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And often, such was the communion in which they lived, the strength of Buck's gaze would draw John Thornton's head around, and he would return the gaze, without speech, his heart shining out of his eyes as Buck's heart shone out. For a long time after his rescue, Buck did not like Thornton to get out of his sight. From the moment he left the tent to when he entered it again, Buck would follow at his heels. His transient masters since he had come into the Northland had bred in him a fear that no master could be permanent. He was afraid that Thornton would pass out of his life as Perrault and Francois and the Scotch half-breed had passed out. Even in the night, in his dreams, he was haunted by this fear. At such times he would shake off sleep

was told by the Vanyar who held vigil with the Valar that when the messengers declared to Manw the answers of Fanor to his heralds, Manw wept and bowed his head. But at that last word of Fanor: that at the least the Noldor should do deeds to live in song for ever, he raised his head, as one that hears a voice far off, and he said: 'So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought. For the price could be no other. Thus even as Eru spoke to us shall beauty not before conceived be brought into E, and evil yet be good to have been.' But Mandos said: 'And yet remain evil. To me shall Fanor come soon.' But when at last the Valar learned that the

days he’s spending less and less time in the newsroom, and more and more time in meetings. “What happened?” Nick asks. “The usual.” Andy passes his own desk and comes to sit on the edge of Nick’s. “Circulation’s down and department stores don’t want to pay enough to advertise girdles.” It’s a truism in the news business that the entire fourth estate is propped up by dry goods manufacturers advertising underwear. “The fact is that fewer and fewer people get news from the newspaper, and every news editor in the room thinks the solution is to print more news and everyone in the marketing department thinks the solution is to decrease the news hole and run more ads. Every meeting we go over the same ground.” Nick tips back in his seat to look Andy in the eye. “What does your father say?” “He wants to keep doing things more or less the way we have been. Not because

pasted on a smile. “I’m feeling a lot better.” But at night, when I lay awake next to my Master, the pain descended, dark and heavy. The abuse was escalating, slowly but surely, and one day he would go too far. I would not survive the relationship for long, but leaving him, filing for divorce was impossible. Benjamin would kill me; he’d told me as much. And my mother would be as good as dead. He’d stop paying for her deluxe care facility and she’d end up withering away in a state home or even on the street. My mom’s comfort and care were more important to me than my own life. And so, I stayed. I could see no way to get away from him. 26 BENJAMIN CONTROLLED MY GROOMING HABITS: French manicure, full wax, spray tan in the winter months. He chose my shoulder-length hairstyle and my subtle makeup palette. I had some freedom with my wardrobe; I’d always

friend, but you can lose one in an hour,” she recites. “Life without a friend is life without sun. Life without a friend is death.” I nod in acceptance of her wisdom. “Can you take the baby for a while?” Lian doesn’t even open his eyes as I transfer him to Miss Zhao. I return to our room and Meiling’s seemingly unbreakable reserve. I tell Poppy to go to the deck. After she leaves, I sit on the edge of Meiling’s cot. She rolls away from me. I put a hand on her ankle, hoping to send the message that I’m not going anywhere. “I keep thinking about what I could have done differently,” I begin, although it feels like I’m talking to the air. “I’ve reexamined everything I gave you and reviewed all the times I performed the Four Examinations on you. I should find a

glow of the streetlights. It made them look like spears of flame. The girl Lore had been fighting cursed, turning to run on her sore leg. She didn’t give Lore a second glance. Revenge came long down the list of priorities when escaping the Burnt Isles was number one. A hand on her arm, steering her forward. Gabe. “Let’s go. This was a dead end.” They ran with the crowd up the streets, the sounds of capture and occasional gunfire spurring them on from behind, until Bastian darted out of an alley’s narrow mouth. “Over here!” Gabe didn’t break his stride as he turned, steering them both into the relative safety of the dark. Lore leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her stomach. It still hurt from getting punched, and the impromptu run hadn’t helped. “We need to go back to the Citadel before this gets out of hand.” Bastian stood right inside the lip of the alley,

"She has gone out." Mrs. Grose stared. "Without a hat?" I naturally also looked volumes. "Isn't that woman always without one?" "She's with HER?" "She's with HER!" I declared. "We must find them." My hand was on my friend's arm, but she failed for the moment, confronted with such an account of the matter, to respond to my pressure. She communed, on the contrary, on the spot, with her uneasiness. "And where's Master Miles?" "Oh, HE'S with Quint. They're in the schoolroom." "Lord, miss!" My view, I was myself aware--and therefore I suppose my tone-- had never yet reached so calm an assurance. "The trick's played," I went on; "they've successfully worked their plan. He found the most divine little way to keep me quiet while she went off." "'Divine'?" Mrs. Grose bewilderedly echoed. "Infernal, then!" I almost cheerfully rejoined. "He has

his head. ‘We can make hammocks. We’ll tie them from side to side. Fifteen floors of hammocks, one meter between each line, from side to side, from one end to the other, like washing lines, line after line of hammocks.’ He’d run across the width of the tank, calculating. ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven – eleven hammocks on each line.’ ‘Who’d be in them?’ ‘People strong enough to climb along the rope.’ ‘How would we do it?’ ‘Rope! We need rope! We need miles and miles of rope. If there’s not enough rope, we use cloth, flags, anything. But we’re not done yet. Each hammock is a life.’ From all over the country the crew had sought out rope, cloth, fabric, anything strong enough to knit together, woven by an industry of people on the top deck. And by the fifteenth day, as if a giant spider had been busy, the inside of the oil tanker was spun with a lattice of hammocks bolted to the

'One could make an animal--a tissue-- transparent! One could make it invisible! All except the pigments. I could be invisible!' I said, suddenly realising what it meant to be an albino with such knowledge. It was overwhelming. I left the filtering I was doing, and went and stared out of the great window at the stars. 'I could be invisible!' I repeated. "To do such a thing would be to transcend magic. And I beheld, unclouded by doubt, a magnificent vision of all that invisibility might mean to a man,--the mystery, the power, the freedom. Drawbacks I saw none. You have only to think! And I, a shabby, poverty-struck, hemmed-in demonstrator, teaching fools in a provincial college, might suddenly become--this. I ask you, Kemp, if you--Any one, I tell you, would have flung himself upon that research. And I worked three years, and every mountain of difficulty I toiled over showed another

her sister’s angry eyes and nods. Timandra walks behind the servants, her blade in hand. The men are praying now, their words quick, like shadows shifting on water. “The gods can’t find you here,” Clytemnestra says. They have a moment to look up at her, their mouths open to plead, their hands clasped. Then Timandra cuts their throats. * * * In the evening, when darkness seems to envelop the valley like a dark ocean wave, Tyndareus sends for her. Rain is falling thickly, the wind thrashing and screeching. Soon the Eurotas will overflow and the riverbanks will be muddy for weeks. “I will come with you,” Helen says, closing the purple tunic on Clytemnestra’s back with a golden pin. She has been pacing the bedroom all day, restless, cleaning every stain from Timandra’s dress. There was crusted blood under her sister’s fingernails, and Helen scrubbed them so hard she might have been trying to flay them. “I

prayer flags from Pier 1 Imports filled the sunny rooms. Crystals sparkled on the windowsills. In the first years of her grief, Annette had made a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree spiritual turn from Catholicism to a hodgepodge of watered-down Eastern religions. Yoga and this paraphernalia were all that remained. “Surprise!” Maud called from the hall. “Kitchen,” a voice—not Annette’s—called back. Their mother was at the table drinking instant coffee. Four opened packets of artificial sweeter lay on the saucer. “Hi,” Maud said. “Where’s Annette?” She usually got home by four, but maybe she’d stayed at the office late today and Maud would be stuck here alone with their mother. “Basement. Doing laundry. Getting ready for one of her dates.” Her mother turned to Ella, who was rummaging in a refrigerator stocked with diet sodas, protein shakes, and single containers of cottage cheese. “I finished sewing your sister’s

shuffling between guests to make sure the endless stream that was expected left satisfied with: their starters and souvenirs, the size and type of meat they were served, the exact temperature of the drinks that weighed down their tables. She still did not understand why those details mattered so much, but she knew that many people cared about such things. An older cousin on her father’s side of the family had refused to speak to Wúràọlá for two years because she had been supervising caterers at another cousin’s wedding when they served him fish instead of chicken. Wúràọlá was sure that by six-thirty a.m. her mother would barge into the room and demand that she help with one of the million things that needed to be done before the party began at noon. Yèyé thought being in bed after dawn

the subway where the silent, air-propelled train slid soundlessly down its lubricated flue in the earth and let him out with a great puff of warm air an to the cream-tiled escalator rising to the suburb. Whistling, he let the escalator waft him into the still night air. He walked toward the comer, thinking little at all about nothing in particular. Before he reached the corner, however, he slowed as if a wind had sprung up from nowhere, as if someone had called his name. The last few nights he had had the most uncertain feelings about the sidewalk just around the corner here, moving in the starlight toward his house. He had felt that a moment before his making the turn, someone had been there. The air seemed charged with a special calm as if someone had waited there, quietly, and only a moment before he came, simply turned to a shadow

taken charge, made up of former generals and admirals from armies around the world. Under their stewardship, the evacuation of McMurdo City had been well-organized and calm, unloading all the supplies from the ships, barely enough to see them through the journey let alone the long dark winter ahead. Many of the snow vehicles had been destroyed in the fire. As for the packs of once devoted huskies, all of them had joined the colony of cold creatures, including Yotam’s dog Copper. Not a single dog remained, as if they understood that this continent had new masters now. As the last refugees set off from the scorched remains of McMurdo City, they fired a hundred flares into a clear blue sky, representing the end of this base where people had lived for one hundred years. The three Survivor Towns responded to the news of the uprising with resilience and generosity, promising to welcome the new arrivals with the same love and compassion as if they were family. But there was no hiding from

her over, head to toe, barely resisting the urge to reach out and run his hands all over her skin. “You’re okay? You didn’t get burned anywhere?” Her mouth opened and closed, her stance shifting side to side. “No. It was really scary, but beyond the fact that I triple-check my smoke detectors now, I’m fine.” “Good.” A beat passed. “How can you doubt your brother loves you when he ran into a burning shed to save you?” August said it without thinking, raking a still unsteady hand down his face. God, he really needed to thank Julian for what he’d done. He would. Soon as he got back inside. In fact, he was going to ask him to be his best man. “It’s... his nature. He always does the right thing.” Natalie’s cheeks were deepening with color. “It gave him a terrible panic attack afterward. He’s had this anxiety since

decks!” of a pirate of ours, sitting, far gone in rum, with his arms on “Were you addressing me, sir?” says the doctor; and when the table. Suddenly he—the captain, that is—began to pipe the ruffian had told him, with another oath, that this was so, up his eternal song: “I have only one thing to say to you, sir,” replies the doctor, “that if you keep on drinking rum, the world will soon be “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest— quit of a very dirty scoundrel!” Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! The old fellow’s fury was awful. He sprang to his feet, Drink and the devil had done for the rest— drew and opened a sailor’s clasp-knife, and balancing it open Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!” on the palm of his hand, threatened to pin

remembering. That's where we'll win out in the long run. And some day we'll remember so much that we'll build the biggest goddam steam-shovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in and cover it up. Come on now, we're going to go build a mirror-factory first and put out nothing but mirrors for the next year and take a long look in them." They finished eating and put out the fire. The day was brightening all about them as if a pink lamp had been given more wick. In the trees, the birds that had flown away now came back and settled down. Montag began walking and after a moment found that the others had fallen in behind him, going north.

that there had been misunderstandings he decidedly said. The present crisis, indeed, seemed to be brought on by them; and those misunderstandings might very possibly arise from the impropriety of his conduct." "Impropriety! Oh! Mrs. Weston--it is too calm a censure. Much, much beyond impropriety!--It has sunk him, I cannot say how it has sunk him in my opinion. So unlike what a man should be!-- None of that upright integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of trick and littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of his life." "Nay, dear Emma, now I must take his part; for though he has been wrong in this instance, I have known him long enough to answer for his having many, very many, good qualities; and--" "Good God!" cried Emma, not attending to her.--"Mrs. Smallridge, too! Jane actually on the point of going as governess! What could he mean

here under surveillance." With a microsecond pause, and a finely calculated micromodulation of pitch and timbre - nothing you could actually take offence at - Marvin managed to convey his utter contempt and horror of all things human. "Just that?" he said. "Yes," said Trillian firmly. "I won't enjoy it," said Marvin. Zaphod leaped out of his seat. "She's not asking you to enjoy it," he shouted, "just do it will you?" "Alright," said Marvin like the tolling of a great cracked bell, "I'll do it." "Good..." snapped Zaphod, "great... thank you..." Marvin turned and lifted his flat-topped triangular red eyes up towards him. "I'm not getting you down at all am I?" he said pathetically. "No no Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really..." "I wouldn't like to think that I was getting you down." "No, don't worry about that," the lilt continued, "you just act as comes naturally and

and hope to die stick a needle in my eye Pupkin came for Louise at full speed. She saw the closet doors in the splash of the streetlight, the only other doors in the room, and she ran for them, praying she could make it in time, and she fell into her closet, smashing the doors to the side, her right shoulder thudding into the back wall as she landed on the carpet, and she rolled over to see Pupkin running at her on his stumpy arms and legs, hate on his face, and she tried to close the doors, but she knew that this time there was nowhere to go, no escape. She scrabbled at the louvered slats of the closet doors with her fingertips, bending back her nails, dragging them shut just as Pupkin smashed into them, making the doors rock on their tracks. For a

Dachau. As a woman, she didn’t have

conviction of the secret of my pupils. How can I retrace today the strange steps of my obsession? There were times of our being together when I would have been ready to swear that, literally, in my presence, but with my direct sense of it closed, they had visitors who were known and were welcome. Then it was that, had I not been deterred by the very chance that such an injury might prove greater than the injury to be averted, my exultation would have broken out. "They're here, they're here, you little wretches," I would have cried, "and you can't deny it now!" The little wretches denied it with all the added volume of their sociability and their tenderness, in just the crystal depths of which-- like the flash of a fish in a stream--the mockery of their advantage peeped up. The shock, in truth, had sunk into me still deeper than I knew

was horribly late and a particular objection to looking at my watch. I figure, finally, that the white curtain draping, in the fashion of those days, the head of Flora's little bed, shrouded, as I had assured myself long before, the perfection of childish rest. I recollect in short that, though I was deeply interested in my author, I found myself, at the turn of a page and with his spell all scattered, looking straight up from him and hard at the door of my room. There was a moment during which I listened, reminded of the faint sense I had had, the first night, of there being something undefinably astir in the house, and noted the soft breath of the open casement just move the half-drawn blind. Then, with all the marks of a deliberation that must have seemed magnificent had there been anyone

skyscraper made of steel. The last trickle of schoolkids loiter on their way past, making themselves late to lessons, all for the chance to see a bit of sixth-form drama. Celine’s skin is slightly damp with fog, gleaming like silk. I’d stare at her too. “I’m sorry,” I say when we’re a meter apart. She scowls. “What for?” I blink. “Is this a test?” Celine rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t walk away. “Your friend was a dick. You told him to shut up. What are you sorry for?” “You don’t mind that I said…I mean…” I take a frosty breath and get myself together. “Listen, Celine, I’ve treated you like shit for the longest, and that’s not me, and I’m sorry. And if…if it made other people do the same, then…” Then I will very shortly be flying myself into the sun because I’m too enormous an arsehole for this planet.

study everything I needed to know to be a proper lady should I catch the eye of a suitor later in life. And I didn’t have a pond to practice skipping stones on. But I heard other children talk about it, and it sounded amusing.” Though he winced with appreciated sympathy and apology for forgetting their very different positions in life, Lucy hadn’t intended to make him pity her. They were out here to help him, so she bent down and picked up the roundest pebble she could find. “Not that one,” Simon said immediately, and he wrapped his hand around hers, holding onto her while he searched for a better rock. When he found one, he replaced the one in her palm with an exceptionally flat one. “The thinner the stone,

last his mates saw of him he lay gasping in the snow and yearning toward them. But they could hear him mournfully howling till they passed out of sight behind a belt of river timber. Here the train was halted. The Scotch half-breed slowly retraced his steps to the camp they had left. The men ceased talking. A revolver-shot rang out. The man came back hurriedly. The whips snapped, the bells tinkled merrily, the sleds churned along the trail; but Buck knew, and every dog knew, what had taken place behind the belt of river trees. Chapter V The Toil of Trace and Trail Thirty days from the time it left Dawson, the Salt Water Mail, with Buck and his mates at the fore, arrived at Skaguay. They were in a wretched state, worn out and worn down. Buck's one hundred

resistance grows feeble. The boy’s pajamas are now the yellow of an egg yolk, and his flesh is yet more darkly bronzed with urgent life, the blood vessels in his hands swollen to match his excitement, fingernails as pink as if they have been painted. When the geezer finishes dying, the blue of his eyes is a bleak frost, but Durand has become more vivid and colorful even than he has been in his most feverish night dreams of superpowers and violent adventures. His clamping hand relaxes, and his pinching fingers open. The blinding whiteness relents. Details of the cold-holding room return. He has passed the test. The challenge has been met. He’s afraid of nothing. Nothing. Not even of a man returned from the dead—or of some demon possessing a corpse. Having proved he is special, he will eventually have the super future of

and partly the realization that this contest was her contest … but as happy as I felt singing along to that old favorite song in an empty grocery store, I felt sad, too. I felt my eyes spring with tears over and over, and I had to keep wiping them away. You wouldn’t think you could do all those things at once, would you? Dancing, singing, and getting misty-eyed? But I’m here as proof: It’s possible. But maybe that song really was a talisman for joy, because just as the song was ending, I spotted a wine with a celebratory polka-dotted label on sale for six dollars a bottle. By the time I made it to the register with my arms full of wine, I was feeling like Sue had the right idea. Of course

the Knights had blackmailed the Vatican or whether the Church simply tried to buy the Knights' silence, but Pope Innocent II immediately issued an unprecedented papal bull that afforded

including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission

had he not known it? Lord Henry watched him, with his sad smile. He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intensely interested. He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen, which had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through the same experience. He had merely shot an arrow into the air. Had it hit the mark? How fascinating the lad was! Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that come only from strength. He was unconscious of the silence. "Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian Gray, suddenly. "I must go out and sit in the garden. The air is stifling

records that you could refer to, even the outline of your own life lost its

volubly enough till one of our prodigious, palpable hushes occurred-- I can call them nothing else--the strange, dizzy lift or swim (I try for terms!) into a stillness, a pause of all life, that had nothing to do with the more or less noise that at the moment we might be engaged in making and that I could hear through any deepened exhilaration or quickened recitation or louder strum of the piano. Then it was that the others, the outsiders, were there. Though they were not angels, they "passed," as the French say, causing me, while they stayed, to tremble with the fear of their addressing to their younger victims some yet more infernal message or more vivid image than they had thought good enough for myself. What it was most impossible to get rid of was the cruel idea that, whatever I had seen, Miles

proves that literally anyone could have come onto the property and killed Mary. One of Kenny’s friends shouts at him from atop the wall. “Hey! You coming?” “In a minute!” Kenny calls back. “Do you guys do this often?” I say as his friends vanish over the wall. “Not since high school,” Kenny says, which in his case was only two years ago. “A few of us were drinking and decided to come see if what everyone’s saying is true. You know, about her dead nurse.” “What about her?” I sit up straighter, genuinely curious about what people in town think about Mary’s death. So far, the only outside opinion I’ve been privy to is Detective Vick’s. “What are they saying?” “That Lenora Hope killed her.” Of course they do. I should have known not to put any stock in what my fellow

Transantarctic mountain range, abandoning them to the

isn't anyone to help you. Only me. And I'm the Beast." Simon's mouth labored, brought forth audible words. "Pig's head on a stick." "Fancy thinking the Beast was something you could hunt and kill!" said the head. For a moment or two the forest and all the other dimly appreciated places echoed with the parody of laughter. "You knew, didn't you? I'm part of you? Close, close, close! I'm the reason why it's no go? Why things are what they are?" The laughter shivered again. "Come now," said the Lord of the Flies. "Get back to the others and we'll forget the whole thing." Simon's head wobbled. His eyes were half closed as though he were imitating the obscene thing on the stick. He knew that one of his times was coming on. The Lord of the Flies was expanding like a balloon. "This is ridiculous. You know perfectly well you'll

dreamt of

sleep evaded me. I exchanged my bedgown for loose linen pants and a neat tunic. If I wanted any hope of sleeping tonight, I needed to walk. Ren startled when I pulled open the door. He looked over my clothing and frowned. “No.” “I need the washroom,” I said. “I will accompany you.” “That hardly seems appropriate.” Bending Ren to my will was easier than I anticipated. His antipathy for me was the boring kind—not as powerful as Vaun’s, nor as malleable as Wes’s. After a few minutes of arguing how insulting Vaida would find it if I felt unsafe enough to take a guard to the bathroom, Ren stepped aside, his unhappiness clear in the rigid lines of his shoulders. “Make haste.” In the hush of darkness, the eyes of the Ivory Palace followed me as I walked across the hall. Usr Jasad had also been large, with separate wings and plenty of unexplored rooms to tantalize a bored child. But it had always been a home first, a palace second. Menace and magnificence beat as

tower; but the presence on the lawn was not in the least what I had conceived and had confidently hurried to meet. The presence on the lawn--I felt sick as I made it out-- was poor little Miles himself. XI It was not till late next day that I spoke to Mrs. Grose; the rigor with which I kept my pupils in sight making it often difficult to meet her privately, and the more as we each felt the importance of not provoking--on the part of the servants quite as much as on that of the children--any suspicion of a secret flurry or that of a discussion of mysteries. I drew a great security in this particular from her mere smooth aspect. There was nothing in her fresh face to pass on to others my horrible confidences. She believed me, I was sure, absolutely:

what you must, in a short way; and another, to write verses and charades like this." Emma could not have desired a more spirited rejection of Mr. Martin's prose. "Such sweet lines!" continued Harriet--"these two last!--But how shall I ever be able to return the paper, or say I have found it out?--Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?" "Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I dare say, and then I will give it him back, and some nonsense or other will pass between us, and you shall not be committed.--Your soft eyes shall chuse their own time for beaming. Trust to me." "Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I must not write this beautiful charade into my book! I am sure I have not got one half so good." "Leave out

“You sure? I can grab her.” “No, let her educate Insu. He must learn exactly what he’s in for.” I turn at the sound of Fizzy moving around in the room behind me. “I should go anyway. Make sure you watch tonight. Give me those ratings.” “Don’t I always?” I smile because, yeah, she does. “Tell the squirt I love her, and have a good night, Nat.” “I will. Love you.” “Love you, too.” I step inside and come to a stop with one foot in, one foot out. Fizzy said she was changing into something comfy. I foolishly hoped that meant long-sleeved flannel pajamas, not tiny shorts and a soft cropped sweatshirt. There’s just… so much skin. “What the fuck ’ave you got on?” I ask, accent turning coarse. “They’re my jammies. You want me sleeping in a snowsuit?” “Yes.” She lifts her chin to

dinosaur and we’re the comet.” SIX THE UNFAIRNESS OF THE HEALTHY eye lies in its globelike smoothness, its agile perception, its chatty relationship with the optic nerve. A healthy eye is taken for granted—can be taken for granted—by the kind of person for whom the world appears unwarped and undisturbed. Undisturbing. I’ve seen thousands of people like this. They walk past me in the street and scan their periphery as they move, taking for granted the fact that they can see not only ahead of them but to their left and right, interpreting this information effortlessly, relying on absolutely nothing but their vision to move from point A to point B. Meanwhile I’m snatching brief and distorted snapshots of the murky steps down into the subway or I’m listening to the sounds of my feet, which are either accentuated by wood floors and pavement or dampened by rugs and grass. I want badly

The heat of his smile warms me to my marrow. How can he not see how good we are together? “How are you feeling entering this final date?” “Relieved.” “Relieved why?” “Because it means soon I can stop pretending I want someone other than you.” Connor goes silent, looking jerkily around at the cameras aimed at each of us. “Fizzy, you—you can’t say that.” “Edit it out, then.” He reaches forward and gently switches one camera off, then the other. We both reach up, turning off our mics. Connor removes his earpiece and lets out a long exhale. “Shit.” “I miss you,” I say once I know we’re really alone. “I wish I could tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I know I said you aren’t the man I thought you were, but I was just scared.” “I know.” “You’re exactly

he’ll make it past the first year. “Who do you think he is?” Griffin asked, chinning toward the table. “Who? The cadaver?” Viv asked as if he had just

wheels rumble. “It was a very nice rock.” He sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “The other boys were impressed.” “What does it matter?” Diya returned to the window. “Dar al Mansi is only dangerous during the Alcalah. The captured creatures stay in Nizahlan prisons the rest of the time.” Unlike Ayume Forest, Dar al Mansi lacked any corruption at its core. Called “home of the forgotten” after the village buried within it, Dar al Mansi was a new addition to the Alcalah. Preparing for this trial caused Arin no small amount of tension. Two years after the Blood Summit, groups of Jasadis fleeing Rawain’s siege stumbled across the lonely Omalian village. On Arin’s map, Dar al Mansi was linked to Omal proper in a warped hourglass shape. Dar al Mansi sat at the bottom, shrouded in Essam Woods, and Omal at the top. The village was already abandoned when the Jasadis happened upon it, left to the

fuss, which was typical of him, never wanting to be a burden.

eating house; while his pale face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went any where in particular that I could learn; never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so thin and pale, he never complained of ill health. And more than all, I remembered a certain unconscious air of pallid—how shall I call it?—of pallid haughtiness, say, or rather an austere reserve about him, which had positively awed me into my tame compliance with his eccentricities, when I had feared to ask him to do the slightest incidental thing for me, even though I might know, from his long-continued motionlessness, that behind his screen he must be standing in one of those dead-wall reveries of his. Revolving all these things, and coupling them with the recently discovered

When his hand ghosted over my skin, I couldn’t stop a shiver. He traced the gnarled path of flesh along my back. Assessing the defective condition of his Champion. I dropped my forehead against the wardrobe, forcing my ragged breathing to stabilize. I was not in a sane enough state to handle the Heir. “These are from a jalda whip,” he guessed. The pressure moved to my right side. “A switch.” I eased the towel’s knot enough to reveal my lower back, morbidly curious. Could he put a name to every instrument Hanim had used against me? I couldn’t. “Is this an arakin?” he gasped, sprawling his palm against the base of my spine. I jumped. “A what?” “These were banned decades ago. Your scars—they can’t be more than six or seven years old.” He sounded furious. “Those crops do real damage. You might have

Bastian’s hair and wrenched his head back, just like Lore’s. Bastian squinted through the blood from his head wound, chest heaving, teeth bared. August sighed as he looked at his son, always the disappointed father. In return, Bastian laughed, quick and sharp. “How fitting,” he snarled. “You always did have to do things as ostentatiously as possible.” The King shook his head. A streak of sorrow crossed his face, quick and bright as a passing comment, made more terrible for how genuine it was. “It never could’ve been you,” he murmured. “No matter what Anton’s vision said.” “Because I’m not pious enough?” There was no chance of escape; still, Bastian fought against the Mort holding him, muscles straining. “Would it be me if I’d killed my own people and farmed their bodies for an army?” “I didn’t kill them, Bastian.” The sorrow on August’s face turned cold. “That’s one sin you can’t lay at my feet.” His eyes turned to Lore, slow and

smiled, and I knew I’d asked the right question. I overslept and missed Monday’s Scene Study class, and Derrick chewed me out for not showing proper respect to my fellow actors, so I decided to skip Thursday’s class. In fact, I decided to never go back to his class again. Instead, I went to the library and read everything I could find about puppets. I read about Bread and Puppet in Vermont and their antiwar puppet shows that ended with the entire audience breaking homemade bread together. I read about Little Angel’s Wild Night of the Witches, and Handspan Theatre, and Charles Ludlam’s The Ventriloquist’s Wife, and Javanese holy shadow puppet plays, and how puppet shows used to be so dangerous that in sixteenth-century England some cities banned them while other cities paid puppeteers to stay away. By the

speechless. He grabbed a towel off the bench and rubbed his hair. “What are you doing here?” He pointed toward the pier as he walked up to meet me. “I wasn’t going to let you man the docks all day by yourself. Do you have any idea how many idiots are going to be out here trying to sail, not to mention run the powerboats?” “That is really kind of you.” I stared at him again, this time not entranced by his handsomeness but his kindness. “Rich, honestly. I don’t know if I’d even talk to me.” “Lanie, I don’t hold grudges, especially for years on end. You know that.” I nodded, my mind flashing to that fateful night off during camp, when we’d sat on the edge of

pick the lock. MARCH 21, NIGHT. Free. Soul free and fancy free. Let the dead bury the dead. Ay. And let the dead marry the dead. MARCH 22. In company with Lynch followed a sizeable hospital nurse. Lynch's idea. Dislike it. Two lean hungry greyhounds walking after a heifer. MARCH 23. Have not seen her since that night. Unwell? Sits at the fire perhaps with mamma's shawl on her shoulders. But not peevish. A nice bowl of gruel? Won't you now? MARCH 24. Began with a discussion with my mother. Subject: B.V.M. Handicapped by my sex and youth. To escape held up relations between Jesus and Papa against those between Mary and her son. Said religion was not a lying-in hospital. Mother indulgent. Said I have a queer mind and have read too much. Not true. Have read little and understood

He was not mocking him. Honourable leaned back in his chair and cocked his head to one side. “Stand up, let me see you.” Ẹniọlá stood, pressing his bare feet firmly into the plush rug because he worried that he might sway on his feet. He felt his throat dry up as the older man’s gaze swept over his body. Honourable’s face was expressionless, as though he were looking not at a human being but an unpainted concrete wall. “How old are you?” Honourable asked. “Sixteen sir.” “You’re eighteen, do you understand?” Honourable said. “Yes sir.” Ẹniọlá nodded. Maybe Honourable would ask him to register to vote in the next year’s election. He had to be eighteen to get a voter’s card. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done.” “Sir?” “Out with it. At eighteen, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Stabbed someone? Now, don’t lie. Your friends must have told you that is the number one rule here, all liars end up in

nonsense." "But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?" "Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite informa- tion than this it would be impossible to get him to move." "I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite." "I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother to overhear what you said? There

female with a very straight nose and a very new moon, was a piece of portable property that had been given her by Wemmick. We ate the whole of the toast, and drank tea in proportion, and it was delightful to see how warm and greasy we all got after it. The Aged especially, might have passed for some clean old chief of a savage tribe, just oiled. After a short pause for repose, Miss Skiffins - in the absence of the little servant who, it seemed, retired to the bosom of her family on Sunday afternoons - washed up the tea-things, in a trifling lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, "Now Aged Parent, tip us the paper." Wemmick explained to me while the Aged got his spectacles out, that this was according to custom,

how's your friend, sir?' said Mr. Peggotty to me. 'Steerforth?' said I. 'That's the name!' cried Mr. Peggotty, turning to Ham. 'I knowed it was something in our way.' 'You said it was Rudderford,' observed Ham, laughing. 'Well!' retorted Mr. Peggotty. 'And ye steer with a rudder, don't ye? It ain't fur off. How is he, sir?' 'He was very well indeed when I came away, Mr. Peggotty.' 'There's a friend!' said Mr. Peggotty, stretching out his pipe. 'There's a friend, if you talk of friends! Why, Lord love my heart alive, if it ain't a treat to look at him!' 'He is very handsome, is he not?' said I, my heart warming with this praise. 'Handsome!' cried Mr. Peggotty. 'He stands up to you like - like a - why I don't

about it, clearheaded, in the morning. I wanted to triple-check my math. “We should turn the lamps off,” Alder said at 11:58. “We should sit totally silent and send out welcoming vibes. And we should record again!” Jamila said she’d fall asleep—she was already lounging on the floor—but Alder’s motion passed. Let’s say that instead of Britt and Alder giggling uncontrollably, shushing each other, instead of Lola shrieking when Alyssa tickled their neck, instead of the hush that finally settled over us, let’s say that Thalia showed up, that her face glowed in the window. Say she had a flask in her hand. I’d been thrown back, that week, to a mental state in which I could remember the sound of her voice. The way, for instance, she said “How random!” The way she’d get hiccups when she laughed. The way she’d sing choir music as she

breast cancer gala. I told him you’d help out.” “Of course,” I said, though I already had a charity case. “May I go to the drugstore today? I need some vitamins. And a few toiletries.” “You may.” He swallowed the last forkful of eggs. “You need to find a way to contribute to society, Hazel. It’s embarrassing to have a wife who does nothing but jog and lift weights.” My face felt hot with humiliation, though I should have been used to it by now. “What about your little bakery idea?” I’d told him my dream in the early stages of our relationship, when I thought he was kind and nurturing. It resurfaced on occasion—as a way to demean me and my puny goals. “You’re obviously not an entrepreneur.” He slid his empty plate toward me. “But you could design a menu, decorate the place.

suspicious man, could be duped by the servile manners of the porter; and the lively southern speech which had entertained him all the morning now irritated his ears. They passed into the anatomy theatre where Mr Dedalus, the porter aiding him, searched the desks for his initials. Stephen remained in the background, depressed more than ever by the darkness and silence of the theatre and by the air it wore of jaded and formal study. On the desk he read the word FOETUS cut several times in the dark stained wood. The sudden legend startled his blood: he seemed to feel the absent students of the college about him and to shrink from their company. A vision of their life, which his father's words had been powerless to evoke, sprang up before him out of the word cut in the desk. A broad-shouldered student with a moustache

have dinner.” * * * At the table, he tops up my wine and pours me a glass of water before putting our starters on top of what I already thought was my plate. (I later google it to find it’s what’s called a “charger” plate, intended to “add to the visual effect of your table.” Again, fancy.) The tabbouleh tastes like rice but lighter and fresher. “Ben, this is delicious!” He smiles. “You think so?” I pile on another forkful. “I really do.” Slow down, Maddie. Try not to go from smooth kiss to grains falling out of your mouth. “I haven’t had anything like it.” “Do you cook much?” “When I lived at home with my dad, I’d batch cook on

to exert their fierce and savage strength for a good purpose, and fling it off at once! This feeble and most sensitive of spirits could do neither, yet continually did one thing or another, which intertwined, in the same inextricable knot, the agony of heaven-defying guilt and vain repentance.% And thus,

acolytes in Florida and Texas are already doing this by implementing “bus and dump” programs of the kind we once told Trump were illegal. The Next Trump will use federal resources to ship migrants

disappointment on Anne's face, said smilingly: "Oh, you must take a piece of this, Mrs. Allan. Anne made it on purpose for you." "In that case I must sample it," laughed Mrs. Allan, helping herself to a plump triangle, as did also the minister and Marilla. Mrs. Allan took a mouthful of hers and a most peculiar expression crossed her face; not a word did she say, however, but steadily ate away at it. Marilla saw the expression and hastened to taste the cake. "Anne Shirley!" she exclaimed, "what on earth did you put into that cake?" "Nothing but what the recipe said, Marilla," cried Anne with a look of anguish. "Oh, isn't it all right?" "All right! It's simply horrible. Mr. Allan, don't try to eat it. Anne, taste it yourself. What flavoring did you use?" "Vanilla," said Anne, her face scarlet with modification after tasting the cake. "Only vanilla. Oh, Marilla, it

fair kingdoms in Middle-earth; and indeed there followed after long years of peace, while their swords fenced Beleriand from the ruin of Morgoth, and his power was shut behind his gates. In those days there was joy beneath the new Sun and Moon, and all the land was glad; but still the Shadow brooded in the north. And when again thirty years had passed, Turgon son of Fingolfin left Nevrast where he dwelt and sought out Finrod his friend upon the island of Tol Sirion, and they journeyed southward along the river, being weary for a while of the northern mountains; and as they journeyed night came upon them beyond the Meres of Twilight beside the waters of Sirion, and they slept upon his banks beneath the summer stars. But Ulmo coming up the river laid a deep sleep upon them and heavy dreams; and the trouble of the dreams remained after they awoke, but neither said

Professor BJ.” Wúràọlá stifled a chuckle. “ ‘BJ’ might be unfortunate.” It took a moment for him to get it. “PJC then, Professor Jídé Coker. We need to keep the ‘Professor’ in somehow, it’s more impressive.” “I was asking you about the measurable metrics. Better healthcare, what does that mean? More primary health centres? How many? Is he improving pay for state doctors? Post-qualification training? Working conditions? Isn’t that what you’re going to build his media campaign around? Even this skills acquisition thing, you’re sounding like it’s really about getting his photos on posters, not the youth.” “You don’t understand politics.” “That’s condescending.” “It’s a fact.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel. “You don’t fucking know everything.” “Lakúnlé Coker.” Sometimes this was enough, calling him a fuller version of his name could reset his senses. “I’m sorry, but the point I was trying to make is, that’s not how politics works in this country, okay. We

doors were now opening. Hardy was the first to disappear out into the void. The beetles were being sucked out two, three at a time. Only then did Reggie’s not-insignificant form lift and get pulled out into deep space. Still, no one spoke. No one moved. Then I said, “We’ll find him. This isn’t the first time he’s floundered off into space. We’ll find him,” I repeated. Perhaps if I said it enough times, I could convince myself it was true. “Cap! The frigates are here and firing,” Chen said. Adams shook; the lights flickered. Akari suddenly stood, hands going to her mouth. “Oh God, no!” I’d seen it too. The sudden, incredibly brilliant explosion off our aft starboard side. Chen said, “She’s gone … Portent … her comms have gone silent.” Taking her seat, Akari said, “Absolutely nothing left of her … totally obliterated,” “She must have

will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I will kill myself." Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have such another. You are not jealous of material things, are you?" "I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must

perhaps, a little more remiss than usual in his visits to his blindly-doting - eh?' With another quick glance at them, and such a glance at me as seemed to look into my innermost thoughts. 'Miss Dartle,' I returned, 'pray do not think -' 'I don't!' she said. 'Oh dear me, don't suppose that I think anything! I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. I don't state any opinion. I want to found an opinion on what you tell me. Then, it's not so? Well! I am very glad to know it.' 'It certainly is not the fact,' said I, perplexed, 'that I am accountable for Steerforth's having been away from home longer than usual - if he has been: which

she repressed. It seemed as if her spirit were quite altered, and she could not be too quiet. She asked, when all was told, where we were to be communicated with, if occasion should arise. Under a dull lamp in the road, I wrote our two addresses on a leaf of my pocket-book, which I tore out and gave to her, and which she put in her poor bosom. I asked her where she lived herself. She said, after a pause, in no place long. It were better not to know. Mr. Peggotty suggesting to me, in a whisper, what had already occurred to myself, I took out my purse; but I could not prevail upon her to accept any money, nor could I exact any promise from her that she would do so at another time. I represented to her that

inkstand, broken both boot lacings, and sat down upon her hat. "You're the crossest person in it!" returned Amy, washing out the sum that was all wrong with the tears that had fallen on her slate. "Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have them drowned," exclaimed Meg angrily as she tried to get rid of the kitten which had scrambled up her back and stuck like a burr just out of reach. Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed because she couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was. "Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry," cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoiled sentence in her letter. There was a

even now beside you there, learning your lessons and looking up into your face, when your face was strange and frightened me!" "Soon forgotten!" moaned Miss Havisham. "Times soon forgotten!" "No, not forgotten," retorted Estella. "Not forgotten, but treasured up in my memory. When have you found me false to your teaching? When have you found me unmindful of your lessons? When have you found me giving admission here," she touched her bosom with her hand, "to anything that you excluded? Be just to me." "So proud, so proud!" moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her grey hair with both her hands. "Who taught me to be proud?" returned Estella. "Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?" "So hard, so hard!" moaned Miss Havisham, with her former action. "Who taught me to be hard?"

belly, moving forward very slowly. As its eyes met Clayton's it stopped, and deliberately, cautiously gathered its hind quarters behind it. In agony the man watched, fearful to launch his spear, powerless to fly. He heard a noise in the tree above him. Some new danger, he thought, but he dared not take his eyes from the yellow green orbs before him. There was a sharp twang as of a broken banjo-string, and at the same instant an arrow appeared in the yellow hide of the crouching lion. With a roar of pain and anger the beast sprang; but, somehow, Clayton stumbled to one side, and as he turned again to face the infuriated king of beasts, he was appalled at the sight which confronted him. Almost simultaneously with the lion's turning to renew the attack a half-naked giant dropped from the tree above squarely on the brute's back. With lightning speed an arm that was

Bastian’s voice was pleasant, but the ridge of his jaw could carve stone. “My uncle has been half mad since his accident, even if everyone wants to pretend like it’s something holy, and he’s controlled Gabe’s life for fourteen years. I saw an opportunity to set him free, at least for a few weeks, and I took it. He should thank me.” Lore wondered what Bastian would think if he knew that Gabe was only in the court because of Anton. That his uncle’s control was still ironclad. “How exactly would making sure the court sees him here make him want to stay?” she asked. Bastian waved a hand at the party. “Stick a man in a den of iniquity after he’s been cloistered for over a decade, and it’s likely he’ll fall into sin. If it was public enough, Anton might not let him come back into the monkish fold. That was the

started yelling. "Who started this?" said Uncle Jack. Francis and I pointed at each other. "Grandma," he bawled, "she called me a whore-lady and jumped on me!" "Is that true, Scout?" said Uncle Jack. "I reckon so." When Uncle Jack looked down at me, his features were like Aunt Alexandra's. "You know I told you you'd get in trouble if you used words like that? I told you, didn't I?" "Yes sir, but-" "Well, you're in trouble now. Stay there." I was debating whether to stand there or run, and tarried in indecision a moment too long: I turned to flee but Uncle Jack was quicker. I found myself suddenly looking at a tiny ant struggling with a bread crumb in the grass. "I'll never speak to you again as long as I live! I hate you an' despise you an' hope you die tomorrow!" A statement that

aloft, high The night passed, and the next day, after dinner, Redruth over my head, hanging to threads that seemed no thicker than and I were afoot again and on the road. I said good-bye to a spider’s. Though I had lived by the shore all my life, I Mother and the cove where I had lived since I was born, and seemed never to have been near the sea till then. The smell of the dear old Admiral Benbow—since he was repainted, no tar and salt was something new. I saw the most wonderful longer quite so dear. One of my last thoughts was of the figureheads, that had all been far over the ocean. I saw, be- captain, who had

and more shallow than they used to be; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bumble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article, sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from Birmingham.' 'Well, well,' said Mr. Bumble, 'every trade has its drawbacks. A fair profit is, of course, allowable.' 'Of course, of course,' replied the undertaker; 'and if I don't get a profit upon this or that particular article, why, I make it up in the long-run, you see--he! he! he!' 'Just so,' said Mr. Bumble. 'Though I must say,' continued the undertaker, resuming the current of observations which the beadle had interrupted: 'though I must say, Mr. Bumble, that I have to contend against one very great disadvantage: which is, that all the stout people go off the quickest. The people who have been better off, and have paid rates for many years, are the first to sink when they come into the house; and let me tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over

the good fishin' places was, and befriend 'em what I could, and now they've all forgot old Muff when he's in trouble; but Tom don't, and Huck don't -- they don't forget him, says I, 'and I don't forget them.' Well, boys, I done an awful thing -- drunk and crazy at the time -- that's the only way I account for it -- and now I got to swing for it, and it's right. Right, and best, too, I reckon -- hope so, anyway. Well, we won't talk about that. I don't want to make you feel bad; you've befriended me. But what I want to say, is, don't you ever get drunk -- then you won't ever get here. Stand a litter furder west -- so -- that's it; it's a prime comfort to see faces that's friendly when a body's in such a muck of trouble, and there don't

flooded with death immediately. This wasn’t like with Horse, a natural expansion of Mortem as the body died, a widening corona of darkness. The entropy surrounding Milo was thick as tar, a conundrum of nothingness made nearly solid by its sheer mass. The contradiction of it made Lore’s mind slippery. She gritted her teeth. This wasn’t about thinking—the two times she’d done this, it’d been on pure instinct. It was about feeling. Her eyes stayed open, her vision graying out into the black-and-white that showed life and death in stark contrasts. The man before her was all in black, a nimbus of blazing dark outlining his form. Dark threads spun from her fingers, thin filaments like spiderwebs, connecting her to the Mortem she’d channeled into his body, the shell of it she’d spun. But at his center was colorless light, a kernel of life untouched. He could be saved. To turn living matter to stone, she’d knit death into the

could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children. `How should I know?' said Alice, surprised at her own courage. `It's no business of MINE.' The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed `Off with her head! Off--' `Nonsense!' said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent. The King laid his hand upon her arm, and timidly said `Consider, my dear: she is only a child!' The Queen turned angrily away from him, and said to the Knave `Turn them over!' The Knave did so, very carefully, with one foot. `Get up!' said the Queen, in a shrill, loud voice, and the three gardeners instantly jumped up, and began bowing to the King, the Queen, the royal children, and everybody else. `Leave off that!' screamed the Queen. `You make me giddy.' And

you mad?" Okonkwo did not answer. But he left hold of Nwoye, who walked away and never returned. He went back to the church and told Mr. Kiaga that he had decided to go to Umuofia where the white missionary had set up a school to teach young Christians to read and write. Mr. Kiaga's joy was very great. "Blessed is he who forsakes his father and his mother for my sake," he intoned. "Those that hear my words are my father and my mother." Nwoye did not fully understand. But he was happy to leave his father. He would return later to his mother and his brothers and sisters and convert them to the new faith. As Okonkwo sat in his hut that night, gazing into a log fire, he thought over the matter. A sudden fury rose within him and he felt a strong desire to take up his machete, go to

waist, his frown deepening. Plastered to his side and weightless, I opened my mouth to shriek obscenities directly into his ear, then reconsidered. Why bother? I didn’t have the energy for a respectable tantrum. His body was a solid line against my own. This was the closest I’d been to a man I wasn’t trying to stab. The closest I had been to anyone not actively trying to kill me, actually. How depressing. I waited for the swell of panic to hit at his touch. I had chalked up its absence the last time he touched me as a fluke. I was too distracted wondering if he would snap my neck to consider panicking. But he was touching me now and—nothing. No panic. Still plenty of discomfort, though. The moment we were near enough, I wriggled away, stumbling toward my bed. Arin did not prevaricate. “Wes and Jeru will accompany you to

some food and drink down to the two we've locked up," said the other man. "There's plenty in that little stone room. I suppose it's a store the children brought over. We'll leave half in the room so that the other two kids can have it. And we'll take their boat with us so that they can't escape." "Right," said Jake. "The thing to do is to get the gold away as quickly as possible, and make sure the children are prisoners here until we've made a safe getaway. We won't bother any more about trying to buy the island. After all, it was only the idea of getting the ingots that put us up to the idea of getting Kirrin Castle and the island." "Well-come

returned to his writings. All is well. Alex stood outside of a freshly painted bungalow—white adobe, trimmed in blue. Wind chimes hung from the porch. A stone Buddha held court in the garden, lush with lavender and sage. Her mother sat sipping tea on a daybed heaped with colorful cushions. This was her house—a real house, not a lonely apartment with a balcony that faced the wall of another lonely apartment. Mira rose and stretched and went inside, leaving the door open behind her. Alex drifted after her. The house was tidy, cozy; crystals crowded the fireplace mantel. Her mother rinsed her cup in the sink. A knock sounded. A blond woman stood at the door, a rolled yoga mat slung over her shoulder. She looked familiar, but Alex wasn’t sure how. “Ready?” the woman asked. “Just about,” Mira said. They couldn’t see

make one large T-shirt into twelve different outfits. And stewed. Emotionally. Oh, and I googled “Why men don’t text you back.” But it wasn’t very helpful. I also had another brain scan to check my edema. And that wasn’t helpful, either. Dr. Estrera reported that, shockingly, according to the scan, the edema had now largely resolved. He compared last week’s scan with this week’s scan—both of which looked quite similar to me. “We’re seeing an eighty-one percent reduction in swelling in the area,” Dr. Estrera said proudly. Big news, I guess—but it didn’t do me much good if nothing else had changed. And nothing else had changed. After the scan, Dr. Nicole gave me a battery of facial recognition tests to compare to my baseline. And I was exactly the same on those as I’d been a month ago. The same identical numerical score. I knocked

goddess, their fingers always catching at my hair, trying to drag me back to that day. I’d always fought that pull. There was a flashlight in the trunk. I’d gotten it out before I quite knew what I was doing. I stood a moment, flashlight in one hand, bottle in the other, and waited for my better judgment to arrive. There was only the wind, and the distant calling of an owl. I crossed the road, hopped over the small ditch, and walked straight in among the trees. I wondered what my therapist would think of me thrashing through the underbrush. Probably not the version of “reintegrating my past selves” that she’d imagined. I should probably call her. That would probably be the smart thing to

Malcolm looked down from the second story, leaning over the gilded railing just long enough to see the cover of Lore’s book. His dark eyes widened as he snorted a laugh. “Taking get close to Bastian very seriously, I see.” “I always follow orders,” Lore replied. Gabe grimaced, but was too preoccupied with what Malcolm was doing to make a snide comment. “Is Anton moving more books out of the Church library?” “Not quite.” Malcolm set his book pile down on the floor, then hefted one of them into an empty space in the shelf. The thing was thick, and Malcolm’s muscles strained as he pushed it into place. Truly, it was a waste how goodlooking all the Presque Mort were. “He asked for these to be brought to him for study. Newer editions of the Compendium, some translated from other languages and then back into Auverrani.” Another over-thick book was pushed into its space. “No idea why,

am, I know what I must do. First, though, I try to bolster my daughters’ spirits for whatever might come next. “You did everything correctly,” I say. “I’m proud to have you as my children. Don’t ever forget that.” The wrenching sounds of my two oldest girls weeping follows me down the corridor back to my bedchamber. Poppy unbolts the door and lets me in. I hurriedly scan my shelves, putting whatever herbs I think will be useful into satchels. When I tell her what I’m going to do, she starts to cry big, gulping sobs. I’m working hard to tamp down my own fear and have neither the time nor the will to comfort her. Poppy puts my satchels in the corridor, I take Lian in my arms, and together we go to my

"What! out already?" said she. "I see you are an early riser." I went up to her, and was received with an affable kiss and shake of the hand. "How do you like Thornfied?" she asked. I told her I liked it very much. "Yes," she said, "it is a

stallions, but they are really machines equipped with all kinds of kick-ass weapons. With his skill at devising strategies and tactics, with his keen reflexes, Aleem routinely runs up such a kill score of knights defending the princess that Prince Endymion is doomed, the princess remains asleep, and the world ends in a most satisfying frenzy of rats and bats and bursting bombs. Here, no princess awaits him. Just maybe one uppity bitch who needs to be brought to her knees, apologize, plead for her life, and be buried alive with the boy she’s turned into a hopeless pussy. As satisfying as burying her alive would be, Aleem knows that he might have to forego that pleasure because of the need to deal with the SUVs. Although Kuba has hoped to use Nina for a while, he’ll have to be satisfied to wet

had been in the Mughal gardens. The ice-adapted students and

HARP 217.” “Y-you don’t have to tell m-me.” “No, I suppose I don’t.” They studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, “I could take it from you, if you’d like. I could take it all back. Lock away the memories so the past stays in the past. You won’t even know it was there.” Hap didn’t speak for a long moment. “I d-don’t want to forget anymore.” “I see,” they said, stepping back. “Off with you. Do what you came here to do. But first, sleep. And dream.” They whirled around, disappearing back into the sphere room. The door slid shut behind them. “Come on,” the Doorman said. “Before they change their mind.” Vic followed the others in a daze, mind racing. He was exhausted, his eyes filled with sand. His feet dragged along the floor, his pack was

write something like this. I have no idea what it would pay or how permanent the (cum) stain on my career might be, but I certainly could come up with something more titillating than “I found this old book in the archives”??? The archival nun (work with me here, okay) is younger than the stern nun, who snatches the book away meanly from her hands while saying, “Let me see!” The room they’re in looks vaguely churchy, with stark white walls, filled with old books and flickering votives in red glass holders. The stern nun sits to flip through the book as her nun apprentice leans curiously (and sexily!) over her shoulder, trying to get a peek. It’s very Meryl Streep and Amy Adams in Doubt, if it was about hot sex instead of, ugh, well, not hot sex? The young nun is reading over the stern nun’s shoulder about “modesty in the fifteenth century for cloistered

the two. On the 12th of June, 1745, for cheated.” Robert Louis Stevenson. Treasure Island. 52 53 “And now,” said the squire, “for the other.” point of north inlet cape, bearing E. and a The paper had been sealed in several places with a thimble quarter N. by way of seal; the very thimble, perhaps, that I had found in J.F. the captain’s pocket. The doctor opened the seals with great care, and there fell out the map of an island, with latitude and That was all; but brief as it was, and to me incomprehen- longitude, soundings, names of hills and bays and inlets, and sible, it filled the squire and Dr. Livesey with delight. every particular that would be needed to bring a ship to a safe “Livesey,” said the squire, “you will give up this wretched anchorage

lingered behind, and spoke to the shepherd's wife, who was now weeping with gratitude and surprise. He enquired how much money was yet wanting to replace the stolen sheep, and found, that it was a sum very little short of all he had about him. He was perplexed and distressed. 'This sum then,' said he to himself, 'would make this poor family completely happy--it is in my power to give it--to make them completely happy! But what is to become of me?--how shall I contrive to reach home with the little money that will remain?' For a moment he stood, unwilling to forego the luxury of raising a family from ruin to happiness, yet considering the difficulties of pursuing his journey with so small a sum as would be left. While he was in this state of perplexity, the shepherd himself appeared: his children ran to meet him; he took one of them in his arms, and,

and leave.” She balls her hand into a fist. “You had to hide the keys and cut the tires and I could barely get you to do it without you crying like a baby. You’re so goddamn worthless!” I turn to Kyle and watch as sweat cascades from his forehead, dampening the collar of his shirt. He cowers in front of Ms. Keane. “You think I don’t know that you were hiding out there when these two and that other little brat showed up to our house?” she says angrily. “I knew you were out there! Sneaking around! Betraying your family! You’re pathetic!” Kyle doesn’t look at me. I recall how he disappeared as Ms. Keane held us at gunpoint but he also saved us. “You—you told me Tasha and Javi left in

darkness it will end, unless some strange chance deliver us that my eyes cannot see.' 'Many are the strange chances of fee world,' said Mithrandir, 'and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.' Thus the Wise were troubled, but none as yet perceived that Curunr had turned to dark thoughts and was already a traitor in heart: for he desired that he and no other should find the Great Ring, so that he might wield it himself and order all the world to his will. Too long he had studied the ways of. Sauron in hope to defeat him, and now he envied him as a rival rather than hated his works. And he deemed that the Ring, which was Sauron's, would seek for its master as he became manifest once more;

occur, and when I told my husband this story once, he shook his head, said, “That couldn’t happen.” I asked if he was accusing me of lying, or if he thought I’d been hearing voices. “I just mean,” Jerome replied evenly, “that it couldn’t happen.” I stood in the gym lobby mesmerized, not wanting to miss a word. But eventually I had to; I called my own dorm, asked the on-duty teacher for ten extra minutes to run across campus and get the history book I’d left in Commons. No, she said, I could not. I had three minutes till check-in. I hung up, lifted the receiver again, pressed one number. There was Tim Busse’s voice still. Magic. He told his mother he was failing physics. I was surprised. And now I had a secret about him. A secret secret, one he hadn’t meant to share. I had a sidelong crush after that on Tim Busse, to whom I’d never previously paid an ounce of

no such thing—but it didn’t feel like one. “Truly?” Alie dropped her hands with a sigh. “Because I feel I made a mess of it all. It’s just been such a shock, seeing him again. Seeing him so… so grown up.” Bare chest in firelight, the shadow of an eye patch made darker by the brilliant blue staring down at her. Lore swallowed more too-hot tea. Grown-up indeed. Memories closer at hand were less pleasant. The clench of his jaw as he read another seemingly useless book. The way he’d drawn inward in the past few days, always preoccupied by something he wouldn’t talk to her about. “He was taken aback, too,” Lore said. “It’s been… complicated for him, I think.” “More complicated than it would be for anyone else, probably.” Dani shook her head in sympathy. “Some of us thought he was coming back to court for good, at first. But it seems like he’s holding fast to those

myself, as I may say, literally to catch them at a purpose in it. They had never, I think, wanted to do so many things for their poor protectress; I mean--though they got their lessons better and better, which was naturally what would please her most-- in the way of diverting, entertaining, surprising her; reading her passages, telling her stories, acting her charades, pouncing out at her, in disguises, as animals and historical characters, and above all astonishing her by the "pieces" they had secretly got by heart and could interminably recite. I should never get to the bottom--were I to let myself go even now-- of the prodigious private commentary, all under still more private correction, with which, in these days, I overscored their full hours. They had shown me from the first a facility for everything, a general faculty which, taking a fresh start, achieved remarkable flights. They got their little tasks as if

timbers --------------------------------------------------------- -247- and Injun Joe landed on the ground amid the debris of the ruined stairway. He gathered himself up cursing, and his comrade said: "Now what's the use of all that? If it's anybody, and they're up there, let them stay there -- who cares? If they want to jump down, now, and get into trouble, who objects? It will be dark in fifteen minutes -- and then let them follow us if they want to. I'm willing. In my opinion, whoever hove those things in here caught a sight of us and took us for ghosts or devils or something. I'll bet they're running yet." Joe grumbled awhile; then he agreed with his friend that what daylight was left ought to be economized in getting things ready for leaving. Shortly afterward they slipped out of the house in the deepening twilight, and moved toward the river with their precious box. Tom and Huck