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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 whom. At first he had
thought that four hundred eyes would be fastened on him, their glance
saying, "This youth is wearing a dress-suit for the first time, and it
is not paid for, either!" But it was not so. And the reason was that the
entire population of the Town Hall was heartily engaged in pretending
that never in its life had it been seen after seven o'clock of a night
apart from a dress-suit. Denry observed with joy that, while numerous
middle-aged and awkward men wore red or white silk handkerchiefs in
their waistcoats, such people as Charles Fearns, the Swetnams, and
Harold Etches did not. He was, then, in the shyness of his handkerchief,
on the side of the angels.
He passed up the double staircase (decorated with white or pale frocks
of unparalleled richness), and so into the grand hall. A scarlet
orchestra was on the platform, and many people strolled about the floor
in attitudes of expectation. The walls were festooned with flowers. The
thrill of being magnificent seized him, and he was drenched in a vast
desire to be truly magnificent himself. He dreamt of magnificence and
boot-brushes kept sticking out of this dream like black mud out of snow.
In his reverie he looked about for Ruth Earp, but she was invisible.
Then he went downstairs again, idly; gorgeously feigning that he spent
six evenings a week in ascending and descending monumental staircases,
appropriately clad. He was determined to be as sublime as any one.
There was a stir in the corridor, and the sublimest consented to be
excited.
The Countess was announced to be imminent. Everybody was grouped round
the main portal, careless of temperatures. Six times was the Countess
announced to be imminent before she actually appeared, expanding from
the narrow gloom of her black carriage like a magic vision. Aldermen
received her--and they did not do it with any excess of gracefulness.
They seemed afraid of her, as though she was recovering from influenza
and they feared to catch it. She had precisely the same high voice, and
precisely the same efficient smile, as she had employed to Denry, and
these instruments worked marvels on aldermen; they were as melting as
salt on snow. The Countess disappeared upstairs in a cloud of shrill
apologies and trailing aldermen. She seemed to have greeted everybody
except Denry. Somehow he was relieved that she had not drawn attention
to him. He lingered, hesitating, and then he saw a being in a long
yellow overcoat, with a bit of peacock's feather at the summit of a
shiny high hat. This being held a lady's fur mantle. Their eyes met.
Denry had to decide instantly. He decided.
"Hello, Jock!" he said.
"Hello, Denry!" said the other, pleased.
"What's been happening?" Denry inquired, friendly.
Then Jock told him about the antics of one of the Countess's horses.
He went upstairs again, and met Ruth Earp coming down. She was glorious
in white. Except that nothing glittered in her hair, she looked the very
equal of the Countess, at a little distance, plain though her features
were.
"What about that waltz?" Denry began informally.
"That waltz is nearly over," said Ruth Earp, with chilliness. "I suppose
you've been staring at her ladyship with all the other men."
"I'm awfully sorry," he said. "I didn't know the waltz was----"
"Well, why didn't you look at your programme?"
"Haven't got one," he said naïvely.
He had omitted to take a programme. Ninny! Barbarian!
"Better get one," she said cuttingly, somewhat in her _rôle_ of
dancing mistress.
"Can't we finish the waltz?" he suggested, crestfallen.
"No!" she said, and continued her solitary way downwards.
She was hurt. He tried to think of something to say that was equal to
the situation, and equal to the style of his suit. But he could not. In
a moment he heard her, below him, greeting some male acquaintance in the
most effusive way.
Yet, if Denry had not committed a wicked crime for her, she could never
have come to the dance at all!
He got a programme, and with terror gripping his heart he asked sundry
young and middle-aged women whom he knew by sight and by name for a
dance. (Ruth had taught him how to ask.) Not one of them had a dance
left. Several looked at him as much as to say: "You must be a goose to
suppose that my programme is not filled up in the twinkling of my eye!"
Then he joined a group of despisers of dancing near the main door.
Harold Etches was there, the wealthiest manufacturer of his years
(barely twenty-four) in the Five Towns. Also Shillitoe, cause of another
of Denry's wicked crimes. The group was taciturn, critical, and very
doggish.
The group observed that the Countess was not dancing. The Earl was
dancing (need it be said with Mrs Jos Curtenty, second wife of the
Deputy Mayor?), but the Countess stood resolutely smiling, surrounded by
aldermen. Possibly she was getting her breath; possibly nobody had had
the pluck to ask her. Anyhow, she seemed to be stranded there, on a
beach of aldermen. Very wisely she had brought with her no members of a
house-party from Sneyd Hall. Members of a house-party, at a municipal
ball, invariably operate as a bar between greatness and democracy; and
the Countess desired to participate in the life of the people.
"Why don't some of those johnnies ask her?" Denry burst out. He had
hitherto said nothing in the group, and he felt that he must be a man
with the rest of them.
"Well, _you_ go and do it. It's a free country," said Shillitoe.
"So I would, for two pins!" said Denry.
Harold Etches glanced at him, apparently resentful of his presence
there. Harold Etches was determined to put the extinguisher on
_him_.
"
|
equal
|
How many times does the word 'equal' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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. "I know, Monsieur--Charles told me of your
meeting last night, and I am very glad that he asked you to dine with
us to-day."
Duroy blushed to the roots of his hair, not knowing how to reply; he
felt that he was being inspected from his head to his feet. He half
thought of excusing himself, of inventing an explanation of the
carelessness of his toilette, but he did not know how to touch upon
that delicate subject.
He seated himself upon a chair she pointed out to him, and as he sank
into its luxurious depths, it seemed to him that he was entering a new
and charming life, that he would make his mark in the world, that he
was saved. He glanced at Mme. Forestier. She wore a gown of pale blue
cashmere which clung gracefully to her supple form and rounded
outlines; her arms and throat rose in, lily-white purity from the mass
of lace which ornamented the corsage and short sleeves. Her hair was
dressed high and curled on the nape of her neck.
Duroy grew more at his ease under her glance, which recalled to him, he
knew not why, that of the girl he had met the preceding evening at the
Folies-Bergeres. Mme. Forestier had gray eyes, a small nose, full lips,
and a rather heavy chin, an irregular, attractive face, full of
gentleness and yet of malice.
After a short silence, she asked: "Have you been in Paris a long time?"
Gradually regaining his self-possession, he replied: "a few months,
Madame. I am in the railroad employ, but my friend Forestier has
encouraged me to hope that, thanks to him, I can enter into journalism."
She smiled kindly and murmured in a low voice: "I know."
The bell rang again and the servant announced: "Mme. de Marelle." She
was a dainty brunette, attired in a simple, dark robe; a red rose in
her black tresses seemed to accentuate her special character, and a
young girl, or rather a child, for such she was, followed her.
Mme. Forestier said: "Good evening, Clotilde."
"Good evening, Madeleine."
They embraced each other, then the child offered her forehead with the
assurance of an adult, saying:
"Good evening, cousin."
Mme. Forestier kissed her, and then made the introductions:
"M. Georges Duroy, an old friend of Charles. Mme. de Marelle, my
friend, a relative in fact." She added: "Here, you know, we do not
stand on ceremony."
Duroy bowed. The door opened again and a short man entered, upon his
arm a tall, handsome woman, taller than he and much younger, with
distinguished manners and a dignified carriage. It was M. Walter,
deputy, financier, a moneyed man, and a man of business, manager of "La
Vie Francaise," with his wife, nee Basile Ravalade, daughter of the
banker of that name.
Then came Jacques Rival, very elegant, followed by Norbert de Varenne.
The latter advanced with the grace of the old school and taking Mme.
Forestier's hand kissed it; his long hair falling upon his hostess's
bare arm as he did so.
Forestier now entered, apologizing for being late; he had been detained.
The servant announced dinner, and they entered the dining-room. Duroy
was placed between Mme. de Marelle and her daughter. He was again
rendered uncomfortable for fear of committing some error in the
conventional management of his fork, his spoon, or his glasses, of
which he had four. Nothing was said during the soup; then Norbert de
Varenne asked a general question: "Have you read the Gauthier case? How
droll it was!"
Then followed a discussion of the subject in which the ladies joined.
Then a duel was mentioned and Jacques Rival led the conversation; that
was his province. Duroy did not venture a remark, but occasionally
glanced at his neighbor. A diamond upon a slight, golden thread
depended from her ear; from time to time she uttered a remark which
evoked a smile upon his lips. Duroy sought vainly for some compliment
to pay her; he busied himself with her daughter, filled her glass,
waited upon her, and the child, more dignified than her mother, thanked
him gravely saying, "You are very kind, Monsieur," while she listened
to the conversation with a reflective air. The dinner was excellent and
everyone was delighted with it.
The conversation returned to the colonization of Algeria. M. Walter
uttered several jocose remarks; Forestier alluded to the article he had
prepared for the morrow; Jacques Rival declared himself in favor of a
military government with grants of land to all the officers after
thirty years of colonial service.
"In that way," said he, "you can establish a strong colony, familiar
with and liking the country, knowing its language and able to cope with
all those local yet grave questions which invariably confront
newcomers."
Norbert de Varenne interrupted: "Yes, they would know everything,
except agriculture. They would speak Arabic, but they would not know
how to transplant beet-root, and how to sow wheat. They would be strong
in fencing, but weak in the art of farming. On the contrary, the new
country should be opened to everyone. Intelligent men would make
positions for themselves; the others would succumb. It is a natural
law."
A pause ensued. Everyone smiled. Georges Duroy, startled at the sound
of his own voice, as if he had never heard it, said:
"What is needed the most down there is good soil. Really fertile land
costs as much as it does in France and is bought by wealthy Parisians.
The real colonists, the poor, are generally cast out into the desert,
where nothing grows for lack of water."
All eyes turned upon him. He colored. M. Walter asked: "Do you know
Algeria, sir?"
He replied: "Yes, sir, I was there twenty-eight months." Leaving the
subject of colonization, Norbert de Varenne questioned him as to some
of the Algerian customs. Georges spoke with animation;
|
monsieur
|
How many times does the word 'monsieur' appear in the text?
| 2
|
</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'll find this structure,
this order, this perfection.
<b> INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - DAY
</b> Max stares intensely at the ticker on the small TV that sits
next to his monitors.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Turn lead into gold.
The first. Right here. Right
here. With math. The numbers
of the stock market are my
lead. When I find the
pattern, then I will find
gold.
<b>
</b> Max watches the right edge of the screen where the numbers
appear. He wants to see what's before that edge...
Max slaps the RETURN button on his computer.
The phone starts ringing.
Max eyes it suspiciously.
Just then, Euclid starts printing results on an old dot-
matrix printer.
Max suspiciously answers The phone.
<b> MAX
</b> Hello?
<b>
</b><b> WOMAN'S VOICE
</b> Maximilian Cohen, please.
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Yeah?
<b>
</b><b> WOMAN'S VOICE
</b> Mr. Cohen?
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Who's this?
<b>
</b><b> WOMAN'S VOICE
</b> Hi. my name is Marcy Dawson.
I'm a partner with the predictive
strategy firm Lancet-Percy. Can I
speak with Mr. Cohen, please?
<b> MAX
</b> I told you...
<b>
</b> The printer finishes printing.
<b> MARCY DAWSON
</b> Mr. Cohen! How
are you? It's been a long
time. Sorry I haven't been in
touch. But I was hoping you
would allow me to take you to
lunch tomorrow, say one
o'clock?
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Sorry, I can't.
<b>
</b><b> MARCY DAWSON
</b> We're very anxious to talk
with you, sir
<b> MAX
</b> I can't.
<b>
</b><b> MARCY DAWSON
</b> I'm prepared to
make you a generous...
Max hurries to wrap up the conversation.
<b> MAX
</b> I don't take offers for
my research. You know that.
Sorry, I Couldn't help you.
<b>
</b><b> MARCY DAWSON
</b> Mr. Cohen, give
me a moment...
But before Marcy finishes, Max hangs up. He rips off the
printout and heads to the front door.
He checks the peephole, His landlady. MRS. OVADIA, is sweeping
the hallway stairs humming a turn-of-the century (the last
one, not this one) tune.
Max waits a moment. He tousles his hair. Then he checks again.
She's gone. He opens his locks and releases several bolts.
<b> INT.MAX'S BUILDING HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
Max locks his front door. Meanwhile, his next-door neighbor,
DEVI MINSTRY, a sexy young Indian woman, is just getting home.
Max looks away and tries to get his door locked.
She's weighted down by a bunch of bags filled with food.
<b> DEVI
</b> Max, good!
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Hi, Devi.
<b>
</b><b> DEV1
</b> I grabbed you some
somosas.
<b> MAX
</b> Great.
<b>
</b> Devi heads over to Max with her bags of food. She looks up at
Max.
<b> DEVI
</b> Your hair.
<b>
</b> Devi hands the bags to Max. Then she goes to pat down his
Hair. Max retreats.
<b> MAX
</b> What are you doing?
<b>
</b><b> DEVI
</b> Your hair, you can't go
out like that. Don't worry.
<b> MAX
</b> It's fine. It's fine.
<b>
</b> Devi pats down his hair. Max is humiliated.
<b> DEVI
</b> You need a mom.
<b>
</b> Max hands back the bags and heads quickly for the stairs.
<b> MAX
</b> I have to go.
<b>
</b><b> DEVI
</b> Your somosas!
<b>
</b> An embarrassed Max takes the bag.
<b> MAX
</b> Thanks.
<b>
</b><b> INT. COFFEE
|
jenna
|
How many times does the word 'jenna' appear in the text?
| 10
|
, 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> "TO: BOB HARRIS
</b>
<b> FROM: LYDIA HARRIS
</b>
<b> YOU FORGOT ADAM'S BIRTHDAY.
</b>
<b> I'M SURE HE'LL UNDERSTAND.
</b>
<b> HAVE A GOOD TRIP, L"
</b>
He doesn't know what to do with it, and stuffs it in his
pocket.
The commercial people tell him when they'll be picking him
up, and ask if he needs anything else.
Some JAPANESE ROCK STARS with shag haircuts and skinny leather
pants pass by. Each commercial person has to shake Bob's
hand before leaving.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. BOB'S HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Bob sits on the end of the bed in a too small hotel kimono.
<b> INT. PARK HYATT BAR - NIGHT
</b>
Bob sits at the bar. A few minutes pass as he sits in silence
looking around, drinking a scotch. Chet Baker sings "The
Thrill is Gone" over the stereo.
We see Bob's POV of tables of people talking. JAPANESE WOMEN
SMOKING, AMERICAN BUSINESSMEN tying one on, talking about
software sales. A WAITER carefully setting down a coaster,
and pouring a beer very, very slowly. It's all very foreign.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. BOB'S HOTEL ROOM - MORNING
</b>
The automatic hotel curtains open, pouring light into the
room.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT.HOTEL BATHROOM - DAY
</b>
Bob gets in the shower overlooking the view of Tokyo. The
shower head is at his elbows, he raises it as high as it
goes, and leans down to have a shower. This hotel was not
designed with him in mind.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. STUDIO - DAY
</b>
Whiskey commercial shoot.
The set is full of activity as the JAPANESE CREW work. Bob,
in a shawl collared tuxedo sits at a European style bar set
with a cut crystal glass of whiskey. A JAPANESE GIRL quickly
powders his face as they adjust lights and the DIRECTOR and
crew speak in hurried Japanese.
The Director (with blue contact lenses) says a few long
sentences in Japanese.
TRANSLATOR, a middle-aged woman in a coordinated outfit,
|
japanese
|
How many times does the word 'japanese' appear in the text?
| 9
|
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. You can paint the inside of a
cistern or a bath-tub with it, and water won't hurt it; and you can
paint a steam-boiler with it, and heat won't. You can cover a brick
wall with it, or a railroad car, or the deck of a steamboat, and you
can't do a better thing for either."
"Never tried it on the human conscience, I suppose," suggested Bartley.
"No, sir," replied Lapham gravely. "I guess you want to keep that as
free from paint as you can, if you want much use of it. I never cared
to try any of it on mine." Lapham suddenly lifted his bulk up out of
his swivel-chair, and led the way out into the wareroom beyond the
office partitions, where rows and ranks of casks, barrels, and kegs
stretched dimly back to the rear of the building, and diffused an
honest, clean, wholesome smell of oil and paint. They were labelled
and branded as containing each so many pounds of Lapham's Mineral
Paint, and each bore the mystic devices, N.L.f. 1835--S.L.t. 1855.
"There!" said Lapham, kicking one of the largest casks with the toe of
his boot, "that's about our biggest package; and here," he added,
laying his hand affectionately on the head of a very small keg, as if
it were the head of a child, which it resembled in size, "this is the
smallest. We used to put the paint on the market dry, but now we grind
every ounce of it in oil--very best quality of linseed oil--and warrant
it. We find it gives more satisfaction. Now, come back to the office,
and I'll show you our fancy brands."
It was very cool and pleasant in that dim wareroom, with the rafters
showing overhead in a cloudy perspective, and darkening away into the
perpetual twilight at the rear of the building; and Bartley had found
an agreeable seat on the head of a half-barrel of the paint, which he
was reluctant to leave. But he rose and followed the vigorous lead of
Lapham back to the office, where the sun of a long summer afternoon was
just beginning to glare in at the window. On shelves opposite Lapham's
desk were tin cans of various sizes, arranged in tapering cylinders,
and showing, in a pattern diminishing toward the top, the same label
borne by the casks and barrels in the wareroom. Lapham merely waved
his hand toward these; but when Bartley, after a comprehensive glance
at them, gave his whole attention to a row of clean, smooth jars, where
different tints of the paint showed through flawless glass, Lapham
smiled, and waited in pleased expectation.
"Hello!" said Bartley. "That's pretty!"
"Yes," assented Lapham, "it is rather nice. It's our latest thing, and
we find it takes with customers first-rate. Look here!" he said, taking
down one of the jars, and pointing to the first line of the label.
Bartley read, "THE PERSIS BRAND," and then he looked at Lapham and
smiled.
"After HER, of course," said Lapham. "Got it up and put the first of
it on the market her last birthday. She was pleased."
"I should think she might have been," said Bartley, while he made a
note of the appearance of the jars.
"I don't know about your mentioning it in your interview," said Lapham
dubiously.
"That's going into the interview, Mr. Lapham, if nothing else does.
Got a wife myself, and I know just how you feel." It was in the dawn of
Bartley's prosperity on the Boston Events, before his troubles with
Marcia had seriously begun.
"Is that so?" said Lapham, recognising with a smile another of the vast
majority of married Americans; a few underrate their wives, but the
rest think them supernal in intelligence and capability. "Well," he
added, "we must see about that. Where'd you say you lived?"
"We don't live; we board. Mrs. Nash, 13 Canary Place."
"Well, we've all got to commence that way," suggested Lapham
consolingly.
"Yes; but we've about got to the end of our string. I expect to be
under a roof of my own on Clover Street before long. I suppose," said
Bartley, returning to business, "that you didn't let the grass grow
under your feet much after you found out what was in your paint-mine?"
"No, sir," answered Lapham, withdrawing his eyes from a long stare at
Bartley, in which he had been seeing himself a young man again, in the
first days of his married life. "I went right back to Lumberville and
sold out everything, and put all I could rake and scrape together into
paint. And Mis' Lapham was with me every time. No hang back about
HER. I tell you she was a WOMAN!"
Bartley laughed. "That's the sort most of us marry."
"No, we don't," said Lapham. "Most of us marry silly little girls
grown up to LOOK like women."
"Well, I guess that's about so," assented Bartley, as if upon second
thought.
"If it hadn't been for her," resumed Lapham, "the paint wouldn't have
come to anything. I used to tell her it wa'n't the seventy-five per
cent. of purr-ox-eyed of iron in the ORE that made that paint go; it
was the seventy-five per cent. of purr-ox-eyed of iron in HER."
"Good!" cried Bartley. "I'll tell Marcia that."
"In less'n six months there wa'n't a board-fence, nor a bridge-girder,
nor a dead wall, nor a barn, nor a face of rock in that whole region
that didn't have 'Lapham's Mineral Paint--Specimen' on it in the three
colours we begun by making." Bartley had taken his seat on the
window-sill, and Lapham, standing before him, now put up his huge foot
close to
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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
</b> Tell me about it.
Club Member #1 turns to Martin.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> P.P.P. Personal Pan Power. All the
secrets of your universe are divided
up into eight easily digestible
slices.
Club Member #1 pulls a laminated card from his wallet and
hands it over to Martin. In the distance, sirens begin to
wail.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> See, see. It's in the accessible and
everyday shape of a pan pizza. Each
day you have a little slice of
peace...
<b> INSERT - WALLET-SIZE P.P.P. CARD
</b>
A pizza-shaped diagram showing six "sections".
<b> MARTIN
</b> Oh I see. You got your individual
slices of hope, dignity, confidence,
self-love, justice, and harmony.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> You open 'em up and there's the
sayings, stories, little bites of
insight. It's the P.P.P. Six Day
Week.
<b> MARTIN
</b> So you eat-- read it everyday?
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Yes.
<b> MARTIN
</b> And these pan pizzas have opened up
the doors to heaven?
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Correct.
(re: the card)
That's for you. Keep it.
Sirens are getting louder, closer to the club.
<b> EXT. COUNTRY CLUB - DAY
</b>
The source of the sirens are almost upon us. Martin walks
toward his rented Town Car as the VALET pulls it up. He meets
the Valet by the trunk, where he trades tip for keys.
<b> MARTIN AT CAR
</b> He fishes out the laminated "Personal
Pan Power" card, looks at it, and
tosses it onto the ground. Police
cars, now visible in the distance,
wind into the long club driveway.
Martin gets into his car and pulls
away.
<b> LAMINATED CARD
</b>
As it lays on the asphalt. The wheel of a police car rolls
to a stop on it.
<b> INT. AIRLINER - DAY
</b>
Martin sits in a first class seat, the tray table flipped
down. On the left side of the tray is a stack of magazines
of all kinds - Sports Illustrated, Mademoiselle, Wired,
Rolling Stone, National Review, Spin, National Geographic,
and on. He draws one off the top, and flips through it,
impassively taking in images and reading nothing. When he is
done with one, he discards it into the empty seat next to
him and draws another-- Martin's way of instantly and
massively uploading the world around him:
Toothless hockey player in triumph, Sony product parade,
crouched starving child with vulture in the background,
supermodel in suede, Tic Tacs, living former Presidents, arm
in arm, smiling, etc.
<b> INT. HIRED CAR, NEW YORK - DAY
</b>
The livery weaves out of the arrival lanes at Kennedy airport.
Martin reclines in the back seat, a conversation having
already begun.
<b> DRIVER
</b> How was your day, today, sir?
<b> MARTIN
</b> Effective. But to tell you the truth,
I've lost my passion for work.
<b> DRIVER
</b> Do you like the people you work with?
<b> MARTIN
</b> I work alone.
<b> DRIVER
</b> That's it then. That's it. I've always
been alone. That's why I'm a good
driver. I can handle it. See, I can
think on my feet. I survive, I'm a
thinker. And I can sit there in front
of your house for two hours and it
don't bother me. Some people can't
do it! Some people are ranting and
raving, "Tell them fuckin' people to
get out here and get in this car, I
can't-- I want a go!" Where you gonna
go? You're gonna wind up back in
your garage at seven o'clock at night.
You ain't going nowhere. You leave
your house in the morning you get
back to your house in the evening.
What's the big deal, right?
<b> MARTIN
</b> You understand the psychology of the
job.
<b> DRIVER
</b> I do. Some guys can't adjust to it;
they can't handle it.
<b> INT. CAR - MANHATTAN STREETS - LATER
</b>
The car cuts through the upper east side. Martin and the
Driver exchange looks through the rear-view mirror.
<b> DRIVER
</b> You look like you're far away. Far
|
wind
|
How many times does the word 'wind' appear in the text?
| 1
|
; 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
sense. Wringhim at length got into unwonted fervour about some disputed
point between one of these faiths and TRUST: when the lady, fearing
that zeal was getting beyond its wonted barrier, broke in on his
vehement asseverations with the following abrupt discomfiture: "But,
Sir, as long as I remember, what is to be done with this case of open
and avowed iniquity?"
The minister was struck dumb. He leaned him back on his chair, stroked
his beard, hemmed--considered, and hemmed again, and then said, in an
altered and softened tone: "Why, that is a secondary consideration; you
mean the case between your husband and Miss Logan?"
"The same, Sir. I am scandalized at such intimacies going on under my
nose. The sufferance of it is a great and crying evil."
"Evil, madam, may be either operative, or passive. To them it is an
evil, but to us none. We have no more to do with the sins of the wicked
and unconverted here than with those of an infidel Turk; for all
earthly bonds and fellowships are absorbed and swallowed up in the holy
community of the Reformed Church. However, if it is your wish, I shall
take him to task, and reprimand and humble him in such a manner that he
shall be ashamed of his doings, and renounce such deeds for ever, out
of mere self-respect, though all unsanctified the heart, as well as the
deed, may be. To the wicked, all things are wicked; but to the just,
all things are just and right."
"Ah, that is a sweet and comfortable saying, Mr. Wringhim! How
delightful to think that a justified person can do no wrong! Who would
not envy the liberty wherewith we are made free? Go to my husband, that
poor unfortunate, blindfolded person, and open his eyes to his
degenerate and sinful state; for well are you fitted to the task."
"Yea, I will go in unto him, and confound him. I will lay the strong
holds of sin and Satan as flat before my face as the dung that is
spread out to fatten the land."
"Master, there's a gentleman at the fore-door wants a private word o'
ye."
"Tell him I'm engaged: I can't see any gentleman to-night. But I shall
attend on him to-morrow as soon as he pleases."
"'He's coming straight in, Sir. Stop a wee bit, Sir, my master is
engaged. He cannot see you at present, Sir."
"Stand aside, thou Moabite! My mission admits of no delay. I come to
save him from the jaws of destruction!"
"An that be the case, Sir, it maks a wide difference; an', as the
danger may threaten us a', I fancy I may as weel let ye gang by as
fight wi' ye, sin' ye seem sae intent on 't.--The man says he's comin'
to save ye, an' canna stop, Sir. Here he is."
The laird was going to break out into a volley of wrath against Waters,
his servant; but, before he got a word pronounced, the Rev. Mr.
Wringhim had stepped inside the room, and Waters had retired, shutting
the door behind him.
No introduction could be more mal-a-propos: it was impossible; for at
that very moment the laird and Arabella Logan were both sitting on one
seat, and both looking on one book, when the door opened. "What is it,
Sir?" said the laird fiercely.
"A message of the greatest importance, Sir," said the divine, striding
unceremoniously up to the chimney, turning his back to the fire, and
his face to the culprits. "I think you should know me, Sir?" continued
he, looking displeasedly at the laird, with his face half turned round.
"I think I should," returned the laird. "You are a Mr.
How's--tey--ca'--him, of Glasgow, who did me the worst turn ever I got
done to me in my life. You gentry are always ready to do a man such a
turn. Pray, Sir, did you ever do a good job for anyone to
counterbalance that? For, if you have not, you ought to be--"
"Hold, Sir, I say! None of your profanity before me. If I do evil to
anyone on such occasions, it is because he will have it so; therefore,
the evil is not of my doing. I ask you, Sir, before God and this
witness, I ask you, have you kept solemnly and inviolate the vows which
I laid upon you that day? Answer me!"
"Has the partner whom you bound me to kept hers inviolate? Answer me
that, Sir! None can better do so than you, Mr. How's--tey--ca'--you."
"So, then, you confess your backslidings, and avow the profligacy of
your life. And this person here is, I suppose, the partner of your
iniquity--she whose beauty hath caused you to err! Stand up, both of
you, till I rebuke you, and show you what you are in the eyes of God
and man."
"In the first place, stand you still there, till I tell you what you
are in the eyes of God and man. You are, Sir, a presumptuous,
self-conceited pedagogue, a stirrer up of strife and commotion in
church, in state, in families, and communities. You are one, Sir, whose
righteousness consists in splitting the doctrines of Calvin into
thousands of undistinguishable films, and in setting up a system of
justifying-grace against all breaches of all laws, moral or divine. In
short, Sir, you are a mildew--a canker-worm in the bosom of the
Reformed Church, generating a disease of which she will never be
purged, but by the shedding of blood. Go thou in peace, and do these
abominations no more; but humble thyself, lest a worse reproof come
upon thee."
Wringhim heard all this without flinching. He now and then twisted his
mouth in disdain, treasuring up, meantime, his vengeance against the
two aggressors;
|
lady
|
How many times does the word 'lady' appear in the text?
| 10
|
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.
It orbits at an altitude of 500 km above sea level. It moves at
an average of 27,700 kilometers per hour, completing 15.7 laps
around the Earth per day.
It is cruising over Zimbabwe. To the East, the island of
Madagascar. Up to the North, the expansive dry lands of Somalia
and Ethiopia.
Soon, the ISS curves around the spherical planet, and it becomes
smaller, almost indistinguishable, no more than a small bright
spec grazing over the blue atmosphere.
<b> CLOSER TO US-
</b>
Orbiting at an altitude of 600 km-
The EXPLORER SPACE SHUTTLE becomes visible.
This icon of space exploration has played a key role in all of
NASA's missions since the late 90's.
Faintly we hear static, voices murmuring over radio frequences.
As the babble bulds we might hear one conversation amongst the
<b> REST:
</b>
<b> MISSION CONTROL
</b> (On radio, faint)
Explorer, please verify that the P1
ATA removal on replacement cap part 1
and 2 are complete.
<b> EXPLORER CAP
</b> (On radio, faint)
DMA M1, M2, M3 and M4 are complete.
<b> MISSION CONTROL
</b> (On radio, faint)
Copy that Explorer. Dr Stone-Houston,
requesting status update...
A fizz of static and then the voice continues with sudden,
starling clarity.
<b> RYAN
</b> Installation ninety-five percent
complete. Running level one
diagnostics on circuits, sensors, and
power. Standby.
<b> MISSION CONTROL
</b><b> (ON RADIO)
</b> Standing by. Looks like we're on
schedule. Dr. Stone, Medical is
concerned about your ECG readings.
<b> RYAN
</b> I'm fine Houston.
<b> MISSION CONTROL
</b><b> (RADIO)
</b> Well, medical doesn't agree doctor.
Are you feeling nauseous?
|
role
|
How many times does the word 'role' appear in the text?
| 0
|
lock 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."
"You sat in front of his writing desk?"
"Just so."
"Sun in your eyes and his face in the shadow?"
"Well, it was evening; but I mind that the lamp was turned on my face."
"It would be. Did you happen to observe a picture over the professor's
head?"
"I don't miss much, Mr. Holmes. Maybe I learned that from you. Yes, I
saw the picture--a young woman with her head on her hands, peeping at
you sideways."
"That painting was by Jean Baptiste Greuze."
The inspector endeavoured to look interested.
"Jean Baptiste Greuze," Holmes continued, joining his finger tips and
leaning well back in his chair, "was a French artist who flourished
between the years 1750 and 1800. I allude, of course to his working
career. Modern criticism has more than indorsed the high opinion formed
of him by his contemporaries."
The inspector's eyes grew abstracted. "Hadn't we better--" he said.
"We are doing so," Holmes interrupted. "All that I am saying has a
very direct and vital bearing upon what you have called the Birlstone
Mystery. In fact, it may in a sense be called the very centre of it."
MacDonald smiled feebly, and looked appealingly to me. "Your thoughts
move a bit too quick for me, Mr. Holmes. You leave out a link or two,
and I can't get over the gap. What in the whole wide world can be the
connection between this dead painting man and the affair at Birlstone?"
"All knowledge comes useful to the detective," remarked Holmes. "Even
the trivial fact that in the year 1865 a picture by Greuze entitled
La Jeune Fille a l'Agneau fetched one million two hundred thousand
francs--more than forty thousand pounds--at the Portalis sale may start
a train of reflection in your mind."
It was clear that it did. The inspector looked honestly interested.
"I may remind you," Holmes continued, "that the professor's salary can
be ascertained in several trustworthy books of reference. It is seven
hundred a year."
"Then how could he buy--"
"Quite so! How could he?"
"Ay, that's remarkable," said the inspector thoughtfully. "Talk away,
Mr. Holmes. I'm just loving it. It's fine!"
Holmes smiled. He was always warmed by genuine admiration--the
characteristic of the real artist. "What about Birlstone?" he asked.
"We've time yet," said the inspector, glancing at his watch. "I've a cab
at the door, and it won't take us twenty minutes to Victoria. But about
this picture: I thought you told me once, Mr. Holmes, that you had never
met Professor Moriarty."
"No, I never have."
"Then how do you know about his rooms?"
"Ah, that's another matter. I have been three times in his rooms, twice
waiting for him under different pretexts and leaving before he came.
Once--well, I can hardly tell about the once to an official detective.
It was on the last occasion that I took the liberty of running over his
papers--with the most unexpected results."
"You found something compromising?"
"Absolutely nothing. That was what amazed me. However, you have now seen
the point of the picture. It shows him to be a very wealthy man. How
did he acquire wealth? He is unmarried. His younger brother is a station
master in the west of England. His chair is worth seven hundred a year.
And he owns a Greuze."
"Well?"
"Surely the inference is plain."
"You mean that he has a great income and that he must earn it in an
illegal fashion?"
"Exactly. Of course I have other reasons for thinking so--dozens of
exiguous threads which lead vaguely up towards the centre of the web
where the poisonous, motionless creature is lurking. I only mention
the Greuze because it brings the matter within the range of your own
observation."
"Well, Mr. Holmes, I admit that what you say is interesting: it's more
than interesting--it's just wonderful. But let us have it a little
clearer if you can. Is it forgery, coining, burglary--where does the
money come from?"
"Have you ever read of Jonathan Wild?"
"Well, the name has a familiar sound. Someone in a novel, was he not? I
don't take much stock of detectives in novels--chaps that do things
and never let you see how they do them. That's just inspiration: not
business."
"Jonathan Wild wasn't a detective, and he wasn't in a novel. He was a
master criminal, and he lived last century--1750 or thereabouts."
"Then he's no use to me. I'm a practical man."
"Mr. Mac, the most practical thing that you ever did in your life would
be to shut yourself up for three months and read twelve hours a day
at the annals of crime. Everything comes in circles--even Professor
Moriarty. Jonathan Wild was the hidden force of the London criminals,
to whom he sold his brains and his organization on a fifteen per cent.
commission. The old wheel turns, and the same spoke comes up. It's all
been done before, and will be again. I'll tell you one or two things
about Moriarty which may interest you."
"You'll interest me, right enough."
"I happen to know who is the first link in his chain--a chain with
this Napoleon-gone-wrong at one end, and a hundred broken fighting men,
pickpockets, blackmailers, and card sharpers at the other, with every
sort of crime in between. His chief of staff is Colonel Sebastian Moran,
as aloof and guarded and inaccessible to the law as himself. What do you
think he pays him?"
"I'd like to hear."
"Six thousand a year. That's paying for brains, you see--the American
business principle. I learned that detail quite by chance. It's more
than the Prime Minister gets. That gives you an idea of Moriarty's gains
and of the scale on which he works. Another point: I made it my business
to hunt down some of Moriarty's checks lately--just common innocent
checks that he pays his household bills with. They were drawn on six
different banks. Does that make
|
hundred
|
How many times does the word 'hundred' appear in the text?
| 3
|
><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 the instruments is a
snapshot of a pretty young woman with a 2 month-old baby.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> Closing fast. MUSTANG, THIS IS
<b> GHOST RIDER ONE ONE SEVEN. CONTACT
</b><b> ONE BOGEY, 090 AT 15 MILES, 900
</b><b> KNOTS OF CLOSURE.
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> Look for the trailer.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> I don't see anything. MAVERICK,
<b> YOU HAVE A TRAILER?
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 10. MAVERICK'S F-14
</b><b>
</b> Flying in combat spread, 1 mile abeam, higher.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b><b> NEGATIVE, COUGAR. LOOKS LIKE HE'S
</b><b> SINGLE.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 11. INT. 117 - COUGAR'S COCKPIT
</b><b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b><b> HANG BACK AND WATCH FOR HIM. HERE
</b><b> COMES...MIG ONE.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 12. EXT. SKY
</b><b>
</b> Closing at 900 knots, The MiG is a speck, then a flash and a
ROAR, a knife-edge pass at 300 feet. It rockets past his left
wing tip and disappears. Cougar kicks rudder, whips the stick,
screams into a tight turning roll and dives after him. He slams
the throttle forward to ZONE 5 AFTERBURNER.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 13. EXT. - MAVERICK'S F-14
</b><b>
</b> Maverick sees a SECOND MiG drop from above onto Cougar's tail.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> MAVERICK
</b><b> BOGEY ON YOUR SIX. I'M ON HIS.
</b><b>
</b> Maverick swings after him, lights it.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 13A. ALL FOUR JETS SCREAM DOWN IN A POWER DIVE.
</b><b>
</b> They punch through cloud cover into the soup.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 14. EXT. COUGAR'S F-14
</b><b>
</b> He is closing on the first MiG when a shocking BLIPBLIPBLIPBLIP
tone breaks into their headsets.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> I've got a six strobe. I think
he's locked on us.
<b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> It's a MiG 21. They don't have
radar missiles!
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> Let's hope you're right!
<b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> What is he doing?
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> He's pissing me off!
<b>
</b> Cougar swings mad gyrations, cutting back and forth across the
front MiG's tailpipe, trying to break the lock-on. The TONE grows
more insistant.
<b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> Can't shake him.
<b>
</b><b> MAVERICK (V.O.)
</b><b> WHAT'S MIG ONE DOING?
</b><b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> Maintaining course. Straight for
Mustang.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> Stay with him.
<b>
</b> The tone grows steady, BLIPBLIPBLIPBLIP.
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> (alarmed)
That's missile lock!
<b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b> He better be kidding!
<b>
</b><b> GOOSE
</b> Lordy! Eyeball to Asshole.
Hope nobody burps!
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 14A. INT. MAVERICK'S F-14
</b><b>
</b><b> MAVERICK
</b> I'LL LOCK ON THEM, COUGAR. (to himself)
Gotcha covered, don't nobody move.
<b>
</b><b> COUGAR
</b><b> I'M UP HERE TOO, MAVERICK.
</b><b>
</b><b> MAVERICK
</b> ROGER, COUGAR. (to himself and his RIO)
Okay boys, pull out with your hands up
and nobody'll get hurt.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
|
headsets
|
How many times does the word 'headsets' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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 for that day, and for many succeeding ones; but still I
did not wholly relinquish my darling scheme. Mary got her drawing
materials, and steadily set to work. I got mine too; but while I drew, I
thought of other things. How delightful it would be to be a governess!
To go out into the world; to enter upon a new life; to act for myself; to
exercise my unused faculties; to try my unknown powers; to earn my own
maintenance, and something to comfort and help my father, mother, and
sister, besides exonerating them from the provision of my food and
clothing; to show papa what his little Agnes could do; to convince mamma
and Mary that I was not quite the helpless, thoughtless being they
supposed. And then, how charming to be entrusted with the care and
education of children! Whatever others said, I felt I was fully
competent to the task: the clear remembrance of my own thoughts in early
childhood would be a surer guide than the instructions of the most mature
adviser. I had but to turn from my little pupils to myself at their age,
and I should know, at once, how to win their confidence and affections:
how to waken the contrition of the erring; how to embolden the timid and
console the afflicted; how to make Virtue practicable, Instruction
desirable, and Religion lovely and comprehensible.
âDelightful task!
To teach the young idea how to shoot!
To train the tender plants, and watch their buds unfolding day by day!
Influenced by so many inducements, I determined still to persevere;
though the fear of displeasing my mother, or distressing my fatherâs
feelings, prevented me from resuming the subject for several days. At
length, again, I mentioned it to my mother in private; and, with some
difficulty, got her to promise to assist me with her endeavours. My
fatherâs reluctant consent was next obtained, and then, though Mary still
sighed her disapproval, my dear, kind mother began to look out for a
situation for me. She wrote to my fatherâs relations, and consulted the
newspaper advertisementsâher own relations she had long dropped all
communication with: a formal interchange of occasional letters was all
she had ever had since her marriage, and she would not at any time have
applied to them in a case of this nature. But so long and so entire had
been my parentsâ seclusion from the world, that many weeks elapsed before
a suitable situation could be procured. At last, to my great joy, it was
decreed that I should take charge of the young family of a certain Mrs.
Bloomfield; whom my kind, prim aunt Grey had known in her youth, and
asserted to be a very nice woman. Her husband was a retired tradesman,
who had realized a very comfortable fortune; but could not be prevailed
upon to give a greater salary than twenty-five pounds to the instructress
of his children. I, however, was glad to accept this, rather than refuse
the situationâwhich my parents were inclined to think the better plan.
But some weeks more were yet to be devoted to preparation. How long, how
tedious those weeks appeared to me! Yet they were happy ones in the
mainâfull of bright hopes and ardent expectations. With what peculiar
pleasure I assisted at the making of my new clothes, and, subsequently,
the packing of my trunks! But there was a feeling of bitterness mingling
with the latter occupation too; and when it was doneâwhen all was ready
for my departure on the morrow, and the last night at home approachedâa
sudden anguish seemed to swell my heart. My dear friends looked so sad,
and spoke so very kindly, that I could scarcely keep my eyes from
overflowing: but I still affected to be gay. I had taken my last ramble
with Mary on the moors, my last walk in the garden, and round the house;
I had fed, with her, our pet pigeons for the last timeâthe pretty
creatures that we had tamed to peck their food from our hands: I had
given a farewell stroke to all their silky backs as they crowded in my
lap. I had tenderly kissed my own peculiar favourites, the pair of
snow-white fantails; I had played my last tune on the old familiar piano,
and sung my last song to papa: not the last, I hoped, but the last for
what appeared to me a very long time. And, perhaps, when I did these
things again it would be with different feelings: circumstances might be
changed, and this house might never be my settled home again. My dear
little friend, the kitten, would certainly be changed: she was already
growing a fine cat; and when I returned, even for a hasty visit at
Christmas, would, most likely, have forgotten both her playmate and her
merry pranks. I had romped with her for the last time; and when I
stroked her soft bright fur, while she lay purring herself to sleep in my
lap, it was with a feeling of sadness I could not easily disguise. Then
at bed-time, when I retired with Mary to our quiet little chamber, where
already my drawers were cleared out and my share of the bookcase was
emptyâand where, hereafter, she would have to sleep alone, in dreary
solitude, as she expressed itâmy heart sank more than ever: I felt as if
I had been selfish and wrong to persist in leaving her; and when I knelt
once more beside our little bed, I prayed for a blessing on her and on my
parents more fervently than ever I had done before. To conceal my
emotion, I buried my face in my hands, and they were presently bathed in
tears. I perceived, on rising, that she had been crying too: but neither
of us spoke; and in silence we betook ourselves to our repose, creeping
more closely together from the consciousness that we were to part so
soon.
But the morning brought a renewal of hope and spirits. I was to depart
early; that the conveyance which took me (a gig, hired from Mr. Smith,
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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 book too, it will be your comfort on the way: these two
lines in it are worth a million, I have been young, and now am old; yet
never saw I the righteous man forsaken, or his seed begging their bread.
Let this be your consolation as you travel on. Go, my boy, whatever be
thy fortune let me see thee once a year; still keep a good heart, and
farewell.' As he was possest of integrity and honour, I was under no
apprehensions from throwing him naked into the amphitheatre of life; for
I knew he would act a good part whether vanquished or victorious. His
departure only prepared the way for our own, which arrived a few days
afterwards. The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many
hours of tranquility, was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude
itself could suppress. Besides, a journey of seventy miles to a family
that had hitherto never been above ten from home, filled us with
apprehension, and the cries of the poor, who followed us for some miles,
contributed to encrease it. The first day's journey brought us in safety
within thirty miles of our future retreat, and we put up for the night
at an obscure inn in a village by the way. When we were shewn a room, I
desired the landlord, in my usual way, to let us have his company,
with which he complied, as what he drank would encrease the bill next
morning. He knew, however, the whole neighbourhood to which I was
removing, particularly 'Squire Thornhill, who was to be my landlord, and
who lived within a few miles of the place. This gentleman he described
as one who desired to know little more of the world than its pleasures,
being particularly remarkable for his attachment to the fair sex. He
observed that no virtue was able to resist his arts and assiduity, and
that scarce a farmer's daughter within ten miles round but what had
found him successful and faithless. Though this account gave me some
pain, it had a very different effect upon my daughters, whose features
seemed to brighten with the expectation of an approaching triumph, nor
was my wife less pleased and confident of their allurements and virtue.
While our thoughts were thus employed, the hostess entered the room to
inform her husband, that the strange gentleman, who had been two days in
the house, wanted money, and could not satisfy them for his reckoning.
'Want money!' replied the host, 'that must be impossible; for it was no
later than yesterday he paid three guineas to our beadle to spare an
old broken soldier that was to be whipped through the town for
dog-stealing.' The hostess, however, still persisting in her first
assertion, he was preparing to leave the room, swearing that he would be
satisfied one way or another, when I begged the landlord would introduce
me to a stranger of so much charity as he described. With this he
complied, shewing in a gentleman who seemed to be about thirty, drest in
cloaths that once were laced. His person was well formed, and his face
marked with the lines of thinking. He had something short and dry in his
address, and seemed not to understand ceremony, or to despise it. Upon
the landlord's leaving the room, I could not avoid expressing my concern
to the stranger at seeing a gentleman in such circumstances, and offered
him my purse to satisfy the present demand. 'I take it with all my
heart, Sir,' replied he, 'and am glad that a late oversight in giving
what money I had about me, has shewn me that there are still some men
like you. I must, however, previously entreat being informed of the
name and residence of my benefactor, in order to repay him as soon as
possible.' In this I satisfied him fully, not only mentioning my name
and late misfortunes, but the place to which I was going to remove.
'This,' cried he, 'happens still more luckily than I hoped for, as I
am going the same way myself, having been detained here two days by the
floods, which, I hope, by to-morrow will be found passable.' I testified
the pleasure I should have in his company, and my wife and daughters
joining in entreaty, he was prevailed upon to stay supper. The
stranger's conversation, which was at once pleasing and instructive,
induced me to wish for a continuance of it; but it was now high time to
retire and take refreshment against the fatigues of the following day.
The next morning we all set forward together: my family on horseback,
while Mr Burchell, our new companion, walked along the foot-path by
the road-side, observing, with a smile, that as we were ill mounted, he
would be too generous to attempt leaving us behind. As the floods
were not yet subsided, we were obliged to hire a guide, who trotted
on before, Mr Burchell and I bringing up the rear. We lightened the
fatigues of the road with philosophical disputes, which he seemed to
understand perfectly. But what surprised me most was, that though he was
a money-borrower, he defended his opinions with as much obstinacy as
if he had been my patron. He now and then also informed me to whom the
different seats belonged that lay in our view as we travelled the road.
'That,' cried he, pointing to a very magnificent house which stood at
some distance, 'belongs to Mr Thornhill, a young gentleman who enjoys a
large fortune, though entirely dependent on the will of his uncle,
Sir William Thornhill, a gentleman, who content with a little himself,
permits his nephew to enjoy the rest, and chiefly resides in town.'
'What!' cried I, 'is my young landlord then the nephew of a man whose
virtues, generosity, and singularities are so universally known? I have
heard Sir William Thornhill represented as one of the most generous,
yet whimsical, men in the kingdom; a man of consumate
benevolence'--'Something, perhaps, too much so,' replied Mr Burchell,
'at least he carried benevolence to an excess when young; for his
passions were then strong, and as they all were upon the side of virtue,
they led it up to a romantic extreme. He early began to aim at the
qualifications of the soldier and scholar; was soon distinguished in
the army and had some reputation among men of learning. Adulation
ever follows the ambitious; for such alone receive most pleasure from
flattery. He was surrounded with crowds,
|
most
|
How many times does the word 'most' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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
</b> What's the price for a smile round here?
They head for the elevator. Reed carries a small, black box.
As they enter the elevator, steel doors shut and we CUT TO --
<b> INT. VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - OFFICE - DAY
</b>
A large, dark office. Ben in the corner. He yawns,
watches...
BRIGHT HOLOGRAMS: Stars. Planets. They hover in the air,
making the room feel like a majestic portal into outer space.
<b> REED (O.S.)
</b> My research suggests that exposure to
a high-energy cosmic storm born on
solar winds might have triggered the
evolution of early planetary life.
REED stands among the holograms, speaking to a MYSTERIOUS
FIGURE in shadow behind a desk. An ominous, PULSATING RED
CLOUD covers the stars. It washes over a hologram of EARTH.
<b> REED (CONT'D)
</b> In six weeks another cloud with the
same elemental profile will pass
Earth's orbit. A study in space could
advance our knowledge about the
structure of the human genome, and
help cure countless diseases, extend
human life --
The SHADOW clears his throat. Reed speeds up, emotional.
<b> REED (CONT'D)
</b> Give kids the chance to be stronger,
healthier, less prone to --
<b> SHADOWED FIGURE
</b> Turn it off. Please.
The figure's DEEP VOICE pierces the darkness.
<b> REED
</b> But I haven't fully explained my --
<b> SHADOWED FIGURE
</b> Yes you have... Imagination.
Creativity. Passion. Those were
always your trademarks.
Lights brighten, revealing the face behind the voice: VICTOR
VON DOOM. 35, handsome, commanding. He looks almost...
airbrushed. He drops a WIRED magazine to the desk. REED is
on the cover over the words: RICHARDS BANKRUPT, GRANT
<b> CUTBACKS.
</b>
<b> VICTOR
</b
|
elevator
|
How many times does the word 'elevator' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
</b> Quiet as grass, Vastly. Quiet as grass.
(louder, turning)
Good morning, Comrade political off=er
<b> IVAN YURIEVICH PUTIN
</b> block-faced, forties, pink-necked, political officer assigned to Red
October, clambers through the hatch into the air, wheezing:
<b> PUTIN
</b> Ah,, Captain, every time I climb that
ladder, I realize what an over-fed
ox rve become.
Put in smiles. Ramius smiles back, but his eyes are cold. Suddenly,
there's not a lot of Lave on the bridge:
<b> PUTIN (CONT'D)
</b>
<b> (EXPANSIVELY)
</b> Such a glorious day. So exciting to
h t ally put the land behind us and
be on our way.
<b> (TO RAMIUS)
</b> Bourgeois of me, I know, but my
enthusiasm at being chosen polidcica].
officer on this historic mission Its
me with pride.
<b> (BEAT)
</b> Me, a man of such humble birth, whose
father was only a mill. worker. Think
of it, comrades, a mill worker.
Borodin CHUCKLES. Putin stares at him. Borodin covers with a
COUGH. Putin keeps starring. Flushed, Borodin looks away. Putin
turns porcine eyes on Ramius:
<b> PUTIN (CONT'D)
</b>
<b> (TURNING)
</b> Your father was a Lithuanian, was
he not, Captain?
<b> RAMIUS
</b> You know he was.
<b> PU TIN
</b> I knew a Lithuanian once...
His words hang like rotten fru
<b> PUTIN (CONT'D)
</b> ...though I'm sure your father was
nothing like him. Pefmisrdon to go
below?
Smirking, Putin leaves. Ramius watches him go. SPEAKERS in the
<b> SAI :
</b>
<b> HELMSMAN (VO)
</b> Conn to bridge, sonar reports we are
crossing sixty fathoms.
<b> BORODIN
</b> it's time, Captain.
St M dealing with Putin's exit, Ramius turns away from the hatch,
contemplating the shore. After a beat, softly:.
<b> RAMIUS
</b> We go.
<b> BORO DIN
</b> (into the headset)
|
quiet
|
How many times does the word 'quiet' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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 see Dan settled somewhere. "A rolling stone gathers no moss",
and at twenty-five he is still roaming about the world without a tie to
hold him, except this'; and Mrs Meg nodded towards her sister.
'Dan will find his place at last, and experience is his best teacher.
He is rough still, but each time he comes home I see a change for the
better, and never lose my faith in him. He may never do anything great,
or get rich; but if the wild boy makes an honest man, I'm satisfied,'
said Mrs Jo, who always defended the black sheep of her flock.
'That's right, mother, stand by Dan! He's worth a dozen Jacks and Neds
bragging about money and trying to be swells. You see if he doesn't do
something to be proud of and take the wind out of their sails,'
added Ted, whose love for his 'Danny' was now strengthened by a boy's
admiration for the bold, adventurous man.
'Hope so, I'm sure. He's just the fellow to do rash things and come
to glory--climbing the Matterhorn, taking a "header" into Niagara, or
finding a big nugget. That's his way of sowing wild oats, and perhaps
it's better than ours,' said Tom thoughtfully; for he had gained a good
deal of experience in that sort of agriculture since he became a medical
student.
'Much better!' said Mrs Jo emphatically. 'I'd rather send my boys off
to see the world in that way than leave them alone in a city full of
temptations, with nothing to do but waste time, money, and health, as
so many are left. Dan has to work his way, and that teaches him courage,
patience, and self-reliance. I don't worry about him as much as I do
about George and Dolly at college, no more fit than two babies to take
care of themselves.'
'How about John? He's knocking round town as a newspaper man, reporting
all sorts of things, from sermons to prize-fights,' asked Tom, who
thought that sort of life would be much more to his own taste than
medical lectures and hospital wards.
'Demi has three safeguards--good principles, refined tastes, and a wise
mother. He won't come to harm, and these experiences will be useful to
him when he begins to write, as I'm sure he will in time,' began Mrs
Jo in her prophetic tone; for she was anxious to have some of her geese
turn out swans.
'Speak of Jenkins, and you'll hear the rustling of his paper,' cried
Tom, as a fresh-faced, brown-eyed young man came up the avenue, waving a
newspaper over his head.
'Here's your Evening Tattler! Latest Edition! Awful murder! Bank clerk
absconded! Powder-mill explosion, and great strike of the Latin School
boys!' roared Ted, going to meet his cousin with the graceful gait of a
young giraffe.
'The Commodore is in, and will cut his cable and run before the wind
as soon as he can get off,' called Demi, with 'a nice derangement of
nautical epitaphs', as he came up smiling over his good news.
Everyone talked together for a moment, and the paper passed from hand to
hand that each eye might rest on the pleasant fact that the Brenda, from
Hamburg, was safe in port.
'He'll come lurching out by tomorrow with his usual collection of marine
monsters and lively yarns. I saw him, jolly and tarry and brown as a
coffee-berry. Had a good run, and hopes to be second mate, as the other
chap is laid up with a broken leg,' added Demi.
'Wish I had the setting of it,' said Nan to herself, with a professional
twist of her hand.
'How's Franz?' asked Mrs Jo.
'He's going to be married! There's news for you. The first of the
flock, Aunty, so say good-bye to him. Her name is Ludmilla Heldegard
Blumenthal; good family, well-off, pretty, and of course an angel. The
dear old boy wants Uncle's consent, and then he will settle down to be a
happy and an honest burgher. Long life to him!'
'I'm glad to hear it. I do so like to settle my boys with a good wife
and a nice little home. Now, if all is right, I shall feel as if Franz
was off my mind,' said Mrs Jo, folding her hands contentedly; for she
often felt like a distracted hen with a large brood of mixed chickens
and ducks upon her hands.
'So do I,' sighed Tom, with a sly glance at Nan. 'That's what a fellow
needs to keep him steady; and it's the duty of nice girls to marry as
soon as possible, isn't it, Demi?'
'If there are enough nice fellows to go round. The female population
exceeds the male, you know, especially in New England; which accounts
for the high state of culture we are in, perhaps,' answered John, who
was leaning over his mother's chair, telling his day's experiences in a
whisper.
'It is a merciful provision, my dears; for it takes three or four women
to get each man into, through, and out of the world. You are costly
creatures, boys; and it is well that mothers, sisters, wives, and
daughters love their duty and do it so well, or you would perish off the
face of the earth,' said Mrs Jo solemnly, as she took up a basket filled
with dilapidated hose; for the good Professor was still hard on his
socks, and his sons resembled him in that respect.
'Such being the case, there is plenty for the "superfluous women" to do,
in taking care of these helpless men and their families. I see that more
clearly every day, and am very glad and grateful that my profession will
make me a useful, happy, and independent spinster.'
Nan's emphasis on the last word caused Tom to groan, and the rest to
laugh.
'I take great pride and solid satisfaction in you, Nan, and hope to
see you very successful; for we do need just such helpful women in the
world. I sometimes feel as if I've missed my vocation and ought to
have remained single; but my duty seemed to point this way, and I
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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 handle one little
girl.
Agent Smith nods to Agent Brown as they start toward the
hotel.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> I sent two units. They're
bringing her down now.
<b> AGENT SMITH
</b> No, Lieutenant, your men are dead.
<b> INT. CHASE HOTEL
</b>
The Big Cop flicks out his cuffs, the other cops holding
a bead. They've done this a hundred times, they know
they've got her, until the Big Cop reaches with the cuff
and Trinity moves --
It almost doesn't register, so smooth and fast, inhumanly
fast.
The eye blinks and Trinity's palm. snaps up and the nose
explodes, blood erupting. The cop is dead before he
begins to fall.
And Trinity is moving again --
Seizing a wrist, misdirecting a gun, as a startled cop
<b> FIRES --
</b>
A head explodes.
In blind panic, another airs his gun, the barrel, a fixed
black hole --
And FIRES --
Trinity twists out of the way, the bullet missing as she
reverses into a roundhouse kick, knocking the gun away.
The cop begins to scream when a jump kick crushes his
windpipe, killing the scream as he falls to the ground.
She looks at the four bodies.
<b> TRINITY
</b> Shit.
<b> EXT. CHASE HOTEL
</b>
Agent Brown enters the hotel, while Agent Smith heads for
the alley.
<b> INT. CHASE HOTEL
</b>
Trinity is on the phone, pacing. The other end is
answered.
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b> Operator.
<b> TRINITY
</b> Morpheus! The link was traced! I
don't know how.
<b> MORPHEUS (V.O.)
</b> I know. Stay calm.
<b> TRINITY
</b> Are there any agents?
<b> MORPHEUS (V.O.)
</b> Yes.
<b> TRINITY
</b> Goddamnit!
<b> MORPHEUS (V.O.)
</b> You have to focus. There is a
phone. Wells and Laxe. You can
make it.
She takes a deep breath, centering herself.
<b> TRINITY
</b> All right --
<b> MORPHEUS (V.O.)
</b> Go.
She drops the phone.
<b> INT. HALL
</b>
She bursts out of the room as Agent Brown enters the hall,
leading another unit of police. Trinity races to the
opposite end, exiting through a broken window onto the
fire escape.
<b> EXT. FIRE E5CAPE
</b>
In the alley below, Trinity sees Agent Smith staring at
her. She can only go up.
<b> EXT. ROOF
</b>
On the roof, Trinity is running as Agent Brown rises over
the parapet, leading the cops in pursuit.
Trinity begins to jump from one roof to the next, her
moverents so clean, gliding in and out of each jump,
contrasted to the wild jumps of the cops.
Agent Brown, however, has the same unnatural grace.
The METAL SCREAM of an EL TRAIN is heard and Trinity
turns to it, racing for the back of the building.
The edge falls away into a wide back alley. The next
building is over 40 feet away, but Trinity's face is
perfectly calm, staring at some point beyond the other
roof.
The cops slow, realizing they are about to see something
ugly as Trinity drives at the edge, launching herself
into the air.
From above, the ground seems to flow beneath her as she
hangs in flight
Then hitting, somersaulting up, still running hard.
<b> COP
</b> Motherfucker -- that's impossible!
They stare, slack-jawed, as Agent Brown duplicates the
move exactly, landing, rolling over a shoulder, up onto
one knee.
Just below the building are the runbling tracks of
riveted steel. The TRAIN SCREECHES beneath her, a
rattling blur of gray metal. Trinity junps, landing
easily.
She looks back just as Agent Brown hurls through the air
barely reaching the last car
Agent Brown stands, yanking out a gun.
Trinity is running hard as BULLETS WHISTLE past her head.
Ahead she sees her only chance, 50 feet beyond the point
where the train has begun to turn, there is --
A window; a yellow glow in the midst of a dark brick
building.
Trinity zeroes in on it, running as hard as she can, her
speed compounded by the train. The SCREAM of the STEEL
rises as she nears the edge where the train rocks into the
turn.
Trinity hurtles into the empty night space, her body
leveling into a dive. She falls, arms covering her head
as --
The whole world seems to spin on its axis --
And she crashes with
|
scream
|
How many times does the word 'scream' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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 and
a respectable jury sit up a bit. The first thing I heard when I came to
myself was the maddening howling of that endless gale, and on that the
voice of the old man. He was hanging on to my bunk, staring into my face
out of his sou'wester.
"'Mr. Leggatt, you have killed a man. You can act no longer as chief
mate of this ship.'"
His care to subdue his voice made it sound monotonous. He rested a hand
on the end of the skylight to steady himself with, and all that time did
not stir a limb, so far as I could see. "Nice little tale for a quiet
tea party," he concluded in the same tone.
One of my hands, too, rested on the end of the skylight; neither did
I stir a limb, so far as I knew. We stood less than a foot from each
other. It occurred to me that if old "Bless my soul--you don't say so"
were to put his head up the companion and catch sight of us, he would
think he was seeing double, or imagine himself come upon a scene of
weird witchcraft; the strange captain having a quiet confabulation
by the wheel with his own gray ghost. I became very much concerned to
prevent anything of the sort. I heard the other's soothing undertone.
"My father's a parson in Norfolk," it said. Evidently he had forgotten
he had told me this important fact before. Truly a nice little tale.
"You had better slip down into my stateroom now," I said, moving off
stealthily. My double followed my movements; our bare feet made no
sound; I let him in, closed the door with care, and, after giving a call
to the second mate, returned on deck for my relief.
"Not much sign of any wind yet," I remarked when he approached.
"No, sir. Not much," he assented, sleepily, in his hoarse voice, with
just enough deference, no more, and barely suppressing a yawn.
"Well, that's all you have to look out for. You have got your orders."
"Yes, sir."
I paced a turn or two on the poop and saw him take up his position face
forward with his elbow in the ratlines of the mizzen rigging before I
went below. The mate's faint snoring was still going on peacefully.
The cuddy lamp was burning over the table on which stood a vase with
flowers, a polite attention from the ship's provision merchant--the
last flowers we should see for the next three months at the very least.
Two bunches of bananas hung from the beam symmetrically, one on each
side of the rudder casing. Everything was as before in the ship--except
that two of her captain's sleeping suits were simultaneously in use, one
motionless in the cuddy, the other keeping very still in the captain's
stateroom.
It must be explained here that my cabin had the form of the capital
letter L, the door being within the angle and opening into the short
part of the letter. A couch was to the left, the bed place to the right;
my writing desk and the chronometers' table faced the door. But anyone
opening it, unless he stepped right inside, had no view of what I call
the long (or vertical) part of the letter. It contained some lockers
surmounted by a bookcase; and a few clothes, a thick jacket or two,
caps, oilskin coat, and such like, hung on hooks. There was at the
bottom of that part a door opening into my bathroom, which could be
entered also directly from the saloon. But that way was never used.
The mysterious arrival had discovered the advantage of this particular
shape. Entering my room, lighted strongly by a big bulkhead lamp swung
on gimbals above my writing desk, I did not see him anywhere till he
stepped out quietly from behind the coats hung in the recessed part.
"I heard somebody moving about, and went in there at once," he
whispered.
I, too, spoke under my breath.
"Nobody is likely to come in here without knocking and getting
permission."
He nodded. His face was thin and the sunburn faded, as though he had
been ill. And no wonder. He had been, I heard presently, kept under
arrest in his cabin for nearly seven weeks. But there was nothing sickly
in his eyes or in his expression. He was not a bit like me, really; yet,
as we stood leaning over my bed place, whispering side by side, with our
dark heads together and our backs to the door, anybody bold enough to
open it stealthily would have been treated to the uncanny sight of a
double captain busy talking in whispers with his other self.
"But all this doesn't tell me how you came to hang on to our side
ladder," I inquired, in the hardly audible murmurs we used, after he had
told me something more of the proceedings on board the Sephora once the
bad weather was over.
"When we sighted Java Head I had had time to think all those matters out
several times over. I had six weeks of doing nothing else, and with only
an hour or so every evening for a tramp on the quarter-deck."
He whispered, his arms folded on the side of my bed place, staring
through the open port. And I could imagine perfectly the manner of this
thinking out--a stubborn if not a steadfast operation; something of
which I should have been perfectly incapable.
"I reckoned it would be dark before we closed with the land," he
continued, so low that I had to strain my hearing near as we were to
each other, shoulder touching shoulder almost. "So I asked to speak to
the old man. He always seemed very sick when he came to see me--as if he
could not look me in the face. You know, that foresail saved the ship.
She was too deep to have run long under bare poles. And it was I
that managed to set it for him. Anyway, he came. When I had him in my
cabin--he stood by the door looking at me as if I had the halter round
my neck already--I asked him right away to leave my cabin door unlocked
at night while the ship was going through Sunda Straits. There would
be the Java coast within two or three miles, off Angier Point. I wanted
nothing more. I've had a prize for swimming my second year in
|
place
|
How many times does the word 'place' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, 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 marks
their passage. CAMERA HOLDS ON the scene and over the shot
comes the MAIN TITLE CARD:
<b> ROUGHSHOD
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERT ROAD - DAY
</b>
LONG SHOT. A buckboard drawn by two horses comes along the
road. Graham, a middle-aged rancher, is driving. As the horses
trot forward and dust rises above the road, the NEXT TITLE
CARD is shown.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. CREEK - DAY
</b>
LONG SHOT - DOWN ANGLE. Graham's buckboard moves down the
road toward the clearing, as the TITLE CARDS follow and
change. When the buckboard reaches the creek, the LAST TITLE
CARD is ended.
<b> EXT. MEADOW - DAY
</b>
MED. SHOT. Graham drives the horses through the creek and
into the meadow. Through the trees the Forster camp can be
seen. Graham glances over, then suddenly pulls on the reins.
As the horses stop, he twists the reins around the whip stock,
grabs his rifle from under the seat, leaps out and hurries
forward toward the camp.
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAY
</b>
MED. SHOT. Graham hurries through the trees to stop in horror
near the dead men. Then very slowly he moves forward to the
smouldering fire. Stooping he lifts Forster's arm away from
the fire, then picks up one of the prison coats and looks at
it.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERT ROAD - DAY
</b>
MED. LONG SHOT. The surrounding hills are covered with scrub
pinon pine and mesquite. Graham's buckboard, moving slowly
up a hill, passes camera, which PANS WITH it. In the bed,
covered by a tarp, are the three bodies. The narrow, one-way
road climbs easily up the gentle hill. Beyond, a dust cloud
rises. As Graham's buckboard nears the crest, a surrey appears
and starts down. Graham pulls his team into the bank, trying
to make room for the surrey.
<b> MED. SHOT
</b>
There are four women in the two-seated surrey, which is
heavily loaded with trunks, hatboxes, etc. Mary Wells, the
loveliest of the four, is driving. She is more poised, more
self-assured than the others. Her clothes, though a trifle
showy, are attractive. She wears a large spectacular hat.
Helen Carter, showier, harder and more cynical, sits beside
her. In the seat behind are Marcia Paine, placid, younger
looking than her years, and Elaine Ross, a striking blonde
with a pale
|
comes
|
How many times does the word 'comes' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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 secrets at this moment is there one I should have to frown at? I
can tell you a wickeder one than any you've discovered for yourself. If
you wish to live at ease in the doux pays de France don't trouble too
much about the key of your conscience or even about your conscience
itself--I mean your own particular one. You'll fancy it saying things it
won't help your case to hear. They'll make you sad, and when you're sad
you'll grow plain, and when you're plain you'll grow bitter, and when
you're bitter you'll be peu aimable. I was brought up to think that a
woman's first duty is to be infinitely so, and the happiest women I've
known have been in fact those who performed this duty faithfully. As
you're not a Catholic I suppose you can't be a devote; and if you don't
take life as a fifty years' mass the only way to take it's as a game of
skill. Listen to this. Not to lose at the game of life you must--I don't
say cheat, but not be too sure your neighbour won't, and not be shocked
out of your self-possession if he does. Don't lose, my dear--I beseech
you don't lose. Be neither suspicious nor credulous, and if you find
your neighbour peeping don't cry out; only very politely wait your own
chance. I've had my revenge more than once in my day, but I really think
the sweetest I could take, en somme, against the past I've known, would
be to have your blest innocence profit by my experience."
This was rather bewildering advice, but Euphemia understood it too
little to be either edified or frightened. She sat listening to it very
much as she would have listened to the speeches of an old lady in a
comedy whose diction should strikingly correspond to the form of her
high-backed armchair and the fashion of her coif. Her indifference was
doubly dangerous, for Madame de Mauves spoke at the instance of coming
events, and her words were the result of a worry of scruples--scruples
in the light of which Euphemia was on the one hand too tender a victim
to be sacrificed to an ambition and the prosperity of her own house on
the other too precious a heritage to be sacrificed to an hesitation. The
prosperity in question had suffered repeated and grievous breaches and
the menaced institution been overmuch pervaded by that cold comfort in
which people are obliged to balance dinner-table allusions to feudal
ancestors against the absence of side-dishes; a state of things the
sorrier as the family was now mainly represented by a gentleman whose
appetite was large and who justly maintained that its historic glories
hadn't been established by underfed heroes.
Three days after Euphemia's arrival Richard de Mauves, coming down from
Paris to pay his respects to his grandmother, treated our heroine to her
first encounter with a gentilhomme in the flesh. On appearing he kissed
his grandmother's hand with a smile which caused her to draw it away
with dignity, and set Euphemia, who was standing by, to ask herself
what could have happened between them. Her unanswered wonder was but the
beginning of a long chain of puzzlements, but the reader is free to know
that the smile of M. de Mauves was a reply to a postscript affixed by
the old lady to a letter addressed to him by her granddaughter as
soon as the girl had been admitted to justify the latter's promises.
Mademoiselle de Mauves brought her letter to her grandmother for
approval, but obtained no more than was expressed in a frigid nod. The
old lady watched her with this coldness while she proceeded to seal the
letter, then suddenly bade her open it again and bring her a pen.
"Your sister's flatteries are all nonsense," she wrote; "the young
lady's far too good for you, mauvais sujet beyond redemption. If you've
a particle of conscience you'll not come and disturb the repose of an
angel of innocence."
The other relative of the subject of this warning, who had read these
lines, made up a little face as she freshly indited the address; but she
laid down her pen with a confident nod which might have denoted that by
her judgement her brother was appealed to on the ground of a principle
that didn't exist in him. And "if you meant what you said," the young
man on his side observed to his grandmother on his first private
opportunity, "it would have been simpler not to have sent the letter."
Put out of humour perhaps by this gross impugnment of her sincerity, the
head of the family kept her room on pretexts during a greater part of
Euphemia's stay, so that the latter's angelic innocence was left all to
her grandson's mercy. It suffered no worse mischance, however, than to
be prompted to intenser communion with itself. Richard de Mauves was the
hero of the young girl's romance made real, and so completely accordant
with this creature of her imagination that she felt afraid of him almost
as she would have been of a figure in a framed picture who should have
stepped down from the wall. He was now thirty-three--young enough to
suggest possibilities of ardent activity and old enough to have formed
opinions that a simple woman might deem it an intellectual privilege to
listen to. He was perhaps a trifle handsomer than Euphemia's rather grim
Quixotic ideal, but a very few days reconciled her to his good looks as
effectually they would have reconciled her to a characterised want of
them. He was quiet, grave, eminently distinguished. He spoke little,
but his remarks, without being sententious, had a nobleness of tone that
caused them to re-echo in the young girl's ears at the end of the day.
He paid her very little direct attention, but his chance words--when he
only asked her if she objected to his cigarette--were accompanied by a
smile of extraordinary kindness.
It happened that shortly after his arrival, riding an unruly horse which
Euphemia had with shy admiration watched him mount in the castle-yard,
he was thrown with a violence which, without disparaging his skill, made
him for a fortnight an interesting invalid lounging in the library
with a bandaged knee. To beguile his confinement the accomplished young
stranger was repeatedly induced to sing for him, which she did with a
small natural tremor that might have passed for the finish of vocal
art. He
|
very
|
How many times does the word 'very' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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
Christianity, as a religion, was known in the world.
Will you, then, after learning these facts, longer dare assert that
Christianity is of divine emanation, or claim a special divine paternity
for its author. Only the priest, who loves his _salary_ more than
the cause of _truth_ (and I fear this class are numerous,) or who is
deplorably ignorant of history, will have the effrontery or audacity to
do so. For the historical facts herein set forth as clearly prove such
assumptions to be false, as figures can demonstrate the truth of any
mathematical problem. And no logic can overthrow, and no sophistry can
set aside these facts.
They will stand till the end of time in spite of your efforts either to
evade, ignore, or invalidate them.
We will here briefly state:--
WHY ALL THE ANCIENT RELIGIONS WERE ALIKE.
Two causes are obviously assignable for Christianity in all its
essential features and phases, being so strikingly similar to the
ancient pagan systems which preceded it, as also the close analogies of
all the principal systems, whose doctrines and practical teachings have
found a place on the pages of history.
1. The primary and constituent elements and properties of human nature
being essentially the same in all countries and all centuries, and the
feeling called Religion being a spontaneous outgrowth of the devotional
elements of the human mind, the coincidence would naturally produce
similar feelings, similar thoughts, similar views and similar doctrines
on the subject of religion in different countries, however widely
separated. This accounts in part for the analogous features observable
in all the primary systems of religious faith, which have flourished in
the past ages.
2. A more potent cause, however, for the proximate identity extending
to such an elaborate detail, as is evinced by the foregoing schedule,
is found in the historical incident which brought the disciples of the
various systems of worship together, face to face, in the then grand
religious emporium of the world--the royal and renowned city of
Alexandria, the capital of Egypt Here, drawn together by various motives
and influences, the devotee of India (the devout disciple of
Buddhism), the ever-prayerful worshipper of "Mithra, the Mediator," the
representatives of the crucified Quexalcoate of Mexico, the self-denying
Essene, the superstitious Egyptian, the godly Chaldean, the imitative
Judean founders of Christianity, and the disciples of other sin-atoning
Gods, met and interchanged ideas, discussed their various dogmas,
remolded their doctrines, and recast and rehabilitated their systems
of religious faith by borrowing from each other, and from other systems
there represented. In this way all became remarkably similar and alike
in all their doctrines and details. And thus the mystery is solved,
and the singular resemblance of all the ancient systems of religion
satisfactorily accounted for. (For a fuller explanation of this matter,
see Chapters XXX. and XXXI. of this work.)
In conclusion, please note the following points:--
1. The religious conceptions of the Old Testament are as easily traced
to heathen sources as those of the New Testament. But we are compelled
to exclude such an exposition from this work.
2. The comparative exhibition of the doctrines and teachings of twenty
bibles which proves them to be in their leading features essentially
alike (originally designed for this volume), is found to be, when
completed, of sufficient magnitude to constitute a volume of itself.
3. Here I desire to impress upon the minds of my clerical brethren the
important fact, that the gospel histories of Christ were written by men
who had formerly been Jews (see Acts xxi. 20), and probably possessing
the strong proclivity to imitate and borrow which their bible shows
was characteristic of that nation; and being written many years after
Christ's death, according to that standard Christian author, Dr.
Lardner, it was impossible, under such circumstances, for them to
separate (if they had desired to) the real facts and events of his life
from the innumerable fictions and fables then afloat everywhere relative
to the heathen Gods who had pre-enacted a similar history. Two reasons
are thus furnished for their constructing a history of Christ almost
identical with that of other Gods, as shown in chapters XXX., XXXI. and
XXXII. of this work.
4. The singular and senseless defense of your now tottering system
we have known to be attempted by members of your order, by the
self-complacent soliloquy "Christianity, whether divine or human, is
good enough for me." But such a subterfuge betrays both a weak mind
and a weak cause. The disciples of all the oriental systems cherished
a similar feeling and a similar sentiment. And the deluded followers
of Brigham Young exclaimed in like manner, "I want nothing better than
Mormonism." "Snakes, lizards and frogs are good enough for me," a South
Sea Islander once exclaimed to a missionary, when a reform diet was
proposed. Such logic, if universally adopted, would keep the world
eternally in barbarism. No progress can be made where such sentiments
prevail. The truth is, no system of religion, whatever its ostensible
marks of perfection, can long remain "good enough" for aspiring
and progressive minds, unless occasionally improved, like other
institutions. And then it should be borne in mind, that our controversy
does not appertain so much to the character as to the origin of the
Christian religion. Our many incontrovertible proofs, that it is
of human and heathen origin, proves at the same time that it is an
imperfect system, and as such, needing occasional improvement, like
other institutions. And its assumed perfection and divine origin which
have always guarded it from improvement, amply accounts for its present
corrupt, immoral, declining and dying condition. And it will ere long
die with paralysis, unless its assumption of divine perfection is soon
exchanged for the principles of improvement and reconstruction. This
policy alone can save it.
5. We will here notice another feeble, futile and foolish expedient we
have known resorted to by persons of your order to save your sinking
cause when the evidence is presented with such cogency as to admit of no
disproof, that all the important doctrines of Christianity were taught
by older heathen systems before the era of Christ The plea is, that
those systems were mere types, or ante-types, of the Christian religion.
But this plea is of itself a borrowed subter
|
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How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
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al, 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 Zenobia's entire development. It
did one good to see a fine intellect (as hers really was, although its
natural tendency lay in another direction than towards literature) so
fitly cased. She was, indeed, an admirable figure of a woman, just on
the hither verge of her richest maturity, with a combination of
features which it is safe to call remarkably beautiful, even if some
fastidious persons might pronounce them a little deficient in softness
and delicacy. But we find enough of those attributes everywhere.
Preferable--by way of variety, at least--was Zenobia's bloom, health,
and vigor, which she possessed in such overflow that a man might well
have fallen in love with her for their sake only. In her quiet moods,
she seemed rather indolent; but when really in earnest, particularly if
there were a spice of bitter feeling, she grew all alive to her
finger-tips.
"I am the first comer," Zenobia went on to say, while her smile beamed
warmth upon us all; "so I take the part of hostess for to-day, and
welcome you as if to my own fireside. You shall be my guests, too, at
supper. Tomorrow, if you please, we will be brethren and sisters, and
begin our new life from daybreak."
"Have we our various parts assigned?" asked some one.
"Oh, we of the softer sex," responded Zenobia, with her mellow, almost
broad laugh,--most delectable to hear, but not in the least like an
ordinary woman's laugh,--"we women (there are four of us here already)
will take the domestic and indoor part of the business, as a matter of
course. To bake, to boil, to roast, to fry, to stew,--to wash, and
iron, and scrub, and sweep,--and, at our idler intervals, to repose
ourselves on knitting and sewing,--these, I suppose, must be feminine
occupations, for the present. By and by, perhaps, when our individual
adaptations begin to develop themselves, it may be that some of us who
wear the petticoat will go afield, and leave the weaker brethren to
take our places in the kitchen."
"What a pity," I remarked, "that the kitchen, and the housework
generally, cannot be left out of our system altogether! It is odd
enough that the kind of labor which falls to the lot of women is just
that which chiefly distinguishes artificial life--the life of
degenerated mortals--from the life of Paradise. Eve had no dinner-pot,
and no clothes to mend, and no washing-day."
"I am afraid," said Zenobia, with mirth gleaming out of her eyes, "we
shall find some difficulty in adopting the paradisiacal system for at
least a month to come. Look at that snowdrift sweeping past the
window! Are there any figs ripe, do you think? Have the pineapples
been gathered to-day? Would you like a bread-fruit, or a cocoanut?
Shall I run out and pluck you some roses? No, no, Mr. Coverdale; the
only flower hereabouts is the one in my hair, which I got out of a
greenhouse this morning. As for the garb of Eden," added she,
shivering playfully, "I shall not assume it till after May-day!"
Assuredly Zenobia could not have intended it,--the fault must have been
entirely in my imagination. But these last words, together with
something in her manner, irresistibly brought up a picture of that
fine, perfectly developed figure, in Eve's earliest garment. Her free,
careless, generous modes of expression often had this effect of
creating images which, though pure, are hardly felt to be quite
decorous when born of a thought that passes between man and woman. I
imputed it, at that time, to Zenobia's noble courage, conscious of no
harm, and scorning the petty restraints which take the life and color
out of other women's conversation. There was another peculiarity about
her. We seldom meet with women nowadays, and in this country, who
impress us as being women at all,--their sex fades away and goes for
nothing, in ordinary intercourse. Not so with Zenobia. One felt an
influence breathing out of her such as we might suppose to come from
Eve, when she was just made, and her Creator brought her to Adam,
saying, "Behold! here is a woman!" Not that I would convey the idea of
especial gentleness, grace, modesty, and shyness, but of a certain warm
and rich characteristic, which seems, for the most part, to have been
refined away out of the feminine system.
"And now," continued Zenobia, "I must go and help get supper. Do you
think you can be content, instead of figs, pineapples, and all the
other delicacies of Adam's supper-table, with tea and toast, and a
certain modest supply of ham and tongue, which, with the instinct of a
housewife, I brought hither in a basket? And there shall be bread and
milk, too, if the innocence of your taste demands it."
The whole sisterhood now went about their domestic avocations, utterly
declining our offers to assist, further than by bringing wood for the
kitchen fire from a huge pile in the back yard. After heaping up more
than a sufficient quantity, we returned to the sitting-room, drew our
chairs close to the hearth, and began to talk over our prospects.
Soon, with a tremendous stamping in the entry, appeared Silas Foster,
lank, stalwart, uncouth, and grizzly-bearded. He came from foddering
the cattle in the barn, and from the field, where he had been
ploughing, until the depth of the snow rendered it impossible to draw a
furrow. He greeted us in pretty much the same tone as if he were
speaking to his oxen, took a quid from his iron tobacco-box, pulled off
his wet cowhide boots, and sat down before the fire in his
stocking-feet. The steam arose from his soaked garments, so that the
stout yeoman looked vaporous and spectre-like.
"Well, folks," remarked Silas, "you'll be wishing yourselves back to
town again, if this weather holds
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there
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How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
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antly 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 quiet, but I will tell you what I am afraid
of: I'm afraid to play preference with Sergei Petrovitch; yesterday he
cleaned me out of everything at Madame Byelenitsin's."
Gedeonovsky gave a thin, sympathetic little laugh; he was anxious to
be in favour with the brilliant young official from Petersburg--the
governor's favourite. In conversation with Marya Dmitrievna, he often
alluded to Panshin's remarkable abilities. Indeed, he used to argue,
how can one help admiring him? The young man is making his way in the
highest spheres, he is an exemplary official, and not a bit of pride
about him. And, in fact, even in Petersburg Panshin was reckoned a
capable official; he got through a great deal of work; he spoke of it
lightly as befits a man of the world who does not attach any special
importance to his labours, but he never hesitated in carrying out
orders. The authorities like such subordinates; he himself had no doubt,
that if he chose, he could be a minister in time.
"You are pleased to say that I cleaned you out," replied Gedeonovsky;
"but who was it won twelve roubles of me last week and more?"...
"You're a malicious fellow," Panshin interrupted, with genial but
somewhat contemptuous carelessness, and, paying him no further
attention, he went up to Lisa.
"I cannot get the overture of Oberon here," he began. "Madame
Byelenitsin was boasting when she said she had all the classical music:
in reality she has nothing but polkas and waltzes, but I have already
written to Moscow, and within a week you will have the overture. By the
way," he went on, "I wrote a new song yesterday, the words too are mine,
would you care for me to sing it? I don't know how far it is successful.
Madame Byelenitsin thought it very pretty, but her words mean nothing. I
should like to know what you think of it. But, I think, though, that had
better be later on."
"Why later on?" interposed Marya Dmitrievna, "why not now?"
"I obey," replied Panshin, with a peculiar bright and sweet smile, which
came and went suddenly on his face. He drew up a chair with his
knee, sat down to the piano, and striking a few chords began to sing,
articulating the words clearly, the following song--
Above the earth the moon floats high
Amid pale clouds;
Its magic light in that far sky
Yet stirs the floods.
My heart has found a moon to rule
Its stormy sea;
To joy and sorrow it is moved
Only by thee.
My soul is full of love's cruel smart,
And longing vain;
But thou art calm, as that cold moon,
That knows not pain.
The second couplet was sung by Panshin with special power and
expression, the sound of waves was heard in the stormy accompaniment.
After the words "and longing vain," he sighed softly, dropped his eyes
and let his voice gradually die away, morendo. When he had finished,
Lisa praised the motive, Marya Dmitrievna cried, "Charming!" but
Gedeonovsky went so far as to exclaim, "Ravishing poetry, and music
equally ravishing!" Lenotchka looked with childish reverence at the
singer. In short, every one present was delighted with the young
dilettante's composition; but at the door leading into the drawing-room
from the hall stood an old man, who had only just come in, and who,
to judge by the expression of his downcast face and the shrug of his
shoulders, was by no means pleased with Panshin's song, pretty though it
was. After waiting a moment and flicking the dust off his boots with
a coarse pocket-handkerchief, this man suddenly raised his eyes,
compressed his lips with a morose expression, and his stooping figure
bent forward, he entered the drawing-room.
"Ah! Christopher Fedoritch, how are you?" exclaimed Panshin before any
of the others could speak, and he jumped up quickly from his seat. "I
had no suspicion that you were here--nothing would have induced me to
sing my song before you. I know you are no lover of light music."
"I did not hear it," declared the new-comer, in very bad Russian, and
exchanging greetings with every one, he stood awkwardly in the middle of
the room.
"Have you come, Monsieur Lemm," said Marya Dmitrievna, "to give Lisa her
music lesson?"
"No, not Lisaveta Mihalovna, but Elena Mihalovna."
"Oh! very well. Lenotchka, go up-stairs with Mr. Lemm."
The old man was about to follow the little girl, but Panshin stopped
him.
"Don't go after the lesson, Christopher Fedoritch," he said. "Lisa
Mihalovna and I are going to play a duet of Beethoven's sonata."
The old man muttered some reply, and Panshin continued in German,
mispronouncing the words--
"Lisaveta Mihalovna showed me the religious cantata you dedicated to
her--a beautiful thing! Pray, do not suppose that I cannot appreciate
serious music--quite the contrary: it is tedious sometimes, but then it
is very elevating."
The old man crimsoned to his ears, and with a sidelong look at Lisa, he
hurriedly went out of the room.
Marya Dmitrievna asked Panshin to sing his song again; but he protested
that he did not wish to torture the ears of the musical German, and
suggested to Lisa that they should attack Beethoven's sonata. Then Marya
Dmitrievna heaved a sigh,
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mihalovna
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How many times does the word 'mihalovna' appear in the text?
| 4
|
, 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, and sheltering home, going about with hatless
friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a
disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. She
seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means
of her freedom. And now she insisted that she MUST leave the chastened
security of the Tredgold Women's College for Russell's unbridled
classes, and wanted to go to fancy dress dances in pirate costume and
spend the residue of the night with Widgett's ramshackle girls in some
indescribable hotel in Soho!
He had done his best not to think about her at all, but the situation
and his sister had become altogether too urgent. He had finally put
aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and
written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a
head.
Part 4
MY DEAR VEE, he wrote.
These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and
began again.
"MY DEAR VERONICA,--Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in
some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in
London. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped
about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to
stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your
party, at an hotel. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set
your heart upon, but I regret to say--"
"H'm," he reflected, and crossed out the last four words.
"--but this cannot be."
"No," he said, and tried again: "but I must tell you quite definitely
that I feel it to be my duty to forbid any such exploit."
"Damn!" he remarked at the defaced letter; and, taking a fresh sheet, he
recopied what he had written. A certain irritation crept into his manner
as he did so.
"I regret that you should ever have proposed it," he went on.
He meditated, and began a new paragraph.
"The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to
a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a
young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. I do not think
you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and
daughter. Your attitude to me--"
He fell into a brown study. It was so difficult to put precisely.
"--and your aunt--"
For a time he searched for the mot juste. Then he went on:
"--and, indeed, to most of the established things in life is, frankly,
unsatisfactory. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all
the crude unthinking criticism of youth. You have no grasp upon the
essential facts of life (I pray God you never may), and in your rash
ignorance you are prepared to dash into positions that may end in
lifelong regret. The life of a young girl is set about with prowling
pitfalls."
He was arrested for a moment by an indistinct picture of Veronica
reading this last sentence. But he was now too deeply moved to trace
a certain unsatisfactoriness to its source in a mixture of metaphors.
"Well," he said, argumentatively, "it IS. That's all about it. It's time
she knew."
"The life of a young girl is set about with prowling pitfalls, from
which she must be shielded at all costs."
His lips tightened, and he frowned with solemn resolution.
"So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my
care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this
odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. A day will come
when you will thank me. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there
is any harm in you; there is not. But a girl is soiled not only by evil
but by the proximity of evil, and a reputation for rashness may do
her as serious an injury as really reprehensible conduct. So do please
believe that in this matter I am acting for the best."
He signed his name and reflected. Then he opened the study door and
called "Mollie!" and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the
hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire.
His sister appeared.
She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace
and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about
the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the
same theme as himself. She had the same sharp nose--which, indeed, only
Ann Veronica, of all the family, had escaped. She carried herself well,
whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic
dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to
a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. He had died
before they married, and when her brother became a widower she had
come to his assistance and taken over much of the care of his youngest
daughter. But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life
had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the
memories of the light and little Mrs. Stanley, whose family had been by
any reckoning inconsiderable--to use the kindliest term. Miss Stanley
had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her
youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life--a second and a
better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in
herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. She came in now with an
air of reserved solicitude.
Mr. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his
jacket pocket. "What do you think of that?" he asked.
She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He
filled his pipe slowly.
"Yes," she said at last, "it is firm and affectionate."
"I could have said more."
"You seem to have said just what had to be said. It seems to me exactly
what is wanted. She really must not go to that affair."
She paused, and he waited for her to speak.
"I don't think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of
life to which
|
veronica
|
How many times does the word 'veronica' appear in the text?
| 6
|
endome, 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 Royal family, that this apprehension was rather the
effect of his love, than grounded on any substantial reason. He had a
great number of rivals; the most formidable among them, for his birth,
his merit, and the lustre which Royal favour cast upon his house, was
the Chevalier de Guise; this gentleman fell in love with Mademoiselle
de Chartres the first day he saw her, and he discovered the Prince of
Cleves's passion as the Prince of Cleves discovered his. Though they
were intimate friends, their having the same pretentions gradually
created a coolness between them, and their friendship grew into an
indifference, without their being able to come to an explanation on the
matter. The Prince of Cleves's good fortune in having seen
Mademoiselle de Chartres first seemed to be a happy presage, and gave
him some advantage over his rivals, but he foresaw great obstructions
on the part of the Duke of Nevers his father: the Duke was strictly
attached to the Duchess of Valentinois, and the Viscount de Chartres
was her enemy, which was a sufficient reason to hinder the Duke from
consenting to the marriage of his son, with a niece of the Viscount's.
Madam de Chartres, who had taken so much care to inspire virtue into
her daughter, did not fail to continue the same care in a place where
it was so necessary, and where there were so many dangerous examples.
Ambition and gallantry were the soul of the Court, and employed both
sexes equally; there were so many different interests and so many
cabals, and the ladies had so great a share in them, that love was
always mixed with business, and business with love: nobody was easy, or
indifferent; their business was to raise themselves, to be agreeable,
to serve or disserve; and intrigue and pleasure took up their whole
time. The care of the ladies was to recommend themselves either to the
Queen, the Dauphin-Queen, or the Queen of Navarre, or to Madame, or the
Duchess of Valentinois. Inclination, reasons of decorum, resemblance
of temper made their applications different; those who found the bloom
worn off, and who professed an austerity of virtue, were attached to
the Queen; the younger sort, who loved pleasure and gallantry, made
their Court to the Queen-Dauphin; the Queen of Navarre too had her
favourites, she was young, and had great power with the King her
husband, who was in the interest of the Constable, and by that means
increased his authority; Madame was still very beautiful, and drew many
ladies into her party. And as for the Duchess of Valentinois, she
could command as many as she would condescend to smile upon; but very
few women were agreeable to her, and excepting some with whom she lived
in confidence and familiarity, and whose humour was agreeable to her
own, she admitted none but on days when she gratified her vanity in
having a Court in the same manner the Queen had.
All these different cabals were full of emulation and envy towards one
another; the ladies, who composed them, had their jealousies also among
themselves, either as to favour or lovers: the interests of ambition
were often blended with concerns of less importance, but which did not
affect less sensibly; so that in this Court there was a sort of tumult
without disorder, which made it very agreeable, but at the same time
very dangerous for a young lady. Madam de Chartres perceived the
danger, and was careful to guard her daughter from it; she entreated
her, not as a mother, but as her friend, to impart to her all the
gallantry she should meet withal, promising her in return to assist her
in forming her conduct right, as to things in which young people are
oftentimes embarrassed.
The Chevalier de Guise was so open and unguarded with respect to his
passion for Mademoiselle de Chartres, that nobody was ignorant of it:
nevertheless he saw nothing but impossibilities in what he desired; he
was sensible that he was not a proper match for Mademoiselle de
Chartres, by reason of the narrowness of his fortune, which was not
sufficient to support his dignity; and he was sensible besides, that
his brothers would not approve of his marrying, the marriages of
younger brothers being looked upon as what tends to the lessening great
families; the Cardinal of Loraine soon convinced him, that he was not
mistaken; he condemned his attachment to Mademoiselle de Chartres with
warmth, but did not inform him of his true reasons for so doing; the
Cardinal, it seems, had a hatred to the Viscount, which was not known
at that time, but afterwards discovered itself; he would rather have
consented to any other alliance for his brother than to that of the
Viscount; and he declared his aversion to it in so public a manner,
that Madam de Chartres was sensibly disgusted at it. She took a world
of pains to show that the Cardinal of Loraine had nothing to fear, and
that she herself had no thoughts of this marriage; the Viscount
observed the same conduct, and resented that of the Cardinal more than
Madam de Chartres did, being better apprised of the cause of it.
The Prince of Cleves had not given less public proofs of his love, than
the Chevalier de Guise had done, which made the Duke of Nevers very
uneasy; however he thought that he needed only to speak to his son, to
make him change his conduct; but he was very much surprised to find him
in a settled design of marrying Mademoiselle de Chartres, and flew out
into such excesses of passion on that subject, that the occasion of it
was soon known to the whole Court, and among others to Madam de
Chartres: she never imagined that the Duke of Nevers would not think
her daughter a very advantageous match for his son, nor was she a
little astonished to find that the houses both of Cleves and Guise
avoided her alliance, instead of courting it. Her resentment on this
account put her upon finding out a match for her daughter, which would
raise her above those that imagined themselves above her; after having
looked about, she fixed upon the Prince Dauphin, son of the Duke de
Montpensier, one of the most considerable persons then at Court. As
Madam de Chartres abounded in wit, and was assisted by the Viscount,
who was in
|
over
|
How many times does the word 'over' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ile 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 bend his piercing gaze upon Claus.
The clear eyes met his own steadfastly, and the Woodsman gave a sigh of
relief as he marked their placid depths and read the youth's brave and
innocent heart. Nevertheless, as Ak sat beside the fair Queen, and the
golden chalice, filled with rare nectar, passed from lip to lip, the
Master Woodsman was strangely silent and reserved, and stroked his
beard many times with a thoughtful motion.
With morning he called Claus aside, in kindly fashion, saying:
"Bid good by, for a time, to Necile and her sisters; for you shall
accompany me on my journey through the world."
The venture pleased Claus, who knew well the honor of being companion
of the Master Woodsman of the world. But Necile wept for the first
time in her life, and clung to the boy's neck as if she could not bear
to let him go. The nymph who had mothered this sturdy youth was still
as dainty, as charming and beautiful as when she had dared to face Ak
with the babe clasped to her breast; nor was her love less great. Ak
beheld the two clinging together, seemingly as brother and sister to
one another, and again he wore his thoughtful look.
6. Claus Discovers Humanity
Taking Claus to a small clearing in the forest, the Master said: "Place
your hand upon my girdle and hold fast while we journey through the
air; for now shall we encircle the world and look upon many of the
haunts of those men from whom you are descended."
These words caused Claus to marvel, for until now he had thought
himself the only one of his kind upon the earth; yet in silence he
grasped firmly the girdle of the great Ak, his astonishment forbidding
speech.
Then the vast forest of Burzee seemed to fall away from their feet, and
the youth found himself passing swiftly through the air at a great
height.
Ere long there were spires beneath them, while buildings of many shapes
and colors met their downward view. It was a city of men, and Ak,
pausing to descend, led Claus to its inclosure. Said the Master:
"So long as you hold fast to my girdle you will remain unseen by all
mankind, though seeing clearly yourself. To release your grasp will be
to separate yourself forever from me and your home in Burzee."
One of the first laws of the Forest is obedience, and Claus had no
thought of disobeying the Master's wish. He clung fast to the girdle
and remained invisible.
Thereafter with each moment passed in the city the youth's wonder grew.
He, who had supposed himself created differently from all others, now
found the earth swarming with creatures of his own kind.
"Indeed," said Ak, "the immortals are few; but the mortals are many."
Claus looked earnestly upon his fellows. There were sad faces, gay and
reckless faces, pleasant faces, anxious faces and kindly faces, all
mingled in puzzling disorder. Some worked at tedious tasks; some
strutted in impudent conceit; some were thoughtful and grave while
others seemed happy and content. Men of many natures were there, as
everywhere, and Claus found much to please him and much to make him sad.
But especially he noted the children--first curiously, then eagerly,
then lovingly. Ragged little ones rolled in the dust of the streets,
playing with scraps and pebbles. Other children, gaily dressed, were
propped upon cushions and fed with sugar-plums. Yet the children of
the rich were not happier than those playing with the dust and pebbles,
it seemed to Claus.
"Childhood is the time of man's greatest content," said Ak, following
the youth's thoughts. "'Tis during these years of innocent pleasure
that the little ones are most free from care."
"Tell me," said Claus, "why do not all these babies fare alike?"
"Because they are born in both cottage and palace," returned the
Master. "The difference in the wealth of the parents determines the
lot of the child. Some are carefully tended and clothed in silks and
dainty linen; others are neglected and covered with rags."
"Yet all seem equally fair and sweet," said Claus, thoughtfully.
"While they are babes--yes;" agreed Ak. "Their joy is in being alive,
and they do not stop to think. In after years the doom of mankind
overtakes them, and they find they must struggle and worry, work and
fret, to gain the wealth that is so dear to the hearts of men. Such
things are unknown in the Forest where you were reared." Claus was
silent a moment. Then he asked:
"Why was I reared in the forest, among those who are not of my race?"
Then Ak, in gentle voice, told him the story of his babyhood: how he
had been abandoned at the forest's edge and left a prey to wild beasts,
and how the loving nymph Necile had rescued him and brought him to
manhood under the protection of the immortals.
"Yet I am not of them," said Claus, musingly.
"You are not of them," returned the Woodsman. "The nymph who cared for
you as a mother seems now like a sister to you; by and by, when you
grow old and gray, she will seem like a daughter. Yet another brief
span and you will be but a memory, while she remains Necile."
"Then why, if man must perish, is he born?" demanded the boy.
"Everything perishes except the world itself and its keepers," answered
Ak. "But while life lasts everything on earth has its use. The wise
seek ways to be helpful to the world, for the helpful ones are sure to
live again."
Much of this Claus failed to understand fully, but a longing seized him
to become helpful to his fellows, and he remained grave and thoughtful
while they resumed their journey.
They visited many dwellings of men in many parts of the world, watching
farmers toil in the fields, warriors dash into cruel fray, and
merchants exchange their goods for bits of white and yellow metal. And
everywhere the eyes of Claus sought out the children in love and pity,
for the thought of his own helpless babyhood was strong within him
|
some
|
How many times does the word 'some' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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> PROF. WEST
</b> How deep are we?
<b>
</b><b> SATNAM
</b> 8200 feet. Used to be an old copper
mine, Professor, sir.
<b>
</b> As Prof. West follows Satnam, he takes in the unusual setting
for this science lab.
<b>
</b><b> PROF. WEST
</b> Helmsley told me that the neutrino
count doubled during the last sun
eruptions.
<b>
</b><b> SATNAM
</b> Correct, sir. But that is not what
worries me...
<b>
</b> They enter a large room with low hanging ceilings. A small
group of WHITE COATS look up from their computers, which all
show images of the solar storm we witnessed earlier.
<b>
</b><b> SATNAM (CONT'D)
</b> There was a new solar storm, so strong
that the physical reaction got even
more severe.
<b>
</b><b> PROF. WEST
</b> How can that be?
<b>
</b><b> SATNAM
</b> We don't know, Professor, sir.
<b>
</b> Satnam walks over into another room. There he opens a hatch
on the floor and hot steam rises.
<b>
</b><b> SATNAM (CONT'D)
</b> The neutrinos suddenly act like...
microwaves.
<b>
</b> Prof. West slowly steps closer. When he discovers that the
water in the tank below is boiling, his face goes pale.
<b>
</b><b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. LARGE TERRACE/WASHINGTON D.C. - EVENING
</b><b>
</b> A major fund raising party is under way. The setting is
spectacular. A terrace overlooking the Washington Mall and
the Capitol Building.
<b>
</b> ADRIAN HELMSLEY, 32, stands with a group of young POLIT
|
professor
|
How many times does the word 'professor' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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, and he pressed his hand to his eyes, to exclude
these phantasms from his sight. But even thus they pursued him; and he
imagined he could hear the infernal riot going on around him.
Suddenly, he was roused by a loud joyful cry, and, uncovering his eyes,
he beheld Doctor Lamb pouring the contents of the matrass--a bright,
transparent liquid--into a small phial. Having carefully secured the
bottle with a glass stopper, the old man held it towards the light, and
gazed at it with rapture.
"At length," he exclaimed aloud--"at length, the great work is achieved.
With the birth of the century now expiring I first saw light, and the
draught I hold in my hand shall enable me to see the opening of
centuries and centuries to come. Composed of the lunar stones, the solar
stones, and the mercurial stones--prepared according to the instructions
of the Rabbi Ben Lucca--namely, by the separation of the pure from the
impure, the volatilisation of the fixed, and the fixing of the
volatile--this elixir shall renew my youth, like that of the eagle, and
give me length of days greater than any patriarch ever enjoyed."
While thus speaking, he held up the sparkling liquid, and gazed at it
like a Persian worshipping the sun.
"To live for ever!" he cried, after a pause--"to escape the jaws of
death just when they are opening to devour me!--to be free from all
accidents!--'tis a glorious thought! Ha! I bethink me, the rabbi said
there was _one_ peril against which the elixir could not guard me--_one_
vulnerable point, by which, like the heel of Achilles, death might reach
me! What is it!--where can it lie?"
And he relapsed into deep thought.
"This uncertainty will poison all my happiness," he continued; "I shall
live in constant dread, as of an invisible enemy. But no matter!
Perpetual life!--perpetual youth!--what more need be desired?"
"What more, indeed!" cried Auriol.
"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, suddenly recollecting the wounded man, and
concealing the phial beneath his gown.
"Your caution is vain, doctor," said Auriol. "I have heard what you have
uttered. You fancy you have discovered the _elixir vitæ_."
"Fancy I have discovered it!" cried Doctor Lamb. "The matter is past all
doubt. I am the possessor of the wondrous secret, which the greatest
philosophers of all ages have sought to discover--the miraculous
preservative of the body against decay."
"The man who brought me hither told me you were my kinsman," said
Auriol. "Is it so?"
"It is," replied the doctor, "and you shall now learn the connection
that subsists between us. Look at that ghastly relic," he added,
pointing to the head protruding from the bag: "that was once my son
Simon. His son's head is within the sack--your father's head--so that
four generations are brought together."
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the young man, raising himself on his
elbow. "You, then, are my great-grandsire. My father supposed you had
died in his infancy. An old tale runs in the family that you were
charged with sorcery, and fled to avoid the stake."
"It is true that I fled, and took the name I bear at present," replied
the old man, "but I need scarcely say that the charge brought against me
was false. I have devoted myself to abstrusest science, have held
commune with the stars, and have wrested the most hidden secrets from
Nature--but that is all. Two crimes alone have stained my soul; but
both, I trust, have been expiated by repentance."
"Were they deeds of blood?" asked Auriol.
"One was so," replied Darcy, with a shudder. "It was a cowardly and
treacherous deed, aggravated by the basest ingratitude. Listen, and you
shall hear how it chanced. A Roman rabbi, named Ben Lucca, skilled in
hermetic science, came to this city. His fame reached me, and I sought
him out, offering myself as his disciple. For months, I remained with
him in his laboratory--working at the furnace, and poring over mystic
lore. One night he showed me that volume, and, pointing to a page within
it, said: 'Those characters contain the secret of confecting the elixir
of life. I will now explain them to you, and afterwards we will proceed
to the operation.' With this, he unfolded the mystery; but he bade me
observe, that the menstruum was defective on one point. Wherefore, he
said, 'there will still be peril from some hidden cause.' Oh, with what
greediness I drank in his words! How I gazed at the mystic characters,
as he explained their import! What visions floated before me of
perpetual youth and enjoyment. At that moment a demon whispered in my
ear, 'This secret must be thine own. No one else must possess it.'"
"Ha!" exclaimed Auriol, starting.
"The evil thought was no sooner conceived than acted upon," pursued
Darcy. "Instantly drawing my poniard, I plunged it to the rabbi's heart.
But mark what followed. His blood fell upon the book, and obliterated
the characters; nor could I by any effort of memory recall the
composition of the elixir."
"When did you regain the secret?" asked Auriol curiously.
"To-night," replied Darcy--"within this hour. For nigh fifty years after
that fatal night I have been making fruitless experiments. A film of
blood has obscured my mental sight. I have proceeded by calcitration,
solution, putrefaction--have produced the oils which will fix crude
mercury, and convert all bodies into sol and luna; but I have ever
failed in fermenting the stone into the true elixir. To-night, it came
into my head to wash the blood-stained page containing the secret with a
subtle liquid. I did so; and doubting the efficacy of the experiment,
left it to work, while I went forth to breathe the air at my window. My
eyes were cast upwards, and I was struck with the malignant aspect of my
star. How to
|
near
|
How many times does the word 'near' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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 impatience to conduct her to the inn, and the anxiety I
betrayed to get rid of him, had excited in his mind some suspicions of
my passion. He had not ventured to return to the inn where he had left
me, for fear of my being annoyed at his doing so; but went to wait for
me at my lodgings, where, although it was ten o'clock at night, I found
him on my arrival. His presence annoyed me, and he soon perceived the
restraint which it imposed. 'I am certain,' he said to me, without any
disguise, 'that you have some plan in contemplation which you will not
confide to me; I see it by your manner.' I answered him rather
abruptly, that I was not bound to render him an account of all my
movements. 'Certainly not!' he replied; 'but you have always, hitherto,
treated me as a friend, and that appellation implies a certain degree
of confidence and candour.' He pressed me so much and so earnestly to
discover my secret, that, having never up to that moment felt the
slightest reserve towards him, I confided to him now the whole history
of my passion. He heard it with an appearance of disapprobation, which
made me tremble; and I immediately repented of my indiscretion, in
telling him of my intended elopement. He told me he was too sincerely
my friend not to oppose every obstacle in his power to such a scheme;
that he would first try all other means of turning me from such a
purpose, but that if I refused to renounce so fatal a resolution, he
assuredly would inform some persons of my intention, who would be able
to defeat it. He held forth upon the subject for a full quarter of an
hour, in the most serious tone, and ended by again threatening to
inform against me, if I did not pledge him my word that I would return
to the paths of discretion and reason.
"I was in despair at having so awkwardly betrayed myself. However, love
having wonderfully sharpened my intellect during the last two or three
hours, I recollected that I had not yet told him of its being my
intention to execute my project on the following morning, and I at once
determined to deceive him by a little equivocation.
"'Tiberge,' said I to him, 'up to the present moment I thought you were
my friend; and I wished to prove it by the test of confidence. It is
true, I am in love; I have not deceived you: but with regard to my
flight, that is a project not to be undertaken without deliberation.
Call for me tomorrow at nine o'clock: you shall see my mistress, if it
be possible, and then judge whether she is not worthy of any risk or
sacrifice on my part.' He left me, with a thousand protestations of
friendship.
"I employed the night in preparing for the journey, and on repairing to
the inn at early dawn, I found Manon waiting my arrival. She was at
her window, which looked upon the street, and perceiving my approach,
she came down and opened the door herself. We took our departure
silently, and without creating the least alarm. She merely brought
away a small portion of her apparel, of which I took charge. The
chaise was in readiness, and we were soon at a distance from the town.
"You will learn in the sequel what was the conduct of Tiberge when he
discovered that I had deceived him; that his zeal to serve me suffered
no diminution; and you will observe to what lengths his devotion
carried him. How ought I to grieve, when I reflect on the base
ingratitude with which his affection was always repaid!
"We made such speed on our journey that before night we reached St.
Denis. I rode alongside of the chaise, which gave us little
opportunity for conversation, except while changing horses; but when we
found ourselves so near Paris, and out of the reach of danger, we
allowed ourselves time for refreshment, not having tasted food since we
quitted Amiens. Passionately in love as I felt with Manon, she knew
how to convince me that she was equally so with me. So little did we
restrain our fondness, that we had not even patience to reserve our
caresses till we were alone. The postilions and innkeepers stared at us
with wonder, and I remarked that they appeared surprised at such
uncontrollable love in children of our age.
"Our project of marriage was forgotten at St. Denis; we defrauded the
Church of her rights; and found ourselves united as man and wife
without reflecting on the consequences. It is certain that with my
easy and constant disposition, I should have been happy for my whole
life, if Manon had remained faithful to me. The more I saw of her, the
more I discovered in her new perfections. Her mind, her heart, her
gentleness and beauty, formed a chain at once so binding and so
agreeable, that I could have found perfect happiness in its enduring
influence. Terrible fatality, that which has been the source of my
despair, might, under a slight change of circumstances, have
constituted my happiness. I find myself the most wretched of mankind,
by the force of that very constancy from which I might have fairly
expected to derive the most serene of human blisses, and the most
perfect recompense of love.
"We took a furnished apartment at Paris, in the Rue V----, and, as it
afterwards turned out, to my sorrow, close to the house of M. de B----,
the famous Fermier-general. Three weeks passed, during which I was so
absorbed in my passion, that I never gave a thought to my family, nor
dreamed of the distress which my father probably felt at my absence.
However, as there was yet nothing of profligacy about me, and as Manon
conducted herself with the strictest propriety, the tranquil life we
led served to restore me by degrees to a sense of duty.
"I resolved to effect, if possible, a reconciliation with my parent.
My mistress was to me so perfectly lovable, that I could not doubt
her power of captivating my father, if I could only find the means of
making him acquainted with her good conduct and merit. In a word, I
relied on obtaining his consent to our marriage, having given up all
idea of accomplishing it without his
|
myself
|
How many times does the word 'myself' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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 the Backwoodsman when we thought the paper wanted
one. Carnehan is sober, and so am I. Look at us first and see thatâs
sure. It will save you cutting into my talk. Weâll take one of your
cigars apiece, and you shall see us light.â I watched the test. The
men were absolutely sober, so I gave them each a tepid peg.
âWell and good,â said Carnehan of the eyebrows, wiping the froth
from his mustache. âLet me talk now, Dan. We have been all over
India, mostly on foot. We have been boiler-fitters, engine-drivers,
petty contractors, and all that, and we have decided that India isnât
big enough for such as us.â
They certainly were too big for the office. Dravotâs beard seemed to
fill half the room and Carnehanâs shoulders the other half, as they
sat on the big table. Carnehan continued:ââThe country isnât half
worked out because they that governs it wonât let you touch it. They
spend all their blessed time in governing it, and you canât lift a
spade, nor chip a rock, nor look for oil, nor anything like that
without all the Government sayingââLeave it alone and let us
govern.â Therefore, such as it is, we will let it alone, and go away
to some other place where a man isnât crowded and can come to his
own. We are not little men, and there is nothing that we are afraid of
except Drink, and we have signed a Contrack on that. Therefore, we are
going away to be Kings.â
âKings in our own right,â muttered Dravot.
âYes, of course,â I said. âYouâve been tramping in the sun, and
itâs a very warm night, and hadnât you better sleep over the
notion? Come to-morrow.â
âNeither drunk nor sunstruck,â said Dravot. âWe have slept over
the notion half a year, and require to see Books and Atlases, and we
have decided that there is only one place now in the world that two
strong men can Sar-a-whack. They call it Kafiristan. By my reckoning
its the top right-hand corner of Afghanistan, not more than three
hundred miles from Peshawar. They have two and thirty heathen idols
there, and weâll be the thirty-third. Itâs a mountainous country,
and the women of those parts are very beautiful.â
âBut that is provided against in the Contrack,â said Carnehan.
âNeither Women nor Liquor, Daniel.â
âAnd thatâs all we know, except that no one has gone there, and
they fight, and in any place where they fight a man who knows how to
drill men can always be a King. We shall go to those parts and say to
any King we findââDâ you want to vanquish your foes?â and we
will show him how to drill men; for that we know better than anything
else. Then we will subvert that King and seize his Throne and establish
a Dy-nasty.â
âYouâll be cut to pieces before youâre fifty miles across the
Border,â I said. âYou have to travel through Afghanistan to get to
that country. Itâs one mass of mountains and peaks and glaciers, and
no Englishman has been through it. The people are utter brutes, and
even if you reached them you couldnât do anything.â
âThatâs more like,â said Carnehan. âIf you could think us a
little more mad we would be more pleased. We have come to you to know
about this country, to read a book about it, and to be shown maps. We
want you to tell us that we are fools and to show us your books.â He
turned to the book-cases.
âAre you at all in earnest?â I said.
âA little,â said Dravot, sweetly. âAs big a map as you have got,
even if itâs all blank where Kafiristan is, and any books youâve
got. We can read, though we arenât very educated.â
I uncased the big thirty-two-miles-to-the-inch map of India, and two
smaller Frontier maps, hauled down volume INF-KAN of the Encyclopædia
Britannica, and the men consulted them.
âSee here!â said Dravot, his thumb on the map. âUp to Jagdallak,
Peachey and me know the road. We was there with Robertsâs Army.
Weâll have to turn off to the right at Jagdallak through Laghmann
territory. Then we get among the hillsâfourteen thousand
feetâfifteen thousandâit will be cold work there, but it donât
look very far on the map.â
I handed him Wood on the Sources of the Oxus
|
wished
|
How many times does the word 'wished' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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 looks at his watch.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> The car should be here, may I use--
<b> (THE PHONE)
</b>
<b> PAMELA
</b>
<b> (OVER)
</b> I cancelled it.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> You--?
<b> (PANICKED)
</b> What? Pamela!
<b> PAMELA
</b> Mrs Travers.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> Mrs Travers, please, why--
(sugaring his tone)
Why would you cancel the car?
<b> PAMELA
</b> I shan't be going.
Diarmuid buries his face in his hands.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> We've been through this--
<b> PAMELA
</b> I've changed my mind.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> You can't.
<b> PAMELA
</b> With all due respect Mr Russell I
am on very good terms with my own
faculty and exceedingly confident
in its decision making
capabilities.
Diarmuid's shoulders visibly sag, he lets out a long
frustrated breath.
<b> DIARMUID
</b> You made an agreement. Do you
understand? A verbal agreement.
<b> PAMELA
</b> Why in the world are you speaking
to me as if I am a neonate?
<b> DIARMUID
</b>
<b> HE'LL--
</b>
<b> PAMELA
</b> He'll what? Sue? He is most welcome
to every penny I don't have.
<b> DIARMUID
</b>
<b> LOOK--
</b>
<b> (HE SIGHS)
</b> --I've represented you for a long
time. I like to think of you as a
<b> FRIEND--
</b> Pamela snorts.
<b> DIARMUID (CONT'D)
</b> I like to think of it, believe me I
know it's not reciprocated.
<b> (BEAT)
</b> I would never suggest you do
something that would cause you
|
looks
|
How many times does the word 'looks' appear in the text?
| 2
|
</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. He
stops center of the ring, but Helmut keeps walking and doesn't
see the post in front of him as he walks around the post,
still holding the tails and goes on his butt, pulling Gustav
down as well. The audience screams with laughter, believing
this all part of the act, as we:
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
All the clowns are sitting around their respective trunks
and there is a sense of gloom permeating the air, as Gustav
and MR. SCHMIDT pace back and forth behind Helmut, both going
at him unmercifully.
<b> MR SCHMIDT
</b> (in the middle of his
tirade)
Not to mention how unprofessional
that was...
<b> HELMUT
</b> But it was an accident...
<b> GUSTAV
</b> Oh, sure it was... A very well planned
and calculated accident!
<b> HELMUT
</b> I swear to you... it was an accident!
Gustav stops and grabs Schmidt's arm, and with a threatening,
pointing finger...
<b> GUSTAV
</b> I don't want to hear any more...
You will get me another stooge. I
don't want this man!!
<b> SCHMIDT
</b> Don't get excited, Gustav, you shall
have it.
<b> GUSTAV
</b> You bet I will, or you shall have no
show.
Gustav walks away, sits at his trunk, starts taking his make-
up off.
<b> SCHMIDT
</b> (moving to Helmut's
trunk, leaning over
into Helmut's ear)
You will run with the other clowns
and that's all you will do... is
that clear?
Helmut, shattered, nods his head yes.
<b> SCHMIDT
</b> (continuing)
And if there is another one of your
cute tricks... I promise you will do
your bits for the "Cats" while
cleaning their cages!
Schmidt walks away... leaving Helmut stunned and shocked.
Helmut lifts his trunk cover, which opens on a hinge and
stays upright, as we SLOWLY CRAB AROUND to REVEAL the "One
Sheets" glued to the inside of the trunk lid... as Helmut
reaches for a towel to clean his face, we read:
<b> RINGLING BROS. & BARNUM AND BAILEY
</b>
<b> PRESENTS
</b>
<b> THE WORLD'S GREATEST CLOWN "HELMUT"
</b>
<b> SCHMIDT
</b>
From Germany
The one sheets are battered and torn and certainly appear to
be many years old. As we PAN the "Lid" to see them all,
Helmut's face is reflected in the mirror as we see the tears
rolling down his face. As we FREEZE FRAME, MUSIC hits for:
<b> MAIN TITLES:
</b>
<b> THE DAY THE CLOWN CRIED
</b>
<b> FOLLOWING CREDITS:
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERTED STREET AND BISTRO - NIGHT
</b>
Helmut, dejected and as sad as any man could be, strolls
down the deserted street, alone.
<b> INT. BISTRO
</b>
He comes to a small bistro and walks in... stands at the
bar.
<b> HELMUT
</b> Clause... give me a double whiskey
with beer chaser.
<b> CLAUSE
</b> (who knows him)
You won't get "Funny" out of a bottle.
<b> HELMUT
</b> And you won't make a dime sticking
your nose in other people's business.
Clause pours the whiskey, and places the beer next to it; as
Helmut gulps the drink down and chases it with the beer from
the bottle... we:
<b> STRAIGHT CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. THE APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
Standing at the window looking out is a beautiful WOMAN,
simply dressed, no make-up and clean; she has the look of a
woman who has just bathed and one could almost smell the
fragrance of bath oil on her body. She is tense and
concerned.
She sees something and moves toward the door and opens it.
There is a beat and finally the o.s. SOUNDS of feet scuffling
get to the door. It is Helmut, fairly crocked at this point.
<b> ADA
</b> Helmut, darling, are you all right?
<b> HELMUT
</b> (nastily)
Do I look like I'm not all right?
<b> ADA
</b> I was so worried about you...
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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> PREW
</b><b> (SHRUGS)
</b> That's what the orders say.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> You made a bad mistake. This outfit
they can give back to Custer.
Prew smiles slightly, starts toward door.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> The Captain ain't in yet.
Prew puts down his barracks bags.
<b> PREY
</b> I'll look around.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> (smiles for first time)
Maybe we borrow some money from a
twenty per cent man and take a real
trip to town some night.
<b> PHEW
</b> Maybe.
<b> TRUCKING SHOT ALONG COMPANY STREET
</b> Prew walks slowly down the raised porch alongside the street.
He takes the mouthpiece of a bugle from his pocket, jiggles
it idly, a habit of his. He comes to the Dayroom, glances
through the screen door, goes in.
<b> INT. DAYROOM - DAY
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> The Dayroom has a pool table, ping-pong table, a radio, etc.
Moth-eaten, upholstered chairs line both walls. The place is
empty as Prew enters. He looks around casually, sees the pool
table in an alcove. He moves over to it, puts the bugle
mouthpiece in his pocket, picks a cue from the rack on the
wall. He switches on the light, chalks the cue.
<b> MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT
</b> The triangle of balls is already racked on the table. Prew
addresses the cue ball, shoots and breaks the rack solidly.
He watches the balls hurry around the table.
<b> 3.
</b>
<b> WARDEN'S VOICE (O. S.)
</b> What're you think you're doing!?
Why ain't you out in the field with
the Compny? What's your name?
The voice is brawling, brash, vigorous. Prew turns slowly.
CAMERA ANGLE WIDENS to INCLUDE FIRST SERGEANT MILTON WARDEN,
almost at Prew's elbow. He is thirty-four, big and powerful,
has a neatly-trimmed moust
|
door
|
How many times does the word 'door' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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 be nearly the same as the question whether a
man in a fit of illness can show more strength than in a healthy
condition; and this may be directly denied, since the want of
health, which consists in the proper balance of all the bodily
forces of the man, is a weakness in the system of these forces, by
which system alone we can estimate absolute health.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 30}
III. Of the Reason for conceiving an End which is also a Duty
An end is an object of the free elective will, the idea of which
determines this will to an action by which the object is produced.
Accordingly every action has its end, and as no one can have an end
without himself making the object of his elective will his end,
hence to have some end of actions is an act of the freedom of the
agent, not an affect of physical nature. Now, since this act which
determines an end is a practical principle which commands not the
means (therefore not conditionally) but the end itself (therefore
unconditionally), hence it is a categorical imperative of pure
practical reason and one, therefore, which combines a concept of
duty with that of an end in general.
Now there must be such an end and a categorical imperative
corresponding to it. For since there are free actions, there must also
be ends to which as an object those actions are directed. Amongst
these ends there must also be some which are at the same time (that
is, by their very notion) duties. For if there were none such, then
since no actions can be without an end, all ends which practical
reason might have would be valid only as means to other ends, and a
categorical imperative would be impossible; a supposition which
destroys all moral philosophy.
Here, therefore, we treat not of ends which man actually makes to
himself in accordance with the sensible impulses of his nature, but of
objects of the free elective will under its own laws- objects which he
ought to make his end. We may call the former technical
(subjective), properly pragmatical, including the rules of prudence in
the choice of its ends; but the latter we must call the moral
(objective) doctrine of ends. This distinction is, however,
superfluous here, since moral philosophy already by its very notion is
clearly separated from the doctrine of physical nature (in the present
instance, anthropology). The latter resting on empirical principles,
whereas the moral doctrine of ends which treats of duties rests on
principles given a priori in pure practical reason.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 35}
IV. What are the Ends which are also Duties?
They are: A. OUR OWN PERFECTION, B. HAPPINESS OF OTHERS.
We cannot invert these and make on one side our own happiness, and
on the other the perfection of others, ends which should be in
themselves duties for the same person.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 40}
For one's own happiness is, no doubt, an end that all men have (by
virtue of the impulse of their nature), but this end cannot without
contradiction be regarded as a duty. What a man of himself
inevitably wills does not come under the notion of duty, for this is a
constraint to an end reluctantly adopted. It is, therefore, a
contradiction to say that a man is in duty bound to advance his own
happiness with all his power.
It is likewise a contradiction to make the perfection of another
my end, and to regard myself as in duty bound to promote it. For it is
just in this that the perfection of another man as a person
consists, namely, that he is able of himself to set before him his own
end according to his own notions of duty; and it is a contradiction to
require (to make it a duty for me) that I should do something which no
other but himself can do.
V. Explanation of these two Notions
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 45}
A. OUR OWN PERFECTION
The word perfection is liable to many misconceptions. It is
sometimes understood as a notion belonging to transcendental
philosophy; viz., the notion of the totality of the manifold which
taken together constitutes a thing; sometimes, again, it is understood
as belonging to teleology, so that it signifies the correspondence
of the properties of a thing to an end. Perfection in the former sense
might be called quantitative (material), in the latter qualitative
(formal) perfection. The former can be one only, for the whole of what
belongs to the one thing is one. But of the latter there may be
several in one thing; and it is of the latter property that we here
treat.
When it is said of the perfection that belongs to man generally
(properly speaking, to humanity), that it is in itself a duty to
make this our end, it must be placed in that which may be the effect
of one's deed, not in that which is merely an endowment for which we
have to thank nature; for otherwise it would not be duty.
Consequently, it can be nothing else than the cultivation of one's
power (or natural capacity) and also of one's will (moral disposition)
to satisfy the requirement of duty in general. The supreme element
in the former (the power) is the understanding, it being the faculty
of concepts, and, therefore, also of those concepts which refer to
duty. First it is his duty to labour to raise himself out of the
rudeness of his nature, out of his animal nature more and more to
humanity, by
|
duties
|
How many times does the word 'duties' appear in the text?
| 8
|
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> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
Just hang in there my friend. I won't
forget that you have been a big part of
our success. What's wrong.
<b>EXT. JAIL - DAY
</b>
A large truck drives up to the jail, parking beside the
police car. Two tall, well-dressed MEN step out. They reach
into the cab and pull out machine guns. They walk briskly
towards the jail.
<b>INT. AZUL IN JAIL CELL - DAY
</b>
Azul walks to his toilet and stands on it to see out his
barred window.
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
There's something going on outside. Is
this a double surprise? Are you getting
me out today, Moco?
There is no response from Moco.
<b>INT. JAIL - DAY
</b>
The Guard reading the magazine stands when he sees someone
approaching the door.
<b>EXT. JAIL - DAY
</b>
Close tracking shot of guns as Tall Men open the door and
enter the jail.
<b>INT. AZUL IN JAIL CELL - DAY
</b>
Azul looks out of the jail cell suspiciously. Peering down
the hall, he sees the guys with the guns. He hides behind the
wall, peering out to see what happens next.
<b>
</b><b> 4.
</b>
<b>INT. JAIL LOBBY - DAY
</b>
The Tall Men walk right up to the guard, and hand him a huge
wad of money. The Guard tosses the money to his partner
(still eating), then turns to unlock the block entrance bars.
<b>INT. AZUL IN JAIL CELL - DAY
</b>
Azul puts the receiver back up to his mouth.
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
There are two men here with guns. Did you
send them?
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
Moco, glancing at his watch, hangs up.
<b>INT. AZUL IN JAIL CELL - DAY
</b>
Azul hangs up the phone and kicks his Bodyguard awake. The
Bodyguard gets up and peers out the bars as Azul hides in a
corner.
<b>INT. TALL MEN IN HALL - DAY
</b>
The Tall Men walk steady and alert, ready to kill. They enter
Azul's block and scope out the cells.
The Bodyguard, seeing the tall men, retrieves his shotgun
from under his mattress and grabs his machete from under the
sink. He stands ready to fight.
The Tall Men move slowly towards the big cell, somewhat
cautious. They see the Bodyguard a second too late, for he
sticks the shotgun between the bars, and shoots one of them
before they can react. The shot one stumbles back into his
buddy's arms. Azul's Bodyguard, amused by all this, opens his
cell door effortlessly, and walks out as if to greet them.
The Tall Men hear the sound of the other cells opening, so
they turn around. The other prisoners on the block begin
exiting their cells, carrying guns and Molotov cocktails. The
Tall Man drops his gun. Finally, Azul exits his cell carrying
his phone. The Bodyguard forces the Tall Men into an empty
cell, closing and locking the door.
Azul presses the #-button on his phone. Moco's phone number
is automatically redialed.
Moco answers.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 5.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
I'm still here, Moco. And so are your
little friends. But not for long. They
have something they want to scream to
you. Listen close, because you're going
to repeat it to me when I come to visit
you.
<b>INT. TALL MEN IN CELL - DAY
</b>
The cellmates throw their Molotov cocktails into the cell.
Moco hears the men screaming as they burn to death. Azul is
holding the phone at arm's length into the cell.
<b>INT. JAIL LOBBY - DAY
</b>
The Guards exchange glances when they hear the screaming,
they smile and shrug, then
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
</b> Tell me about it.
Club Member #1 turns to Martin.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> P.P.P. Personal Pan Power. All the
secrets of your universe are divided
up into eight easily digestible
slices.
Club Member #1 pulls a laminated card from his wallet and
hands it over to Martin. In the distance, sirens begin to
wail.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> See, see. It's in the accessible and
everyday shape of a pan pizza. Each
day you have a little slice of
peace...
<b> INSERT - WALLET-SIZE P.P.P. CARD
</b>
A pizza-shaped diagram showing six "sections".
<b> MARTIN
</b> Oh I see. You got your individual
slices of hope, dignity, confidence,
self-love, justice, and harmony.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> You open 'em up and there's the
sayings, stories, little bites of
insight. It's the P.P.P. Six Day
Week.
<b> MARTIN
</b> So you eat-- read it everyday?
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Yes.
<b> MARTIN
</b> And these pan pizzas have opened up
the doors to heaven?
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> Correct.
(re: the card)
That's for you. Keep it.
Sirens are getting louder, closer to the club.
<b> EXT. COUNTRY CLUB - DAY
</b>
The source of the sirens are almost upon us. Martin walks
toward his rented Town Car as the VALET pulls it up. He meets
the Valet by the trunk, where he trades tip for keys.
<b> MARTIN AT CAR
</b> He fishes out the laminated "Personal
Pan Power" card, looks at it, and
tosses it onto the ground. Police
cars, now visible in the distance,
wind into the long club driveway.
Martin gets into his car and pulls
away.
<b> LAMINATED CARD
</b>
As it lays on the asphalt. The wheel of a police car rolls
to a stop on it.
<b> INT. AIRLINER - DAY
</b>
Martin sits in a first class seat, the tray table flipped
down. On the left side of the tray is a stack of magazines
of all kinds - Sports Illustrated, Mademoiselle, Wired,
Rolling Stone, National Review, Spin, National Geographic,
and on. He draws one off the top, and flips through it,
impassively taking in images and reading nothing. When he is
done with one, he discards it into the empty seat next to
him and draws another-- Martin's way of instantly and
massively uploading the world around him:
Toothless hockey player in triumph, Sony product parade,
crouched starving child with vulture in the background,
supermodel in suede, Tic Tacs, living former Presidents, arm
in arm, smiling, etc.
<b> INT. HIRED CAR, NEW YORK - DAY
</b>
The livery weaves out of the arrival lanes at Kennedy airport.
Martin reclines in the back seat, a conversation having
already begun.
<b> DRIVER
</b> How was your day, today, sir?
<b> MARTIN
</b> Effective. But to tell you the truth,
I've lost my passion for work.
<b> DRIVER
</b> Do you like the people you work with?
<b> MARTIN
</b> I work alone.
<b> DRIVER
</b> That's it then. That's it. I've always
been alone. That's why I'm a good
driver. I can handle it. See, I can
think on my feet. I survive, I'm a
thinker. And I can sit there in front
of your house for two hours and it
don't bother me. Some people can't
do it! Some people are ranting and
raving, "Tell them fuckin' people to
get out here and get in this car, I
can't-- I want a go!" Where you gonna
go? You're gonna wind up back in
your garage at seven o'clock at night.
You ain't going nowhere. You leave
your house in the morning you get
back to your house in the evening.
What's the big deal, right?
<b> MARTIN
</b> You understand the psychology of the
job.
<b> DRIVER
</b> I do. Some guys can't adjust to it;
they can't handle it.
<b> INT. CAR - MANHATTAN STREETS - LATER
</b>
The car cuts through the upper east side. Martin and the
Driver exchange looks through the rear-view mirror.
<b> DRIVER
</b> You look like you're far away. Far
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 8
|
., 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 about.
<b>CLOSE OR DOLL HOUSE DETAILS
</b>
It's 3 x 6 and two feet high. Miniature room sets are
inside. Cerrito's thick fingers close the door. He picks
it up. WIDEN. He crosses to a counter and MIDDLE-AGED
<b>CLERK.
</b>
<b> CERRITO
</b> Wrap this here up.
<b> CLERK
</b> Yessir. You're going to have a
happy little girl.
<b> CERRITO
</b> Two. I got two girls.
<b> CLERK
</b> That's nice.
<b> CERRITO
</b> Yeah. And gimme those three
masks there.
Clerk takes down Clark Gable, Three-eyed Monster, and
Beautiful Lady, full-head rubber masks.
<b> CERRITO
</b> (continuing)
Gimme Donald Duck, too
<b> CLERK
</b> (does and laughs)
A little early for Halloween?
<b> CERRITO
</b> Yeah. Halloween's coming early
this year. What do I owe you?
<b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 4.
<b>INT. CONDOMINIUM - A HAND - MORNING
</b>
Slides across the back of JUSTINE'S thigh.
<b>JUSTINE'S AND HANNA'S FACES
</b>
She is 29, auburn, languorous, her eyes are closed and she
makes love with her husband, VINCENT HANNA. Pressing her
face to his, their hair intertwined... It's morning. We
are in an expensive condominium.
<b>WIDE
</b>
The two bodies locked into the rhythms of their love-making,
twisted in white sheets. OFF SCREEN a shower runs.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. SHOWER - HANNA
</b>
Is in it. The water streams off his body. The glass is
misted. He turns off only the hot and breathes fast in
the cold spray. OFF SCREEN a cigarette lighter CLICKS.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>BEDROOM - JUSTINE
</b>
smoking, still under the white sheets, watches Hanna dress.
<b> JUSTINE
</b> ... taking me out to breakfast?
<b> HANNA
</b> (looks at watch)
Can't. Bosko's waiting..
<b> LAUREN
</b> (passing door)
Hi Vincent. Mom, where's my
barrettes?
LAUREN, Justine's daughter, is 15 and tall and anxious.
<b> HANNA
</b> Hi, sweetie.
<b> JUSTINE
</b> I saw them on the kitchen
(to Hanna)
Want me to make coffee?
<b> HANNA
</b> (to Lauren in other
|
chris
|
How many times does the word 'chris' appear in the text?
| 5
|
. 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)
How are you today?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> Okay, I guess.
<b> MARY
</b> (at Mierzwiak's office)
Here we are.
Mierzwiak steps out from behind his desk.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> Ms. Kruczynski, please come in.
Clementine enters the office. Mary smiles at Mierzwiak and
closes the door, leaving them alone.
<b>INT. OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Mierzwiak directs Clementine to a chair next to a coffee
table and a conspicuously placed box of tissues. Mierzwiak
sits across from her. He smiles.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> How are you today?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> Okay, I guess.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> (nodding sympathetically)
Well, why don't you tell me what's going
on? Do you mind if I turn this on?
He indicates a tape recorder.
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> I don't care.
He turns it on, smiles at her, gestures for her to begin.
<b> CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
</b> Well, I've been having a bad time of it
with um, my boyfriend, I guess.
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> You guess he's your boyfriend? Or you
guess you're having a bad time with hm?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> What? No. I don't like the term
boyfriend. It's so gay.
Mierzwiak nods. He's attentive, pleasant, and neutral
throughout.
<b> CLEMENTINE (CONT'D)
</b> Maybe gay isn't the right word. But,
anyway, it's been rough with him...
whatever the fuck he is. Heheh. My
significant other... heh heh. And I
guess on a certain level, I want to break
it off, but I feel... y'know... it's like
this constant questioning and re
questioning. Do I end it? Should I give
it more time? I'm not happy, but what do
I expect? Relationships require work.
You know the drill. The thing that I
keep coming back to is, I'm not getting
any younger, I want to have a baby... at
some point... maybe... right? So then I
think I should settle -- which is not
necessarily the best word -- I mean, he's
a good guy. It's not really settling.
Then I think maybe I'm just a victim of
movies, y'know? That I have some
completely unrealistic notion of what a
relationship can be. But then I think,
no, this is what I really want, so I
should allow myself the freedom to go out
and fucking find it. You know? Agreed?
But then I think he is a good guy and...
It's complicated. Y'know?
<b> MIERZWIAK
</b> I think I know. I think we can help. Why
don't you start by telling me about your
relationship. Everything you can think
of. Everything about him. Everything
about you. And we'll take it from there.
She nods, thinks.
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> Um, well, he's a fucking tidy one --
<b>EXT. COMMUTER TRAIN STATION
</b>
<b>SUBTITLE: TWO WEEKS LATER
</b>
The platform is crowded with business commuters. Joel is
among them. He is in his 30's, gaunt, and holding a
briefcase. The platform across the tracks from him is empty.
Suddenly he turns and makes his way through the crowd. He
climbs the stairs, crosses the overpass to the empty
platform. Soon an almost empty train pulls up to that
platform. Joel gets on and watches the business commuters
through the dirty window as his train pulls out of the
station.
<b>EXT. MONTAUK TRAIN STATION - LATER
</b>
Joel talks on a phone. The wind howls around him. He tries
to shield the mouthpiece as he talks.
<b> JOEL
</b> Hi, Cindy. Joel. Listen, I'm not
feeling well this morning. No. Food
poisoning, I think. Sorry it took me so
long to call in, but I've been vomiting.
<b>EXT. BEACH - DAY
</b>
Joel wanders the windy, empty beach, with his briefcase. He
passes an old man with a metal detector. They nod at each
other.
Later: Joel looks out at the ocean.
Later: Joel sits on a rock and pulls out a notebook. He
opens it and writes with a gloved hand.
<b> JOEL
</b> January 13th, 2006. Today I skipped work
and took the train out to Montauk.
(thinks)
It's cold.
(thinks some more)
The sky is gray.
(thinks some more)
I don't know what else to say. Nothing
happens. Nothing changes. I saw Naomi
last night. We had sex. It was weird to
fall into our old familiar sex life so
easily. Like no time has passed. After
two years apart suddenly we're talking
about getting together again. I guess
that's good.
He has no other thoughts. He glances up, spots
|
should
|
How many times does the word 'should' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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 inquisitor.
In short, dear reader, they were very like you and me. I could fill a
hundred pages with the tale of our imbecilities and still leave much
untold; but what I have set down here haphazard is enough to condemn the
system that produced us. The corner stone of that system was the family
and the institution of marriage as we have it to-day in England.
HEARTH AND HOME
There is no shirking it: if marriage cannot be made to produce something
better than we are, marriage will have to go, or else the nation
will have to go. It is no use talking of honor, virtue, purity, and
wholesome, sweet, clean, English home lives when what is meant is simply
the habits I have described. The flat fact is that English home life
to-day is neither honorable, virtuous, wholesome, sweet, clean, nor
in any creditable way distinctively English. It is in many respects
conspicuously the reverse; and the result of withdrawing children from
it completely at an early age, and sending them to a public school and
then to a university, does, in spite of the fact that these institutions
are class warped and in some respects quite abominably corrupt, produce
sociabler men. Women, too, are improved by the escape from home provided
by women's colleges; but as very few of them are fortunate enough to
enjoy this advantage, most women are so thoroughly home-bred as to
be unfit for human society. So little is expected of them that in
Sheridan's School for Scandal we hardly notice that the heroine is a
female cad, as detestable and dishonorable in her repentance as she is
vulgar and silly in her naughtiness. It was left to an abnormal critic
like George Gissing to point out the glaring fact that in the remarkable
set of life studies of XIXth century women to be found in the novels of
Dickens, the most convincingly real ones are either vilely unamiable
or comically contemptible; whilst his attempts to manufacture admirable
heroines by idealizations of home-bred womanhood are not only absurd but
not even pleasantly absurd: one has no patience with them.
As all this is corrigible by reducing home life and domestic sentiment
to something like reasonable proportions in the life of the individual,
the danger of it does not lie in human nature. Home life as we
understand it is no more natural to us than a cage is natural to a
cockatoo. Its grave danger to the nation lies in its narrow views, its
unnaturally sustained and spitefully jealous concupiscences, its
petty tyrannies, its false social pretences, its endless grudges and
squabbles, its sacrifice of the boy's future by setting him to earn
money to help the family when he should be in training for his adult
life (remember the boy Dickens and the blacking factory), and of the
girl's chances by making her a slave to sick or selfish parents, its
unnatural packing into little brick boxes of little parcels of humanity
of ill-assorted ages, with the old scolding or beating the young for
behaving like young people, and the young hating and thwarting the old
for behaving like old people, and all the other ills, mentionable and
unmentionable, that arise from excessive segregation. It sets these
evils up as benefits and blessings representing the highest attainable
degree of honor and virtue, whilst any criticism of or revolt against
them is savagely persecuted as the extremity of vice. The revolt, driven
under ground and exacerbated, produces debauchery veiled by hypocrisy,
an overwhelming demand for licentious theatrical entertainments which no
censorship can stem, and, worst of all, a confusion of virtue with
the mere morality that steals its name until the real thing is loathed
because the imposture is loathsome. Literary traditions spring up in
which the libertine and profligate--Tom Jones and Charles Surface
are the heroes, and decorous, law-abiding persons--Blifil and Joseph
Surface--are the villains and butts. People like to believe that Nell
Gwynne has every amiable quality and the Bishop's wife every odious one.
Poor Mr. Pecksniff, who is generally no worse than a humbug with a turn
for pompous talking, is represented as a criminal instead of as a very
typical English paterfamilias keeping a roof over the head of himself
and his daughters by inducing people to pay him more for his services
than they are worth. In the extreme instances of reaction against
convention, female murderers get sheaves of offers of marriage; and when
Nature throws up that rare phenomenon, an unscrupulous libertine, his
success among "well brought-up" girls is so easy, and the devotion
he inspires so extravagant, that it is impossible not to see that
the revolt against conventional respectability has transfigured
a commonplace rascal into a sort of Anarchist Saviour. As to the
respectable voluptuary, who joins Omar Khayyam clubs and vibrates to
Swinburne's invocation of Dolores to "come down and redeem us from
virtue," he is to be found in every suburb.
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING
We must be reasonable in our domestic ideals. I do not think that life
at a public school is altogether good for a boy any more than barrack
life is altogether good for a soldier. But neither is home life
altogether good. Such good as it does, I should say, is due to its
freedom from the very atmosphere it professes to supply. That atmosphere
is usually described as an atmosphere of love; and this definition
should be sufficient to put any sane person on guard against it. The
people who talk and write as if the highest attainable state is that of
a family stewing in love continuously from the cradle to the grave, can
hardly have given five minutes serious consideration to so outrageous a
proposition. They cannot have even made up their minds as to what they
mean by love; for when they expatiate on their thesis they are sometimes
talking about kindness, and sometimes about mere appetite. In either
sense they are equally far from the realities of life. No healthy man
or animal is occupied with love in any sense for more than a very small
fraction indeed of the time he devotes to business and to recreations
wholly unconnected with love. A wife entirely preoccupied with her
affection for her husband, a mother entirely preoccupied with her
affection for her children, may be all very well in a book (for people
who like that kind of book); but in
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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 had
seen him in his own room weeping like a child for very joy, they would
have been more astonished still.
The meal was served, and the ten brothers were surprised when the
Egyptian ruler set them at a table all in the order of their ages; but
even yet they did not know who he was. Joseph sat at a table by
himself, with a beautiful silver wine-cup before him, and he sent
plates of choice food to each of his brothers; but he sent to Benjamin
five times as much as to any of the rest.
Next morning they were sent home with their asses laden with
well-filled corn-sacks. They were very glad to get away so quickly,
and they wondered as they went why the great Egyptian had been so kind
to them. But even yet the thought that he might be none other than
Joseph had not entered their minds.
III.
Now Joseph had told his overseer that as he filled the brothers'
corn-sacks he was to put their money into them again, and also to take
his own beautiful silver cup and put it into the mouth of Benjamin's
sack. This was done for a purpose, as we shall see.
Next day, when the brothers had set out on their journey, the overseer
was sent for by his young master, who ordered him to put horses into
his chariot, to ride after the ten Hebrews, and to ask them why they
had stolen his master's silver cup.
Cracking his whip as he went, the Egyptian drove along the road, and
soon overtook the returning travellers. Checking his horses, he
stepped out of his red chariot and sternly asked why they had returned
evil for good by stealing his master's precious silver cup; and he
smiled when he saw the fear in the faces of the dusky Hebrews, and
laughed when they all said that they knew nothing of the cup.
He did not believe them, he said, and would search for the cup himself;
and he laughed again when they said he could search at once, and if he
found it with any one of them, he could put that man to death and make
all the rest of them the slaves of his master.
Of course the silver cup was found in Benjamin's sack; and pointing his
finger at him, the Egyptian said that he would take him back to be his
master's slave, but as for the rest of the men, they could go on their
journey to their homes.
The brothers wrung their hands at these words, and their hearts sank
within them. Judah had promised his father that he would bring
Benjamin back again safe and sound, and now the lad was to become the
slave of this terrible young ruler! After all, the man's kindness of
the day before was only intended to make them feel the pain all the
more when he seized their young brother to be his slave. They could
not return to their old father without him. They would go back to the
Egyptian city, they said, and all go to prison together rather than
part with Benjamin.
In those days, when Hebrews were overcome with grief they tore their
clothes, that all might see how sorrowful they were; and Judah was the
first to seize his tunic and tear it down the front from neck to hem,
and the others did the same. In a mournful procession they followed
the Egyptian's chariot back to the city; and the people gazed at them
as they passed, and laughed.
When they reached Joseph's house and entered the courtyard, they sent
in a very humble message, begging that he would see them. And when
they came into his presence they knelt before him with bowed heads,
till their brows touched the coloured pavement.
"What is this that you have done?" he asked. "Do you not know that
such a man as I can find out secret things?"
Joseph wished to frighten them, but in his heart he was glad that his
brothers had not gone away, leaving Benjamin behind in slavery. They
were kinder now than on that day so long ago when they sold him to the
dark merchantmen in the far-off Vale of Dothan.
In a pleading voice Judah told the terrible Egyptian that all of them
were now his slaves. But Joseph replied that he only wanted the man
who stole his silver cup; the rest could return to their father.
Then Judah had more to say. Holding up his hands for mercy, he told
the story of how they had begged their old father to let Benjamin come;
adding that if they returned without him, the old man would die of
grief. And to Joseph's surprise, he begged that he would let him stay
behind and be his slave for ever in place of his young brother, and let
Benjamin go home to his father.
At times while Judah was speaking Joseph looked at Benjamin, and
sometimes he turned away his head lest they should see the tears in his
eyes. And when his older brother offered to be his slave for ever, the
young Egyptian suddenly ordered every one to leave the room but the
Hebrews; and he remained silent, with his head turned away, while his
Egyptian friends and servants went slowly out.
As soon as they were all gone he sprang to his feet, and held out his
hands to his brothers, calling to them in Hebrew,--
"I am Joseph! Is my father indeed alive?"
The men gazed at him in amazement. What would this terrible Egyptian
do next? Who was this who knew about their brother whom they had sold
into slavery? They were dumb with wonder.
"Come nearer to me, I beg of you," he pleaded. It was the voice of
Joseph that rang in their ears. They came nearer, and gazed up at the
great man. These cheeks were too ruddy for an Egyptian, and these
brown eyes--were they not the eyes of Joseph!
"I am Joseph, your brother, whom you sold into Egypt!" he cried. They
could no longer doubt that he spoke the truth to them; and as they came
forward he clasped them in his arms one by one, weeping for very joy.
Then seeing in their eyes the deep sorrow for their past unkindness, he
added,--
"Be not grieved nor angry that you sold me into Egypt, for it was God
who sent me hither to save many lives in the years of famine. I am
lord of the king's palace and ruler of all Egypt."
Then he took his wondering brothers home with him to stay in his fine
|
done
|
How many times does the word 'done' appear in the text?
| 2
|
* * * * *
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 as she
greeted him.
"Mr. Burckhardt." The voice was like distant tomtoms. "It's wonderful
of you to let me see you, after this morning."
He cleared his throat. "Not at all. Won't you sit down, Miss--"
"April Horn," she murmured, sitting down--beside him, not where he had
pointed on the other side of the table. "Call me April, won't you?"
She was wearing some kind of perfume, Burckhardt noted with what
little of his mind was functioning at all. It didn't seem fair that
she should be using perfume as well as everything else. He came to
with a start and realized that the waiter was leaving with an order
for _filets mignon_ for two.
"Hey!" he objected.
"Please, Mr. Burckhardt." Her shoulder was against his, her face was
turned to him, her breath was warm, her expression was tender and
solicitous. "This is all on the Feckle Corporation. Please let
them--it's the _least_ they can do."
He felt her hand burrowing into his pocket.
"I put the price of the meal into your pocket," she whispered
conspiratorially. "Please do that for me, won't you? I mean I'd
appreciate it if you'd pay the waiter--I'm old-fashioned about things
like that."
She smiled meltingly, then became mock-businesslike. "But you must
take the money," she insisted. "Why, you're letting Feckle off lightly
if you do! You could sue them for every nickel they've got, disturbing
your sleep like that."
* * * * *
With a dizzy feeling, as though he had just seen someone make a rabbit
disappear into a top hat, he said, "Why, it really wasn't so bad, uh,
April. A little noisy, maybe, but--"
"Oh, Mr. Burckhardt!" The blue eyes were wide and admiring. "I knew
you'd understand. It's just that--well, it's such a _wonderful_
freezer that some of the outside men get carried away, so to speak. As
soon as the main office found out about what happened, they sent
representatives around to every house on the block to apologize. Your
wife told us where we could phone you--and I'm so very pleased that
you were willing to let me have lunch with you, so that I could
apologize, too. Because truly, Mr. Burckhardt, it is a _fine_ freezer.
"I shouldn't tell you this, but--" the blue eyes were shyly
lowered--"I'd do almost anything for Feckle Freezers. It's more than a
job to me." She looked up. She was enchanting. "I bet you think I'm
silly, don't you?"
Burckhardt coughed. "Well, I--"
"Oh, you don't want to be unkind!" She shook her head. "No, don't
pretend. You think it's silly. But really, Mr. Burckhardt, you
wouldn't think so if you knew more about the Feckle. Let me show you
this little booklet--"
Burckhardt got back from lunch a full hour late. It wasn't only the
girl who delayed him. There had been a curious interview with a little
man named Swanson, whom he barely knew, who had stopped him with
desperate urgency on the street--and then left him cold.
But it didn't matter much. Mr. Barth, for the first time since
Burckhardt had worked there, was out for the day--leaving Burckhardt
stuck with the quarterly tax returns.
What did matter, though, was that somehow he had signed a purchase
order for a twelve-cubic-foot Feckle Freezer, upright model,
self-defrosting, list price $625, with a ten per cent "courtesy"
discount--"Because of that _horrid_ affair this morning, Mr.
Burckhardt," she had said.
And he wasn't sure how he could explain it to his wife.
* * * * *
He needn't have worried. As he walked in the front door, his wife said
almost immediately, "I wonder if we can't afford a new freezer, dear.
There was a man here to apologize about that noise and--well, we got
to talking and--"
She had signed a purchase order, too.
It had been the damnedest day, Burckhardt thought later, on his way up
to bed. But the day wasn't done with him yet. At the head of the
stairs, the weakened spring in the electric light switch refused to
click at all. He snapped it back and forth angrily and, of course,
succeeded in jarring the tumbler out of its pins. The wires shorted
and every light in the house went out.
"Damn!" said Guy Burckhardt.
"Fuse?" His wife shrugged sleepily. "Let it go till the morning,
dear."
Burckhardt shook his head. "You go back to bed. I'll be right along."
It wasn't so much that he cared about fixing the fuse, but he was too
restless for sleep. He disconnected the bad switch with a screwdriver,
stumbled down into the black kitchen, found the flashlight and climbed
gingerly down the cellar stairs. He located a spare fuse, pushed an
empty trunk over to the fuse box to stand on and twisted out the old
fuse.
When the new one was in, he heard the starting click and steady drone
of the refrigerator in the kitchen overhead.
He headed back to the steps, and stopped.
Where the old trunk had been, the cellar floor gleamed oddly bright.
He inspected it in the flashlight beam. It was metal!
"Son of a gun," said Guy Burckhardt. He shook his head unbelievingly.
He peered closer, rubbed the edges of the metallic patch with his
thumb and acquired an annoying cut--the edges were _sharp_.
The stained cement floor of the cellar was a thin shell. He
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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 are
restoring on the common? It is quite a gem--in the purest style of the
fourteenth century. It was in a most filthy condition, a mere cow-house;
but we have made a subscription, and set it to rights."
"We are bound for Oxley," Sheffield answered; "you would be taking us
out of our way."
"Not a bit of it," said Bateman; "it's not a stone's throw from the
road; you must not refuse me. I'm sure you'll like it."
He proceeded to give the history of the chapel--all it had been, all it
might have been, all it was not, all it was to be.
"It is to be a real specimen of a Catholic chapel," he said; "we mean to
make the attempt of getting the Bishop to dedicate it to the Royal
Martyr--why should not we have our St. Charles as well as the
Romanists?--and it will be quite sweet to hear the vesper-bell tolling
over the sullen moor every evening, in all weathers, and amid all the
changes and chances of this mortal life."
Sheffield asked what congregation they expected to collect at that hour.
"That's a low view," answered Bateman; "it does not signify at all. In
real Catholic churches the number of the congregation is nothing to the
purpose; service is for those who come, not for those who stay away."
"Well," said Sheffield, "I understand what that means when a Roman
Catholic says it; for a priest is supposed to offer sacrifice, which he
can do without a congregation as well as with one. And, again, Catholic
chapels often stand over the bodies of martyrs, or on some place of
miracle, as a record; but our service is 'Common Prayer,' and how can
you have that without a congregation?"
Bateman replied that, even if members of the University did not drop in,
which he expected, at least the bell would be a memento far and near.
"Ah, I see," retorted Sheffield, "the use will be the reverse of what
you said just now; it is not for those that come, but for those who stay
away. The congregation is outside, not inside; it's an outside concern.
I once saw a tall church-tower--so it appeared from the road; but on the
sides you saw it was but a thin wall, made to look like a tower, in
order to give the church an imposing effect. Do run up such a bit of a
wall, and put the bell in it."
"There's another reason," answered Bateman, "for restoring the chapel,
quite independent of the service. It has been a chapel from time
immemorial, and was consecrated by our Catholic forefathers."
Sheffield argued that this would be as good a reason for keeping up the
Mass as for keeping up the chapel.
"We do keep up the Mass," said Bateman; "we offer our Mass every Sunday,
according to the rite of the English Cyprian, as honest Peter Heylin
calls him; what would you have more?"
Whether Sheffield understood this or no, at least it was beyond Charles.
Was the Common Prayer the English Mass, or the Communion-service, or the
Litany, or the sermon, or any part of these? or were Bateman's words
really a confession that there were clergymen who actually said the
Popish Mass once a week? Bateman's precise meaning, however, is lost to
posterity; for they had by this time arrived at the door of the chapel.
It had once been the chapel of an almshouse; a small farmhouse stood
near; but, for population, it was plain no "church accommodation" was
wanted. Before entering, Charles hung back, and whispered to his friend
that he did not know Bateman. An introduction, in consequence, took
place. "Reding of St. Saviour's--Bateman of Nun's Hall;" after which
ceremony, in place of holy water, they managed to enter the chapel in
company.
It was as pretty a building as Bateman had led them to expect, and very
prettily done up. There was a stone altar in the best style, a credence
table, a piscina, what looked like a tabernacle, and a couple of
handsome brass candlesticks. Charles asked the use of the piscina--he
did not know its name--and was told that there was always a piscina in
the old churches in England, and that there could be no proper
restoration without it. Next he asked the meaning of the beautifully
wrought closet or recess above the altar; and received for answer, that
"our sister churches of the Roman obedience always had a tabernacle for
reserving the consecrated bread." Here Charles was brought to a stand:
on which Sheffield asked the use of the niches; and was told by Bateman
that images of saints were forbidden by the canon, but that his friends,
in all these matters, did what they could. Lastly, he asked the meaning
of the candlesticks; and was told that, Catholicly-minded as their
Bishop was, they had some fear lest he would object to altar lights in
service--at least at first: but it was plain that the _use_ of the
candlesticks was to hold candles. Having had their fill of gazing and
admiring, they turned to proceed on their walk, but could not get off an
invitation to breakfast, in a few days, at Bateman's lodgings in the
Turl.
CHAPTER III.
Neither of the friends had what are called _views_ in religion; by which
expression we do not here signify that neither had taken up a certain
line of opinion, though this was the case also; but that neither of
them--how could they at their age?--had placed his religion on an
intellectual basis. It may be as well to state more distinctly what a
"view" is, what it is to be "viewy," and what is the state of those who
have no "views." When, then; men for the first time look upon the world
of politics or religion, all that they find there meets their mind's eye
as a landscape addresses itself for the first time to a person who has
just gained his bodily sight. One thing is as far off as another; there
is no perspective. The connection of fact with fact, truth with truth,
the bearing of fact upon truth, and truth upon fact, what leads to what,
|
queen
|
How many times does the word 'queen' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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> Are you really going to shave
your legs?
<b> DAVE
</b> Certo. All the Italians do it.
<b> MIKE
</b> That's some country. The women
don't shave theirs.
<b> CYRIL
</b>
<b> STOP!
</b> (pauses as if
<b> THUNDERSTRUCK;
</b> hand on heart)
It was somewhere along here that
I lost all interest in life. Ah,
right over there. I.saw
Dolores Reineke and fat Marvin.
Why? Why Dolores?
<b> MOOCHER
</b> They're married now.
Coat.
<b> 567
</b>
<b> REVISED - "BAMBINO" - 6/16/78 3
</b>
<b> X
</b> 1 Cont.1
<b> MIRE
</b> You see what I saved you from,
Cyril. Had I not told you about
the two of them you never would
have followed them out here.
<b> CYRIL-
</b> Thank you, Mike. You made me
lose all interest in life and
I'm grateful.
<b> MIKE
</b> My brother says he saw you and
Nancy. Moocher.
<b> MOOCHER
</b> When?
<b> MIKE
</b> Last Friday?
<b> MOOCHER
</b> Wasn't me. I'm not seeing her
anymore.
<b> ANOTHER ANGLE
</b> They are now standing above a huge pool of water with sheer
cliffs on three sides. Abandoned derricks loom in the
distance. Dave is now humming softly a Neapolitan song.
They begin the descent.
<b> CYRIL
</b> I kind of miss school. You know.
This will be the first time nobody's
going to ask us to write a theme
about how we spent our summer.
<b> MIKE
</b> Remember the Tomb of the
Unknown Substitute Teacher.
<b> MOOCHER
</b> She believed us too.
<b> MIKE
</b>
<b> (TEACHER'S VOICE)
</b>
|
mike
|
How many times does the word 'mike' appear in the text?
| 7
|
! [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 [tossing
the flower on the piano]. It is that play that has done all the
mischief. I'm very sorry I ever saw it: it ought to be stopped.
HE [amazed] Aurora!
SHE. Yes: I mean it.
HE. That divinest love poem! the poem that gave us courage to speak to
one another! that revealed to us what we really felt for one another!
That--
SHE. Just so. It put a lot of stuff into my head that I should never
have dreamt of for myself. I imagined myself just like Candida.
HE [catching her hands and looking earnestly at her] You were right. You
are like Candida.
SHE [snatching her hands away] Oh, stuff! And I thought you were just
like Eugene. [Looking critically at him] Now that I come to look at you,
you are rather like him, too. [She throws herself discontentedly into
the nearest seat, which happens to be the bench at the piano. He goes to
her].
HE [very earnestly] Aurora: if Candida had loved Eugene she would have
gone out into the night with him without a moment's hesitation.
SHE [with equal earnestness] Henry: do you know what's wanting in that
play?
HE. There is nothing wanting in it.
SHE. Yes there is. There's a Georgina wanting in it. If Georgina had
been there to make trouble, that play would have been a true-to-life
tragedy. Now I'll tell you something about it that I have never told you
before.
HE. What is that?
SHE. I took Teddy to it. I thought it would do him good; and so it would
if I could only have kept him awake. Georgina came too; and you should
have heard the way she went on about it. She said it was downright
immoral, and that she knew the sort of woman that encourages boys to sit
on the hearthrug and make love to her. She was just preparing Teddy's
mind to poison it about me.
HE. Let us be just to Georgina, dearest
SHE. Let her deserve it first. Just to Georgina, indeed!
HE. She really sees the world in that way. That is her punishment.
SHE. How can it be her punishment when she likes it? It'll be my
punishment when she brings that budget of poems to Teddy. I wish you'd
have some sense, and sympathize with my position a little.
HE. [going away from the piano and beginning to walk about rather
testily] My dear: I really don't care about Georgina or about Teddy. All
these squabbles belong to a plane on which I am, as you say, no use. I
have counted the cost; and I do not fear the consequences. After all,
what is there to fear? Where is the difficulty? What can Georgina do?
What can your husband do? What can anybody do?
SHE. Do you mean to say that you propose that we should walk right bang
up to Teddy and tell him we're going away together?
HE. Yes. What can be simpler?
SHE. And do you think for a moment he'd stand it, like that half-baked
clergyman in the play? He'd just kill you.
HE [coming to a sudden stop and speaking with considerable confidence]
You don't understand these things, my darling, how could you? In one
respect I am unlike the poet in the play. I have followed the Greek
ideal and not neglected the culture of my body. Your husband would make
a tolerable second-rate heavy weight if he were in training and ten
years younger. As it is, he could, if strung up to a great effort by
a burst of passion, give a good account of himself for perhaps fifteen
seconds. But I am active enough to keep out of his reach for fifteen
seconds; and after that I should be simply all over him.
SHE [rising and coming to him in consternation] What do you mean by all
over him?
HE [gently] Don't ask me, dearest. At all events, I swear to you that
you need not be anxious about me.
SHE. And what about Teddy? Do you mean to tell me that you are going to
beat Teddy before my face like a brutal prizefighter?
HE. All this alarm is needless, dearest. Believe me, nothing will
happen. Your husband knows that I am capable of defending myself. Under
such circumstances nothing ever does happen. And of course I shall do
nothing. The man who once loved you is sacred to me.
SHE [suspiciously] Doesn't he love me still? Has he told you anything?
HE. No, no. [He takes her tenderly in his arms]. Dearest, dearest: how
agitated you are! how unlike yourself! All these worries belong to
the lower plane. Come up with me to the higher one. The heights, the
solitudes, the soul world!
SHE [avoiding his gaze] No: stop: it's no use, Mr Apjohn.
HE [recoiling] Mr Apjohn!!!
SHE. Excuse me: I meant Henry, of course.
HE. How could you even think of me as Mr Apjohn? I never think of you as
Mrs Bompas: it is always Cand-- I mean Aurora, Aurora, Auro--
SHE. Yes, yes: that's all very well, Mr Apjohn [He is about to interrupt
again: but she won't have it] no: it's no use: I've suddenly begun to
think of you as Mr Apjohn; and it's ridiculous to go on calling you
Henry. I thought you were only a boy, a child, a dreamer. I thought you
would be too much afraid to do anything. And now you want to beat Teddy
and to break up my home and disgrace me and make a horrible scandal in
the papers. It's cruel, unmanly, cowardly.
HE [with grave wonder] Are you afraid?
SHE. Oh, of course I'm afraid. So would you be if you had any common
sense. [She goes to the hearth, turning her back to him, and puts one
tapping foot on the fender].
HE [watching her with great gravity] Perfect love casteth out fear. That
is why I am not afraid. Mrs Bompas: you do not love me
|
going
|
How many times does the word 'going' appear in the text?
| 4
|
</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> PRECIOUS (V.O.)
</b> Plus she say who wanna see me
dancing anyway. I goes to I.S. 111.
In Harlem. New York. Today I was
almost late. That'd a been a
problem.
Precious scurries behind them donning the red scarf and
lugging her book bag.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 3.
</b>
<b>3 INT. CLASSROOM DAY 3
</b>
Precious sits in the last row behind 26 children half her
size, 3 years younger and mostly African American. Noise and
projectiles fill the air.
MR. WICHER -A FRAIL MAN IN A BOW TIE AND TWEED COAT, stands
at the head of the class trying to establish order.
<b> MR. WICHER
</b> Class, would you please turn to
page 122 ...Class! 122!
Precious' book stays closed as the other students find the
page.
TWO BOYS in front of Precious giggle boisterously at some
private joke.
Mr. Wicher looks annoyed but accustomed to this.
<b> PRECIOUS (V.O.)
</b> I like maff but I don't say nuffin'
-don't open my book even. Just sit
there.
The giggling boys continue their shenanigans.
<b> MR. WICHER
</b> Boys?
The boys finally open their books.
<b> MR. WICHER
</b> Page 122 please.
<b> PRECIOUS (V.O.)
</b> Everyday I tell myself something
gonna happen, like I'm gonna break
through or somebody gonna break
through to me -I'm gonna learn,
catch up, be normal, sit in the
front ...someday.
The giggling flares up again. Precious sneers at the boys.
<b> MR. WICHER
</b> Today we are going to review
Monday's assignment. Would anyone
like to begin?
The boys get louder.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 4.
</b><b>3 CONTINUED: 3
</b> Mr. Wicher looks at them helplessly.
<b> MR. WICHER
</b> Boys! ! !
<b> PRECIOUS (V.O.)
</b> I like Mr. Wicher. I pretend he my
husband and we live in Weschesser,
whereever that is. I can see by his
|
boys
|
How many times does the word 'boys' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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 Samudra-pála, who entered into
his body by miraculous means. The usurper reigned 24 years and 2
months, and the throne of Delhi continued in the hands of his sixteen
successors, who reigned 641 years and three months. Vikrama-pála, the
last, was slain in battle by Tilaka-chandra, King of Vaharannah.[14]
[14] Lieut. Wilford supports the theory that there were eight
Vikramadityas, the last of whom established the era. For
further particulars, the curious reader will consult Lassenâs
_Anthologia_, and Professor H. H. Wilsonâs _Essay on Vikram_,
(New) As. Res. ix. 117.
It is not pretended that the words of these Hindu tales are
preserved to the letter. The question about the metamorphosis of
cats into tigers, for instance, proceeded from a Gem of Learning
in a university much nearer home than Gaur. Similarly the learned
and still living Mgr. Gaume (_Traité du Saint-Esprit_, p. 81) joins
Camerarius in the belief that serpents bite women rather than men.
And he quotes (p. 192) Cornelius à Lapide, who informs us that the
leopard is the produce of a lioness with a hyæna or a pard.
The merit of the old stories lies in their suggestiveness and their
general applicability. I have ventured to remedy the conciseness of
their language, and to clothe the skeleton with flesh and blood.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. 1
_THE VAMPIREâS FIRST STORY._
IN WHICH A MAN DECEIVES A WOMAN. 54
_THE VAMPIREâS SECOND STORY._
OF THE RELATIVE VILLANY OF MEN AND WOMEN. 97
_THE VAMPIREâS THIRD STORY._
OF A HIGH-MINDED FAMILY. 140
_THE VAMPIREâS FOURTH STORY._
OF A WOMAN WHO TOLD THE TRUTH. 156
_THE VAMPIREâS FIFTH STORY._
OF THE THIEF WHO LAUGHED AND WEPT. 167
_THE VAMPIREâS SIXTH STORY._
IN WHICH THREE MEN DISPUTE ABOUT A WOMAN. 190
_THE VAMPIREâS SEVENTH STORY._
SHOWING THE EXCEEDING FOLLY OF MANY WISE FOOLS. 209
_THE VAMPIREâS EIGHTH STORY._
OF THE USE AND MISUSE OF MAGIC PILLS. 238
_THE VAMPIREâS NINTH STORY._
SHOWING THAT A MANâS WIFE BELONGS NOT TO HIS BODY BUT TO
HIS HEAD. 267
_THE VAMPIREâS TENTH STORY._
OF THE MARVELLOUS DELICACY OF THREE QUEENS. 285
_THE VAMPIREâS ELEVENTH STORY._
WHICH PUZZLES RAJA VIKRAM. 290
CONCLUSION. 307
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
DURING THE THREE HOURS OF RETURN HARDLY A WORD PASSED
BETWEEN THE PAIR. _Frontispiece_
HE WAS PLAYING UPON A HUMAN SKULL WITH TWO SHANK BONES._p._ 43
HE ONCE MORE SEIZED THE BAITALâS HAIR. 48
WENT UP TO HER WITH POLITE SALUTATIONS. _To face_ 65
HAVING SAID THIS,
|
these
|
How many times does the word 'these' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
kill every teenager from the area.
(beat)
And every now and then, the murders
start up again.
The boat lurches slightly, tugging at the anchor cable.
She's scared: he's frightened himself a little, too.
<b> JIM
</b> Forget about it, Suzy. They're just
stories.
He brushes her hair back, kissing her cheek gently,
finding the nape of her neck again. She closes her eyes,
trying to dismiss what he's dredged up. But she can't.
Suzy begins to rationalize.
<b> SUZY
</b> We're the last graduating class,
right?
Jim's kissing her body, putting Jason behind him.
<b> JIM
</b> Right.
<b> SUZY
</b> I mean, Lakeview High just closed its
doors for good, right?
<b> JIM
</b> Right.
<b> SUZY
</b> So there's no reason for him to come
back because there won't be any of us
around...right?
Jim stops, looking her squarely in the eyes.
<b> JIM
</b> Right. Except that Jason isn't real
so none of it matters anyway.
She starts to relax, returning his kisses.
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
as the anchor drifts along the lake floor, tugging hard
on the power cable. Camera TRACKS along the cable,
coming to a RUSTY SET OF CHAINS TANGLED AROUND IT.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
as Jim slides on top of Suzy. Thoughts of Jason are
starting to slip away along with their clothes.
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
as the chains emit a dull tinkle due to movement from the
tugging anchor. Camera continues to TRACK again...and we
find to our horror that the waterlogged, fish-eaten body
of JASON IS SECURED BY THESE SAME CHAINS. (NOTE: Jason's
face is obscured.)
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Teenagers in love, lost in not-so-innocent passion. At
the same moment:
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
The anchor tugs one last time and RIPS THROUGH THE CABLE.
SPARKS INSTANTLY FLY, chasing along the cable, finding
the chain which secures Jason and ENGULFING HIM IN
<b> ELECTRICITY.
</b>
<b> EXT. HOUSEBOAT - ON LAKE SURFACE (EFX)
</b>
as BRIGHT FLASHES OF BLUE LIGHT strobe-under the surface.
ARCING CURRENT chases up the anchor cable, sparking
across the hoist.
<b> EXT. CAMP CRYSTAL LAKE - WIDE SHOT FROM WATER
</b>
as the electricity feeding the streetlights is abruptly
extinguished, plunging the campsite into darkness.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
as Suzy's eyes flash open.
<b> SUZY
</b> Did you hear that?
<b> JIM
</b> Hear what?
He pulls her back down.
<b> SUZY
</b> C'mon, I'm serious.
He knows the mood is broken.
<b> JIM
</b> All right, I'll check it out.
He slips on his jeans, exiting the cabin. She pulls the
sheet up around her fearfully.
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
as the cable smolders, void of electricity now. TRACK to
find the chains again...but they're dangling loosely.
<b> JASON IS GONE.
</b>
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Suzy is tensely kneeling on the bed now. The black void
of night is all she sees out the cabin door, which Jim
has left open. An uncomfortable amount of time passes.
<b> SUZY
</b> Jimmy...?
No answer. Her heart starts to pound.
<b> SUZY
</b> Jim...?
Again, nothing. She wraps herself in the sheet, moving
towards the open door. The ship creaks again.
<b> SUZY'S POINT OF VIEW
</b>
as she grows closer to the doorway, nothing but pitch-
black beyond it.
<b> SUZY
</b> Stop screwing around, Jim. I mean
it...
...And just as she reaches the door:
<b> A HOCKEY MASKED MONSTER
</b>
leaps out, clutching a HUGE KNIFE. Suzy barely has time
to scream before JASON PLUNGES THE KNIFE INTO HER CHEST.
<b> SUZY
</b>
stands there in speechless shock, looking down at her
mortal wound. But there's no blood.
<b> THE MONSTER
</b>
pulls the knife back out, pushing the blade in and out
with his hand. It's a retractable rubber knife. JIM
pulls off
|
assorted
|
How many times does the word 'assorted' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</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 lasers converge on the Attack Ship barely meters ahead,
the ROARING craft EXPLODING directly before him.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
(OVER) WEST SCREAMS as he shoots through the sudden conflagration of
flame and debris, everywhere and then gone, giving way to the
blackness of space and the starfield beyond.
<b> WEST
</b>
Show's over.
Below, the second Attack Ship ROARS past, lasers FIRING, locked in a
pinwheel battle with Jeb's Bubble Fighter.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
JEB'S BUBBLE FIGHTER banks, avoiding the high energy volley. Almost. A
laser BURST grazes his Bubble Fighter, the surface of his craft
sparking, suddenly scored with flames.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
The Attack ship is right behind him.
<b> JEB
</b>
Weapons are off line. Jettisoning main
drive core.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The thruster core of Jeb's Bubble Fighter BLOWS off in a bolus of
flame, soaring back into the pursuit craft. The Raider EXPLODES.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
Controls are sparking. Displays flicker. (OVER) An ALARM sounds.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Warning. Failure in redundant drive systems.
JEB-POV. The surface of Mars is rushing up fast.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact on in 90 seconds.
<b> JEB
</b>
Mars Control. . .
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
Jeb's ship is barreling toward the planet.
<b> JEB (OVER)
</b>
. . .this is Ranger One.
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
<b> JEB (ON RADIO)
</b>
...Engines will not respond. Require
assistance. Repeat...
<b> BASE (ON RADIO)
</b>
Ranger One this is Grissom Base.
Rescue craft have been dispatched.
<b>EXT.- MARS MINING COLONY
</b>
Three small rescue craft race skyward.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact in 60 seconds.
Mars fills the view screen.
<b>INT.-WEST'S CRAFT
</b>
The rescue craft are speeding toward Jeb's fighter below.
<b> WEST
</b>
Grissom, this is Eagle One. Those Pugs
Will never reach him in time.
<b> BASE (ON RADIO)
</b>
Eagle one clear this frequency and
return to base.
DON takes a beat. Then he spins his chair towards Mars, begins working
the controls.
<b> WEST
</b>
This is Eagle One. I'm going after
him.
<b> BASE (OVER)
</b>
Negative Eagle one, your craft is not
equipped
West hits his thrusters.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
West's craft dives toward Jeb's ship and Mars below.
<b>INT.-JEB'S FIGHTER
</b>
Mars is coming up fast.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact in 30 seconds.
<b> WEST (OVER)
</b>
Jeb, do you have navigational
thrusters?
<b> JEB
</b>
Don?
<b> WEST (OVER)
</b>
|
other
|
How many times does the word 'other' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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.
At the door, Daniel hands the ski mask back to Maya.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> You might want to put this on.
<b> 3.
</b>
<b> MAYA
</b> You're not wearing one. Is he ever
getting out?
<b> DANIEL
</b> Never.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. INTERROGATION ROOM - LATER
</b>
<b> SUPERIMPOSE: CIA BLACK SITE - UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
</b> Ammar, bruised from the beating, is restrained with ropes.
Maya stands a few feet behind Daniel, attentive, wary of
what is to come. This is her first interrogation and she is
on the verge of vomiting from the stench in the room. She
looks around at the sound-proofed walls, the puddles of water
on the floor.
<b> DANIEL
</b> Right now, this is about you coming
to terms with your situation. It's
you and me, bro. I want you to
understand that I know you, that
I've been studying you for a very
long time. I could have had you
killed Karachi. But I let you live
so you and I could talk.
<b> AMMAR
</b>
<b> (RESISTANT)
</b> You beat me when my hands are tied.
I won't talk to you.
<b> DANIEL
</b> Life isn't always fair, my friend.
Did you really think that when we
got you, I'd be a nice fucking guy?
<b> AMMAR
</b> You're a mid-level guy. You're a
garbage man in a corporation. Why
should I respect you?
<b> DANIEL
</b> And you're a money man. A paperboy!
Daniel paces around Ammar, anger rising.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> A disgrace to humanity!
<b> (MORE)
</b>
<b> 4.
</b>
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> You and your uncle murdered three
thousand innocent people. I have
your name on a five-thousand dollar
transfer via Western Union to a 9/11
hijacker.
He leans into Ammar's ear. Uncomfortably close.
<b>
|
undisclosed
|
How many times does the word 'undisclosed' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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,
some for their horses, and some for another flask of
wine. But at length some sense came back to their crazed
minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took
horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above
them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course
which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach
her own home.
"They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the
night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to
him to know if he had seen the hunt. And the man, as
the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could
scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen
the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'But
I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville
passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind
him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at
my heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd
and rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for
there came a galloping across the moor, and the black
mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing
bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close
together, for a great fear was on them, but they still
followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone,
would have been right glad to have turned his horse's
head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last
upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour
and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the
head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the
moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles
and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them.
"The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you
may guess, than when they started. The most of them
would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest,
or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal.
Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of
those great stones, still to be seen there, which were
set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old.
The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there
in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen,
dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight
of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo
Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon
the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it
was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat,
there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped
like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal
eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing
tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it
turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the
three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still
screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that
very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were
but broken men for the rest of their days.
"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound
which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever
since. If I have set it down it is because that which
is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but
hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied that many
of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which
have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we
shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence,
which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that
third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy
Writ. To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend
you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from
crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of
evil are exalted.
"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John,
with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their
sister Elizabeth.]"
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed
his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock
|
came
|
How many times does the word 'came' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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
</b>
Come on, you remember the union regulations,
Sal.
<b>
</b><b> SAL
</b>
(angrily) You know what your problem
is?
<b>
</b> Sal stops on one side of the street while Ray continues walking.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> RAY
</b>
(joking) I can think of a couple of
women who'd be happy to tell you.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. RAY'S CAR - DRIVEWAY - DAWN
</b>
Ray gets out and takes the last can of trash to the street as
Tim (in his 30s, wearing expensive clothes, slicked sharp hair,
extremely well groomed, looks like (and is) rich) and Ray's ex-wife
Mary Ann (in her 30s, pregnant with maternity clothes on, hair
hanging loose and rather unkempt) stand at their new car. Robbie
(15, ragged, tough look, long hair, partially groomed, worn clothes
(but looks in style), hip side pack with misc. objects in it.)
and Rachel (10, still dressed in Barbie color scheme clothing,
long unkempt hair in pigtails) are in the car.
<b>
</b><b> RAY
</b>
Is it 8:30? We say that?
<b> MARY ANN
</b>
We said 8:00.
<b> RAY
</b>
(changing subject) Hey, this is one
safe looking vehicle you got yourself
here Tim. Congratulations.
<b>
</b><b> TIM
</b>
Thank You.
<b> RAY
</b>
8 o'clock huh?
<b> MARY ANN
</b>
Um-Huh. We'll be back by 9:30 on Sunday,
depending on the traffic.
<b>
</b> Robbie gets out of the car, carelessly banging the door on the
electrical pole. He is listening to his MP3 player at a loud
enough volume for the camera (10' away to hear).
<b>
</b><b> RAY
</b>
|
side
|
How many times does the word 'side' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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,
over these lawns, by that stream, along these tangled paths, many a
grand-dame of his had merrily strolled when a girl; vividly recalling
these things, Pierre deemed all that part of the earth a love-token; so
that his very horizon was to him as a memorial ring.
The monarchical world very generally imagines, that in demagoguical
America the sacred Past hath no fixed statues erected to it, but all
things irreverently seethe and boil in the vulgar caldron of an
everlasting uncrystalizing Present. This conceit would seem peculiarly
applicable to the social condition. With no chartered aristocracy, and
no law of entail, how can any family in America imposingly perpetuate
itself? Certainly that common saying among us, which declares, that be a
family conspicuous as it may, a single half-century shall see it abased;
that maxim undoubtedly holds true with the commonalty. In our cities
families rise and burst like bubbles in a vat. For indeed the democratic
element operates as a subtile acid among us; forever producing new
things by corroding the old; as in the south of France verdigris, the
primitive material of one kind of green paint, is produced by
grape-vinegar poured upon copper plates. Now in general nothing can be
more significant of decay than the idea of corrosion; yet on the other
hand, nothing can more vividly suggest luxuriance of life, than the idea
of green as a color; for green is the peculiar signet of all-fertile
Nature herself. Herein by apt analogy we behold the marked anomalousness
of America; whose character abroad, we need not be surprised, is
misconceived, when we consider how strangely she contradicts all prior
notions of human things; and how wonderfully to her, Death itself
becomes transmuted into Life. So that political institutions, which in
other lands seem above all things intensely artificial, with America
seem to possess the divine virtue of a natural law; for the most mighty
of nature's laws is this, that out of Death she brings Life.
Still, are there things in the visible world, over which ever-shifting
Nature hath not so unbounded a sway. The grass is annually changed; but
the limbs of the oak, for a long term of years, defy that annual decree.
And if in America the vast mass of families be as the blades of grass,
yet some few there are that stand as the oak; which, instead of
decaying, annually puts forth new branches; whereby Time, instead of
subtracting, is made to capitulate into a multiple virtue.
In this matter we will--not superciliously, but in fair spirit--compare
pedigrees with England, and strange as it may seem at the first blush,
not without some claim to equality. I dare say, that in this thing the
Peerage Book is a good statistical standard whereby to judge her; since
the compilers of that work can not be entirely insensible on whose
patronage they most rely; and the common intelligence of our own people
shall suffice to judge us. But the magnificence of names must not
mislead us as to the humility of things. For as the breath in all our
lungs is hereditary, and my present breath at this moment, is further
descended than the body of the present High Priest of the Jews, so far
as he can assuredly trace it; so mere names, which are also but air, do
likewise revel in this endless descendedness. But if Richmond, and St.
Albans, and Grafton, and Portland, and Buccleugh, be names almost old as
England herself, the present Dukes of those names stop in their own
genuine pedigrees at Charles II., and there find no very fine fountain;
since what we would deem the least glorious parentage under the sun, is
precisely the parentage of a Buccleugh, for example; whose ancestress
could not well avoid being a mother, it is true, but had accidentally
omitted the preliminary rite. Yet a king was the sire. Then only so much
the worse; for if it be small insult to be struck by a pauper, but
mortal offense to receive a blow from a gentleman, then of all things
the bye-blows of kings must be signally unflattering. In England the
Peerage is kept alive by incessant restorations and creations. One man,
George III., manufactured five hundred and twenty-two peers. An earldom,
in abeyance for five centuries, has suddenly been assumed by some
commoner, to whom it had not so much descended, as through the art of
the lawyers been made flexibly to bend in that direction. For not Thames
is so sinuous in his natural course, not the Bridgewater Canal more
artificially conducted, than blood in the veins of that winding or
manufactured nobility. Perishable as stubble, and fungous as the fungi,
those grafted families successively live and die on the eternal soil of
a name. In England this day, twenty-five hundred peerages are extinct;
but the names survive. So that the empty air of a name is more
endurable than a man, or than dynasties of men; the air fills man's
lungs and puts life into a man, but man fills not the air, nor puts life
into that.
All honor to the names then, and all courtesy to the men; but if St.
Albans tell me he is all-honorable and all-eternal, I must still
politely refer him to Nell Gwynne.
Beyond Charles II. very few indeed--hardly worthy of note--are the
present titled English families which can trace any thing like a direct
unvitiated blood-descent from the thief knights of the Norman. Beyond
Charles II. their direct genealogies seem vain as though some Jew
clothesman, with a tea-canister on his head, turned over the first
chapter of St. Matthew to make out his unmingled participation in the
blood of King Saul, who had long died ere the career of the Cæsar began.
Now, not preliminarily to enlarge upon the fact that, while in England
an immense mass of state-masonry is brought to bear as a buttress in
upholding the hereditary existence of certain houses, while with us
nothing of that kind can possibly be admitted; and to omit all mention
of the hundreds of unobtrusive families in New England who,
nevertheless, might easily trace their uninterrupted English lineage to
a time before Charles the Blade
|
seem
|
How many times does the word 'seem' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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 a just
reliance on me own powers. But Phinny is a different sort of man.
Phinny can stick to a desk from twelve to seven, and wish to come
back again after dinner. He's had money left him, too, and 'd like to
spend some of it on an English borough."
"You never can quite trust him," said Bonteen. Now Mr. Bonteen had
never loved Mr. Finn.
"At any rate we'll try him again," said Barrington Erle, making a
little note to that effect. And they did try him again.
Phineas Finn, when last seen by the public, was departing from
parliamentary life in London to the enjoyment of a modest place
under Government in his own country, with something of a shattered
ambition. After various turmoils he had achieved a competency, and
had married the girl of his heart. But now his wife was dead, and he
was again alone in the world. One of his friends had declared that
money had been left to him. That was true, but the money had not been
much. Phineas Finn had lost his father as well as his wife, and had
inherited about four thousand pounds. He was not at this time much
over thirty; and it must be acknowledged in regard to him that, since
the day on which he had accepted place and retired from London, his
very soul had sighed for the lost glories of Westminster and Downing
Street.
There are certain modes of life which, if once adopted, make
contentment in any other circumstances almost an impossibility. In
old age a man may retire without repining, though it is often beyond
the power even of the old man to do so; but in youth, with all the
faculties still perfect, with the body still strong, with the hopes
still buoyant, such a change as that which had been made by Phineas
Finn was more than he, or than most men, could bear with equanimity.
He had revelled in the gas-light, and could not lie quiet on a sunny
bank. To the palate accustomed to high cookery, bread and milk is
almost painfully insipid. When Phineas Finn found himself discharging
in Dublin the routine duties of his office,--as to which there was
no public comment, no feeling that such duties were done in the face
of the country,--he became sick at heart and discontented. Like
the warhorse out at grass he remembered the sound of the battle
and the noise of trumpets. After five years spent in the heat and
full excitement of London society, life in Ireland was tame to
him, and cold, and dull. He did not analyse the difference between
metropolitan and quasi-metropolitan manners; but he found that men
and women in Dublin were different from those to whom he had been
accustomed in London. He had lived among lords, and the sons and
daughters of lords; and though the official secretaries and assistant
commissioners among whom his lot now threw him were for the most part
clever fellows, fond of society, and perhaps more than his equals in
the kind of conversation which he found to be prevalent, still they
were not the same as the men he had left behind him,--men alive with
the excitement of parliamentary life in London. When in London he had
often told himself that he was sick of it, and that he would better
love some country quiet life. Now Dublin was his Tibur, and the
fickle one found that he could not be happy unless he were back again
at Rome. When, therefore, he received the following letter from
his friend, Barrington Erle, he neighed like the old warhorse, and
already found himself shouting "Ha, ha," among the trumpets.
---- Street, 9th July, 18--.
MY DEAR FINN,
Although you are not now immediately concerned in such
trifling matters you have no doubt heard that we are
all to be sent back at once to our constituents, and
that there will be a general election about the end of
September. We are sure that we shall have such a majority
as we never had before; but we are determined to make it
as strong as possible, and to get in all the good men that
are to be had. Have you a mind to try again? After all,
there is nothing like it.
Perhaps you may have some Irish seat in your eye for
which you would be safe. To tell the truth we know very
little of the Irish seats--not so much as, I think,
we ought to do. But if you are not so lucky I would
suggest Tankerville in Durham. Of course there would
be a contest, and a little money will be wanted; but the
money would not be much. Browborough has sat for the place
now for three Parliaments, and seems to think it all his
own. I am told that nothing could be easier than to turn
him out. You will remember the man--a great, hulking,
heavy, speechless fellow, who always used to sit just over
Lord Macaw's shoulder. I have made inquiry, and I am told
that he must walk if anybody would go down who could talk
to the colliers every night for a week or so. It would
just be the work for you. Of course, you should have all
the assistance we could give you, and Molescroft would put
you into the hands of an agent who wouldn't spend money
for you. £500 would do it all.
I am very sorry to hear of your great loss, as also was
Lady Laura, who, as you are aware, is still abroad with
her father. We have all thought that the loneliness of
your present life might perhaps make you willing to come
back among us. I write instead of Ratler, because I
am helping him in the Northern Counties. But you will
understand all about that.
Yours, ever faithfully,
BARRINGTON ERLE.
Of course Tankerville has been dirty. Browborough has
spent a fortune there. But I do not think that that need
dishearten you. You will go there with clean hands. It
must be understood that there shall not be as much as a
glass of beer. I am told that the
|
such
|
How many times does the word 'such' appear in the text?
| 5
|
, 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!
Boos as we FIND...
JIMMY LEACH, 18, grumge look, long hair. He sits with a clique
of white trashy types, or at least what passes for such at Blue
Bay School. Jimmy appears a bit more genuine, as does...
SUZlE TOLLER, a boyish brunette, seated nearby, but with just
enough space between her and everyone else to mark her as a
loner. She studies Sam Lombardo with a dark, sullen stare.
<b> SAM
</b> Thank you, Jimmy.
<b> JIMMY
</b> Hey, man, at least in study hail I could
meditate.
<b> KIRK (O.S.)
</b> He means masturbate...
This remark is greeted by a chorus of laughter as we FIND...
KIRK, one of the golden boys, seated with Kelly and Nicole.
<b> SAM
</b> Something Kirk with which I'm sure you
have hands-on experience.
Loud laughter. Sam quiets them again, then turns to the
blackboard, where he begins to write, in big letters -- S-E-X.
The kids start to cheer.
Sam writes another word -- C-R-I-M-E-S.
The cheering fades into silence.
<b> SAM (CONT'D)
</b> We've all heard the words, date rape,
sexual harassment. We've talked about
some of these things in this room.
(beat)
Our speakers today head up the Blue Bay
Police Sex Crimes Unit -- Detectives Ray
Duquette and Gloria Perez.
(beat)
They're here to give you what we hope
will be a fresh perspective on these
subjects, and to answer any questions
you night have.
Sam turns to the wings, his hand out to welcome the visitors...
RAY DUQUETTE, mid-thirties, with the lanky build of a light
heavyweight, walks out onto the stage. He's dressed in a dark
suit, dark hair combed straight back above steel-rimmed glasses.
GLORIA PEREZ walks at his side. She's a good six inches shorter
than Ray, with a sweet face. Attractive but no stunner.
About five kids applaud. Ray takes the podium.
<b> RAY
</b> Thank you for having us. We'll each
talk for ten or fifteen minutes, then
open it up to your questions...
<b> IN THE AUDIENCE
</b>
Suzie Toller suddenly gets to her feet. As she passes behind
Jimmy, we HEAR her VOICE, beneath her breath.
<b> SUZIE
</b> I'm not going to listen to this
jack-off.
She marches down the aisle and bangs out the rear door..
Ray pauses, a dark look on his face, then goes on...
<b> RAY
</b> Let's begin with a question.
|
kids
|
How many times does the word 'kids' appear in the text?
| 4
|
"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 CHANTING has MIXED back DOWN AGAIN TO leave only the
WIND. Still TRACKING IN TOWARD the top of the skyscraper, we
begin to hear the TICK of its enormous CLOCK. The clock reads
a minute to twelve. Above it, in neon, a company's name:
"HUDSUCKER INDUSTRIES." Below it, in neon, the company's
motto: "THE FUTURE IS NOW."
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...to be able to say -- 'Right now!
This is it! I got it!' 'Course by
then it'll be past.
(more cheerfully)
But they all happy, evvybody havin'
a good time.
We are MOVING IN ON a darkened penthouse window next to the
clock. The window starts to open.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...Well, almost evvybody. They's a
few lost souls floatin' 'round out
there...
A young man is crawling out of the window onto the ledge.
With the opening of the window, "AULD LANG SYNE" filters out
with greater volume.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...This one's Norville Barnes.
The man gingerly straightens up on the ledge. He is perhaps
in his late twenties. He wears a leather apron. Printed on
the apron: "HUDSUCKER MAIL ROOM/The Future is Now."
He looks with nervous determination into the void.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...Let's move in for a closer look.
The CAMERA obliges. We TRACK IN SLOWLY, ENDING VERY CLOSE.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...That office he jes stepped out of
is the office of the president of
Hudsucker Industries. It's his
office...
Norville sways in anguish as the TICKING of the CLOCK grows
louder and the WIND blows in his face.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...How'd he get so high? An' why is
he feelin' so low? Is he really gonna
do it -- is Norville really gonna
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 2
|
ers 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
Polish cops, gangsters and girls and entrepreneurs, thrown
together by the circumstance of war.
Oskar Schindler, drinking alone, slowly scans the room, the
faces, stripping away all thats unimportant to him, settling
only on details that are: the rank of this man, the higher
rank of that one, money being slipped into a hand.
<b> WAITER SETS DOWN DRINKS
</b>
in front of the SS officer who took the money. A lieutenant,
hes at a table with his girlfriend and a lower-ranking
officer.
<b> WAITER
</b> From the gentleman.
The waiter is gesturing to a table across the room where
Schindler, seemingly unaware of the SS men, drinks with the
best-looking woman in the place.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Do I know him?
His sergeant doesnt. His girlfriend doesn't.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Find out who he is.
The sergeant makes his way over to Schindler's table.
There's a handshake and introductions before -- and the
lieutenant, watching, can't believe it -- his guy accepts
the chair Schindler's dragging over.
The lieutenant waits, but his man doesn't come back; he's
forgotten already he went there for a reason. Finally, and
it irritates the SS man, he has to get up and go over there.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Stay here.
His girlfriend watches him cross toward Schindler's table.
Before he even arrives, Schindler is up and berating him for
leaving his date way over there across the room, waving at
the girl to come join them, motioning to waiter to slide
some tables together.
<b> WAITERS ARRIVE WITH PLATES OF CAVIAR
</b>
and another round of drinks. The lieutenant makes a
halfhearted move for his wallet.
<b> LIEUTENANT
</b> Let me get this one.
<b> SCHINDLER
</b> No, put it away, put it away.
Schindler's already got his money out. Even as he's paying,
his eyes are working the room, settling on a table where a
girl is declining the advances of two more high-ranking SS
men.
<b> A TABLECLOTH BILLOWS
</b>
as a waiter lays it down on another table that's been added
to the others. Schindler seats the SS officers on either
|
schindler
|
How many times does the word 'schindler' appear in the text?
| 9
|
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 10
came, and spoke with much eloquence. [Footnote: The speech seems to contain
a parody of Augustus's style and sayings.] "I call you to witness, my lords
and gentlemen," said he, "that since the day I was made a god I have never
uttered one word. I always mind my own business. But now I can keep on the
mask no longer, nor conceal the sorrow which shame makes all the greater.
Is it for this I have made peace by land and sea? For this have I calmed
intestine wars? For this, laid a firm foundation of law for Rome, adorned
it with buildings, and all that--my lords, words fail me; there are none
can rise to the height of my indignation. I must borrow that saying of the
eloquent Messala Corvinus, I am ashamed of my authority. [Footnote: M.
Valerius Messala Corvinus, appointed praefectus urbi, resigned within a
week.] This man, my lords, who looks as though he could not hurt a fly,
used to chop off heads as easily as a dog sits down. But why should I speak
of all those men, and such men? There is no time to lament for public
disasters, when one has so many private sorrows to think of. I leave that,
therefore, and say only this; for even if my sister knows no Greek, I do:
The knee is nearer than the shin. [Footnote: A proverb, like "Charity
begins at home." The reading of the passage is uncertain; "sister" is only
a conjecture, and it is hard to see why his sister should be mentioned.]
This man you see, who for so many years has been masquerading under my
name, has done me the favour of murdering two Julias, great-granddaughters
of mine, one by cold steel and one by starvation; and one great grandson,
L. Silanus--see, Jupiter, whether he had a case against him (at least it is
your own if you will be fair.) Come tell me, blessed Claudius, why of all
those you killed, both men and women, without a hearing, why you did not
hear their side of the case first, before putting them to death? Where do
we find that custom? It is not done in heaven.
Look at Jupiter: all these years he has been 11
king, and never did more than once to break Vulcan's leg,
'Whom seizing by the foot he cast from the threshold of the sky,'
[Sidenote: Illiad i, 591]
and once he fell in a rage with his wife and strung her up: did he do any
killing? You killed Messalina, whose great-uncle I was no less than yours.
'I don't know,' did you say? Curse you! that is just it: not to know was
worse than to kill. Caligula he went on persecuting even when he was dead.
Caligula murdered his father-in-law, Claudius his son-in-law to boot.
Caligula would not have Crassus' son called Great; Claudius gave him his
name back, and took away his head. In one family he destroyed Crassus,
Magnus, Scribonia, the Tristionias, Assario, noble though they were;
Crassus indeed such a fool that he might have been emperor. Is this he you
want now to make a god? Look at his body, born under the wrath of heaven!
In fine, let him say the three words [Footnote: Some formula such as _ais
esse meum_.] quickly, and he may have me for a slave. God! who will worship
this god, who will believe in him? While you make gods of such as he, no
one will believe you to be gods. To be brief, my lords: if I have lived
honourably among you, if I have never given plain speech to any, avenge my
wrongs. This is my motion": then he read out his amendment, which he had
committed to writing: "Inasmuch as the blessed Claudius murdered his
father-in-law Appius Silanus, his two sons-in-law, Pompeius Magnus and L.
Silanus, Crassus Frugi his daughter's father-in-law, as like him as two
eggs in a basket, Scribonia his daughter's mother-in-law, his wife
Messalina, and others too numerous to mention; I propose that strong
measures be taken against him, that he be allowed no delay of process, that
immediate sentence of banishment be passed on him, that he be deported from
heaven within thirty days, and from Olympus within thirty hours."
This motion was passed without further debate. Not a moment was lost:
Mercury screwed his neck and haled him to the lower regions, to that bourne
"from which they say no traveller returns." [Footnote: Catullus iii, 12.]
As they passed downwards along the Sacred Way, Mercury asked what was that
great concourse of men? could it be Claudius' funeral? It was certainly a
most gorgeous spectacle, got up regardless of expense, clear it was that a
god was being borne to the grave: tootling of flutes, roaring of horns, an
immense brass band of all sorts, such a din that even Claudius could hear
it. Joy and rejoicing on every side, the Roman people walking about like
free men. Agatho and a few pettifoggers were weeping for grief, and for
once in a way they meant it. The Barristers were crawling out of their
dark corners, pale and thin, with hardly a breath in their bodies, as
though just coming to life again. One of them when he saw the pettifoggers
putting their heads together, and lamenting their sad lot, up comes he and
says: "Did not I tell you the Saturnalia could not last for ever?"
When Claudius saw his own funeral train, he understood that he was dead.
For they were chanting his dirge in anapaests, with much mopping and
mouthing:
"Pour forth your laments, your sorrow declare,
Let the sounds of grief rise high in the air:
For he that is dead had a wit most keen,
Was bravest of all that on earth have been.
Raceh
|
footnote
|
How many times does the word 'footnote' appear in the text?
| 9
|
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.
TWO BABIES sleep next to each other in an old broken
crib. A teenage girl sleeps on the floor next to the
crib.
People are strewn all over the house sleeping. Suddenly,
a figure passes quickly through frame.
<b> EXT. FARM HOUSE - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Martha walks out the front door, across the porch, and up
the driveway. She carries a small bag.
Her pace becomes increasingly faster. She looks back to
see a teenage girl, SARAH, standing in the window
watching.
Martha turns and walks faster, heading straight for the
woods. As she gets to the edge of the trees she begins
to run.
<b> SLOW ZOOM: MARTHA DISAPPEARS INTO THE THICK WOODS.
</b>
Off screen, the house DOOR SLAMS SHUT. A MAN urgently
yells out: "MARCY MAY"
The camera holds on the trees shaking gently in the wind.
For a moment everything is quiet.
<b> 3.
</b>
Suddenly, A MAN and TWO WOMEN enter frame and run into
the woods, chasing after Martha.
<b> EXT. WOODS - CONTINUOUS
</b>
The woods are dark. Martha runs as fast as she can. She
hears the MAN's voice calling her from a distance. A man
and two women are chasing her.
Martha arrives at a steep heavily wooded hill. She keeps
running at full speed, then slips, falls, and rolls.
Martha ducks behind a fallen tree and looks back to see
the group arrive at the ridge to survey the woods and
begin their descent.
Martha holds still, listening as the people chasing her
pass by.
<b> EXT. DINER PARKING LOT - DAY
</b>
Martha uses a pay phone at a diner. She dials and waits.
She is struck by the voice that answers, she transforms
from being a zombie to being flooded with emotion.
<b> LUCY
</b> Hello. Hello?
<b> MARTHA
</b> Hi!
<b>
|
woods
|
How many times does the word 'woods' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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.
Where they've been.
The black woman stares at Forrest as he looks down at his
own shoes.
<b> FORREST
</b> I've worn lots of shoes. I bet if I
think about it real hard I could
remember my first pair of shoes.
Forrest closes his eyes tightly.
<b> FORREST
</b> Momma said they'd take my anywhere.
<b> INT. COUNTRY DOCTOR'S OFFICE - GREENBOW, ALABAMA - DAY
</b><b> (1951)
</b>
A little boy closes his eyes tightly. It is young Forrest as
he sits in a doctor's office.
<b> FORREST (V.O.)
</b> She said they was my magic shoes.
Forrest has been fitted with orthopedic shoes and metal leg
braces.
<b> DOCTOR
</b> All right, Forrest, you can open
your eyes now. Let's take a little
walk around.
The doctor sets Forrest down on its feet. Forrest walks around
stiffly. Forrest's mother, MRS. GUMP, watches him as he clanks
around the room awkwardly.
<b> DOCTOR
</b> How do those feel? His legs are
strong, Mrs. Gump. As strong as I've
ever seen. But his back is as crooked
as a politician.
Forrest walks foreground past the doctor and Mrs. Gump.
<b> DOCTOR
</b> But we're gonna straighten him right
up now, won't we, Forrest?
A loud thud is heard as, outside, Forrest falls.
<b> MRS. GUMP
</b> Forrest!
<b> EXT. GREENBOW, ALABAMA
</b>
Mrs. Gump and young Forrest walk across the street. Forrest
walks stiffly next to his mother.
<b> FORREST (V.O.)
</b> Now, when I was a baby, Momma named
me after the great Civil War hero,
General Nathan
|
shoes
|
How many times does the word 'shoes' appear in the text?
| 9
|
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 may be published in a different and a better form
would give me the greatest possible pleasure.
One thing in particular would I ask of any reader who may be willing to
give me the benefit of his advice. That is to say, I would beg of him
to suppose, while recording his remarks, that it is for the benefit of
a man in no way his equal in education, or similar to him in tastes and
ideas, or capable of apprehending criticisms without full explanation
appended, that he is doing so. Rather would I ask such a reader to
suppose that before him there stands a man of incomparably inferior
enlightenment and schooling--a rude country bumpkin whose life,
throughout, has been passed in retirement--a bumpkin to whom it is
necessary to explain each circumstance in detail, while never forgetting
to be as simple of speech as though he were a child, and at every step
there were a danger of employing terms beyond his understanding. Should
these precautions be kept constantly in view by any reader undertaking
to annotate my book, that reader's remarks will exceed in weight
and interest even his own expectations, and will bring me very real
advantage.
Thus, provided that my earnest request be heeded by my readers, and
that among them there be found a few kind spirits to do as I desire, the
following is the manner in which I would request them to transmit their
notes for my consideration. Inscribing the package with my name, let
them then enclose that package in a second one addressed either to the
Rector of the University of St. Petersburg or to Professor Shevirev of
the University of Moscow, according as the one or the other of those two
cities may be the nearer to the sender.
Lastly, while thanking all journalists and litterateurs for their
previously published criticisms of my book--criticisms which, in spite
of a spice of that intemperance and prejudice which is common to all
humanity, have proved of the greatest use both to my head and to my
heart--I beg of such writers again to favour me with their reviews. For
in all sincerity I can assure them that whatsoever they may be pleased
to say for my improvement and my instruction will be received by me with
naught but gratitude.
DEAD SOULS
PART I
CHAPTER I
To the door of an inn in the provincial town of N. there drew up a smart
britchka--a light spring-carriage of the sort affected by bachelors,
retired lieutenant-colonels, staff-captains, land-owners possessed of
about a hundred souls, and, in short, all persons who rank as gentlemen
of the intermediate category. In the britchka was seated such a
gentleman--a man who, though not handsome, was not ill-favoured, not
over-fat, and not over-thin. Also, though not over-elderly, he was
not over-young. His arrival produced no stir in the town, and was
accompanied by no particular incident, beyond that a couple of peasants
who happened to be standing at the door of a dramshop exchanged a few
comments with reference to the equipage rather than to the individual
who was seated in it. "Look at that carriage," one of them said to the
other. "Think you it will be going as far as Moscow?" "I think it will,"
replied his companion. "But not as far as Kazan, eh?" "No, not as far as
Kazan." With that the conversation ended. Presently, as the britchka was
approaching the inn, it was met by a young man in a pair of very short,
very tight breeches of white dimity, a quasi-fashionable frockcoat, and
a dickey fastened with a pistol-shaped bronze tie-pin. The young man
turned his head as he passed the britchka and eyed it attentively;
after which he clapped his hand to his cap (which was in danger of being
removed by the wind) and resumed his way. On the vehicle reaching the
inn door, its occupant found standing there to welcome him the polevoi,
or waiter, of the establishment--an individual of such nimble and
brisk movement that even to distinguish the character of his face was
impossible. Running out with a napkin in one hand and his lanky form
clad in a tailcoat, reaching almost to the nape of his neck, he tossed
back his locks, and escorted the gentleman upstairs, along a wooden
gallery, and so to the bedchamber which God had prepared for the
gentleman's reception. The said bedchamber was of quite ordinary
appearance, since the inn belonged to the species to be found in all
provincial towns--the species wherein, for two roubles a day, travellers
may obtain a room swarming with black-beetles, and communicating by a
doorway with the apartment adjoining. True, the doorway may be blocked
up with a wardrobe; yet behind it, in all probability, there will be
standing a silent, motionless neighbour whose ears are burning to learn
every possible detail concerning the latest arrival. The inn's exterior
corresponded with its interior. Long, and consisting only of two
storeys, the building had its lower half destitute of stucco; with the
result that the dark-red bricks, originally more or less dingy, had
grown yet dingier under the influence of atmospheric changes. As for the
upper half of the building, it was, of course, painted the usual tint
of unfading yellow. Within, on the ground floor, there stood a number
of benches heaped with horse-collars, rope, and sheepskins; while the
window-seat accommodated a sbitentshik [4], cheek by jowl with a samovar
[5]--the latter so closely resembling the former in appearance that, but
for the fact of the samovar possessing a pitch-black lip, the samovar
and the sbitentshik might have been two of a pair.
During the traveller's inspection of his room his luggage was brought
into the apartment. First came a portmanteau of white leather whose
raggedness indicated that the receptacle had made several previous
journeys. The bearers of the same were the gentleman's coachman,
Selifan (a little man in a large overcoat), and the gentleman's
valet, Petrushka--the latter a fellow of about thirty, clad in a worn,
over-ample jacket which formerly had graced his master's shoulders, and
possessed of a nose and a pair of lips whose co
|
sort
|
How many times does the word 'sort' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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> Would they do that?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Who knows? That's why I filed it
down.
Dignan nods.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Now that window can never be locked.
It's impossible.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> See, your mind is very good with
the more mechanical details.
Whereas my strength would be --
A good-looking WOMAN about forty-five years old interrupts
them.
<b> WOMAN
</b> Can I use your Tabasco?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Sure.
Anthony hands her a bottle of Tabasco off the counter. She
walks away. Down the counter.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> You don't see many women who like
Tabasco.
They watch her for a minute. Dignan looks away.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> She's really kind of hot.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> (looks back at her, nods)
She's an attractive older woman.
<b>EXT. BOB'S HOUSE. DAY
</b>
A huge house with a wide lawn. BOB, who's about twenty-six,
wearing black jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, is spraying down a
battered 1972 Mercedes with a garden hose. He's got his
shirt off and a towel around his neck. Dignan has an
expression of intense concentration as he looks at the car.
<b> BOB
</b> Well, what do you think?
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I don't know, Bob. What about one
of those?
Dignan points to a new BMW and a Lexus in front of the garage.
<b> BOB
</b> I'm not allowed to drive those.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Not even for emergencies?
<b> BOB
</b> (a little angry)
No.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I thought your parents were in Italy.
<b> BOB
</b> They are.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> So who's going to know?
<b> BOB
</b> My brother.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Future Man.
<b> BOB
</b> Who?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Futute Man. You know. Cause he
looks like he's from the future.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> He looks like he was designed by
|
looking
|
How many times does the word 'looking' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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 him to my home,
And since that day, all seems to prosper here.
He censures everything, and for my sake
He even takes great interest in my wife;
He lets me know who ogles her, and seems
Six times as jealous as I am myself.
You'd not believe how far his zeal can go:
He calls himself a sinner just for trifles;
The merest nothing is enough to shock him;
So much so, that the other day I heard him
Accuse himself for having, while at prayer,
In too much anger caught and killed a flea.
CLEANTE
Zounds, brother, you are mad, I think! Or else
You're making sport of me, with such a speech.
What are you driving at with all this nonsense ... ?
ORGON
Brother, your language smacks of atheism;
And I suspect your soul's a little tainted
Therewith. I've preached to you a score of times
That you'll draw down some judgment on your head.
CLEANTE
That is the usual strain of all your kind;
They must have every one as blind as they.
They call you atheist if you have good eyes;
And if you don't adore their vain grimaces,
You've neither faith nor care for sacred things.
No, no; such talk can't frighten me; I know
What I am saying; heaven sees my heart.
We're not the dupes of all your canting mummers;
There are false heroes--and false devotees;
And as true heroes never are the ones
Who make much noise about their deeds of honour,
Just so true devotees, whom we should follow,
Are not the ones who make so much vain show.
What! Will you find no difference between
Hypocrisy and genuine devoutness?
And will you treat them both alike, and pay
The self-same honour both to masks and faces
Set artifice beside sincerity,
Confuse the semblance with reality,
Esteem a phantom like a living person,
And counterfeit as good as honest coin?
Men, for the most part, are strange creatures, truly!
You never find them keep the golden mean;
The limits of good sense, too narrow for them,
Must always be passed by, in each direction;
They often spoil the noblest things, because
They go too far, and push them to extremes.
I merely say this by the way, good brother.
ORGON
You are the sole expounder of the doctrine;
Wisdom shall die with you, no doubt, good brother,
You are the only wise, the sole enlightened,
The oracle, the Cato, of our age.
All men, compared to you, are downright fools.
CLEANTE
I'm not the sole expounder of the doctrine,
And wisdom shall not die with me, good brother.
But this I know, though it be all my knowledge,
That there's a difference 'twixt false and true.
And as I find no kind of hero more
To be admired than men of true religion,
Nothing more noble or more beautiful
Than is the holy zeal of true devoutness;
Just so I think there's naught more odious
Than whited sepulchres of outward unction,
Those barefaced charlatans, those hireling zealots,
Whose sacrilegious, treacherous pretence
Deceives at will, and with impunity
Makes mockery of all that men hold sacred;
Men who, enslaved to selfish interests,
Make trade and merchandise of godliness,
And try to purchase influence and office
With false eye-rollings and affected raptures;
Those men, I say, who with uncommon zeal
Seek their own fortunes on the road to heaven;
Who, skilled in prayer, have always much to ask,
And live at court to preach retirement;
Who reconcile religion with their vices,
Are quick to anger, vengeful, faithless, tricky,
And, to destroy a man, will have the boldness
To call their private grudge the cause of heaven;
All the more dangerous, since in their anger
They use against us weapons men revere,
And since they make the world applaud their passion,
And seek to stab us with a sacred sword.
There are too many of this canting kind.
Still, the sincere are easy to distinguish;
And many splendid patterns may be found,
In our own time, before our very eyes
Look at Ariston, Periandre, Oronte,
Alcidamas, Clitandre, and Polydore;
No one denies their claim to true religion;
Yet they're no braggadocios of virtue,
They do not make insufferable display,
And their religion's human, tractable;
They are not always judging all our actions,
They'd think such judgment savoured of presumption;
And, leaving pride of words to other men,
'Tis by their deeds alone they censure ours.
Evil appearances find little credit
With them; they even incline to think the best
Of others. No caballers, no intriguers,
They mind the business of their own right living.
They don't attack a sinner tooth and nail,
For sin's the only object of their hatred;
Nor are they over-zealous to attempt
Far more in heaven's behalf than heaven would have 'em.
That is my kind of man, that is true living,
That is the pattern we should set ourselves.
Your fellow was not fashioned on this model;
You're quite sincere in boasting of his zeal;
But you're deceived, I think, by false pretences.
ORGON
My dear good brother-in-law, have you quite done?
CLEANTE
Yes.
ORGON
I'm your humble servant.
(Starts to go.)
CLEANTE
Just a word.
We'll drop that other subject. But you know
Valere has had the promise of your daughter.
ORGON
Yes.
CLEANTE
You had named the happy day.
ORGON
'
|
call
|
How many times does the word 'call' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</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 lasers converge on the Attack Ship barely meters ahead,
the ROARING craft EXPLODING directly before him.
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
(OVER) WEST SCREAMS as he shoots through the sudden conflagration of
flame and debris, everywhere and then gone, giving way to the
blackness of space and the starfield beyond.
<b> WEST
</b>
Show's over.
Below, the second Attack Ship ROARS past, lasers FIRING, locked in a
pinwheel battle with Jeb's Bubble Fighter.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
JEB'S BUBBLE FIGHTER banks, avoiding the high energy volley. Almost. A
laser BURST grazes his Bubble Fighter, the surface of his craft
sparking, suddenly scored with flames.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
The Attack ship is right behind him.
<b> JEB
</b>
Weapons are off line. Jettisoning main
drive core.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
The thruster core of Jeb's Bubble Fighter BLOWS off in a bolus of
flame, soaring back into the pursuit craft. The Raider EXPLODES.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
Controls are sparking. Displays flicker. (OVER) An ALARM sounds.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Warning. Failure in redundant drive systems.
JEB-POV. The surface of Mars is rushing up fast.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact on in 90 seconds.
<b> JEB
</b>
Mars Control. . .
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
Jeb's ship is barreling toward the planet.
<b> JEB (OVER)
</b>
. . .this is Ranger One.
<b>INT.-WEST'S FIGHTER
</b>
<b> JEB (ON RADIO)
</b>
...Engines will not respond. Require
assistance. Repeat...
<b> BASE (ON RADIO)
</b>
Ranger One this is Grissom Base.
Rescue craft have been dispatched.
<b>EXT.- MARS MINING COLONY
</b>
Three small rescue craft race skyward.
<b>INT.-JEB'S CRAFT
</b>
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact in 60 seconds.
Mars fills the view screen.
<b>INT.-WEST'S CRAFT
</b>
The rescue craft are speeding toward Jeb's fighter below.
<b> WEST
</b>
Grissom, this is Eagle One. Those Pugs
Will never reach him in time.
<b> BASE (ON RADIO)
</b>
Eagle one clear this frequency and
return to base.
DON takes a beat. Then he spins his chair towards Mars, begins working
the controls.
<b> WEST
</b>
This is Eagle One. I'm going after
him.
<b> BASE (OVER)
</b>
Negative Eagle one, your craft is not
equipped
West hits his thrusters.
<b>EXT.-SPACE
</b>
West's craft dives toward Jeb's ship and Mars below.
<b>INT.-JEB'S FIGHTER
</b>
Mars is coming up fast.
<b> COMPUTER
</b>
Impact in 30 seconds.
<b> WEST (OVER)
</b>
Jeb, do you have navigational
thrusters?
<b> JEB
</b>
Don?
<b> WEST (OVER)
</b>
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
</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> (to Kym)
That them?
<b> KYM
</b> Yes. Finally.
<b>
</b> Rosa takes two of Kym's several bags. They are oddly matched.
A Coach tote, a fake Prada, a Gristedes bag, and a World
Wildlife Fund tote bag.
<b>
</b>
<b> WALTER
</b> You're not letting her get behind
the wheel are you? Are you?
<b> ROSA
</b> Walter, you are only responsible
for yourself. (To Kym) This is all
your stuff?
<b> KYM
</b> You know you never gave me your
cell number.
<b> ROSA
</b> (sotto)
It was a mistake. I'm lucky I
didn't get fired. We've discussed
this. (She offers her hand) Good
luck.
<b>
</b> Kym doesn't appear to have heard her but she shakes the hand
barely... so very, very faintly.
Kym's dad, PAUL BUCHMAN, a tired, prosperous man in his late
50's steps around the car and trots up the porch steps. He is
wearing a big smile and his glasses are foggy. They hug. Kym
talks rapidly over his shoulder...
<b>
</b>
<b> KYM
</b> Oh my god. Here you are. I thought
you were going to abandon me in
rehab. It's 12:30. You guys are
half an hour late. I've been
standing here with these lunatics.
You look so great.
Paul offers his hand to Rosa.
<b>
</b>
<b> PAUL
</b> Hello. I'm Paul Buchman.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
|
walter
|
How many times does the word 'walter' appear in the text?
| 5
|
. 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, but he ignored Jandron and spoke to
Krell. "You said one of your passengers had escaped the explosion?"
To Kent's amazement a girl stepped from behind the group of men, a slim
girl with pale face and steady, dark eyes. "I'm the passenger," she told
him. "My name's Marta Mallen."
Kent and Liggett stared, astounded. "Good Lord!" Kent exclaimed. "A girl
like you on this ship!"
"Miss Mallen happened to be on the upper-deck at the time of the
explosion and, so, escaped when the other passengers were killed," Krell
explained smoothly. "Isn't that so, Miss Mallen?"
The girl's eyes had not left Kent's, but at Krell's words she nodded.
"Yes, that is so," she said mechanically.
Kent collected his whirling thoughts. "But wouldn't you rather go back
to the _Pallas_ with us?" he asked. "I'm sure you'd be more comfortable
there."
"She doesn't go," grunted Jandron. Kent turned in quick wrath toward
him, but Krell intervened.
"Jandron only means that Miss Mallen is much more comfortable on this
passenger-ship than she'd be in your freighter." He shot a glance at the
girl as he spoke, and Kent saw her wince.
"I'm afraid that's so," she said; "but I thank you for the offer, Mr.
Kent."
Kent could have sworn that there was an appeal in her eyes, and he stood
for a moment, indecisive, Jandron's stare upon him. After a moment's
thought he turned to Krell.
"You were going to show me the damage the exploding tubes did," he said,
and Krell nodded quickly.
"Of course; you can see from the head of the stair back in the
after-deck."
He led the way along a corridor, Jandron and the girl and two of the
men coming with them. Kent's thoughts were still chaotic as he walked
between Krell and Liggett. What was this girl doing amid the men of the
_Martian Queen_? What had her eyes tried to tell him?
Liggett nudged his side in the dim corridor, and Kent, looking down, saw
dark splotches on its metal floor. Blood-stains! His suspicions
strengthened. They might be from the bleeding of those wounded in the
tube-explosions. But were they?
* * * * *
They reached the after-deck whose stair's head gave a view of the
wrecked tube-rooms beneath. The lower decks had been smashed by terrific
forces. Kent's practiced eyes ran rapidly over the shattered
rocket-tubes.
"They've back-blasted from being fired too fast," he said. "Who was
controlling the ship when this happened?"
"Galling, our second-officer," answered Krell. "He had found us routed
too close to the dead-area's edge and was trying to get away from it in
a hurry, when he used the tubes too fast, and half of them
back-blasted."
"If Galling was at the controls in the pilot-house, how did the
explosion kill him?" asked Liggett skeptically. Krell turned quickly.
"The shock threw him against the pilot-house wall and fractured his
skull--he died in an hour," he said. Liggett was silent.
"Well, this ship will never move again," Kent said. "It's too bad that
the explosion blew out your tanks, but we ought to find fuel somewhere
in the wreck-pack for the _Pallas_. And now we'd best get back."
As they returned up the dim corridor Kent managed to walk beside Marta
Mallen, and, without being seen, he contrived to detach his
suit-phone--the compact little radiophone case inside his space-suit's
neck--and slip it into the girl's grasp. He dared utter no word of
explanation, but apparently she understood, for she had concealed the
suit-phone by the time they reached the upper-deck.
Kent and Liggett prepared to don their space-helmets, and before
entering the airlock, Kent turned to Krell.
"We'll expect you at the _Pallas_ first hour to-morrow, and we'll start
searching the wreck-pack with a dozen of our men," he said.
He then extended his hand to the girl. "Good-by, Miss Mallen. I hope we
can have a talk soon."
He had said the words with double meaning, and saw understanding in her
eyes. "I hope we can, too," she said.
Kent's nod to Jandron went unanswered, and he and Liggett adjusted their
helmets and entered the airlock.
Once out of it, they kicked rapidly away from the _Martian Queen_,
floating along with the wreck-pack's huge mass to their right, and only
the star-flecked emptiness of infinity to their left. In a few minutes
they reached the airlock of the _Pallas_.
* * * * *
They found Captain Crain awaiting them anxiously. Briefly Kent reported
everything.
"I'm certain there has been foul play aboard the _Martian Queen_," he
said. "Krell you saw for yourself, Jandron is pure brute, and their men
seem capable of anything.
"I gave the suit-phone to the girl, however, and if she can call us with
it, we can get the truth from her. She dared not tell me anything there
in the presence of Krell and Jandron."
Crain nodded, his face grave. "We'll see whether or not she calls," he
said.
Kent took a suit-phone from one of their space-suits and rapidly, tuned
it to match the one he had left with Marta Mallen. Almost at once they
heard her voice from it, and Kent answered rapidly.
"I'm so glad I got you!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Kent, I dared not tell you
the truth about this ship when you were here, or Krell and the rest
would have killed
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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> PREW
</b><b> (SHRUGS)
</b> That's what the orders say.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> You made a bad mistake. This outfit
they can give back to Custer.
Prew smiles slightly, starts toward door.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> The Captain ain't in yet.
Prew puts down his barracks bags.
<b> PREY
</b> I'll look around.
<b> MAGGIO
</b> (smiles for first time)
Maybe we borrow some money from a
twenty per cent man and take a real
trip to town some night.
<b> PHEW
</b> Maybe.
<b> TRUCKING SHOT ALONG COMPANY STREET
</b> Prew walks slowly down the raised porch alongside the street.
He takes the mouthpiece of a bugle from his pocket, jiggles
it idly, a habit of his. He comes to the Dayroom, glances
through the screen door, goes in.
<b> INT. DAYROOM - DAY
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> The Dayroom has a pool table, ping-pong table, a radio, etc.
Moth-eaten, upholstered chairs line both walls. The place is
empty as Prew enters. He looks around casually, sees the pool
table in an alcove. He moves over to it, puts the bugle
mouthpiece in his pocket, picks a cue from the rack on the
wall. He switches on the light, chalks the cue.
<b> MEDIUM CLOSE SHOT
</b> The triangle of balls is already racked on the table. Prew
addresses the cue ball, shoots and breaks the rack solidly.
He watches the balls hurry around the table.
<b> 3.
</b>
<b> WARDEN'S VOICE (O. S.)
</b> What're you think you're doing!?
Why ain't you out in the field with
the Compny? What's your name?
The voice is brawling, brash, vigorous. Prew turns slowly.
CAMERA ANGLE WIDENS to INCLUDE FIRST SERGEANT MILTON WARDEN,
almost at Prew's elbow. He is thirty-four, big and powerful,
has a neatly-trimmed moust
|
maggio
|
How many times does the word 'maggio' appear in the text?
| 10
|
<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> (CONTINUED)
</b> Goldenrod (7/19/2012) 4.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> You gonna give me a reason to?
Sophina doesn't answer. The phone rings again. Oscar's hand
quickly picks it up and flips it open. We follow the phone to
his face and we see him for the first time, a 22 year old
Black man with a warm smile.
<b> OSCAR (CONT'D)
</b> (into phone)
Aye bruh it's bad tonight. I gotta
catch you tomorrow.
He closes it before the guy on the other end can respond. He
takes the phone with him as he climbs back into bed with
SOPHINA MESA, a curvy 24 year old Mexican American woman.
<b> OSCAR (CONT'D)
</b> Look, I'm not going out, you happy
now?
Sophina nods. Oscar moves closer to her and kisses her on her
neck. She kisses him back a bit, then scoots away.
Oscar kisses her again. Puts his hand in her hair.
<b> SOPHINA
</b> Osc. Osc, hold up.
Oscar stops. Sophina scoots away even further.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Pink (6/25/2012) 5.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OSCAR
</b> Man, wussup? I been home hella
long...
<b> SOPHINA
</b> I don't know...Every time you touch
me, I can't help to think about how
you was touchin that Bitch.
Oscar shakes his head at this, sighs.
<b> SOPHINA (CONT'D)
</b> You know what? You right, go.
<b> OSCAR
</b> What I gotta do? I'm here, right
now. I fucked up one time, alright?
<b> SOPHINA
</b> No, you fucking got caught, one
time. You gonna sit here and tell
me that was the first time you
kicked it with that Bitch. Never
seen her before that huh?
<b>
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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, doctor, and you don't conceal it. Your sincerity
does you credit. [He goes into the house.]
LVOFF. [Alone] What a confoundedly disagreeable character! I have let
another opportunity slip without speaking to him as I meant to, but I
simply cannot talk calmly to that man. The moment I open my mouth to
speak I feel such a commotion and suffocation here [He puts his hand on
his breast] that my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Oh, I loathe
that Tartuffe, that unmitigated rascal, with all my heart! There he is,
preparing to go driving in spite of the entreaties of his unfortunate
wife, who adores him and whose only happiness is his presence. She
implores him to spend at least one evening with her, and he cannot even
do that. Why, he might shoot himself in despair if he had to stay at
home! Poor fellow, what he wants are new fields for his villainous
schemes. Oh, I know why you go to Lebedieff's every evening, Ivanoff! I
know.
Enter IVANOFF, in hat and coat, ANNA and SHABELSKI
SHABELSKI. Look here, Nicholas, this is simply barbarous You go away
every evening and leave us here alone, and we get so bored that we have
to go to bed at eight o'clock. It is a scandal, and no decent way of
living. Why can you go driving if we can't? Why?
ANNA. Leave him alone, Count. Let him go if he wants to.
IVANOFF. How can a sick woman like you go anywhere? You know you have a
cough and must not go out after sunset. Ask the doctor here. You are no
child, Annie, you must be reasonable. And as for you, what would you do
with yourself over there?
SHABELSKI. I am ready to go anywhere: into the jaws of a crocodile, or
even into the jaws of hell, so long as I don't have to stay here. I am
horribly bored. I am stupefied by this dullness. Every one here is tired
of me. You leave me at home to entertain Anna, but I feel more like
scratching and biting her.
ANNA. Leave him alone, Count. Leave him alone. Let him go if he enjoys
himself there.
IVANOFF. What does this mean, Annie? You know I am not going for
pleasure. I must see Lebedieff about the money I owe him.
ANNA. I don't see why you need justify yourself to me. Go ahead! Who is
keeping you?
IVANOFF. Heavens! Don't let us bite one another's heads off. Is that
really unavoidable?
SHABELSKI. [Tearfully] Nicholas, my dear boy, do please take me with
you. I might possibly be amused a little by the sight of all the fools
and scoundrels I should see there. You know I haven't been off this
place since Easter.
IVANOFF. [Exasperated] Oh, very well! Come along then! How tiresome you
all are!
SHABELSKI. I may go? Oh, thank you! [Takes him gaily by the arm and
leads him aside] May I wear your straw hat?
IVANOFF. You may, only hurry, please.
SHABELSKI runs into the house.
IVANOFF. How tired I am of you all! But no, what am I saying? Annie, my
manner to you is insufferable, and it never used to be. Well, good-bye,
Annie. I shall be back by one.
ANNA. Nicholas! My dear husband, stay at home to-night!
IVANOFF. [Excitedly] Darling, sweetheart, my dear, unhappy one, I
implore you to let me leave home in the evenings. I know it is cruel and
unjust to ask this, but let me do you this injustice. It is such torture
for me to stay. As soon as the sun goes down my soul is overwhelmed by
the most horrible despair. Don't ask me why; I don't know; I swear I
don't. This dreadful melancholy torments me here, it drives me to the
Lebedieff's and there it grows worse than ever. I rush home; it still
pursues me; and so I am tortured all through the night. It is breaking
my heart.
ANNA. Nicholas, won't you stay? We will talk together as we used to.
We will have supper together and read afterward. The old grumbler and I
have learned so many duets to play to you. [She kisses him. Then, after
a pause] I can't understand you any more. This has been going on for a
year now. What has changed you so?
IVANOFF. I don't know.
ANNA. And why don't you want me to go driving with you in the evening?
IVANOFF. As you insist on knowing, I shall have to tell you. It is a
little cruel, but you had best understand. When this melancholy fit is
on me I begin to dislike you, Annie, and at such times I must escape
from you. In short, I simply have to leave this house.
ANNA. Oh, you are sad, are you? I can understand that! Nicholas, let
me tell you something: won't you try to sing and laugh and scold as you
used to? Stay here, and we will drink some liqueur together, and laugh,
and chase away this sadness of yours in no time. Shall I sing to you? Or
shall we sit in your study in the twilight as we used to, while you tell
me about your sadness? I can read such suffering in your eyes! Let
me look into them and weep, and our hearts will both be lighter. [She
laughs and cries at once] Or is it really true that the flowers return
with every spring, but lost happiness never returns? Oh, is it? Well, go
then, go!
IVANOFF. Pray for me, Annie! [He goes; then stops and thinks for a
moment] No, I can't do it. [IVANOFF goes out.]
ANNA. Yes, go, go--[Sits down at the table.]
LVOFF. [Walking up and down] Make this a rule, Madam
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
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...CONTINUE.
<b> ALVAREZ (TEAM LEADER)
</b> Four Toby Jug beer steins - $2.69!
<b> TEAM LEADER #3
</b> MP3 Player the size of a bottle
cap! Something and 69 cents!
<b> TEAM LEADER #4
</b> Duck Blind print sheets for a queen
size bed. $7.69.
<b> ALL
</b> Shop UniMart! Where United, you
save!
Larry Crowne leads the High Fives.
<b> MENSWEAR DEPT - LATER
</b>
Larry controlling the aisles like an Admiral at a Battle
Map... stacking a mountain of tube socks... stocking those
briefs ... hanging "Metallica" Speedos on little hangers...
helping CUBBY - a very skinny and disinterested Janitor -
clean up some baby up-chuck as the baby up-chucks again.
<b> 3.
</b>
<b> MOMMY
</b> Too much mac & cheese for this
little pickle bug!
<b> LARRY CROWNE
</b> They do love the comfort food.
Don't you, Li'l Pickle Bug...
Imagine any duty and see how Larry gets it done...
<b> EXT. UNIMART PARKING LOT - LATER
</b>
Larry is collecting loose shopping carts, steering them into
pairs, triplets, sextuplets, then riding them into the cart
pen like a Trail Boss...
<b> LATER
</b>
That same up-chucking baby was riding on the coin-pony and up-
chucked again. Larry is cleaning it all up.
A beat-up CAR with a BIG STORK PIZZA sign stuck on its roof
pulls right up to the front of the store, parking in the
Handicapped Space.
<b> LARRY CROWNE
</b>
Buddy. Park there and you'll get a
ticket.
<b> PIZZA KID
</b> Call a cop, doof. I'm gone in
sixty seconds.
(a dozen pizza boxes)
You guys having a party?
<b> INT. MEETING ROOM 2 - UNIMART - LATER
</b>
The BIG STORK PIZZA BOXES have been raided
|
pizza
|
How many times does the word 'pizza' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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 life; I thought I could be a great
actor; I dreamed of endless triumphs and loves, knowing nothing of the
disillusion hidden behind the curtain, as everywhere else--for every
stage has its reverse behind the scenes. I have gone out sometimes, my
heart boiling, carried away by an impulse to rush hunting through Paris,
to attach myself to some handsome woman I might meet, to follow her
to her door, watch her, write to her, throw myself on her mercy, and
conquer her by sheer force of passion. My poor uncle, a heart consumed
by charity, a child of seventy years, as clear-sighted as God, as
guileless as a man of genius, no doubt read the tumult of my soul; for
when he felt the tether by which he held me strained too tightly and
ready to break, he would never fail to say, 'Here, Maurice, you too
are poor! Here are twenty francs; go and amuse yourself, you are not a
priest!' And if you could have seen the dancing light that gilded his
gray eyes, the smile that relaxed his fine lips, puckering the corners
of his mouth, the adorable expression of that august face, whose native
ugliness was redeemed by the spirit of an apostle, you would understand
the feeling which made me answer the Cure of White Friars only with a
kiss, as if he had been my mother.
"'In Comte Octave you will find not a master, but a friend,' said my
uncle on the way to the Rue Payenne. 'But he is distrustful, or to be
more exact, he is cautious. The statesman's friendship can be won only
with time; for in spite of his deep insight and his habit of gauging
men, he was deceived by the man you are succeeding, and nearly became a
victim to his abuse of confidence. This is enough to guide you in your
behavior to him.'
"When we knocked at the enormous outer door of a house as large as the
Hotel Carnavalet, with a courtyard in front and a garden behind, the
sound rang as in a desert. While my uncle inquired of an old porter in
livery if the Count were at home, I cast my eyes, seeing everything
at once, over the courtyard where the cobblestones were hidden in the
grass, the blackened walls where little gardens were flourishing above
the decorations of the elegant architecture, and on the roof, as high as
that of the Tuileries. The balustrade of the upper balconies was eaten
away. Through a magnificent colonnade I could see a second court on one
side, where were the offices; the door was rotting. An old coachman
was there cleaning an old carriage. The indifferent air of this servant
allowed me to assume that the handsome stables, where of old so many
horses had whinnied, now sheltered two at most. The handsome facade of
the house seemed to me gloomy, like that of a mansion belonging to the
State or the Crown, and given up to some public office. A bell rang as
we walked across, my uncle and I, from the porter's lodge--_Inquire of
the Porter_ was still written over the door--towards the outside steps,
where a footman came out in a livery like that of Labranche at the
Theatre Francais in the old stock plays. A visitor was so rare that the
servant was putting his coat on when he opened a glass door with small
panes, on each side of which the smoke of a lamp had traced patterns on
the walls.
"A hall so magnificent as to be worthy of Versailles ended in a
staircase such as will never again be built in France, taking up as much
space as the whole of a modern house. As we went up the marble steps, as
cold as tombstones, and wide enough for eight persons to walk abreast,
our tread echoed under sonorous vaulting. The banister charmed the eye
by its miraculous workmanship--goldsmith's work in iron--wrought by the
fancy of an artist of the time of Henri III. Chilled as by an icy mantle
that fell on our shoulders, we went through ante-rooms, drawing-rooms
opening one out of the other, with carpetless parquet floors, and
furnished with such splendid antiquities as from thence would find their
way to the curiosity dealers. At last we reached a large study in a
cross wing, with all the windows looking into an immense garden.
"'Monsieur le Cure of the White Friars, and his nephew, Monsieur de
l'Hostal,' said Labranche, to whose care the other theatrical servant
had consigned us in the first ante-chamber.
"Comte Octave, dressed in long trousers and a gray flannel morning coat,
rose from his seat by a huge writing-table, came to the fireplace,
and signed to me to sit down, while he went forward to take my uncle's
hands, which he pressed.
"'Though I am in the parish of Saint-Paul,' said he, 'I could scarcely
have failed to hear of the Cure of the White Friars, and I am happy to
make his acquaintance.'
"'Your Excellency is most kind,' replied my uncle. 'I have brought to
you my only remaining relation. While I believe that I am offering a
good gift to your Excellency, I hope at the same time to give my nephew
a second father.'
"'As to that, I can only reply, Monsieur l'Abbe, when we shall have
tried each other,' said Comte Octave. 'Your name?' he added to me.
"'Maurice.'
"'He has taken his doctor's degree in law,' my uncle observed.
"'Very good, very good!' said the Count, looking at me from head to
foot. 'Monsieur l'Abbe, I hope that for your nephew's sake in the first
instance, and then for mine, you will do me the honor of dining here
every Monday. That will be our family dinner, our family party.'
"My uncle and the Count then began to talk of religion from the
political point of view, of charitable institutes, the repression of
crime, and I could at my leisure study the man on whom my fate would
henceforth depend. The Count was of middle height; it was impossible to
judge of his build on account of his dress, but he seemed to me to
be lean and spare. His face was harsh and hollow; the features were
refined. His mouth, which was rather large, expressed both irony and
kindliness
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 9
|
ler, 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?
I think they were all Nazis. And
let's face it, their leaders, those
bastards now on trial in Nuremberg,
couldn't have done it alone. It's
these people, they gave all the
help that was needed. Willingly.
The film changes with a scratchy music soundtrack - Wagner.
SHOTS of high-ranking Nazis in an audience including Josef
Goebbels, listening. And they're listening to and watching
Wilhelm Furtwängler conducting. At the appropriate moment:
<b>
</b><b> THE MAN'S VOICE
</b> That's him. Furtwängler. Wilhelm
Furtwängler.
The Nazis applaud. Goebbels shakes hands with Furtwängler.
The film ends.
Sitting in the ruined cinema are two men: GENERAL WALLACE,
with files on the table, and, beside him, MAJOR STEVE
ARNOLD. A PROJECTIONIST is standing in the door of the
projection room.
<b> WALLACE
</b> So, you never heard of him.
<b> STEVE
</b> Nope.
<b> WALLACE
</b> Do you know who Arturo Toscanini
is?
<b> STEVE
</b> Sure.
<b> WALLACE
</b> He's as big as Toscanini, maybe
even bigger. In this neck of the
woods, he's probably Bob Hope and
Betty Grable rolled into one.
<b> STEVE
</b> Jeez, and I never heard of him.
Wallace glances at the file.
<b> WALLACE
</b> You were in insurance before the
war.
<b> STEVE
</b> Right. Claims assessor.
<b> WALLACE
</b>
|
steve
|
How many times does the word 'steve' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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-saving people."
"None of those other boats could have got ashore to give word of the
wreck," said the oiler, in a low voice. "Else the life-boat would be
out hunting us."
Slowly and beautifully the land loomed out of the sea. The wind came
again. It had veered from the north-east to the south-east. Finally,
a new sound struck the ears of the men in the boat. It was the low
thunder of the surf on the shore. "We'll never be able to make the
lighthouse now," said the captain. "Swing her head a little more north,
Billie," said he.
"'A little more north,' sir," said the oiler.
Whereupon the little boat turned her nose once more down the wind, and
all but the oarsman watched the shore grow. Under the influence of this
expansion doubt and direful apprehension was leaving the minds of the
men. The management of the boat was still most absorbing, but it could
not prevent a quiet cheerfulness. In an hour, perhaps, they would be
ashore.
Their backbones had become thoroughly used to balancing in the boat,
and they now rode this wild colt of a dingey like circus men. The
correspondent thought that he had been drenched to the skin, but
happening to feel in the top pocket of his coat, he found therein eight
cigars. Four of them were soaked with sea-water; four were perfectly
scatheless. After a search, somebody produced three dry matches, and
thereupon the four waifs rode impudently in their little boat, and with
an assurance of an impending rescue shining in their eyes, puffed at
the big cigars and judged well and ill of all men. Everybody took a
drink of water.
IV
"Cook," remarked the captain, "there don't seem to be any signs of life
about your house of refuge."
"No," replied the cook. "Funny they don't see us!"
A broad stretch of lowly coast lay before the eyes of the men. It was
of dunes topped with dark vegetation. The roar of the surf was plain,
and sometimes they could see the white lip of a wave as it spun up the
beach. A tiny house was blocked out black upon the sky. Southward, the
slim lighthouse lifted its little grey length.
Tide, wind, and waves were swinging the dingey northward. "Funny they
don't see us," said the men.
The surf's roar was here dulled, but its tone was, nevertheless,
thunderous and mighty. As the boat swam over the great rollers, the men
sat listening to this roar. "We'll swamp sure," said everybody.
It is fair to say here that there was not a life-saving station within
twenty miles in either direction, but the men did not know this fact,
and in consequence they made dark and opprobrious remarks concerning
the eyesight of the nation's life-savers. Four scowling men sat in the
dingey and surpassed records in the invention of epithets.
"Funny they don't see us."
The light-heartedness of a former time had completely faded. To their
sharpened minds it was easy to conjure pictures of all kinds of
incompetency and blindness and, indeed, cowardice. There was the shore
of the populous land, and it was bitter and bitter to them that from it
came no sign.
"Well," said the captain, ultimately, "I suppose we'll have to make a
try for ourselves. If we stay out here too long, we'll none of us have
strength left to swim after the boat swamps."
And so the oiler, who was at the oars, turned the boat straight for
the shore. There was a sudden tightening of muscles. There was some
thinking.
"If we don't all get ashore--" said the captain. "If we don't all get
ashore, I suppose you fellows know where to send news of my finish?"
They then briefly exchanged some addresses and admonitions. As
for the reflections of the men, there was a great deal of rage in
them. Perchance they might be formulated thus: "If I am going to be
drowned--if I am going to be drowned--if I am going to be drowned, why,
in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to
come thus far and contemplate sand and trees? Was I brought here merely
to have my nose dragged away as I was about to nibble the sacred cheese
of life? It is preposterous. If this old ninny-woman, Fate, cannot do
better than this, she should be deprived of the management of men's
fortunes. She is an old hen who knows not her intention. If she has
decided to drown me, why did she not do it in the beginning and save
me all this trouble? The whole affair is absurd.... But no, she cannot
mean to drown me. She dare not drown me. She cannot drown me. Not
after all this work." Afterward the man might have had an impulse to
shake his fist at the clouds: "Just you drown me, now, and then hear
what I call you!"
The billows that came at this time were more formidable. They seemed
always just about to break and roll over the little boat in a turmoil
of foam. There was a preparatory and long growl in the speech of them.
No mind unused to the sea would have concluded that the dingey could
ascend these sheer heights in time. The shore was still afar. The oiler
was a wily surfman. "Boys," he said swiftly, "she won't live three
minutes more, and we're too far out to swim. Shall I take her to sea
again, captain?"
"Yes! Go ahead!" said the captain.
This oiler, by a series of quick miracles, and fast and steady
oarsmanship, turned the boat in the middle of the surf and took her
safely to sea again.
There was a considerable silence as the boat bumped over the furrowed
sea to deeper water. Then somebody in gloom spoke. "Well, anyhow, they
must have seen us from the shore by now."
The gulls went in slanting flight up the wind toward the grey desolate
east. A squall, marked by dingy clouds, and clouds brick-red, like
smoke
|
wave
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How many times does the word 'wave' appear in the text?
| 1
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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
very worthy assistant-secretaries, and especially by its late most
respectable chief clerk, that it may be said to stand quite alone as
a high model for all other public offices whatever. It is exactly
antipodistic of the Circumlocution Office, and as such is always
referred to in the House of Commons by the gentleman representing the
Government when any attack on the Civil Service, generally, is being
made.
And when it is remembered how great are the interests entrusted to the
care of this board, and of these secretaries and of that chief clerk, it
must be admitted that nothing short of superlative excellence ought to
suffice the nation. All material intercourse between man and man must be
regulated, either justly or unjustly, by weights and measures; and as we
of all people depend most on such material intercourse, our weights and
measures should to us be a source of never-ending concern. And then that
question of the decimal coinage! is it not in these days of paramount
importance? Are we not disgraced by the twelve pennies in our
shilling, by the four farthings in our penny? One of the worthy
assistant-secretaries, the worthier probably of the two, has already
grown pale beneath the weight of this question. But he has sworn within
himself, with all the heroism of a Nelson, that he will either do or
die. He will destroy the shilling or the shilling shall destroy him.
In his more ardent moods he thinks that he hears the noise of battle
booming round him, and talks to his wife of Westminster Abbey or a
peerage. Then what statistical work of the present age has shown half
the erudition contained in that essay lately published by the secretary
on _The Market Price of Coined Metals_? What other living man could have
compiled that chronological table which is appended to it, showing the
comparative value of the metallic currency for the last three hundred
years? Compile it indeed! What other secretary or assistant-secretary
belonging to any public office of the present day, could even read it
and live? It completely silenced Mr. Muntz for a session, and even _The
Times_ was afraid to review it.
Such a state of official excellence has not, however, been obtained
without its drawbacks, at any rate in the eyes of the unambitious tyros
and unfledged novitiates of the establishment. It is a very fine thing
to be pointed out by envying fathers as a promising clerk in the
Weights and Measures, and to receive civil speeches from mammas with
marriageable daughters. But a clerk in the Weights and Measures is soon
made to understand that it is not for him to--
Sport with Amaryllis in the shade.
It behoves him that his life should be grave and his pursuits laborious,
if he intends to live up to the tone of those around him. And as,
sitting there at his early desk, his eyes already dim with figures, he
sees a jaunty dandy saunter round the opposite corner to the Council
Office at eleven o'clock, he cannot but yearn after the pleasures of
idleness.
Were it not better done, as others use?
he says or sighs. But then comes Phoebus in the guise of the chief
clerk, and touches his trembling ears--
As he pronounces lastly on each deed,
Of so much fame, in Downing Street--expect the meed.
And so the high tone of the office is maintained.
Such is the character of the Weights and Measures at this present period
of which we are now treating. The exoteric crowd of the Civil Service,
that is, the great body of clerks attached to other offices, regard
their brethren of the Weights as prigs and pedants, and look on them
much as a master's favourite is apt to be regarded by other boys at
school. But this judgement is an unfair one. Prigs and pedants, and
hypocrites too, there are among them, no doubt--but there are also among
them many stirred by an honourable ambition to do well for their country
and themselves, and to two such men the reader is now requested to
permit himself to be introduced.
Henry Norman, the senior of the two, is the second son of a gentleman
of small property in the north of England. He was educated at a public
school, and thence sent to Oxford; but before he had finished his
first year at Brasenose his father was obliged to withdraw him from it,
finding himself unable to bear the expense of a university education for
his two sons. His elder son at Cambridge was extravagant; and as, at
the critical moment when decision became necessary, a nomination in
the Weights and Measures was placed at his disposal, old Mr. Norman
committed the not uncommon injustice of preferring the interests of his
elder but faulty son to those of the younger with whom no fault had been
found, and deprived his child of the chance of combining the glories and
happiness of a double first, a fellow, a college tutor, and a don.
Whether Harry Norman gained or lost most by the change we need not now
consider, but at the age of nineteen he left Oxford and entered on his
new duties. It must not, however, be supposed that this was a step which
he took without difficulty and without pause. It is true that the grand
modern scheme for competitive examinations had not as yet been composed.
Had this been done, and had it been carried out, how awful must have
been the cramming necessary to get a lad into the Weights and Measures!
But, even as things were then, it was no easy matter for a young man to
convince the chief clerk that he had all the acquirements necessary for
the high position to which he aspired.
Indeed, that chief clerk was insatiable, and generally succeeded in
making every candidate conceive the very lowest opinion of himself and
his own capacities before the examination was over. Some, of course,
were sent away at once with ignominy, as evidently incapable. Many
retired in the middle of it with a conviction that they must seek their
fortunes at the bar, or in medical pursuits, or some other comparatively
easy walk of life. Others were rejected on the fifth or sixth day as
being deficient in conic sections, or ignorant of the exact principles
of hydraulic pressure. And even those who were retained were so
retained, as it were, by an act of grace. The Weights and Measures was,
and indeed is, like heaven--no man can deserve it. No candidate can
claim as his right to be
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could
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How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 1
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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 upon the other, but of necessity and by the teeth; forasmuch
as he who wants bread is his servant that will feed him, if a man thus
feeds a whole people, they are under his empire.
Empire is of two kinds, domestic and national, or foreign and
provincial.
Domestic empire is founded upon dominion. Dominion is property, real or
personal; that is to say, in lands, or in money and goods.
Lands, or the parts and parcels of a territory, are held by the
proprietor or proprietors, lord or lords of it, in some proportion;
and such (except it be in a city that has little or no land, and whose
revenue is in trade) as is the proportion or balance of dominion or
property in land, such is the nature of the empire.
If one man be sole landlord of a territory, or overbalance the people,
for example, three parts in four, he is grand seignior; for so the Turk
is called from his property, and his empire is absolute monarchy.
If the few or a nobility, or a nobility with the clergy, be landlords,
or overbalance the people to the like proportion, it makes the Gothic
balance (to be shown at large in the second part of this discourse),
and the empire is mixed monarchy, as that of Spain, Poland, and late of
Oceana.
And if the whole people be landlords, or hold the lands so divided among
them that no one man, or number of men, within the compass of the few or
aristocracy, overbalance them, the empire (without the interposition of
force) is a commonwealth.
If force be interposed in any of these three cases, it must either frame
the government to the foundation, or the foundation to the government;
or holding the government not according to the balance, it is not
natural, but violent; and therefore if it be at the devotion of a
prince, it is tyranny; if at the devotion of the few, oligarchy; or
if in the power of the people, anarchy: Each of which confusions, the
balance standing otherwise, is but of short continuance, because against
the nature of the balance, which, not destroyed, destroys that which
opposes it.
But there be certain other confusions, which, being rooted in the
balance, are of longer continuance, and of worse consequence; as, first,
where a nobility holds half the property, or about that proportion, and
the people the other half; in which case, without altering the balance
there is no remedy but the one must eat out the other, as the people did
the nobility in Athens, and the nobility the people in Rome. Secondly,
when a prince holds about half the dominion, and the people the other
half (which was the case of the Roman emperors, planted partly upon
their military colonies and partly upon the Senate and the people), the
government becomes a very shambles, both of the princes and the people.
Somewhat of this nature are certain governments at this day, which are
said to subsist by confusion. In this case, to fix the balance is to
entail misery; but in the three former, not to fix it is to lose the
government. Wherefore it being unlawful in Turkey that any should
possess land but the Grand Seignior, the balance is fixed by the law,
and that empire firm. Nor, though the kings often sell was the throne
of Oceana known to shake, until the statute of alienations broke the
pillars, by giving way to the nobility to sell their estates. While
Lacedaemon held to the division of land made by Lycurgus, it was
immovable; but, breaking that, could stand no longer. This kind of law
fixing the balance in lands is called agrarian, and was first introduced
by God himself, who divided the land of Canaan to his people by lots,
and is of such virtue that wherever it has held, that government has
not altered, except by consent; as in that unparalleled example of the
people of Israel, when being in liberty they would needs choose a
king. But without an agrarian law, government, whether monarchical,
aristocratical, or popular, has no long lease.
As for dominion, personal or in money, it may now and then stir up a
Melius or a Manlius, which, if the Commonwealth be not provided with
some kind of dictatorian power, may be dangerous, though it has been
seldom or never successful; because to property producing empire, it
is required that it should have some certain root or foothold, which,
except in land, it cannot have, being otherwise as it were upon the
wing.
Nevertheless, in such cities as subsist mostly by trade, and have little
or no land, as Holland and Genoa, the balance of treasure may be equal
to that of land in the cases mentioned.
But Leviathan, though he seems to skew at antiquity, following his
furious master Carneades, has caught hold of the public sword, to which
he reduces all manner and matter of government; as, where he affirms
this opinion (that any monarch receives his power by covenant; that is
to say, upon conditions) "to proceed from the not understanding this
easy truth, that covenants being but words and breath, have no power to
oblige, contain, constrain, or protect any man, but what they have from
the public sword." But as he said of the law, that without this sword
it is but paper, so he might have thought of this sword, that without a
hand it is but cold iron. The hand which holds this sword is the militia
of a nation; and the militia of a nation is either an army in the field,
or ready for the field upon occasion. But an army is a beast that has a
great belly, and must be fed: wherefore this will come to what pastures
you have, and what pastures you have will come to the balance of
property, without which the public sword is but a name or mere spitfrog.
Wherefore, to set that which Leviathan says of arms and of contracts a
little straighter, he that can graze this beast with the great belly,
as the Turk does his Timariots, may well deride him that imagines he
received his power by covenant, or is obliged to any such toy. It being
in this case only that covenants are but words and breath. But if the
property of the nobility, stocked with their tenants and retainers, be
the pasture of that beast, the ox knows his master's crib; and it is
impossible for a
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goods
|
How many times does the word 'goods' appear in the text?
| 9
|
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 Alice, who live with me, already there. Louisa
keeps the district school, and with her salary, besides the little
which my brother left her, gets along very comfortably. I have a
small sum in bank, besides my house, and we have plenty to live on,
even if we don't have much to spare.
Louisa was full of excitement over the false alarm of fire, and had
heard a reason for it which we never fairly knew to be true, though
nearly all the village believed it. It seems that the little Jameson
boy, so the story ran, had peeped into the kitchen and had seen it
full of smoke from Caroline's smoky chimney when she was kindling the
fire; then had run out into the yard, and seeing the smoke out there
too, and being of such an exceedingly timid temperament, had run out
to the head of the lane calling fire, and had there met Tommy Gregg,
who had spread the alarm and been the means of calling out the fire
department.
Indeed, the story purported to come from Tommy Gregg, who declared
that the boy at Liscom's had "hollered" fire, and when he was asked
where it was had told him at Liscom's. However that may have been, I
looked around at our humble little home, at the lounge which I had
covered myself, at the threadbare carpet on the sitting-room floor,
at the wallpaper which was put on the year before my husband died, at
the vases on the shelf, which had belonged to my mother, and I was
very thankful that I did not care for "extra things" or new furniture
and carpets enough to take boarders who made one feel as if one were
simply a colonist of their superior state, and the Republic was over
and gone.
II
WE BECOME ACQUAINTED WITH THEM
It was certainly rather unfortunate, as far as the social standing of
the Jamesons among us was concerned, that they brought Grandma Cobb
with them.
Everybody spoke of her as Grandma Cobb before she had been a week in
the village. Mrs. H. Boardman Jameson always called her Madam Cobb,
but that made no difference. People in our village had not been
accustomed to address old ladies as madam, and they did not take
kindly to it. Grandma Cobb was of a very sociable disposition, and
she soon developed the habit of dropping into the village houses at
all hours of the day and evening. She was an early riser, and all the
rest of her family slept late, and she probably found it lonesome.
She often made a call as early as eight o'clock in the morning, and
she came as late as ten o'clock in the evening. When she came in the
morning she talked, and when she came in the evening she sat in her
chair and nodded. She often kept the whole family up, and it was less
exasperating when she came in the morning, though it was unfortunate
for the Jamesons.
If a bulletin devoted to the biography of the Jameson family had been
posted every week on the wall of the town house it could have been no
more explicit than was Grandma Cobb. Whether we would or not we soon
knew all about them; the knowledge was fairly forced upon us. We knew
that Mr. H. Boardman Jameson had been very wealthy, but had lost most
of his money the year before through the failure of a bank. We knew
that his wealth had all been inherited, and that he would never have
been, in Grandma Cobb's opinion, capable of earning it himself. We
knew that he had obtained, through the influence of friends, a
position in the custom-house, and we knew the precise amount of his
salary. We knew that the Jamesons had been obliged to give up their
palatial apartments in New York and take a humble flat in a less
fashionable part of the city. We knew that they had always spent
their summers at their own place at the seashore, and that this was
the first season of their sojourn in a little country village in a
plain house. We knew how hard a struggle it had been for them to
come here; we knew just how much they paid for their board, how Mrs.
Jameson never wanted anything for breakfast but an egg and a hygienic
biscuit, and had health food in the middle of the forenoon and
afternoon.
We also knew just how old they all were, and how the H. in Mr.
Jameson's name stood for Hiram. We knew that Mrs. Jameson had never
liked the name--might, in fact, have refused to marry on that score
had not Grandma Cobb reasoned with her and told her that he was a
worthy man with money, and she not as young as she had been; and how
she compromised by always using the abbreviation, both in writing and
speaking. "She always calls him H," said Grandma Cobb, "and I tell
her sometimes it doesn't look quite respectful to speak to her
husband as if he were part of the alphabet." Grandma Cobb, if the
truth had been told, was always in a state of covert rebellion
against her daughter.
Grandma Cobb was always dressed in a black silk gown which seemed
sumptuous to the women of our village. They could scarcely reconcile
it with the statement that the Jamesons had lost their money. Black
silk of a morning was stupendous to them, when they reflected how
they had, at the utmost, but one black silk, and that guarded as if
it were cloth of gold, worn only upon the grandest occasions, and
designed, as they knew in their secret hearts, though they did not
proclaim it, for their last garment of earth. Grandma Cobb always
wore a fine lace cap also, which should, according to the opinions of
the other old ladies of the village, have been kept sacred for other
women's weddings or her own funeral. She used her best gold-bowed
spectacles every day, and was always leaving them behind her in the
village houses, and little Tommy or Annie had to run after her with
a charge not to lose them, for nobody knew how much they cost.
Grandma Cobb always carried about with her a paper-covered novel and
a box of cream peppermints. She ate the peppermints and freely
bestowed them upon others; the novel she never read. She said quite
openly that she only carried it about to please her daughter, who had
literary tastes. "She belongs to a Shakespeare Club, and a Browning
Club
|
another
|
How many times does the word 'another' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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. Woodchuck. "He will know what
to do with her."
Chapter VI
Twinkle is Taken to the Judge
AT this the woodchuck children all hooted with joy, crying: "Take her,
Daddy! Take her to old Stoneyheart! Oh, my! won't he give it to her,
though!"
"Who is Judge Stoneyheart?" asked Twinkle, a little uneasily.
"A highly respected and aged woodchuck who is cousin to my wife's
grandfather," was the reply. "We consider him the wisest and most
intelligent of our race; but, while he is very just in all things, the
judge never shows any mercy to evil-doers."
"I haven't done anything wrong," said the girl.
"But your father has, and much wrong is done us by the other farmers
around here. They fight my people without mercy, and kill every
woodchuck they can possibly catch."
Twinkle was silent, for she knew this to be true.
"For my part," continued Mister Woodchuck, "I'm very soft-hearted, and
wouldn't even step on an ant if I could help it. Also I am sure you have
a kind disposition. But you are a human, and I am a woodchuck; so I
think I will take you to old Stoneyheart and let him decide your fate."
"Hooray!" yelled the young woodchucks, and away they ran through the
paths of the garden, followed slowly by their fat mother, who held the
lace parasol over her head as if she feared she would be sunstruck.
Twinkle was glad to see them go. She didn't care much for the woodchuck
children, they were so wild and ill-mannered, and their mother was even
more disagreeable than they were. As for Mister Woodchuck, she did not
object to him so much; in fact, she rather liked to talk to him, for his
words were polite and his eyes pleasant and kindly.
"Now, my dear," he said, "as we are about to leave this garden, where
you have been quite secure, I must try to prevent your running away when
we are outside the wall. I hope it won't hurt your feelings to become a
real prisoner for a few minutes."
Then Mister Woodchuck drew from his pocket a leather collar, very much
like a dog-collar, Twinkle thought, and proceeded to buckle it around
the girl's neck. To the collar was attached a fine chain about six feet
long, and the other end of the chain Mister Woodchuck held in his hand.
"Now, then," said he, "please come along quietly, and don't make a
fuss."
He led her to the end of the garden and opened a wooden gate in the
wall, through which they passed. Outside the garden the ground was
nothing but hard, baked earth, without any grass or other green thing
growing upon it, or any tree or shrub to shade it from the hot sun. And
not far away stood a round mound, also of baked earth, which Twinkle at
once decided to be a house, because it had a door and some windows in
it.
There was no living thing in sight--not even a woodchuck--and Twinkle
didn't care much for the baked-clay scenery.
Mister Woodchuck, holding fast to the chain, led his prisoner across the
barren space to the round mound, where he paused to rap softly upon the
door.
Chapter VII
Twinkle is Condemned
"COME in!" called a voice.
Mister Woodchuck pushed open the door and entered, drawing Tinkle after
him by the chain.
In the middle of the room sat a woodchuck whose hair was grizzled with
old age. He wore big spectacles upon his nose, and a round knitted cap,
with a tassel dangling from the top, upon his head. His only garment was
an old and faded dressing-gown.
When they entered, the old woodchuck was busy playing a game with a
number of baked-clay dominoes, which he shuffled and arranged upon a
baked-mud table; nor did he look up for a long time, but continued to
match the dominoes and to study their arrangement with intense interest.
Finally, however, he finished the game, and then he raised his head and
looked sharply at his visitors.
"Good afternoon, Judge," said Mister Woodchuck, taking off his silk hat
and bowing respectfully.
The judge did not answer him, but continued to stare at Twinkle.
"I have called to ask your advice," continued Mister Woodchuck. "By good
chance I have been able to capture one of those fierce humans that are
the greatest enemies of peaceful woodchucks."
The judge nodded his gray head wisely, but still answered nothing.
"But now that I've captured the creature, I don't know what to do with
her," went on Mister Woodchuck; "although I believe, of course, she
should be punished in some way, and made to feel as unhappy as her
people have made us feel. Yet I realize that it's a dreadful thing to
hurt any living creature, and as far as I'm concerned I'm quite willing
to forgive her." With these words he wiped his face with a red silk
handkerchief, as if really distressed.
"She's dreaming," said the judge, in a sharp, quick voice.
"Am I?" asked Twinkle.
"Of course. You were probably lying on the wrong side when you went to
sleep."
"Oh!" she said. "I wondered what made it."
"Very disagreeable dream, isn't it?" continued the judge.
"Not so very," she answered. "It's interesting to see and hear
woodchucks in their own homes, and Mister Woodchuck has shown me how
cruel it is for us to set traps for you."
"Good!" said the judge. "But some dreams are easily forgotten, so I'll
teach you a lesson you'll be likely to remember. You shall be caught in
a trap yourself."
"Me!" cried Twinkle, in dismay.
"Yes, you. When you find how dreadfully it hurts you'll bear the traps
in mind forever afterward. People don't remember dreams unless the
dreams are unusually horrible. But I guess you'll remember this one."
He got up and opened a mud cupboard,
|
remember
|
How many times does the word 'remember' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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>
<b>
</b>
<b> 3.
</b>
<b>A LONG STRETCH OF PRISTINE COUNTRY ROAD - THE HAMPTONS - DAY
</b>
A Silver Mercedes convertible bursts into FRAME. Harry's
behind the wheel, shades, smoking a cigar, livin' large. Next
to him sits a thoroughbred of a girl. An "IT" Girl. Smart,
sexy and built for fun. She has perfected flirting to an art.
Her hand rests on Harry's neck. There's a good thirty year
age difference between them. Her name is MARIN. She SINGS
along with Ja Rule, now coming from a CD.
<b> MARIN
</b>
( singing)
To all my thugs that be livin' it
up, we say, what I do. To all my...
(stops)
Oh! This is it. Make a right.
<b> HARRY
</b>
(admiring the
neighborhood)
So baby, you're rich... .
<b> MARIN
</b>
Well, my mother is, sort of. Not
really...
<b> HARRY
</b>
If she lives within a mile of here, she's
rich.
<b> MARIN
</b>
I guess a hit play will buy you a house
in The Hamptons.
<b> HARRY
</b>
I'd like to meet your mother.
<b> MARIN
</b>
No you wouldn't. I mean, she's
great. She's totally brilliant, but
she's not your type.
<b> HARRY
</b>
You're overlooking one of the great
things about me. I don't have a type.
<b> MARIN
</b>
(very directly)
She's over thirty.
Harry looks to Marin, feigning hurt.
<b> MARIN
</b>
Oh, what?! Like you don't know you
have a slight reputation for...
<b>
</b>
<b> 4.
</b>
Just then the CAR PHONE RINGS. Harry keeps looking at Marin.
<b> HARRY
</b>
-- For what?
Harry waits. RINGGG!
He doesn't look away.
<b> MARIN
</b>
For never dating anyone over 30.
Don't look at me like that.
<b> HARRY
</b>
It's just not true.
<b> MARIN
</b>
Okay. Sorry. Over 31?
<b> HARRY
</b>
Oh, so you wait 'til we get out to The
Hamptons to let me know you're a wise
ass.
(answers phone)
Hold on. . .
(then to Marin)
It just so happens, my dear, that women
of a certain age, don't date me. You ever
think of it that
|
marin
|
How many times does the word 'marin' appear in the text?
| 11
|
>
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 and more menacing note in their challenge. The noisy
but usually harmless confrontation lasts only a few seconds
before the invasion begins.
In an uncertainly-moving horde, the Others cross the river,
shieking threats and hunched for the attack. They are led
by a big-toothed hominid of Moonwatcher's own size and age.
Startled and frightened, the tribe retreats before the first
advance, throwing nothing more substantial than imprecations
at the invaders. Moonwatcher moves with them, his mind a
mist of rage and confusion. To be driven from their own
territory is a great badness, but to lose the river is death.
He does not know what to do; it is a situation beyond his
experience.
Then he becomes dimly aware that the Others are slowing
a10
<b>A8
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
down, and advancing with obvious reluctance. The further they
move from their own side, the more uncertain and unhappy
they become. Only Big-Tooth still retains any of his original
drive, and he is rapidly being seperated from his followers.
As he sees this, Moonwatcher's own morale immediately
revives. He slows down his retreat, and begins to make
reassuring noises to his companions. Novel sensations fill
his dim mind - the first faint precursors of bravery and
leadership.
Before he realizes it, he is face to face with Big-Tooth, and
the two tribes come to a halt many paces away.
The disorganized and unscientific conflict could have ended
quickly if either had used his fist as a club, but this
innovation still lay hundreds of thousands of years in the
future. Instead, the slowly weakening fighters claw and
scratch and try to bite each other.
Rolling over and over, they come to a patch of stony ground,
and when they reach it Moonwatcher is on top. By chance,
a11
<b>A8
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
he chooses this moment to grab the hair on Big-Tooth's scalp,
and bang his head on the ground. The resulting CRACK is
so satisfactory, and produces such an immediate weakening
In Big - Tooth's resistance, that he quickly repeats it.
Even when Big-Tooth ceases to move for some time, Moon-
watcher keeps up the exhilirating game.
With shrieks of panic, the Others retreat back, across the
stream. The defenders cautiously pursue them as far as
The water's edge.
a12
<b>EXT CAVE - NEW SOUND
</b>
Dozing fitfully and weakened by his stuggle, Moonwatcher is
startled by a sound.
He sits up in the fetid darkness of the cave, straining his
senses out into the night, and fear creeps slowly into his soul.
Never in his life - already twice as long as most members of
his species could expect - has he heard a sound like this. The
great cats approached in silence, and the only thing that
betrayed them was a rare slide of earth, or the occasional
cracking of a twig. Yet this is a continuing crunching noise
that grows steadily louder. It seemed that some enormous
beast was moving through the night, making no attempt at
concealment, and ignoring all obstacles.
And then there came a sound which Moonwatcher could not
possibly have identified, for it had never been heard before
in the history of this planet.
a13
<b>A10
</b><b>EXT CAVE - NEW ROCK
</b>
Moonwatcher comes face to face with the New Rock when he
leads the tribe down to the river in the first light of morning.
He had almost forgotten the terror of the night, because nothing
had happened after that initial noise, so he does not even
associate this strange thing with danger or with fear. There
is nothing in the least alarming about it.
It is a cube about fifteen feet on a side, and it is made of
some completely transparent material; indeed, it is not easy
to see except when the light of the sun glints on its edges.
There are no natural objects to which Moonwatcher can
compare this apparition. Though he is wisely cautious
of most new things, he does not hesitate to walk up to it.
As nothing happens, he puts out his hand, and feels a warm,
hard surface.
After several minutes of intense thought, he arrives at a
brilliant explanation. It is a rock, of course, and it
must have grown during the night. There are many plants
that do this - white, pulpy things shaped like pebbles, that
seem to shoot up in the hours of darkness. It is true that
they are small and round, whereas this is large and square;
a14
<b>A10
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
but greater and later philosophers than Moonwatcher would be
prepared to overlook equally striking exceptions to their laws.
This really superb piece of abstract thinking leads Moonwatcher
to a deduction which he immediately puts to the test. The white,
round pebble-plants are very tasty (though there were a few
that made one violently sick); perhaps this square one...?
A few licks and attempted nibbles quickly disillusion him.
There is no nourishment here; so like a sensible hominid, he
continues on his way to the river and forgets all about the Cube.
a15
<b>A11
</b><b>EXT CUBE - FIRST LESSON
</b>
They are still a hundred yards from the New Rock when the
sound begins.
It is quite soft, and it stops them in their tracks, so that they
stand paralyzed on the trail with their jaws hanging. A simple,
maddeningly repetitious rhythm pulses out of the crystal cube
and hypnotises all who come within its spell. For the first
time - and the last, for two million year - the sound of
drumming is heard in Africa.
The throbbing grows louder, more insistent. Presently the
hominids begin to move forward like sleep-
|
night
|
How many times does the word 'night' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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>
The idiot pile of sleepy dragons. Reflected in the muddy water -
the lighted window.
<b> THE LAGOON (MINIATURE)
</b>
The boat landing sags. An old newspaper floats on the surface
of the water - a copy of the New York Enquirer." As it moves
across the frame, it discloses again the reflection of the
window in the castle, closer than before.
<b> THE GREAT SWIMMING POOL (MINIATURE)
</b>
It is empty. A newspaper blows across the cracked floor of
the tank.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> THE COTTAGES (MINIATURE)
</b>
In the shadows, literally the shadows, of the castle. As we
move by, we see that their doors and windows are boarded up
and locked, with heavy bars as further protection and sealing.
<b> DISSOLVE OUT:
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE IN:
</b>
<b> A DRAWBRIDGE (MINIATURE)
</b>
Over a wide moat, now stagnant and choked with weeds. We move
across it and through a huge solid gateway into a formal garden,
perhaps thirty yards wide and one hundred yards deep, which
extends right up to the very wall of the castle. The
landscaping surrounding it has been sloppy and causal for a
long time, but this particular garden has been kept up in
perfect shape. As the camera makes its way through it, towards
the lighted window of the castle, there are revealed rare and
exotic blooms of all kinds. The dominating note is one of
almost exaggerated tropical lushness, hanging limp and
despairing. Moss, moss, moss. Ankor Wat, the night the last
King died.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> THE WINDOW (MINIATURE)
</b>
Camera moves in until the frame of the window fills the frame
of the screen. Suddenly, the light within goes out. This
stops the action of the camera and cuts the music which has
been accompanying the sequence. In the glass panes of the
window, we see reflected the ripe, dreary landscape of Mr.
Kane's estate behind and the dawn sky.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> INT. KANE'S BEDROOM - FAINT DAWN -
</b>
A very long shot of Kane's enormous bed, silhouetted against
the enormous window.
<b> DISSOLVE:
</b>
<b> INT. KANE'S BEDROOM - FAINT DAWN - SNOW SCENE.
</b>
An incredible one. Big, impossible flakes of snow, a too
picturesque farmhouse and a snow man. The jingling of sleigh
bells in the musical score now makes an ironic reference to
Indian Temple bells - the music freezes -
|
dawn
|
How many times does the word 'dawn' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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 the meanwhile?--Only good mulled wine? That would present no
difficulty either. Five minutes for it to get really hot, as Annette had
made some the previous day for her father who had been on a tiring
errand up to La Mure and had come home cold and starved--and it was
specially good--all the better for having been hotted up once or twice
and the cloves and nutmeg having soaked in for nearly four and twenty
hours.
Where would the gentlemen have it--Outside in the sunshine? . . . Well!
it was very cold, and the wind biting . . . but the gentlemen had
mantles, and she, Annette, would see that the wine was piping hot. . . .
Five minutes and everything would be ready. . . .
What? . . . the tall, fair-skinned gentleman wanted to wash? . . . what
a funny idea! . . . hadn't he washed this morning when he got up? . . .
He had? Well, then, why should he want to wash again? . . . She,
Annette, managed to keep herself quite clean all day, and didn't need
to wash more than once a day. . . . But there! strangers had funny ways
with them . . . she had guessed at once that Monsieur was a stranger, he
had such a fair skin and light brown hair. Well! so long as Monsieur
wasn't English--for the English, she detested!
Why did she detest the English? . . . Because they made war against
France. Well! against the Emperor anyhow, and she, Annette, firmly
believed that if the English could get hold of the Emperor they would
kill him--oh, yes! they would put him on an island peopled by cannibals
and let him be eaten, bones, marrow and all.
And Annette's dark eyes grew very round and very big as she gave forth
her opinion upon the barbarous hatred of the English for "l'Empereur!"
She prattled on very gaily and very volubly, while she dragged a couple
of chairs out into the open, and placed them well in the lee of the wind
and brought a couple of pewter mugs which she set on the table.
She was very much interested in the tall gentleman who had availed
himself of her suggestion to use the pump at the back of the house,
since he was so bent on washing himself; and she asked many questions
about him from his friend.
Ten minutes later the steaming wine was on the table in a huge china
bowl and the Englishman was ladling it out with a long-handled spoon and
filling the two mugs with the deliciously scented cordial. Annette had
disappeared into the house in response to a peremptory call from her
father. The chapel bell had ceased to ring long ago, and she would miss
hearing Mass altogether to-day; and M. le curé, who came on alternate
Sundays all the way from La Motte to celebrate divine service, would be
very angry indeed with her.
Well! that couldn't be helped! Annette would have loved to go to Mass,
but the two distinguished gentlemen expected their friend to arrive at
noon, and the _déjeuner_ to be ready quite by then; so she comforted her
conscience with a few prayers said on her knees before the picture of
the Holy Virgin which hung above her bed, after which she went back to
her housewifely duty with a light heart; but not before she had decided
an important point in her mind--namely, which of those two handsome
gentlemen she liked the best: the dark one with the fiery eyes that
expressed such bold admiration of her young charms, or the tall one with
the earnest grey eyes who looked as if he could pick her up like a
feather and carry her running all the way to the summit of Taillefer.
Annette had indeed made up her mind that the giant with the soft brown
hair and winning smile was, on the whole, the more attractive of the
two.
III
The two friends, with mantles wrapped closely round them, sat outside
the "Grand Dauphin" all unconscious of the problem which had been
disturbing Annette's busy little brain.
The steaming wine had put plenty of warmth into their bones, and though
both had been silent while they sipped their first mug-full, it was
obvious that each was busy with his own thoughts.
Then suddenly the young Frenchman put his mug down and leaned with both
elbows upon the rough deal table, because he wanted to talk
confidentially with his friend, and there was never any knowing what
prying ears might be about.
"I suppose," he said, even as a deep frown told of puzzling thoughts
within the mind, "I suppose that when England hears the news, she will
up and at him again, attacking him, snarling at him even before he has
had time to settle down upon his reconquered throne."
"That throne is not reconquered yet, my friend," retorted the Englishman
drily, "nor has the news of this mad adventure reached England so far,
but . . ."
"But when it does," broke in de Marmont sombrely, "your Castlereagh will
rave and your Wellington will gather up his armies to try and crush the
hero whom France loves and acclaims."
"Will France acclaim the hero, there's the question?"
"The army will--the people will----"
Clyffurde shrugged his shoulders.
"The army, yes," he said slowly, "but the people . . . what people?--the
peasantry of Provence and the Dauphiné, perhaps--what about the town
folk?--your mayors and _préfets_?--your tradespeople? your shopkeepers
who have been ruined by the wars which your hero has made to further his
own ambition. . . ."
"Don't say that, Clyffurde," once more broke in de Marmont, and this
time more vehemently than before. "When you speak like that I could
almost forget our friendship."
"Whether I say it or not, my good de Marmont
|
more
|
How many times does the word 'more' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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 to talk to your mother!
SARAH (mumbles to herself): She's not my mother.
SARAH takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She can hear footsteps
and SOMEONE comes to the other side of the door.
SARAH ignores her STEPMOTHER and kicks off her running shoes.
With a practiced gesture SARAH removes her jeans while leaving her
gown in place.
STEPMOTHER (VO): _Sarah_, when I tell you to be home at five, I
expect you to be home at five.
SARAH quickly shifts to her STEPMOTHER's attitude -- hands on hips,
and silently mimes her words.
SARAH: Yes, Madame!
<b>7A INT: UPSTAIRS HALLWAY
</b>
STEPMOTHER: And don't "Yes Madame" me!
FATHER: Is she all right?
STEPMOTHER (frustrated): Of course she's all right! I left the
Bernsteins' number on the kitchen table ... Freddie might be coming
down with a cold so call us if he seems even the least bit
uncomfortable ...
SARAH (VO) (sighs): Yes, Mother.
STEPMOTHER: Oh! I give up!
She hurries down the stairs.
FATHER: We'll see you later, baby. And remember ...
<b>7B INT: SARAH'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH speaks along with him, mimicking.
SARAH & FATHER (VO): Don't open the door to strangers.
We hear him leave. SARAH waits a beat and then turns and opens her
bedroom door.
SARAH: And don't call me baby! (she slams the door shut; mimicking
her parents) Precious little Freddie might be coming down with a cold
<b>...
</b>
She sighs and looks around. This is really her world, her retreat,
and she knows and controls every inch of it. The shelves are filled
with an orderly array of childhood dolls and toys. The books are
lined up neatly in the bookcase and if we could see them up close we
would see that they were placed in alphabetical order -- and
according to the year they were acquired. She walks over to her
dresser. She checks herself out in the mirror above the chest of
drawers and adjusts the golden circlet which has been knocked askew
by her run. She then stops for a moment and looks at the photographs
on the dresser. One of her FATHER, her MOTHER and herself as a LITTLE
GIRL. Another picture of her MOTHER in a newspaper clipping is taped
to the mirror. The headline says, "Linda Williams a Smash in New
Play." A cover of a Playbill is also tacked on to the mirror. It says
_Best of Both Worlds_ starring Linda Williams. SARAH then reverently
opens a music box -- the kind with a twirling dancer inside -- and to
the strains of an unbearably tinny version of "Greensleeves" she
begins to rehearse.
SARAH: Do not be swayed by my pleasure at the sight of you, my Lord
<b>...
</b>
Suddenly, something stops her cold.
SARAH (yelling angrily): Someone has been in my room!
Through the mirror WE SEE what she sees: an empty space on one of the
shelves. She swirls around and rushes out the door.
<b>8 INT: THE HALLWAY - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH bursts out of her room.
SARAH: Where's Lancelot?
She stomps down the hallway.
SARAH: Where's my bear?!!
<b>9 INT: NURSERY - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH enters FREDDIE's room. She searches the nursery.
SARAH: Nobody listens to a thing I say.
She opens a toy box and rifles through it.
SARAH: How many times have I told them to stay out of my room ...
She gets to the crib and looks down. FREDDIE is wide awake, gurgling
at Lancelot, SARAH's tattered old teddy bear.
SARAH: And you, you can just give me back my bear!
She yanks it out of the crib and leaves. FREDDIE looks hurt and his
face starts to cloud up.
<b>10 INT: SARAH 'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH is curled up on her bed, cuddling her bear. MERLIN sits beside
her. She looks at the DOG.
SARAH: You're the only one who understands me, Merlin.
He licks her face. She gets up and holds the bear out in front of her.
SARAH: Do not be swayed by my pleasure at the sight of you, my lord
<b>...
</b>
She is interrupted by FREDDIE's cries.
SARAH: Go to sleep, Freddie!
The cries get louder. SARAH sighs and repeats her favorite litany.
SARAH: Why does everything have to happen to me?
<b>11 INT: NURSERY - NIGHT
</b>
SARAH enters and approaches the howling INFANT.
SARAH: I don't need this.
She pulls the blanket up over him and attempts to tuck him in.
SARAH: There, isn't that nice ...
But FREDDIE doesn't think so. He pushes the blanket off and howls
even louder. SARAH sees one of his toys on the floor and picks it up
and gives it to him. She speaks through gritted teeth.
SARAH: Want your nice toy?
But FREDDIE doesn't. He flings the toy across the room. SARAH bends
over the crib and speaks softly.
SARAH: You know, Freddie, I heard that the only thing to do with a
baby who won't stop crying is to get some goblins to come over and
teach him a lesson ...
FREDDIE lowers his screams to a whimper, but a loud whimper.
SARAH: How would you like that, kid? A nasty evil goblin ...
FREDDIE is quiet for a moment, almost as if he is considering.
|
says
|
How many times does the word 'says' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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 watch.
It is the key-stone of the world's wide arch,
The one sustaining and sustained by all,
Which, if it fail, brings all in ruin down.
(Answers of SENATORS giving assent to DEMETRIUS.)
DEMETRIUS.
Oh, look on me, renowned Sigismund!
Great king, on thine own bosom turn thine eyes.
And in my destiny behold thine own.
Thou, too, hast known the rude assaults of fate;
Within a prison camest thou to the world;
Thy earliest glances fell on dungeon walls.
Thou, too, hadst need of friends to set thee free,
And raise thee from a prison to a throne.
These didst thou find. That noble kindness thou
Didst reap from them, oh, testify to me.
And you, ye grave and honored councillors,
Most reverend bishops, pillars of the church,
Ye palatines and castellans of fame,
The moment has arrived, by one high deed,
To reconcile two nations long estranged.
Yours be the glorious boast, that Poland's power
Hath given the Muscovites their Czar, and in
The neighbor who oppressed you as a foe
Secure an ever-grateful friend. And you,
The deputies of the august republic,
Saddle your steeds of fire! Leap to your seats!
To you expand high fortune's golden gates;
I will divide the foeman's spoil with you.
Moscow is rich in plunder; measureless
In gold and gems, the treasures of the Czar;
I can give royal guerdons to my friends,
And I will give them, too. When I, as Czar,
Set foot within the Kremlin, then, I swear,
The poorest of you all, that follows me,
Shall robe himself in velvet and in sables;
With costly pearls his housings shall he deck,
And silver be the metal of least worth,
That he shall shoe his horses' hoofs withal.
[Great commotion among the DEPUTIES. KORELA, Hetman
of the Cossacks, declares himself ready to put himself
at the head of an army.
ODOWALSKY.
How! shall we leave the Cossack to despoil us
At once of glory and of booty both?
We've made a truce with Tartar and with Turk,
And from the Swedish power have naught to fear.
Our martial spirit has been wasting long
In slothful peace; our swords are red with rust.
Up! and invade the kingdom of the Czar,
And win a grateful and true-hearted friend,
Whilst we augment our country's might and glory.
MANY DEPUTIES.
War! War with Moscow!
OTHERS.
Be it so resolved!
On to the votes at once!
SAPIEHA (rises).
Grand marshal, please
To order silence! I desire to speak.
A CROWD OF VOICES.
War! War with Moscow!
SAPIEHA.
Nay, I will be heard.
Ho, marshal, do your duty!
[Great tumult within and outside the hall.
GRAND MARSHAL.
'Tis, you see,
Quite fruitless.
SAPIEHA.
What? The marshal's self suborned?
Is this our Diet, then, no longer free?
Throw down your staff, and bid this brawling cease;
I charge you, on your office, to obey!
[The GRAND MARSHAL casts his baton into the centre
of the hall; the tumult abates.
What whirling thoughts, what mad resolves are these?
Stand we not now at peace with Moscow's Czar?
Myself, as your imperial envoy, made
A treaty to endure for twenty years;
I raised this right hand, that you see, aloft
In solemn pledge, within the Kremlin's walls;
And fairly hath the Czar maintained his word.
What is sworn faith? what compacts, treaties, when
A solemn Diet tramples on them all?
DEMETRIUS.
Prince Leo Sapieha! You concluded
A bond of peace, you say, with Moscow's Czar?
That did you not; for I, I am that Czar.
In me is Moscow's majesty; I am
The son of Ivan, and his rightful heir.
Would the Poles treat with Russia for a peace,
Then must they treat with me! Your compact's null,
As being made with one whose's title's null.
ODOWALSKY.
What reck we of your treaty? So we willed
When it was made--our wills are changed to-day.
SAPIEHA.
Is it, then, come to this? If none beside
Will stand for justice, then, at least, will I.
I'll rend the woof of cunning into shreds,
And lay its falsehoods open to the day.
Most reverend primate! art thou, canst thou be
So simple-souled, or canst thou so dissemble?
Are ye so credulous, my lords? My liege,
Art thou so weak? Ye know not--will not know,
Ye are the puppets of the wily Waywode
Of Sendomir, who reared
|
keeps
|
How many times does the word 'keeps' appear in the text?
| 1
|
INCI
</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 a stool before the easel. She broadly
smiles, revealing the worst dental work of her epoch.
Da Vinci shakes his head and moves out onto a
<b> EXT. CASTLE TERRACE
</b>
A FLYING APPRENTICE sails past Leonardo in a bat winged
glider, enthusiastically shouting. Da Vinci grins back
until he touches his pocket. He pulls out the crystal
and, after a beat, angrily twists it apart into two
separate, geometric pieces revealing a small intricate
mirror. He quickly folds the surprisingly shapable
geometric pieces.
Calming down, Da Vinci looks from the three components of
the crystal to each of the three unfinished works on the
table in his workshop. He ponders then looks back out to
the Vinci vista.
The bat winged glider DISSOLVES into:
<b> A HAWK
</b>
who is revealed to be flying over Sing Sing prison.
<b> INT. A SING SING PRISON CELL
</b>
The shadow of the hawk passes through a cell window, over
the face of EDDIE HUDSON HAWKINS causing him to break out
of an eye-closed trance.
Before the viewer can get a good look at him, Hudson
Hawk turns to an oddball version of the "Mona Lisa" that
has his face and tears it off the cell back-wall.
<b> INT. PRISON BLOCK WALKWAY
</b>
TWO PRISON GUARDS, One WISE and BLACK, the other YOUNG
and GREEN march down a cell block. The Former is smoking
a pipe which the Young Guard lights with a lighter.
<b> WISE GUARD
</b> We're losing our biggest celebrity
today.
<b> YOUNG GUARD
</b> You're kidding, Petey the Paint
Thinner Killer is getting paroled?
<b> WISE GUARD
</b> Not that slime, you Fizzhead.
Hudson Hawk. The last of the
great cat burglars.
<b> INT. PRISON CELL WALL
</b>
A hand tears down a picture of a happy Hudson Hawk and
a LITTLE MONKEY, identically dressed in black cat
burglar gear.
<b> THE BLOCK
</b>
The Wise Guard and the Young Guard rumble forward.
<b> WISE GUARD
</b> As a thief, Hawk was a poem.
Iambic fucking pentameter. You
know, Crime used to have a little
class. A hundred reporters were
here when he came in, now they're
probably out covering some tired
crack gang war...
The Guards approach Hawk's cell. Hawk, with his back
turned, hefts on a nifty blazer.
<b> HAWK
</b> Remind me to fire my publicist.
The Wise Guard chuckles as the Young Guard fumbles with
his key-ring.
<b> YOUNG GUARD
</b> Darn, these are for L-block...
Hawk's hand reaches through the bars and grabs a pipe
cleaner from the Wise Guard's pocket. Then the lighter
from the Young Guard's pocket--BURNS OFF the fabric fuzz
with the lighter beside it--bends the now blackened
wire--and with a quick turn of the wrist uses it to
UNLOCK the door.
<b> YOUNG GUARD
</b> - go back down to security and-
He stops, dumbfounded, as the door clunks open. The
Guards double-take as Hawk, finally in full view, struts
past them, down the hall. The Guards hustle to catch
|
wise
|
How many times does the word 'wise' appear in the text?
| 6
|
op 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.
Headline: "TOO MUCH TRASH!! Earth Covered!!"
The deck: "BNL CEO Declares Global Emergency!"
A photo of the BNL CEO giving a weak smile.
<b>
</b> Wall-E's old treads are threadbare.
Practically falling apart.
Cause a bumpy ride for his cockroach.
He passes the remains of other RUSTED WALL-E UNITS.
Fancies one with NEWER TREADS than his own...
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. DESERTED STREET - MOMENTS LATER
</b><b>
</b> Wall-E now sports the newer treads.
Rolls past a SERIES OF HOLOGRAPHIC BILLBOARDS.
The solar-powered ads still activate when he passes them.
<b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> BILLBOARD ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> (Ad #1: BNL logo over trash)
Too much garbage in your face?
(Ad #2: starliner in space)
There's plenty of space out in space!
(Ad #3: starliners take off
from Earth)
BNL starliners leaving each day.
(Ad #4: WALL-E units wave
goodbye)
We'll clean up the mess while you're
away.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. EDGE OF THE CITY
</b><b>
</b> Wall-E drives down a deserted overpass.
Activates an even LARGER HOLOGRAPHIC BILLBOARD.
<b>
</b><b> CLOSE ON BILLBOARD AD
</b><b>
</b> Shows off a CITY-SIZED LUXURY STARLINER.
Depicts passengers enjoying all its amenities.
<b>
</b><b> BILLBOARD ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> The jewel of the BNL fleet: "The Axiom".
Spend your five year cruise in style.
Waited on 24 hours a day by our fully
automated crew, while your Captain and
Autopilot chart a course for non-stop
entertainment, fine dining. And with our
all-access hover chairs, even Grandma can
join the fun! There's no need to walk
|
city
|
How many times does the word 'city' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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; "why,
Pina," (thus he abridged his sister's name), "there's as much danger, I
should think, in pushing through a tub of soap-suds."
"Come, Dom," returned the girl, "explain it to me; for if you don't
point out where the danger really lies, if you leave me in this state of
partial ignorance, I shall be filled with alarm instead of bliss from
this moment till we reach the shore."
"Well, well, sister," said Dominick, when thus urged; "if you must have
it, I will explain."
He went on to show that when the boat came near the shore the waves
would grasp it, instead of letting it slip back; would carry it swiftly
in on their crests, so that the great difficulty in such a case would be
to keep the boat's head pointing to the land, and if he failed to do so,
they would infallibly be overturned and have to swim ashore.
"Well, that would be unpleasant, Dom," said the ignorant, as well as
innocent, Pauline, "but it would not matter much, for we can all swim--
thanks to you for insisting on teaching us long ago."
"We will try our best," said Dominick, who thereupon relapsed into
silence, wisely resolving to let his sister retain all the "bliss" of
"ignorance" that was possible under the circumstances.
Indeed, there was not much more time for conversation, for the power of
the waves was beginning to be felt by the little craft, and the clumsy
oar did not act with as much precision or force as was desirable, while
Dominick's weakness rendered the steering difficult. Pauline now began
to realise the danger somewhat more clearly from experience, and even
Otto showed symptoms of surprise that amounted very nearly to alarm, as
the boat at one point made a sudden rush on a wave-top as if it meant to
try a race with it, and then as suddenly slipped back into the hollow
behind, as if it had been disheartened, feeling that there was no
chance.
At last they reached the point of greatest danger. The huge waves, as
we have said, commenced out at sea in long, gentle undulations. Nearer
the shore they advanced in the shape of glassy walls, one after another,
like successive lines of indomitable infantry in time of war. Further
in, the tops of these waves began to gurgle and foam, and gather real,
instead of seeming, motion, as they rushed towards their fall. It was
here that the boat showed symptoms of becoming unmanageable.
"Why, the water's beginning to boil!" exclaimed Otto, in some anxiety.
"Hold on, boy, and keep quiet," said his brother.
As he spoke, the water gurgled up, so that it seemed as if about to pour
inboard all round. At the same time the boat made a rush shoreward as
if suddenly endowed with life. Dominick struggled manfully to keep the
stern to the sea. He succeeded, but in another moment the boat slipped
back. It had not been fairly caught, and the wave passed on to fall
with a roar like thunder a hundred yards or so ahead.
"The next will do it," said Dominick, with an anxious glance behind,
where a crystal wall was coming grandly on--unnaturally high, it seemed
to them, owing to their position in the hollow.
No need to tell Otto now to hold on! No need to explain difficulty or
danger to Pauline! As her brother stood at the oar, quivering as much
from weakness as exertion, she understood it all. But she was brave,
and she could swim. This latter fact lent her additional confidence.
Best of all, she had faith in God, and her spirit was calmed, for,
whether life or death lay before her, she knew that her soul was "safe."
As Dominick had prophesied, the next wave took them fairly in its grasp.
For a few moments the water hissed and gurgled round them. The
steersman seemed to lose control for a second or two, but quickly
recovered. Then there was a bound, as if the boat had been shot from a
catapult, and the billow fell. A tremendous roar, tumultuous foam all
round, increasing speed! The land appeared to be rushing at them, when
Dominick's oar snapped suddenly, and he went overboard. A shriek from
Pauline and a shout from Otto rose high above the din of raging water,
as the boat broached-to and hurled its remaining occupants into the sea.
Even in that trying moment Dominick did not lose presence of mind. He
could swim and dive like a water-rat. Pushing towards his brother and
sister, who were heading bravely for the shore, he shouted, "Dig your
fingers and toes deep into the sand, and hold on for life, if--" (he
corrected himself) "_when_ you gain the beach."
It was well they were forewarned, and that they were constitutionally
obedient. A few minutes later, and they were all swept up high on the
beach in a wilderness of foam. The return of that wilderness was like
the rushing of a millrace. Sand, stones, sticks, and seaweed went back
with it in dire confusion. Prone on their knees, with fingers and toes
fixed, and heads down, the brothers and sister met the rush. It was
almost too much for them. A moment more, and strength as well as breath
would have failed; but the danger passed, and Dominick sprang to his
feet.
"Up, up! and run!" he shouted, as he caught Pauline round the waist and
dragged her on. Otto needed no help. They were barely in time. The
succeeding wave roared after them as if maddened at having lost its
prey, and the foaming water was up with them, and almost round their
knees, ere its fury was quite spent.
"Safe!" exclaimed Dominick.
"Thank God!" murmured Pauline, as she sank exhausted on the sand.
Otto, who had never seen his sister in such a state before, ran to her,
and, kneeling down, anxiously seized one of her hands.
"Never fear, lad," said his brother in reassuring tones, "she'll soon
come round. Lend a hand to lift her."
They
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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 I had to miss cartoons this morning? If
it was to share in your half-assed obsessions with Hallmark moments, I'm
going to slug you.
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(still looking OC)
You're never going to believe this: we're going home.
<b> LOKI
</b>
(off Bartleby's popcorn)
Let me have some?
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(pulls out envelope)
Look what somebody sent us in the mail.
(hands him a newspaper article and corn)
<b> LOKI
</b>
Did you say we're going home?
(reads)
"Cardinal Glick Cuts Ribbon on 'Catholicism - Wow!"
Campaign."
(to Bartleby)
And?
<b>BARTLEBY
</b>
Keep reading.
<b> LOKI
</b>
(reads)
"Updating the church... television spots... Papal consent...
rededication...
(to Bartleby)
Again - and?
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(snatches article) Give me this
(getting up; reading)
"The Re-dedication of Saint Michael's Church on it's hundredth anniversary
is the kickoff of a new campaign that seeks to bring the Catholic Church
back into the mainstream. With a papal sanction, the archway entrance to
the centuryold, Jersey shore house of worship will serve as a passageway of
pleanry indulgence, which - according to Catholic beliefs - offers all who
pass through it's arches a morally clean slate."
(looks at Loki)
You still don't get it, do you?
<b> LOKI
</b>
No, I don't get it. Are we leaving now?
They start walking.
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
If you walk through the church's front door on the day of the Re-dedication
ceremony, your soul is wiped clean of any and all existing sin, moreso than
the sacrament of penance could ever offer. It's a plenary indulgence, man!
I don't know why I never thought of this before.
<b> LOKI
</b>
(spits out chewed popcorn into trash can)
Sounds thin. Sounds like someone made it up.
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
It's rarely employed, but it's legitimate. It has a papal sanction for
God's sake.
<b> LOKI
</b>
So you're saying you and I can walk through this doorway and go back home?
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
No - by passing through the doors, our sins are
forgiven. Then all we have to do is die...
<b> LOKI
</b>
Wait. wait, wait - Die? I don't want to die.
(chews popcorn)
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
(steps on conveyor belt)
You'd rather stay down here for a few more eons?
<b> LOKI
</b>
No, but we don't even know if we can die. And what if we can, but this
archway thing doesn't pan out? What then? Hell? Fuck that.
(spits out chewed popcorn into napkin)
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
Impossible. If we cut off our wings and transubstantiate to complete human
form then we become mortal. And if we die with clean souls, there's no way
to keep us out. They have to let us in.
<b>LOKI
</b>
(beat)
Who sent this thing?
<b> BARTLEBY
</b>
I don't know. Somebody who's looking out for us,
|
popcorn
|
How many times does the word 'popcorn' appear in the text?
| 3
|
</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.
<b>CASPER
</b>Well, how was it?
<b>TELLY
</b>Oh my god, so good. That girl can fuck.
<b>CASPER
</b>She can fuck?
<b>TELLY
</b>Hell yeah. That bitch was bleeding. When I first put it in she screamed real loud. I saw her bite down on the pillow.
<b>CASPER
</b>Oh shit. How long did it take?
<b>TELLY
</b>Did what take?
<b>CASPER
</b>How long did you fuck her?
They cross the street, paying no attention to speeding cars. Casper is listening to every word that Telly says. Casper seems much happier than Telly. Telly is laid-back. Casper is hyper as he jumps up and down and claws Telly's arm.
<b>TELLY
</b>Well it took me longer than I thought it would take. It took like 15 minutes to talk her into it. But once it was on, we fucked for a good half an hour. I had to keep taking it out and putting it back in. It hurts the first time.
<b>CASPER
</b>Yeah.
<b>TELLY
</b>But then when she got into it. She really got into it. It was good.
<b>CASPER
</b>How did she smell? Did her puss stink?
Telly puts his four fingers together and then puts his hand in front of Caper's nose.
<b>TELLY
</b>Take a whiff.
Casper takes a huge whiff, the snot in his nose makes a loud sound as he smells Telly's fingers.
<b>CASPER
</b>Oh man, it smells like butterscotch.
<b>TELLY
</b>Hell's yeah. She was so clean.
<b>CASPER
</b>Oh man, that's the best.
<b>TELLY
</b>You could tell she took care of herself. She had all these powders and creams in her bathroom.
<b>CASPER
</b>Let me smell it again.
Telly lifts his fingers once again, as Casper breathes in the odor.
<b>CASPER
</b>That's why virgins are the best. I love that smell.
As they walk down the street, joggers, men in business suits with briefcases, ambulances, and women with baby carriages all pass by.
<b>TELLY
</b>You know what else?
<b>CASPER
</b>What?
<b>TELLY
</b>I can tell that she had just entered puberty.
<b>CASPER
</b>How?
<b>TELLY
</b>Well, I was flipping through a picture book of her and her family, right.
<b>
</b><b>CASPER
</b>Right.
<b>TELLY
</b>And there was this picture of her painting Easter eggs or something. And I said, you were cut when you were little.
<b>CASPER
</b>Yeah.
<b>TELLY
</b>And she goes, yeah that picture was taken less than a year ago. I look younger without my makeup.
Casper starts to crack up.
<b>TELLY
</b>And I looked at her, and thought to myself Oh my god, this girl is a baby.
<b>CASPER
</b>Yeah.
<b>TELLY
</b>And for a second I felt a little bit guilty. You know, because she's young and all. And then I was like, oh shit, that turns me on. I wanna fuck this little baby girl.
They both laugh.
<b>CASPER
</b>Fuckin perverted bastard.
They continue to laugh and walk.
<b>TELLY
</b>I'm telling you Casper. I think I'm getting addicted to that shit.
<b>CASPER
</b>To what? Virgins?
<b>TELLY
</b>Yeah. It's like all I think about now. Not just that, it's like lately during sex, I start dreaming about these complex fantasies.
<b>CASPER
</b>What do you mean?
<b>TELLY
</b>I mean I'm dreaming about going all out, crazy shit.
<b>CASPER
</b>You mean like fucking two virgins at once.
<b>TELLY
</b>(laughing)
That would be good. But I mean more like. I don't know. Like when I was having sex with her, I kept thinking how much I would like to put it in her ass. Just to see what would happen.
<b>CASPER
</b>(laughing)
She's probably smash you in the fucking face.
<b>TELLY
</b>I don't know about that. She was pretty into it. But I wasn't gonna try. The whole thing is, you just gotta take it slow. Show 'em some respect.
<b>CASPER
</b>Did you tell her that you loved her?
<b>TELLY
</b>Like. Like. Never love. Love is for low-level virgin seduction guys.
They stop walking. Casper takes the last sip of his beer, then throws it toward an orange trash can. He misses the can and the bottle smashes in the middle of a busy street.
<b>CASPER
</b>Shit.
<b>TELLY
</b>What do you want?
<b>CASPER
</b>Get another forty.
(burps)
Smoke a blunt.
<b>TELLY
</b>Are you hungry?
<b>CASPER
</b>Hell yeah. Fuckin starvin. Wait up a sec.
Casper takes two steps away and starts urinating in someone's bushes. People walk by and stare.
<b>TELLY
|
again
|
How many times does the word 'again' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
mom. Not only is she a lush, but
she also hates me.
<b>
</b> Diane is beautiful, but there is an essential hardness to her
that comes from a life spent trading on her looks. The
blouse and mini-skirt she wears are inappropriately revealing
for the occasion of her daughter's birthday.
<b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> A few days before the party, I
overhear her on the phone ordering
me a male stripper. Nothing says "I
love you" like ten inches of man
meat in your face.
<b>
</b> Diane and the other mothers are talking about Mini's dancing.
<b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> And knowing dear old ma, she'll try
and nail him after the party...in
my bed.
<b>
</b> Mini's friend KAYLA, a little rounder, but also brash, comes
dancing over. She's swaying her hips provocatively at Mini,
almost challenging her.
<b>
</b> MIKE RUDELL, a tanned and trim man of 55, watches their
display, clearly enjoying the way it's jump-starting his
imagination.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b> CONTINUED:
</b><b>
</b><b> MINI (V.O.)
</b> That guy? Our neighbor Mike Rudell,
big shot TV producer and the guy my
mom screws whenever the batteries
run out.
<b>
</b> Kayla and Mini begin dancing together in a very explicit way,
clearly trying to make the adults uncomfortable.
<b> MINI
</b> Yo, bee-ach!
<b>
</b><b> KAYLA
</b> Yo, birthday bee-ach!
<b>
</b><b> MINI
</b> Is it on?
<b>
</b><b> KAYLA
</b>
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
own big farm, but rented a quarter section from Nat Wheeler. They
were master farmers. If there was a dry summer and a failure,
Leonard only laughed and stretched his long arms, and put in a
bigger crop next year. Claude was always a little reserved with
Leonard; he felt that the young man was rather contemptuous of
the hap-hazard way in which things were done on the Wheeler
place, and thought his going to college a waste of money. Leonard
had not even gone through the Frankfort High School, and he was
already a more successful man than Claude was ever likely to be.
Leonard did think these things, but he was fond of Claude, all
the same.
At sunset the car was speeding over a fine stretch of smooth road
across the level country that lay between Frankfort and the
rougher land along Lovely Creek. Leonard's attention was largely
given up to admiring the faultless behaviour of his engine.
Presently he chuckled to himself and turned to Claude.
"I wonder if you'd take it all right if I told you a joke on
Bayliss?"
"I expect I would." Claude's tone was not at all eager.
"You saw Bayliss today? Notice anything queer about him, one eye
a little off colour? Did he tell you how he got it?"
"No. I didn't ask him."
"Just as well. A lot of people did ask him, though, and he said
he was hunting around his place for something in the dark and ran
into a reaper. Well, I'm the reaper!"
Claude looked interested. "You mean to say Bayliss was in a
fight?"
Leonard laughed. "Lord, no! Don't you know Bayliss? I went in
there to pay a bill yesterday, and Susie Gray and another girl
came in to sell tickets for the firemen's dinner. An advance man
for this circus was hanging around, and he began talking a little
smart,--nothing rough, but the way such fellows will. The girls
handed it back to him, and sold him three tickets and shut him
up. I couldn't see how Susie thought so quick what to say. The
minute the girls went out Bayliss started knocking them; said all
the country girls were getting too fresh and knew more than they
ought to about managing sporty men and right there I reached out
and handed him one. I hit harder than I meant to. I meant to slap
him, not to give him a black eye. But you can't always regulate
things, and I was hot all over. I waited for him to come back at
me. I'm bigger than he is, and I wanted to give him satisfaction.
Well, sir, he never moved a muscle! He stood there getting redder
and redder, and his eyes watered. I don't say he cried, but his
eyes watered. 'All right, Bayliss,' said I. 'Slow with your
fists, if that's your principle; but slow with your tongue,
too,--especially when the parties mentioned aren't present.'"
"Bayliss will never get over that," was Claude's only comment.
"He don't have to!" Leonard threw up his head. "I'm a good
customer; he can like it or lump it, till the price of binding
twine goes down!"
For the next few minutes the driver was occupied with trying to
get up a long, rough hill on high gear. Sometimes he could
make that hill, and sometimes he couldn't, and he was not able to
account for the difference. After he pulled the second lever with
some disgust and let the car amble on as she would, he noticed
that his companion was disconcerted.
"I'll tell you what, Leonard," Claude spoke in a strained voice,
"I think the fair thing for you to do is to get out here by the
road and give me a chance."
Leonard swung his steering wheel savagely to pass a wagon on the
down side of the hill. "What the devil are you talking about,
boy?"
"You think you've got our measure all right, but you ought to
give me a chance first."
Leonard looked down in amazement at his own big brown hands,
lying on the wheel. "You mortal fool kid, what would I be telling
you all this for, if I didn't know you were another breed of
cats? I never thought you got on too well with Bayliss yourself."
"I don't, but I won't have you thinking you can slap the men in
my family whenever you feel like it." Claude knew that his
explanation sounded foolish, and his voice, in spite of all he
could do, was weak and angry.
Young Leonard Dawson saw he had hurt the boy's feelings. "Lord,
Claude, I know you're a fighter. Bayliss never was. I went to
school with him."
The ride ended amicably, but Claude wouldn't let Leonard take him
home. He jumped out of the car with a curt goodnight, and ran
across the dusky fields toward the light that shone from the
house on the hill. At the little bridge over the creek, he
stopped to get his breath and to be sure that he was outwardly
composed before he went in to see his mother.
"Ran against a reaper in the dark!" he muttered aloud, clenching
his fist.
Listening to the deep singing of the frogs, and to the distant
barking of the dogs up at the house, he grew calmer.
Nevertheless, he wondered why it was that one had sometimes to
feel responsible for the behaviour of people whose natures were
wholly antipathetic to one's own.
III
The circus was on Saturday. The next morning Claude was standing
at his dresser, shaving. His beard was already strong, a shade
darker than his hair and not so red as his skin. His eyebrows and
long lashes were a pale corn-colour--made his blue eyes seem
lighter than they were, and, he thought, gave a look of shyness
and weakness to the upper part of his face. He was exactly the
sort of looking boy he didn't want to be. He especially hated his
head,--so big that he had trouble in buying his hats, and
uncompromisingly square in shape; a perfect block-head. His name
was another source of humiliation. Claude: it was a "chump" name,
like Elmer and Roy; a hayseed name trying to be fine. In country
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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> You think they're all telling the
truth? If they're so smart and
good looking, why are they beating
off into a cup?
<b> BOBBY
</b> Have you ever fucked a guy with red
hair and freckles?
<b> ZOE
</b> No, and I won't have to.
<b> BOBBY
</b> But what about your kid? No one's
going to want to fuck your kid.
(beat)
That came out wrong.
<b> ZOE
</b> Yeah...it's a good thing you're not
going to be the father.
<b>INT. WAVERLY INN - NIGHT
</b>
<b>TITLE UP: EIGHT WEEKS AGO
</b>
Bobby spits out a mouthful of Sauvignon Blanc.
<b> BOBBY
</b> What? I can't be the father!
<b> ZOE
</b> Come on, we don't have to have sex.
<b> BOBBY
</b> Oh, Jesus, I didn't even think
about that. Rewind, rewind,
rewind...
<b> ZOE
</b> You're one of my best friends.
Don't you want to help me?
<b> 4.
</b>
<b> BOBBY
</b> Yeah, but...that's too much. I'll
walk your dog, tell you when you
look fat, be honest about your
eyebrows...
<b> ZOE
</b> Just a few sperm. Big deal. You
waste billions of them every night.
<b> BOBBY
</b> You know I flee at the slightest
chance of intimacy. Do you see
these bags under my eyes? Ricardo
slept over last night, and he
wanted to hold me. I actually had
to fake a seizure.
<b> ZOE
</b> Forget it. Forget the whole thing.
Zoe sighs and puts her head in her hands.
<b> MONA (V.O.)
</b> Forget the whole thing. It's just
a phase...
<b>INT. MONA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
<b>TITLE UP: TWELVE WEEKS AGO.
</b>
Zoe and MONA, Zoe's age but looks much older, sit at the
kitchen table.
<b> MONA
</b> You don't want kids. Trust me.
<b> ZOE
</b> Easy for you to say. You have
four.
<b> MONA
</b> Yeah, and it's awful.
Three CHILDREN run through the kitchen yelling and screaming.
A beat later, a TODDLER runs after them crying.
<b> MONA (CONT'D)
</b> They've ruined my life.
<b>
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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.
'No man living could throw that rock across this glade. It's a task for
siege engines. Yet here there are no mangonels or ballistas.'
'Perhaps it was thrown by some such engine from afar,' she suggested.
He shook his head. 'It didn't fall from above. It came from yonder
thicket. See how the twigs are broken? It was thrown as a man might
throw a pebble. But who? What? Come!'
She hesitantly followed him into the thicket. Inside the outer ring of
leafy brush, the undergrowth was less dense. Utter silence brooded over
all. The springy sward gave no sign of footprint. Yet from this
mysterious thicket had hurtled that boulder, swift and deadly. Conan
bent closer to the sward, where the grass was crushed down here and
there. He shook his head angrily. Even to his keen eyes it gave no clue
as to what had stood or trodden there. His gaze roved to the green roof
above their heads, a solid ceiling of thick leaves and interwoven
arches. And he froze suddenly.
Then rising, sword in hand, he began to back away, thrusting Olivia
behind him.
'Out of here, quick!' he urged in a whisper that congealed the girl's
blood.
'What is it? What do you see?'
'Nothing,' he answered guardedly, not halting his wary retreat.
'But what is it, then? What lurks in this thicket?'
'Death!' he answered, his gaze still fixed on the brooding jade arches
that shut out the sky.
Once out of the thicket, he took her hand and led her swiftly through
the thinning trees, until they mounted a grassy slope, sparsely treed,
and emerged upon a low plateau, where the grass grew taller and the
trees were few and scattered. And in the midst of that plateau rose a
long broad structure of crumbling greenish stone.
They gazed in wonder. No legends named such a building on any island of
Vilayet. They approached it warily, seeing that moss and lichen crawled
over the stones, and the broken roof gaped to the sky. On all sides lay
bits and shards of masonry, half hidden in the waving grass, giving the
impression that once many buildings rose there, perhaps a whole town.
But now only the long hall-like structure rose against the sky, and its
walls leaned drunkenly among the crawling vines.
Whatever doors had once guarded its portals had long rotted away. Conan
and his companion stood in the broad entrance and stared inside.
Sunlight streamed in through gaps in the walls and roof, making the
interior a dim weave of light and shadow. Grasping his sword firmly,
Conan entered, with the slouching gait of a hunting panther, sunken head
and noiseless feet. Olivia tiptoed after him.
Once within, Conan grunted in surprize, and Olivia stifled a scream.
'Look! Oh, look!'
'I see,' he answered. 'Nothing to fear. They are statues.'
'But how life-like--and how evil!' she whispered, drawing close to him.
They stood in a great hall, whose floor was of polished stone, littered
with dust and broken stones, which had fallen from the ceiling. Vines,
growing between the stones, masked the apertures. The lofty roof, flat
and undomed, was upheld by thick columns, marching in rows down the
sides of the walls. And in each space between these columns stood a
strange figure.
They were statues, apparently of iron, black and shining as if
continually polished. They were life-sized, depicting tall, lithely
powerful men, with cruel hawk-like faces. They were naked, and every
swell, depression and contour of joint and sinew was represented with
incredible realism. But the most life-like feature was their proud,
intolerant faces. These features were not cast in the same mold. Each
face possessed its own individual characteristics, though there was a
tribal likeness between them all. There was none of the monotonous
uniformity of decorative art, in the faces at least.
'They seem to be listening--and waiting!' whispered the girl uneasily.
Conan rang his hilt against one of the images.
'Iron,' he pronounced. 'But Crom! In what molds were they cast?'
He shook his head and shrugged his massive shoulders in puzzlement.
Olivia glanced timidly about the great silent hall. Only the ivy-grown
stones, the tendril-clasped pillars, with the dark figures brooding
between them, met her gaze. She shifted uneasily and wished to be gone,
but the images held a strange fascination for her companion. He examined
them in detail, and barbarian-like, tried to break off their limbs. But
their material resisted his best efforts. He could neither disfigure nor
dislodge from its niche a single image. At last he desisted, swearing in
his wonder.
'What manner of men were these copied from?' he inquired of the world at
large. 'These figures are black, yet they are not like negroes. I have
never seen their like.'
'Let us go into the sunlight,' urged Olivia, and he nodded, with a
baffled glance at the brooding shapes along the walls.
So they passed out of the dusky hall into the clear blaze of the summer
sun. She was surprized to note its position in the sky; they had spent
more time in the ruins than she had guessed.
'Let us take to the boat again,' she suggested. 'I am afraid here. It is
a strange evil place. We do not know when we may be attacked by whatever
cast the rock.'
'I think we're safe as long as we're not under the trees,' he answered.
'Come.'
The plateau, whose sides fell away toward the wooded shores on the east,
west and south, sloped upward toward the north to abut on a tangle of
rocky cliffs, the highest point of the island. Thither Conan took his
way, suiting his long stride to his companion's gait. From time to time
his glance rested inscrutably upon her, and she was aware of it.
They reached the northern extremity of the plateau, and stood gazing up
the steep pitch of the cliffs. Trees grew thickly along the
|
cliffs
|
How many times does the word 'cliffs' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ite, 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
is obviously a smart and serious establishment. They stop in front of
the man whose uniform is covered in blood; he appears to be the head
chef. Meet Soap.
<b>TOM
</b>What have you come as?
<b>SOAP
</b>Cupid stupid! That's the last time I am getting any more fruit off you
Tom. Call that fresh? There was more small hairy armoured things in
your fruit than there was fruit. You should open a butcher's, not a
grocer's.
<b>TOM
</b>If you will order stuff that comes from Kat-Man-Fucking-Du don't be
surprised if your fruit picks up a few tourists en route. ~ Never mind
that, what about the money?
<b>SOAP
</b>Get your fingers out of my soup!
<b>SLOW MOTION
</b>
Soap pulls out a bag from under where he is sitting.
<b>TOM
</b>(voice-over)
Soap is called Soap because he likes to keep his hands clean of any
unlawful behaviour. He is proud of his job, and even more proud that
it's legal.
<b>BACON
</b>(voice-over)
He's a stroppy sod but he's got more balls than a golfer, only he
doesn't know it. ' * Cut from completed film.
<b>16
</b>
<b>RELEASE SLOW MOTION]
</b>
Ed looks in bag.
<b>EDDY
</b>Are you sure you can afford twenty-five?
<b>SOAP
</b>Well that depends on how you look at it. I can afford it as long as I
see it again, if that's what you mean. You got the rest from the fat
man and Bacon?
Tom looks on with suspicion.
<b>TOM
</b>Who's this fat man, then?
<b>EDDY
</b>Bacon, the fat man and myself, and it's time to make a call to Harry.
<b>INT. HATCHET HARRY'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
A hard-looking man of about fifty is sat behind a large antique desk.
On this desk is a hatchet resting in a block of wood, poised like a
judge's hammer. Harry is obviously in the sex game. Cluttered up in a
hazardous way are a selection of dildos, spanking paddles, etc. A
cabinet of fine-looking shotguns is placed behind. We have a split
screen involving EDDY and his friends (listening in) and Hatchet with
one hand on the phone and the other on a shotgun.
<b>HATCHET
</b>You got it all?
<b>INT. KITCHEN - DAY.
</b>
<b>EDDY
</b>A hundred grand.
<b>FREEZE SHOT OF HATCHET
</b>
<b>TOM
</b>(voice-over)
You see it's not easy to take a seat at this table; the money involved
has to be a hundred grand upwards and there is no shortage of punters.
<b>EDDY
</b>(voice-over)
The man who decides if you can play is this man Harry, or Hatchet Harry
as some including himself like to call him.
<b>RELEASE FREEZE SHOT OF HATCHET
</b>
<b>HATCHET
</b>Well if you got it, you got it. Now, if you don't mind . . .
The phone is slammed down.
<b>SHOT OF HATCHET
</b>
<b>SOAP
</b>(voice-over)
When the old bastard is not playing cards he's chasing a thousand debts
that ill-fated individuals owe for an array of reasons.
<b>BACON
</b>(voice-over)
Sex and sleaze and antique shotguns are all deep and dear in Harry's
stone cold heart.
Cut from completed film.
<b>RELEASE FREEZE SHOT OF HATCHET
</b>
<b>HATCHET
</b>What's this EDDY like, then?
The camera spins round to reveal a massive monster of a man sitting
opposite Hatchet. Meet Barry the Baptist.
<b>FREEZE SHOT OF BARRY
</b>
<b>EDDY
</b>(voice-over)
Hatchet has a colleague, a monster of a man: Barry the Baptist.
<b>BACON
</b>(voice-over)
The Baptist got his name from drowning people for Hatchet.
<b>TOM
</b>(voice-over)
But he needs him, because he is good at making sure debts get settled
and jobs get done.
<b>RELEASE FREEZE SHOT OF BARRY
</b>
<b>BARRY
</b>EDDY been shaking the knees of a lot of good players. The boy has a
rare ability, he seems to make cards transparent, got bluffing dow . .
<b>.
</b>
<b>HATCHET
</b>(interrupts)
All right, all right, so we can say he is good.
<b>BARRY
</b>Better than good, he is a fucking liability.
<b>HATCHET
</b>Where did he get a hundred grand?
<b>20
</b>
<b>BARRY
</b>
He has got some adhesive mates, they have tossed up between them.
<b>HATCHET
</b>And JD is his dad, and owns the whole property?
<b>BARRY
</b>No mortgage, no debts; lock, stock, the sodding lot . . . don't worry,
I got it under control.
<b>HATCHET
</b>Good, you can get this under control now.
A glossy Christie's brochure displaying a pair of impressive antique
hammer-lock shotguns is shoved in Barry's face.
It seems Lord Appleton Smythe has run out of
|
seems
|
How many times does the word 'seems' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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, so popular that
it had obtained there at the plebiscite an overwhelming majority. But
since the disasters the town had become republican, the quarter St. Marc
had returned to its secret royalist intrigues, while the old quarter and
the new town had sent to the chamber a liberal representative, slightly
tinged with Orleanism, and ready to take sides with the republic, if
it should triumph. And, therefore, it was that Felicite, like the
intelligent woman she was, had withdrawn her attention from politics,
and consented to be nothing more than the dethroned queen of a fallen
government.
But this was still an exalted position, surrounded by a melancholy
poetry. For eighteen years she had reigned. The tradition of her two
_salons_, the yellow _salon_, in which the _coup dâetat_ had matured,
and the green _salon_, later the neutral ground on which the conquest
of Plassans was completed, embellished itself with the reflection of the
vanished past, and was for her a glorious history. And besides, she was
very rich. Then, too, she had shown herself dignified in her fall, never
uttering a regret or a complaint, parading, with her eighty years,
so long a succession of fierce appetites, of abominable maneuvers, of
inordinate gratifications, that she became august through them. Her only
happiness, now, was to enjoy in peace her large fortune and her past
royalty, and she had but one passion left--to defend her past, to extend
its fame, suppressing everything that might tarnish it later. Her pride,
which lived on the double exploit of which the inhabitants still
spoke, watched with jealous care, resolved to leave in existence only
creditable documents, those traditions which caused her to be saluted
like a fallen queen when she walked through the town.
She went to the door of the chamber and listened to the persistent noise
of the pestle, which did not cease. Then, with an anxious brow, she
returned to Clotilde.
âGood Heavens! What is he making? You know that he is doing himself the
greatest harm with his new drug. I was told, the other day, that he came
near killing one of his patients.â
âOh, grandmother!â cried the young girl.
But she was now launched.
âYes, exactly. The good wives say many other things, besides! Why, go
question them, in the faubourg! They will tell you that he grinds dead
menâs bones in infantsâ blood.â
This time, while even Martine protested, Clotilde, wounded in her
affection, grew angry.
âOh, grandmother, do not repeat such abominations! Master has so great a
heart that he thinks only of making every one happy!â
Then, when she saw that they were both angry, Felicite, comprehending
that she had gone too far, resumed her coaxing manner.
âBut, my kitten, it is not I who say those frightful things. I repeat
to you the stupid reports they spread, so that you may comprehend that
Pascal is wrong to pay no heed to public opinion. He thinks he has found
a new remedy--nothing could be better! and I will even admit that he
will be able to cure everybody, as he hopes. Only, why affect these
mysterious ways; why not speak of the matter openly; why, above all, try
it only on the rabble of the old quarter and of the country, instead of,
attempting among the well-to-do people of the town, striking cures which
would do him honor? No, my child, you see your uncle has never been able
to act like other people.â
She had assumed a grieved tone, lowering her voice, to display the
secret wound of her heart.
âGod be thanked! it is not men of worth who are wanting in our family;
my other sons have given me satisfaction enough. Is it not so? Your
Uncle Eugene rose high enough, minister for twelve years, almost
emperor! And your father himself handled many a million, and had a part
in many a one of the great works which have made Paris a new city. Not
to speak at all of your brother, Maxime, so rich, so distinguished, nor
of your cousin, Octave Mouret, one of the kings of the new commerce, nor
of our dear Abbe Mouret, who is a saint! Well, then, why does Pascal,
who might have followed in the footsteps of them all, persist in living
in his hole, like an eccentric old fool?â
And as the young girl was again going to protest, she closed her mouth,
with a caressing gesture of her hand.
âNo, no, let me finish. I know very well that Pascal is not a fool, that
he has written remarkable works, that his communications to the Academy
of Medicine have even won for him a reputation among _savants_. But what
does that count for, compared to what I have dreamed of for him?
Yes, all the best practice of the town, a large fortune, the
decoration--honors, in short, and a position worthy of the family. My
word! I used to say to him when he was a child: âBut where do you come
from? You are not one of us!â As for me, I have sacrificed everything
for the family; I would let myself be hacked to pieces, that the family
might always be great and glorious!â
She straightened her small figure, she seemed to grow tall with the
one passion that had formed the joy and pride of her life. But as she
resumed her walk, she was startled by suddenly perceiving on the floor
the copy of the _Temps_, which the doctor had thrown there, after
cutting out the article, to add it to the Saccard papers, and the light
from the open window, falling full upon the sheet, enlightened her, no
doubt, for she suddenly stopped walking, and threw herself into a chair,
as if she at last knew what she had come to learn.
âYour father has been appointed editor of the _Epoque
|
many
|
How many times does the word 'many' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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, who, her husband had
taught her, was above all scruples, prejudices, and fears, and who,
though he respected law, despised opinion, made the victim yield. But
her sufferings were not long; the separation from her child, the bleak
clime, the strange faces around her, sharp memory, and the dull routine
of an unimpassioned life, all combined to wear out a constitution
originally frail, and since shattered by many sorrows. Mrs. Coningsby
died the same day that her father-in-law was made a Marquess. He
deserved his honours. The four votes he had inherited in the House of
Commons had been increased, by his intense volition and unsparing means,
to ten; and the very day he was raised to his Marquisate, he commenced
sapping fresh corporations, and was working for the strawberry leaf. His
honours were proclaimed in the London Gazette, and her decease was not
even noticed in the County Chronicle; but the altars of Nemesis are
beneath every outraged roof, and the death of this unhappy lady,
apparently without an earthly friend or an earthly hope, desolate and
deserted, and dying in obscure poverty, was not forgotten.
Coningsby was not more than nine years of age when he lost his last
parent; and he had then been separated from her for nearly three years.
But he remembered the sweetness of his nursery days. His mother,
too, had written to him frequently since he quitted her, and her fond
expressions had cherished the tenderness of his heart. He wept bitterly
when his schoolmaster broke to him the news of his mother's death. True
it was they had been long parted, and their prospect of again meeting
was vague and dim; but his mother seemed to him his only link to human
society. It was something to have a mother, even if he never saw her.
Other boys went to see their mothers! he, at least, could talk of his.
Now he was alone. His grandfather was to him only a name. Lord Monmouth
resided almost constantly abroad, and during his rare visits to England
had found no time or inclination to see the orphan, with whom he felt
no sympathy. Even the death of the boy's mother, and the consequent
arrangements, were notified to his master by a stranger. The letter
which brought the sad intelligence was from Mr. Rigby. It was the first
time that name had been known to Coningsby.
Mr. Rigby was member for one of Lord Monmouth's boroughs. He was the
manager of Lord Monmouth's parliamentary influence, and the auditor of
his vast estates. He was more; he was Lord Monmouth's companion when in
England, his correspondent when abroad; hardly his counsellor, for Lord
Monmouth never required advice; but Mr. Rigby could instruct him
in matters of detail, which Mr. Rigby made amusing. Rigby was not a
professional man; indeed, his origin, education, early pursuits, and
studies, were equally obscure; but he had contrived in good time to
squeeze himself into parliament, by means which no one could ever
comprehend, and then set up to be a perfect man of business. The world
took him at his word, for he was bold, acute, and voluble; with no
thought, but a good deal of desultory information; and though destitute
of all imagination and noble sentiment, was blessed with a vigorous,
mendacious fancy, fruitful in small expedients, and never happier than
when devising shifts for great men's scrapes.
They say that all of us have one chance in this life, and so it was with
Rigby. After a struggle of many years, after a long series of the
usual alternatives of small successes and small failures, after a
few cleverish speeches and a good many cleverish pamphlets, with a
considerable reputation, indeed, for pasquinades, most of which he
never wrote, and articles in reviews to which it was whispered he had
contributed, Rigby, who had already intrigued himself into a subordinate
office, met with Lord Monmouth.
He was just the animal that Lord Monmouth wanted, for Lord Monmouth
always looked upon human nature with the callous eye of a jockey. He
surveyed Rigby; and he determined to buy him. He bought him; with his
clear head, his indefatigable industry, his audacious tongue, and his
ready and unscrupulous pen; with all his dates, all his lampoons; all
his private memoirs, and all his political intrigues. It was a good
purchase. Rigby became a great personage, and Lord Monmouth's man.
Mr. Rigby, who liked to be doing a great many things at the same time,
and to astonish the Tadpoles and Tapers with his energetic versatility,
determined to superintend the education of Coningsby. It was a relation
which identified him with the noble house of his pupil, or, properly
speaking, his charge: for Mr. Rigby affected rather the graceful dignity
of the governor than the duties of a tutor. The boy was recalled
from his homely, rural school, where he had been well grounded by
a hard-working curate, and affectionately tended by the curate's
unsophisticated wife. He was sent to a fashionable school preparatory
to Eton, where he found about two hundred youths of noble families
and connections, lodged in a magnificent villa, that had once been
the retreat of a minister, superintended by a sycophantic Doctor of
Divinity, already well beneficed, and not despairing of a bishopric by
favouring the children of the great nobles. The doctor's lady, clothed
in cashmeres, sometimes inquired after their health, and occasionally
received a report as to their linen.
Mr. Rigby had a classical retreat, not distant from this establishment,
which he esteemed a Tusculum. There, surrounded by his busts and books,
he wrote his lampoons and articles; massacred a she liberal (it was
thought that no one could lash a woman like Rigby), cut up a rising
genius whose politics were different from his own, or scarified some
unhappy wretch who had brought his claims before parliament, proving,
by garbled extracts from official correspondence that no one could refer
to, that the malcontent instead of being a victim, was, on the contrary,
a defaulter. Tadpole and Taper would back Rigby for a 'slashing reply'
against the field. Here, too, at the end of a
|
combined
|
How many times does the word 'combined' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Clarendon
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Bose, T. Ã 'The Gentle Craft of Revision in Thomas Dekker's last
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Bose T. Ã 'The Noble Spanish Soldier' and 'The Spanish Contract' -
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Chapman, L.S. Ã 'Thomas Dekker and the Traditions of the English
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Fleay, F. G. Ã 'A Biographical Chronicle of the English Drama' -
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Gasper, J. - 'The Noble Spanish Soldier', 'The Wonder of a Kingdom'
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Gasper, J. Ã 'The Dragon and the Dove: The Plays of Thomas Dekker' Ã
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Greetam, D.C. Ã 'Textual Scholarship An Introduction' Ã Garland Ã
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Hoy, C. Ã 'Introductions, notes, and commentaries to texts in 'The
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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 Florence
Onaelia, niece to the Duke of Medina, mother of Sebastian
Juanna, maid to Onaelia
Ladies in waiting
Attendants, guards
THE PRINTER TO THE READER
Understanding reader, I present this to your view, which has received
applause in action. The poet might conceive a complete satisfaction
upon the stage's approbation; but the printer rests not there,
knowing that that which was acted and approved upon the stage, might
be no less acceptable in print. It is now communicated to you, whose
leisure and knowledge admits of reading and reason. Your judgement
now this Posthumous <1> assures himself will well attest his
predecessor's endeavours to give content to men of the ablest
quality, such as intelligent readers are here conceived to be. I
could have troubled you with a longer epistle, but I fear to stay you
from the book, which affords better words and matter than I can. So
the work modestly depending in the scale of your judgement, the
printer for his part craves your pardon, hoping by his promptness to
do you greater service, as convenience shall enable him to give you
more or better testimony of his entireness towards you.
N.V.
ACT 1 SCENE 1
Enter in magnificent state to the sound of loud music, the King and
Queen, as from church, attended by the Cardinal, Count Malateste,
Marquis Daenia, Roderigo, Valasco, Alba, Carlo, and ladies-in
waiting. The King and Queen with courtly compliments salute and part.
She [exits] with one half attending her. King, Cardinal and the other
half stay, the King seeming angry and desirous to be rid of them.
King, Cardinal, Daenia and others [remain].
KING
Give us what no man here is master of:
Breath. Leave us pray, my father Cardinal
Can by the physic of philosophy
Set all again in order. Leave us pray.
Exeunt [King and Cardinal remain].
CARDINAL
How is it with you, sir?
KING
As with a ship
Now beat with storms, now safe. The storms are vanished
And having you my Pilot, I not only
See shore, but harbour; I to you will open
The book of a black sin, deep printed in me.
Oh father, my disease lies in my soul.
CARDINAL
The old wound sir?
KING
Yes that, it festers inwards.
For though I have a beauty to my bed
That even creation envies at, as wanting
Stuff to make such another, yet on her pillow
I lie by her, but an adulterer,
And she as an adulteress. She is my queen
And wife, yet but my strumpet though the church
Set on the seal of marriage. Good Onaelia,
Niece to our Lord High Constable of Spain
Was precontracted mine.
CARDINAL
Yet when I stung
Your conscience with remembrance of the act
Your ears were deaf to counsel.
KING
I confess it.
CARDINAL
Now to untie the knot with your new Queen
Would shake your crown half from your head.
KING
Even Troy, though she has wept her eyes out,
Would find tears to wail my kingdom's ruins.
CARDINAL
What will you do then?
KING
She has that contract written, sealed by you,
And other churchmen witnesses unto it.
A kingdom should be given for that paper.
CARDINAL
I would not, for what lies beneath the moon,
Be made a wicked engine to break in pieces
That holy contract.
KING
'Tis my soul's aim
To tie it upon a faster knot.
CARDINAL
I do not see
How you can with safe conscience get it from her.
KING
Oh I know
I wrestle with a lioness. To imprison her
And force her to it, I dare not. Death! What King
Did ever say 'I dare not'? I must have it;
A bastard have I by her, and that cock
Will have, I fear, sharp spurs, if he crow after
Him that trod for him. Something must be done
Both to the hen and the chicken. Haste you therefore
To sad Onaelia, tell her I'm resolved
To give my new hawk bells, and let her fly.
My Queen, I'm weary of, and her will marry.
To this, our text, add you what gloss you please;
The secret drifts of kings are depthless seas.
Exeunt
ACT 1 SCENE 2
A table set out covered with black. Two waxen tapers. The King's
[defaced] picture at one end and a crucifix at the other. Onaelia
[dressed in black] walking discontentedly weeping to the crucifix.
A Song.
QUESTION
Oh sorrow, sorrow, say where do'st thou dwell?
ANSWER
In the lowest room of hell.
QUESTION
Art thou born of human race?
ANSWER
No, no. I have a fury's <2> face.
QUESTION
Art thou in city, town or court?
ANSWER
I to every place resort.
QUESTION
O why into the world is sorrow sent?
ANSWER
Men afflicted best repent.
QUESTION
What dost thou feed on?
ANSWER
Broken sleep.
QUESTION
What takest thou take pleasure in?
ANSWER
To weep,
To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan,
To wring my hands, to sit alone.
QUESTION
Oh when, oh when, shall sorrow quiet have?
ANSWER
Never, never, never, never,
Never till she finds a grave.
Enter Cornego.
CORNEGO
No lesson Madam but Lacrymae's? <3> If you had buried nine husbands, so much
water as you might squeeze out of an onion had been tears enough to cast away upon
fellows that cannot thank you. Come, be jovial.
ONAELIA
Sorrow becomes me best.
CORNEGO
A suit of laugh and lie down would wear better.
ONAELIA
What should I do to be merry, Cornego?
CORNGO
Be not sad.
ONELIA
But what's the best mirth in the world?
|
spain
|
How many times does the word 'spain' appear in the text?
| 7
|
, 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 him,
doubtless I should have violently dismissed him from the premises. But
as it was, I should have as soon thought of turning my pale
plaster-of-paris bust of Cicero out of doors. I stood gazing at him
awhile, as he went on with his own writing, and then reseated myself at
my desk. This is very strange, thought I. What had one best do? But
my business hurried me. I concluded to forget the matter for the
present, reserving it for my future leisure. So calling Nippers from
the other room, the paper was speedily examined.
A few days after this, Bartleby concluded four lengthy documents, being
quadruplicates of a week's testimony taken before me in my High Court of
Chancery. It became necessary to examine them. It was an important
suit, and great accuracy was imperative. Having all things arranged I
called Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut from the next room, meaning to
place the four copies in the hands of my four clerks, while I should
read from the original. Accordingly Turkey, Nippers and Ginger Nut had
taken their seats in a row, each with his document in hand, when I
called to Bartleby to join this interesting group.
"Bartleby! quick, I am waiting."
I heard a slow scrape of his chair legs on the uncarpeted floor, and
soon he appeared standing at the entrance of his hermitage.
"What is wanted?" said he mildly.
"The copies, the copies," said I hurriedly. "We are going to examine
them. There"--and I held towards him the fourth quadruplicate.
"I would prefer not to," he said, and gently disappeared behind the
screen.
For a few moments I was turned into a pillar of salt, standing at the
head of my seated column of clerks. Recovering myself, I advanced
towards the screen, and demanded the reason for such extraordinary
conduct.
"_Why_ do you refuse?"
"I would prefer not to."
With any other man I should have flown outright into a dreadful passion,
scorned all further words, and thrust him ignominiously from my
presence. But there was something about Bartleby that not only
strangely disarmed me, but in a wonderful manner touched and
disconcerted me. I began to reason with him.
"These are your own copies we are about to examine. It is labor saving
to you, because one examination will answer for your four papers. It is
common usage. Every copyist is bound to help examine his copy. Is it
not so? Will you not speak? Answer!"
"I prefer not to," he replied in a flute-like tone. It seemed to me
that while I had been addressing him, he carefully revolved every
statement that I made; fully comprehended the meaning; could not gainsay
the irresistible conclusions; but, at the same time, some paramount
consideration prevailed with him to reply as he did.
"You are decided, then, not to comply with my request--a request made
according to common usage and common sense?"
He briefly gave me to understand that on that point my judgment was
sound. Yes: his decision was irreversible.
It is not seldom the case that when a man is browbeaten in some
unprecedented and violently unreasonable way, he begins to stagger in
his own plainest faith. He begins, as it were, vaguely to surmise that,
wonderful as it may be, all the justice and all the reason is on the
other side. Accordingly, if any disinterested persons are present, he
turns to them for some reinforcement for his own faltering mind.
"Turkey," said I, "what do you think of this? Am I not right?"
"With submission, sir," said Turkey, with his blandest tone, "I think
that you are."
"Nippers," said I, "what do _you_ think of it?"
"I think I should kick him out of the office."
(The reader of nice perceptions will here perceive that, it being
morning, Turkey's answer is couched in polite and tranquil terms, but
Nippers replies in ill-tempered ones. Or, to repeat a previous
sentence, Nippers' ugly mood was on duty and Turkey's off.)
"Ginger Nut," said I, willing to enlist the smallest suffrage in my
behalf, "what do you think of it?"
"I think, sir, he's a little _luny_," replied Ginger Nut with a grin.
"You hear what they say," said I, turning towards the screen, "come
forth and do your duty."
But he vouchsafed no reply. I pondered a moment in sore perplexity.
But once more business hurried me. I determined again to postpone the
consideration of this dilemma to my future leisure. With a little
trouble we made out to examine the papers without Bartleby, though at
every page or two, Turkey deferentially dropped his opinion that this
proceeding was quite out of the common; while Nippers, twitching in his
chair with a dyspeptic nervousness, ground out between his set teeth
occasional hissing maledictions against the stubborn oaf behind the
screen. And for his (Nippers') part, this was the first and the last
time he would do another man's business without pay.
Meanwhile Bartleby sat in his hermitage, oblivious to every thing but
his own peculiar business there.
Some days passed, the scrivener being employed upon another lengthy
work. His late remarkable conduct led me to regard his ways narrowly.
I observed that he never went to dinner; indeed that he never went any
where. As yet I had never of my personal knowledge known him to be
outside of my office. He was a perpetual sentry in the corner. At
about eleven o'clock though, in the morning, I noticed that Ginger Nut
would advance toward the opening in Bartleby's screen, as if silently
beckoned thither by a gesture invisible to me where I sat. The boy
would then leave the office jingling a few pence, and reappear with a
handful of ginger-nuts which he delivered in the hermitage, receiving
two of the cakes for his trouble.
He lives, then, on ginger-nuts
|
document
|
How many times does the word 'document' appear in the text?
| 2
|
ters -- 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 DISSOLVE as you move into the
main aisle of busy room in restaurant. Great activity of
waiters. The bustle and activity of fashionable lunchtime. A
string orchestra is playing.
Among other things, we pick up the smiling face of the pompous
Maitre d'hotel, he has apparently just shown someone important
to a table.
THE CAMERA watches his face and follows him. His face just
as CAMERA reaches service table. The pompous Maitre d'hotel
now becomes a thing of drama as he demands of a waiter:
<b> MAITRE D'HOTEL
</b> Where is that gentleman's soup?
The waiter, frightened and perspiring, doesn't bother to
argue -- he tears off quickly (CAMERA FOLLOWING HIM) to
another service table. The waiter seizes buss-boy's arm:
<b> WAITER
</b> Where's that soup?
Boy goes off at great rate of speed, CAMERA FOLLOWS HIM,
into service room of kitchen. Boy stops at soup chef's
counter. He is not the only waiter wanting soup at that
moment. He pushes his way to the front and puts his ticket
forward.
<b> BOY
</b> Quick -- come on -- come on...
The soup chef, used to impatient waiters, makes no exception
of the young man. He looks at him as much as to say: "I'll
slap you on the mouth." At the same time he is pulling over
a cauldron of soup.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
CAULDRON OF SOUP being pulled over -- it dislodges a small
cauldron that is near the edge. We see the soup fall and
hear the scream of a woman before showing her agonized face --
She has been scalded. General steamy confusion. The chef has
filled the plate. WE PROCEED the buss-boy out. Half way down
the aisle, the waiter takes it from him.
THE CAMERA follows the waiter who places the soup before Mr.
Preysing. Preysing has been waiting, with his serviette
carefully tucked in his collar. His spoon is in his hand. A
horrible man, ready for action. The soup is in front of him,
he tastes it, pushes it away, frowns, we feel he is going to
tear the place down.
<b> WAITER
</b> (anxious voice)
Yes.
<b> PREYSING
</b> (grimly)
|
waiter
|
How many times does the word 'waiter' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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 continues to hold BATTS's
arms.
JIMMY
(to Henry, while
pinning Batts's
arms)
Quick! Lock the door.
WE SEE TOMMY club BATTS to the ground with JIMMY holding
BATTS's arms.
CUT TO:
HENRY locking the door.
CUT TO:
BATTS'S INERT FORM -
on the floor.
WE SEE TOMMY unfold the package he had dropped near the
bar.
It is a plastic, flower-printed mattress cover.
TOMMY and JIMMY start putting BAITS's legs into the mattress
cover.
HENRY is standing over them as JIMMY and TOMMY struggle to
fit BAITS' s body into the mattress cover.
HENRY
What are we going to do with him?
We can't dump him in the street.
JIMMY
(to Henry)
Bring the car round back. I know a
place Upstate they'll never find
him.
TOMMY is looking brightly at HENRY, as he and JIMMY finally
zip BATTS in the mattress cover.
TOMMY
I didn't want to get blood on your
floor.
EXT. REAR DRIVEWAY - THE SUITE - NIGHT
Darkness. The open trunk of HENRY 's car. The mattress
cover is being shoved into the trunk by the THREE MEN. It
is heavy work.
HENRY
Batts's made. His whole crew is
going to be looking for him. This
is fucking bad.
TOMMY
There's a shovel at my mother's.
INT. TOMMY'S MOTHER'S HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
Darkness in the kitchen. We hear noise of doors opening
and tools being banged around in the dark.
|
standing
|
How many times does the word 'standing' appear in the text?
| 0
|
. 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."
The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seen
Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent to
the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests,
distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each
instrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of its
tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped
to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. There
was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and
second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when
passed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single note
required of the dancer.
The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the
expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the
dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara of
Helium. "I claim--" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interrupted
him with a gesture.
"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard
may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia
Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any
other dance."
"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.
"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after having
lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.
"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young
man. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,
who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve
times past?"
"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she
questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard,"
and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling
dancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.
The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal
dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it
is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth
of either sex may attend an important social function where there is
dancing, he must have become proficient in at least three dances--The
Dance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. In
these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never
varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from
time immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but
The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony--there is
no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been
described as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that
aspired to grace and beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and
dignity and loyalty in man.
Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led
in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in
possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the
resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In the
ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with the
girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that the
jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she had
danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the
personal contact of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubled
her that she should notice it, and she looked up questioningly and
almost with displeasure at the man as though it was his fault. Their
eyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the eyes
of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both
stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into
each other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.
"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.
The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets
himself," she exclaimed haughtily.
"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he
replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained from
the last position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he
repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just
now did not refuse to see--and answer?"
"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,
then?"
"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know
when they love a woman--and when she loves them."
Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said,
"before it is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his
guest."
She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."
"Of apology?" she asked.
"Of prophecy," he said.
"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him
standing there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter
returned to her own quarter of the palace, where she stood for a long
time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium
toward the northwest.
Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.
"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.
Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of
Gathol," she replied.
Uthia raised her slim brows.
At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner
of the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking up
into her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old
Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never
offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"
CHAPTER II
AT THE GALE'S MERCY
Tara of Helium did
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 8
|
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>
</b> Cut back to the landscape. Now we are at the gates, and the
creatures slip through and away into the mist. Only one, a beautiful,
ferocious female called Shuna Sassi remains, turning to look at us.
She beckons.
<b>
</b> SHUNA: Come...
<b>
</b> The camera retreats from her.
<b>
</b> SHUNA: Will you not come?
<b>
</b> Now the last of the creatures, the Drummer, takes her by the arm,
snatching her away through the gates. As she disappears, the camera
follows again, stopping at the gates themselves, which close with an
unearthly din.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2R. INT. LORI'S APARTMENT NIGHT
</b>
<b>
</b> C.U. on Boone, closed eyes. He is dreaming. His gaze roves beneath
his lids.
<b>
</b> Lori's lips come into shot kissing first his eyes and then traveling
down his face to his mouth.
<b>
</b> LORI: Boone...wake up.
<b>
</b> Boone's eyes flicker open.
<b>
</b> LORI: Hi. You OK?
<b>
</b> Boone: Yep.
<b>
</b> Now Boone's eyes are fully open. He sits up. Looks towards the open
window. Night beyond. She kisses him, distracting him from the sight
of the window.
<b>
</b> LORI: You want something to eat?
<b>
</b> BOONE: Sure. What time is it?
<b>
</b> LORI: Nine-thirty. I was letting you doze.
<b>
</b> BOONE: Thought you'd worn me out, huh?
<b>
</b> Lori smiles, and kisses him, then crosses the room to the kitchen
area, picks up some fruit, and a knife, carrying both back to where
Boone is lying on the bed. It is unmade. Both Lori and Boone are
lightly dressed, clothes casually thrown on after an afternoon
lovemaking.
<b>
</b> Lori: You know what?
<b>
</b> BOONE: What?
<b>
</b> LORI: We should get out of Calgary for a few days. Just take off.
<b>
</b> BOONE: Anywhere special?
<b>
</b> LORI: Somewhere we can be alone together.
<b>
</b> BOONE: More alone than this?
<b>
</b> LORI: Yeah. Just you and me. No work. No telephone calls. No...
<b>
</b> BOONE: Bad dreams.
<b>
</b> LORI: No bad dreams.
<b>
</b> BOONE: How did you know?
<b>
</b> LORI: I know. I always know. It's no big deal.
<b
|
gates
|
How many times does the word 'gates' appear in the text?
| 6
|
(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
groups of three, meanwhile he's really a grizzled old fire
marshall named EARL, freezing his nuts off.
Beside him sits MRS. CLAUS, about whom we notice two things:
First, she's the June in this June/December pair -- and
second, she's to kill for, an effortlessly beautiful woman.
For the record, meet SAMANTHA CAINE.
<b> SAMANTHA
</b> How you holdin' up?
<b> EARL
</b> Freezing my nuts off.
Santa produces a bottle of Seagrams. Starts to open it.
<b> SAMANTHA
</b> *Put that away*.
Earl complies, grumbling. Some teenage burnouts howl from a
street corner:
<b> BURNOUT
</b> Ow! Mrs. Claus is HOT!
Samantha squirms in her seat, scowling.
<b> SAMANTHA
</b> I can't take it, Earl, this dumb
costume is giving me a wedgie. Driving
me crazy, but there's these *kids*
here --
<b> EARL
</b> Right, you don't wanna be rootin' --
<b> SAMANTHA
</b> In front of little Billy, age four,
yeah. "Look, Mommy, Mrs. Claus chooses
to go butt-mining."
<b> EARL
</b> This is little Billy talking?
<b> SAMANTHA
</b> Age four, kid's unbelievable.
(sighs)
I'm too old for this, Earl.
<b> EARL
</b> Yeah, yeah. Spare me, I got a prostate
the size of a melon.
Samantha stares at him.
<b> EARL
</b> Seriously, half my life's a doctor's
hand up my ass
|
nuts
|
How many times does the word 'nuts' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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