Irene Sheri paintings
Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky paintings
Il'ya Repin paintings
to write one in Latin. And so for Poxe and Edward the matter ended.
One thing I feel should be added. It is merely an incident that may be of no significance but which may explain much that seems improbable. I was told it in an intimate moment by Anne, who is married to the Warden, and of whom many stories are told. This is what she said, that on the night when Mr. Curtis died, she ran in a high state of emotion to her husband, the Warden, and cried, “Oh why, why did you kill him? I never really loved him.”
She stopped, seeing the Dean there also. He, a gentleman, rose to go, but the Warden detained him. And then Anne, falling on her knees, pounded out a tale of the most monstrous and unsuspected transactions between herself and Mr. Curtis.
“Supposing there were a trial,” asked the Warden, “could this be kept a secret?”
The Dean doubted gravely whether this would be possible.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky paintings
Ivan Constantinovich Aivazovsky paintings
Il'ya Repin paintings
Igor V.Babailov paintings
into believing so, but there is one House that is more exclusive, more arrogantly self-confident, more self-contained, than any other. The House has many exclusive points of etiquette that the out-houses look on with contempt or resentment. They have largely their own slang, a great many of their own customs, and above all an unshakable contempt for the corps and all its machinations. Every flight of Inspection-day oratory leaves them the same, and even when all over the country militarism was all powerful, when soldiers drilled on the Christ Church quads at Oxford, they kept up their contempt with unmitigated bitterness. And then came Ross. A prefect, an excellent all round athlete, with a high place in the Classical sixth, he had remained quite a nonentity until he returned at the beginning of the Easter term to find himself head of the House, now demoralized and bereft of all its earlier dignity.
He had to take the entire manageof the House into his own hands, and very soon he made himself felt. He stopped people getting “orders” for confectionery from their temporary housemaster, he stopped people getting leaves off Clubs & Parades
Il'ya Repin paintings
Igor V.Babailov paintings
into believing so, but there is one House that is more exclusive, more arrogantly self-confident, more self-contained, than any other. The House has many exclusive points of etiquette that the out-houses look on with contempt or resentment. They have largely their own slang, a great many of their own customs, and above all an unshakable contempt for the corps and all its machinations. Every flight of Inspection-day oratory leaves them the same, and even when all over the country militarism was all powerful, when soldiers drilled on the Christ Church quads at Oxford, they kept up their contempt with unmitigated bitterness. And then came Ross. A prefect, an excellent all round athlete, with a high place in the Classical sixth, he had remained quite a nonentity until he returned at the beginning of the Easter term to find himself head of the House, now demoralized and bereft of all its earlier dignity.
He had to take the entire manageof the House into his own hands, and very soon he made himself felt. He stopped people getting “orders” for confectionery from their temporary housemaster, he stopped people getting leaves off Clubs & Parades
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Alexandre Cabanel Fallen Angel painting
Alexandre Cabanel Fallen Angel paintingAlexandre Cabanel Cleopatra Testing Poisons on Condemned Prisoners paintingJoaquin Sorolla y Bastida Beaching the Boat (study) painting
When he had finished the recital she said, “Well, I reckon it shouldn’t be hard to fix you up. Go by the Underground.”
Blacker despair in Scott-King’s haunted face told Miss Bombaum that she had not made herself clear.
“You’ve surely heard of the Underground? It’s”—she quoted from one of her recent articles on the subject—“it’s an alternative map of Europe, like a tracing overlying all the established frontiers and routes of communication. It’s the new world taking shape below the surface of the old. It’s the new ultra-national citizenship.”
“Well I’m blessed.”
“Look, I can’t stop now. Be here this evening and I’ll take you to see the key man.”
That afternoon, his last, as it turned out, in Bellacita, Scott-King received his first caller. He had gone to his room to sleep through the heat of
When he had finished the recital she said, “Well, I reckon it shouldn’t be hard to fix you up. Go by the Underground.”
Blacker despair in Scott-King’s haunted face told Miss Bombaum that she had not made herself clear.
“You’ve surely heard of the Underground? It’s”—she quoted from one of her recent articles on the subject—“it’s an alternative map of Europe, like a tracing overlying all the established frontiers and routes of communication. It’s the new world taking shape below the surface of the old. It’s the new ultra-national citizenship.”
“Well I’m blessed.”
“Look, I can’t stop now. Be here this evening and I’ll take you to see the key man.”
That afternoon, his last, as it turned out, in Bellacita, Scott-King received his first caller. He had gone to his room to sleep through the heat of
Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with Cypresses painting
Vincent van Gogh Cornfield with Cypresses paintingUnknown Artist Ford Smith Just Between Us paintingUnknown Artist Apple Tree with Red Fruit painting
The type was tied up in little bags. They poured it out, each bagful into the tray provided for it in the worn oak tray.
“Now for the press. This looks like the base.”
It took them two hours to rebuild. When at last it was assembled, it looked small, far too small for the number and size of the cases in which it had travelled. The main cast-iron supports terminated in brass Corinthian capitals and the summit was embellished with a brass urn bearing the engraved date 1824. The common labour, the problems and discoveries, of erection had drawn the two together; now they surveyed its completion in common pride. Tamplin was forgotten.
“It’s a lovely thing, sir. Could you print a book on it?”
“It would take time. Thank you very much for your help. And now,” Mr. Graves looked at his watch, “as, through some grave miscarriage of justice, you are not on the Settle, I expect you have no engagement for tea. See what you can find in the locker.”
The mention of the Settle disturbed their intimacy. Mr. Graves repeated the mistake a few minutes later when they had boiled the kettle and were making toast on the gas-ring
The type was tied up in little bags. They poured it out, each bagful into the tray provided for it in the worn oak tray.
“Now for the press. This looks like the base.”
It took them two hours to rebuild. When at last it was assembled, it looked small, far too small for the number and size of the cases in which it had travelled. The main cast-iron supports terminated in brass Corinthian capitals and the summit was embellished with a brass urn bearing the engraved date 1824. The common labour, the problems and discoveries, of erection had drawn the two together; now they surveyed its completion in common pride. Tamplin was forgotten.
“It’s a lovely thing, sir. Could you print a book on it?”
“It would take time. Thank you very much for your help. And now,” Mr. Graves looked at his watch, “as, through some grave miscarriage of justice, you are not on the Settle, I expect you have no engagement for tea. See what you can find in the locker.”
The mention of the Settle disturbed their intimacy. Mr. Graves repeated the mistake a few minutes later when they had boiled the kettle and were making toast on the gas-ring
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Rene Magritte The Dangerous Liaison painting
Rene Magritte The Dangerous Liaison paintingRene Magritte Homesickness paintingRene Magritte High Society painting
attentively you will note that the down train was four minutes late at Frasham. There was thus ample time for the disposal of the bicycle bell. Yours faithfully, John Plant,” she quoted.
“Did I write that?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Vaguely. It was about The Frightened Footman, wasn’t it?”
“Mm. Of course I knew perfectly well about the train. I just wrote in the hopes of getting an answer and it worked. I liked you for being so severe. There was another girl at school was literary too, and she had a crush on Gilbert Warwick. He wrote her three pages beginning, My Dear Anthea, all about his house and the tithe barn he’s turned into his workroom and ending, Write to me again; I hope you like Silvia as much as Heather, those were two of his heroines, and she thought it showed what a better writer he was than you, but I knew just the opposite. And later Anthea did write again, and she had another long letter just like the first all about his tithe barn, and that made her very cynical. So I wrote to you again to show how different you were.”
attentively you will note that the down train was four minutes late at Frasham. There was thus ample time for the disposal of the bicycle bell. Yours faithfully, John Plant,” she quoted.
“Did I write that?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Vaguely. It was about The Frightened Footman, wasn’t it?”
“Mm. Of course I knew perfectly well about the train. I just wrote in the hopes of getting an answer and it worked. I liked you for being so severe. There was another girl at school was literary too, and she had a crush on Gilbert Warwick. He wrote her three pages beginning, My Dear Anthea, all about his house and the tithe barn he’s turned into his workroom and ending, Write to me again; I hope you like Silvia as much as Heather, those were two of his heroines, and she thought it showed what a better writer he was than you, but I knew just the opposite. And later Anthea did write again, and she had another long letter just like the first all about his tithe barn, and that made her very cynical. So I wrote to you again to show how different you were.”
Monday, September 22, 2008
Pablo Picasso Weeping Woman with Handkerchief painting
Pablo Picasso Weeping Woman with Handkerchief paintingPablo Picasso Three Women paintingPablo Picasso Three Dancers painting
spend—a superstitious precaution which still survived from the first evening, when memories of Marseilles and Naples had even moved me to carry a preserver. The Moulay Abdullah was an orderly place, particularly in the early evening when I frequented it. I had formed an attachment for it; it was the only place of its kind I have ever found, which endowed its trade with something approaching glamour. There really was a memory of “the East,” as adolescents imagine it, in that silent courtyard with its single light, the Negro sentries on either side of the lofty Moorish arch, the black lane beyond, between the walls and the waterwheel, full of the thump and stumble of French military boots and the soft pad and rustle of the natives, the second arch into the lighted bazaar, the bright open doors and the tiled patios, the little one-roomed huts where the women stood against the lamplight—shadows without race or age—the larger houses with their bars and gramophones. I always visited the same house and the same girl—a chubby little Berber with the scarred cheeks of her people and tattooed ornaments—blue on brown—at her forehead and throat. She spoke the peculiar French which she had picked up from the soldiers and she went by
spend—a superstitious precaution which still survived from the first evening, when memories of Marseilles and Naples had even moved me to carry a preserver. The Moulay Abdullah was an orderly place, particularly in the early evening when I frequented it. I had formed an attachment for it; it was the only place of its kind I have ever found, which endowed its trade with something approaching glamour. There really was a memory of “the East,” as adolescents imagine it, in that silent courtyard with its single light, the Negro sentries on either side of the lofty Moorish arch, the black lane beyond, between the walls and the waterwheel, full of the thump and stumble of French military boots and the soft pad and rustle of the natives, the second arch into the lighted bazaar, the bright open doors and the tiled patios, the little one-roomed huts where the women stood against the lamplight—shadows without race or age—the larger houses with their bars and gramophones. I always visited the same house and the same girl—a chubby little Berber with the scarred cheeks of her people and tattooed ornaments—blue on brown—at her forehead and throat. She spoke the peculiar French which she had picked up from the soldiers and she went by
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ painting
Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ paintingPaul Gauguin The Vision After the Sermon paintingPaul Gauguin The Siesta painting
constant Saturday to Monday entertaining. There was the sale, at a poor price, of two Romneys and a Hoppner.
Mrs. Kent-Cumberland watched all this with mingled pride and anxiety. In particular she scrutinized the succession of girls who came to stay, in the irreconcilable, ever present fears that Gervase would or would not marry. Either conclusion seemed perilous; a wife for Gervase must be well-born, well-conducted, rich, of stainless reputation, and affectionately disposed to Mrs. Kent-Cumberland; such a mate seemed difficult to find. The estate was clear of the mortgages necessitated by death duties, but dividends were uncertain, and though, as she frequently pointed out, she “never interfered,” simple arithmetic and her own close experience of domestic convinced her that Gervase would not long be able to support the scale of living which he had introduced.
With so much on her mind, it was inevitable that Mrs. Kent-Cumberland should think a great deal about Tomb and very little about South Australia, and should be rudely
constant Saturday to Monday entertaining. There was the sale, at a poor price, of two Romneys and a Hoppner.
Mrs. Kent-Cumberland watched all this with mingled pride and anxiety. In particular she scrutinized the succession of girls who came to stay, in the irreconcilable, ever present fears that Gervase would or would not marry. Either conclusion seemed perilous; a wife for Gervase must be well-born, well-conducted, rich, of stainless reputation, and affectionately disposed to Mrs. Kent-Cumberland; such a mate seemed difficult to find. The estate was clear of the mortgages necessitated by death duties, but dividends were uncertain, and though, as she frequently pointed out, she “never interfered,” simple arithmetic and her own close experience of domestic convinced her that Gervase would not long be able to support the scale of living which he had introduced.
With so much on her mind, it was inevitable that Mrs. Kent-Cumberland should think a great deal about Tomb and very little about South Australia, and should be rudely
Friday, September 19, 2008
Raphael Saint George and the Dragon painting
Raphael Saint George and the Dragon paintingPablo Picasso The Old Guitarist paintingPablo Picasso Girl Before a Mirror painting
do,” said Alastair and, turning a corner sharply, ran, broadside on, into a mail van that was thundering down Shaftesbury Avenue at forty-five miles an hour.
When Rip stood up, dazed but, as far as he could judge, without specific injury, he was scarcely at all surprised to observe that both cars had disappeared.
There was so much else to surprise him; a light breeze, a clear, star-filled sky, a wide horizon unobscured by buildings. The moon, in her last quarter, hung low above a grove of trees, illumined a slope of hummocky turf and a herd of sheep, peacefully cropping the sedge near Piccadilly Circus and, beyond, was reflected in a still pool, pierced here and there with reed.
Instinctively, for his head and eyes were still aflame from the wine he had drunk and there was a dry, stale taste in his mouth, Rip approached the water. His evening shoes sank deeper with each step and he paused, uncertain. The entrance of the Underground Station was there, transformed into a Piranesi ruin; a black aperture tufted about with fern and some crumbling steps leading down to black water. Eros had gone, but the pedestal
do,” said Alastair and, turning a corner sharply, ran, broadside on, into a mail van that was thundering down Shaftesbury Avenue at forty-five miles an hour.
When Rip stood up, dazed but, as far as he could judge, without specific injury, he was scarcely at all surprised to observe that both cars had disappeared.
There was so much else to surprise him; a light breeze, a clear, star-filled sky, a wide horizon unobscured by buildings. The moon, in her last quarter, hung low above a grove of trees, illumined a slope of hummocky turf and a herd of sheep, peacefully cropping the sedge near Piccadilly Circus and, beyond, was reflected in a still pool, pierced here and there with reed.
Instinctively, for his head and eyes were still aflame from the wine he had drunk and there was a dry, stale taste in his mouth, Rip approached the water. His evening shoes sank deeper with each step and he paused, uncertain. The entrance of the Underground Station was there, transformed into a Piranesi ruin; a black aperture tufted about with fern and some crumbling steps leading down to black water. Eros had gone, but the pedestal
John Singer Sargent El Jaleo painting
John Singer Sargent El Jaleo paintingRembrandt Susanna and the Elders paintingRembrandt History Painting painting
what we all feel about the teller. But that can wait. You’ll have plenty of time to settle up when we’ve got Miss Brooks safe. That is our first duty.”
Thus exhorted, public opinion again rallied to Prunella, and the urgency of her case was dramatically emphasized two days later by the arrival at the American Consulate of the Baptist missionary’s right ear loosely done up in newspaper and string. The men of the colony—excluding, of course, the remittance man—got together in the Lepperidge bungalow and formed a committee of defence, first to protect the women who were still left to them and then to rescue Miss Brooks at whatever personal inconvenience or risk.
The first demand for ransom came through the agency of Mr. Youkoumian. The little Armenian was already well known and, on the whole, well liked by the English community; it did them good to find a foreigner who so completely fulfilled their ideal of all that a
what we all feel about the teller. But that can wait. You’ll have plenty of time to settle up when we’ve got Miss Brooks safe. That is our first duty.”
Thus exhorted, public opinion again rallied to Prunella, and the urgency of her case was dramatically emphasized two days later by the arrival at the American Consulate of the Baptist missionary’s right ear loosely done up in newspaper and string. The men of the colony—excluding, of course, the remittance man—got together in the Lepperidge bungalow and formed a committee of defence, first to protect the women who were still left to them and then to rescue Miss Brooks at whatever personal inconvenience or risk.
The first demand for ransom came through the agency of Mr. Youkoumian. The little Armenian was already well known and, on the whole, well liked by the English community; it did them good to find a foreigner who so completely fulfilled their ideal of all that a
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MORNING painting
Thomas Kinkade HOMETOWN MORNING paintingThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS paintingWinslow Homer The Houses of Parliament painting
ate irregular and improbable meals, bowling through the suburbs in Sir James’s car, pacing the carpet dictating to Miss Dawkins, perched in deserted lots upon scenery which seemed made to survive the collapse of civilization. He lapsed, like Miss Grits, into brief spells of death-like unconsciousness, often awakening, startled, to find that a street or desert or factory had come into being about him while he slept.
The film meanwhile grew rapidly, daily putting out new shoots and changing under their eyes in a hundred unexpected ways. Each conference produced some radical change in the story. Miss Grits in her precise, unvariable voice would read out the fruits of their work. Sir James would sit with his head in his hand, rocking slightly from side to side and giving vent to occasional low moans and whimpers; round him sat the experts—production, direction, casting, continuity, cutting and costing managers, bright eyes, eager to attract the great man’s attention with some apt intrusion.
ate irregular and improbable meals, bowling through the suburbs in Sir James’s car, pacing the carpet dictating to Miss Dawkins, perched in deserted lots upon scenery which seemed made to survive the collapse of civilization. He lapsed, like Miss Grits, into brief spells of death-like unconsciousness, often awakening, startled, to find that a street or desert or factory had come into being about him while he slept.
The film meanwhile grew rapidly, daily putting out new shoots and changing under their eyes in a hundred unexpected ways. Each conference produced some radical change in the story. Miss Grits in her precise, unvariable voice would read out the fruits of their work. Sir James would sit with his head in his hand, rocking slightly from side to side and giving vent to occasional low moans and whimpers; round him sat the experts—production, direction, casting, continuity, cutting and costing managers, bright eyes, eager to attract the great man’s attention with some apt intrusion.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Vincent van Gogh Poppies 1886 painting
Vincent van Gogh Poppies 1886 paintingHenri Matisse Goldfish paintingHenri Matisse Blue Nude I 1952 painting
THE COCKATRICE CLUB 2.30 A.M.
A CENTRE OF LONDON NIGHT life.
The “Art title” shows a still of a champagne bottle, glasses, and a comic mask—or is it yawning?
“Oh, Gladys, it’s begun; I knew we’d be late.”
“Never mind, dear, I can see the way. Oh, I say—I am sorry. Thought the seat was empty—really I did.”
Erotic giggling and a slight struggle.
“Give over, can’t you, and let me get by—saucy kid.”
“’Ere you are, Gladys, there’s two seats ’ere.”
“Well I never—tried to make me sit on ’is knee.”
“Go on. I say, Gladys, what sort of picture is this—is it comic?”
The screen is almost completely dark as though the film has been greatly over-exposed. Fitful but brilliant illumination reveals a large crowd dancing, talking and eating.
“No, Ada—that’s lightning. I dare say it’s a desert storm. I see a picture like that the other day with Fred.”
EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY.
THE COCKATRICE CLUB 2.30 A.M.
A CENTRE OF LONDON NIGHT life.
The “Art title” shows a still of a champagne bottle, glasses, and a comic mask—or is it yawning?
“Oh, Gladys, it’s begun; I knew we’d be late.”
“Never mind, dear, I can see the way. Oh, I say—I am sorry. Thought the seat was empty—really I did.”
Erotic giggling and a slight struggle.
“Give over, can’t you, and let me get by—saucy kid.”
“’Ere you are, Gladys, there’s two seats ’ere.”
“Well I never—tried to make me sit on ’is knee.”
“Go on. I say, Gladys, what sort of picture is this—is it comic?”
The screen is almost completely dark as though the film has been greatly over-exposed. Fitful but brilliant illumination reveals a large crowd dancing, talking and eating.
“No, Ada—that’s lightning. I dare say it’s a desert storm. I see a picture like that the other day with Fred.”
EVERYBODY LOVES MY BABY.
Claude Monet Argenteuil painting
Claude Monet Argenteuil paintingFabian Perez Valencia paintingFabian Perez Sophia painting
Knockout—She's beautiful, she's confident, and she knows how to get what she wants. All eyes are on her when she walks into a room. Mucho points for a man's ego. Other men wish they could have her and women are slightly intimidated by her (although they won't admit it).
The Challenge—Men love the thrill of the hunt. They want the woman that is , smart, charming … and out of their reach. The woman who doesn't fall all over them when other women do. The woman this is nonchalant or even slightly aloof regarding the fact that this man wants her so bad. She may even be his friend, but he just can't quite get there.
The Submissive—These are women who will make a man feel like a man. She likes for him to take the bull by the horns in the relationshi and she will cater to him no matter what. He won't have to clean/take care of the kids/cook or do much of anything because she's like his own personal servant.
The One You Can Take H to Mama—This woman is just an all-around great catch. She gets along with his friends, understands him like no other, makes him laugh, shares his interests, stimulates his mind, maybe even lets him watch a in peace every once in a while. She's a keeper!
Knockout—She's beautiful, she's confident, and she knows how to get what she wants. All eyes are on her when she walks into a room. Mucho points for a man's ego. Other men wish they could have her and women are slightly intimidated by her (although they won't admit it).
The Challenge—Men love the thrill of the hunt. They want the woman that is , smart, charming … and out of their reach. The woman who doesn't fall all over them when other women do. The woman this is nonchalant or even slightly aloof regarding the fact that this man wants her so bad. She may even be his friend, but he just can't quite get there.
The Submissive—These are women who will make a man feel like a man. She likes for him to take the bull by the horns in the relationshi and she will cater to him no matter what. He won't have to clean/take care of the kids/cook or do much of anything because she's like his own personal servant.
The One You Can Take H to Mama—This woman is just an all-around great catch. She gets along with his friends, understands him like no other, makes him laugh, shares his interests, stimulates his mind, maybe even lets him watch a in peace every once in a while. She's a keeper!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Gustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square) painting
Gustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square) paintingGustav Klimt The Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Schloss Kammer Am Attersee II painting
The whole durn place has gone kerflooey!" he announced to me. "Crooks and loonies running all over! It's the end of the University!"
Dr. Sear, it appeared, had gone to the Women's Chronic Ward to arrange a weekend leave for his wife, and Greene had gone with him as far as the Infirmary lobby, intending to visit his own wife's suite of rooms. But they'd found the place in uproar over an astonishing executive order just issued by Chancellor Rexford: not only had a general amnesty been declared for everyone in Main Detention, but the Infirmary had been directed to turn loose every mental patient who was not also a physical invalid. The consensus of the Infirmary staff was that Rexford himself had lost his mind -- there was talk, for example, that not only the Open Book Tests were going to be repealed, as most people wished, but every administrative regulation concerning gambling, prostitution, cheating in the classroom, narcotics, homoS, and pornographic literature and films. They shook their heads -- but there was the order, and to everyone's surprise Dr. Sear, so far from countermanding it, had declared he understood and approved of the Chancellor's position; orderlies and campus patrolmen he'd directed to protect the bedridden (like Mrs. Greene); then he'd gone personally to see to it that every door and gate in the Psychiatric Annex was put open
The whole durn place has gone kerflooey!" he announced to me. "Crooks and loonies running all over! It's the end of the University!"
Dr. Sear, it appeared, had gone to the Women's Chronic Ward to arrange a weekend leave for his wife, and Greene had gone with him as far as the Infirmary lobby, intending to visit his own wife's suite of rooms. But they'd found the place in uproar over an astonishing executive order just issued by Chancellor Rexford: not only had a general amnesty been declared for everyone in Main Detention, but the Infirmary had been directed to turn loose every mental patient who was not also a physical invalid. The consensus of the Infirmary staff was that Rexford himself had lost his mind -- there was talk, for example, that not only the Open Book Tests were going to be repealed, as most people wished, but every administrative regulation concerning gambling, prostitution, cheating in the classroom, narcotics, homoS, and pornographic literature and films. They shook their heads -- but there was the order, and to everyone's surprise Dr. Sear, so far from countermanding it, had declared he understood and approved of the Chancellor's position; orderlies and campus patrolmen he'd directed to protect the bedridden (like Mrs. Greene); then he'd gone personally to see to it that every door and gate in the Psychiatric Annex was put open
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Bartolome Esteban Murillo Annunciation
Bartolome Esteban Murillo AnnunciationSteve Hanks ReflectingGuan zeju Reflecting
chauffeur me to a tryst in the Belfry with his tramp of a wife, I had another think coming. . .
"I'm not the one she's to meet there," I interrupted pleasantly; "it's Harold Bray."
He managed to accuse me of jealousy and mendacity, but I saw he was alarmed.
"I'm going to drive Bray out," I told him. "Among other things."
"I'll bet you are. So you can take his place!"
I shrugged. "One thing at a time."
He glared at me furiously. "You're as false as he is!"
"Bray's not exactly a phony," I said. "But he must be driven out. Would you like to do it yourself, before your wife services him?"
There I had him: except during his extraordinary "reform" back in March, Stoker had an aversion to Great Mall generally and a abhorrence of Tower Hall, its hub and crown. Yet for all his present soot and bluster he was not quite the Stoker of old: clearly he was distressed by My Ladyship's new aggressiveness, and jealous of lovers she chose herself; he wanted the Belfry-tryst prevented, but could not deal himself with Bray (who
chauffeur me to a tryst in the Belfry with his tramp of a wife, I had another think coming. . .
"I'm not the one she's to meet there," I interrupted pleasantly; "it's Harold Bray."
He managed to accuse me of jealousy and mendacity, but I saw he was alarmed.
"I'm going to drive Bray out," I told him. "Among other things."
"I'll bet you are. So you can take his place!"
I shrugged. "One thing at a time."
He glared at me furiously. "You're as false as he is!"
"Bray's not exactly a phony," I said. "But he must be driven out. Would you like to do it yourself, before your wife services him?"
There I had him: except during his extraordinary "reform" back in March, Stoker had an aversion to Great Mall generally and a abhorrence of Tower Hall, its hub and crown. Yet for all his present soot and bluster he was not quite the Stoker of old: clearly he was distressed by My Ladyship's new aggressiveness, and jealous of lovers she chose herself; he wanted the Belfry-tryst prevented, but could not deal himself with Bray (who
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Jehan Georges Vibert paintings
Jehan Georges Vibert paintings
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot paintings
James Childs paintings
"Is there anything you have to do this afternoon? Dr. Sear's closed the office."
She glanced apprehensively at the one-way mirror. I assured her that no one was watching, and wondered why she cared, since we were only talking.hurt I'd done her feelings unintentionally; but as soon as I touched her hip in a conciliatory way, she flung herself upon me and wailed into my chest that she was the unhappiest woman on campus, and wished herself passed and gone.
I was freshly confounded. "Then you aren't angry at me for teasing you about being sterile? Itwas thoughtless."
"Your mother wants to be Uncle Reg arrives," she said. "But that won't be until dinnertime."
"Then I'm going to get to know you," I said. "Inside out, in every way. Even if it takes the rest of the afternoon."
Her eyes doubted. "I'vetold You my whole flunkèd past, George: all the terrible things I've done thinking they were right. You
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot paintings
James Childs paintings
"Is there anything you have to do this afternoon? Dr. Sear's closed the office."
She glanced apprehensively at the one-way mirror. I assured her that no one was watching, and wondered why she cared, since we were only talking.hurt I'd done her feelings unintentionally; but as soon as I touched her hip in a conciliatory way, she flung herself upon me and wailed into my chest that she was the unhappiest woman on campus, and wished herself passed and gone.
I was freshly confounded. "Then you aren't angry at me for teasing you about being sterile? Itwas thoughtless."
"Your mother wants to be Uncle Reg arrives," she said. "But that won't be until dinnertime."
"Then I'm going to get to know you," I said. "Inside out, in every way. Even if it takes the rest of the afternoon."
Her eyes doubted. "I'vetold You my whole flunkèd past, George: all the terrible things I've done thinking they were right. You
Monday, September 8, 2008
Jean-Paul Laurens paintings
Jean-Paul Laurens paintings
Jules Breton paintings
Johannes Vermeer paintings
Youdo, sometimes!" Anastasia scolded her; but then confessed what I took to be Mother's commoner delusion; "other times she seems to think I'm Yourwife or something. . ."
I smiled and kissed again Mother's poor mad hair, and to her folly drew Anastasia near, patted her fine flat gut and nodded.
"That's cruel, George!" In a little temper My Ladyship went into the Observation Room. "I'm not evenable to have babies, and You know it!"
My apology seemed rather to encourage than to mollify her petulance; she maintained a more or less injured air while recounting Peter Greene's strange forenoon invasion of the office. But though I was much interested in her tale I forgot her vexed tone when I looked through the oneway glass into the Treatment Room and saw a shirtsleeved man his head swathed in bandages, lying on the leathern couch -- and Peter Greene, white-coated, in the chair at its head!
Jules Breton paintings
Johannes Vermeer paintings
Youdo, sometimes!" Anastasia scolded her; but then confessed what I took to be Mother's commoner delusion; "other times she seems to think I'm Yourwife or something. . ."
I smiled and kissed again Mother's poor mad hair, and to her folly drew Anastasia near, patted her fine flat gut and nodded.
"That's cruel, George!" In a little temper My Ladyship went into the Observation Room. "I'm not evenable to have babies, and You know it!"
My apology seemed rather to encourage than to mollify her petulance; she maintained a more or less injured air while recounting Peter Greene's strange forenoon invasion of the office. But though I was much interested in her tale I forgot her vexed tone when I looked through the oneway glass into the Treatment Room and saw a shirtsleeved man his head swathed in bandages, lying on the leathern couch -- and Peter Greene, white-coated, in the chair at its head!
Friday, September 5, 2008
Eugene de Blaas paintings
Eugene de Blaas paintings
Eduard Manet paintings
Edwin Austin Abbey paintings
beast seemed unambiguous; I could imagine it at all only by reference to my own equivocal nature, that had got beyond its own comprehension and injured where it meant to aid. The whole of New Tammany I took it, if not the entire campus, had gradually come under WESCAC's hegemony, voluntarily or otherwise: it anticipated its own needs and saw to it they were satisfied; it set its own problems and solved them. It governed every phase of student life, deciding who should marry whom, how many children they should bear, and how they should be reared; itself it taught them, as it saw fit, graded their performance and assigned them lifeworks somewhere in its vast demesne. So wiser grew it than its masters, and more efficient at every task, they had ordered it at some fateful juncture thenceforth to order them, and the keepers became the kept. It was as if, Max said, the Founder Himself should appear to one and declare, "You are to do such-and-so"; one was free in theory to do otherwise, but in fact none but a madman would, in those circumstances. Even the question whether one did right to let WESCAC thus rule him, only WESCAC could
Eduard Manet paintings
Edwin Austin Abbey paintings
beast seemed unambiguous; I could imagine it at all only by reference to my own equivocal nature, that had got beyond its own comprehension and injured where it meant to aid. The whole of New Tammany I took it, if not the entire campus, had gradually come under WESCAC's hegemony, voluntarily or otherwise: it anticipated its own needs and saw to it they were satisfied; it set its own problems and solved them. It governed every phase of student life, deciding who should marry whom, how many children they should bear, and how they should be reared; itself it taught them, as it saw fit, graded their performance and assigned them lifeworks somewhere in its vast demesne. So wiser grew it than its masters, and more efficient at every task, they had ordered it at some fateful juncture thenceforth to order them, and the keepers became the kept. It was as if, Max said, the Founder Himself should appear to one and declare, "You are to do such-and-so"; one was free in theory to do otherwise, but in fact none but a madman would, in those circumstances. Even the question whether one did right to let WESCAC thus rule him, only WESCAC could
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Lady Godiva
Lady GodivaSupper at EmmausJudith Beheading Holofernes
death, he was quite recovered.
"Some nerve!" Stoker said. "I had to talk her into doing that mouth-to-mouth Busines, and then he says a thing like that."
Anastasia, dumb, now sat in her pissed dress beside my mother. I seized and kissed her hand, whereat she wept for very fuddlement.
"Leonid's right about you!" I told her warmly. "You were passèd before I Tutored you. You should love him!" She shook her head. "You should love everybody, even more than before! Never mind what they're after! Forget what I said last time!"
She shut her eyes and wailed.
"Open your legs again, like the old days!" I commanded her. "Let the whole student body in! I thought I saw through you before, but I've got to start from scratch!"
Stoker protested that I'd have to scratch someone else's wedded roommate, not his -- unless of course Anastasiawanted to oblige me, in which case he must regretfully defer to her wishes.
"Stop that passèd talk!" I cried, and laughed and struck his arm. "That bad advice I gave you was the best on campus! Passageis failure, just as you told me -- butPassèd are the flunked, too! Thinking they're different is what flunked me!" He was far from convinced
death, he was quite recovered.
"Some nerve!" Stoker said. "I had to talk her into doing that mouth-to-mouth Busines, and then he says a thing like that."
Anastasia, dumb, now sat in her pissed dress beside my mother. I seized and kissed her hand, whereat she wept for very fuddlement.
"Leonid's right about you!" I told her warmly. "You were passèd before I Tutored you. You should love him!" She shook her head. "You should love everybody, even more than before! Never mind what they're after! Forget what I said last time!"
She shut her eyes and wailed.
"Open your legs again, like the old days!" I commanded her. "Let the whole student body in! I thought I saw through you before, but I've got to start from scratch!"
Stoker protested that I'd have to scratch someone else's wedded roommate, not his -- unless of course Anastasiawanted to oblige me, in which case he must regretfully defer to her wishes.
"Stop that passèd talk!" I cried, and laughed and struck his arm. "That bad advice I gave you was the best on campus! Passageis failure, just as you told me -- butPassèd are the flunked, too! Thinking they're different is what flunked me!" He was far from convinced
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Francois Boucher The Rape of Europa painting
Francois Boucher The Rape of Europa paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam painting
"No need to tellme!"
He smiled and pressed numerous buttons, as though typing out a message on the console. "But I'm not whatyou think I am, either."
I ordered him to stop temporizing and open the Belly-door -- and wondered how I'd open it myself if he refused, for it seemed to have neither knob nor latch.
"Just what I'm doing," he said. "You'll have to put your ID-card and Assignment-list in this slot now -- mine's in already, from last time."
"I'll bet it is." I foiled what I took to be his strategem by producing the card I'd got that morning from Ira Hector. But if Bray was surprised at my having one after all, he managed to conceal the fact. Moreover, he ignored my sarcasm and merely remarked that inasmuch as WESCAC's "Diet program" provided for scanning and evaluating trespassers into the Mouth-room like ourselves, he'd taken the opportunity to ask it a few questions on the matter of the GILES, which he thought I might be interested in having verified before we proceeded. I accused him once again of delaying his inevitable end; but it was satisfying nonetheless to see WESCAC affirm unequivocally (as it could not do through
"No need to tellme!"
He smiled and pressed numerous buttons, as though typing out a message on the console. "But I'm not whatyou think I am, either."
I ordered him to stop temporizing and open the Belly-door -- and wondered how I'd open it myself if he refused, for it seemed to have neither knob nor latch.
"Just what I'm doing," he said. "You'll have to put your ID-card and Assignment-list in this slot now -- mine's in already, from last time."
"I'll bet it is." I foiled what I took to be his strategem by producing the card I'd got that morning from Ira Hector. But if Bray was surprised at my having one after all, he managed to conceal the fact. Moreover, he ignored my sarcasm and merely remarked that inasmuch as WESCAC's "Diet program" provided for scanning and evaluating trespassers into the Mouth-room like ourselves, he'd taken the opportunity to ask it a few questions on the matter of the GILES, which he thought I might be interested in having verified before we proceeded. I accused him once again of delaying his inevitable end; but it was satisfying nonetheless to see WESCAC affirm unequivocally (as it could not do through
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