence)
is an art whereby some man, or some few men, subject a city or a nation,
and rule it according to his or their private interest; which, because
the laws in such cases are made according to the interest of a man, or
of some few families, may be said to be the empire of men, and not of
laws.
The former kind is that which Machiavel (whose books are neglected) is
the only politician that has gone about to retrieve; and that Leviathan
(who would have his book imposed upon the universities) goes about to
destroy. For "it is," says he, "another error of Aristotle's politics
that in a well-ordered commonwealth, not men should govern, but the
laws. What man that has his natural senses, though he can neither write
nor read, does not find himself governed by them he fears, and believes
can kill or hurt him when he obeys not? or, who believes that the law
can hurt him, which is but words and paper, without the hands and swords
of men?" I confess that the magistrate upon his bench is that to the
law which a gunner upon his platform is to his cannon. Nevertheless, I
should not dare to argue with a man of any ingenuity after this manner.
A whole army, though they can neither write nor read, are not afraid
of a platform, which they know is but earth or stone; nor of a cannon,
which, without a hand to give fire to it, is but cold iron; therefore a
whole army is afraid of one man. But of this kind is the ratiocination
of Leviathan, as I shall show in divers places that come in my way,
throughout his whole politics, or worse; as where he says, "of Aristotle
and of Cicero, of the Greeks, and of the Romans, who lived under popular
States, that they derived those rights, not from the principles of
nature, but transcribed them into their books out of the practice of
their own commonwealths, as grammarians describe the rules of language
out of poets." Which is as if a man should tell famous Harvey that he
transcribed his circulation of the blood, not out of the principles of
nature, but out of the anatomy of this or that body.
To go on therefore with his preliminary discourse, I shall divide it,
according to the two definitions of government relating to Janotti's two
times, in two parts: the first, treating of the principles of government
in general, and according to the ancients; the second, treating of
the late governments of Oceana in particular, and in that of modern
prudence.
Government, according to the ancients, and their learned disciple
Machiavel, the only politician of later ages, is of three kinds: the
government of one man, or of the better sort, or of the whole people;
which, by their more learned names, are called monarchy, aristocracy,
and democracy. These they hold, through their proneness to degenerate,
to be all evil. For whereas they that govern should govern according
to reason, if they govern according to passion they do that which they
should not do. Wherefore, as reason and passion are two things, so
government by reason is one thing, and the corruption of government by
passion is another thing, but not always another government: as a body
that is alive is one thing, and a body that is dead is another thing,
but not always another creature, though the corruption of one comes at
length to be the generation of another. The corruption then of monarchy
is called tyranny; that of aristocracy, oligarchy and that of democracy,
anarchy. But legislators, having found these three governments at the
best to be naught, have invented another, consisting of a mixture of
them all, which only is good. This is the doctrine of the ancients.
But Leviathan is positive that they are all deceived, and that there is
no other government in nature than one of the three; as also that the
flesh of them cannot stink, the names of their corruptions being but the
names of men's fancies, which will be understood when we are shown which
of them was Senatus Populusque Romanus.
To go my own way, and yet to follow the ancients, the principles
of government are twofold: internal, or the goods of the mind; and
external, or the goods of fortune. The goods of the mind are natural or
acquired virtues, as wisdom, prudence, and courage, etc. The goods of
fortune are riches. There be goods also of the body, as health, beauty,
strength; but these are not to be brought into account upon this score,
because if a man or an army acquires victory or empire, it is more from
their discipline, arms, and courage than from their natural health,
beauty, or strength, in regard that a people conquered may have more of
natural strength, beauty, and health, and yet find little remedy. The
principles of government then are in the goods of the mind, or in the
goods of fortune. To the goods of the mind answers authority; to the
goods of fortune, power or empire. Wherefore Leviathan, though he be
right where he says that "riches are power," is mistaken where he
says that "prudence, or the reputation of prudence, is power;" for the
learning or prudence of a man is no more power than the learning or
prudence of a book or author, which is properly authority. A learned
writer may have authority though he has no power; and a foolish
magistrate may have power, though he has otherwise no esteem or
authority. The difference of these two is observed by Livy in Evander,
of whom he says that he governed rather by the authority of others than
by his own power.
To begin with riches, in regard that men are hung upon these, not of
choice as
|
though
|
How many times does the word 'though' appear in the text?
| 5
|
, Harriet."
Then I heard another voice, very sweet and a little timid, "Will you
please step upstairs? Mamma wishes to speak to you."
I began to wonder if they were talking to me. I looked up, and
there discovered a pretty, innocent, rosy little face, peering over
the balustrade at the head of the stairs. "Will you please step
upstairs?" said she again, in the same sweet tones. "Mamma wishes
to speak to you."
I have a little weakness of the heart, and do not like to climb
stairs more than I am positively obliged to; it always puts me so out
of breath. I sleep downstairs on that account. I looked at Caroline's
front stairs, which are rather steep, with some hesitation. I felt
shaken, too, on account of the alarm of fire. Then I heard the first
voice again with a sort of languishing authority: "My good woman,
will you be so kind as to step upstairs immediately?"
I went upstairs. The girl who had spoken to me--I found afterward
that she was the elder of the daughters--motioned me to go into the
north chamber. I found them all there. The mother, Mrs. H. Boardman
Jameson, as I afterward knew her name to be, was lying on the bed,
her head propped high with pillows; the younger daughter was fanning
her, and she was panting softly as if she were almost exhausted. The
grandmother sat beside the north window, with a paper-covered book on
her knees. She was eating something from a little white box on the
window-sill. The boy was at another window, also with a book in which
he did not seem to be interested. He looked up at me, as I entered,
with a most peculiar expression of mingled innocence and shyness
which was almost terror. I could not see why the boy should possibly
be afraid of me, but I learned afterward that it was either his
natural attitude or natural expression. He was either afraid of every
mortal thing or else appeared to be. The singular elevated arch of
his eyebrows over his wide-open blue eyes, and his mouth, which was
always parted a little, no doubt served to give this impression. He
was a pretty boy, with a fair pink-and-white complexion, and long
hair curled like a girl's, which looked odd to me, for he was quite
large.
Mrs. Jameson beckoned me up to the bed with one languid finger, as if
she could not possibly do more. I began to think that perhaps she had
some trouble with her heart like myself, and the fire had overcome
her, and I felt very sympathetic.
"I am sorry you have had such an unpleasant experience," I began,
but she cut me short.
"My good woman," said she in little more than a whisper, "do you
know of any house in a sanitary location where we can obtain board
immediately? I am very particular about the location. There must be
no standing water near the house, there must not be trees near on
account of the dampness, the neighbors must not keep hens--of course,
the people of the house must not keep hens--and the woman must have
an even temper. I must particularly insist upon an even temper. My
nerves are exceedingly weak; I cannot endure such a rasping manner as
that which I have encountered to-day."
When she stopped and looked at me for an answer I was so astonished
that I did not know what to say. There she was, just arrived; had not
eaten one meal in the house, and wanting to find another
boarding-place.
Finally I said, rather stupidly I suppose, that I doubted if she
could find another boarding-place in our village as good as the one
which she already had.
She gave another sigh, as if of the most determined patience. "Have I
not already told you, my good woman," said she, "that I cannot endure
such a rasping manner and voice as that of the woman of the house?
It is most imperative that I have another boarding-place at once."
She said this in a manner which nettled me a little, as if I had
boarding-places, for which she had paid liberally and had a right
to demand, in my hand, and was withholding them from her. I replied
that I knew of no other boarding-place of any kind whatsoever in the
village. Then she looked at me in what I suppose was meant to be an
ingratiating way.
"My good woman," said she, "you look very neat and tidy yourself, and
I don't doubt are a good plain cook; I am willing to try your house
if it is not surrounded by trees and there is no standing water near;
I do not object to running water."
In the midst of this speech the elder daughter had said in a
frightened way, "Oh, mamma!" but her mother had paid no attention.
As for myself, I was angry. The memory of my two years at Wardville
Young Ladies' Seminary in my youth and my frugally independent life
as wife and widow was strong upon me. I had read and improved my
mind. I was a prominent member of the Ladies' Literary Society of our
village: I wrote papers which were read at the meetings; I felt, in
reality, not one whit below Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson, and, moreover,
large sleeves were the fashion, and my sleeves were every bit as
large as hers, though she had just come from the city. That added to
my conviction of my own importance.
"Madam," said I, "I do not take boarders. I have never taken
boarders, and I never shall take boarders." Then I turned and went
out of the room, and downstairs, with, it seemed to me, much dignity.
However, Mrs. Jameson was not impressed by it, for she called after
me: "My good woman, will you please tell Mrs. Liscom that I must have
some hot water to make my health food with immediately? Tell her to
send up a pitcher at once, very hot."
I did not tell Caroline about the hot water. I left that for them
to manage themselves. I did not care to mention hot water with
Caroline's stove as wet as if it had been dipped in the pond, even
if I had not been too indignant at the persistent ignoring of my own
dignity. I went home and found Louisa Field, my brother's widow, and
her little daughter
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 3
|
"here is a human creature
that I captured just outside our front door."
"Huh!" sneered the lady woodchuck, looking at Twinkle in a very haughty
way; "why will you bring such an animal into our garden, Leander? It
makes me shiver just to look at the horrid thing!"
"Oh, mommer!" yelled one of the children, "see how skinny the beast is!"
"Hasn't any hair on its face at all," said another, "or on its paws!"
"And no sign of a tail!" cried the little woodchuck girl with the doll.
"Yes, it's a very strange and remarkable creature," said the mother.
"Don't touch it, my precious darlings. It might bite."
"You needn't worry," said Twinkle, rather provoked at these speeches. "I
wouldn't bite a dirty, greasy woodchuck on any account!"
"Whoo! did you hear what she called us, mommer? She says we're greasy
and dirty!" shouted the children, and some of them grabbed pebbles from
the path in their paws, as if to throw them at Twinkle.
"Tut, tut! don't be cruel," said Mister Woodchuck. "Remember the poor
creature is a prisoner, and isn't used to good society; and besides
that, she's dreaming."
"Really?" exclaimed Mrs. Woodchuck, looking at the girl curiously.
"To be sure," he answered. "Otherwise she wouldn't see us dressed in
such fancy clothes, nor would we be bigger than she is. The whole thing
is unnatural, my dear, as you must admit."
"But _we_'re not dreaming; are we, Daddy?" anxiously asked the boy with
the hoop.
"Certainly not," Mister Woodchuck answered; "so this is a fine
opportunity for you to study one of those human animals who have always
been our worst enemies. You will notice they are very curiously made.
Aside from their lack of hair in any place except the top of the head,
their paws are formed in a strange manner. Those long slits in them make
what are called fingers, and their claws are flat and dull--not at all
sharp and strong like ours."
"I think the beast is ugly," said Mrs. Woodchuck. "It would give me the
shivers to touch its skinny flesh."
"I'm glad of that," said Twinkle, indignantly. "You wouldn't have _all_
the shivers, I can tell you! And you're a disagreeable, ign'rant
creature! If you had any manners at all, you'd treat strangers more
politely."
"Just listen to the thing!" said Mrs. Woodchuck, in a horrified tone.
"Isn't it wild, though!"
Chapter V
Mr. Woodchuck Argues the Question
"REALLY," Mister Woodchuck said to his wife, "you should be more
considerate of the little human's feelings. She is quite intelligent and
tame, for one of her kind, and has a tender heart, I am sure."
"I don't see anything intelligent about her," said the girl woodchuck.
"I guess I've been to school as much as you have," said Twinkle.
"School! Why, what's that?"
"Don't you know what school is?" cried Twinkle, much amused.
"We don't have school here," said Mister Woodchuck, as if proud of the
fact.
"Don't you know any geography?" asked the child.
"We haven't any use for it," said Mister Woodchuck; "for we never get
far from home, and don't care a rap what state bounds Florida on the
south. We don't travel much, and studying geography would be time
wasted."
"But don't you study arithmetic?" she asked; "don't you know how to do
sums?"
"Why should we?" he returned. "The thing that bothers you humans most,
and that's money, is not used by us woodchucks. So we don't need to
figure and do sums."
"I don't see how you get along without money," said Twinkle,
wonderingly. "You must have to buy all your fine clothes."
"You know very well that woodchucks don't wear clothes, under ordinary
circumstances," Mister Woodchuck replied. "It's only because you are
dreaming that you see us dressed in this way."
"Perhaps that's true," said Twinkle. "But don't talk to me about not
being intelligent, or not knowing things. If you haven't any schools
it's certain I know more than your whole family put together!"
"About some things, perhaps," acknowledged Mister Woodchuck. "But tell
me: do you know which kind of red clover is the best to eat?"
"No," she said.
"Or how to dig a hole in the ground to live in, with different rooms and
passages, so that it slants up hill and the rain won't come in and drown
you?"
"No," said Twinkle.
"And could you tell, on the second day of February (which is woodchuck
day, you know), whether it's going to be warm weather, or cold, during
the next six weeks?"
"I don't believe I could," replied the girl.
"Then," said Mister Woodchuck, "there are some things that we know that
you don't; and although a woodchuck might not be of much account in one
of your schoolrooms, you must forgive me for saying that I think you'd
make a mighty poor woodchuck."
"I think so, too!" said Twinkle, laughing.
"And now, little human," he resumed, after looking at his watch, "it's
nearly time for you to wake up; so if we intend to punish you for all
the misery your people has inflicted on the woodchucks, we won't have a
minute to spare."
"Don't be in a hurry," said Twinkle. "I can wait."
"She's trying to get out of it," exclaimed Mrs. Woodchuck, scornfully.
"Don't you let her, Leander."
"Certainly not, my dear," he replied; "but I haven't decided how to
punish her."
"Take her to Judge Stoneyheart," said Mrs. Wood
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 8
|
absolutely helpless. Some say I'm an
expert on The Younger Woman. Guess that's
'cause I've been dating them for over
forty years...
<b>INTO AN EMPTY FRAME COMES HARRY LANGER
</b>
What is it about him? Could be his eyes, the turn of his
mouth...something about this guy is just so damn appealing.
Maybe it's just the way he wears the Young Slinky Girl on his
arm. He's confident, cool, enviable. We're in:
<b>A CHIC EATERY - DOWNTOWN
</b>
The place is full. Everybody is somebody here.
<b> HARRY
</b>
(to Hostess)
Langer. ..
The Maitre'd snaps to attention at the sight of him.
<b> MAITRE'D
</b>
Mr. Langer, got your table waiting.
As Harry and his Girl wend their way around tables, we pass Other
Couples. Young Couples. Middle-aged couples. Not talking Couples.
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
So what does a life of bucking the system
all add up to?
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> HARRY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b>
To never settle down with the right woman
for a life of leftovers and Christmas
mornings. No his and her IRA accounts, no
mini van parked in the garage. I think
it's made me what I am today.
(Harry smiles to someone
across the room)
The luckiest son of a bitch on earth.
Look at me. I'm positively debonair. I
should be illegal I'm lookin' so good.
Harry passes a table where a BEATEN SIXTY YEAR OLD dines with
his AGE APPROPRIATE, WELL-FED WIFE. IN SLOW MOTION, Harry and
The Beaten Man catch each other's glance.
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
It isn't as if I haven't wondered what my
life would be like if I was a Regular Joe
and came in here once a month with a dame
my age' for a porterhouse and a side of
I spinach. I've wondered...
<b> NT. CHIC EATERY - HARRY'S IMAGINATION
</b>
Harry ENTERS all over again. This time he looks older,
something in his walk and the boxy cut of his jacket. With
him is a regular looking, nothing-to-write-home-about WOMAN
<b>IN HER FIFTIES.
</b>
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
No, come on, let's be honest. ..a dame
really my age. . .
<b>INT. CHIC EATERY - HARRY'S IMAGINATION - TAKE TWO
</b>
Again, the identical set up. Harry ENTERS again. This time he
looks ten years older. The bounce to his step is gone. The
twinkle in his eye, long dead. On his arm is a 63 YEAR OLD
BATTLE AX, built just like Harry. The Maitre'd reluctantly
shows them to a shitty table.
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
There you have it. The story in a
nutshell. Not exactly debonair, am I?
(Harry TRIPS, his wife
looks disgusted)
Awww, man, it's down right sad. Look at
me. I look like I'm about to die. God
help me. I do not want to die.
<b> SMASH CUT TO:
</b>
<
|
about
|
How many times does the word 'about' appear in the text?
| 2
|
father, for such a relationship was beyond
his understanding. but as he stands looking down at the emac-
iated body he feels something, something akin to sadness. Then
he carries his dead father out of the cave, and leaves him for the
hyenas.
Among his kind, Moonwatcher is almost a giant. He is nearly
five feet high, and though badly undernourished, weighs over
a hundred pounds. His hairy, muscular body is quite man-like,
and his head is already nearer man than ape. The forehead is
low, and there are great ridges over the eye-sockets, yet he
unmistakably holds in his genes the promise of humanity. As
he looks out now upon the hostile world, there is already
a2
<b>A2
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
something in his gaze beyond the grasp of any ape. In those
dark, deep-set eyes is a dawning awareness-the first intima-
tions of an intelligence which would not fulfill itself for another
two million years.
a3
<b>A3
</b><b>EXT THE STREAM - THE OTHERS
</b>
As the dawn sky brightens, Moonwatcher and his tribe reach
the shallow stream.
The Others are already there. They were there on the other
side every day - that did not make it any less annoying.
There are eighteen of them, and it is impossible to distinguish
them from the members of Moonwatcher's own tribe. As
they see him coming, the Others begin to angrily dance and
shriek on their side of the stream, and his own people reply
In kind.
The confrontation lasts a few minutes - then the display dies
out as quickly as it has begun, and everyone drinks his fill of
the muddy water. Honor has been satisfied - each group has
staked its claim to its own territory.
a4
<b>A4
</b><b>EXT AFRICAN PLAIN - HERBIVORES
</b>
Moonwatcher and his companions search for berries, fruit
and leaves, and fight off pangs of hunger, while all around
them, competing with them for the samr fodder, is a potential
source of more food than they could ever hope to eat. Yet
all the thousands of tons of meat roaming over the parched
savanna and through the brush is not only beyond their reach;
the idea of eating it is beyond their imagination. They are
slowly starving to death in the midst of plenty.
a5
<b>A5
</b><b>EXT PARCHED COUNTRYSIDE - THE LION
</b>
The tribe slowly wanders across the bare, flat country-
side foraging for roots and occasional berries.
Eight of them are irregularly strung out on the open plain,
about fifty feet apart.
The ground is flat for miles around.
Suddenly, Moonwatcher becomes aware of a lion, stalking
them about 300 yards away.
Defenceless and with nowhere to hide, they scatter in all
directions, but the lion brings one to the ground.
a6
<b>A6
</b><b>EXT DEAD TREE - FINDS HONEY
</b>
It had not been a good day, though as Moonwatcher had no
real remembrance of the past he could not compare one day
with another. But on the way back to the caves he finds a
hive of bees in the stump of a dead tree, and so enjoys the
finest delicacy his people could ever know. Of course, he
also collects a good many stings, but he scacely notices
them. He is now as near to contentment as he is ever
likely to be; for thought he is still hungry, he is not actually
weak with hunger. That was the most that any hominid could
hope for.
a7
<b>A7
</b><b>INT & EXT CAVES - NIGHT TERRORS
</b>
Over the valley, a full moon rises, and a cold wind blows down
from the distant mountains. It would be very cold tonight -
but cold, like hunger, was not a matter for any real concern;
it was merely part of the background of life.
This Little Sun, that only shone at night and gave no warmth,
was dangerous; there would be enemies abroad. Moonwatcher
crawls out of the cave, clambers on to a large boulder besides
the entrance, and squats there where he can survey the valley.
If any hunting beast approached, he would have time to get back
to the relative safety of the cave.
Of all the creatures who had ever lived on Earth, Moonwatcher's
race was the first to raise their eyes with interest to the Moon,
and though he could not remember it, when he was young,
Moonwatcher would reach out and try to touch its ghostly face.
Now he new he would have to find a tree that was high
enough.
He stirs when shrieks and screams echo up the slope from
one of the lower caves, and he does not need to hear the
a8
<b>A7
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
occasional growl of the lion to know what is happening. Down
there in the darkness, old One-Eye and his family are dying,
and the thought that he might help in some way never crosses
Moonwatcher's mind. The harsh logic of survival rules out
such fancies. Every cave is silent, lest it attract disaster.
And in the caves, in tortured spells of fitful dozing and
fearful waiting, were gathered the nightmares of generations
yet to come.
a9
<b>A8
</b><b>EXT THE STREAM - INVASION
</b>
The Others are growing desperate; the forage on their side of
the valley is almost exhausted. Perhaps they realise that
Moonwatcher's tribe has lost three of its numbers during the
night, for they choose this mourning to break the truce. When
they meet at the river in the still, misty dawn, there is a
deeper
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 6
|
other forms appear; barbed wire,
cyclone fencing, and now, looming up against an early morning
sky, enormous iron grille work. Camera travels up what is now
shown to be a gateway of gigantic proportions and holds on the
top of it - a huge initial "K" showing darker and darker against
the dawn sky. Through this and beyond we see the fairy-tale
mountaintop of Xanadu, the great castle a sillhouette as its
summit, the little window a distant accent in the darkness.
<b>
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> A SERIES OF SET -UPS, EACH CLOSER TO THE GREAT WINDOW, ALL
</b><b> TELLING SOMETHING OF:
</b>
The literally incredible domain of CHARLES FOSTER KANE.
Its right flank resting for nearly forty miles on the Gulf
Coast, it truly extends in all directions farther than the eye
can see. Designed by nature to be almost completely bare and
flat - it was, as will develop, practically all marshland when
Kane acquired and changed its face - it is now pleasantly
uneven, with its fair share of rolling hills and one very good-
sized mountain, all man-made. Almost all the land is improved,
either through cultivation for farming purposes of through
careful landscaping, in the shape of parks and lakes. The
castle dominates itself, an enormous pile, compounded of several
genuine castles, of European origin, of varying architecture -
dominates the scene, from the very peak of the mountain.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> GOLF LINKS (MINIATURE)
</b>
Past which we move. The greens are straggly and overgrown,
the fairways wild with tropical weeds, the links unused and
not seriously tended for a long time.
<b> DISSOLVE OUT:
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE IN:
</b>
<b> WHAT WAS ONCE A GOOD-SIZED ZOO (MINIATURE)
</b>
Of the Hagenbeck type. All that now remains, with one
exception, are the individual plots, surrounded by moats, on
which the animals are kept, free and yet safe from each other
and the landscape at large. (Signs on several of the plots
indicate that here there were once tigers, lions, girrafes.)
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> THE MONKEY TERRACE (MINIATURE)
</b>
In the foreground, a great obscene ape is outlined against the
dawn murk. He is scratching himself slowly, thoughtfully,
looking out across the estates of Charles Foster Kane, to the
distant light glowing in the castle on the hill.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> THE ALLIGATOR PIT (MINIATURE)
</b>
|
resting
|
How many times does the word 'resting' appear in the text?
| 0
|
have certainly behaved like an escaped lunatic since early this
morning, my good de Marmont," he said drily. "Don't you think that--as
we shall have to mix again with our fellow-men presently--you might try
to behave with some semblance of reasonableness."
But de Marmont only laughed. He was so excited that his lips trembled
all the time, his hand shook and his eyes glowed just as if some inward
fire was burning deep down in his soul.
"No! I can't," he retorted. "I want to shout and to sing and to cry
'Vive l'Empereur' till those frowning mountains over there echo with my
shouts--and I'll have none of your English stiffness and reserve and
curbing of enthusiasm to-day. I am a lunatic if you will--an escaped
lunatic--if to be mad with joy be a proof of insanity. Clyffurde, my
dear friend," he added more soberly, "I am honestly sorry for you
to-day."
"Thank you," commented his companion drily. "May I ask how I have
deserved this genuine sympathy?"
"Well! because you are an Englishman, and not a Frenchman," said the
younger man earnestly; "because you--as an Englishman--must desire
Napoleon's downfall, his humiliation, perhaps his death, instead of
exulting in his glory, trusting in his star, believing in him,
following him. If I were not a Frenchman on a day like this, if my
nationality or my patriotism demanded that I should fight against
Napoleon, that I should hate him, or vilify him, I firmly believe that I
would turn my sword against myself, so shamed should I feel in my own
eyes."
It was the Englishman's turn to laugh, and he did it very heartily. His
laugh was quite different to his friend's: it had more enjoyment in it,
more good temper, more appreciation of everything that tends to gaiety
in life and more direct defiance of what is gloomy.
He too had reined in his horse, presumably in order to listen to his
friend's enthusiastic tirades, and as he did so there crept into his
merry, pleasant eyes a quaint look of half contemptuous tolerance
tempered by kindly humour.
"Well, you see, my good de Marmont," he said, still laughing, "you
happen to be a Frenchman, a visionary and weaver of dreams. Believe me,"
he added more seriously, "if you had the misfortune to be a prosy,
shop-keeping Englishman, you would certainly not commit suicide just
because you could not enthuse over your favourite hero, but you would
realise soberly and calmly that while Napoleon Bonaparte is allowed to
rule over France--or over any country for the matter of that--there will
never be peace in the world or prosperity in any land."
The younger man made no reply. A shadow seemed to gather over his
face--a look almost of foreboding, as if Fate that already lay in wait
for the great adventurer, had touched the young enthusiast with a
warning finger.
Whereupon Clyffurde resumed gaily once more:
"Shall we," he said, "go slowly on now as far as the village? It is not
yet ten o'clock. Emery cannot possibly be here before noon."
He put his horse to a walk, de Marmont keeping close behind him, and in
silence the two men rode up the incline toward Notre Dame de Vaulx. On
ahead the pines and beech and birch became more sparse, disclosing the
great patches of moss-covered rock upon the slopes of Pelvoux. On
Taillefer the eternal snows appeared wonderfully near in the brilliance
of this early spring atmosphere, and here and there on the roadside
bunches of wild crocus and of snowdrops were already visible rearing
their delicate corollas up against a background of moss.
The tiny village still far away lay in the peaceful hush of a Sunday
morning, only from the little chapel which holds the shrine of Notre
Dame came the sweet, insistent sound of the bell calling the dwellers of
these mountain fastnesses to prayer.
The northeasterly wind was still keen, but the sun was gaining power as
it rose well above Pelvoux, and the sky over the dark forests and
snow-crowned heights was of a glorious and vivid blue.
II
The words "Auberge du Grand Dauphin" looked remarkably inviting, written
in bold, shiny black characters on the white-washed wall of one of the
foremost houses in the village. The riders drew rein once more, this
time in front of the little inn, and as a young ostler in blue blouse
and sabots came hurriedly and officiously forward whilst mine host in
the same attire appeared in the doorway, the two men dismounted,
unstrapped their mantles from their saddle-bows and loudly called for
mulled wine.
Mine host, typical of his calling and of his race, rubicund of cheek,
portly of figure and genial in manner, was over-anxious to please his
guests. It was not often that gentlemen of such distinguished appearance
called at the "Auberge du Grand Dauphin," seeing that Notre Dame de
Vaulx lies perdu on the outskirts of the forests of Pelvoux, that the
bridle path having reached the village leads nowhere save into the
mountains and that La Motte is close by with its medicinal springs and
its fine hostels.
But these two highly-distinguished gentlemen evidently meant to make a
stay of it. They even spoke of a friend who would come and join them
later, when they would expect a substantial _déjeuner_ to be served with
the best wine mine host could put before them. Annette--mine host's
dark-eyed daughter--was all a-flutter at sight of these gallant
strangers, one of them with such fiery eyes and vivacious ways, and the
other so tall and so dignified, with fair skin well-bronzed by the sun
and large firm mouth that had such a pleasant smile on it; her eyes
sparkled at sight of them both and her glib tongue rattled away at truly
astonishing speed.
Would a well-baked omelette and a bit of fricandeau suit the
gentlemen?--Admirably? Ah, well then, that could easily be done!--and
now? in
|
more
|
How many times does the word 'more' appear in the text?
| 8
|
the complex web of waterways, the forbidding castle
at the core. It is vast and magical, frightening and compelling at
the same time. We would love to linger, perhaps fly lower and get a
better look at this wondrous place, but the bird flies on
<b>3 EXT: GLADE - DAY
</b>
It is an idyllic setting, warm and inviting. The late afternoon sun
washes everything with a pink glow. Between the water and a line of
lush fruit trees is a flower-strewn glade. A FIGURE emerges from the
trees and walks toward the water. It is a YOUNG WOMAN dressed in a
flowing white dress that swirls around her in the breeze. The pink
light burnishes her hair and causes a gold circlet she wears on her
head to glow. She is breathtaking, a vision of innocence and grace.
She stops to pick a flower and then turns suddenly as if she has
heard something.
GIRL: Is it you?
She takes a few hurried steps and then stops, smiling shyly
GIRL: Your Highness!
The GIRL curtsies deeply and then looks up through lowered lashes,
the shy smile still dancing on her lips. And then WE PULL BACK TO
REVEAL a crown perched on a head of tight curls. WE ARE LOOKING
THROUGH the crown at the girl as she rises slowly, then looks boldly
at the PRINCE.
GIRL: Do not be swayed by my pleasure at the sight of you, my lord.
For though my father, the Duke, has promised you my hand, I cannot
consent to be yours until the evil that stalks our land from highest
hill to deepest dale is ...
Suddenly the GIRL stops speaking, a look of stunned confusion on her
face.
GIRL: ... from highest hill to deepest dale ... (her brow furrows in
concentration and then) Damn!
She burrows one hand into the deep sleeve of her gown and pulls out a
rolled-up soft-cover book. She rifles through the pages.
The PRINCE is not a prince at all, but a SHEEPDOG wearing a tin foil
crown. He thinks his work is over and it's time to play and he lunges
happily towards the GIRL who isn't a princess or even a duchess, but
15-year-old SARAH.
SARAH is knocked over by the playful DOG. Beneath the gown which WE
CAN NOW SEE is homemade and not very grand at all, WE SEE faded jeans
and running shoes.
SARAH: Get off me, you monster!!
The DOG grabs the book out of her hand and runs away with it, hoping
to be chased. SARAH doesn't follow, she just sits up and pulls the
grass out of her tangled hair and sighs with frustration. The DOG
comes back over to SARAH, its tail wagging hopefully.
SARAH: If you value your mangy life, Merlin, you'll hand it over.
The DOG obediently drops the book.
<b>THE BOOK
</b>
On the cover it says, _MEANDER'S QUEEN a play in three acts by Robin
Zakar_. SARAH reaches for it and we hear a clock tower begin to chime.
SARAH leaps to her feet.
SARAH: Oh no, Merlin! We're really late! Why does everything have to
happen to me!!!?
MERLIN prances around her happily, his foil crown in his mouth. SARAH
pulls it out of his mouth and throws it in a nearby trash basket. He
rushes after it and peers into the basket, wanting to fetch.
SARAH: It's all your fault, you miserable mutt!!
She hikes up her dress and runs into the trees. MERLIN whimpers and
tags along behind her.
<b>4 EXT: THE OTHER SIDE OF THE TREES - DAY
</b>
SARAH comes bursting through the trees and runs down a hill toward
the street. WE PULL BACK and WE CAN SEE an enormous steel mill on the
other side of the river. And now WE NOTICE that the light isn't pink
any more but sort of dull and hazy, and the idyllic glade is barely a
suburban park, and this is just an ordinary day in a very ordinary
place.
<b>5 EXT: AN OLD RAMBLING HOUSE - DUSK
</b>
SARAH runs up a path to an older, rambling house. She goes through
the front door, MERLIN hot on her heels, and neither one of them sees
the beautiful SNOW-WHITE BIRD that lands in a tree beside the path.
<b>6 INT: INSIDE THE ROUSE - EVENING
</b>
SARAH bursts through the front door and makes a beeline for the
stairs. She almost makes it. SARAH'S MOTHER appears in the hallway.
MOTHER: _Sarah_, where have you been?!!!
SARAH abruptly stops and changes to an elegantly graceful ascension
of the stairs.
SARAH (in an affected voice): I can't talk to you now. I'm in
rehearsal.
She continues grandly on and heads for her room.
MOTHER: You were supposed to be home an hour ago to baby-sit for
Freddie! Don't we at least deserve an explanation?
SARAH stops and leans over the railing. She speaks with a
melodramatic solemnity.
SARAH: As Meander's Queen, I've been ... meandering. Dither me not
about explanations.
With that she turns and heads for her room. On the door is a sign
that says: "Admittance by Invitation Only." SARAH'S FATHER comes into
the hall.
FATHER: What's that all about?
MOTHER: It's a part in a play, (raising her voice) but that's no
reason to...
SARAH turns in her doorway. She calls down.
SARAH: Chasten not your Queen, _Peasant_!
She dramatically sweeps into her room.
<b>7 INT: SARAH'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH slams the door and leans against it, playing the scene.
FATHER (VO): _Sarah_, that's no way
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 4
|
the remotest background of the past.
And like some city's spires that gleam afar
In golden sunshine when naught else is seen,
So in my soul two images grew bright,
The loftiest sun-peaks in the shadowy past.
I saw myself escaping one dark night,
And a red lurid flame light up the gloom
Of midnight darkness as I looked behind me
A memory 'twas of very earliest youth,
For what preceded or came after it
In the long distance utterly was lost.
In solitary brightness there it stood
A ghastly beacon-light on memory's waste.
Yet I remembered how, in later years,
One of my comrades called me, in his wrath
Son of the Czar. I took it as a jest,
And with a blow avenged it at the time.
All this now flashed like lightning on my soul,
And told with dazzling certainty that I
Was the Czar's son, so long reputed dead.
With this one word the clouds that had perplexed
My strange and troubled life were cleared away.
Nor merely by these signs, for such deceive;
But in my soul, in my proud, throbbing heart
I felt within me coursed the blood of kings;
And sooner will I drain it drop by drop
Than bate one jot my title to the crown.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
And shall we trust a scroll which might have found
Its way by merest chance into your hands
Backed by the tale of some poor renegades?
Forgive me, noble youth! Your tone, I grant,
And bearing, are not those of one who lies;
Still you in this may be yourself deceived.
Well may the heart be pardoned that beguiles
Itself in playing for so high a stake.
What hostage do you tender for your word?
DEMETRIUS.
I tender fifty, who will give their oaths,--
All Piasts to a man, and free-born Poles
Of spotless reputation,--each of whom
Is ready to enforce what I have urged.
There sits the noble Prince of Sendomir,
And at his side the Castellan of Lublin;
Let them declare if I have spoke the truth.
ARCHBISHOP OF GNESEN.
How seem these things to the august Estates?
To the enforcement of such numerous proofs
Doubt and mistrust, methinks, must needs give way.
Long has a creeping rumor filled the world
That Dmitri, Ivan's son, is still alive.
The Czar himself confirms it by his fears.
--Before us stands a youth, in age and mien
Even to the very freak that nature played,
The lost heir's counterpart, and of a soul
Whose noble stamp keeps rank with his high claims.
He left a cloister's precincts, urged by strange,
Mysterious promptings; and this monk-trained boy
Was straight distinguished for his knightly feats.
He shows a trinket which the Czarowitsch
Once wore, and one that never left his side;
A written witness, too, by pious hands,
Gives us assurance of his princely birth;
And, stronger still, from his unvarnished speech
And open brow truth makes his best appeal.
Such traits as these deceit doth never don;
It masks its subtle soul in vaunting words,
And in the high-glossed ornaments of speech.
No longer, then, can I withhold the title
Which he with circumstance and justice claims
And, in the exercise of my old right,
I now, as primate, give him the first voice.
ARCHBISHOP OF LEMBERG.
My voice goes with the primate's.
SEVERAL VOICES.
So does mine.
SEVERAL PALATINES.
And mine!
ODOWALSKY.
And mine.
DEPUTIES.
And all!
SAPIEHA.
My gracious sirs!
Weigh well ere you decide! Be not so hasty!
It is not meet the council of the realm
Be hurried on to----
ODOWALSKY.
There is nothing here
For us to weigh; all has been fully weighed.
The proofs demonstrate incontestably.
This is not Moscow, sirs! No despot here
Keeps our free souls in manacles. Here truth
May walk by day or night with brow erect.
I will not think, my lords, in Cracow here,
Here in the very Diet of the Poles,
That Moscow's Czar should have obsequious slaves.
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, take my thanks, ye reverend senators!
That ye have lent your credence to these proofs;
And if I be indeed the man whom I
Protest myself, oh, then, endure not this
Audacious robber should usurp my seat,
Or longer desecrate that sceptre which
To me, as the true Czarowitsch, belongs.
Yes, justice lies with me,--you have the power.
'Tis the most dear concern of every state
And throne, that right should everywhere prevail,
And all men in the world possess their own.
For there, where justice holds uncumbered sway,
There each enjoys his heritage secure,
And over every house and every throne
Law, truth, and order keep their angel
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 1
|
with enjoyment
at the Sabbath afternoon entertainment.
Encircled by children, A JUGGLER WITH AN UNFORGETTABLY
ETCHED FACE elegantly plucks the red balls from a pouch
on his mule. As he begins to juggle, a LOUD EXPLOSION
is heard, causing him to ungracefully drop his balls
and collapse in a heap.
Everyone at the fair, including the puppets, looks up.
<b> UNFORGETTABLE JUGGLER
</b> Leonardo, che pazzo.
The juggler shakes his fist up to a swish pan that swings
up toward a smoking window of the awesome castle...
<b> INT. ROOM OF THE GOLD MACHINE
</b>
where the charismatic LEONARDO DA VINCI laughs down at
him. Da Vinci wears a pair of very early, very cool sun-
glasses with his trademark beard.
He turns and loses his smile, something extraordinary
reflecting off his glasses. Removing his shades, Da
Vinci moves to the Something, a gloriously incredible
machine. The opening CREDITS REVEAL its dazzling idio-
syncrasies.
TWO COUGHING APPRENTICES haplessly try to disperse smoke
from the still billowing, mysteriously spectacular
Machine. Mirrors attached to parts of it reflect beams
of light which cut through the smoke like a Renaissance
laser show.
<b> DA VINCI
</b> (silencing authority)
Basta vapore.
The apprentice throws a lever. A shunt near the furnace
turns. Steam escapes upwards. The machine immediately
slows down. Da Vinci oh-so-gently coughs and moves for-
ward with tongs.
<b> A LITTLE TROUGH - IN THE MACHINE'S INNARDS
</b>
comes to a trembling, mystical halt. Right behind this
trough is a CONPLEX POLYHEDRON CRYSTAL as intricately
modulated as any Rubik stocking stuffer, but much more
dazzling in beauty. It gleams like a jewel in the yellow
glow which pours from a PLEASANTLY GRINNING DEMONHEAD into
a trough--a glow of heat--and something more than heat.
The tongs enter the frame.
Da Vinci brings the object closer to his face. A murmur
goes up from the awestruck apprentices as the Master
peers at the smoking yellow bar.
<b> APPRENTICE TWO
</b> Maestro, che meraviglia!
<b> APPRENTICE THREE
</b> Lei e' proprio fantastico!
Da Vinci's pride goes dead as the implications hit.
<b> DA VINCI
</b> Lasciatemi, solo. Solo!
The apprentices scurry out. Mind reeling, Da Vinci turns
his back to the viewer, before a wall of frescoes.
<b> DA VINCI
</b> L'ho fatto.
Spinning back around, using the edge of his cloak, Da
Vinci pulls out the large gleaming crystal with a pop.
<b> INT. DA VINCI'S WORKSHOP
</b>
With an accompanying blast of smoke, Da Vinci bursts
through some double doors into his workshop, sadly
reflecting upon the crystal in one hand and the tonged
bar in the other.
His workshop is a spendiferously enigmatic blend of
laboratory and studio; On a table in the foreground is
a fresh clay equestrian statue; a large VOLUME of
sketches, the inkwell nearby; a MODEL of what looks like
a HELICOPTER; Da Vinci flings the tonged bar on the table
among these goodies.
Pocketing the crystal, Da Vinci meanders through his work-
shop casually tinkering with various experiments. He
snaps his fingers at a BATHING SUITED APPRENTICE, wearing
a diving helmet prototype. The Apprentice jumps into a
pool of water.
Leonardo next stops at an easel displaying a finished-
except-for-the-mouth portrait of Mona Lisa, who happens
to be seated in
|
beams
|
How many times does the word 'beams' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A range of mountains takes form in the haze.
Moving closer.
The mountains are piles of TRASH.
The entire surface is nothing but waste.
<b>
</b> "...We're gonna find adventure in the evening air..."
<b>
</b> A silhouetted city in the distance.
What looks like skyscrapers turns into trash.
Thousands of neatly stacked CUBES OF TRASH, stories high.
Rows and rows of stacked cubes, like city avenues.
They go on for miles.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. AVENUE OF TRASH
</b><b>
</b> "...Beneath your parasol the world is all a smile..."
<b>
</b> Something moving on the ground far below.
A figure at the foot of a trash heap.
A SMALL SERVICE ROBOT diligently cubing trash.
Rusted, ancient.
Cute.
Every inch of him engineered for trash compacting.
<b>
</b> Mini-shovel hands collect junk.
Scoop it into his open chassis.
His front plate closes slowly, compressing waste.
A faded label on his corroded chest plate:
"Waste Allocation Loader - Earth Class" (WALL-E)
<b>
</b> Wall-E spits out a cube of trash.
Stacks it with the others.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Something catches his eye.
Tugs on a piece of metal stuck in the stack.
A hubcap.
The sun reflects off it.
Wall-E checks the sky.
<b>
</b><b> ON TRASH HEAP HORIZON
</b><b>
</b> The sun sets through the smoggy haze.
<b>
</b> "...And we won't come back until we've kissed a girl --"
<b>
</b> He places the hubcap in his compactor.
Presses a button on his chest.
The song stops playing.
The end of a work day.
<b>
</b> Wall-E attaches a lunch cooler to his back.
Whistles for his pet COCKROACH.
The insect hops on his shoulder.
They motor down from the top of a GIANT TRASH TOWER.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. AVENUES OF TRASH - DUSK
</b><b>
</b> Wall-E travels alone.
Traverses miles of desolate waste.
Oblivious to roving storms of toxic weather.
<b>
</b> Passes haunting structures buried within the trash.
Buildings, highways, entire cities...
Everything branded with the SAME COMPANY LOGO.
"Buy N Large"
"BNL" stores, restaurants, banks...transportation!
The corporation ran every aspect of life.
There's even a BNL LOGO on Wall-E's chest plate.
<b>
</b> CLOSE ON NEWSPAPER Wall-E drives over.
|
within
|
How many times does the word 'within' appear in the text?
| 0
|
barren shore, too.
Not a scrap of vegetation on it, as far as I can see--a mere sandbank.
Currents are carrying us towards it, and have led us to fancy that the
vessel was moving."
He spoke with bitterness, for the disappointment was very great, and
physical weakness had rendered him less able to bear it than he might
otherwise have been.
"Don't get grumpy, Dom," said Otto, with a slightly humorous look that
was peculiar to him--a look which had not lighted up his eyes for many
days past.
"I _won't_ get grumpy," returned Dominick with sudden energy, patting
the boy's head. "It is quite clear that a good feed and a long rest
were all you required to set up your plucky little spirit again."
"Dom," said Pauline, who had been looking intently at the wreck, "is
there not something like a line of white close to the wreck?"
"Ay, there is," replied Dominick, his countenance again becoming grave;
"it is a line of breakers, through which it will be very difficult to
steer our little boat."
"Steer, Dom," exclaimed Otto, with a look of surprise; "how can you talk
of steering at all, without oar or helm?"
"I must make one of the floor-planks do for both," returned Dominick.
"I say," continued the boy, "I'm horribly hungry. Mayn't I have just a
bite or two more?"
"Stay, I'm thinking," replied the other.
"Think fast then, please, for the wolf inside of me is howling."
The result of Dominick's thinking was that he resolved to consume as
much of their stock of provisions as possible in one meal, in order to
secure all the strength that was available by such means, and thus fit
them for the coming struggle with the surf. "For," said he, "if we get
capsized far from the shore, we have no chance of reaching it by
swimming in our present weak condition. Our only plan is to get up all
the strength we can by means of food. So here goes!"
He untied the bundle as he spoke, and spread the contents on his knees.
Otto--who was, indeed, a plucky little fellow, and either did not
realise or did not fear the danger that lay before him--commenced to eat
with almost jovial avidity. Indeed, all three showed that they had
benefited greatly by what they had already eaten, and now, for the first
time during many days, consumed what they considered a full and
satisfactory meal, while they drifted slowly, but steadily, towards the
land.
As they neared it, the heavy mass on the horizon, which they had taken
for a bank of clouds, became more distinct. A light haze cleared away
and showed it to be an island, to which the sandbank formed a barrier
reef; but any interest that might have been aroused by this discovery
was absorbed by present anxiety, for the white and gleaming surf warned
them that a serious and critical moment in their lives was fast
approaching. Pauline was awed into silence, and even Otto's countenance
became gradually solemnised.
CHAPTER TWO.
WRECKED ON A REEF.
The coral reefs, which in various shapes and sizes stud the Southern
seas, are sometimes rendered almost unapproachable by the immense waves
which fall upon them. Even in the calmest weather these huge breakers
may be seen falling with prolonged roar on the beach. The lightest
undulation on the sea, which might almost escape observation away from
land, takes the form of a grand, quiet billow as it draws near to an
islet or reef, and finally, coming majestically on, like a wall of
rolling crystal, breaks the silence suddenly by its thunderous fall, and
gives to the sands a temporary fringe of pure white foam.
To ride in on the crest of one such roller on a piece of board and leap
upon the shore, is a feat peculiar to South Sea islanders, who are
trained to the water from earliest infancy. To do the same thing in a
small boat, without oars, without strength, without experience, almost
without courage, is a feat that no South Sea islander would attempt, and
the necessity for performing which might cause the hair of any
islander's head to stand on end.
That Dominick Rigonda's hair did not stand on end, as he sat there with
pale cheeks and compressed lips, was probably due to the fact that he
had thrust his straw hat tightly down on his brows.
As the boat drew nearer to the reef, both Pauline and Otto had risen, in
the strength of their hearty meal, and were now seated on the thwarts of
the boat. Their brother had selected the thickest floor-plank, and cut
it roughly into the form of an oar with a clasp-knife. He now sat with
it over the stern, sculling gently--very gently, however, for he
reserved the little strength that remained to him for the critical
moment.
The undulations of the sea, which had rocked them hitherto so softly,
had by that time assumed a decided form and force, so that the boat rose
on the oily back of each billow that passed under it, and slid back into
a watery hollow, to be relifted by each successive wave.
"You look very anxious," said Pauline, clasping her hands on her knee,
and gazing earnestly in her brother's face.
"I cannot help it," returned Dominick, curtly.
"Is our danger then so great?"
Dominick only half admitted that it was. He did not wish to alarm her,
and tried to smile as he said that the struggle would be brief--it would
soon be over.
"But tell me, where lies the danger?" persisted Pauline. "I do not
quite see it."
"`Where ignorance is bliss,' dear, `'tis folly to be wise,'" returned
Dominick, with an unsuccessful effort to look more at ease.
"Nay, brother, but I am not ignorant that danger exists--only ignorant
as to the amount and nature of it. Surely there cannot be much risk in
pushing our boat through that white foam that lines the shore with so
soft a fringe."
"I should think not," broke in the pert and inexperienced Otto; "
|
dominick
|
How many times does the word 'dominick' appear in the text?
| 7
|
the Looking
Glass' - particularly 'The Walrus and the Carpenter' poem: what's the
metaphorical meaning?
<b>NUN
</b>
I wasn't aware there was one.
<b> LOKI
</b>
Oh, but there is - it colorfully details the sham that is organized
religion. The Walrus - with his girth and good-nature - obviously refers to
either the Buddha, or - with his tusks - the lovable Hindu elephant god,
Lord Ganesha. This takes care of the Eastern religions. The Carpenter is an
obvious reference to Jesus Christ, who was purportedly raised the son of a
carpenter. He represents the Western religions. And in the poem. what do
they do? They dupe all the oysters into followmg them. Then. when the
oysters collective guard is down. the Walrus and the Carpenter shuck and
devour the helpless creatures, en masse. I don't know what that says to
you, but to me it says that following faiths based on these mythological
figures insures the destruction of one's inner-being.
BARTLEBY sits amongst a row of seats by one of the arrival gates. He eats
popcorn and stares at...
A steady stream of TRAVELERS, exiting the gate, meeting lovedones, family.
<b> OC LOKI
</b>
Organized religion destroys who we are or who we can be by inhibiting our
actions and decisions out of fear of an intangible parent-figure who shakes
a finger at us from thousands of years ago and says "No, no!"
Bartleby smiles at the meet-and-greets, warmed. Loki saddles up beside him,
kneeling on one of the seats, facing the Nun.
<b> LOKI
</b>
'Through the Looking Glass' - a children's tale? I think not.
<b> NUN
</b>
(really dazed)
I've... I've never really thought about it like that...
(beat; shocked; off her cassock)
What have I been doing with my life...?'.
<b> LOKI
</b>
Don't look back. Just get out there and taste life.
(off donation can)
Leave this for the unenlightened. Poverty is for the gullible - it's
another way the church is trying to control you. You take that money you've
been collecting for your parish reconstruction and go get yourself a nice
piece of ass. You deserve it.
The Nun nods at him, and saunters off, obviously grappling with something.
A passerby tries to stick money in her can, but she yanks it away. Loki
faces the proper direction in his seat and plops down beside the
still-transfixed Bartleby.
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(looking OC)
Here's what I don't get about you: you know for a fact that there is a God.
You've been in his presence, he's talked to you personally. And yet I just
heard you claim to be an atheist.
<b> LOKI
</b>
C'mon man - you know I don't believe any of that shit I was telling her. I
just like to fuck with the clergy; keep 'em on their toes. When her head
stops spinning, she'll be facing the way of the Just again. But oh. will
she have a bunch to confess.
(looks around)
Now here's what I don't get about you: why do you feel the need to come
here all the time?
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(off travelers)
I like to watch. This is humanity at it's best. Look at them.
A reunited FAMILY share a group hug and move on, making way for two young
LOVERS to embrace and kiss passionately.
<b> OC BARTLEBY
</b>
All that tension, all that anger and mistrust, forgotten for one perfect
moment when they come off that plane. See those two? The guy doesn't even
know that the girl cheated on him while he was away.
<b>OC LOKI
</b>
She did?
Bartleby and Loki continue to watch the arrivals.
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
Uh-huh. Twice. But it doesn't matter at this moment because they're both so
relieved to be with one another. I like that. I just wish they could all
feel that way more offen.
<b> LOKI
</b>
Maybe if someone gave them free bags of peanuts more often they would. Now
what was so friggin' important that
|
loki
|
How many times does the word 'loki' appear in the text?
| 9
|
two of them are very sweaty, they both have messed up hair, there is a great feeling of heat and wetness.
The windows to her room are open, the sound of outside of outside traffic is circulating. There is a small fan on her dresser that is blowing from side to side. Socks, shirts, and pants are lying on her hard wood floor. The room is neat except for the clothing. A large poster of the Beastie Boys hangs on the wall. She has many stuffed animals on her bed and dresser drawer, she also has a small dollhouse in the corner.
Telly and the girl are looking at each other.
The girl speaks slowly and softly, she has a very innocent beauty about her.
<b>TELLY
</b>You know what I want to do?
<b>GIRL
</b>Yeah.
<b>TELLY
</b>What do I want to do?
<b>GIRL
</b>You want to fuck me. But you can't fuck me.
<b>TELLY
</b>(smiling)
Why?
<b>GIRL
</b>Because, you know why. You know.
<b>TELLY
</b>Because your a virgin?
<b>GIRL
</b>Because I'm a virgin and I don't want no baby.
<b>TELLY
</b>You think I want a baby? When you're with me, you don't have to worry about that kinda stuff.
<b>GIRL
</b>Why is that?
<b>TELLY
</b>Because I like you. I think you're beautiful. I think if we fucked you would love it. You wouldn't even believe it.
<b>GIRL
</b>I wouldn't believe it?
<b>TELLY
</b>I don't know. I just think that you would love it.
<b>GIRL
</b>But, I don't know. I'm just scared that things would change. Between us.
<b>TELLY
</b>What things? I'm telling you, nothing's going to change.
(he begins to caress her cheek and hair)
I want to make you happy. That's all.
Telly scoots up to the girl and starts to kiss her. He sticks his tongue in her mouth. They kiss.
<b>TELLY
</b>(whispering)
You know it won't hurt. I'll be gentle. I promise.
<b>GIRL
</b>(whispering)
Do you care about me?
<b>TELLY
</b>(whispering)
Of course I do.
<b>RAPID CUT TO BLACK
</b>
<b>AN EXTREME CLOSEUP OF THE GIRL'S FACE
</b>
As she screams in total agony. Telly and the girl are on the bed having sex. All the lights are on. This scene should look very white and bleached out, very electric and shocking. Everything should be exposed as Telly takes advantage of the virgin girl.
<b>TELLY (V.O.)
</b>(slowly)
Virgins. I love 'em. No diseases, no loose as a goose pussy, no skank. No nothin. Just pure pleasure.
<b>CUT TO BLACK
</b>
<b>THE CREDITS ROLL IN
</b>
As soon as the scene ends, so does the sound of the two having sex. Very fast, very hard-paced music accompanies the credits. The music should be strong enough to maintain the intensity of the scene, Hard-core, Punk.
<b>CREDITS STOP
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>INT. UPPER EAST SIDE APARTMENT BUILDING - STAIRCASE - DAY
</b>
Telly gently shuts the door. He has a huge smile on his face. He looks down the center of the staircase and spits. He watches his spit fall down till it smacks against the floor. He runs down three flights of stairs as quickly as possible. He jumps down the last four steps and bumps into the side of the wall. He is very happy. He runs down the skinny hallway and smacks the metal mailboxes.
<b>EXT. UPPER EAST SIDE - SIDEWALK - DAY
</b>
Telly exits the building. CASPER is sitting on a middle step. He is reading a comic book and drinking a 40oz. Bottle of malt liquor. The bottle is wrapped in a brown paper sack. As he sips his drink he laughs at his comic book.
Casper is Telly's second half. The two have been best friends since grade school. Casper is small and funny, everyone likes him, he has a quick temper, and he isn't scared to fight someone twice his size. Telly provides Casper with a sense of adolescent wisdom. Casper makes Telly happy; he's a smart ass, he has a strong New York accent, an assortment of tattoos, and crooked teeth. Telly and Casper are always together, They help each other to survive.
Telly smacks Casper on the back of his head. Casper is startled and spills a little bit of his beer onto his shoes.
<b>CASPER
</b>Shit.
<b>TELLY
</b>(smiling)
Was up bitch?
Casper looks at Telly smiling.
<b>CASPER
</b>Oh shit what happened?
Casper is very excited. He stands up and pulls Telly's arm.
<b>TELLY
</b>What do you think?
<b>CASPER
</b>You fucked it?
Telly laughs and Casper jumps up and down.
<b>CASPER
</b>I knew you fucked it! I sat out her for like two hours! That girl was like twelve, and you hit it up!
<b>TELLY
</b>(pounding his chest)
Who am I? Who am I? The mothafuckin' virgin surgeon.
They both start to laugh.
They move off the stairs and start walking down the sidewalk. The two of them are walking down the street, obvious to everything but themselves talking.
|
side
|
How many times does the word 'side' appear in the text?
| 4
|
in heaven,
please, I'm begging you. I'll gouge
- out my eyes with the straw in my
drink right now. I'll jam every
last kernel of popcorn into my
- mouth until I suffocate, just not
another fucking teenage coming-of-
age story.
<b>
</b> We pull back to reveal her body, which is moving out of that
awkward stage between adolescence and womanhood. Though tall
and thin, her hips haven't quite rounded. She's wearing a
"FUCT" T-shirt and jean shorts.
<b> MINI (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b> Well, relax...no prom night
highjinks, no nerds becoming
popular and no Shakespeare set in
high school...I promise.
CLOSE ON: THE TV SCREEN. "When Animals Attack" is on. In a
series of quick cuts:
<b>
</b> A zoo keeper is mauled by an elephant.
<b>
</b> A sport fisherman is attacked on the deck of a boat by a
shark he and his buddies thought was dead.
A pit bull clamps down on his owner's arm.
<b>
</b> An alligator hunter stupidly puts his head in the mouth of a
just-captured alligator, only to have it chomp down on his
skull.
<b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> Since it happened, everyone's
asked me how it all started.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Mini's face registers no reaction to the gruesome images. We
now see she is sitting in the living room of a well-appointed
Studio City hillside home.
<b> INT. THE LIVING ROOM- EVENING- A PARTY.
</b><b>
</b> TEENAGERS OF PRIVILEGE and their UPTIGHT PARENTS are milling
around, dancing and chatting as A DEEJAY spins tunes.
<b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> I suppose the obvious answer is my
eighteenth birthday...
<b>
</b> Mini dances with a few friends in a very short mini-skirt and
halter top. She clearly understands how to the drive the boys
crazy and this is not lost on her mother, DIANE, 42, who
stands off to the side, nursing a drink with some other HYPER-
<b> AEROBICIZED MOTHERS.
</b><b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> See, I was blessed with a terrific
|
alligator
|
How many times does the word 'alligator' appear in the text?
| 1
|
the wont of young men. From Bayliss' drawl one might have
supposed that the boy was a drunken loafer.
At that very moment Claude saw his friend on the other side of
the street, following the wagon of trained dogs that brought up
the rear of the procession. He ran across, through a crowd of
shouting youngsters, and caught Ernest by the arm.
"Hello, where are you off to?"
"I'm going to eat my lunch before show-time. I left my wagon out
by the pumping station, on the creek. What about you?"
"I've got no program. Can I go along?"
Ernest smiled. "I expect. I've got enough lunch for two."
"Yes, I know. You always have. I'll join you later."
Claude would have liked to take Ernest to the hotel for dinner.
He had more than enough money in his pockets; and his father was
a rich farmer. In the Wheeler family a new thrasher or a new
automobile was ordered without a question, but it was considered
extravagant to go to a hotel for dinner. If his father or Bayliss
heard that he had been there-and Bayliss heard everything they
would say he was putting on airs, and would get back at him. He
tried to excuse his cowardice to himself by saying that he was
dirty and smelled of the hides; but in his heart he knew that he
did not ask Ernest to go to the hotel with him because he had
been so brought up that it would be difficult for him to do this
simple thing. He made some purchases at the fruit stand and the
cigar counter, and then hurried out along the dusty road toward
the pumping station. Ernest's wagon was standing under the shade
of some willow trees, on a little sandy bottom half enclosed by a
loop of the creek which curved like a horseshoe. Claude threw
himself on the sand beside the stream and wiped the dust from his
hot face. He felt he had now closed the door on his disagreeable
morning.
Ernest produced his lunch basket.
"I got a couple bottles of beer cooling in the creek," he said.
"I knew you wouldn't want to go in a saloon."
"Oh, forget it!" Claude muttered, ripping the cover off a jar of
pickles. He was nineteen years old, and he was afraid to go into
a saloon, and his friend knew he was afraid.
After lunch, Claude took out a handful of good cigars he had
bought at the drugstore. Ernest, who couldn't afford cigars, was
pleased. He lit one, and as he smoked he kept looking at it with
an air of pride and turning it around between his fingers.
The horses stood with their heads over the wagon-box, munching
their oats. The stream trickled by under the willow roots with a
cool, persuasive sound. Claude and Ernest lay in the shade, their
coats under their heads, talking very little. Occasionally a
motor dashed along the road toward town, and a cloud of dust and
a smell of gasoline blew in over the creek bottom; but for the
most part the silence of the warm, lazy summer noon was
undisturbed. Claude could usually forget his own vexations and
chagrins when he was with Ernest. The Bohemian boy was never
uncertain, was not pulled in two or three ways at once. He was
simple and direct. He had a number of impersonal preoccupations;
was interested in politics and history and in new inventions.
Claude felt that his friend lived in an atmosphere of mental
liberty to which he himself could never hope to attain. After he
had talked with Ernest for awhile, the things that did not go
right on the farm seemed less important. Claude's mother was
almost as fond of Ernest as he was himself. When the two boys
were going to high school, Ernest often came over in the evening
to study with Claude, and while they worked at the long kitchen
table Mrs. Wheeler brought her darning and sat near them, helping
them with their Latin and algebra. Even old Mahailey was
enlightened by their words of wisdom.
Mrs. Wheeler said she would never forget the night Ernest arrived
from the Old Country. His brother, Joe Havel, had gone to
Frankfort to meet him, and was to stop on the way home and leave
some groceries for the Wheelers. The train from the east was
late; it was ten o'clock that night when Mrs. Wheeler, waiting in
the kitchen, heard Havel's wagon rumble across the little bridge
over Lovely Creek. She opened the outside door, and presently Joe
came in with a bucket of salt fish in one hand and a sack of
flour on his shoulder. While he took the fish down to the cellar
for her, another figure appeared in the doorway; a young boy,
short, stooped, with a flat cap on his head and a great oilcloth
valise, such as pedlars carry, strapped to his back. He had
fallen asleep in the wagon, and on waking and finding his brother
gone, he had supposed they were at home and scrambled for his
pack. He stood in the doorway, blinking his eyes at the light,
looking astonished but eager to do whatever was required of him.
What if one of her own boys, Mrs. Wheeler thought.... She
went up to him and put her arm around him, laughing a little and
saying in her quiet voice, just as if he could understand her,
"Why, you're only a little boy after all, aren't you?"
Ernest said afterwards that it was his first welcome to this
country, though he had travelled so far, and had been pushed and
hauled and shouted at for so many days, he had lost count of
them. That night he and Claude only shook hands and looked at
each other suspiciously, but ever since they had been good
friends.
After their picnic the two boys went to the circus in a happy
frame of mind. In the animal tent they met big Leonard Dawson,
the oldest son of one of the Wheelers' near neighbours, and the
three sat together for the performance. Leonard said he had come
to town alone in his car; wouldn't Claude ride out with him?
Claude was glad enough to turn the mules over to Ralph, who
didn't mind the hired men as much as he did.
Leonard was a strapping brown fellow of twenty-five, with big
hands and big feet, white teeth, and flashing eyes full of
energy. He and his father and two brothers not only worked their
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 11
|
And
when did my toes get so fat? No
wonder I'm alone. I'm a fat-toed
animal.
Zoe lets out a sigh. She speaks out-loud now.
<b> ZOE (CONT'D)
</b> Sorry I didn't get a pedicure.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> What?
DR. HARRIS (mid-fifties, jovial) looks up from between Zoe's
knees, the light on his head flashing right in Zoe's eyes.
<b> ZOE
</b> My toes...sorry.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> I'm not looking at your toes.
<b> ZOE
</b> Right. Duh.
Dr. Harris stands and takes off his gloves.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> All done.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> ZOE
</b> That's it?
And now, for the first time, we see ZOE. Despite the paper
gown and worried look on her face, she's a late-30-something,
girl-next-door type. She could be your best friend.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> I'll elevate your legs for ten
minutes and then you're good to go.
He sets a kitchen timer and then pushes a button to raise her
legs. We hear the loud TICK TOCK of the timer.
<b> ZOE
</b> This is the first time I've heard
that ticking clock sound and it
doesn't freak me out.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> Good. Just relax.
<b> ZOE
</b> I can't, I'm totally freaking out.
<b> DR. HARRIS
</b> Everything's going to be great. I
have a feeling you and...
(checks empty syringe)
Number CRM-101404 are going to make
beautiful babies together.
Zoe smiles. Maybe he's right. Yeah...of course he's right.
<b> BOBBY (V.O.)
</b> Number CRM-101404? Are you high?
<b>INT. ZOE'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b>
<b>TITLE UP: FOUR WEEKS AGO
</b>
BOBBY, 39 (but says he's 33,) gay and gorgeous, opens a file
and points to a piece of paper.
<b> BOBBY
</b> Says here he has red hair and
freckles.
<b> ZOE
</b> And glasses, too.
<b> BOBBY
</b> And why are we picking him?
<b> 3.
</b>
<b> ZOE
</b> Because he's honest.
<b> BOBBY
</b> He's ugly.
Zoe points to a stack of potential donors.
<b> ZOE
</b>
|
bobby
|
How many times does the word 'bobby' appear in the text?
| 4
|
follow his stare, and saw a green wall of trees and
shrubbery rising from the water's edge and sweeping away in a wide
curve, enclosing a small bay whose waters lay still as blue glass.
'This is one of the many islands that dot this inland sea,' said Conan.
'They are supposed to be uninhabited. I've heard the Hyrkanians seldom
visit them. Besides, they generally hug the shores in their galleys, and
we have come a long way. Before sunset we were out of sight of the
mainland.'
With a few strokes he brought the boat in to shore and made the painter
fast to the arching root of a tree which rose from the water's edge.
Stepping ashore, he reached out a hand to help Olivia. She took it,
wincing slightly at the bloodstains upon it, feeling a hint of the
dynamic strength that lurked in the barbarian's thews.
A dreamy quiet lay over the woods that bordered the blue bay. Then
somewhere, far back among the trees, a bird lifted its morning song. A
breeze whispered through the leaves, and set them to murmuring. Olivia
found herself listening intently for something, she knew not what. What
might be lurking amid those nameless woodlands?
As she peered timidly into the shadows between the trees, something
swept into the sunlight with a swift whirl of wings: a great parrot
which dropped on to a leafy branch and swayed there, a gleaming image
of jade and crimson. It turned its crested head sidewise and regarded
the invaders with glittering eyes of jet.
'Crom!' muttered the Cimmerian. 'Here is the grandfather of all parrots.
He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes.
What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?'
Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and, soaring from its perch,
cried out harshly: '_Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!_' and with a wild
screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to
vanish in the opalescent shadows.
Olivia stared after it, feeling the cold hand of nameless foreboding
touch her supple spine.
'What did it say?' she whispered.
'Human words, I'll swear,' answered Conan; 'but in what tongue I can't
say.'
'Nor I,' returned the girl. 'Yet it must have learned them from human
lips. Human, or--' she gazed into the leafy fastness and shuddered
slightly, without knowing why.
'Crom, I'm hungry!' grunted the Cimmerian. 'I could eat a whole buffalo.
We'll look for fruit; but first I'm going to cleanse myself of this
dried mud and blood. Hiding in marshes is foul business.'
So saying, he laid aside his sword, and wading out shoulder-deep into
the blue water, went about his ablutions. When he emerged, his clean-cut
bronze limbs shone, his streaming black mane was no longer matted. His
blue eyes, though they smoldered with unquenchable fire, were no longer
murky or bloodshot. But the tigerish suppleness of limb and the
dangerous aspect of feature were not altered.
Strapping on his sword once more, he motioned the girl to follow him,
and they left the shore, passing under the leafy arches of the great
branches. Underfoot lay a short green sward which cushioned their tread.
Between the trunks of the trees they caught glimpses of faery-like
vistas.
Presently Conan grunted in pleasure at the sight of golden and russet
globes hanging in clusters among the leaves. Indicating that the girl
should seat herself on a fallen tree, he filled her lap with the exotic
delicacies, and then himself fell to with unconcealed gusto.
'Ishtar!' said he, between mouthfuls. 'Since Ilbars I have lived on
rats, and roots I dug out of the stinking mud. This is sweet to the
palate, though not very filling. Still, it will serve if we eat enough.'
Olivia was too busy to reply. The sharp edge of the Cimmerian's hunger
blunted, he began to gaze at his fair companion with more interest than
previously, noting the lustrous clusters of her dark hair, the
peach-bloom tints of her dainty skin, and the rounded contours of her
lithe figure which the scanty silk tunic displayed to full advantage.
Finishing her meal, the object of his scrutiny looked up, and meeting
his burning, slit-eyed gaze, she changed color and the remnants of the
fruit slipped from her fingers.
Without comment, he indicated with a gesture that they should continue
their explorations, and rising, she followed him out of the trees and
into a glade, the farther end of which was bounded by a dense thicket.
As they stepped into the open there was a ripping crash in this thicket,
and Conan, bounding aside and carrying the girl with him, narrowly saved
them from something that rushed through the air and struck a tree-trunk
with a thunderous impact.
Whipping out his sword, Conan bounded across the glade and plunged into
the thicket. Silence ensued, while Olivia crouched on the sward,
terrified and bewildered. Presently Conan emerged, a puzzled scowl on
his face.
'Nothing in that thicket,' he growled. 'But there was something--'
He studied the missile that had so narrowly missed them, and grunted
incredulously, as if unable to credit his own senses. It was a huge
block of greenish stone which lay on the sward at the foot of the tree,
whose wood its impact had splintered.
'A strange stone to find on an uninhabited island,' growled Conan.
Olivia's lovely eyes dilated in wonder. The stone was a symmetrical
block, indisputably cut and shaped by human hands. And it was
astonishingly massive. The Cimmerian grasped it with both hands, and
with legs braced and the muscles standing out on his arms and back in
straining knots, he heaved it above his head and cast it from him,
exerting every ounce of nerve and sinew. It fell a few feet in front of
him. Conan swore.
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 5
|
<b>DISSOLVE TO BLACK: MORE CREDITS APPEAR ON THE SCREEN.
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
Ed scoops up a large pile of money.
Odds chaps, you gotta remember the odds.
There ? a loud slam of a door. We cut to a wide shot of a policeman
who has just entered. It is then revealed that two of the three players
are also policemen. They stand to attention, red faced with
embarrassment.
<b>SERG
</b>I hope I am not interrupting. Comfortable, Edward?
<b>EDDY
</b>I haven't slept for forty-eight hours, got a dozen broken ribs, can
feel a case of the flu coming on and . . .
<b>SERG
</b>(interrupts)
All right, all right, don't think I wouldn't like to get rid of you;
but before I do, I need to know what's going on, son.
<b>EDDY
</b>If you think you're in the dark, I am in a black hole, blindfolded.
<b>DISSOLVE TO BLACK. THE MUSIC STARTS.
</b>
We pull back out of the black to reveal that we have been sitting in
the inside of a shotgun. The barrels recede further, then `boom.' LOCK
STOCK are shot out of the top of the screen in peppered letters. We
wait for a while, as the barrels reappear through. the smoke. We then
see one smoking barrel; 'boom!' the other is let off: AND TWO SMOKING
BARRELS joins the sentence.]
<b>EXT. STREET (FLASHBACK] - DAY
</b>
We open on a smart, casually dressed man selling perfume and jewellery
on a street corner. A crowd has gathered, attracted by the alarming
volume at which he is advertising his wares.
<b>BACON
</b>See these goods, they never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite, Fanny-
by-the-gas-light. If you can't see value here today you're not up here
shopping, you're up here shoplifting. Take a bag, take a bag. I took a
bag, I took a bag home last night and she cost a lot more than ten
pounds I can tell ya. Tell me if I am going too cheap. Not ninety, not
eighty, not forty, half that and half that again, that's right, ten
pounds. Don't think 'cos it's sealed up it's an empty box. The only man
who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you
here today I would make more money with me measuring tape.
A well-dressed, zealous character (Eddy) appears from behind the crowd
waving money. It seems he can't wait to get rid of it.
<b>EDDY
</b>Bargain, that's a bloody bargain if I ever heard one. Ten pounds you
say? I'll have five.
Certainly sir. I'll just wrap.
Changing his attention.
<b>BACON
</b>Excuse me misses, sorry sir, ladies first and all that.
A tourist spectator, rather than a buyer, has been. put on the spot.
She fumbles through her bag hastily all too aware of the attention of
the crowd, of which she is now the focus. She passes her money like
it's contaminated. Others follow suit.
Buy 'em, you better buy 'em; they're not stolen, they just never been
paid for.
This really stokes the fire. The money can't come fast enough. Just as
business reaches its peak there is a call of alarm from the first
enthusiastic punter, who seems to be rather more familiar than he first
pretended.
<b>EDDY
</b>Bacon!
Bacon's expression changes dramatically. A series of crash zooms
between Ed's, Bacon's and a third party's eyes (the police) reveal
there is a problem. They're off: EDDY and BACON run like they have done
this before. They go down an ally; Ed jumps some stairs, we freeze.
<b>BACON
</b>(voice-over)
Ed can run fast, talk fast, eat fast, and play cards fast, but he's
fucking slow when it comes to spotting the roz.
<b>EDDY
</b>(voice-over)
The reason he is called BACON is he spent so much of his youth in the
police station that people thought he was one of them. But he is a big
boy now and it is time to move on.
We cut to a shot of Ed as he lands. He has made good distance.
<b>INT. GROCER'S SHOP - MORNING
</b>
EDDY arrives at a grocer's shop. We meet Tom. Tom is talking to Nick
the Greek.
<b>TOM
</b>What are you talking about? I am bloody skinny, pal.
<b>NICK
</b>Of course you are. All right, Ed.
<b>EDDY
</b>Nick the Greek, always a pleasure. All right Tom, what you been eating?
Tom examines his midriff and adopts a confused expression.
<b>TOM
</b>Please, both join me in my orifice.
<b>INT. GROCER'S SHOP STORE ROOM - DAY
</b>
They work their way past a maze of boxes.
<b>NICK
</b>(fingering and admiring one of the boxes)
How much did you say it was, Tom?
<b>TOM
</b>You know how much it is, Nick.
<b>NICK
</b>And that does include the amp?
<b>TOM
</b>You know it doesn't include the amp.
<b>INT. RESTAURANT KITCHEN -AFTERNOON
</b>
Tom and Ed make their way through a busy, well-equipped kitchen. This
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 8
|
one interrupt me!â
With hasty steps he gained his chamber, where he had installed a sort of
laboratory, and shut himself up in it. The prohibition to enter it was
formal. It was here that he gave himself up to special preparations, of
which he spoke to no one. Almost immediately the slow and regular sound
of a pestle grinding in a mortar was heard.
âCome,â said Clotilde, smiling, âthere he is, at his devilâs cookery, as
grandmother says.â
And she tranquilly resumed her copying of the hollyhocks. She completed
the drawing with mathematical precision, she found the exact tone of
the violet petals, striped with yellow, even to the most delicate
discoloration of the shades.
âAh!â murmured Martine, after a moment, again seated on the ground, and
occupied in mending the chair, âwhat a misfortune for a good man like
that to lose his soul wilfully. For there is no denying it; I have known
him now for thirty years, and in all that time he has never so much as
spoken an unkind word to any one. A real heart of gold, who would take
the bit from his own mouth. And handsome, too, and always well, and
always gay, a real blessing! It is a murder that he does not wish
to make his peace with the good God. We will force him to do it,
mademoiselle, will we not?â
Clotilde, surprised at hearing her speak so long at one time on the
subject, gave her word with a grave air.
âCertainly, Martine, it is a promise. We will force him.â
Silence reigned again, broken a moment afterward by the ringing of the
bell attached to the street door below. It had been attached to the door
so that they might have notice when any one entered the house, too vast
for the three persons who inhabited it. The servant appeared surprised,
and grumbled a few words under her breath. Who could have come in such
heat as this? She rose, opened the door, and went and leaned over the
balustrade; then she returned, saying:
âIt is Mme. Felicite.â
Old Mme. Rougon entered briskly. In spite of her eighty years, she had
mounted the stairs with the activity of a young girl; she was still the
brown, lean, shrill grasshopper of old. Dressed elegantly now in
black silk, she might still be taken, seen from behind, thanks to the
slenderness of her figure, for some coquette, or some ambitious woman
following her favorite pursuit. Seen in front, her eyes still lighted
up her withered visage with their fires, and she smiled with an engaging
smile when she so desired.
âWhat! is it you, grandmother?â cried Clotilde, going to meet her. âWhy,
this sun is enough to bake one.â
Felicite, kissing her on the forehead, laughed, saying:
âOh, the sun is my friend!â
Then, moving with short, quick steps, she crossed the room, and turned
the fastening of one of the shutters.
âOpen the shutters a little! It is too gloomy to live in the dark in
this way. At my house I let the sun come in.â
Through the opening a jet of hot light, a flood of dancing sparks
entered. And under the sky, of the violet blue of a conflagration, the
parched plain could be seen, stretching away in the distance, as if
asleep or dead in the overpowering, furnace-like heat, while to the
right, above the pink roofs, rose the belfry of St. Saturnin, a gilded
tower with arises that, in the blinding light, looked like whitened
bones.
âYes,â continued Felicite, âI think of going shortly to the Tulettes,
and I wished to know if Charles were here, to take him with me. He is
not here--I see that--I will take him another day.â
But while she gave this pretext for her visit, her ferret-like eyes were
making the tour of the apartment. Besides, she did not insist, speaking
immediately afterward of her son Pascal, on hearing the rhythmical noise
of the pestle, which had not ceased in the adjoining chamber.
âAh! he is still at his devilâs cookery! Donât disturb him, I have
nothing to say to him.â
Martine, who had resumed her work on the chair, shook her head, as if
to say that she had no mind to disturb her master, and there was silence
again, while Clotilde wiped her fingers, stained with crayon, on a
cloth, and Felicite began to walk about the room with short steps,
looking around inquisitively.
Old Mme. Rougon would soon be two years a widow. Her husband who had
grown so corpulent that he could no longer move, had succumbed to an
attack of indigestion on the 3d of September, 1870, on the night of the
day on which he had learned of the catastrophe of Sedan. The ruin of the
government of which he flattered himself with being one of the founders,
seemed to have crushed him. Thus, Felicite affected to occupy herself no
longer with politics, living, thenceforward, like a dethroned queen, the
only surviving power of a vanished world. No one was unaware that the
Rougons, in 1851, had saved Plassans from anarchy, by causing the _coup
dâetat_ of the 2d of December to triumph there, and that, a few
years later, they had won it again from the legitimist and republican
candidates, to give it to a Bonapartist deputy. Up to the time of the
war, the Empire had continued all-powerful in the town,
|
steps
|
How many times does the word 'steps' appear in the text?
| 2
|
. 'They said there was no use discussing the
Reform Bill in our House. I believe Rigby's great speech on Aldborough
has done more towards the reaction than all the violence of the
Political Unions put together.'
'Let us hope for the best,' said the Duke, mildly. ''Tis a bold step on
the part of the Sovereign, and I am free to say I could have wished it
postponed; but we must support the King like men. What say you, Rigby?
You are silent.'
'I am thinking how very unfortunate it was that I did not breakfast with
Lyndhurst this morning, as I was nearly doing, instead of going down to
Eton.'
'To Eton! and why to Eton?'
'For the sake of my young friend here, Lord Monmouth's grandson. By the
bye, you are kinsmen. Let me present to your Grace, MR. CONINGSBY.'
CHAPTER II.
The political agitation which for a year and a half had shaken England
to its centre, received, if possible, an increase to its intensity and
virulence, when it was known, in the early part of the month of May,
1832, that the Prime Minister had tendered his resignation to the King,
which resignation had been graciously accepted.
The amendment carried by the Opposition in the House of Lords on the
evening of the 7th of May, that the enfranchising clauses of the
Reform Bill should be considered before entering into the question of
disfranchisement, was the immediate cause of this startling event. The
Lords had previously consented to the second reading of the Bill with
the view of preventing that large increase of their numbers with which
they had been long menaced; rather, indeed, by mysterious rumours than
by any official declaration; but, nevertheless, in a manner which had
carried conviction to no inconsiderable portion of the Opposition that
the threat was not without foundation.
During the progress of the Bill through the Lower House, the journals
which were looked upon as the organs of the ministry had announced with
unhesitating confidence, that Lord Grey was armed with what was then
called a 'carte blanche' to create any number of peers necessary to
insure its success. But public journalists who were under the control of
the ministry, and whose statements were never contradicted, were not
the sole authorities for this prevailing belief. Members of the House of
Commons, who were strong supporters of the cabinet, though not connected
with it by any official tie, had unequivocally stated in their places
that the Sovereign had not resisted the advice of his counsellors to
create peers, if such creation were required to carry into effect what
was then styled 'the great national measure.' In more than one instance,
ministers had been warned, that if they did not exercise that power with
prompt energy, they might deserve impeachment. And these intimations and
announcements had been made in the presence of leading members of the
Government, and had received from them, at least, the sanction of their
silence.
It did not subsequently appear that the Reform ministers had been
invested with any such power; but a conviction of the reverse, fostered
by these circumstances, had successfully acted upon the nervous
temperament, or the statesman-like prudence, of a certain section of the
peers, who consequently hesitated in their course; were known as being
no longer inclined to pursue their policy of the preceding session; had
thus obtained a title at that moment in everybody's mouth, the title of
'THE WAVERERS.'
Notwithstanding, therefore, the opposition of the Duke of Wellington and
of Lord Lyndhurst, the Waverers carried the second reading of the Reform
Bill; and then, scared at the consequences of their own headstrong
timidity, they went in a fright to the Duke and his able adviser to
extricate them from the inevitable result of their own conduct.
The ultimate device of these distracted counsels, where daring and
poltroonery, principle and expediency, public spirit and private
intrigue, each threw an ingredient into the turbulent spell, was the
celebrated and successful amendment to which we have referred.
But the Whig ministers, who, whatever may have been their faults, were
at least men of intellect and courage, were not to be beaten by 'the
Waverers.' They might have made terms with an audacious foe; they
trampled on a hesitating opponent. Lord Grey hastened to the palace.
Before the result of this appeal to the Sovereign was known, for its
effects were not immediate, on the second morning after the vote in the
House of Lords, Mr. Rigby had made that visit to Eton which had summoned
very unexpectedly the youthful Coningsby to London. He was the orphan
child of the youngest of the two sons of the Marquess of Monmouth. It
was a family famous for its hatreds. The eldest son hated his father;
and, it was said, in spite had married a lady to whom that father was
attached, and with whom Lord Monmouth then meditated a second alliance.
This eldest son lived at Naples, and had several children, but
maintained no connection either with his parent or his native country.
On the other hand, Lord Monmouth hated his younger son, who had married,
against his consent, a woman to whom that son was devoted. A system of
domestic persecution, sustained by the hand of a master, had eventually
broken up the health of its victim, who died of a fever in a foreign
country, where he had sought some refuge from his creditors.
His widow returned to England with her child; and, not having a
relation, and scarcely an acquaintance in the world, made an appeal to
her husband's father, the wealthiest noble in England and a man who was
often prodigal, and occasionally generous. After some time, and
more trouble, after urgent and repeated, and what would have seemed
heart-rending, solicitations, the attorney of Lord Monmouth called
upon the widow of his client's son, and informed her of his Lordship's
decision. Provided she gave up her child, and permanently resided in
one of the remotest counties, he was authorised to make her, in four
quarterly payments, the yearly allowance of three hundred pounds, that
being the income that Lord Monmouth, who was the shrewdest accountant in
the country, had calculated a lone woman might very decently exist upon
in a small market town in the county of Westmoreland.
Desperate necessity, the sense of her own forlornness, the utter
impossibility to struggle with an omnipotent foe
|
monmouth
|
How many times does the word 'monmouth' appear in the text?
| 5
|
EDITORIAL PRACTICE
The text is based on the 1634 Quarto, as reproduced in Tudor
Facsimile series in 1913. Spelling has been modernised, except in
instances where to do so would change a word's pronunciation.
Punctuation has also been modernised and has been used lightly in an
attempt to reflect contemporary speech patterns. Contractions to
words have been eliminated where this is possible without upsetting
the verse rhythm; for example, 'baked' replaces 'bak'd' in 4.2.
Names have been retained as originally set out except that of the
central character who name was spelt in the original as 'Baltazar';
Balthazar is the modern Anglicised version of the same name. The cast
list has been newly compiled from the text of the play, rather than
by reference to the one appearing in the Quarto.
All lines have been left justified, including those cases where
characters share a line of verse. The speeches of Balthazar in the
early part of 2.1 and again in 4.1 appear as verse in the Quarto but
have been rendered as prose in this edition. This appears to makes
more sense of the speech patterns and has the additional effect of
making Balthazar and Cornego, the two non-aristocratic figures, the
consistent prose speakers throughout the play.
Endnotes have been provided only to explicate words or terms of
unusual obscurity. Numeric references to such notes are enclosed
within angled brackets.
Stage directions may be identified as being a line of text preceded
by a blank line, rather than by a character's name. These have been
added to occasionally to ensure that all essential movements apparent
from the text are set out. Where significant additions have been
made, these are enclosed within square brackets. Scene divisions
within acts have been deduced from the movements of characters.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Primary text:
Dekker, T. à 'The Noble Spanish Soldier' - Tudor facsimiles à 1913.
Secondary texts:
Bentley, G.E. Ã 'The Jacobean and Caroline Stage' Ã Oxford: Clarendon
à 1956.
Bowers, F. Ã 'The Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker', Volume IV Ã
Cambridge University Press à 1961.
Bose, T. Ã 'The Gentle Craft of Revision in Thomas Dekker's last
Plays' à Institut f_r Anglistik und Amerikanistik à 1979.
Bose T. Ã 'The Noble Spanish Soldier' and 'The Spanish Contract' -
Notes and Queries volume 40, Number 2 - 1993.
Chapman, L.S. Ã 'Thomas Dekker and the Traditions of the English
Drama' à Lang à 1985.
Fleay, F. G. Ã 'A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama' -
Reeves and Turner à 1891.
Gasper, J. - 'The Noble Spanish Soldier', 'The Wonder of a Kingdom'
and 'The Parliament of Bees': a belated solution to this long-
standing problem - Durham University Journal - 1987.
Gasper, J. Ã 'The Dragon and the Dove: The Plays of Thomas Dekker' Ã
Oxford: Clarendon à 1990.
Greetam, D.C. Ã 'Textual Scholarship An Introduction' Ã Garland Ã
1994.
Hoy, C. Ã 'Introductions, notes, and commentaries to texts in 'The
dramatic works of Thomas Dekker', Volume IV - Cambridge University
Press à 1980.
Meads, Chris à 'Banquets set forth : banqueting in English
Renaissance drama' - Manchester University Press à 2001.
McLuskie, Kathleen. Ã 'Dekker and Heywood : professional dramatists'
- St. Martin's Press à 1994.
Wells, S. Ã 'Re-editing Shakespeare for the Modern Reader' Ã Oxford:
Clarendon -1984.
ENDNOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION
1. Gasper, J - 'The Noble Spanish Soldier', 'The Wonder of a Kingdom'
and 'The Parliament of Bees': a belated solution to this long-
standing problem - Durham University Journal LXXIX number 2- 1987.
2. Bose, T Ã 'The Noble Spanish Soldier' and 'The Spanish Contract'
in Notes and Queries v 40, number 2 Ã 1993.
3. Hoy, C. - Introductions, notes, and commentaries to texts in 'The
dramatic works of Thomas Dekker, Volume IV, page 99 - Cambridge
University Press à 1980.
4. Sidney, Sir Philip, 'The Defense of Posey' in 'The Norton
Anthology of English Literature, page 944 à Norton à 2000.
5. Machiavelli, N. à 'The Prince', page 56 à Penguin à 2003.
6. See Bowers, F. Ã 'The Stabbing of a Portrait in Elizabethan
Tragedy' Ã Modern language Notes, XLVII, pages 378-385 Ã 1932.
John Price
University College Worcester
1 June 2004
THE TEXT
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
King of Spain
Cardinal, advisor to the King
Count Malateste of Florence, confidant of the Queen
Roderigo, Don of Spain, supporter of the King
Valasco, Don of Spain, supporter of the King
Lopez, Don of Spain, supporter of the King
Duke of Medina, leader of the Faction
Marquis Daenia, member of the Faction
Alba, Don of Spain, member of the Faction
Carlo, Don of Spain, member of the Faction
Alanzo, Captain of the Guard, member of the Faction
Sebastian, illegitimate son of the King
Balthazar, a Spanish soldier
Cornego, servant to Onaelia
Cockadillio, a courtier
Signor No
A Poet
Queen of Spain, Paulina, daughter of Duke of
|
modernised
|
How many times does the word 'modernised' appear in the text?
| 1
|
riveners were fain to moisten their mouths very often
with Spitzenbergs to be had at the numerous stalls nigh the Custom
House and Post Office. Also, they sent Ginger Nut very frequently for
that peculiar cake--small, flat, round, and very spicy--after which he
had been named by them. Of a cold morning when business was but dull,
Turkey would gobble up scores of these cakes, as if they were mere
wafers--indeed they sell them at the rate of six or eight for a
penny--the scrape of his pen blending with the crunching of the crisp
particles in his mouth. Of all the fiery afternoon blunders and
flurried rashnesses of Turkey, was his once moistening a ginger-cake
between his lips, and clapping it on to a mortgage for a seal. I came
within an ace of dismissing him then. But he mollified me by making an
oriental bow, and saying--"With submission, sir, it was generous of me
to find you in stationery on my own account."
Now my original business--that of a conveyancer and title hunter, and
drawer-up of recondite documents of all sorts--was considerably
increased by receiving the master's office. There was now great work
for scriveners. Not only must I push the clerks already with me, but I
must have additional help. In answer to my advertisement, a motionless
young man one morning, stood upon my office threshold, the door being
open, for it was summer. I can see that figure now--pallidly neat,
pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn! It was Bartleby.
After a few words touching his qualifications, I engaged him, glad to
have among my corps of copyists a man of so singularly sedate an aspect,
which I thought might operate beneficially upon the flighty temper of
Turkey, and the fiery one of Nippers.
I should have stated before that ground glass folding-doors divided my
premises into two parts, one of which was occupied by my scriveners, the
other by myself. According to my humor I threw open these doors, or
closed them. I resolved to assign Bartleby a corner by the
folding-doors, but on my side of them, so as to have this quiet man
within easy call, in case any trifling thing was to be done. I placed
his desk close up to a small side-window in that part of the room, a
window which originally had afforded a lateral view of certain grimy
back-yards and bricks, but which, owing to subsequent erections,
commanded at present no view at all, though it gave some light. Within
three feet of the panes was a wall, and the light came down from far
above, between two lofty buildings, as from a very small opening in a
dome. Still further to a satisfactory arrangement, I procured a high
green folding screen, which might entirely isolate Bartleby from my
sight, though not remove him from my voice. And thus, in a manner,
privacy and society were conjoined.
At first Bartleby did an extraordinary quantity of writing. As if long
famishing for something to copy, he seemed to gorge himself on my
documents. There was no pause for digestion. He ran a day and night
line, copying by sun-light and by candle-light. I should have been
quite delighted with his application, had he been cheerfully
industrious. But he wrote on silently, palely, mechanically.
It is, of course, an indispensable part of a scrivener's business to
verify the accuracy of his copy, word by word. Where there are two or
more scriveners in an office, they assist each other in this
examination, one reading from the copy, the other holding the original.
It is a very dull, wearisome, and lethargic affair. I can readily
imagine that to some sanguine temperaments it would be altogether
intolerable. For example, I cannot credit that the mettlesome poet
Byron would have contentedly sat down with Bartleby to examine a law
document of, say five hundred pages, closely written in a crimpy hand.
Now and then, in the haste of business, it had been my habit to assist
in comparing some brief document myself, calling Turkey or Nippers for
this purpose. One object I had in placing Bartleby so handy to me
behind the screen, was to avail myself of his services on such trivial
occasions. It was on the third day, I think, of his being with me, and
before any necessity had arisen for having his own writing examined,
that, being much hurried to complete a small affair I had in hand, I
abruptly called to Bartleby. In my haste and natural expectancy of
instant compliance, I sat with my head bent over the original on my
desk, and my right hand sideways, and somewhat nervously extended with
the copy, so that immediately upon emerging from his retreat, Bartleby
might snatch it and proceed to business without the least delay.
In this very attitude did I sit when I called to him, rapidly stating
what it was I wanted him to do--namely, to examine a small paper with
me. Imagine my surprise, nay, my consternation, when without moving
from his privacy, Bartleby in a singularly mild, firm voice, replied, "I
would prefer not to."
I sat awhile in perfect silence, rallying my stunned faculties.
Immediately it occurred to me that my ears had deceived me, or Bartleby
had entirely misunderstood my meaning. I repeated my request in the
clearest tone I could assume. But in quite as clear a one came the
previous reply, "I would prefer not to."
"Prefer not to," echoed I, rising in high excitement, and crossing the
room with a stride. "What do you mean? Are you moon-struck? I want
you to help me compare this sheet here--take it," and I thrust it
towards him.
"I would prefer not to," said he.
I looked at him steadfastly. His face was leanly composed; his gray eye
dimly calm. Not a wrinkle of agitation rippled him. Had there been the
least uneasiness, anger, impatience or impertinence in his manner; in
other words, had there been any thing ordinarily human about
|
bartleby
|
How many times does the word 'bartleby' appear in the text?
| 9
|
Action of the picture takes place in approximately 36 hours.
Picture commences at approximately 12:35 in the day.
Time: The Present.
<b>
</b>
<b> EXTERIOR REVOLVING DOOR
</b>
Show general natural action of people going in and people
coming out but in it is the definite inference of people
arriving and people leaving the big hotel.
MOVE INSIDE THROUGH THE REVOLVING DOOR -- very quickly. CAMERA
PAUSES ON THE THRESHOLD like a human being, seeing and
hearing.
<b> DISSOLVE OUT.
</b>
DISSOLVE INTO: Clock. It is twenty minutes to one -- and
then moves slowly into the crowd of busy mid-day business
jumble.
CAMERA pushes through crowd and passes by the foot of the
steps that lead up to the restaurant. In its journey, it
passes Kringelein looking up. He is not pointed.
THE CAMERA then saunters -- getting a slow profile movement
across -- near Senf's desk. Senf is very busy. THE CAMERA
now passes -- profile -- the desk of Senf. General action.
Senf stands before his background of slots and keys. WE
PROCEED until we are facing the elevator.
At that moment the elevator is opening. Among the people who
emerge is Suzette, who moves too quickly for us to distinguish
who she is.
THE CAMERA PANS quickly with her and in the distance we hear
her saying to Senf:
<b> SUZETTE
</b> Madam Grusinskaya will not want her
car.
This line is only just above the general clatter of action
but it is picked-up sharply first by Senf then by Bell-Captain --
and as the CAMERA SLOWLY TURNS AROUND, we see the boy going
towards the door and we hear the voice in the distance,
saying:
<b> VOICE
</b> Cancel Madam Grusinskaya's car.
The CAMERA now backs away from the scene into the BAR. (a
section.) It backs to the back of the bar and proceeds -- in
profile -- behind the backs of the barmen. A mixed crowd of
people drinking before their lunch.
We pick up the Doctor, leaning his head upon his hands,
looking into space. The woman next to him, a noisy blonde,
is laughing. The doctor glances up at her -- she glances at
the doctor. She and the audience see the scarred side of his
face -- the laugh dies on her lips and she turns suddenly to
her companion, who is the Baron. We do not get much of a
chance to see him because at that instant he is glancing at
his watch, his shoulders are turning away from THE CAMERA
and he moves out towards the lobby.
BACK UP a few feet and LAP DISSOL
|
turns
|
How many times does the word 'turns' appear in the text?
| 1
|
TOMMY roughly grabs his GIRL'S arm and storms out.
HENRY
(rejoining Jimmy
and Billy Batts at
the bar)
Batts. I'm sorry. Tommy gets
loaded. He doesn't mean any
disrespect.
BATTS
He's got a hot head.
WE SEE the LAST TWO GUESTS get up to leave. HENRY puts
another dollar in the jukebox and moves back behind the
bar and starts to total the register receipts.
CUT TO:
From HENRY'S POV behind the bar, WE SEE the GUESTS leave
and suddenly WE SEE TOMMY in the doorway. HENRY walks around
the bar and approaches TOMMY.
WE SEE JIMMY and BATTS are still seated at bar with their
backs to the door.
BATTS
They're fucking mutts.
WE SEE JIMMY nod.
BUTTS
I seen them. They walk around
like big shots and they don't know
shit.
JIMMY
A guy gets half a load on. He
mouths off.
BATTS
When I was a kid, I swear on my
mother, you mouth off, you got
your fucking legs broke.
CUT TO:
HENRY
Approaching TOMMY who is carrying a large folded package
under one arm.
TOMMY, followed by HENRY, walks over to the bar where JIMMY
and BILLY BATTS are talking. TOMMY drops the package on
the floor.
BILLY BATTS looks up.
JIMMY turns around and sees that TOMMY has a gun in his
hand.
JIMMY immediately grabs BATTS's arms and WE SEE TOMMY smash
the gun into the side of BATTS's head. WE SEE TOMMY hit
BATTS again and again as JIMMY
|
batts
|
How many times does the word 'batts' appear in the text?
| 10
|
a suggestion of godliness.
"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,
after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.
"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.
"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.
The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite
bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.
"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected
with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I
cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never
before seen a Gatholian."
"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium
and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free
city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added
Gahan. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued,
laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It
is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the
fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike
practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible
as ever."
"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with
interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed
detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.
Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing
the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to her
exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a rounded
breast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the
symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric
magnificence.
"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon
an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As
the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the
summit of which was the island upon which she had been built, until
today she covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of
the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of her mines.
Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us from
invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of
our mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious
undertaking."
"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.
Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,
"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."
"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus
protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young
jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted
a vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion,
induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weapons
which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.
"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat
on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from
attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond
treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain
defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find
occasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to
Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona
(Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the
twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater
proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of
thoats and zitidars.
"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed be
warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get
plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the
mines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as
such prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each
male Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government.
That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer
however, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own
people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary
to obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won
without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the
proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors who
bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of labor
performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slave
will have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and if
slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his own
people."
"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his
gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.
Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,
"and it is possible that we place too much value on personal
appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of our
accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties of
life, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I ever
have seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too,
upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women.
May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when
you will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is really
beautiful?"
"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the
tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,
observed that she smiled as she said it.
A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The
Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it,
Tara of Helium."
|
tara
|
How many times does the word 'tara' appear in the text?
| 6
|
ruled by the moon, the branches blossom into extraordinary creatures.
On the right, by sunlight, the branches end in ordinary human beings.
<b>
</b> Upon the word Nightbreed the title comes up on the screen, against
the image of a moon painted on the wall.
<b>
</b> SCENES 2-2K Deleted
<b>
</b>
<b> 2L. EXT. REEDS NIGHT
</b>
<b>
</b> Cut to a real moon. Then cut wide to a moonlit landscape, through
which the camera careens madly. The soundtrack, which was lush and
almost sacred in the mural chamber, erupts into a tribal rhythm. We
glimpse creatures in the darkness, moving through the reeds. They are
barely more than silhouettes. We see teeth, and gleaming eyes;
glimpses of naked, patterned flesh. Only glimpses.
<b>
</b>
<b> 2M. INT. MURAL CHAMBER
</b>
<b>
</b> Cut back to the mural chamber. Now we have moved away from the tree
to a more brutal scene. A symbolic representation of a great
apocalyptic war between Naturals and Breed. Terrible scenes of
destruction.
<b>
</b> VOICE: But the Naturals made war on us. They feared us for our
strength. They envied our powers. They called us monsters, killing us
by whatever means their malice could invent, finding in each of us
our particular vulnerability.
<b>
</b> We are scanning scenes of that war. A breed being staked like a
vampire. Another being shot like a werewolf. Another exposed to
sunlight.
<b>
</b> VOICE: None of us was safe. The tribes of the moon dwindled. Our
gods were slaughtered, our homes destroyed. It was the Apocalypse.
<b>
</b>
<b> 2N. EXT. NECROPOLIS WALL AND GATES
</b>
<b>
</b> Cut back to the landscape. The clouds roil above the heads of the
creatures heading through the reeds. We see their destination now. A
huge wall, with gates.
<b>
</b>
<b> 2P. INT. MURAL CHAMBER
</b>
<b>
</b> And back to the mural chamber, and a final scene. The gates we've
just seen are in the painting. Looking over them, calling the Breed
in, is a vast indistinct form: that of Baphomet. His eyes burn; his
arms are open in welcome.
<b>
</b> VOICE: Only one of our Gods survived the holocaust. Baphomet.
Wounded and near death, he summoned us, the last of the last, into
hiding. Into Midian, where we wait now. The battle is over but not
the war. There will come a saviour.
<b>
</b> Now we've moved beyond the image of the gate into a new patch of
wall on which the pictures are only vague sketches. We can interpret
some of the images nevertheless: a man with a bloody hole in the
middle of his chest. A man wearing a mask like a skull. We linger on
a faceless figure.
<b>
</b> VOICE: His name is Cabal. He will lead and give us back the Night.
We are the tribes of the moon. We are the Nightbreed.
<b>
</b> The titles end.
<b>
</b>
<b> 2Q. EXT. NECROPOLIS WALL AND GATES
</b>
<b>
|
chamber
|
How many times does the word 'chamber' appear in the text?
| 4
|
VOICE
</b> Shhhhh.
And there's MOM, kneeling beside her. Vague shape in the
dimness. The full moon throws light across one sparkling
eye.
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Mommy, the men on the mountain...!
<b> MOM
</b> Shhhh. Gone, all gone now.
(strokes her hair)
I'm here. Mommy's always here and no
one can ever hurt you. Safe now...
safe and warm... snug as a bug in a
rug.
(beat)
I'll sit with you, think you can
sleep?
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Turn on the nightlight.
The mother nods. Passes her left hand gently over the girl's
forehead.
<b> MOM
</b> Close your eyes now. I love you.
The child subsides, breathing steady. Eyes closed. The mother
rises. Regards her through the dimness. Slowly turns, heads
for the door. Flicks on a Winnie the Pooh NIGHTLIGHT --
Her entire right forearm is slicked with blood. More blood
on her Czech-made MP-5 machine gun.
She staggers just a little... barely noticeable. Passes out
on the light. Into darkness. Sits beside her daughter's bed.
The child sleeps peacefully. Outside snow slithers at the
glass.
FADE OUT. Pause. Blackness.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
It's snowing in southwestern Ohio. Before us, nestled in the
rolling hills: a postcard slice of suburbia. SUPER the legend:
<b> UPPER SANDUSKY, OHIO.
</b> Three Weeks Earlier.
Peaceful. Serene. It's the town in the glass bubble, the one
God shakes to watch it snow...
<b> EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY
</b>
CHILDREN, dozens of them, bursting from houses. Slapping of
screen doors. A HORSE-DRIVEN SLEIGH is rattling down Main
Street. Flanked by kids. Christmas carols, droning from
loudspeakers.
HAPPY, LAUGHING SANTA waves howdy, chortling his "Ho's" in
|
shape
|
How many times does the word 'shape' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.