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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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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

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,

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,

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;

then all three of us are going out to get pizza.” He figures Linda ought to at least get a slice or two out of this. “Why don’t you wash your face and take a couple of aspirin while I see if she’s home.” He knocks on Linda’s door, sending up a silent prayer to any nearby deities that she’s home. She answers the door in her usual state: hair piled on top of her head, overalls paint-spattered. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he gushes. “Which is great because you’re my girlfriend now.” “Oh boy. This’ll be good.” Inside, he explains. “But what I need now,” he concludes, “is for you to have Sal over for ten minutes while I clear Nick’s apartment of, uh, incriminating evidence.” Linda blinks, apparently unfazed. “Send him over.” Sal grudgingly goes

anecdote

on Brook Street. Rather a deficiency, to my mind. One I’d take care to correct.” He didn’t say the obvious thing. He didn’t ask, What about Shepherd? He had clearly guessed the answer. Shepherd belonged to her father, and the world was ticking on. It needed new people. New energy. “I suppose I’d better think about it, Madam,” he said. She shook her head. “No, you’d better tell me this instant.” His face darkened. She saw it: his pride, wounded. It pleased her immensely. Men were like that: so easy to prick. “What’s the matter?” she said softly. “Have you made other plans?” Footsteps. The door opened. One of the under-footmen peered in. “Madam,” he said. “Lady Montagu has just arrived.” Miss de Vries felt a jolt. “So early?” “Yes’m.” “Very well.” She rose. “That’ll be all, William.” He gave her another long look, pressed his lips together, as if making up his mind about something.

table over and take Carr’s

have many fellow-mourners for the ball, if not for Frank Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend the evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes." Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant happiness. He could not say that he was sorry on his own account; his very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had; but he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the disappointment of the others, and with considerable kindness added, "You, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!" It was some days before she saw Jane Fairfax, to judge of her honest regret in this woeful change; but when they did meet, her composure was odious. She had been particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree, which made her aunt declare, that had the ball taken

the torches into the thick part of the forest where long branches make everything a secret. The morning after, he asked me to marry him.” Leda doesn’t look at her as she talks. Her eyes are fixed outside the window, on the woods in the distance, the trees swaying with the wind. Clytemnestra looks at her hands. “Your marriage was the result of a political alliance, but that doesn’t mean you know how I felt.” “That is true.” Her hand grabs Clytemnestra’s wrist and she feels the strength her mother once had, the boldness. “If I could go back, I would change everything. I would stand beside you and defy your father.” Her eyes brim with sadness. “But if you are truly like me and you find it hard to forgive, I hope you will come to understand that it has been hard for me too.” The

my hands.” Maurice smack-talks me for eighteen straight minutes and ten seconds. When Zoegar and a few friends arrive with a stretcher and carry him down the stairs, he smack talks them, too. When he sees Lyman Nugent in the backseat of the car, for a moment I think he’s not going to react at all, and then he looks at me, at Nugent, at me again, then he stares at Nugent and he starts to make a weird noise, like a bull choking. I figure that is the sound of a man who is used to counting his lifespan in centuries remembering what it feels like to be ephemeral. There’s no room for Maurice in the car, and in any case the lowing noise he’s making doesn’t sit well with Doublewide, so they put Maurice in a trailerbox, and Zoegar offers me the front

“Remember our discussion,” Dad reminds him, “about what good men do and do not say about ladies?” Aha! Yes! I remember this! He is so screwed. “I wasn’t talking about Celine!” Mason wails. “I was talking about Brad!” “But you were talking about Celine,” I say solemnly. “You were violating her bodily autonomy with misogynistic lies for your own ends, Mason. You were treating her as collateral damage in a war between brothers. Mum is going to be so disappointed in you when she gets home.” Mason sputters. Celine looks very much like she is biting her tongue bloody, trying not to laugh. Dad seems amused, but he rolls his eyes and says, “That’s enough, thank you, Bradley. Mason, go upstairs.” Mason huffs and stomps away. “Now,” Dad says seriously, doing that I Am Being Parental thing he does with his face. “You two. What’s going on?” He’s asking a direct question and meeting my eyes. I try

back to that night. “I was going to— After you asked me about—well—” “After I asked you to marry me,” he said in a tone I thought louder than necessary. “Yes,” I said, trying my hardest to keep my voice ordinary, as if we were talking about our research. I felt ridiculous. Any sane person would have already turned down his proposal. If there is one thing about which the stories, regardless of origin, agree, it is that marrying the Folk is a very bad idea. Romance generally is a bad idea where they are concerned; it hardly ever ends well. And what about my scientific objectivity? It is looking very tattered of late. “I—that night—I was thinking about it. And I suppose that’s my answer. That I would like to—well, continue thinking about it.” He gazed at me with an unreadable expression.

most brain-wretching device ever conceived, a device which made this starship unique in the history of the galaxy, a device after which the ship had been named - The Heart of Gold. "Wow", said Zaphod Beeblebrox to the Heart of Gold. There wasn't much else he could say. He said it again because he knew it would annoy the press. "Wow." The crowd turned their faces back towards him expectantly. He winked at Trillian who raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes at him. She knew what he was about to say and thought him a terrible showoff. "That is really amazing," he said. "That really is truly amazing. That is so amazingly amazing I think I'd like to steal it." A marvellous Presidential quote, absolutely true to form. The crowd laughed appreciatively, the newsmen gleefully punched buttons on their Sub-Etha News-Matics and the

with him, you know.” Kristi didn’t. Nor did she care. The cat hadn’t moved an inch on his pillow and seemed content to stare at Kristi with wide green eyes. “He’s a champion breeder—oh, my God—so good. The queens? The female cats? They adore him. He’s very popular.” She was nodding and ran a finger along the fringe of the satin pillow. “And this? We call it his throne.” She actually tittered. “It’s chilled.” Nodding, she added, “Uh-huh. To protect his, you know, privates, to keep him in good shape. For the ladies.” Okay. TMI. Why were they even having this conversation? Kristi wondered if the woman was putting her on or just a bona fide kook. Either way, she wasn’t interested in Mr. Precious’s love life and quickly turned her attention to her phone to end the conversation. Like right now! Get me out of here, she thought just as the assistant brought in Tom Bigelow, the missing jazz musician

Traddles and I made some sort of reply. Traddles was inaudible. I think I observed, myself, that it was highly creditable to all concerned. I don't in the least know what I meant. 'Sister Lavinia,' said Miss Clarissa, having now relieved her mind, 'you can go on, my dear.' Miss Lavinia proceeded: 'Mr. Copperfield, my sister Clarissa and I have been very careful indeed in considering this letter; and we have not considered it without finally showing it to our niece, and discussing it with our niece. We have no doubt that you think you like her very much.' 'Think, ma'am,' I rapturously began, 'oh! -' But Miss Clarissa giving me a look (just like a sharp canary), as requesting that I would not interrupt the oracle, I begged pardon. 'Affection,' said Miss Lavinia, glancing at her sister for corroboration, which she gave in the form of a little nod to every clause,'mature affection, homage, devotion, does not easily express itself. Its

“You’re not. In fact, I wrote it on my list, don’t you know? ‘Fizzy does a crazy romance reality show when she’s thirty-seven and has the time of her life.’ ” eleven FIZZY An unexpected upside to bringing a Hot DILF to my first signing in months is that readers are much less concerned with when my next book will be published and much more interested in who the giant man lingering in the background is. There were a few murmurs and glances during the Q and A portion of the event, but by the time the signing starts, every person in line is trying to figure out who the six-foot-five piece of ass over there talking to my dad is. I know this because they’re all breaking their necks trying to keep track of him as the line weaves around bookshelves. Several have come right out and asked me. My answers

the ray of her star. There was the stile before me the very fields through which I had hurried, blind, deaf, distracted, with a

respect, nobody ever been ten feet tall.” Aleem says, “Speedo, you know about Goliath?” “He a wrestler, bites the heads off baby chicks?” “That’s him,” Kuba confirms. “Ain’t real chicks,” Speedo says. “They’s marshmallow chicks like them at Easter.” “Real as real can be,” Kuba insists. “You want to think so, that’s cool with me,” Speedo says. “Grandma Verna she say the way it happened, this shrimp David figures he can jack up Goliath, bring him down. Goliath he picks up little Davey, loads him in a fuckin’ big slingshot, and splatters him all over the side of the temple.” “What temple?” Speedo asks. “Don’t matter what temple. Important thing is David been taught a moral lesson.” At Whole Fruit, Jason, Hakeem, and Carlisle are waiting just outside the big opening that once was filled by a roll-up door. When Jason directs his light at what they found beyond the threshold, Kuba declares, “No tooth fairy left it. Bitch is here somewhere.” Aleem can

invitation—for it surely was an invitation, if his smile were to be believed—the words that came from her mouth were, “I suppose you are right.” “Of course I am,” he replied. “I am always right.” Goodness, that smile of his brightened the whole room. And despite his outward display of confidence, Lucy was positive it was a charade. Simon Calloway didn’t seem arrogant in the least, and she very much liked that about him. “Well,” Lord Calloway said, pushing himself slowly to his feet, “shall we?” Lucy frowned. “Shall we what?” They couldn’t very well go riding now when that was what Olivia was planning to do. Lifting a dark eyebrow, Lord Calloway looked at her like she should know. “See to William,” he said. “But we were there this morning.” “Olivia doesn’t know that. Unless you want her to know about your

deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood." My manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation. The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief,

he’s on the list.” Mike looked somber, as if he were speaking at his friend’s funeral. “They’re gonna get him up there and make him look like a suspect. What it is, he did that interview where he said Thalia wasn’t on drugs, and they mostly want him to repeat that, because the drug thing was part of the state’s whole theory. But you know what’ll happen once he’s on the stand.” The interview hadn’t happened on Britt and Alder’s podcast but an episode of a much sleeker, more long-standing one, one that was able to pay him substantially for his appearance. He talked for only five minutes, and mostly said bland, predictable things, but he stated emphatically that Thalia had never done drugs, not even pot. “I don’t know where that idea came from,” he said, and my stomach went on a short roller-coaster ride. If he’d paid attention to our podcast, he’d have heard me blaming

that breakfast-table and waiting for me to come back. So Frank took my wedding-clothes and things and made a bundle of them, so that I should not be traced, and dropped them away somewhere where no one could find them. It is likely that we should have gone on to Paris to-morrow, only that this good gentleman, Mr. Holmes, came round to us this evening, though how he found us is more than I can think, and he showed us very clearly and kindly that I was wrong and that Frank was right, and that we should be putting ourselves

only for Benjamin. He is somewhere in this building, and I am still terrified, even here. Detective French leads me to an interrogation room that is much smaller—and beiger—than the ones I’ve seen on TV. After ushering me to a wooden chair, she offers me water, soda, or a sandwich. She is being kind to me; she has clearly been trained on how to handle victims of a crime. But she is not my friend. I must not forget that. She slides a couple of sheets of paper across the table toward me. “Here’s some information on crime victim programs that you can access. And a list of victims’ rights attorneys.” “Thanks.” “If you need a break at any time, just let me know.” The police are under increased scrutiny of late, their actions

these things before, but not all of them. Jim knowed all kinds of signs. He said he knowed most everything. I said it looked to me like all the signs was about bad luck, and so I asked him if there warn't any good-luck signs. He says: "Mighty few -- an' DEY ain't no use to a body. What you want to know when good luck's a-comin' for? Want to keep it off?" And he said: "Ef you's got hairy arms en a hairy breas', it's a sign

Dumai said. ‘The River Lord may be concerned with his own power, but even he must see now that the wyrms and the sickness are more important. I have seen the destruction they have already wreaked in the rest of the East. Even in the North.’ ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps he will now see you as the only real threat to his dominion. After all, a Noziken has never defied him so openly, nor established a rival court.’ The Grand Empress gazed towards the window. ‘Unora, what do you say to all this?’ ‘I am no child of the rainbow, Manai.’ ‘You bore one, and she will need you. Dumai has no knowledge of the provinces. You do,’ the Grand Empress said. ‘You know how to survive in times of scarcity. That will be useful.’ Dumai

2:00 a.m. “Why?” you ask. Well, because a gorgeous MILF with medium-length square French-tip acrylics and a wedding-engagement ring combo the size of a megalith just told me not only does my dog need one but also there are only two hundred remaining for purchase and the clearance price is only good until the end of the day. Yes, two hundred sounds like a lot of useless doggy pools nobody actually needs, but when you think about how many stoners with credit cards are awake in the middle of the night ready to buy impractical shit for their pets…? This might become an emergency. Anyway, I would let any of these expertly coiffed, multitalented hosts with gleaming, fluorescent white teeth give me career advice, tell me what to eat

further. It was a risk, but now it seemed even more of a risk to stay. I had to put some distance between myself and Matthew. Besides, did I want to pour all of my energy into another doomed liaison, or concentrate on my work? I nodded in the affirmative. My work. That was where my true passion was to be found. I considered the logistics; The Honresfield Library was in Rochdale, near the Laws’ factory. That was over two hundred miles away from London, so I was unlikely to run into anyone I knew. I thought of Emily’s poem ‘No Coward Soul Is Mine’ and, without realising it, had already made up my mind to go. I finally felt as though I were leaving Opaline Carlisle, the girl, behind. Miss Gray would become the woman I always wanted to be. As I glanced out into the

fourth and last ball. Compared with the Quaffle and the Bludgers, it was tiny, about the size of a large walnut. It was bright gold and had little fluttering silver wings. "This," said Wood, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages -- I think the record is three months,

line up. But…” “But?” “Something’s off.” “The prickle,” she said and Turner startled, then rubbed his jaw. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s it.” The prickle had never led Turner astray. He trusted his gut, and maybe he trusted her now too. A doctor came out to meet them, middle-aged, with highlighted blond hair cut into fashionable bangs. “Dr. Tarkenian is going to observe,” said Turner. “Alex knows Andy’s father.” “You were one of his students?” the shrink asked. Alex nodded and wished Turner had prepped her better. “Andy and Ed were very close,” the doctor said. “Ed Lambton’s wife passed a little over two years ago. Andy came out for the funeral and encouraged his father to move out to Arizona with him.” “Lambton wasn’t interested?” Turner asked. “His lab is here,” said Dr. Tarkenian. “I can understand that choice.” “He should have taken his son up on the offer. By all accounts, his doctoral

Please.” The timing was barbaric. Why did she have to realize she loved the big lug right before he was about to do something life threatening? It couldn’t have happened while he was cooking eggs or trying to reason with the cat? Natalie was never more positive that she hadn’t loved Morrison, because this big, wild, terrifying feeling had happened only once in her life. Right now. For August. She understood now. Love turned the heart into a liability. If something happened to him, she’d never get the damn thing to beat properly again. It seemed to be beating for him now. Time seemed to freeze when August reached the side of the submerged road. From his backpack, he pulled out what looked like... a grappling hook? He raised it high and buried it in the dirt and rock formation that ran along the road, twisting and screwing it into the earth. One of

and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that he make with that smileless mouth of him. And believe me, friend John, that he is good to come, and kind. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain become too great, and we break. But King Laugh he come like the sunshine, and he ease off the strain again, and we bear to go

her warning note. 'Ready, my dear Jane,' returned my mother. 'Good-bye, Davy. You are going for your own good. Good-bye, my child. You will come home in the holidays, and be a better boy.' 'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated. 'Certainly, my dear Jane,' replied my mother, who was holding me. 'I forgive you, my dear boy. God bless you!' 'Clara!' Miss Murdstone repeated. Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it. CHAPTER 5 I AM SENT AWAY FROM HOME We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket-handkerchief

putting one of his arbitrary legs into the fire-place and another into the doorway, and squeezing the wretched little washing-stand in quite a Divinely Righteous manner. As I had asked for a night-light, the chamberlain had brought me in, before he left me, the good old constitutional rush-light of those virtuous days - an object like the ghost of a walking-cane, which instantly broke its back if it were touched, which nothing could ever be lighted at, and which was placed in solitary confinement at the bottom of a high tin tower, perforated with round holes that made a staringly wide-awake pattern on the walls. When I had got into bed, and lay there footsore, weary, and wretched, I found that I could

retreat, do a snug business among rich men’s bonds and mortgages and title-deeds. All who know me, consider me an eminently safe man. The late John Jacob Astor, a personage little given to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in pronouncing my first grand point to be prudence; my next, method. I do not speak it in vanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in my profession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I love to repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and rings like unto bullion. I will freely add, that I was not insensible to the late John Jacob Astor’s good opinion. Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my avocations had been largely increased. The good old office, now extinct in the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferred upon me. It was not a very arduous office, but very

advantage in the play, but knowing that I'm making a dead set at him and not knowing, I hope, my capital, is bound to play on his nerves a bit, so I'm hoping that we start about equal.' He paused while the strawberries came and the avocado pear. For a while they ate in silence, then they talked of other things while the coffee was served. They smoked. Neither of them drank brandy or a liqueur. Finally, Bond felt it was time to explain the actual mechanics of the game. 'It's a simple affair,' he said, 'and you'll understand it at once if you've ever played vingt-et-un, where the object is to get cards from

charged, and later convicted in a hush-money scheme related to sexual misconduct with minors).

perfectly,--that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one's [14] self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, the terror of God, which is the secret of religion,--these are the two things that govern us. And yet--" "Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good boy," said Hallward, deep in his work, and conscious only that a look had come into the lad's face that he had never seen there before. "And yet," continued Lord

"If you are, I'll tell you right now: stop it. I'm too old to go chasing you off the Radley property. Besides, it's dangerous. You might get shot. You know Mr. Nathan shoots at every shadow he sees, even shadows that leave size-four bare footprints. You were lucky not to be killed." I hushed then and there. At the same time I marveled at Atticus. This was the first he had let us know he knew a lot more about something than we thought he knew. And it had happened years ago. No, only last summer- no, summer before last, when... time was playing tricks on me. I must remember to ask Jem. So many things had happened to us, Boo Radley was the least of our fears. Atticus said he didn't see how anything else could happen, that things

responsible for the man you left there. He refuses to do any copying; he refuses to do any thing; he says he prefers not to; and he refuses to quit the premises.” “I am very sorry, sir,” said I, with assumed tranquility, but an inward tremor, “but, really, the man you allude to is nothing to me—he is no relation or apprentice of mine, that you should hold me responsible for him.” “In mercy’s name, who is he?” “I certainly cannot inform you. I know nothing about him. Formerly I employed him as a copyist; but he has done nothing for me now for some time past.” “I shall settle him then,—good morning, sir.” Several days passed, and I heard nothing more; and though I often felt a charitable prompting to call at the place and see poor Bartleby, yet a certain squeamishness of I know not what withheld me.

blossoms in Chinese poetry. The nineteenth-century crossbreeding experimentations that resulted in the plumcot. The cyanide in the stone. Maud’s mind had awakened, new facts and anecdotes always cropping up. And so had her body, she thought, as she and Gabriel clinked mugs. In his presence, each gesture—as small as taking the manila folder he pushed across the table—felt heightened, unconsciously orchestrated. And she gathered his gestures too, like clues: the way he threw back his head as he laughed at her description of forgetting her shoes earlier, the way he caught his lower lip in his teeth as the two of them looked over the laboratory results. “High carbon,” she said. “The conservatory fire?” “Probably.” They were talking about work, but another conversation ran under the surface. She’d had workplace crushes before, most recently on a literary historian in Sussex whom she’d met at a pub for passionate discussions about the flowers in William Wordsworth’s poems until he

back, their four trunks swaying. --Corny might have given us a more commodious yoke, Mr Power said. --He might, Mr Dedalus said, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. Do you follow me? He closed his left eye. Martin Cunningham began to brush away crustcrumbs from under his thighs. --What is this, he said, in the name of God? Crumbs? --Someone seems to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Power said. All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the seats. Mr Dedalus, twisting his nose, frowned downward and said: --Unless I'm greatly mistaken. What do you think, Martin? --It struck me too, Martin Cunningham said. Mr Bloom set his thigh down. Glad I took that bath. Feel my feet quite clean. But I wish Mrs Fleming had darned these socks better. Mr Dedalus

Micawber, the very picture of tranquil enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber's conversation, eating walnuts out of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket. As they did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to see them. So, with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a by-street that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole, relieved that they were gone; though I still liked them very much, nevertheless. CHAPTER 18 A RETROSPECT My school-days! The silent gliding on of my existence - the unseen, unfelt progress of my life - from childhood up to youth! Let me think, as I look back upon that flowing water, now a dry channel overgrown with leaves, whether there are any marks along its course, by which I can remember how it ran. A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where we all went together, every Sunday morning,

And when the snowy afternoon came, Jo resolved to try what could be done. She saw Mr. Lawrence drive off, and then sallied out to dig her way down to the hedge, where she paused and took a survey. All quiet, curtains down at the lower windows, servants out of sight, and nothing human visible but a curly black head leaning on a thin hand at the upper window. "There he is," thought Jo, "Poor boy! All alone and sick this dismal day. It's a shame! I'll toss up a snowball and make him look out, and then say a kind word to him." Up went a handful of soft snow, and the head turned at once, showing a face which lost its listless look in a minute, as the big eyes brightened and the mouth began to smile. Jo nodded and

sisters would hear. "Why?" asked Meg kindly, for Jo had gone off in another laugh at Amy's second blunder. "I need it so much. I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be my turn to have the rag money for a month." "In debt, Amy? What do you mean?" And Meg looked sober. "Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes, and I can't pay them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee forbade my having anything charged at the shop." "Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls." And Meg tried to keep her countenance, Amy looked so grave and important. "Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless you want to be thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing but limes now, for everyone is sucking them in their desks in schooltime, and trading

or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."' `I think I should understand that better,' Alice said very politely, `if I had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it.' `That's nothing to what I could say if I chose,' the Duchess replied, in a pleased tone. `Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,' said Alice. `Oh, don't talk about trouble!' said the Duchess. `I make you a present of everything I've said as yet.' `A cheap sort of present!' thought Alice. `I'm glad they don't give birthday presents like that!' But she did not venture to say it out loud. `Thinking again?' the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp little chin. `I've a right to think,' said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to feel a little worried. `Just about as much right,'

heightened the romantic effects of the scenery, as it threw a red dusky gleam upon the rocks and on the foliage of the trees, leaving heavy masses of shade and regions of obscurity, which the eye feared to penetrate. They were preparing their supper; a large pot stood by the fire, over which several figures were busy. The blaze discovered a rude kind of tent, round which many children and dogs were playing, and the whole formed a picture highly grotesque. The travellers saw plainly their danger. Valancourt was silent, but laid his hand on one of St. Aubert's pistols; St. Aubert drew forth another, and Michael was ordered to proceed as fast as possible. They passed the place, however, without being attacked; the rovers being probably unprepared for the opportunity, and too busy about their supper to feel much interest, at the moment, in any thing besides. After a league and a half more, passed in darkness, the travellers arrived at Beaujeu, and drove up to the only inn the

tried to crawl to his driver. By convulsive efforts he got on his feet, staggered, and fell. Then he wormed his way forward slowly toward where the harnesses were being put on his mates. He would advance his fore legs and drag up his body with a sort of hitching movement, when he would advance his fore legs and hitch ahead again for a few more inches. His strength left him, and the 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

America. You were chosen, doubtless, as resembling her in height, figure, and the color of your hair. Hers had been cut off, very possibly in some illness through which she has passed, and so, of course, yours had to be sacrificed also. By a curious chance you came upon her tresses. The man in the road was undoubtedly some friend of hers--possibly her fiance--and no doubt, as you wore the girl's dress and were so like her, he was convinced from your laughter, whenever he saw you, and afterwards from your gesture, that Miss Rucastle was perfectly happy, and that she no longer desired his attentions. The dog is let loose at night to prevent him from endeavoring to communicate with her. So much is fairly clear. The most serious point in the case is

in New York within days, texting me that he wanted me, that I needed to stop playing with him. I told him I would when he dropped the short. He told me that was impossible, that he had too much evidence against us. He sent me pictures of his trunk-like cock, which I deleted. His desire was thick, dizzying, distracting. But it wasn’t enough. Orson was still in his and Emily’s bedroom in the Enner house, claiming that he would spend the next two months in isolation in order to achieve his next “awakening.” Many NuLifers were doing the same thing, dispatching one unworthy member of each Enner house to do the cleaning and get the groceries while the rest tried to think in step with Orson, to predict what he would do next. I went up to the

guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really? "Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd." *** What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour. "I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back." "No!" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere." They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else, just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor. "It's here -- just here -- yes!" They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the

lunchtime. "Stop, you vandals! You home wreckers!" bawled Arthur. "You half crazed Visigoths, stop will you!" Ford would have to go after him. Turning quickly to the barman he asked for four packets of peanuts. "There you are sir," said the barman, slapping the packets on the bar, "twenty-eight pence if you'd be so kind." Ford was very kind - he gave the barman another five-pound note and told him to keep the change. The barman looked at it and then looked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentary sensation that he didn't understand because no one on Earth had ever experienced it before. In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny sublimal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth. On Earth it is never possible to be further than sixteen thousand miles

channeled and making their way around them. It was heady, this well of strength, it made her head spin. “Will me to life. Say it. Say I live.” “Words are ritual, gestures are spells,” she muttered, dazed. “Yes.” Her pulse drummed madly. They’d done exactly what he wanted anyway. Drawn his runes, played his game. She had not given in to fear but still she’d bent to his will. One way or another, as he’d promised. Dancing to his tune, following the steps he traced… “Momo!” “Complete my ritual.” A thought cleaved her mind. His runes, his ritual. He’d stolen bits of knowledge, remade it, remixed it, took from here and there. He’d painted a canvas, but he had not invented colors. Even now, even this spell they were completing was not how the original ritual would have gone. It was not the

dis-agree-ments. Do. Arise. “I love it when something tasty ARISES. Don’t you?” A fat wink, white teeth flashing. She only comes alive in front of the crowd. Vic was never a hooker. She was never a hitman either, whatever you may have heard. She never ran guns out of Lisbon and she never divorced a billionaire. She was a televangelist. It’s not even a secret, yet somehow no one knows but me. “AND TONIGHT…we have something a little special to whet your appetite. Oh YES WE DO.” The cage slides into place, and the door opens with a massive crash. “A DUEL! For the honour of—well now. I wonder. WHICH OF YOU WILL STEP INTO THE CAGE?” The spotlight picks out the heroes and they love it. She jumps on him, wraps her legs around his hips and drives her tongue into his mouth, then bucks off again and raises his hand in hers: “WE DO EVERYTHING…TOGETHER!” Vic

resisted making a joke about giving me some tip and mourned a future in which I would not be tits up to a Red Lobster bar, slurping seductively on a Berry Mango Daiquiri, trying to bone a dude who smells like Clamato and is young enough to be my son. The hot bar “What kind of person am I going to be today?” I think to myself as I sidle up to the salad bar at the local Overpriced Fresh Vegetable Emporium, my single seltzer (do I wish it was a Diet Coke? I absolutely do, but they don’t sell that poison here) and modestly sized square of wholesome dark chocolate (revolting!) rolling around my basket. Salad bars offer the opportunity to reinvent yourself in the time it takes to wolf down a bowl of damp lettuce while hunched over the important papers strewn across your desk, or during the

arrested me on the spot-- and with a shock much greater than any vision had allowed for-- was the sense that my imagination had, in a flash, turned real. He did stand there!--but high up, beyond the lawn and at the very top of the tower to which, on that first morning, little Flora had conducted me. This tower was one of a pair--square, incongruous, crenelated structures-- that were distinguished, for some reason, though I could see little difference, as the new and the old. They flanked opposite ends of the house and were probably architectural absurdities, redeemed in a measure indeed by not being wholly disengaged nor of a height too pretentious, dating, in their gingerbread antiquity, from a romantic revival that was already a respectable past. I

disobeying my mind and without consciously making the decision, I turned around. He was there. Josef. The snow falling gently on his head and shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I could have sworn the books on the shelves sighed too. The bookshop had let him in when I had first escaped St Agnes’s and needed him the most. Now he had returned, everything felt hopeful again. He stepped closer to the window and I followed. We were separated only by the thinnest pane of glass. My eyes searched his eyes, his lips, his entire frame. Was he real? ‘Are you going to let me in?’ he asked, a lopsided smile on his face. ‘It’s a little cold.’ I burst out laughing and it sounded like

doctor like she had a juicy secret. “Her father is a very prominent cardiothoracic surgeon,” she said, as if that might somehow earn me a pass. Then, with all the confidence of a woman whose biggest accomplishment was being married to a very prominent cardiothoracic surgeon, she stated: “Richard Montgomery.” Dr. Estrera took that in like a random pleasantry he was too polite to ignore. “Yes. I’ve met him on several occasions.” He turned back to me. “It’s an elective procedure, in the sense that you can schedule it at your convenience. But I’d recommend sooner rather than later.” “How can brain surgery be an elective procedure?” I asked. Botox was an elective procedure. Tummy tucks. Tonsillectomies. “I’ll have to refer you to scheduling,” Dr. Estrera went on, “but we can probably get it done in the next few weeks.” The next few weeks! Uh, no. That wouldn’t work. I

and throw it at her. At the front of the store, someone is whooping. “We Are the Champions” starts to play over phone speakers. “Wow,” Sabrina says, tossing a couple of blueberries into her mouth. “They win again. Who would’ve thought?” “How is Kimmy even alive,” I ask, “let alone whooping and cheering?” “I don’t know, dude. She’s superhuman,” Cleo says. “Plus, she woke me up to tell me about the body shots, and I took the opportunity to pour three gallons of water into her mouth.” Her brow arches. “Kind of surprised Wyn didn’t think to do that for you. He was totally sober when I went to bed.” I busy myself with another package of blueberries. “Aha!” I spin back. “See that? Mold.” “Every rose has its thorn,” Sabrina says, angling our cart back toward the front of the shop. “Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song.”

hoe in her hand. She called out eagerly, ‘Tina!’ Tina stood up slowly, her pale hair across her face. Minnie rushed across to the small gate that led to the separate patches of soil, weaving past flowers and newly sprouting vegetables to where Tina was standing, wearing overalls and wellington boots. She put a hand to her head. ‘These bloody weeds won’t get the better of me – I’ve been at it since seven this morning.’ Minnie surveyed the neat rows, the bright orange nasturtiums next to newly growing French beans and courgettes. ‘It’s all looking good.’ ‘So it should, the amount of time I spend here.’ Tina wiped soil from her hands. ‘I’m going to Odile’s – come with me. I’m meeting Josie and Lin and Cecily.’ Tina pulled a face. ‘Like this?’ ‘You live minutes away – we can pop to yours and you can change into shoes.

who represented the hated authority of the ship. Two of their number had gone down before the captain's revolver. They lay where they had fallen between the combatants. But then the first mate lunged forward upon his face, and at a cry of command from Black Michael the mutineers charged the remaining four. The crew had been able to muster but six firearms, so most of them were armed with boat hooks, axes, hatchets and crowbars. The captain had emptied his revolver and was reloading as the charge was made. The second mate's gun had jammed, and so there were but two weapons opposed to the mutineers as they bore down upon the officers, who now started to give back before the infuriated rush of their men. Both sides were cursing and swearing in a frightful manner, which, together with the reports of the firearms

guess it doesn’t do the trick for him either, because within minutes, he’s pacing. He rakes his hands through his hair as he walks in circles around the space, sweat brimming along his forehead. “If only you’d brought your coffee-table book.” Wyn looks abruptly back at me, eyes sharply appraising. “Then we’d have something to look at,” I say. His brow arches, tugging on his lip. “What do you have against my coffee- table book, Harriet?” “Nothing.” “Did you suffer some kind of coffee-table-book-related trauma in the last five months?” “That thing cost sixty dollars,” I say. He shakes his head, goes back to pacing. “Is it a gift?” I say. “Why would it be a gift?” he says. Not an answer. “Because you never spend that kind of money on yourself,” I say. The tops of his cheeks flush a little, and I really, really regret asking now. We

swallow, fighting the small knot of emotion that catches in my throat—“I like the glass wall. Maybe we could ask her to incorporate it into the house a little more sympathetically.” Christian grins. “Sure. Whatever you want. What about the plans for upstairs and the basement?” “I’m cool with those.” “Good.” Okay... I steel myself to ask the million-dollar question. “Do you want to put in a playroom?” I feel the oh-so-familiar flush creep up my face as I ask. Christian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you?” he replies, surprised and amused at once. I shrug. “Um... if you want.” He regards me for a moment. “Let’s leave our options open for the moment. After all, this will be a family home.” I’m surprised by

from her womb.

think it was Christopher C'lumbus discovering Kingdom-Come. I wish Tom Sawyer WAS here." Jim he grumbled a little, but give in. He said we mustn't talk any more than we could help, and then talk mighty low. The lightning showed us the wreck again just in time, and we fetched the stabboard derrick, and made fast there. The deck was high out here. We went sneaking down the slope of it to labboard, in the dark, towards the texas, feeling our way slow with our feet, and spreading our hands out to fend off the guys, for it was so dark we couldn't see no sign of them. Pretty soon we struck the forward end of the skylight, and clumb on to it; and the next

at Ha'penny Lane with renewed purpose. I looked around the shop, at the rich green walls and the little Tiffany lamps shedding their colourful glow on all the treasures that had held their breath, waiting for the doors to reopen after Mr Fitzpatrick’s death. It almost felt like Sleeping Beauty’s room in the tower and I needed to find the spell to waken her. I had insisted on keeping all of Mr Fitzpatrick’s stock, for the shop would have looked bare with only my small bookcase of titles to furnish it, yet I had no idea how these two ideas would merge. I first looked at the window display, which hadn’t changed in all the time the shop had been closed. If I wanted to entice customers inside, I had to use my imagination.

casually halfway across the room. I held up a Just one minute finger and slipped back through the hall into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly when the door was shut. If I was a mess, I couldn’t imagine how Liv was holding up. “Have you talked to Cassidy?” “A little. She texted. I haven’t … I wanted to talk to you first,” Liv said carefully. “About Stahl?” I asked. “No. Not exactly.” She took a steadying breath. “I did something.” “Liv, you’re kind of freaking me out,” I told her. “What do you mean, you did something? What did you do?” Her words sank through me, sharp and unforgiving. “I found Persephone.” I hadn’t opened the box in years. Through several moves, assorted boyfriends and girlfriends, and three therapists, the box

businesses received during the pandemic to keep them afloat. But every application was rejected; every answer was no. And so, now, there was only one thing left to do. I sat down at my desk in the director’s office, picked up the heavy black phone that had been on this desk—remarkably—since the camp opened in the late 1940s, and dialed Rock Springs, our brother all-boys camp just down the river. Our finances weren’t tied together, but our fates were. Brothers and sisters and friends attended these two camps. We had events together all summer long. I didn’t expect Rich to answer, but I recognized his voice right away when he did. “Rich, it’s June.” “Oh, hi,” he said. I could hear him brighten, and I wanted to yell, This isn’t a happy call! I sighed. “This isn’t a call I wanted to make, Rich,

bent on some deception. I was jacket, trundled back again into his old place against the bul- prompt with my answer, however, for I saw where my advan- wark. tage lay and that with a fellow so densely stupid I could easily This was all that I required to know. Israel could move conceal my suspicions to the end. about, he was now armed, and if he had been at so much “Some wine?” I said. “Far better. Will you have white or trouble to get rid of me, it was plain that I was meant to be red?” the victim. What he would do afterwards— whether he would “Well, I reckon it’s about the blessed same to me, ship- try to crawl right across the island from North Inlet to

spend days and nights in vaults and charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings. I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused, examining and analysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change from life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me --a light so brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so many men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a secret. Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not more certainly

Until he received the knock on the door himself, he had no idea how deep the grief could go. The day Kelly buried his own son at Arlington National Cemetery, he described the feeling of emptiness in his heart. He arrived at an answer to the question other parents asked themselves in mourning. Was it worth it? “Robert volunteered to risk everything—including himself—to serve our country,” Kelly explained. “So was it worth his life? That wasn’t up to me. My son answered the question for me.” When it came time to deliver options on Afghanistan, Kelly was worried that Trump was unprepared. The thick briefing memo that had landed on the president’s desk was beyond the man’s comprehension or reading ability, truly. I was asked to boil the fifty- or sixty-page document down to a page or two—in the president’s voice. So overnight in my office, I stayed awake writing a Wikipedia-style 101 about why America was in Afghanistan and what was at stake, all in the Trumpian vernacular.

This day promised, like the others, to be a sunbath under a blue dome. The beach stretched away before them in a gentle curve till perspective drew it into one with the forest; for the day was not advanced enough to be obscured by the shifting veils of mirage. Under Ralph's direction, they picked up a careful way along the palm terrace, rather than dare the hot sand down by the water. He let Jack lead the way; and Jack trod with theatrical caution though they could have seen an enemy twenty yards away. Ralph walked in the rear, thankful to have escaped responsibility for a time. Simon, walking in front of Ralph, felt a flicker of incredulity--a beast with claws that scratched, that sat on a mountain-top, that left no tracks and yet was not fast enough to catch Samneric. However Simon thought of the beast, there rose before

and suggestion is warning her that what she is doing will deform her vision and her soul. Michael says, “Aleem has seen a lawyer.” “What do you mean?” “The GPS record for his Cadillac Escalade is accessible to me. Yesterday, Aleem parked for forty-seven minutes at the building occupied by Bucklin and Aimes, a law firm that vigorously defends gangbangers like them. He’s got another appointment there today.” “This has something to do with me?” “Mr. Bucklin enters notes about meetings on his laptop. In this case, I don’t respect attorney-client privilege. I snooped. Aleem was there to discuss what paternal rights he has regarding John.” Nina’s heart quickens. “Rights? None. He has no rights. What dime did he ever give me? What birthday did he bring John a present? None. He’s never as much as spoken to the boy.” “It’s not that simple. The law doesn’t always

death-camp doctor. If they take John, they will bring to bear their formidable powers of persuasion and intimidation as well as all the temptations of the flesh to turn him, warp him, corrupt him. He’ll resist. He is a good kid. But he is only a kid. And even if he resists to the point where they lose patience with him, he’ll end up in an unmarked grave. Such deranged men mock virtue, but in fact they fear it and won’t long tolerate its presence among them. As a gang boss, Aleem can’t afford for his legions to reach the conclusion that from his seed has sprung a young man of integrity and rectitude. Earlier this very day, he had said, I’ll kill you ’fore I see you brought down from a full man to some pathetic crawlin’ thing that shames me ’fore the world. That had not just been roo-rah. He meant it. Likewise, she entertains no illusions about her own fate

receive her, offering his assistance, as far as it would go. But he found Lydia absolutely resolved on remaining where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she wanted no help of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when. Since such were her feelings, it only remained, he thought, to secure and expedite a marriage, which, in his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt had never been his design. He confessed himself obliged to leave the regiment, on account of some debts of honour, which were very pressing; and scrupled not to lay all the ill-consequences of Lydia's flight on her own folly alone. He meant to resign his commission immediately; and as to his future situation, he could conjecture very little about it. He

accordingly. The suspicious circumstances, however, resolving themselves,

gentleman, just like me!" 11 When we were small, Jem and I confined our activities to the southern neighborhood, but when I was well into the second grade at school and tormenting Boo Radley became passe, the business section of Maycomb drew us frequently up the street past the real property of Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose. It was impossible to go to town without passing her house unless we wished to walk a mile out of the way. Previous minor encounters with her left me with no desire for more, but Jem said I had to grow up some time. Mrs. Dubose lived alone except for a Negro girl in constant attendance, two doors up the street from us in a house with steep front steps and a dog-trot hall. She was very old; she spent most of each day in bed and

wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native country, we may reap every tranquil blessing--what can disturb our peace?" And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of