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</b>
<b> A PAIR OF HANDS
</b> men's hands, nicely groomed, hold a small white terry
towel spoiled by blood-red spots. The hands rinse the
towel in a copper bar sink. The stains soften but stay.
A tan jacket sleeve, spotted the same way, moves INTO
FRAM. The hands dab the wet towel at the spots, with no
more success, and throw it into the sink. It falls half
in, still dripping the stains a drop at a time to the
floor.
<b> ALL IN CLOSEUP
</b> The owner of the hands walks to a wine rack, opens a
bottle of white wine, drizzles the wine on the jacket
sleeve. The stains disappear. He hangs his jacket on a
hook and walks from
<b> THE CELLAR
</b> and up the narrow stairs. His FOOTFALLS ECHO against the
unadorned cement block walls. We see his shape, mid-
forties, powerful, his shirt pulled out. He's carrying
the open bottle by the neck.
<b> 2 INT. WINE STORE - NIGHT
</b>
Still seen from behind, the man emerges from the cellar
into a contrastingly elegant space with a wood-beamed.
ceiling, vaguely European. He walks along a narrow aisle
of wooden diamond bins. As the space widens his foot hits
something in his path. He bends to find a shoe. He
glances about nervously. There are shutters on the
storefront windows. Shoe in hand, he tightens the
shutters. We see his profile, a good-looking man.
He walks toward a brighter room at the back of the store,
the Tasting Room. Now he retrieves a pair of women's
trousers from the floor, and as he straightens up we see
his entire face, genial, venial, redeemed by his smile.
ALEX GATES. He speaks nonchalantly toward the room.
<b> ALEX
</b> Twenty people tonight. I got a
South Beach widow, a plastic surgeon --
they actually came together.
<b> (A BEAT)
</b> These people -- all they really want
is something to brag about at dinner
parties.
He swigs from the bottle of white wine, grimaces, detours
behind the counter, and spits the mouthful into the
plastic
|
tasting
|
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| 0
|
Scene 1. TITLE SEQUENCE
<b>
</b> Darkness. Then, a burst of sparks from a bowl held in a scaly hand.
The light shows us a mural. We start to move along the wall. First we
see stars and planets, painted in a primitive, stylized fashion on
bare rock. A voice on the track speaks softly to us.
<b>
</b> VOICE: We did not always live in hiding.
<b>
</b> We have come to the image of a huge family tree, which springs from
a single seed but divides into two separate halves. On the left,
ruled by the moon, the branches blossom into extraordinary creatures.
On the right, by sunlight, the branches end in ordinary human beings.
<b>
</b> Upon the word Nightbreed the title comes up on the screen, against
the image of a moon painted on the wall.
<b>
</b> SCENES 2-2K Deleted
<b>
</b>
<b> 2L. EXT. REEDS NIGHT
</b>
<b>
</b> Cut to a real moon. Then cut wide to a moonlit landscape, through
which the camera careens madly. The soundtrack, which was lush and
almost sacred in the mural chamber, erupts into a tribal rhythm. We
glimpse creatures in the darkness, moving through the reeds. They are
barely more than silhouettes. We see teeth, and gleaming eyes;
glimpses of naked, patterned flesh. Only glimpses.
<b>
</b>
<b> 2M. INT. MURAL CHAMBER
</b>
<b>
</b> Cut back to the mural chamber. Now we have moved away from the tree
to a more brutal scene. A symbolic representation of a great
apocalyptic war between Naturals and Breed. Terrible scenes of
destruction.
<b>
</b> VOICE: But the Naturals made war on us. They feared us for our
strength. They envied our powers. They called us monsters, killing us
by whatever means their malice could invent, finding in each of us
our particular vulnerability.
<b>
</b> We are scanning scenes of that war. A breed being staked like a
vampire. Another being shot like a werewolf. Another exposed to
sunlight.
<b>
</b> VOICE: None of us was safe. The tribes of the moon dwindled. Our
|
mural
|
How many times does the word 'mural' appear in the text?
| 3
|
dog and a young girl emerge.
<b> GIRL
</b> Go on now Paul, don't be long.
The dog trots out across the property. It stops to scratch.
The sounds of night cease. The dog stops scratching, sniffing
the air, cocking its head, sensing something. We hear a low
humming sounds. The dog looks up. We see a soft orange glow
reflected in its eyes. The dog whimpers
Back at the farmhouse, a deep, dull thud shakes the ground,
bringing the small girl back out onto the veranda. An orange
glow pulsates somewhere out in the darkness.
<b> GIRL
</b> Paul... Paul?
The girl draws near, illuminated by the orange glow.
<b> GIRL
</b> Paul?!
The glow fades again.
MUSIC: "The Boy In The Bubble" by Paul Simon.
<b> TITLE: PAUL
</b>
<b> EXT. SAN DIEGO STREET. PRESENT - DAY
</b>
GRAHAM WILLY (32) and CLIVE GOLLINGS (33) stand in the
blazing San Diego sunshine, waiting to cross the road. GRAHAM
is thin but his clothes seem too small. He has long greasy
hair, buck teeth and thick glasses. CLIVE is bigger and wears
a long black leather coat, Red Dwarf T-shirt and boots. His
hair is densely curly and shaped like a pyramid.
Four people dressed as BORG from Star Trek pass by. GRAHAM
and CLIVE shrug derisively. The cross-walk beeps.
As the music kicks in, GRAHAM and CLIVE set off across the
road towards the San Diego Convention Centre. They make their
way through a throng of costumed Comic-Con attendees.
<b> INT. CONVENTION CENTRE. CONVENTION FLOOR - LATER
</b>
GRAHAM and CLIVE are at a fantasy weapons stand. CLIVE is
brandishing a KATANA SWORD. He test the balance, the weight,
the sharpness. He closes one eye and looks down the length of
the blade. He nods appreciatively.
<b
|
glow
|
How many times does the word 'glow' appear in the text?
| 3
|
GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN)
</b> I can't see anything... Are you there?
Silence.
<b> GIRL'S VOICE (O.S.) (UKRAINIAN) (CONT'D)
</b> Are you there!?
Giggling. LUBA, 15, dangerous, flicks a lighter, sparking a
cigarette, and grins in the flickering flame.
<b> LUBA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> God I'm drunk... Where's this damn door?
She scans the space with the lighter. Illuminating...
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> Watch it! That's my hair! Let me try.
RAYA, 15, pretty, guileless, takes the lighter, searching...
CLICK. She has it. They BURST out the door, LAUGHING, onto...
<b>2 EXT. ROOFTOP - APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 2
</b>
A PARTY. ROCK MUSIC BLARES. DRUNK TEENS dance around BURNING
BARRELS. GROUPS lounge on ratty couches and turned over boxes
skulling cans, making out, talking shit. A BOY, 17, lights a
MOLOTOV COCKTAIL and hurls it off the roof.
Luba and Raya join THREE GUYS. ONE of them pisses onto a
cloth, stuffs it in a bottle, and tries to light it. It
FIZZLES. Everybody bursts out laughing.
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b> It's ammonia, not alcohol.
<b> BOY (UKRAINIAN)
</b> (Drunk) You're so smart. I love you!
He lunges in for a kiss, but she dodges him, laughing. Luba
gives him the finger, pulling Raya toward the dancing into...
TEEN MAYHEM: Raya lets herself go. She gets lost in...
A WHIRL of drunk and happy teens. It's tribal. They dance,
silhouetted against the fire and the black sky, their backs
to the run-down Soviet buildings... Tonight, they don't want
to think about what life holds in store.
Raya stops. Dizzy. She looks at her watch, suddenly aware of
the time. Yelling over to Luba...
<b> TWB 2.
</b>
<b> RAYA (UKRAINIAN)
</b>
|
lost
|
How many times does the word 'lost' appear in the text?
| 0
|
either case art fit for the
hangman's rope!"
"This way, my masters! this way!" came in loud, stentorian cries from a
neighbouring booth; "this way for Peter the juggler, the greatest
conjurer the world has ever seen!"
"This way! I pray you, worthy sirs!" this from yet another place of
entertainment, "this way for John the tumbler!"
"Peter the juggler will swallow a cross-bow of steel before your very
eyes!" shouted one crier.
"John the tumbler will climb Saint Ethelburga's steeple without help of
rope or ladder," called the other.
"Peter will show you how to shoe a turkey, how to put salt on a
swallow's tail, and how to have your cake and eat it!"
"John will sit on two stools without coming to the ground!"
"Marry! and ye both lie faster than my mule can trot!" came in hilarious
accents from one of the crowd.
"And Peter the juggler will show thee how to make thy mule trot faster
than thou canst lie, friend," responded Peter's crier unabashed, "and a
mighty difficult task 'twill be, I'll warrant."
Laughing, joking, ogling like some fickle jade, the crowd passed from
booth to booth: now dropping a few coins in Peter the juggler's hat, now
watching the antics of John the tumbler; anon looking on amazed, half
terrified at the evolutions of a gigantic brown bear, led by the nose by
a vigorous knave in leather jerkin and cross-gartered hose, and
accompanied by a youngster who was blowing on a mighty sackbut until his
cheeks looked nigh to bursting.
But adsheart! who shall tell of all the attractions which were set forth
on that memorable day before the loyal subjects of good Queene Marye?
There were the trestles where one could play at ball and knuckle-bone,
or chance and mumchance; another, where evens and odds and backgammon
proved tempting. He who willed could tilt at Weekie, play quoits or
lansquenet, at ball or at the billiards, or risk his coppers on such
games as one-and-thirty, or at the pass ten; he might try his skill,
too, at throwing the dart, or his strength at putting the stone.
There were mountebanks and quacksalvers, lapidaries at work, and
astrologers in their tents. For twopence one could have a bout with the
back-sword or the Spanish tuck, could watch the situations and
conjunctions of the fixed stars and the planets, could play a game of
tennis or pelitrigone, or be combed and curled, perfumed and trimmed so
as to please a dainty mistress's eye.
And through it all the loud bang! bang! bang! of the big drums, the
criers proclaiming the qualities of their wares, the jarring notes of
the sackbut and the allman flute, the screechy viol and the strident
nine-hole pipe, all playing against one another, each striving to drown
the other, and mingling with the laughter of the crowd, the yells of the
'prentices, the babble of the women, formed a huge volume of
ear-splitting cacophony which must have been heard from one end of the
country to the other.
All was noise, merriment, and laughter, save in one spot--an
out-of-the-way, half-hidden corner of the fair, where the sister
streams, the Ember and the Mole, join hands for a space, meet but to
part again, and whence the distant towers and cupolas of Hampton Court
appeared like those of a fairy palace floating in mid-ether, perched
high aloft in the shimmering haze of this hot late summer's afternoon.
CHAPTER II
THE WITCH'S TENT
There are many accounts still extant of the various doings at East
Molesey Fair on this 2nd of October in the year of our Lord 1553, and
several chroniclers--Renard is conspicuous among the latter--make
mention of the events which very nearly turned the gay and varying
|
peter
|
How many times does the word 'peter' appear in the text?
| 5
|
for ten million years,
and would not end for another million. The reign of the ter-
rible lizards had long since passed, but here on the continent
which would one day be known as Africa, the battle for survival
had reached a new climax of ferocity, and the victor was not
yet in sight. In this dry and barren land, only the small or
the swift or the fierce could flourish, or even hope to exist.
a1
<b>A2
</b><b>INT & EXT CAVES - MOONWATCHER
</b>
The man-apes of the field had none of these attributes, and
they were on the long, pathetic road to racial extinction.
About twenty of them occupied a group of caves overlooking
a small, parched valley, divided by a sluggish, brown stream.
The tribe had always been hungry, and now it was starving.
As the first dim glow of dawn creeps into the cave, Moonwatcher
discovers that his father has died during the night. He did not know
the Old One was his father, for such a relationship was beyond
his understanding. but as he stands looking down at the emac-
iated body he feels something, something akin to sadness. Then
he carries his dead father out of the cave, and leaves him for the
hyenas.
Among his kind, Moonwatcher is almost a giant. He is nearly
five feet high, and though badly undernourished, weighs over
a hundred pounds. His hairy, muscular body is quite man-like,
and his head is already nearer man than ape. The forehead is
low, and there are great ridges over the eye-sockets, yet he
unmistakably holds in his genes the promise of humanity. As
he looks out now upon the hostile world, there is already
a2
<b>A2
</b><b>CONTINUED
</b>
something in his gaze beyond the grasp of any ape. In those
dark, deep-set eyes is a dawning awareness-the first intima-
tions of an intelligence which would not fulfill itself for another
two million years.
a3
<b>A3
</b><b>EXT THE STREAM - THE OTHERS
</b>
As the dawn sky brightens, Moonwatcher and his tribe reach
the shallow stream.
The Others are already there. They were there on the other
side every day - that did not make it any less annoying.
There are eighteen of them, and it is impossible to distinguish
them from the members of Moonwatcher's own tribe. As
they see him coming, the Others begin to angrily dance and
shriek on their side of the stream, and his own people reply
In kind.
The confrontation lasts a few minutes - then the display dies
out as quickly as it has begun, and everyone drinks his fill of
the muddy water. Honor has been satisfied - each group has
staked its claim to its own territory.
a4
<b>A4
</b><b>EXT AFRICAN PLAIN - HERBIVORES
</b>
Moonwatcher and his companions search for berries, fruit
and leaves, and fight off pangs of hunger, while all around
them, competing with them for the samr fodder, is a potential
source of more food than they could ever hope to eat. Yet
all the thousands of tons of meat roaming over the parched
savanna and through the brush is not only beyond their reach;
the idea of eating it is beyond their imagination. They are
slowly starving to death in the midst of plenty.
a5
<b>A5
</b><b>EXT PARCHED COUNTRYSIDE - THE LION
</b>
The tribe slowly wanders across the bare, flat country-
side foraging for roots and occasional berries.
Eight of them are irregularly strung out on the open plain,
about fifty feet apart.
The ground is flat for miles around.
Suddenly, Moonwatcher becomes aware of a lion, stalking
them about 300 yards away.
Defenceless and with nowhere to hide, they scatter in all
direct
|
moonwatcher
|
How many times does the word 'moonwatcher' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Story by:
<b> ALAN DEAN FOSTER & GENE RODDENBERRY
</b>
<b>
</b><b> SHOOTING SCRIPT
</b>
July 19, 1978
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN :
</b>
<b> 1 EXT SPACE (S) 1
</b>
An ever expanding infinity of light and color as CAMERA
<b>
</b> TRAVELS THROUGH deep space, MOVING DIRECTLY for one
pinpoint of light: a STAR GROWING RAPIDLY as we SWEEP
TOWARD IT, a normal white star SUDDENLY CHANGING,
brightening, flaring unbelievable intensity: supernova.
The CAMERA HOLDS just a moment, then MOVES on, SEARCH-
ING through space, the jeweled beauty of other star
systems, sparkling nebulae, swirling hydrogen clouds.
STILL MOVING, then CAMERA FINDS:
<b> 2 EXT. AREA OF LUMINESCENCE (S) 2
</b>
In the far distance, slowly growing in size as CAMERA
APPROACHES: it resembles, vaguely at this distance, an
Aurora Borealis: flaring colors from the fringes,
beautiful yet ominous. It is so large, this Cloud, it
can envelope an entire solar system. CAMERA CONTINUES
APPROACHING the Cloud, and then suddenly, crossing
our POV, a:
<b>
</b><b> 3 KLINGON HEAVY CRUISER (S) 3
</b>
In a graceful, turning arc toward the mysterious
LUMINESCENCE. CAMERA FOLLOWS this Klingon, then FINDS
a second Klingon cruiser, also turning toward the Cloud,
which continues to grow in size as the Klingons
approach at warp speed, CAMERA CLOSING on the lead
ship, until the vessel's detail can be clearly MADE
OUT: lights, weaponry, power systems, identification
emblazoned on the nacelles and saucer in Klingon
language (and symbols).
<b> 4 INT. KLINGON CRUISER BRIDGE (O)
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 3
|
love is hardly conscious. She does not talk about it at all. She is merely
wrapped up in the welfare of certain people, first her husband and then he
children. To a modern romantic reader her insistence that her husband
shall not marry again seems hardly delicate. But she does not think about
romance or delicacy. To her any neglect to ensure due protection for the
children would be as unnatural as to refuse to die for her husband.
Indeed, Professor J.L. Myres has suggested that care for the children's
future is the guiding motive of her whole conduct. There was first the
danger of their being left fatherless, a dire calamity in the heroic age.
She could meet that danger by dying herself. Then followed the danger of a
stepmother. She meets that by making Admetus swear never to marry. In the
long run, I fancy, the effect of gracious loveliness which Alcestis
certainly makes is not so much due to any words of her own as to what the
Handmaid and the Serving Man say about her. In the final scene she is
silent; necessarily and rightly silent, for all tradition knows that those
new-risen from the dead must not speak. It will need a long _rite de
passage_ before she can freely commune with this world again. It is a
strange and daring scene between the three of them; the humbled and
broken-hearted husband; the triumphant Heracles, kindly and wise, yet
still touched by the mocking and blustrous atmosphere from which he
sprang; and the silent woman who has seen the other side of the grave.
It was always her way to know things but not to speak of them.
The other characters fall easily into their niches. We have only to
remember the old Satyric tradition and to look at them in the light of
their historical development. Heracles indeed, half-way on his road from
the roaring reveller of the Satyr-play to the suffering and erring
deliverer of tragedy, is a little foreign to our notions, but quite
intelligible and strangely attractive. The same historical method seems to
me to solve most of the difficulties which have been felt about Admetus's
hospitality. Heracles arrives at the castle just at the moment when
Alcestis is lying dead in her room; Admetus conceals the death from him
and insists on his coming in and enjoying himself. What are we to think of
this behaviour? Is it magnificent hospitality, or is it gross want of
tact? The answer, I think, is indicated above.
In the uncritical and boisterous atmosphere of the Satyr-play it was
natural hospitality, not especially laudable or surprising. From the
analogy of similar stories I suspect that Admetus originally did not know
his guest, and received not so much the reward of exceptional virtue as
the blessing naturally due to those who entertain angels unawares. If we
insist on asking whether Euripides himself, in real life or in a play of
his own free invention, would have considered Admetus's conduct to
Heracles entirely praiseworthy, the answer will certainly be No, but it
will have little bearing on the play. In the _Alcestis_, as it stands, the
famous act of hospitality is a datum of the story. Its claims are admitted
on the strength of the tradition. It was the act for which Admetus was
specially and marvellously rewarded; therefore, obviously, it was an act
of exceptional merit and piety. Yet the admission is made with a smile,
and more than one suggestion is allowed to float across the scene that in
real life such conduct would be hardly wise.
Heracles, who rose to tragic rank from a very homely cycle of myth, was
apt to bring other homely characters with him. He was a great killer not
only of malefactors but of "kêres" or bogeys, such as "Old Age" and "Ague"
and the sort of "Death" that we find in this play. Thanatos is not a god,
not at all a King of Terrors. One may compare him with the dancing
skeleton who is called Death in mediaeval writings. When such a figure
appears on the tragic stage one asks at once what relation he bears to
Hades, the great Olympian king of the unseen. The answer is obvious.
Thanatos is the servant of Hades, a "priest
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 5
|
upon my tongue's end, but lacked the
nerve to deliver it. Nobs had come over and nosed his muzzle into her
lap, and she stroked his ugly face, and at last she leaned over and put
her cheek against his forehead. I have always admired Nobs; but this
was the first time that it had ever occurred to me that I might wish to
be Nobs. I wondered how he would take it, for he is as unused to women
as I. But he took to it as a duck takes to water. What I lack of
being a ladies' man, Nobs certainly makes up for as a ladies' dog. The
old scalawag just closed his eyes and put on one of the softest
"sugar-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth" expressions you ever saw and stood
there taking it and asking for more. It made me jealous.
"You seem fond of dogs," I said.
"I am fond of this dog," she replied.
Whether she meant anything personal in that reply I did not know; but I
took it as personal and it made me feel mighty good.
As we drifted about upon that vast expanse of loneliness it is not
strange that we should quickly become well acquainted. Constantly we
scanned the horizon for signs of smoke, venturing guesses as to our
chances of rescue; but darkness settled, and the black night enveloped
us without ever the sight of a speck upon the waters.
We were thirsty, hungry, uncomfortable, and cold. Our wet garments had
dried but little and I knew that the girl must be in grave danger from
the exposure to a night of cold and wet upon the water in an open boat,
without sufficient clothing and no food. I had managed to bail all the
water out of the boat with cupped hands, ending by mopping the balance
up with my handkerchief--a slow and back-breaking procedure; thus I had
made a comparatively dry place for the girl to lie down low in the
bottom of the boat, where the sides would protect her from the night
wind, and when at last she did so, almost overcome as she was by
weakness and fatigue, I threw my wet coat over her further to thwart
the chill. But it was of no avail; as I sat watching her, the
moonlight marking out the graceful curves of her slender young body, I
saw her shiver.
"Isn't there something I can do?" I asked. "You can't lie there
chilled through all night. Can't you suggest something?"
She shook her head. "We must grin and bear it," she replied after a
moment.
Nobbler came and lay down on the thwart beside me, his back against my
leg, and I sat staring in dumb misery at the girl, knowing in my heart
of hearts that she might die before morning came, for what with the
shock and exposure, she had already gone through enough to kill almost
any woman. And as I gazed down at her, so small and delicate and
helpless, there was born slowly within my breast a new emotion. It had
never been there before; now it will never cease to be there. It made
me almost frantic in my desire to find some way to keep warm the
cooling lifeblood in her veins. I was cold myself, though I had almost
forgotten it until Nobbler moved and I felt a new sensation of cold
along my leg against which he had lain, and suddenly realized that in
that one spot I had been warm. Like a great light came the
understanding of a means to warm the girl. Immediately I knelt beside
her to put my scheme into practice when suddenly I was overwhelmed with
embarrassment. Would she permit it, even if I could muster the courage
to suggest it? Then I saw her frame convulse, shudderingly, her
muscles reacting to her rapidly lowering temperature, and casting
prudery to the winds, I threw myself down beside her and took her in my
arms, pressing her body close to mine.
She drew away suddenly, voicing a little cry of fright, and tried to
push me from her.
"Forgive me," I managed to stammer. "It is the only way. You will die
of exposure if you are not warmed, and Nobs and I are the only means we
can command for furnishing
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 5
|
9/20/2007
</b>
<b> INT. LEECH LAKE WOMEN'S CORRECTIONAL HOSPITAL - DAY
</b><b>
</b> ANITA "NEEDY" LESNICKI, 17, sits on her hospital bed in
pajamas. She's a plain-faced girl with a haunted
expression. As she stares out the window, she winds
colored yarn around a pair of Popsicle sticks to create a
"god's eye."
<b>
</b> Out a single window, we see an imposing nine-foot
<b> SECURITY FENCE.
</b><b>
</b> Next to Needy, we see a pile of unopened mail scattered
casually on the floor. There are letters, packages, even
creepy little gifts and totems sent by admiring "fans."
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY V.O.
</b> Every day, I get letters. I think
I get more letters than Santa
Claus, Zac Efron and Dr. Phil
combined. I'm kind of the shit.
<b>
</b> RAYMUNDO, a counselor raps on the door and sticks his
head in cautiously.
<b>
</b><b> RAYMUNDO
</b> Rec time in five minutes, Needy.
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY
</b> Grassy-ass, Raymundo.
<b>
</b> Needy stands up and begins changing into an institutional
gym uniform. As she slips off her pajamas, we can see a
series of puffy, slash-like SCARS on her body.
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY V.O.
</b> Sometimes the letters are from
people who say they're praying for
|
raymundo
|
How many times does the word 'raymundo' appear in the text?
| 2
|
window that gleamed yellow in the night.
At a corner on which stood a little shop that advertised "Groceries and
Provisions" he paused.
"Let me see," he pondered. "The lights will be turned off, of course.
Candles. And a little something for the inner man, in case it's the
closed season for cooks."
He went inside, where a weary old woman served him.
"What sort of candles?" she inquired, with the air of one who had an
infinite variety in stock. Mr. Magee remembered that Christmas was near.
"For a Christmas tree," he explained. He asked for two hundred.
"I've only got forty," the woman said. "What's this tree for--the
Orphans' Home?"
With the added burden of a package containing his purchases in the tiny
store, Mr. Magee emerged and continued his journey through the stinging
snow. Upper Asquewan Falls on its way home for supper flitted past him
in the silvery darkness. He saw in the lighted windows of many of the
houses the green wreath of Christmas cheer. Finally the houses became
infrequent, and he struck out on an uneven road that wound upward. Once
he heard a dog's faint bark. Then a carriage lurched by him, and a
strong voice cursed the roughness of the road. Mr. Magee half smiled to
himself as he strode on.
"Don Quixote, my boy," he muttered, "I know how you felt when you moved
on the windmills."
It was not the whir of windmills but the creak of a gate in the storm
that brought Mr. Magee at last to a stop. He walked gladly up the path
to Elijah Quimby's door.
In answer to Billy Magee's gay knock, a man of about sixty years
appeared. Evidently he had just finished supper; at the moment he was
engaged in lighting his pipe. He admitted Mr. Magee into the intimacy of
the kitchen, and took a number of calm judicious puffs on the pipe
before speaking to his visitor. In that interval the visitor cheerily
seized his hand, oblivious of the warm burnt match that was in it. The
match fell to the floor, whereupon the older man cast an anxious glance
at a gray-haired woman who stood beside the kitchen stove.
"My name's Magee," blithely explained that gentleman, dragging in his
bags. "And you're Elijah Quimby, of course. How are you? Glad to see
you." His air was that of one who had known this Quimby intimately, in
many odd corners of the world.
The older man did not reply, but regarded Mr. Magee wonderingly through
white puffs of smoke. His face was kindly, gentle, ineffectual; he
seemed to lack the final "punch" that send men over the line to success;
this was evident in the way his necktie hung, the way his thin hands
fluttered.
"Yes," he admitted at last. "Yes, I'm Quimby."
Mr. Magee threw back his coat, and sprayed with snow Mrs. Quimby's
immaculate floor.
"I'm Magee," he elucidated again, "William Hallowell Magee, the man Hal
Bentley wrote to you about. You got his letter, didn't you?"
Mr. Quimby removed his pipe and forgot to close the aperture as he
stared in amazement.
"Good lord!" he cried, "you don't mean--you've really come."
"What better proof could you ask," said Mr. Magee flippantly, "than my
presence here?"
"Why," stammered Mr. Quimby, "we--we thought it was all a joke."
"Hal Bentley has his humorous moments," agreed Mr. Magee, "but it isn't
his habit to fling his jests into Upper Asquewan Falls."
"And--and you're really going to--" Mr. Quimby could get no further.
"Yes," said Mr. Magee brightly, slipping into a rocking-chair. "Yes, I'm
going to spend the next few months at Baldpate Inn."
Mrs. Quimby, who seemed to have settled into a stout little mound of
|
snow
|
How many times does the word 'snow' appear in the text?
| 1
|
FADE IN:
</b><b>
</b><b> 1 1
</b><b> EXT. FOREST - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A dense forest on a dark, misty night.
<b>
</b> YOUNG EDWARD CARNBY (age 10), small, thin, and terrified,
runs for his life.
<b> 2
</b> The forest is pitch black. Young Edward ducks between trees,
under branches, not stopping for anything, GASPING for
breath. He doesn't turn to look behind him. He just runs as
fast as he can.
<b>
</b><b> P.O.V. CREATURE:
</b> Tomething chases Young Edward through the dark forest. Its
P.O.V. is skewed, inhuman. It is gaining on him.
<b>
</b> As Young Edward runs, beams of light become visible through
the closely packed trees. Something is up ahead, something
bright. Edward runs towards it.
<b>
</b> Young Edward bursts out into a clearing in the woods, running
towards the bright light.
<b>
</b><b> P.O.V. CREATURE:
</b><b>
</b> The light stops whatever is chasing Young Edward at the edge
of the forest. What is making the light isn't visible, only
Young Edward's silhouette running towards the blinding light.
<b>
</b><b> EXT. FOREST - LATER THAT NIGHT
</b><b> 1A 1A
</b><b> SUPER: 20 YEARS AGO
</b><b>
</b> The beams of a dozen flashlights cut through
|
night
|
How many times does the word 'night' appear in the text?
| 2
|
; "yet mortals may easily transform fairies into anything they
wish."
"If that is so, why have we never heard of this power before?" asked
Seseley.
"Because fairies, as a rule, are content with their lot, and do not
wish to appear in any form but their own. And, knowing that evil or
mischievous mortals can transform them at will, the fairies take great
care to remain invisible, so they can not be interfered with. Have you
ever," she asked, suddenly, "seen a fairy before?"
"Never," replied Seseley.
"Nor would you have seen me to-day, had I not known you were kind and
pure-hearted, or had I not resolved to ask you to exercise your powers
upon me."
"I must say," remarked Helda, boldly, "that you are foolish to wish to
become anything different from what you are."
"For you are very beautiful NOW," added Berna, admiringly.
"Beautiful!" retorted the fairy, with a little frown; "what does beauty
amount to, if one is to remain invisible?"
"Not much, that is true," agreed Berna, smoothing her own dark locks.
"And as for being foolish," continued the fairy, "I ought to be allowed
to act foolishly if I want to. For centuries past I have not had a
chance to do a single foolish thing."
"Poor dear!" said Helda, softly.
Seseley had listened silently to this conversation. Now she inquired:
"What do you wish to become?"
"A mortal!" answered the fairy, promptly.
"A girl, like ourselves?" questioned the baron's daughter.
"Perhaps," said the fairy, as if undecided.
"Then you would be likely to endure many privations," said Seseley,
gently. "For you would have neither father nor mother to befriend you,
nor any house to live in."
"And if you hired your services to some baron, you would be obliged to
wash dishes all day, or mend clothing, or herd cattle," said Berna.
"But I should travel all over the island," said the fairy, brightly,
"and that is what I long to do. I do not care to work."
"I fear a girl would not be allowed to travel alone," Seseley remarked,
after some further thought. "At least," she added, "I have never heard
of such a thing."
"No," said the fairy, rather bitterly, "your men are the ones that roam
abroad and have adventures of all kinds. Your women are poor, weak
creatures, I remember."
There was no denying this, so the three girls sat silent until Seseley
asked:
"Why do you wish to become a mortal?"
"To gain exciting experiences," answered the fairy. "I'm tired of
being a humdrum fairy year in and year out. Of course, I do not wish
to become a mortal for all time, for that would get monotonous, too;
but to live a short while as the earth people do would amuse me very
much."
"If you want variety, you should become a boy," said Helda, with a
laugh, "The life of a boy is one round of excitement."
"Then make me a boy!" exclaimed the fairy eagerly.
"A boy!" they all cried in consternation. And Seseley added:
"Why--you're a GIRL fairy, aren't you?"
"Well--yes; I suppose I am," answered the beautiful creature, smiling;
"but as you are going to change me anyway, I may as well become a boy
as a girl."
"Better!" declared Helda, clapping her hands; "for then you can do as
you please."
"But would it be right?" asked Seseley, with hesitation.
"Why not?" retorted the fairy. "I can see nothing wrong in being a
boy. Make me a tall, slender youth, with waving brown hair and dark
eyes. Then I shall be as unlike my own self as possible, and the
adventure will be all the more interesting. Yes; I like the idea of
being a boy very much indeed."
|
helda
|
How many times does the word 'helda' appear in the text?
| 3
|
>
</b><b>
</b> April, 2008
<b>
</b><b>
</b>
<b> INT PAPAL APARTMENT DAY
</b><b>
</b> CLOSE ON an ornate ring. It's intricately carved with a seal, an
image of St. Peter casting a net. The ring is carried on a satin
pillow through a darkened, regal apartment. In the distance,
BELLS ARE TOLLING -- the slow, solemn tones that announce a death.
<b>
</b> A dozen men in scarlet cassocks, ROMAN CATHOLIC CARDINALS, bend
down to inspect the ring, nodding in affirmation, part of an
ancient ritual.
<b>
</b> A younger man (the CAMERLENGO) in a black cassock takes a silver
knife and scratches the ring's seal twice, once horizontally and
once vertically, in the sign of the cross.
<b>
</b> Now the ring is placed on a lead block. The Camerlengo raises a
silver mallet and SMASHES it down, shattering the ring into a
thousand tiny pieces.
<b>
</b> As the Cardinals confirm to their satisfaction that the ring has
been destroyed, the HUSHED VOICE of a NEWS REPORTER comes over the
image.
<b>
</b><b> REPORTER
</b> -- the Ring of the Fisherman, which
bears the official papal seal and by
Vatican law must be destroyed
immediately following the Pope's
death.
<b>
</b><b> IN THE HALLWAY JUST OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT,
</b><b>
</b> the Cardinals file out in a solemn procession. Behind them, the
Camerlengo closes and locks the doors to
|
ritual
|
How many times does the word 'ritual' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Naturally, a town should grow. You can look upon it as a child; which,
through natural conditions, should attain manhood; and add to its
surrounding thriving districts its products of farm, shop, or factory.
It should show a spirit of association with surrounding towns; crawl
out of its lair, and find how backward it is.
Now, in all such towns, you will find, occasionally, an individual born
with that sort of brain which, knowing that his town is backward, longs
to start things toward improving it; not only its living conditions,
but adding an institution or two, such as any _city_, big or small,
maintains, gratis, for its inhabitants. But so forward looking a man
finds that trying to instill any such notions into a town's ruling body
is about as satisfactory as butting against a brick wall. Such "Boards"
as you find ruling many a small town, function from such a soporific
rut that any hint of digging cash from its cast iron strong box with
its big brass padlock, will fall upon minds as rigid as rock.
Branton Hills _had_ such a man, to whom such rigidity was as annoying
as a thorn in his foot. Continuous trials brought only continual
thorn-pricks; until, finally, a brilliant plan took form as John
Gadsby found Branton Hills' High School pupils waking up to Branton
Hills' sloth. Gadsby continually found this bright young bunch asking:--
"Aw! Why is this town so slow? It's nothing but a dry twig!!"
"Ha!" said Gadsby; "A dry twig! That's it! Many a living, blossoming
branch all around us, and this solitary dry twig, with a tag hanging
from it, on which you will find: 'Branton Hills; A twig too lazy to
grow!'"
Now this put a "hunch" in Gadsby's brain, causing him to say; "A High
School pupil is not a child, now. Naturally a High School boy has not
a man's qualifications; nor has a High School girl womanly maturity.
But such kids, born in this swiftly moving day, think out many a notion
which will work, but which would pass our dads and granddads in cold
disdain. Just as ships pass at night. But supposing that such ships
should show a light in passing; or blow a horn; or, if--if--if--By
Golly! I'll do it!"
And so Gadsby sat on his blossom-bound porch on a mild Spring morning,
thinking and smoking. Smoking can calm a man down; and his thoughts
had so long and so constantly clung to this plan of his that a cool
outlook as to its promulgation was not only important, but paramount.
So, as his cigar was whirling and puffing rings aloft; and as groups
of bright, happy boys and girls trod past, to school, his plan rapidly
took form as follows:--
"Youth! What is it? Simply a start. A start of what? Why, of that most
astounding of all human functions; thought. But man didn't start his
brain working. No. All that an adult can claim is a continuation, or
an amplification of thoughts, dormant in his youth. Although a child's
brain can absorb instruction with an ability far surpassing that of a
grown man; and, although such a young brain is bound by rigid limits,
it contains a capacity for constantly craving additional facts. So,
in our backward Branton Hills, I just _know_ that I can find boys and
girls who can show our old moss-back Town Hall big-wigs a thing or two.
Why! On Town Hall night, just go and sit in that room and find out just
how stupid and stubborn a Council, (put _into_ Town Hall, you know,
through popular ballot!), can act. Say that a road is badly worn. Shall
it stay so? Up jumps Old Bill Simpkins claiming that it is a townsman's
duty to fix up his wagon springs if that road is too rough for him!"
As Gadsby sat thinking thus, his plan was rapidly growing; and, in a
month, was actually starting to work. How? You'll know shortly; but
first, you should know this John Gadsby; a man of "around fifty
|
town
|
How many times does the word 'town' appear in the text?
| 7
|
ACE (V.O.)
</b> When you love someone, you've gotta
trust them. There's no other way.
You've got to give them the key to
everything that's yours. Otherwise,
what's the point? And, for a while...
I believed that's the kind of love I
had.
Suddenly, the car explodes. Flames, smoke and metal rise
into the sky covering the view of the Las Vegas casinos and
their signs.
Music in: J.S. Bach - 'St Matthew Passion'.
Ace's body comes flying in - extreme slow motion. His body
twists and turns through the frame like a soul about to tumble
into the flames of damnation.
<b>MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE.
</b>
<b>INT. TANGIERS CASINO FLOOR - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of ACE through rippling flames, we move in on ACE
ROTHSTEIN overseeing the casino. He lights a cigarette.
<b> ACE (V.O.)
</b> Before I ever ran a casino or got
myself blown up, Ace Rothstein was a
hell of a handicapper, I can tell
you that. I was so good, that whenever
I bet, I could change the odds for
every bookmaker in the country. I'm
serious. I had it down so cold that
I was given paradise on earth. I was
given one of the biggest casinos in
Las Vegas to run, the Tangiers...
<b>INT. SAN MARINO ITALIAN GROCERY/BACK ROOM, KANSAS CITY -
</b><b>NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of MOB BOSSES sitting at a table surrounded by food
and wine like the gods of Olympus.
<b> ACE (V.O.)
</b> ...by the only kind of guys that can
actually get you that kind of money:
sixty-two million, seven-hundred
thousand dollars. I don't know all
the details.
<b> NICKY (V.O.)
</b> Matter of fact...
<b>INT. BAR, LAS VEGAS - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of NICKY SANTORO standing at a bar with DOMINICK
SANTORO, his brother, and FRANK MARINO, his right-hand man.
<b> NICKY (V.O.)
</b> ...nobody knew all the details, but
it should'a been perfect. I mean, he
had me, Nicky Santoro, his best
friend, watching his ass...
<b>INT. NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of GINGER
|
nicky
|
How many times does the word 'nicky' appear in the text?
| 3
|
sleeping children resting against her knees.
[Illustration 006]
This was the ambush.
"What are you doing here?" called out the vivandière.
The woman raised her head, and the former added angrily,--
"Are you insane to remain there!"
She went on,--
"A little more, and you would have been blown to atoms!" Then
addressing the soldiers, she said, "It's a woman."
"Pardieu! That's plain to be seen," replied a grenadier.
The vivandière continued,--"To come into the woods to get oneself
massacred. Can you conceive of any one so stupid as that?"
The woman, surprised, bewildered, and stunned, was gazing around, as
though in a dream, at these muskets, sabres, bayonets, and savage
faces. The two children awoke and began to cry.
"I am hungry," said one.
"I am afraid," said the other.
The baby went on nursing.
The vivandière addressed it.
"You are the wise one," she said.
The mother was dumb with terror.
"Don't be afraid," exclaimed the sergeant, "we are the battalion of the
Bonnet Rouge."
The woman trembled from head to foot. She looked at the sergeant, of
whose rough face she could see only the eyebrows, moustache, and eyes
like two coals of fire.
"The battalion formerly known as the Red-Cross," added the vivandière.
The sergeant continued,--
"Who are you, madam?"
The woman looked at him in terror. She was thin, young, pale, and
in tatters. She wore the large hood and woollen cloak of the Breton
peasants, fastened by a string around her neck. She left her bosom
exposed with the indifference of an animal. Her feet, without shoes or
stockings, were bleeding.
"It's a beggar," said the sergeant.
The vivandière continued in her martial yet womanly voice,--a gentle
voice withal,--
"What is your name?"
The woman stammered in a scarce audible whisper:
"Michelle Fléchard."
Meanwhile the vivandière stroked the little head of the nursing baby
with her large hand.
"How old is this midget?" she asked.
The mother did not understand. The vivandière repeated,--"I ask you how
old it is?"
"Oh, eighteen months," said the mother.
"That's quite old," said the vivandière; "it ought not to nurse any
longer, you must wean it. We will give him soup."
The mother began to feel more at ease. The two little ones, who had
awakened, were rather interested than frightened; they admired the
plumes of the soldiers.
"Ah, they are very hungry!" said the mother.
And she added,--
"I have no more milk."
"We will give them food," cried the sergeant, "and you also. But there
is something more to be settled. What are your political opinions?"
The woman looked at him and made no reply.
"Do you understand my question?"
She stammered,--
"I was put into a convent when I was quite young, but I married; I am
not a nun. The Sisters taught me to speak French. The village was set
on fire. We escaped in such haste that I had no time to put my shoes
on."
"I ask you what are your political opinions?"
"I don't know anything about that."
The sergeant continued,--
"There are female spies. That kind of person we shoot. Come, speak. You
are not a gypsy, are you? What is your native land?"
She still looked at him as though unable to comprehend.
The sergeant repeated,--
"What is your native land?"
"I do not know," she said.
"How is that? You do not know your country?"
"Ah! Do you mean my country? I know that."
"Well, what is
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 7
|
(The women enter.)
_Chorus of men._
(Behind scenes.)
Your spinning wheels now busily are humming,
O'er fields of golden corn the sound is coming;
We linger where the leafy shade is restful;
Of you we think, and every heart is zestful.
Oh lovely women! Allured by you and enraptured,
Like the bird by the lure held, now are we captured!
(The men enter.)
_Women._
Work in the field now is ended;--
The Holy Mother mild
In ecstasy fondles the Child.
_All._
(Withdrawing from stage.)
Murmurs of tender song tell of a joyful world,
And of thankful hearts.
Ah! gladsome hour!
(Enter, Santuzza, approaching Lucia's dwelling.)
SCENA I.
La scena rappresenta una piazza in un paese della Sicilia. Nel fondo, a
destra, Chiesa con porta practicabile. A sinistra l'osteria e la casa di
Mamma Lucia.
E il giorno Pasqua.
CORO D'INTRODUZIONE.
(Campane interne dalla Chiesa. Si alza la tela. La scena sul principio è
vuota. Albeggia. Paesani, contadini, contadine e ragazzi traversano la
scena. Si apre la chiesa e la folla vi entra. Il movimento del popolo
continua fino al Coro punto in cui rimane la scena vuota.)
_Coro._
(Donne di dentro.)
Ah!
(Uomini di dentro.)
Ah!
(Donne di dentro.)
Gli aranci olezzano sui verdi margini,
Cantan le allodole tra i mirti in fior;
Tempo è si mormori da ognuno il tenero canto che i palpiti--
Raddoppia al cor.
(Le donne entrano in iscena.)
(Uomini di dentro.)
_Coro_.
In mezzo al campo tra le spiche d'oro
Giunge il rumore delle vostre spole,
Noi stanchi riposando dal lavoro
A voi pensiamo, o belle occhidisole.
O belle occhidisole, a voi corriamo,
Come vola l'augelo--al suo richiamo.
(Gli uomini entrano in iscena.)
_Donne._ Cessin le rustiche opre:
La Virgine serena allietasi del Salvator;
Tempo è si mormori da ognuno il
tenero canto che i palpiti--
Raddoppia al cor.
_Uomini._
(Allontanandosi.)
In mezzo al campo, etc.
_Donne._
|
mezzo
|
How many times does the word 'mezzo' appear in the text?
| 1
|
to be the cricketer and became the host. He chatted
amiably to the new-comer.
'You lost the game, I suppose,' said Mr Bickersdyke.
The cricketer in Mr Smith came to the top again, blended now, however,
with the host. He was annoyed, but restrained in his annoyance.
'I say, Bickersdyke, you know, my dear fellow,' he said complainingly,
'you shouldn't have walked across the screen. You put Jackson off, and
made him get bowled.'
'The screen?'
'That curious white object,' said Mike. 'It is not put up merely as an
ornament. There's a sort of rough idea of giving the batsman a chance
of seeing the ball, as well. It's a great help to him when people come
charging across it just as the bowler bowls.'
Mr Bickersdyke turned a slightly deeper shade of purple, and was about
to reply, when what sporting reporters call 'the veritable ovation'
began.
Quite a large crowd had been watching the game, and they expressed
their approval of Mike's performance.
There is only one thing for a batsman to do on these occasions. Mike
ran into the pavilion, leaving Mr Bickersdyke standing.
2. Mike Hears Bad News
It seemed to Mike, when he got home, that there was a touch of gloom in
the air. His sisters were as glad to see him as ever. There was a good
deal of rejoicing going on among the female Jacksons because Joe had
scored his first double century in first-class cricket. Double
centuries are too common, nowadays, for the papers to take much notice
of them; but, still, it is not everybody who can make them, and the
occasion was one to be marked. Mike had read the news in the evening
paper in the train, and had sent his brother a wire from the station,
congratulating him. He had wondered whether he himself would ever
achieve the feat in first-class cricket. He did not see why he should
not. He looked forward through a long vista of years of county cricket.
He had a birth qualification for the county in which Mr Smith had
settled, and he had played for it once already at the beginning of the
holidays. His _debut_ had not been sensational, but it had been
promising. The fact that two members of the team had made centuries,
and a third seventy odd, had rather eclipsed his own twenty-nine not
out; but it had been a faultless innings, and nearly all the papers had
said that here was yet another Jackson, evidently well up to the family
standard, who was bound to do big things in the future.
The touch of gloom was contributed by his brother Bob to a certain
extent, and by his father more noticeably. Bob looked slightly
thoughtful. Mr Jackson seemed thoroughly worried.
Mike approached Bob on the subject in the billiard-room after dinner.
Bob was practising cannons in rather a listless way.
'What's up, Bob?' asked Mike.
Bob laid down his cue.
'I'm hanged if I know,' said Bob. 'Something seems to be. Father's
worried about something.'
'He looked as if he'd got the hump rather at dinner.'
'I only got here this afternoon, about three hours before you did. I
had a bit of a talk with him before dinner. I can't make out what's up.
He seemed awfully keen on my finding something to do now I've come down
from Oxford. Wanted to know whether I couldn't get a tutoring job or a
mastership at some school next term. I said I'd have a shot. I don't
see what all the hurry's about, though. I was hoping he'd give me a bit
of travelling on the Continent somewhere before I started in.'
'Rough luck,' said Mike. 'I wonder why it is. Jolly good about Joe,
wasn't it? Let's have fifty up, shall we?'
Bob's remarks had given Mike no hint of impending disaster. It seemed
strange, of course, that his father, who had always been so easy-going,
should have developed a hustling Get On or Get Out spirit, and be
urging Bob to Do It Now; but it never occurred to him
|
birth
|
How many times does the word 'birth' appear in the text?
| 0
|
attractive FEMALE SCIENTIST in a gore-spattered lab
coat moves fearfully along a wall, passing benches strewn
with broken lab equipment. Her ample bosom heaves as she
PANTS nervously, mascara-rimmed eyes darting to and fro.
Glass SMASHES on the floor nearby and MELODRAMATIC MUSIC
swells. The woman backs into a shadow, not noticing a
pair of dead eyes catching the moonlight behind her.
The music climbs to a frenzy as something GROANS horribly
into the woman's ear. She spins around on her stiletto
heels as a rotted face looms out of the darkness,
drooling through broken teeth, and lunges at her neck.
<b> ZOMBIE
</b> Brains!
CLOSE ON the woman as she raises her hands and SCREAMS.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 2
</b>
<b> INT. BABCOCK'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Eleven year-old NORMAN BABCOCK sits on the floor
watching TV. He has large piercing eyes and a messy shock
of hair. The movie scene we just witnessed continues off-
screen with the sound of bloodcurdling SCREAMS.
Behind him sitting upon a sofa is GRANDMA BABCOCK, a
plump old lady squinting through thick glasses.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> What's happening now?
<b> NORMAN
</b> The zombie is eating her head,
Grandma.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> That's not very nice. What's he
doing that for?
<b> NORMAN
</b> Because he's a zombie. That's what
they do.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> Well he's going to ruin his
dinner. I'm sure if they just
bothered to sit down and talk it
through it
|
screams
|
How many times does the word 'screams' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Inspired by the Brothers Grimm's
"Little Snow White"
November 22nd, 2011
<b> 1 EXT. GARDENS/ CASTLE - DAY. 1
</b>
From high above we see the castle gardens covered in a blanket
of snow. We hear the tread of footsteps then see a beautiful
WOMAN in a fur-lined cloak heading towards an unseen object.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen
was admiring the falling snow when she saw
a rose blooming in defiance of the cold.
The rose looks miraculously red. Nearby, a RAVEN looks on. The
Queen gazes at the flower, then bends down.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and
three drops of blood fell.
BOOM -- with the impact of an artillery shell, a DROP OF BLOOD
lands in the snow. Followed by ANOTHER. And ANOTHER.
The Queen startles, then calmly touches her stomach.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> And because the red seemed so alive against
the white, she thought, if only I had a
child as white as snow, lips as red as
blood, hair as black as a raven's wings and
all with the strength of that rose.
A beat, then we hear the piercing cry of a new-born baby --
<b> 2 INT. ROYAL BEDROOM - DAY. 2
</b>
We find ourselves in a crowded chamber full of MIDWIVES and
PHYSICIANS. Moving through the chaos we glimpse buckets of
water, dirty sponges, astrology charts and protection charms --
until we see a BABY GIRL in the arms of her happy mother.
<b> ERIC (V.O.)
</b> Soon after, a daughter was born to the
Queen and was named "Snow White."
With a radiant smile, the Queen offers SNOW WHITE to her proud
father, KING MAGNUS. The baby's CRIES grow louder as the King
cradles her gently in his arms, turning towards a mirror.
<b> ERIC V/
|
raven
|
How many times does the word 'raven' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ACE (V.O.)
</b> When you love someone, you've gotta
trust them. There's no other way.
You've got to give them the key to
everything that's yours. Otherwise,
what's the point? And, for a while...
I believed that's the kind of love I
had.
Suddenly, the car explodes. Flames, smoke and metal rise
into the sky covering the view of the Las Vegas casinos and
their signs.
Music in: J.S. Bach - 'St Matthew Passion'.
Ace's body comes flying in - extreme slow motion. His body
twists and turns through the frame like a soul about to tumble
into the flames of damnation.
<b>MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE.
</b>
<b>INT. TANGIERS CASINO FLOOR - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of ACE through rippling flames, we move in on ACE
ROTHSTEIN overseeing the casino. He lights a cigarette.
<b> ACE (V.O.)
</b> Before I ever ran a casino or got
myself blown up, Ace Rothstein was a
hell of a handicapper, I can tell
you that. I was so good, that whenever
I bet, I could change the odds for
every bookmaker in the country. I'm
serious. I had it down so cold that
I was given paradise on earth. I was
given one of the biggest casinos in
Las Vegas to run, the Tangiers...
<b>INT. SAN MARINO ITALIAN GROCERY/BACK ROOM, KANSAS CITY -
</b><b>NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of MOB BOSSES sitting at a table surrounded by food
and wine like the gods of Olympus.
<b> ACE (V.O.)
</b> ...by the only kind of guys that can
actually get you that kind of money:
sixty-two million, seven-hundred
thousand dollars. I don't know all
the details.
<b> NICKY (V.O.)
</b> Matter of fact...
<b>INT. BAR, LAS VEGAS - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of NICKY SANTORO standing at a bar with DOMINICK
SANTORO, his brother, and FRANK MARINO, his right-hand man.
<b> NICKY (V.O.)
</b> ...nobody knew all the details, but
it should'a been perfect. I mean, he
had me, Nicky Santoro, his best
friend, watching his ass...
<b>INT. NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
</b>
Vignette of GINGER
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 1
|
through a
labyrinth of winding underground tunnels. Glowing torches light
the way. Blurry, indistinct silhouettes of grim FIGURES wearing
black-cowled robes flash along the dank, craggy walls.
As we BLAST around dark corners, we realize we are looking from
the P.O.V. of a SCREAMING young woman being pushed forward on a
gurney. Plunging deeper into this hellish maze.
A door is SLAMMED. Wooden. Heavy. Muffling the SCREAMS.
Spurs CLANK on a pair of silver-tipped cowboy boots as a
MYSTERIOUS STRANGER steps into VIEW. Long black duster.
Widebrimmed fedora. Lit cigarette dangling between gloved
fingers.
<b>INT. BIRTHING CHAMBER - NIGHT (CONTINUOUS)
</b>
A rat scampers from a hole, foraging in the muck of a rotted
rack. A white sheet, saturated with blood, covers the parted legs
of JAMIE LLOYD, now 16, cheeks flushed with perspiration.
<b>
</b><b> JAMIE
</b> Oh, God, it's coming! It's coming!
MARY, a young midwife, rushes in with a bowl of hot water. Jamie
lurches, knocking the bowl out of the girl's hands; it SHATTERS on
the floor.
<b>
</b><b> JAMIE
</b> (continuing)
Mary, mother of God, please make it stop!
Mary's face is frozen in horror. Jamie's SCREAMS build to an
unnerving crescendo. The paiin too much for her to bear.
<b>
</b><b> FLASH CUT TO:
</b>
Lurid SHOCK CUTS from the previous "Halloween" entries -- a
surrealistic blend of IMAGES and VOICES -- as Jamie relives her
terrifying childhood ordeal:
<b>
</b><b> LOOMIS (V.O.)
</b> ... Ten years ago he tried to kill Laurie
Strode ...
A) LAURIE STRODE (Jamie Lee Curtis) twists and squirms as she is
strangled mercilessly in the hands of the murderous SHAPE.
<b>
</b><b> LOOMIS (V.O.)
</b> ... Now he wants her daughter.
B) Trapped in her bedroom, 10-YEAR-OLD JAMIE (Danielle Harris)
struggles to open the door. She flings it open. The Shape is
standing there, knife poised to kill!
<b>
</b><b> LOOMIS (V.O.)
</b> Michael Myers is here to kill that little girl
and anyone else who gets in his way!
C) RACHEL (Ellie Cornell) dies in anguish as the Shape plunges a
pair of scissors through her chest. TINA (Wendy Kaplan) dives
right into the path of the Shape's knife. "Jamie, run!!!"
D) Jamie sinks to her knees behind the fallen Shape, taking its
hand in her own. CLOSE ON the Shape's hand. Fingers flexing to
life. A grotesque BRAND on its wrist -- an inverted isocsceles
triangle that will come to be known as the mark of THORN.
E) BLINDING EXPLOSION rips through cinderblock. A jail cell blown
to oblivion. FIRESTORM rages. The MYSTERIOUS STRANGER appears,
opening fire with a SEMI-AUTOMATIC RIFLE.
Pitiful wails of death. OFFIC
|
jamie
|
How many times does the word 'jamie' appear in the text?
| 9
|
is saying very witty things about the French," volunteered the
interpreter in a low voice, "but they are not offensive."
Julio had guessed as much upon hearing repeatedly the word Franzosen.
He almost understood what the orator was saying--"Franzosen--great
children, light-hearted, amusing, improvident. The things that they
might do together if they would only forget past grudges!" The attentive
Germans were no longer laughing. The Counsellor was laying aside his
irony, that grandiloquent, crushing irony, weighing many tons, as
enormous as a ship. Then he began unrolling the serious part of his
harangue, so that he himself, was also greatly affected.
"He says, sir," reported Julio's neighbor, "that he wishes France
to become a very great nation so that some day we may march together
against other enemies . . . against OTHERS!"
And he winked one eye, smiling maliciously with that smile of common
intelligence which this allusion to the mysterious enemy always
awakened.
Finally the Captain-Counsellor raised his glass in a toast to France.
"Hoch!" he yelled as though he were commanding an evolution of his
soldierly Reserves. Three times he sounded the cry and all the German
contingent springing to their feet, responded with a lusty Hoch while
the band in the corridor blared forth the Marseillaise.
Desnoyers was greatly moved. Thrills of enthusiasm were coursing up
and down his spine. His eyes became so moist that, when drinking his
champagne, he almost believed that he had swallowed some tears. He
bore a French name. He had French blood in his veins, and this that the
gringoes were doing--although generally they seemed to him ridiculous
and ordinary--was really worth acknowledging. The subjects of the Kaiser
celebrating the great date of the Revolution! He believed that he was
witnessing a great historic event.
"Very well done!" he said to the other South Americans at the near
tables. "We must admit that they have done the handsome thing."
Then with the vehemence of his twenty-seven years, he accosted the
jeweller in the passage way, reproaching him for his silence. He was
the only French citizen aboard. He should have made a few words of
acknowledgment. The fiesta was ending awkwardly through his fault.
"And why have you not spoken as a son of France?" retorted the jeweller.
"I am an Argentinian citizen," replied Julio.
And he left the older man believing that he ought to have spoken and
making explanations to those around him. It was a very dangerous thing,
he protested, to meddle in diplomatic affairs. Furthermore, he had not
instructions from his government. And for a few hours he believed that
he had been on the point of playing a great role in history.
Desnoyers passed the rest of the evening in the smoking room attracted
thither by the presence of the Counsellor's Lady. The Captain of the
Landsturm, sticking a preposterous cigar between his moustachios, was
playing poker with his countrymen ranking next to him in dignity and
riches. His wife stayed beside him most of the time, watching the goings
and comings of the stewards carrying great bocks, without daring to
share in this tremendous consumption of beer. Her special preoccupation
was to keep vacant near her a seat which Desnoyers might occupy. She
considered him the most distinguished man on board because he was
accustomed to taking champagne with all his meals. He was of medium
height, a decided brunette, with a small foot, which obliged her to tuck
hers under her skirts, and a triangular face under two masses of hair,
straight, black and glossy as lacquer, the very opposite of the type of
men about her. Besides, he was living in Paris, in the city which she
had never seen after numerous trips in both hemispheres.
"Oh, Paris! Paris!" she sighed, opening her eyes and pursing her lips
in order to express her admiration when she was speaking alone to the
Argentinian. "How I should love to go there!"
And in order that he might feel free to tell her things about Paris, she
permitted herself certain confidences about the pleasures of Berlin,
|
about
|
How many times does the word 'about' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Based on characters created by George Lucas
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
<b> STAR WARS
</b>
<b> EPISODE VII
</b>
<b> THE FORCE AWAKENS
</b>
Luke Skywalker has vanished. In his absence,
the sinister FIRST ORDER has risen from the
ashes of the Empire and will not rest until
Skywalker, the last Jedi, has been destroyed.
With the support of the REPUBLIC, General
Leia Organa leads a brave RESISTANCE. She is
desperate to find her brother Luke and gain
his help in restoring peace and justice to
the galaxy.
Leia has sent her most daring pilot on a secret
mission to Jakku, where an old ally has
discovered a clue to Luke's whereabouts....
PAN across the star field to a bright moon. A RUMBLING is
FELT. A VAST STAR DESTROYER -- unlike any we have seen --
HURTLES PAST US, of seemingly endless length, eclipsing the
moon. After a long beat, FOUR TRANSPORT SHIPS fly from a
hangar. We HOLD ON THEM NOW, as they fly off toward a distant
planet. Jakku. MUSIC BUILDS AND WE...
<b> CUT TO BLACK.
</b>
A GROWING ROAR of MEAN ENGINES -- gnarled RADIO CALLS, the
SHUDDERING of a ship's hull. Then FLASHES OF LIGHT: for an
instant we see a STORMTROOPER -- then BLACKNESS. Then ANOTHER
STORMTROOPER, then it's gone.
The FLICKERING CONTINUES until the LIGHTS ARE CONSTANT. We
<b> ARE IN:
</b>
<b> INT. TROOP TRANSPORT VEHICLE - NIGHT
</b>
|
flickering
|
How many times does the word 'flickering' appear in the text?
| 0
|
in dealing with the young, the fact of association itself as an
immediate human fact, gains in importance. While it is easy to ignore in
our contact with them the effect of our acts upon their disposition,
or to subordinate that educative effect to some external and tangible
result, it is not so easy as in dealing with adults. The need of
training is too evident; the pressure to accomplish a change in their
attitude and habits is too urgent to leave these consequences wholly
out of account. Since our chief business with them is to enable them to
share in a common life we cannot help considering whether or no we are
forming the powers which will secure this ability. If humanity has made
some headway in realizing that the ultimate value of every institution
is its distinctively human effect--its effect upon conscious
experience--we may well believe that this lesson has been learned
largely through dealings with the young.
We are thus led to distinguish, within the broad educational
process which we have been so far considering, a more formal kind of
education--that of direct tuition or schooling. In undeveloped social
groups, we find very little formal teaching and training. Savage groups
mainly rely for instilling needed dispositions into the young upon the
same sort of association which keeps adults loyal to their group. They
have no special devices, material, or institutions for teaching save in
connection with initiation ceremonies by which the youth are inducted
into full social membership. For the most part, they depend upon
children learning the customs of the adults, acquiring their emotional
set and stock of ideas, by sharing in what the elders are doing. In
part, this sharing is direct, taking part in the occupations of adults
and thus serving an apprenticeship; in part, it is indirect, through the
dramatic plays in which children reproduce the actions of grown-ups
and thus learn to know what they are like. To savages it would seem
preposterous to seek out a place where nothing but learning was going on
in order that one might learn.
But as civilization advances, the gap between the capacities of the
young and the concerns of adults widens. Learning by direct sharing in
the pursuits of grown-ups becomes increasingly difficult except in the
case of the less advanced occupations. Much of what adults do is so
remote in space and in meaning that playful imitation is less and less
adequate to reproduce its spirit. Ability to share effectively in adult
activities thus depends upon a prior training given with this end in
view. Intentional agencies--schools--and explicit material--studies--are
devised. The task of teaching certain things is delegated to a special
group of persons.
Without such formal education, it is not possible to transmit all the
resources and achievements of a complex society. It also opens a way to
a kind of experience which would not be accessible to the young, if they
were left to pick up their training in informal association with others,
since books and the symbols of knowledge are mastered.
But there are conspicuous dangers attendant upon the transition from
indirect to formal education. Sharing in actual pursuit, whether
directly or vicariously in play, is at least personal and vital. These
qualities compensate, in some measure, for the narrowness of available
opportunities. Formal instruction, on the contrary, easily becomes
remote and dead--abstract and bookish, to use the ordinary words of
depreciation. What accumulated knowledge exists in low grade societies
is at least put into practice; it is transmuted into character; it
exists with the depth of meaning that attaches to its coming within
urgent daily interests.
But in an advanced culture much which has to be learned is stored in
symbols. It is far from translation into familiar acts and objects. Such
material is relatively technical and superficial. Taking the ordinary
standard of reality as a measure, it is artificial. For this measure is
connection with practical concerns. Such material exists in a world by
itself, unassimilated to ordinary customs of thought and expression.
There is the standing danger that the material of formal instruction
will be merely the subject matter of the schools, isolated from the
subject matter of life-experience. The permanent social interests are
likely to be lost from view. Those which have not been carried over
into the structure of social life, but which remain largely matters
of technical information expressed in symbols, are made conspicuous
in schools. Thus we reach the ordinary notion of education: the notion
which ignores its social necessity and its identity with all human
|
save
|
How many times does the word 'save' appear in the text?
| 0
|
ROS.
Oh, never fear.
FIFE.
Or else,
Default of other beasts, beastlier men,
Cannibals, Anthropophagi, bare Poles
Who never knew a tailor but by taste.
ROS.
Look, look! Unless my fancy misconceive
With twilight--down among the rocks there, Fife--
Some human dwelling, surely--
Or think you but a rock torn from the rocks
In some convulsion like to-day's, and perch'd
Quaintly among them in mock-masonry?
FIFE.
Most likely that, I doubt.
ROS.
No, no--for look!
A square of darkness opening in it--
FIFE.
Oh, I don't half like such openings!--
ROS.
Like the loom
Of night from which she spins her outer gloom--
FIFE.
Lord, Madam, pray forbear this tragic vein
In such a time and place--
ROS.
And now again
Within that square of darkness, look! a light
That feels its way with hesitating pulse,
As we do, through the darkness that it drives
To blacken into deeper night beyond.
FIFE.
In which could we follow that light's example,
As might some English Bardolph with his nose,
We might defy the sunset--Hark, a chain!
ROS.
And now a lamp, a lamp! And now the hand
That carries it.
FIFE.
Oh, Lord! that dreadful chain!
ROS.
And now the bearer of the lamp; indeed
As strange as any in Arabian tale,
So giant-like, and terrible, and grand,
Spite of the skin he's wrapt in.
FIFE.
Why, 'tis his own:
Oh, 'tis some wild man of the woods; I've heard
They build and carry torches--
ROS.
Never Ape
Bore such a brow before the heavens as that--
Chain'd as you say too!--
FIFE.
Oh, that dreadful chain!
ROS.
And now he sets the lamp down by his side,
And with one hand clench'd in his tangled hair
And with a sigh as if his heart would break--
(During this Segismund has entered from the fortress, with a
torch.)
SEGISMUND.
Once more the storm has roar'd itself away,
Splitting the crags of God as it retires;
But sparing still what it should only blast,
This guilty piece of human handiwork,
And all that are within it. Oh, how oft,
How oft, within or here abroad, have I
Waited, and in the whisper of my heart
Pray'd for the slanting hand of heaven to strike
The blow myself I dared not, out of fear
Of that Hereafter, worse, they say, than here,
Plunged headlong in, but, till dismissal waited,
To wipe at last all sorrow from men's eyes,
And make this heavy dispensation clear.
Thus have I
|
slanting
|
How many times does the word 'slanting' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A PICTURES LOGO
</b>
<b>BLACK SCREEN
</b>
On a black screen, the words (without capital letters in front of
the words) :
columbia pictures
presents
and then :
a film by
barbet schroeder
<b>BATHROOM - INTERIOR
</b>
We don't know if it's day or night. We see a little girl, aged
around eight, putting lipstick on her lips. She is wearing
earrings and a ring on the middle finger of her right hand. She
moves forward and we see another girl about the same age. The
first girl puts lipstick on the lips of the second girl. Both girl
are smiling.
More credits, still without capital letters.
The camera moves back and we get a better view of the second girl.
The two girls appear to be twins. The first girl takes a powder
puff and puts powder on the second girl's cheeks.
The two girls look at themselves in the mirror. The camera gives
the impression to be located behind the mirror.
The first girl gives a kiss on the cheek of the second girl.
<b>FADE OUT TO BLACK SCREEN
</b>
The title of the film appears on the black screen.
The camera moves and we see, appearing on the right-hand side of
the screen :
<b>BUILDING - EXTERIOR NIGHT
</b>
This building is actually Allison's building, but we don't know it
yet.
Credits resume on the screen.
The camera keeps on moving and we see several lit windows. The
building itself is a nice building with carvings on the walls.
The camera moves backward, giving us a full view of the building.
As the camera comes back forward, we hear two voices speaking, one
male, one female. They are the voices of Allison «Allie» Jones and
her fiancé Sam Rawson.
SAM (voice over)
So how many kids do we want ?
ALLISON (voice over)
I dunno. What's the statistical norm ?
SAM (voice over)
You and your statistics.
Allison laughs
SAM (voice over)
One point two.
ALLISON (voice over)
Okay, then I want two point two.
Fade to :
<b>ALLISON'S APARTMENT - ALLISON'S BEDROOM - INTERIOR NIGHT
</b>
Sam and Allison are lying on the bed, partly dressed. Sam is
holding Allison next to him. They are both about thirty years old.
Allison has short red hair, and Sam has brown wavy hair.
Behind the front of the bed we see the wrought iron of the
balcony. The light is very dim in the room, lit only by the street
lights and a couple of candles. We hear Allison finishing her last
voice over sentence.
<b> ALLISON
</b> And I want them to look like you.
<b> SAM
</b> Poor kids.
End of credits.
<b> SAM
</b> So, if I got to be able to drag you away from computer
tomorrow, I'll buy you that ring.
<b> ALLISON
</b> Sure. So, is this gonna be a real wedding ?
She moves a bit away from him, and takes a piece of grapes in a
plate lying on the floor.
<b> SAM
</b> As opposed to a fake one ?
<b> ALLISON
</b> You know what I mean, Sam. You've already been through the
|
girl
|
How many times does the word 'girl' appear in the text?
| 9
|
VOICE (V.O.)
</b> There comes a time for every vampire
when the idea of eternity becomes
momentarily unbearable...
As we REACH an old stone tomb, the boots leap up and OUT
OF FRAME. PAN UP to reveal:
A FIGURE stands steadily atop the roof of the tomb,
silhouetted against the moon like a large, black bird.
<b> VOICE (V.O.)
</b> The wounds suffered from love and
failed friendships don't heal like
a human's, but seem to only gape
larger. The longing to be mortal
returns, a longing for finiteness.
A beat as the indistinct figure gazes out at the night...
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>2 OMITTED 2
</b><b>& &
</b><b>3 3
</b>
<b>4 EXT. TOMB - CONTINUOUS ACTION 4
</b>
The figure enters an alabaster tomb and closes the door.
<b> VOICE (V.O.)
</b> In 1883 I suffered such a spell
and decided to cease feeding on
blood. Just lie in the earth and
let time return to its natural
state...
As the WIND PICKS UP, the LEAVES of a fledgling vine
growing up the side of the tomb begin to RATTLE FASTER
and FASTER, until curiously, time seems to speed up.
Night passes to day and back to night. Shadows from the
sun and moon drift across the tomb. As days and months
fly by, the vine winds and grows in circuitous patterns
all around the tomb.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b>
|
figure
|
How many times does the word 'figure' appear in the text?
| 2
|
parents dreaded so much as
her being nervous. Mrs. Spragg's maternal apprehensions unconsciously
escaped in her next words.
"I do hope she'll quiet down now," she murmured, feeling quieter herself
as her hand sank into Mrs. Heeny's roomy palm.
"Who's that? Undine?"
"Yes. She seemed so set on that Mr. Popple's coming round. From the way
he acted last night she thought he'd be sure to come round this morning.
She's so lonesome, poor child--I can't say as I blame her."
"Oh, he'll come round. Things don't happen as quick as that in New
York," said Mrs. Heeny, driving her nail-polisher cheeringly.
Mrs. Spragg sighed again. "They don't appear to. They say New Yorkers
are always in a hurry; but I can't say as they've hurried much to make
our acquaintance."
Mrs. Heeny drew back to study the effect of her work. "You wait, Mrs.
Spragg, you wait. If you go too fast you sometimes have to rip out the
whole seam."
"Oh, that's so--that's SO!" Mrs. Spragg exclaimed, with a tragic
emphasis that made the masseuse glance up at her.
"Of course it's so. And it's more so in New York than anywhere. The
wrong set's like fly-paper: once you're in it you can pull and pull, but
you'll never get out of it again."
Undine's mother heaved another and more helpless sigh. "I wish YOU'D
tell Undine that, Mrs. Heeny."
"Oh, I guess Undine's all right. A girl like her can afford to wait.
And if young Marvell's really taken with her she'll have the run of the
place in no time."
This solacing thought enabled Mrs. Spragg to yield herself unreservedly
to Mrs. Heeny's ministrations, which were prolonged for a happy
confidential hour; and she had just bidden the masseuse good-bye, and
was restoring the rings to her fingers, when the door opened to admit
her husband.
Mr. Spragg came in silently, setting his high hat down on the
centre-table, and laying his overcoat across one of the gilt chairs. He
was tallish, grey-bearded and somewhat stooping, with the slack figure
of the sedentary man who would be stout if he were not dyspeptic; and
his cautious grey eyes with pouch-like underlids had straight black
brows like his daughter's. His thin hair was worn a little too long over
his coat collar, and a Masonic emblem dangled from the heavy gold chain
which crossed his crumpled black waistcoat.
He stood still in the middle of the room, casting a slow pioneering
glance about its gilded void; then he said gently: "Well, mother?"
Mrs. Spragg remained seated, but her eyes dwelt on him affectionately.
"Undine's been asked out to a dinner-party; and Mrs. Heeny says it's to
one of the first families. It's the sister of one of the gentlemen that
Mabel Lipscomb introduced her to last night."
There was a mild triumph in her tone, for it was owing to her insistence
and Undine's that Mr. Spragg had been induced to give up the house
they had bought in West End Avenue, and move with his family to the
Stentorian. Undine had early decided that they could not hope to get
on while they "kept house"--all the fashionable people she knew either
boarded or lived in hotels. Mrs. Spragg was easily induced to take
the same view, but Mr. Spragg had resisted, being at the moment unable
either to sell his house or to let it as advantageously as he had hoped.
After the move was made it seemed for a time as though he had been
right, and the first social steps would be as difficult to make in a
hotel as in one's own house; and Mrs. Spragg was therefore eager to have
him know that Undine really owed her first invitation to a meeting under
the roof of the Stentorian.
"You see we were right to come here, Abner," she added, and he absently
rejoined: "I guess you two always manage
|
spragg
|
How many times does the word 'spragg' appear in the text?
| 10
|
and a pure,
A learned, and a Poet never went
More famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:
Chaucer (of all admir'd) the Story gives,
There constant to Eternity it lives.
If we let fall the Noblenesse of this,
And the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,
How will it shake the bones of that good man,
And make him cry from under ground, 'O fan
From me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter
That blastes my Bayes, and my fam'd workes makes lighter
Then Robin Hood!' This is the feare we bring;
For to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,
And too ambitious, to aspire to him,
Weake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim
In this deepe water. Do but you hold out
Your helping hands, and we shall take about,
And something doe to save us: You shall heare
Sceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare
Worth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:
Content to you. If this play doe not keepe
A little dull time from us, we perceave
Our losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]
Actus Primus.
[Scaena 1.] (Athens. Before a temple.)
[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before
singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast
in
her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene
two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then
Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a
Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After
her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]
The Song, [Musike.]
Roses their sharpe spines being gon,
Not royall in their smels alone,
But in their hew.
Maiden Pinckes, of odour faint,
Dazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint
And sweet Time true.
Prim-rose first borne child of Ver,
Merry Spring times Herbinger,
With her bels dimme.
Oxlips, in their Cradles growing,
Mary-golds, on death beds blowing,
Larkes-heeles trymme.
All deere natures children sweete,
Ly fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]
Blessing their sence.
Not an angle of the aire,
Bird melodious, or bird faire,
Is absent hence.
The Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor
The boding Raven, nor Chough hore
Nor chattring Pie,
May on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly.
[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall
Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The
2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]
1. QUEEN.
For pitties sake and true gentilities,
Heare, and respect me.
2. QUEEN.
For your Mothers sake,
And as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,
Heare and respect me.
3. QUEEN
Now for the love of him whom Iove hath markd
The honour of your Bed, and for the sake
Of cleere virginity, be Advocate
For us, and our distresses. This good deede
Shall raze you out o'th Booke of Trespasses
All you are set downe there.
THESEUS.
Sad Lady, rise.
HIPPOLITA.
Stand up.
EMILIA.
No knees to me.
What woman I may steed that is distrest,
Does bind me to her.
THESEUS.
What's your request?
|
sweet
|
How many times does the word 'sweet' appear in the text?
| 1
|
and silver. Small wonder that all had been eager to handle
it, the lad thought. He saw others in the room furtively observing the
gun, and he knew there were men not a hundred leagues away who would
have killed the owner to take it. He even bethought himself, having no
lack of conceit in such matters, that the man had done well to pick
Phil Marsham to keep it while he drank his ale.
The fellow had gone to the opposite corner of the room and had taken a
deep seat just beneath the three long shelves on which stood the three
rows of fine platters that were the pride of Moll Stevens's heart.
The platters caught the lad's eye and, raising the gun, he presented
it at the uppermost row. Supposing it were loaded and primed, he
thought, what a stir and clatter it would make to fire the charge! He
smiled, cocked the gun, and rested his finger on the trigger; but he
was over weak to hold the gun steady. As he let the muzzle fall, his
hand slipped. His throat tightened like a cramp. His hair, he verily
believed, rose on end. The gun--primed or no--went off.
He had so far lowered the muzzle that not a shot struck the topmost
row of platters, but of the second lower row, not one platter was
left standing. The splinters flew in a shower over the whole room,
and a dozen stray shots--for the gun was charged to shoot small
birds--peppered the fat man about the face and ear. Worst of all, by
far, to make good measure of the clatter and clamour, the great mass of
the charge, which by grace of God avoided the fat man's head although
the wind of it raised his hair, struck fairly a butt of Moll Stevens's
richest sack, which six men had raised on a frame to make easier the
labour of drawing from it, and shattered a stave so that the goodly
wine poured out as if a greater than Moses had smitten a rock with his
staff.
Of all in the room, mind you, none was more amazed than Philip Marsham,
and indeed for a moment his wits were quite numb. He sat with the gun
in his hands, which was still smoking to show who had done the wicked
deed, and stared at the splintered platters and at the countryman's
furious face, on which rivulets of blood were trickling down, and at
the gurgling flood of wine that was belching out on Moll Stevens's
dirty floor.
Then in rushed Moll herself with such a face that he hoped never to
see the like again. She swept the room at a single glance and bawling,
"As I live, 't is that tike, Philip Marsham! Paddock! Hound! Devil's
imp!"--at him she came, a billet of Flanders brick in her hand.
He was of no mind to try the quality of her scouring, for although she
knew not the meaning of a clean house, she was a brawny wench and her
hand and her brick were as rough as her tongue. Further, he perceived
that there were others to reckon with, for the countryman was on his
feet with a murderous look in his eye and there were six besides him
who had started up. Although Phil had little wish to play hare to their
hounds, since the fever had left him fit for neither fighting nor
running, there was urgent need that he act soon and to a purpose, for
Moll and her Flanders brick were upon him.
Warmed by the smell of the good wine run to waste, and marvellously
strengthened by the danger of bodily harm if once they laid hands on
him, he got out of the great chair as nimbly as if he had not spent
three weeks in bed, and, turning like a fox, slipped through the door.
God was good to Philip Marsham, for the gun, as he dropped it,
tripped Moll Stevens and sent her sprawling on the threshold; the fat
countryman, thinking more of his property than his injury, stooped for
the gun; and those two so filled the door that the six were stoppered
in the alehouse until with the whoo-bub ringing in his ears Phil had
got him out of sight. He had the craft, though they then
|
moll
|
How many times does the word 'moll' appear in the text?
| 5
|
board to the road, and horse, man and roadster went over
into the ravine.
A moment before a tall young man with a reddish-brown beard had
stood at the turn of the road listening intently to the sound of the
hurrying hoof beats and the purring of the racing motor car
approaching from the distance. In his eyes lurked the look of the
hunted. For a moment he stood in evident indecision, but just before
the runaway horse and the pursuing machine came into view he slipped
over the edge of the road to slink into the underbrush far down
toward the bottom of the ravine.
When Barney pushed the girl from the running board she fell heavily
to the road, rolling over several times, but in an instant she
scrambled to her feet, hardly the worse for the tumble other than a
few scratches.
Quickly she ran to the edge of the embankment, a look of immense
relief coming to her soft, brown eyes as she saw her rescuer
scrambling up the precipitous side of the ravine toward her.
"You are not killed?" she cried in German. "It is a miracle!"
"Not even bruised," reassured Barney. "But you? You must have had
a nasty fall."
"I am not hurt at all," she replied. "But for you I should be lying
dead, or terribly maimed down there at the bottom of that awful
ravine at this very moment. It's awful." She drew her shoulders
upward in a little shudder of horror. "But how did you escape? Even
now I can scarce believe it possible."
"I'm quite sure I don't know how I did escape," said Barney,
clambering over the rim of the road to her side. "That I had nothing
to do with it I am positive. It was just luck. I simply dropped out
onto that bush down there."
They were standing side by side, now peering down into the ravine
where the car was visible, bottom side up against a tree, near the
base of the declivity. The horse's head could be seen protruding
from beneath the wreckage.
"I'd better go down and put him out of his misery," said Barney, "if
he is not already dead."
"I think he is quite dead," said the girl. "I have not seen him
move."
Just then a little puff of smoke arose from the machine, followed by
a tongue of yellow flame. Barney had already started toward the
horse.
"Please don't go," begged the girl. "I am sure that he is quite
dead, and it wouldn't be safe for you down there now. The gasoline
tank may explode any minute."
Barney stopped.
"Yes, he is dead all right," he said, "but all my belongings are
down there. My guns, six-shooters and all my ammunition. And," he
added ruefully, "I've heard so much about the brigands that infest
these mountains."
The girl laughed.
"Those stories are really exaggerated," she said. "I was born in
Lutha, and except for a few months each year have always lived here,
and though I ride much I have never seen a brigand. You need not be
afraid."
Barney Custer looked up at her quickly, and then he grinned. His
only fear had been that he would not meet brigands, for Mr. Bernard
Custer, Jr., was young and the spirit of Romance and Adventure
breathed strong within him.
"Why do you smile?" asked the girl.
"At our dilemma," evaded Barney. "Have you paused to consider our
situation?"
The girl smiled, too.
"It is most unconventional," she said. "On foot and alone in the
mountains, far from home, and we do not even know each other's
name."
"Pardon me," cried Barney, bowing low. "Permit me to introduce
myself. I am," and then to the spirits of Romance and Adventure was
added a third, the spirit of Deviltry, "I am the mad king of Lutha."
II
OVER THE PRECIPICE
The effect of his words upon the girl were quite different from what
he had expected.
|
romance
|
How many times does the word 'romance' appear in the text?
| 1
|
days.
She is sitting on the floor, where she has slept the last
several hours, covered by an old overcoat.
Tony: YOU OK?
Fran stares at the young man. She is shaking. She doesn't speak.
Tony: THE SHIT'S REALLY HITTING THE FAN.
The girl tries to clear her head as the young man moves on to
where others sleep on the floor. He wakes them up one at a time.
We begin to hear voices over the busy hum of the studio. They
have an electronic tinniness, as broadcast over a monitor. Fran
looks about. She is still shaken from her dream.
3 We see the television studio. Reporters buzz about madly.
Everybody looks dishevelled and exhausted. Technicians man
monitors, and we see people on the little screens, arguing
emotionally.
4 Voice: WHAT'S MAKING IT HAPPEN? WHAT THE HELL
<b> DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE, WHAT'S MAKING IT
</b><b> HAPPEN.
</b>
Voice: YES, BUT THAT'S...
Voice: THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER STUDY. THEY'RE TRYING...
Voice: BUT IF WE KNEW THAT, WE COULD...
Voice: WE DON'T KNOW THAT! WE DON'T KNOW THAT!
<b> WE'VE GOTTA OPERATE ON WHAT WE DO KNOW!
</b>
5 The room is pandemonium. People run in with wire copy; others
organise the stacks of bulletins as they arrive. Others trip
over cables and generally get in each other's way.
6 Francine stares at the madness, still trying to clear her head.
Man's voice: I'M STILL DREAMING.
Fran turns her head. Another young man sits next to her on the
floor. He is one of the ones Tony awakened.
Fran: NO YOU'RE NOT.
Woman: MY TURN WITH THE COAT.
Fran looks up. A young woman is offering her coffee in a paper
cup. She is next in line for the overcoat and a few hours sleep.
Fran takes the coffee and struggles to her feet.
Woman: THE GUYS ON THE CREW ARE GETTING CRAZY.
<b> A BUNCH OF 'EM FLEW THE COOP ALREADY.
</b><b> I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER WE'LL BE ABLE
</b><b> TO STAY ON AIR.
</b>
7 Fran staggers over to the control consoles. The technicians are
at the end of their ropes.
Technicians: (all at once)
<b> WATCH CAMERA TWO...WHO THE HELL'S ON CAMERA
</b><b> TWO, A BLIND MAN...
</b><b> WATCH THE FRAME...WATCH THE FRAME...
</b><b> ROLL THE RESCUE STATIONS AGAIN.
</b>
Technicians: WE GOT A REPORT THAT HALF THOSE RESCUE
<b> STATIONS HAVE BEEN KNOCKED OUT.
</b><b> SO GET ME A NEW LIST.
</b><b> SURE, I'LL PULL IT OUTA MY ASS.
</b>
Fran focuses on the monitors. She is incredulous... stunned by
the madness which surrounds her. She realises the hopelessness
of the situation as she zeroes in on the televised conversation.
8 We begin to listen over the din of the news room.
TV Man 1: I DON'T BELIEVE THAT, DOCTOR, AND I DON'T
<b> BELIEVE...
</b>
TV Man 2: DO YOU BELIEVE THE DEAD ARE RETURNING TO
<b> LIFE?
</b>
TV Man 1: I'M NOT SO...
TV Man 2: DO YOU BELIEVE THE DEAD
|
technicians
|
How many times does the word 'technicians' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Based on the novel by
<b> MICHAEL PUNKE
</b>
September 26, 2007
Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice.
- Samuel Johnson
Based on a true story
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. UPPER MISSOURI RIVER/1820'S - EVENING
</b>
ANGLE ON A SINGLE COTTONWOOD LEAF... brown and crisp...
clinging to its empty branch... the solitary sign of life on
an otherwise barren tree.
A gust of wind... the leaf breaks free... flutters down,
landing in the slow current of the Missouri. The last leaf
of the fall, taking its final journey south.
As it floats along the surface, rising and falling with the
current, all we can hear is the river's gentle movement...
the trickle of water... the splash of timid rapids... until
DISTANT VOICES invade this world... soft at first, but
growing louder... LAUGHTER... SINGING.
And then our leaf CRASHES INTO A WOODEN BOARD... the BOW OF A
|
distant
|
How many times does the word 'distant' appear in the text?
| 0
|
the pass-key of all the apartments. As
for this little key, it is that of the closet at the end of the long
gallery, on the ground floor. Open everything, and go everywhere except
into that little closet, which I forbid you to enter, and I forbid you
so strictly, that if you should venture to open the door, there is
nothing that you may not have to dread from my anger!" She promised to
observe implicitly all his directions, and after he had embraced her,
he got into his coach and set out on his journey.
The neighbours and friends of the young bride did not wait for her
invitation, so eager were they to see all the treasures contained in
the mansion, not having ventured to enter it while the husband was at
home, so terrified were they at his blue beard. Behold them immediately
running through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, each apartment
exceeding the other in beauty and richness. They ascended afterwards to
the store-rooms, where they could not sufficiently admire the number
and elegance of the tapestries, the beds, the sofas, the cabinets,
the stands,[1] the tables, and the mirrors in which they could see
themselves from head to foot, and that had frames some of glass,[2]
some of silver, and some of gilt metal, more beautiful and magnificent
than had ever been seen. They never ceased enlarging upon and envying
the good fortune of their friend, who in the meanwhile was not in the
least entertained by the sight of all these treasures, in consequence
of her impatience to open the closet on the ground floor.
Her curiosity increased to such a degree that, without reflecting how
rude it was to leave her company, she ran down a back staircase in such
haste that twice or thrice she narrowly escaped breaking her neck.
Arrived at the door of the closet, she paused for a moment, bethinking
herself of her husband's prohibition, and that some misfortune might
befall her for her disobedience; but the temptation was so strong
that she could not conquer it. She therefore took the little key and
opened, tremblingly, the door of the closet. At first she could discern
nothing, the windows being closed; after a short time she began to
perceive that the floor was all covered with clotted blood, in which
were reflected the dead bodies of several females suspended against
the walls. These were all the wives of Blue Beard, who had cut their
throats one after the other. She was ready to die with fright, and the
key of the closet, which she had withdrawn from the lock, fell from
her hand. After recovering her senses a little, she picked up the key,
locked the door again, and went up to her chamber to compose herself;
but she could not succeed, so greatly was she agitated. Having observed
that the key of the closet was stained with blood, she wiped it two
or three times, but the blood would not come off. In vain she washed
it, and even scrubbed it with sand and free-stone, the blood was still
there, for the key was enchanted, and there were no means of cleaning
it completely: when the blood was washed off one side, it came back on
the other.
Blue Beard returned that very evening, and said that he had received
letters on the road informing him that the business on which he was
going had been settled to his advantage. His wife did all she could
to persuade him that she was delighted at his speedy return. The next
morning he asked her for his keys again; she gave them to him; but her
hand trembled so, that he had not much difficulty in guessing what had
occurred. "How comes it," said he, "that the key of the closet is not
with the others?" "I must have left it," she replied, "upstairs on my
table." "Fail not," said Blue Beard, "to give it me presently." After
several excuses, she was compelled to produce the key. Blue Beard
having examined it, said to his wife, "Why is there some blood on
this key?" "I don't know," answered the poor wife, paler than death.
"You don't know?" rejoined Blue Beard. "I know well enough. You must
needs enter the closet. Well, madam, you shall enter it, and go take
your place amongst the ladies you saw there." She flung herself at her
husband's feet, weeping
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 1
|
I can't
abide to see men throw away their tools i' that way, the minute the
clock begins to strike, as if they took no pleasure i' their work and
was afraid o' doing a stroke too much."
Seth looked a little conscious, and began to be slower in his
preparations for going, but Mum Taft broke silence, and said, "Aye, aye,
Adam lad, ye talk like a young un. When y' are six-an'-forty like me,
istid o' six-an'-twenty, ye wonna be so flush o' workin' for nought."
"Nonsense," said Adam, still wrathful; "what's age got to do with it, I
wonder? Ye arena getting stiff yet, I reckon. I hate to see a man's arms
drop down as if he was shot, before the clock's fairly struck, just as
if he'd never a bit o' pride and delight in 's work. The very grindstone
'ull go on turning a bit after you loose it."
"Bodderation, Adam!" exclaimed Wiry Ben; "lave a chap aloon, will 'ee?
Ye war afinding faut wi' preachers a while agoo--y' are fond enough o'
preachin' yoursen. Ye may like work better nor play, but I like play
better nor work; that'll 'commodate ye--it laves ye th' more to do."
With this exit speech, which he considered effective, Wiry Ben
shouldered his basket and left the workshop, quickly followed by Mum
Taft and Sandy Jim. Seth lingered, and looked wistfully at Adam, as if
he expected him to say something.
"Shalt go home before thee go'st to the preaching?" Adam asked, looking
up.
"Nay; I've got my hat and things at Will Maskery's. I shan't be home
before going for ten. I'll happen see Dinah Morris safe home, if she's
willing. There's nobody comes with her from Poyser's, thee know'st."
"Then I'll tell mother not to look for thee," said Adam.
"Thee artna going to Poyser's thyself to-night?" said Seth rather
timidly, as he turned to leave the workshop.
"Nay, I'm going to th' school."
Hitherto Gyp had kept his comfortable bed, only lifting up his head and
watching Adam more closely as he noticed the other workmen departing.
But no sooner did Adam put his ruler in his pocket, and begin to twist
his apron round his waist, than Gyp ran forward and looked up in his
master's face with patient expectation. If Gyp had had a tail he would
doubtless have wagged it, but being destitute of that vehicle for his
emotions, he was like many other worthy personages, destined to appear
more phlegmatic than nature had made him.
"What! Art ready for the basket, eh, Gyp?" said Adam, with the same
gentle modulation of voice as when he spoke to Seth.
Gyp jumped and gave a short bark, as much as to say, "Of course." Poor
fellow, he had not a great range of expression.
The basket was the one which on workdays held Adam's and Seth's dinner;
and no official, walking in procession, could look more resolutely
unconscious of all acquaintances than Gyp with his basket, trotting at
his master's heels.
On leaving the workshop Adam locked the door, took the key out, and
carried it to the house on the other side of the woodyard. It was a
low house, with smooth grey thatch and buff walls, looking pleasant
and mellow in the evening light. The leaded windows were bright and
speckless, and the door-stone was as clean as a white boulder at ebb
tide. On the door-stone stood a clean old woman, in a dark-striped linen
gown, a red kerchief, and a linen cap, talking to some speckled fowls
which appeared to have been drawn towards her by an illusory expectation
of cold potatoes or barley. The old woman's sight seemed to be dim, for
she did not recognize Adam till he said, "Here's the key, Dolly
|
fellow
|
How many times does the word 'fellow' appear in the text?
| 0
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
face
|
How many times does the word 'face' appear in the text?
| 1
|
"It is, father. A granite trough that floats on the water like a cork
is a miraculous trough. There is not the slightest doubt about it. What
conclusion do you draw from that?"
"I am greatly perplexed. Is it right to perfect so miraculous a machine
by human and natural means?"
"Father, if you lost your right foot and God restored it to you, would
not that foot be miraculous?"
"Without doubt, my son."
"Would you put a shoe on it?"
"Assuredly."
"Well, then, if you believe that one may cover a miraculous foot with a
natural shoe, you should also believe that we can put natural rigging
on a miraculous boat. That is clear. Alas! Why must the holiest persons
have their moments of weakness and despondency? The most illustrious of
the apostles of Brittany could accomplish works worthy of eternal glory
. . . But his spirit is tardy and his hand is slothful. Farewell then,
father! Travel by short and slow stages and when at last you approach
the coast of Hoedic you will see the smoking ruins of the chapel that
was built and consecrated by your own hands. The pagans will have burned
it and with it the deacon you left there. He will be as thoroughly
roasted as a black pudding."
"My trouble is extreme," said the servant of God, drying with his sleeve
the sweat that gathered upon his brow. "But tell me, Samson, my son,
would not rigging this stone trough be a difficult piece of work? And if
we undertook it might we not lose time instead of gaining it?"
"Ah! father," exclaimed the Devil, "in one turning of the hour-glass the
thing would be done. We shall find the necessary rigging in this shed
that you have formerly built here on the coast and in those store-houses
abundantly stocked through your care. I will myself regulate all the
ship's fittings. Before being a monk I was a sailor and a carpenter and
I have worked at many other trades as well. Let us to work."
Immediately he drew the holy man into an outhouse filled with all things
needful for fitting out a boat.
"That for you, father!"
And he placed on his shoulders the sail, the mast, the gaff, and the
boom.
Then, himself bearing a stem and a rudder with its screw and tiller, and
seizing a carpenter's bag full of tools, he ran to the shore, dragging
the holy man after him by his habit. The latter was bent, sweating, and
breathless, under the burden of canvas and wood.
IV. ST. MAEL'S NAVIGATION ON THE OCEAN OF ICE
The Devil, having tucked his clothes up to his arm-pits, dragged the
trough on the sand, and fitted the rigging in less than an hour.
As soon as the holy Mael had embarked, the vessel, with all its sails
set, cleft through the waters with such speed that the coast was almost
immediately out of sight. The old man steered to the south so as to
double the Land's End, but an irresistible current carried him to the
south-west. He went along the southern coast of Ireland and turned
sharply towards the north. In the evening the wind freshened. In vain
did Mael attempt to furl the sail. The vessel flew distractedly towards
the fabulous seas.
By the light of the moon the immodest sirens of the North came around
him with their hempen-coloured hair, raising their white throats and
their rose-tinted limbs out of the sea; and beating the water into foam
with their emerald tails, they sang in cadence:
Whither go'st thou, gentle Mael,
In thy trough distracted?
All distended is thy sail
Like the breast of Juno
When from it gushed the Milky Way.
For a moment their harmonious laughter followed him beneath the stars,
but the vessel fled on, a hundred times more swiftly than the red ship
of a Viking. And the petrels, surprised in their flight, clung with
their feet to the hair of the holy man.
Soon a tempest arose full of darkness and groanings, and the trough
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 7
|
intent.
"Therefore," said he ironically, "I hope you will be patient with my
shortcomings. Nick, a chair for Master Godolphin and another cup. I bid
you welcome to Penarrow."
A sneer flickered over the younger man's white face. "You pay me a
compliment, sir, which I fear me 'tis not mine to return to you."
"Time enough for that when I come to seek it," said Sir Oliver, with
easy, if assumed, good humour.
"When you come to seek it?"
"The hospitality of your house," Sir Oliver explained.
"It is on that very matter I am come to talk with you."
"Will you sit?" Sir Oliver invited him, and spread a hand towards the
chair which Nicholas had set. In the same gesture he waved the servant
away.
Master Godolphin ignored the invitation. "You were," he said, "at
Godolphin Court but yesterday, I hear." He paused, and as Sir Oliver
offered no denial, he added stiffly: "I am come, sir, to inform you that
the honour of your visits is one we shall be happy to forgo."
In the effort he made to preserve his self-control before so direct an
affront Sir Oliver paled a little under his tan.
"You will understand, Peter," he replied slowly, "that you have said too
much unless you add something more." He paused, considering his visitor
a moment. "I do not know whether Rosamund has told you that yesterday
she did me the honour to consent to become my wife...."
"She is a child that does not know her mind," broke in the other.
"Do you know of any good reason why she should come to change it?" asked
Sir Oliver, with a slight air of challenge.
Master Godolphin sat down, crossed his legs and placed his hat on his
knee.
"I know a dozen," he answered. "But I need not urge them. Sufficient
should it be to remind you that Rosamund is but seventeen and that she
is under my guardianship and that of Sir John Killigrew. Neither Sir
John nor I can sanction this betrothal."
"Good lack!" broke out Sir Oliver. "Who asks your sanction or Sir
John's? By God's grace your sister will grow to be a woman soon and
mistress of herself. I am in no desperate haste to get me wed, and by
nature--as you may be observing--I am a wondrous patient man. I'll even
wait," And he pulled at his pipe.
"Waiting cannot avail you in this, Sir Oliver. 'Tis best you should
understand. We are resolved, Sir John and I."
"Are you so? God's light. Send Sir John to me to tell me of his resolves
and I'll tell him something of mine. Tell him from me, Master Godolphin,
that if he will trouble to come as far as Penarrow I'll do by him what
the hangman should have done long since. I'll crop his pimpish ears for
him, by this hand!"
"Meanwhile," said Master Godolphin whettingly, "will you not essay your
rover's prowess upon me?"
"You?" quoth Sir Oliver, and looked him over with good-humoured
contempt. "I'm no butcher of fledgelings, my lad. Besides, you are your
sister's brother, and 'tis no aim of mine to increase the obstacles
already in my path." Then his tone changed. He leaned across the table.
"Come, now, Peter. What is at the root of all this matter? Can we not
compose such differences as you conceive exist? Out with them. 'Tis
no matter for Sir John. He's a curmudgeon who signifies not a finger's
snap. But you, 'tis different. You are her brother. Out with your
plaints, then. Let us be frank and friendly."
"Friendly?" The other sneered again. "Our fathers set us an example in
that."
"Does it matter what our fathers did? More shame to them if, being
neighbours, they could not be friends. Shall we follow so deplorable an
example?"
"You'll not impute that the fault lay with my father," cried the other,
with a show of ready anger.
|
preserve
|
How many times does the word 'preserve' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of Swift at this time, bustling about a crowded
ante-chamber, and informing the company that the best poet in England
was Mr. Pope (a Papist) who had begun a translation of Homer for which
they must all subscribe, "for," says he, "the author shall not begin to
print till I have a thousand guineas for him." The work was to be in six
volumes, each costing a guinea. Pope obtained 575 subscribers, many of
whom took more than one set. Lintot, the publisher, gave Pope £1200 for
the work and agreed to supply the subscription copies free of charge. As
a result Pope made something between £5000 and £6000, a sum absolutely
unprecedented in the history of English literature, and amply sufficient
to make him independent for life.
But the sum was honestly earned by hard and wearisome work. Pope was no
Greek scholar; it is said, indeed, that he was just able to make out the
sense of the original with a translation. And in addition to the fifteen
thousand lines of the 'Iliad', he had engaged to furnish an introduction
and notes. At first the magnitude of the undertaking frightened him.
"What terrible moments," he said to Spence, "does one feel after one has
engaged for a large work. In the beginning of my translating the
'Iliad', I wished anybody would hang me a hundred times. It sat so
heavily on my mind at first that I often used to dream of it and do
sometimes still." In spite of his discouragement, however, and of the
ill health which so constantly beset him, Pope fell gallantly upon his
task, and as time went on came almost to enjoy it. He used to translate
thirty or forty verses in the morning before rising and, in his own
characteristic phrase, "piddled over them for the rest of the day." He
used every assistance possible, drew freely upon the scholarship of
friends, corrected and recorrected with a view to obtaining clearness
and point, and finally succeeded in producing a version which not only
satisfied his own critical judgment, but was at once accepted by the
English-speaking world as the standard translation of Homer.
The first volume came out in June, 1715, and to Pope's dismay and wrath
a rival translation appeared almost simultaneously. Tickell, one of
Addison's "little senate," had also begun a translation of the 'Iliad',
and although he announced in the preface that he intended to withdraw in
favor of Pope and take up a translation of the 'Odyssey', the poet's
suspicions were at once aroused. And they were quickly fanned into a
flame by the gossip of the town which reported that Addison, the
recognized authority in literary criticism, pronounced Tickell's version
"the best that ever was in any language." Rumor went so far, in fact, as
to hint pretty broadly that Addison himself was the author, in part, at
least, of Tickell's book; and Pope, who had been encouraged by Addison
to begin his long task, felt at once that he had been betrayed. His
resentment was all the more bitter since he fancied that Addison, now at
the height of his power and prosperity in the world of letters and of
politics, had attempted to ruin an enterprise on which the younger man
had set all his hopes of success and independence, for no better reason
than literary jealousy and political estrangement. We know now that Pope
was mistaken, but there was beyond question some reason at the time for
his thinking as he did, and it is to the bitterness which this incident
caused in his mind that we owe the famous satiric portrait of Addison as
Atticus.
The last volume of the 'Iliad' appeared in the spring of 1720, and in it
Pope gave a renewed proof of his independence by dedicating the whole
work, not to some lord who would have rewarded him with a handsome
present, but to his old acquaintance, Congreve, the last survivor of the
brilliant comic dramatists of Dryden's day. And now resting for a time
from his long labors, Pope turned to the adornment and cultivation of
the little house and garden that he had leased at Twickenham.
Pope's father had died in 1717, and the poet, rejecting politely but
firmly the suggestion
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first
|
How many times does the word 'first' appear in the text?
| 2
|
the Benedictine,
and I willingly make you the medium of apology to many, who have
honoured me more than I deserve.
I admit that my retrenchments have been numerous, and leave gaps in the
story, which, in your original manuscript, would have run well-nigh to
a fourth volume, as my printer assures me. I am sensible, besides, that,
in consequence of the liberty of curtailment you have allowed me, some
parts of the story have been huddled up without the necessary details.
But, after all, it is better that the travellers should have to step
over a ditch, than to wade through a morass--that the reader should have
to suppose what may easily be inferred, than be obliged to creep through
pages of dull explanation. I have struck out, for example, the whole
machinery of the White Lady, and the poetry by which it is so ably
supported, in the original manuscript. But you must allow that
the public taste gives little encouragement to those legendary
superstitions, which formed alternately the delight and the terror of
our predecessors. In like manner, much is omitted illustrative of
the impulse of enthusiasm in favour of the ancient religion in Mother
Magdalen and the Abbot. But we do not feel deep sympathy at this period
with what was once the most powerful and animating principle in
Europe, with the exception of that of the Reformation, by which it was
successfully opposed.
You rightly observe, that these retrenchments have rendered the title
no longer applicable to the subject, and that some other would have been
more suitable to the Work, in its present state, than that of THE ABBOT,
who made so much greater figure in the original, and for whom your
friend, the Benedictine, seems to have inspired you with a sympathetic
respect. I must plead guilty to this accusation, observing, at the same
time, in manner of extenuation, that though the objection might have
been easily removed, by giving a new title to the Work, yet, in doing
so, I should have destroyed the necessary cohesion between the present
history, and its predecessor THE MONASTERY, which I was unwilling to do,
as the period, and several of the personages, were the same.
After all, my good friend, it is of little consequence what the work
is called, or on what interest it turns, provided it catches the public
attention; for the quality of the wine (could we but insure it) may,
according to the old proverb, render the bush unnecessary, or of little
consequence.
I congratulate you upon your having found it consistent with prudence
to establish your Tilbury, and approve of the colour, and of your
boy's livery, (subdued green and pink.)--As you talk of completing
your descriptive poem on the âRuins of Kennaquhair, with notes by an
Antiquary,â I hope you have procured a steady horse.--I remain, with
compliments to all friends, dear Captain, very much
Yours, &c. &c. &c.
THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.
THE ABBOT.
Chapter the First.
_Domum mansit--lanam fecit._
Ancient Roman Epitaph.
She keepit close the hous, and birlit at the quhele.
GAWAIN DOUGLAS.
The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly, makes the
same gradual change in habits, manners, and character, as in personal
appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves
another, and yet the same--there is a change of views, and no less of
the light in which we regard them; a change of motives as well as
of actions. Nearly twice that space had glided away over the head of
Halbert Glendinning and his lady, betwixt the period of our former
narrative, in which they played a distinguished part, and the date at
which our present tale commences.
Two circumstances only had imbittered their union, which was otherwise
as happy as mutual affection could render it. The first of these was
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 10
|
from such press-gang captures, as
Lord Thurlow could have told, after a certain walk he took about
this time on Tower Hill, when he, the attorney-general of England,
was impressed, when the Admiralty had its own peculiar ways of
getting rid of tiresome besiegers and petitioners. Nor yet were
lonely inland dwellers more secure; many a rustic went to a statute
fair or 'mop,' and never came home to tell of his hiring; many a
stout young farmer vanished from his place by the hearth of his
father, and was no more heard of by mother or lover; so great was
the press for men to serve in the navy during the early years of the
war with France, and after every great naval victory of that war.
The servants of the Admiralty lay in wait for all merchantmen and
traders; there were many instances of vessels returning home after
long absence, and laden with rich cargo, being boarded within a
day's distance of land, and so many men pressed and carried off,
that the ship, with her cargo, became unmanageable from the loss of
her crew, drifted out again into the wild wide ocean, and was
sometimes found in the helpless guidance of one or two infirm or
ignorant sailors; sometimes such vessels were never heard of more.
The men thus pressed were taken from the near grasp of parents or
wives, and were often deprived of the hard earnings of years, which
remained in the hands of the masters of the merchantman in which
they had served, subject to all the chances of honesty or
dishonesty, life or death. Now all this tyranny (for I can use no
other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a
nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike
enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience
to the governing powers. When we read of the military being called
in to assist the civil power in backing up the press-gang, of
parties of soldiers patrolling the streets, and sentries with
screwed bayonets placed at every door while the press-gang entered
and searched each hole and corner of the dwelling; when we hear of
churches being surrounded during divine service by troops, while the
press-gang stood ready at the door to seize men as they came out
from attending public worship, and take these instances as merely
types of what was constantly going on in different forms, we do not
wonder at Lord Mayors, and other civic authorities in large towns,
complaining that a stop was put to business by the danger which the
tradesmen and their servants incurred in leaving their houses and
going into the streets, infested by press-gangs.
Whether it was that living in closer neighbourhood to the
metropolis--the centre of politics and news--inspired the
inhabitants of the southern counties with a strong feeling of that
kind of patriotism which consists in hating all other nations; or
whether it was that the chances of capture were so much greater at
all the southern ports that the merchant sailors became inured to
the danger; or whether it was that serving in the navy, to those
familiar with such towns as Portsmouth and Plymouth, had an
attraction to most men from the dash and brilliancy of the
adventurous employment--it is certain that the southerners took the
oppression of press-warrants more submissively than the wild
north-eastern people. For with them the chances of profit beyond
their wages in the whaling or Greenland trade extended to the lowest
description of sailor. He might rise by daring and saving to be a
ship-owner himself. Numbers around him had done so; and this very
fact made the distinction between class and class less apparent; and
the common ventures and dangers, the universal interest felt in one
pursuit, bound the inhabitants of that line of coast together with a
strong tie, the severance of which by any violent extraneous
measure, gave rise to passionate anger and thirst for vengeance. A
Yorkshireman once said to me, 'My county folk are all alike. Their
first thought is how to resist. Why! I myself, if I hear a man say
it is a fine day, catch myself trying to find out that it is no such
thing. It is so in thought; it is so in word; it is so in deed.'
So you may imagine the press-gang had
|
many
|
How many times does the word 'many' appear in the text?
| 3
|
me. He was so very elegant, his complexion so nice and
white, his uniform so brand new, that I immediately guessed that he had
not been long with our army in the Caucasus.
"'I suppose you have been transferred from Russia?' I asked.
"'Exactly, captain,' he answered.
"I took him by the hand and said:
"'I'm delighted to see you--delighted! It will be a bit dull for you...
but there, we will live together like a couple of friends. But, please,
call me simply "Maksim Maksimych"; and, tell me, what is this full
uniform for? Just wear your forage-cap whenever you come to me!'
"Quarters were assigned to him and he settled down in the fortress."
"What was his name?" I asked Maksim Maksimych.
"His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pechorin. He was a splendid fellow,
I can assure you, but a little peculiar. Why, to give you an instance,
one time he would stay out hunting the whole day, in the rain and cold;
the others would all be frozen through and tired out, but he wouldn't
mind either cold or fatigue. Then, another time, he would be sitting in
his own room, and, if there was a breath of wind, he would declare that
he had caught cold; if the shutters rattled against the window he
would start and turn pale: yet I myself have seen him attack a boar
single-handed. Often enough you couldn't drag a word out of him for
hours together; but then, on the other hand, sometimes, when he started
telling stories, you would split your sides with laughing. Yes, sir,
a very eccentric man; and he must have been wealthy too. What a lot of
expensive trinkets he had!"...
"Did he stay there long with you?" I went on to ask.
"Yes, about a year. And, for that very reason, it was a memorable year
to me. He gave me a great deal of trouble--but there, let bygones be
bygones!... You see, it is true enough, there are people like that,
fated from birth to have all sorts of strange things happening to them!"
"Strange?" I exclaimed, with an air of curiosity, as I poured out some
tea.
CHAPTER III
"WELL, then, I'll tell you," said Maksim Maksimych. "About six versts
from the fortress there lived a certain 'friendly' prince. His son, a
brat of about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not a
day passed but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And,
indeed, Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil the
boy was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringing
things down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terribly
greedy for money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovich
promised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from his
father's herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night he
came lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into our
heads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and his
hand would fly to his dagger immediately.
"'You'll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,' I would
say to him. 'That hot head of yours will get you into trouble.'
"On one occasion, the old prince himself came to invite us to the
wedding of his eldest daughter; and, as we were guest-friends with him,
it was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the
village we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The women,
when they saw us coming, hid themselves, but those whose faces we were
able to get a view of were far from being beauties.
"'I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,' remarked Grigori
Aleksandrovich.
"'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on
|
give
|
How many times does the word 'give' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Third Revision
November 14, 1986
(c) LFL 1986
Lucasfilm LTD.
All Rights Reserved
Act I
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT.. NOCKMAAR CASTLE - DAY
</b>
Under gloomy sky a huge fortress looms on a volcanic
mountainside. From within WE HEAR the agonizing scream
of a woman giving birth.
<b>INT.. NOCKMAAR CASTLE - DAY
</b>
The scream continues as WE MOVE THROUGH the grim corri-
dors of the castle TOWARD stairs leading down to a
dungeon.
<b>INT.. DUNGEON - DAY
</b>
Silhouetted in sadows, three Nockmaar MINIONS stand
guard. In a jail cell, sex fully pregnant WOMEN watch
from behind iron bars. The screaming stops. There's a
moment of silence. As WE MOVE INTO another jail cell
WE HEAR a slap and the first cry of a newborn BABY.
In the cell a black-robed DRUID watches intensely as
ETHNA, a midwife, leans over the MOTHER and wraps the
baby in swaddling.
<b> DRUID
</b> Is it a girl?
<b> ETHNA
</b> It is a girl.
<b> DRUID
</b> Show me its arm.
Ethna peels back the swaddling. On the baby's arm is a
small marking.
<b> DRUID
</b> It's true then. I must tell Queen
Bavmorda.
With great urgency the druid hurries up the dungeon
stairs. Ethna gently places the baby on the mother's
breast. The mother comforst the baby lovingly until it
stops crying. Then she reaches out and clasps the
midwife's wrist.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Ethna, please. Help me. They're
going to kill my baby.
Ethna nervously looks out at the guards, then shakes
her head at the mother.
<b> ETHNA
</b> They'll kill you.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Please save my baby.
Ethna hesitates. Then decides. She quickly wraps to-
gether some rags and gives them to the mother.
<b> ETHNA
</b> Pretend this is the child.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Thank you, Ethna. Thank you.
The mother kisses her baby and hands it to Ethna, who
|
mother
|
How many times does the word 'mother' appear in the text?
| 7
|
Orphée, Jean Cocteau
<b>1 OMITTED 1
</b>
<b>1A INT. NIGHT - HARLEM SUBWAY STATION 1A
</b>
A subway screeches by at full speed revealing a station platform
somewhere in Harlem.
A man runs for his life in the deserted space. He's an African
American male in his forties wearing a security guard uniform.
He turns into an empty corridor, climbs a set of stairs towards
the exit, but- The gates are down and the station is closed.
Desperate and out of breath, he is forced to trace his way back,
searching for an exit or a place to hide. He sees a door to the
public restroom and runs inside.
<b>1B INT. NIGHT - SUBWAY PUBLIC RESTROOM 1B
</b>
The place is deserted as well. One of the mirrors is smashed
while the others are covered by graffiti and dirt -
The neon lights are flickering, bringing the place in and out of
the dark.
The man checks each stall one at a time.
His face lights up as he looks inside the last one-
<b> A SMALL WINDOW ABOVE THE TOILET IS JUST BIG ENOUGH FOR HIM TO
</b><b> CRAWL THROUGH.
</b>
He steps onto the toilet seat but the window is shut too tight.
After a brief struggle, he swings it open, only to discover-
A wall of bricks.
Panic returns to his eyes. He slowly opens the stall door,
|
station
|
How many times does the word 'station' appear in the text?
| 2
|
of my sister, who had been some time settled here
in a boarding-school. When I came hither with my uncle and aunt (who
are our guardians) to fetch her away, I found her a fine tall girl, of
seventeen, with an agreeable person; but remarkably simple, and quite
ignorant of the world. This disposition, and want of experience, had
exposed her to the addresses of a person--I know not what to call
him, who had seen her at a play; and, with a confidence and dexterity
peculiar to himself, found means to be recommended to her acquaintance.
It was by the greatest accident I intercepted one of his letters; as
it was my duty to stifle this correspondence in its birth, I made it my
business to find him out, and tell him very freely my sentiments of
the matter. The spark did not like the stile I used, and behaved with
abundance of mettle. Though his rank in life (which, by the bye, I am
ashamed to declare) did not entitle him to much deference; yet as his
behaviour was remarkably spirited, I admitted him to the privilege of
a gentleman, and something might have happened, had not we been
prevented.--In short, the business took air, I know not how, and made
abundance of noise--recourse was had to justice--I was obliged to give
my word and honour, &c. and to-morrow morning we set out for Bristol
Wells, where I expect to hear from you by the return of the post.--I
have got into a family of originals, whom I may one day attempt to
describe for your amusement. My aunt, Mrs Tabitha Bramble, is a maiden
of forty-five, exceedingly starched, vain, and ridiculous.--My uncle is
an odd kind of humorist, always on the fret, and so unpleasant in his
manner, that rather than be obliged to keep him company, Iâd resign all
claim to the inheritance of his estate. Indeed his being tortured by the
gout may have soured his temper, and, perhaps, I may like him better on
further acquaintance; certain it is, all his servants and neighbours in
the country are fond of him, even to a degree of enthusiasm, the reason
of which I cannot as yet comprehend. Remember me to Griffy Price, Gwyn,
Mansel, Basset, and all the rest of my old Cambrian companions.--Salute
the bedmaker in my name--give my service to the cook, and pray take care
of poor Ponto, for the sake of his old master, who is, and ever will be,
Dear Phillips, Your affectionate friend, and humble servant, JER.
MELFORD GLOUCESTER, April 2.
To Mrs JERMYN at her house in Gloucester.
DEAR MADAM,
Having no mother of my own, I hope you will give me leave to disburden
my poor heart to you, who have always acted the part of a kind parent to
me, ever since I was put under your care. Indeed, and indeed, my worthy
governess may believe me, when I assure her, that I never harboured
a thought that was otherwise than virtuous; and, if God will give me
grace, I shall never behave so as to cast a reflection on the care you
have taken in my education. I confess I have given just cause of offence
by my want of prudence and experience. I ought not to have listened to
what the young man said; and it was my duty to have told you all that
passed, but I was ashamed to mention it; and then he behaved so modest
and respectful, and seemed to be so melancholy and timorous, that
I could not find in my heart to do any thing that should make him
miserable and desperate. As for familiarities, I do declare, I never
once allowed him the favour of a: salute; and as to the few letters that
passed between us, they are all in my uncleâs hands, and I hope they
contain nothing contrary to innocence and honour.--I am still persuaded
that he is not what he appears to be: but time will discover--mean while
I will endeavour to forget a connexion, which is so displeasing to my
family. I have cried without ceasing, and have not tasted any thing but
tea, since I was
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
'Get up, pig!' growled the first. 'Don't sleep when I am hungry.'
'It's all one, master,' said the pig, in a submissive manner, and not
without cheerfulness; 'I can wake when I will, I can sleep when I will.
It's all the same.'
As he said it, he rose, shook himself, scratched himself, tied his brown
coat loosely round his neck by the sleeves (he had previously used it
as a coverlet), and sat down upon the pavement yawning, with his back
against the wall opposite to the grating.
'Say what the hour is,' grumbled the first man.
'The mid-day bells will ring--in forty minutes.' When he made the
little pause, he had looked round the prison-room, as if for certain
information.
'You are a clock. How is it that you always know?'
'How can I say? I always know what the hour is, and where I am. I was
brought in here at night, and out of a boat, but I know where I am. See
here! Marseilles harbour;' on his knees on the pavement, mapping it all
out with a swarthy forefinger; 'Toulon (where the galleys are), Spain
over there, Algiers over _there_. Creeping away to the left here, Nice.
Round by the Cornice to Genoa. Genoa Mole and Harbour. Quarantine
Ground. City there; terrace gardens blushing with the bella donna. Here,
Porto Fino. Stand out for Leghorn. Out again for Civita Vecchia, so away
to--hey! there's no room for Naples;' he had got to the wall by this
time; 'but it's all one; it's in there!'
He remained on his knees, looking up at his fellow-prisoner with a
lively look for a prison. A sunburnt, quick, lithe, little man, though
rather thickset. Earrings in his brown ears, white teeth lighting up his
grotesque brown face, intensely black hair clustering about his brown
throat, a ragged red shirt open at his brown breast. Loose, seaman-like
trousers, decent shoes, a long red cap, a red sash round his waist, and
a knife in it.
'Judge if I come back from Naples as I went! See here, my master! Civita
Vecchia, Leghorn, Porto Fino, Genoa, Cornice, Off Nice (which is in
there), Marseilles, you and me. The apartment of the jailer and his keys
is where I put this thumb; and here at my wrist they keep the national
razor in its case--the guillotine locked up.'
The other man spat suddenly on the pavement, and gurgled in his throat.
Some lock below gurgled in _its_ throat immediately afterwards, and then
a door crashed. Slow steps began ascending the stairs; the prattle of
a sweet little voice mingled with the noise they made; and the
prison-keeper appeared carrying his daughter, three or four years old,
and a basket.
'How goes the world this forenoon, gentlemen? My little one, you see,
going round with me to have a peep at her father's birds. Fie, then!
Look at the birds, my pretty, look at the birds.'
He looked sharply at the birds himself, as he held the child up at
the grate, especially at the little bird, whose activity he seemed to
mistrust. 'I have brought your bread, Signor John Baptist,' said he
(they all spoke in French, but the little man was an Italian); 'and if I
might recommend you not to game--'
'You don't recommend the master!' said John Baptist, showing his teeth
as he smiled.
'Oh! but the master wins,' returned the jailer, with a passing look of
no particular liking at the other man, 'and you lose. It's quite another
thing. You get husky bread and sour drink by it; and he gets sausage of
Lyons, veal in savoury jelly, white bread, strachino cheese, and good
wine by it. Look at the birds, my pretty!'
'Poor birds!' said the child.
The fair little face
|
fino
|
How many times does the word 'fino' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Five of them were my grandmother's children, and had
shared the same milk that nourished her mother's children. Notwithstanding
my grandmother's long and faithful service to her owners, not one of her
children escaped the auction block. These God-breathing machines are no
more, in the sight of their masters, than the cotton they plant, or the
horses they tend.
II. The New Master And Mistress.
Dr. Flint, a physician in the neighborhood, had married the sister of my
mistress, and I was now the property of their little daughter. It was not
without murmuring that I prepared for my new home; and what added to my
unhappiness, was the fact that my brother William was purchased by the same
family. My father, by his nature, as well as by the habit of transacting
business as a skillful mechanic, had more of the feelings of a freeman than
is common among slaves. My brother was a spirited boy; and being brought up
under such influences, he daily detested the name of master and mistress.
One day, when his father and his mistress both happened to call him at the
same time, he hesitated between the two; being perplexed to know which had
the strongest claim upon his obedience. He finally concluded to go to his
mistress. When my father reproved him for it, he said, "You both called me,
and I didn't know which I ought to go to first."
"You are _my_ child," replied our father, "and when I call you, you should
come immediately, if you have to pass through fire and water."
Poor Willie! He was now to learn his first lesson of obedience to a master.
Grandmother tried to cheer us with hopeful words, and they found an echo in
the credulous hearts of youth.
When we entered our new home we encountered cold looks, cold words, and
cold treatment. We were glad when the night came. On my narrow bed I moaned
and wept, I felt so desolate and alone.
I had been there nearly a year, when a dear little friend of mine was
buried. I heard her mother sob, as the clods fell on the coffin of her only
child, and I turned away from the grave, feeling thankful that I still had
something left to love. I met my grandmother, who said, "Come with me,
Linda;" and from her tone I knew that something sad had happened. She led
me apart from the people, and then said, "My child, your father is dead."
Dead! How could I believe it? He had died so suddenly I had not even heard
that he was sick. I went home with my grandmother. My heart rebelled
against God, who had taken from me mother, father, mistress, and friend.
The good grandmother tried to comfort me. "Who knows the ways of God?" said
she. "Perhaps they have been kindly taken from the evil days to come."
Years afterwards I often thought of this. She promised to be a mother to
her grandchildren, so far as she might be permitted to do so; and
strengthened by her love, I returned to my master's. I thought I should be
allowed to go to my father's house the next morning; but I was ordered to
go for flowers, that my mistress's house might be decorated for an evening
party. I spent the day gathering flowers and weaving them into festoons,
while the dead body of my father was lying within a mile of me. What cared
my owners for that? he was merely a piece of property. Moreover, they
thought he had spoiled his children, by teaching them to feel that they
were human beings. This was blasphemous doctrine for a slave to teach;
presumptuous in him, and dangerous to the masters.
The next day I followed his remains to a humble grave beside that of my
dear mother. There were those who knew my father's worth, and respected his
memory.
My home now seemed more dreary than ever. The laugh of the little
slave-children sounded harsh and cruel. It was selfish to feel so about the
joy of others. My brother moved about with a very grave face. I tried to
comfort him, by saying, "Take courage, Willie; brighter days will come by
and by."
"You don't know any thing about it, Linda," he replied. "We shall have to
stay here all our days; we shall never be free."
|
faithful
|
How many times does the word 'faithful' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of Nocera's melancholy account of the health of his brother
and sister. The Count of Belvedere acquaints Sir Charles with his
unabated passion for Lady Clementina. Affecting interview between Sir
Charles and Signor Jeronymo. He is kindly received by the marquis and
marchioness. The sufferings of Jeronymo under the hands of an unskilful
surgeon, with a brief history of his case. Sir Charles tells the
marchioness that he considers himself bound by his former offers, should
Clementina recover. The interested motives of Lady Sforza and Laurana
for treating Clementina with cruelty. Remarks on Lady Olivia's conduct,
and on female delicacy. Sir Charles recommends Miss Byron as a pattern
for his ward, and laments the depravity of Sir Hargrave and his friends.
LETTER I
MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
Miss Byron, To Miss Selby.
O my Lucy! What think you!--But it is easy to guess what you must think.
I will, without saying one word more, enclose
DR. BARTLETT'S TENTH LETTER
The next day (proceeds my patron) I went to make my visit to the family.
I had nothing to reproach myself with; and therefore had no other concern
upon me but what arose from the unhappiness of the noble Clementina: that
indeed was enough. I thought I should have some difficulty to manage my
own spirit, if I were to find myself insulted, especially by the general.
Soldiers are so apt to value themselves on their knowledge of what, after
all, one may call but their trade, that a private gentleman is often
thought too slightly of by them. Insolence in a great man, a rich man,
or a soldier, is a call upon a man of spirit to exert himself. But I
hope, thought I, I shall not have this call from any one of a family I so
greatly respect.
I was received by the bishop; who politely, after I had paid my
compliments to the marquis and his lady, presented me to those of the
Urbino family to whom I was a stranger. Every one of those named by
Signor Jeronymo, in his last letter, was present.
The marquis, after he had returned my compliment, looked another way, to
hide his emotion: the marchioness put her handkerchief to her eyes, and
looked upon me with tenderness; and I read in them her concern for her
Clementina.
I paid my respects to the general with an air of freedom, yet of regard;
to my Jeronymo, with the tenderness due to our friendship, and
congratulated him on seeing him out of his chamber. His kind eyes
glistened with pleasure; yet it was easy to read a mixture of pain in
them; which grew stronger as the first emotions at seeing me enter, gave
way to reflection.
The Conte della Porretta seemed to measure me with his eye.
I addressed myself to Father Marescotti, and made my particular
acknowledgments to him for the favour of his visit, and what had passed
in it. He looked upon me with pleasure; probably with the more, as this
was a farewell visit.
The two ladies whispered, and looked upon me, and seemed to bespeak each
other's attention to what passed.
Signor Sebastiano placed himself next to Jeronymo, and often whispered
him, and as often cast his eye upon me. He was partial to me, I believe,
because my generous friend seemed pleased with what he said.
His brother, Signor Juliano, sat on the other hand of me. They are
agreeable and polite young gentlemen.
A profound silence succeeded the general compliments.
I addressed myself to the marquis: Your lordship, and you, madam, turning
to the marchioness, I hope will excuse me for having requested of you the
honour of being once more admitted to your presence, and to that of three
brothers, for whom I shall ever retain the most respectful affection. I
could not think of leaving a city, where one of the first families in it
has done me the highest honour, without taking such a leave as might shew
my gratitude.--Accept, my lords, bowing to each; accept, madam, more
prof
|
female
|
How many times does the word 'female' appear in the text?
| 0
|
you."
"No, no!" said Ashe. "Oh, no; not at all--not at all! No. Oh,
no--not at all--no!" And would have continued to play on the
theme indefinitely had not the girl spoken again.
"I wanted to apologize," she said, "for my abominable rudeness in
laughing at you just now. It was idiotic of me and I don't know
why I did it. I'm sorry."
Science, with a thousand triumphs to her credit, has not yet
succeeded in discovering the correct reply for a young man to
make who finds himself in the appalling position of being
apologized to by a pretty girl. If he says nothing he seems
sullen and unforgiving. If he says anything he makes a fool of
himself. Ashe, hesitating between these two courses, suddenly
caught sight of the sheet of paper over which he had been poring
so long.
"What is a wand of death?" he asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A wand of death?"
"I don't understand."
The delirium of the conversation was too much for Ashe. He burst
out laughing. A moment later the girl did the same. And
simultaneously embarrassment ceased to be.
"I suppose you think I'm mad?" said Ashe.
"Certainly," said the girl.
"Well, I should have been if you hadn't come in."
"Why was that?"
"I was trying to write a detective story."
"I was wondering whether you were a writer."
"Do you write?"
"Yes. Do you ever read Home Gossip?"
"Never!"
"You are quite right to speak in that thankful tone. It's a
horrid little paper--all brown-paper patterns and advice to the
lovelorn and puzzles. I do a short story for it every week, under
various names. A duke or an earl goes with each story. I loathe
it intensely."
"I am sorry for your troubles," said Ashe firmly; "but we are
wandering from the point. What is a wand of death?"
"A wand of death?"
"A wand of death."
The girl frowned reflectively.
"Why, of course; it's the sacred ebony stick stolen from the
Indian temple, which is supposed to bring death to whoever
possesses it. The hero gets hold of it, and the priests dog him
and send him threatening messages. What else could it be?"
Ashe could not restrain his admiration.
"This is genius!"
"Oh, no!"
"Absolute genius. I see it all. The hero calls in Gridley Quayle,
and that patronizing ass, by the aid of a series of wicked
coincidences, solves the mystery; and there am I, with another
month's work done."
She looked at him with interest.
"Are you the author of Gridley Quayle?"
"Don't tell me you read him!"
"I do not read him! But he is published by the same firm that
publishes Home Gossip, and I can't help seeing his cover
sometimes while I am waiting in the waiting room to see the
editress."
Ashe felt like one who meets a boyhood's chum on a desert island.
Here was a real bond between them.
"Does the Mammoth publish you, too? Why, we are comrades in
misfortune--fellow serfs! We should be friends. Shall we be
friends?"
"I should be delighted."
"Shall we shake hands, sit down, and talk about ourselves a
little?"
"But I am keeping you from your work."
"An errand of mercy."
She sat down. It is a simple act, this of sitting down; but, like
everything else, it may be an index to character. There was
something wholly satisfactory to Ashe in the manner in which this
girl did it. She neither seated herself on the extreme edge of
the easy-chair, as one braced for instant flight; nor did she
wallow in the easy-chair, as one come to stay for the week-end.
She carried herself in an unconventional situation with an
unstudied self-confidence that he could not sufficiently admire.
|
else
|
How many times does the word 'else' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ever round our globe.
"Why should not this be the body in question?"
Very ingenious, Mr. Correspondent on the "New York Herald!" but how
about the trumpet? There was no trumpet in Herr Schulze's projectile!
So all the explanations explained nothing, and all the observers had
observed in vain. There remained only the suggestion offered by the
director of Zi-Ka-Wey. But the opinion of a Chinaman!
The discussion continued, and there was no sign of agreement. Then
came a short period of rest. Some days elapsed without any object,
aerolite or otherwise, being described, and without any trumpet notes
being heard in the atmosphere. The body then had fallen on some part
of the globe where it had been difficult to trace it; in the sea,
perhaps. Had it sunk in the depths of the Atlantic, the Pacific, or
the Indian Ocean? What was to be said in this matter?
But then, between the 2nd and 9th of June, there came a new series of
facts which could not possibly be explained by the unaided existence
of a cosmic phenomenon.
In a week the Hamburgers at the top of St. Michael's Tower, the Turks
on the highest minaret of St. Sophia, the Rouennais at the end of the
metal spire of their cathedral, the Strasburgers at the summit of
their minister, the Americans on the head of the Liberty statue at
the entrance of the Hudson and on the Bunker Hill monument at Boston,
the Chinese at the spike of the temple of the Four Hundred Genii at
Canton, the Hindus on the sixteenth terrace of the pyramid of the
temple at Tanjore, the San Pietrini at the cross of St. Peter's at
Rome, the English at the cross of St. Paul's in London, the Egyptians
at the apex of the Great Pyramid of Ghizeh, the Parisians at the
lighting conductor of the iron tower of the Exposition of 1889, a
thousand feet high, all of them beheld a flag floating from some one
of these inaccessible points.
And the flag was black, dotted with stars, and it bore a golden sun
in its center.
Chapter II
AGREEMENT IMPOSSIBLE
"And the first who says the contrary--"
"Indeed! But we will say the contrary so long as there is a place to
say it in!"
"And in spite of your threats--"
"Mind what you are saying, Bat Fynn!"
"Mind what you are saying, Uncle Prudent!"
"I maintain that the screw ought to be behind!"
"And so do we! And so do we!" replied half a hundred voices
confounded in one.
"No! It ought to be in front!" shouted Phil Evans.
"In front!" roared fifty other voices, with a vigor in no whit less
remarkable.
"We shall never agree!"
"Never! Never!"
"Then what is the use of a dispute?"
"It is not a dispute! It is a discussion!"
One would not have thought so to listen to the taunts, objurgations,
and vociferations which filled the lecture room for a good quarter of
an hour.
The room was one of the largest in the Weldon Institute, the
well-known club in Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U. S.
A. The evening before there had been an election of a lamplighter,
occasioning many public manifestations, noisy meetings, and even
interchanges of blows, resulting in an effervescence which had not
yet subsided, and which would account for some of the excitement just
exhibited by the members of the Weldon Institute. For this was merely
a meeting of balloonists, discussing the burning question of the
direction of balloons.
In this great saloon there were struggling, pushing, gesticulating,
shouting, arguing, disputing, a hundred balloonists, all with their
hats on, under the authority of a president, assisted by a secretary
and treasurer. They were not engineers by profession, but simply
amateurs of all that appertained to aerostatics, and they were
amateurs in a fury, and especially foes of those who would oppose to
aerostats "apparatuses heavier than the air," flying machines, aerial
ships, or what not.
|
evans
|
How many times does the word 'evans' appear in the text?
| 0
|
round, without traction. She did not make one
inch. When she again killed the blatting motor, she let it stay dead.
She peered at her father.
He was not a father, just now, but a passenger trying not to irritate
the driver. He smiled in a waxy way, and said, "Hard luck! Well, you did
the best you could. The other hole, there in the road, would have been
just as bad. You're a fine driver, dolly."
Her smile was warm and real. "No. I'm a fool. You told me to put on
chains. I didn't. I deserve it."
"Well, anyway, most men would be cussing. You acquire merit by not
beating me. I believe that's done, in moments like this. If you'd like,
I'll get out and crawl around in the mud, and play turtle for you."
"No. I'm quite all right. I did feel frightfully strong-minded as long
as there was any use of it. It kept me going. But now I might just as
well be cheerful, because we're stuck, and we're probably going to stay
stuck for the rest of this care-free summer day."
The weariness of the long strain caught her, all at once. She slipped
forward, sat huddled, her knees crossed under the edge of the steering
wheel, her hands falling beside her, one of them making a faint brushing
sound as it slid down the upholstery. Her eyes closed; as her head
drooped farther, she fancied she could hear the vertebrae click in her
tense neck.
Her father was silent, a misty figure in a lap-robe. The rain streaked
the mica lights in the side-curtains. A distant train whistled
desolately across the sodden fields. The inside of the car smelled
musty. The quiet was like a blanket over the ears. Claire was in a hazy
drowse. She felt that she could never drive again.
CHAPTER II
CLAIRE ESCAPES FROM RESPECTABILITY
Claire Boltwood lived on the Heights, Brooklyn. Persons from New York
and other parts of the Middlewest have been known to believe that
Brooklyn is somehow humorous. In newspaper jokes and vaudeville it is so
presented that people who are willing to take their philosophy from
those sources believe that the leading citizens of Brooklyn are all
deacons, undertakers, and obstetricians. The fact is that North
Washington Square, at its reddest and whitest and fanlightedest,
Gramercy Park at its most ivied, are not so aristocratic as the section
of Brooklyn called the Heights. Here preached Henry Ward Beecher. Here,
in mansions like mausoleums, on the ridge above docks where the good
ships came sailing in from Sourabaya and Singapore, ruled the lords of a
thousand sails. And still is it a place of wealth too solid to emulate
the nimble self-advertising of Fifth Avenue. Here dwell the
fifth-generation possessors of blocks of foundries and shipyards. Here,
in a big brick house of much dignity, much ugliness, and much
conservatory, lived Claire Boltwood, with her widower father.
Henry B. Boltwood was vice-president of a firm dealing in railway
supplies. He was neither wealthy nor at all poor. Every summer, despite
Claire's delicate hints, they took the same cottage on the Jersey Coast,
and Mr. Boltwood came down for Sunday. Claire had gone to a good school
out of Philadelphia, on the Main Line. She was used to gracious leisure,
attractive uselessness, nut-center chocolates, and a certain wonder as
to why she was alive.
She wanted to travel, but her father could not get away. He consistently
spent his days in overworking, and his evenings in wishing he hadn't
overworked. He was attractive, fresh, pink-cheeked, white-mustached, and
nerve-twitching with years of detail.
Claire's ambition had once been babies and a solid husband, but as
various young males of the species appeared before her, sang their
mating songs and preened their newly dry-cleaned plumage, she found that
the trouble with solid young men was that they were solid. Though she
liked to dance
|
father
|
How many times does the word 'father' appear in the text?
| 4
|
man's trunk, massive black-painted timbers, muzzles of her
great guns projecting from every gun-port.
As the ship glides past and away from us, her name is
visible, picked out in dull gold on the transom - Surprise.
<b> 3. ANOTHER ANGLE - DUSK
</b>
The ship in silhouette - RUN CAPTION:
HMS Surprise
Armament: 28 guns Crew: 197 souls.
Location: Coast of Brazil, November 1806
Mission: Intercept and destroy French
Privateer, Acheron
<b> 5. THE GREAT CABIN - DUSK
</b>
CAPTAIN JACK AUBREY, with his back to us, bends over the
table, studying charts.
His servant, KILLICK, a pig-tailed, ear-ringed man of
indeterminate age, refills the glass at his elbow.
JACK drinks. The glass catches the setting sun as it drops
below the great casement windows.
KILLICK lights a lamp, places it next to his captain and
retires.
<b> JACK
</b> (Absently) Thankee Killick
<b> 4. THE CHARTS:
</b>
a beautifully drawn chart of the South American coastline.
Jack's hands place a second chart on top of the first,
bringing the north-east coast of Brazil into view. Then
another, each one enlarging the view of the preceding one.
On the final chart we can read navigational symbols and
detailed information in fine copperplate script:
6 fa. Shoals suddenly to half fa. Rocks
(exact position unknown). Hidden reef.
<b> 6. BELOW DECKS - NIGHT
</b>
Another lamp illuminates 1st lieutenant TOM PULLINGS, his
pleasant open face marred by a diagonal sabre scar running
from brow to chin.
He is making a final tour of inspection before lights out.
<b>7. THE DOCTOR'S CABIN - NIGHT
</b>
Dr STEPHEN MATURIN, a keen naturalist, sits at his desk
surrounded by specimen jars, books and scientific
instruments.
<b>[ ]
</b>
TOM PULLINGS glances in as he moves past the cabin door, but
the doctor, placing weights on some finely-balanced
structure, is too engrossed to notice him.
<b>8. MIDSHIPMAN'S BERTH - NIGHT
</b>
In the quarters for the 'young gentlemen', boys trained from
an early age to become officers, four lads play at marbles.
PETER CALAMY (16) and LORD BLAKENEY (13) are arguing about
whether a marble was inside outside the circle as their berth
mates BOYLE (15) and WILLIAMSON (14) wait for the game to
resume.
<b> BLAKENEY
</b> In
<b> CALAMY
</b> Out.
<b> BLAKENEY
</b> In. It was here. The line is in.
<b> CALAMY
</b> It was there. It was out. Out
|
killick
|
How many times does the word 'killick' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Fusion, often toted as
the solution to humanity's future energy needs.
There is one major problem...
Helium3 is extremely scarce on Earth. The gas does,
however, exist in abundance on the Earth's only natural
satellite:
The Moon.
Should we turn to Cold Fusion in the future, it is
conceivable that man will mine the Moon for Helium3 and
bring the precious gas back to Earth...
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b> IN THE BLACK:
</b>
We hear something -- a machine -- CHURNING and POUNDING.
Constant. Rhythmic. Though the sound is slightly familiar,
we're not sure what it is yet. Hold for a few seconds and
then
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>1 INT. REC ROOM -- MORNING 1
</b>
The sound belongs to a regular old TREADMILL like you see
in most gyms across the world. Running on it: SAM BELL, mid
thirties, thick beard, handsome, striking blue eyes.
Sam's face is flushed and glistening with sweat. He lunges
for a towel draped over the treadmill's bar, dabs his face
as he runs.
We see OUTSIDE THE WINDOW: A gray, powdery landscape
stretching beneath a BLACK SKY.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>2 EXT. MOON -- MORNING 2
</b>
Aerial view of the Earth's only natural satellite, the
camera roaming about a hundred feet off the surface.
Desolation. Serious, uncompromising, desolation. This place
makes Antarctica look like Tokyo.
And utter silence.
Eventually the camera arrives at a moon base, DIVING DOWN
towards it --
<b> TITLE CARD: "MINING BASE SELENE. CREW: 1."
</b>
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>3 INT. BATHROOM\SHOWER -- MORNING 3
</b>
Sam takes a shower, treading in a tight circle beneath the
nozzle, eyes closed, hot water blasting his face
|
powdery
|
How many times does the word 'powdery' appear in the text?
| 0
|
terminal carrying a small travel bag.
<b>INT. DELTA TERMINAL - KENNEDY AIRPORT - DAY
</b>
CUT TO a shot of Willcox Hillyer at a counter getting his
ticket processed. A little smile is on his face as he talks
to a pretty airline girl. This character likes girls; his
aloofness is modified, his face changes when he talks to
them. The airline girl smiles back, she finds him attractive.
We don't hear what they are saying, no dialogue on track --
it is obvious he is flirting with the girl in a mild way, but
now a frown comes on his face and he turns his head as if
slightly annoyed by something.
CUT TO a POV shot of a tall, gaunt, almost totally bald man
at the next ticket counter. The man is about sixty-five and
looks like a half senile Great Dane. He is DAVE WILKIE,
erstwhile husband of the heroine of this story. Age has not
been at all kind to Dave; his face is lined with bitterness,
he is a sour, angry, lonely man and now he is making a very
unpleasant scene with a ticket girl and an airline
representative, waving his ticket and gesticulating angrily.
He wears an expensive, ill-fitting suit and a Texas-type hat.
We don't hear his angry complaints, no dialogue is on the
track.
CUT BACK to a CLOSE SHOT of Willcox Hillyer as he stares with
a frown at the man. It's as if he knows the man but can't
place him. The airline ticket girl speaks to him and he turns
back to her, his face softening as he answers her, obviously
saying he'll carry his bag. He nods goodbye to the girl,
turns and the CAMERA follows him as he walks some distance
away and stops, looks back with another pensive frown at the
tall, gaunt man at the next counter.
CUT TO ANOTHER POV shot of Dave Wilkie, a longer shot than
the first. The man is now arguing angrily with two airline
representatives, still waving his ticket and shaking his
head. We don't hear him. Lip-readers might pick up what he is
saying: "I'm supposed to be in first class, not tourist.
What's the matter with this friggin' airline?"
CUT BACK TO Willcox Hillyer, a CLOSE SHOT of his face as he
rubs his chin and frowns obviously struggling to remember the
man. The CAMERA holds on him as he stares at the gaunt angry
Dave, racking his brain. He shakes his head, he cannot place
the man and yet he knows him. The CAMERA moves in closer on
Willcox Hillyer's face as he stares in pensive puzzlement at
this ghost from the past and now we hear, as if from a
distance, FAINT MUSIC on the track -- it is "Dixie," played
with beautiful lazy mocking love by the great Louis Armstrong
in his prime. At first we can barely hear it, then the MUSIC
becomes LOUDER as Hillyer's frown deepens and he seems almost
to know the man.
<b>MAIN TITLE (SUPERIMPOSED): "RAMBLING ROSE"
</b>
The MUSIC remains a bit in the distance, but it can be heard.
OTHER TITLES (SUPERIMPOSED): over the following action.
VARIOUS SHOTS, on Willcox Hillyer. He gives up his effort to
recognize the strangely familiar Dave with a little shrug,
turns and walks away with his travel bag.
<b>INT. DELTA TERMINAL - LOUNGE - DAY
</b>
We see him entering the departure lounge and boarding the
plane.
<b>INT. DELTA AIRPLANE - DAY
</b>
A shot of him as he smiles rather nicely at a very attractive
young stewardess as he walks down the aisle of the plane. He
is not a crass or lewd flirt, but life comes into his face
when he sees a pretty girl -- he seems to have a real
affection for girls: toward men he is polite but rather dry
and ironic, almost aloof, but girls he likes. We see him sit
in a seat, open his travel bag and take out long galley
sheets. He stares
|
shot
|
How many times does the word 'shot' appear in the text?
| 6
|
were surrounded. But much advantage could not be derived from this.
There were, indeed, differences betwixt the two classes, but, like
tribes in the mineral and vegetable world, which, resembling each other
to common eyes, can be sufficiently well discriminated by naturalists,
they were yet too similar, upon the whole, to be placed in marked
contrast with each other.
Machinery remained--the introduction of the supernatural and marvellous;
the resort of distressed authors since the days of Horace, but whose
privileges as a sanctuary have been disputed in the present age, and
well-nigh exploded. The popular belief no longer allows the possibility
of existence to the race of mysterious beings which hovered betwixt
this world and that which is invisible. The fairies have abandoned
their moonlight turf; the witch no longer holds her black orgies in the
hemlock dell; and
Even the last lingering phantom of the brain,
The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again.
From the discredit attached to the vulgar and more common modes in which
the Scottish superstition displays itself, the author was induced to
have recourse to the beautiful, though almost forgotten, theory of
astral spirits, or creatures of the elements, surpassing human beings
in knowledge and power, but inferior to them, as being subject, after
a certain space of years, to a death which is to them annihilation,
as they have no share in the promise made to the sons of Adam. These
spirits are supposed to be of four distinct kinds, as the elements from
which they have their origin, and are known, to those who have
studied the cabalistical philosophy, by the names of Sylphs, Gnomes,
Salamanders, and Naiads, as they belong to the elements of Air, Earth,
Fire, or Water. The general reader will find an entertaining account
of these elementary spirits in the French book entitled, âEntretiens de
Compte du Gabalis.â The ingenious Compte de la Motte Fouqu? composed,
in German, one of the most successful productions of his fertile
brain, where a beautiful and even afflicting effect is produced by the
introduction of a water-nymph, who loses the privilege of immortality by
consenting to become accessible to human feelings, and uniting her lot
with that of a mortal, who treats her with ingratitude.
In imitation of an example so successful, the White Lady of Avenel was
introduced into the following sheets. She is represented as connected
with the family of Avenel by one of those mystic ties, which, in ancient
times, were supposed to exist, in certain circumstances, between the
creatures of the elements and the children of men. Such instances
of mysterious union are recognized in Ireland, in the real Milosian
families, who are possessed of a Banshie; and they are known among the
traditions of the Highlands, which, in many cases, attached an immortal
being or spirit to the service of particular families or tribes. These
demons, if they are to be called so, announced good or evil fortune to
the families connected with them; and though some only condescended to
meddle with matters of importance, others, like the May Mollach, or Maid
of the Hairy Arms, condescended to mingle in ordinary sports, and even
to direct the Chief how to play at draughts.
There was, therefore, no great violence in supposing such a being as
this to have existed, while the elementary spirits were believed in;
but it was more difficult to describe or imagine its attributes and
principles of action. Shakespeare, the first of authorities in such a
case, has painted Ariel, that beautiful creature of his fancy, as only
approaching so near to humanity as to know the nature of that sympathy
which the creatures of clay felt for each other, as we learn from the
expression--âMine would, if I were human.â The inferences from this
are singular, but seem capable of regular deduction. A being, however
superior to man in length of life--in power over the elements--in
certain perceptions respecting the present, the past, and the future,
yet still incapable of human passions, of sentiments of moral good and
evil, of meriting future rewards or punishments, belongs rather to
the class of animals, than of human creatures, and must
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 8
|
's plays as we wind through a
flock of abstract, silky, golden strands -- PULLING BACK, to
discover that the strands are hair on a BLONDE GIRL's head.
But not just any blonde girl, a girl in Delta Gamma, the
blondest, most beautiful sorority at USC.
We PULL BACK further to see that she's signing a handmade
card. She holds it up ~ OVER HER SHOULDER, we see hearts
and glitter surrounding and "Good Luck Tonight!" and "Elle
and Warner forever!."
She carries the card out of her room and we FOLLOW HER across
the hall, into the room of --
THREE BLONDE CHEERLEADERS, who stop practicing their pom-pom
routine to sign the card. As they finish, we follow the Card
Girl out and into the room of --
A BLONDE GIRL IN A TANK TOP and shorts, working out on a
Stairmaster as "General Hospital" plays on a tiny TV. She
signs the card while continuing to exercise. We move on, to
the room of--
A BLONDE GIRL MAKING OUT WITH HER BOYFRIEND who stops long
enough to sign the card, as her boyfriend nibbles on her
neck. She hands the card back and we head into the room of --
A BLONDE PARTY GIRL who pours a pink frozen margarita into a
glass from the blender, then passes it down to ANOTHER BLONDE
GIRL, assembly-line style. The card goes one way, being
signed, as the drinks go the other.
Once the card arrives back in the Card Girl's hands, we
follow her out of the room and down the hall until she
reaches the very last and biggest door --
She puts a kiss mark on the card, then kneels down and slides
the card under the door.
<b> INT. ELLE'S DELTA GAMMA ROOM - DAY - CONTINUOUS 2
</b>
The CARD slides into the pink room, hitting the feet of
UNDERDOG, a tiny chihuahua ~ who picks it up in his mouth
and trots it over to a pair of perfectly pedicured feet in
strappy sandals.
An equally perfectly manicured hand with a "Sisters Forever"
charm bracelet dangling from the wrist, scoops up Underdog.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b>2 2
</b>
As he rises, we RISE WITH HIM, passing toned, waxed, tanned
legs in pink Prada pedal pushers
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Final Draft
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. FIELD HOSPITAL TENT - DAY
</b>
A black screen.
The sound of a knife cutting through boot leather.
Fade in on the waists of two men (THE SURGEONS) hovering
around a crude operating table.
In the extreme background, TWO STRETCHER BEARERS are just
leaving.
<b> SURGEON 1 (O.S.)
</b> Is this the last one?
One of the bearers stops and looks back. His face is numb.
And he nods hollowly.
We cannot see the patient stretched out on the table. But we
do see that the first surgeon has succeeded in getting the
man's boot off.
<b> SURGEON 2 (O.S.)
</b> God, what a mess... at least there's
no gangrene.
<b> SURGEON 1 (O.S.)
</b> There will be if it doesn't come
off.
<b> SURGEON 2 (O.S.)
</b> Well I can't saw if I can't keep my
eyes open. Let's coffee up... he
can wait a few more minutes.
As the TWO SURGEONS duck through a tent flap in the background
we see a mangled foot, torn by shrapnel, it oozes blood from
a cut clear to the bone.
LIEUTENANT JOHN J. DUNBAR'S eyes are now open. He's a young
man, his features sharp and handsome. With effort,
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 1
|
this, the people of Baslehurst and Cawston
had declared how comfortable for Mrs. Ray would be this accession of
wealth to the family. But Mrs. Ray had not become much the richer.
Mrs. Prime did no doubt pay her fair quota towards the maintenance
of the humble cottage at Bragg's End, for such was the name of the
spot at which Mrs. Ray lived. But she did not do more than this.
She established a Dorcas society at Baslehurst, of which she became
permanent president, and spent her money in carrying on this
institution in the manner most pleasing to herself. I fear that Mrs.
Prime liked to be more powerful at these charitable meetings than her
sister labourers in the same vineyard, and that she achieved this
power by the means of her money. I do not bring this as a heavy
accusation against her. In such institutions there is generally need
of a strong, stirring, leading mind. If some one would not assume
power, the power needed would not be exercised. Such a one as Mrs.
Prime is often necessary. But we all have our own pet temptations,
and I think that Mrs. Prime's temptation was a love of power.
It will be understood that Baslehurst is a town,--a town with a
market, and hotels, and a big brewery, and a square, and street;
whereas Cawston is a village, or rather a rural parish, three miles
out of Baslehurst, north of it, lying on the river Avon. But Bragg's
End, though within the parish of Cawston, lies about a mile and a
half from the church and village, on the road to Baslehurst, and
partakes therefore almost as much of the township of Baslehurst as
it does of the rusticity of Cawston. How Bragg came to such an end,
or why this corner of the parish came to be thus united for ever
to Bragg's name, no one in the parish knew. The place consisted of
a little green, and a little wooden bridge, over a little stream
that trickled away into the Avon. Here were clustered half a dozen
labourers' cottages, and a beer or cider shop. Standing back from the
green was the house and homestead of Farmer Sturt, and close upon
the green, with its garden hedge running down to the bridge, was the
pretty cottage of Mrs. Ray. Mr. Comfort had known her husband, and
he had found for her this quiet home. It was a pretty place, with
one small sitting-room opening back upon the little garden, and with
another somewhat larger fronting towards the road and the green. In
the front room Mrs. Ray lived, looking out upon so much of the world
as Bragg's End green afforded to her view. The other seemed to be
kept with some faint expectation of company that never came. Many of
the widow's neatest belongings were here preserved in most perfect
order; but one may say that they were altogether thrown away,--unless
indeed they afforded solace to their owner in the very act of dusting
them. Here there were four or five books, prettily bound, with gilt
leaves, arranged in shapes on the small round table. Here also was
deposited a spangled mat of wondrous brightness, made of short white
sticks of glass strung together. It must have taken care and time in
its manufacture, but was, I should say, but of little efficacy either
for domestic use or domestic ornament. There were shells on the
chimneypiece, and two or three china figures. There was a birdcage
hung in the window but without a bird. It was all very clean, but the
room conveyed at the first glance an overpowering idea of its own
absolute inutility and vanity. It was capable of answering no purpose
for which men and women use rooms; but he who could have said so to
Mrs. Ray must have been a cruel and a hardhearted man.
The other room which looked out upon the green was snug enough, and
sufficed for all the widow's wants. There was a little book-case
laden with books. There was the family table at which they ate their
meals; and there was the little table near the window at which Mrs.
Ray worked. There was an old sofa, and an old arm-chair; and there
was, also, a carpet, alas, so old that the poor woman
|
little
|
How many times does the word 'little' appear in the text?
| 6
|
_Appeal
to Honour and Justice_; and "I was afterwards received by him."
Concluding the second volume of _Colonel Jacque_ will be found the
ironical _Shortest Way with the Dissenters_, which placed Defoe in the
pillory and in prison. It was written in 1702, the first year of
Anne's reign, when the strong Tory influence in the government seemed
likely to bring back the persecution of Nonconformists which had
ceased in the time of William. From the early summer, when Dr.
Sacheverell preached at Oxford a most inflammatory sermon against the
Dissenters, High Church feeling against them grew stronger and
stronger. Finally Defoe decided that the best service he could render
them was to show the views of the High Church party in all their
extreme savageness. The result was the pamphlet, _The Shortest Way
with the Dissenters; or, Proposals for the Establishment of the
Church_, which appeared on the first of December, 1702.
Defoe was so successful in imagining High Tory sentiments in his
pamphlet, that it was received with indignation by the Dissenters
themselves and with acclaim by the extreme Churchmen. "I join with"
the author "in all he says," wrote one of them,[3] to a friend who had
sent him the pamphlet, "and have such a value for the book, that, next
to the Holy Bible and the sacred Comments, I take it for the most
valuable piece I have." Naturally there was a storm when the truth was
discovered and the High Tories found out that what they had praised
was ironical. They were immediately shamed into declaring the pamphlet
a dangerous libel, intended to stir up the Dissenters to civil war.
Defoe's bookseller and printer were accordingly arrested, and a reward
was offered for his apprehension. He gave himself up, was tried, and
sentenced to pay a fine of two hundred marks, to stand three times in
the pillory, and to go to prison for the Queen's pleasure. How Defoe
converted his punishment in the pillory into a triumph, and how
profitably he employed his time during his imprisonment, have been
already told in the introduction to _Robinson Crusoe_.
G. H. MAYNADIER.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
SIR,--It is so customary to write prefaces to all books of this kind,
to introduce them with the more advantage into the world, that I
cannot omit it, though on that account 'tis thought this work needs a
preface less than any that ever went before it. The pleasant and
delightful part speaks for itself; the useful and instructive is so
large, and capable of so many improvements, that it would employ a
book large as itself to make improvements suitable to the vast variety
of the subject.
Here's room for just and copious observations on the blessings and
advantages of a sober and well-governed education, and the ruin of so
many thousands of youths of all kinds in this nation for want of it;
also, how much public schools and charities might be improved to
prevent the destruction of so, many unhappy children as in this town
are every year bred up for the gallows.
The miserable condition of unhappy children, many of whose natural
tempers are docible, and would lead them to learn the best things
rather than the worst, is truly deplorable, and is abundantly seen in
the history of this man's childhood; where, though circumstances
formed him by necessity to be a thief, a strange rectitude of
principles remained with him, and made him early abhor the worst part
of his trade, and at last wholly leave it off. If he had come into the
world with the advantage of education, and been well instructed how to
improve the generous principles he had in him, what a man might he not
have been!
The various turns of his fortunes in the world make a delightful field
for the reader to wander in; a garden where he may gather wholesome
and medicinal fruits, none noxious or poisonous; where he will see
virtue and the ways of wisdom everywhere applauded, honoured,
encouraged, rewarded; vice and all kinds of wickedness attended with
misery, many kinds of infelicities; and at last, sin and shame going
together, the persons meeting with reproof and reproach, and the
crimes
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 9
|
happened...
<b> OVER BLACK
</b>
We hear the roar of a V8 engine, piped out through some
throaty, fucked up muffler, as
<b> EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY
</b>
An '89 Mustang bursts like a shot over a rise in the highway.
It's got a rusted two-tone paint job, Maryland plates, and
bald tires that scream as it peels off an exit and into the
<b> EXT. SUBURBS - DAY
</b>
The car fast approaches a stop sign, dangerously blows through
the intersection.
<b> INT. MUSTANG - DAY - MOVING
</b>
We don't see the DRIVER, only the redlining RPMs, Vans slip-
ons working the pedals, wristwatch being checked. The wheel
cranks right as the car turns onto a -
One way street. A minivan flies right at us. The Mustang
hops up onto the curb to avoid it, clips a trash can and -
Garbage explodes like confetti. The wipers engage, brushing
the trash aside. The car whips another turn and
<b> EXT. SUBURBS - DAY
</b>
The Mustang fishtails around a corner and skids away.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> TIRES SCREECH
</b>
Brake pads smoke. The Mustang stops outside
<b> EXT. HOUSE - DAY
</b
|
mustang
|
How many times does the word 'mustang' appear in the text?
| 4
|
fancied it could be stayed by putting up the editor of The Saturday
Review (as Mr Harris then was) to declare that he considered Dorian
Grey a highly moral book, which it certainly is. When Harris foretold
him the truth, Wilde denounced him as a fainthearted friend who was
failing him in his hour of need, and left the room in anger. Harris's
idiosyncratic power of pity saved him from feeling or shewing the
smallest resentment; and events presently proved to Wilde how insanely
he had been advised in taking the action, and how accurately Harris
had gauged the situation.
The same capacity for pity governs Harris's study of Shakespear, whom,
as I have said, he pities too much; but that he is not insensible to
humor is shewn not only by his appreciation of Wilde, but by the fact
that the group of contributors who made his editorship of The Saturday
Review so remarkable, and of whom I speak none the less highly because
I happened to be one of them myself, were all, in their various ways,
humorists.
"Sidney's Sister: Pembroke's Mother"
And now to return to Shakespear. Though Mr Harris followed Tyler in
identifying Mary Fitton as the Dark Lady, and the Earl of Pembroke as
the addressee of the other sonnets and the man who made love
successfully to Shakespear's mistress, he very characteristically
refuses to follow Tyler on one point, though for the life of me I
cannot remember whether it was one of the surmises which Tyler
published, or only one which he submitted to me to see what I would
say about it, just as he used to submit difficult lines from the
sonnets.
This surmise was that "Sidney's sister: Pembroke's mother" set
Shakespear on to persuade Pembroke to marry, and that this was the
explanation of those earlier sonnets which so persistently and
unnaturally urged matrimony on Mr W. H. I take this to be one of the
brightest of Tyler's ideas, because the persuasions in the sonnets are
unaccountable and out of character unless they were offered to please
somebody whom Shakespear desired to please, and who took a motherly
interest in Pembroke. There is a further temptation in the theory for
me. The most charming of all Shakespear's old women, indeed the most
charming of all his women, young or old, is the Countess of Rousillon
in All's Well That Ends Well. It has a certain individuality among
them which suggests a portrait. Mr Harris will have it that all
Shakespear's nice old women are drawn from his beloved mother; but I
see no evidence whatever that Shakespear's mother was a particularly
nice woman or that he was particularly fond of her. That she was a
simple incarnation of extravagant maternal pride like the mother of
Coriolanus in Plutarch, as Mr Harris asserts, I cannot believe: she
is quite as likely to have borne her son a grudge for becoming "one of
these harlotry players" and disgracing the Ardens. Anyhow, as a
conjectural model for the Countess of Rousillon, I prefer that one of
whom Jonson wrote
Sidney's sister: Pembroke's mother:
Death: ere thou has slain another,
Learnd and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
But Frank will not have her at any price, because his ideal Shakespear
is rather like a sailor in a melodrama; and a sailor in a melodrama
must adore his mother. I do not at all belittle such sailors. They
are the emblems of human generosity; but Shakespear was not an emblem:
he was a man and the author of Hamlet, who had no illusions about his
mother. In weak moments one almost wishes he had.
Shakespear's Social Standing
On the vexed question of Shakespear's social standing Mr Harris says
that Shakespear "had not had the advantage of a middle-class
training." I suggest that Shakespear missed this questionable
advantage, not because he was socially
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Second draft script
With the support of the Media Programme of the European Union
The SOUND of Muay Thai boxing... The Art of Eight Limbs... Thrust
and move... Feet shuffling across the ring...
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> INT. BACK ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
CLOSE ON a pair of hands from VARIOUS ANGLES...
The SOUNDS of the fighting grow LOUDER. Punches, kicks, elbows...
The hands tense into fists. They're strong hands. Fighter's hands.
ZOOM OUT TO REVEAL Julian (mid-thirties) staring at his hands.
Even though he's kept in shape, he hasn't fought for a long time.
The SOUND of the boxing match gets LOUDER STILL as Julian continues
staring at his hands - it's almost as if he's meditating. Suddenly
he breaths in.
Behind him sits a young kid dressed in Thai boxing clothes - this
is Liang, barely sixteen. He looks nervous, occasionally glancing
at Julian's reflection through the huge mirror that hangs on the
far wall.
Julian continues to stare at his hands and closes them into a
tight fist.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CORRIDORS - NIGHT
</b>
The SOUNDS of the boxing match reach FEVER PITCH as we TRACK WITH
Julian and Liang making their way towards the ring.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. THAI BOXING RING - NIGHT
</b>
Two Young Thai Boxers beat the crap out of each other.
The crowd is wild with excitement, people placing bets on which
way the fight will turn.
One of the Thai Boxers goes down and money immediately starts
changing hands...
The ring is cleared and Liang jumps in as Julian pushes his way
though the crowd, nodding at people as he passes. They know him
here.
Again bets are placed....
PICK OUT a face in the crowd. Billy. Julian's older brother (late
thirties).
Julian sits down next to Billy who's delighted to see him, throwing
his arm around him, pulling him in close.
<b>
|
ring
|
How many times does the word 'ring' appear in the text?
| 3
|
he might have used them
well--he was always doubtful whether it was eight sevens or nine
eights that was sixty-three--(he knew no method for settling the
difficulty) and he thought the merit of a drawing consisted in the
care with which it was "lined in." "Lining in" bored him beyond
measure.
But the _indigestions_ of mind and body that were to play so large a
part in his subsequent career were still only beginning. His liver and
his gastric juice, his wonder and imagination kept up a fight against
the things that threatened to overwhelm soul and body together.
Outside the regions devastated by the school curriculum he was still
intensely curious. He had cheerful phases of enterprise, and about
thirteen he suddenly discovered reading and its joys. He began to read
stories voraciously, and books of travel, provided they were also
adventurous. He got these chiefly from the local institute, and he
also "took in," irregularly but thoroughly, one of those inspiring
weeklies that dull people used to call "penny dreadfuls," admirable
weeklies crammed with imagination that the cheap boys' "comics" of
to-day have replaced. At fourteen, when he emerged from the valley of
the shadow of education, there survived something, indeed it survived
still, obscured and thwarted, at five and thirty, that pointed--not
with a visible and prevailing finger like the finger of that beautiful
woman in the picture, but pointed nevertheless--to the idea that there
was interest and happiness in the world. Deep in the being of Mr.
Polly, deep in that darkness, like a creature which has been beaten
about the head and left for dead but still lives, crawled a persuasion
that over and above the things that are jolly and "bits of all right,"
there was beauty, there was delight, that somewhere--magically
inaccessible perhaps, but still somewhere, were pure and easy and
joyous states of body and mind.
He would sneak out on moonless winter nights and stare up at the
stars, and afterwards find it difficult to tell his father where he
had been.
He would read tales about hunters and explorers, and imagine himself
riding mustangs as fleet as the wind across the prairies of Western
America, or coming as a conquering and adored white man into the
swarming villages of Central Africa. He shot bears with a revolver--a
cigarette in the other hand--and made a necklace of their teeth and
claws for the chief's beautiful young daughter. Also he killed a lion
with a pointed stake, stabbing through the beast's heart as it stood
over him.
He thought it would be splendid to be a diver and go down into the
dark green mysteries of the sea.
He led stormers against well-nigh impregnable forts, and died on the
ramparts at the moment of victory. (His grave was watered by a
nation's tears.)
He rammed and torpedoed ships, one against ten.
He was beloved by queens in barbaric lands, and reconciled whole
nations to the Christian faith.
He was martyred, and took it very calmly and beautifully--but only
once or twice after the Revivalist week. It did not become a habit
with him.
He explored the Amazon, and found, newly exposed by the fall of a
great tree, a rock of gold.
Engaged in these pursuits he would neglect the work immediately in
hand, sitting somewhat slackly on the form and projecting himself in a
manner tempting to a schoolmaster with a cane.... And twice he had
books confiscated.
Recalled to the realities of life, he would rub himself or sigh deeply
as the occasion required, and resume his attempts to write as good as
copperplate. He hated writing; the ink always crept up his fingers and
the smell of ink offended him. And he was filled with unexpressed
doubts. _Why_ should writing slope down from right to left? _Why_
should downstrokes be thick and upstrokes thin? _Why_ should the
handle of one's pen point over one's right shoulder?
His copy books towards the end foreshadowed his destiny and took the
form of commercial documents. "_Dear Sir_," they ran, "_Referring to
your esteemed order of the 26th ult., we beg to inform you_," and so
on.
The compression of Mr. Polly's mind and soul
|
still
|
How many times does the word 'still' appear in the text?
| 4
|
.
The fact that slavery was introduced into the American colonies,
while they were under the control of the British Crown, is a
sufficient reason why Englishmen should feel a lively interest in
its abolition; and now that the genius of mechanical invention has
brought the two countries so near together, and both having one
language and one literature, the influence of British public
opinion is very great on the people of the New World.
If the incidents set forth in the following pages should add
anything new to the information already given to the Public
through similar publications, and should thereby aid in bringing
British influence to bear upon American slavery, the main object
for which this work was written will have been accomplished.
W. WELLS BROWN
22, Cecil Street, Strand, London.
CONTENTS.
MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR
THE NEGRO SALE
GOING TO THE SOUTH
THE NEGRO CHASE
THE QUADROON'S HOME
THE SLAVE MASTER
THE RELIGIOUS TEACHER
THE POOR WHITES, SOUTH
THE SEPARATION
THE MAN OP HONOUR
THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN
THE PARSON POET
A NIGHT IN THE PARSON'S KITCHEN
A SLAVE HUNT
A FREE WOMAN REDUCED TO SLAVERY
TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE
DEATH OF THE PARSON
RETALIATION
THE LIBERATOR
ESCAPE OF CLOTEL
A TRUE DEMOCRAT
THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH
A RIDE IN A STAGE COACH
TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION
DEATH IS FREEDOM
THE ESCAPE
THE MYSTERY
THE HAPPY MEETING
CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
THE NEGRO SALE
"Why stands she near the auction stand,
That girl so young and fair?
What brings her to this dismal place,
Why stands she weeping there?"
WITH the growing population of slaves in the Southern States of
America, there is a fearful increase of half whites, most of
whose fathers are slaveowners and their mothers slaves. Society
does not frown upon the man who sits with his mulatto child upon
his knee, whilst its mother stands a slave behind his chair. The
late Henry Clay, some years since, predicted that the abolition
of Negro slavery would be brought about by the amalgamation of
the races. John Randolph, a distinguished slaveholder of
Virginia, and a prominent statesman, said in a speech in the
legislature of his native state, that "the blood of the first
American statesmen coursed through the veins of the slave of the
South." In all the cities and towns of the slave states, the real
Negro, or clear black, does not amount to more than one in every
four of the slave population. This fact is, of itself, the best
evidence of the degraded and immoral condition of the relation of
master and slave in the United States of America. In all the
slave states, the law says:--"Slaves shall be deemed, sold [held],
taken, reputed, and adjudged in law to be chattels personal in the
hands of their owners and possessors, and their executors,
administrators and assigns, to all intents, constructions, and
purposes whatsoever. A slave is one who is in the power of a
master to whom he belongs. The master may sell him, dispose of
his person, his industry, and his labour. He can do nothing,
possess nothing, nor acquire anything, but what must belong to
his master. The slave is entirely subject to the will of his
master, who may correct and chastise him, though not with unusual
rigour, or so as to maim and mutilate him, or expose him to the
danger of loss of life, or to cause his death. The slave, to
remain a slave, must be sensible that there is no appeal from his
master." Where the slave is placed by law entirely under the
control of the man who claims him, body and soul, as property,
what else could be expected than the most dep
|
negro
|
How many times does the word 'negro' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Pink Revised - April 19, 2012
Yellow Revised - April 24, 2012
Green Revised - April 27, 2012
Goldenrod Revised - May 9, 2012
Buff Revised - May 29, 2012
Salmon Revised - June 4, 2012
Cherry Revised - June 11, 2012
Tan Revised - June 25, 2012
Double White Revised - June 28, 2012
Double Blue Revised - July 9, 2012
<b> PINK REV 4-19-12 1.
</b>
<b> A1 WHITE A1
</b>
Fills the screen. Falling from the top of frame to the
bottom. Pluming off into dust. White, white, white. We
move toward it even as it recedes, always out of reach.
Finally we pop out wide and high to reveal...
The white is chalk. An old BLACK GROUNDSKEEPER lays down the
right field line on a baseball diamond.
<b> 1 INT. BRANCH RICKEY'S OFFICE - MONTAGUE ST, BROOKLYN - DAY 1
</b>
Blinds closed. Dust motes in the air. A large GOLDFISH TANK
|
white
|
How many times does the word 'white' appear in the text?
| 5
|
il. At
half-past five we saw him and his clerk and, before he was able to enter
his carriage, had an opportunity to ask him the following question:
"'Can you, Monsieur de Marquet, give us any information as to this
affair, without inconvenience to the course of your inquiry?'
"'It is impossible for us to do it,' replied Monsieur de Marquet. 'I can
only say that it is the strangest affair I have ever known. The more we
think we know something, the further we are from knowing anything!'
"We asked Monsieur de Marquet to be good enough to explain his last
words; and this is what he said,--the importance of which no one will
fail to recognise:
"'If nothing is added to the material facts so far established, I
fear that the mystery which surrounds the abominable crime of which
Mademoiselle Stangerson has been the victim will never be brought to
light; but it is to be hoped, for the sake of our human reason, that
the examination of the walls, and of the ceiling of The Yellow
Room--an examination which I shall to-morrow intrust to the builder who
constructed the pavilion four years ago--will afford us the proof that
may not discourage us. For the problem is this: we know by what way the
assassin gained admission,--he entered by the door and hid himself under
the bed, awaiting Mademoiselle Stangerson. But how did he leave? How did
he escape? If no trap, no secret door, no hiding place, no opening
of any sort is found; if the examination of the walls--even to the
demolition of the pavilion--does not reveal any passage practicable--not
only for a human being, but for any being whatsoever--if the ceiling
shows no crack, if the floor hides no underground passage, one must
really believe in the Devil, as Daddy Jacques says!'"
And the anonymous writer in the "Matin" added in this article--which I
have selected as the most interesting of all those that were published
on the subject of this affair--that the examining magistrate appeared
to place a peculiar significance to the last sentence: "One must really
believe in the Devil, as Jacques says."
The article concluded with these lines: "We wanted to know what Daddy
Jacques meant by the cry of the Bete Du Bon Dieu." The landlord of the
Donjon Inn explained to us that it is the particularly sinister cry
which is uttered sometimes at night by the cat of an old woman,--Mother
Angenoux, as she is called in the country. Mother Angenoux is a sort of
saint, who lives in a hut in the heart of the forest, not far from the
grotto of Sainte-Genevieve.
"The Yellow Room, the Bete Du Bon Dieu, Mother Angenoux, the Devil,
Sainte-Genevieve, Daddy Jacques,--here is a well entangled crime which
the stroke of a pickaxe in the wall may disentangle for us to-morrow.
Let us at least hope that, for the sake of our human reason, as the
examining magistrate says. Meanwhile, it is expected that Mademoiselle
Stangerson--who has not ceased to be delirious and only pronounces
one word distinctly, 'Murderer! Murderer!'--will not live through the
night."
In conclusion, and at a late hour, the same journal announced that the
Chief of the Surete had telegraphed to the famous detective, Frederic
Larsan, who had been sent to London for an affair of stolen securities,
to return immediately to Paris.
CHAPTER II. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears for the First Time
I remember as well as if it had occurred yesterday, the entry of young
Rouletabille into my bedroom that morning. It was about eight o'clock
and I was still in bed reading the article in the "Matin" relative to
the Glandier crime.
But, before going further, it is time that I present my friend to the
reader.
I first knew Joseph Rouletabille when he was a young reporter. At that
time I was a beginner at the Bar and often met him in the corridors of
examining magistrates, when I had gone to get a "permit to communicate"
for the prison of Maz
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 7
|
.
There were no jewels, but one or two sheets of something that looked
like paper. It was not paper, however, but some vegetable product
which was used for the same purpose. The surface was smooth, but the
color was dingy, and the lines of the vegetable fibres were plainly
discernible. These sheets were covered with writing.
"Halloa!" cried Melick. "Why, this is English!"
At this the others crowded around to look on, and Featherstone in his
excitement forgot that he had lost his bet. There were three sheets,
all covered with writing--one in English, another in French, and a
third in German. It was the same message, written in these three
different languages. But at that moment they scarcely noticed this.
All that they saw was the message itself, with its mysterious meaning.
It was as follows:
"To the finder of this:
"Sir,--I am an Englishman, and have been carried by a series of
incredible events to a land from which escape is as impossible as from
the grave. I have written this and committed it to the sea, in the
hope that the ocean currents may bear it within the reach of civilized
man. Oh, unknown friend! whoever you are. I entreat you to let this
message be made known in some way to my father, Henry More, Keswick,
Cumberland, England, so that he may learn the fate of his son. The MS.
accompanying this contains an account of my adventures, which I should
like to have forwarded to him. Do this for the sake of that mercy
which you may one day wish to have shown to yourself.
"ADAM MORE."
"By Jove!" cried Featherstone, as he read the above, "this is really
getting to be something tremendous."
"This other package must be the manuscript," said Oxenden, "and it'll
tell all about it."
"Such a manuscript'll be better than meat," said the doctor,
sententiously.
Melick said nothing, but, opening his knife, he cut the cords and
unfolded the wrapper. He saw a great collection of leaves, just like
those of the letter, of some vegetable substance, smooth as paper, and
covered with writing.
"It looks like Egyptian papyrus," said the doctor. "That was the
common paper of antiquity."
"Never mind the Egyptian papyrus," said Featherstone, in feverish
curiosity. "Let's have the contents of the manuscript. You, Melick,
read; you're the most energetic of the lot, and when you're tired the
rest of us will take turns."
"Read? Why, it'll take a month to read all this," said Melick.
"All the better," said Featherstone; "this calm will probably last a
month, and we shall have nothing to interest us."
Melick made no further objection. He was as excited as the rest, and
so he began the reading of the manuscript.
CHAPTER II
ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEAN
My name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary, Keswick,
Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet, master), which
was chartered by the British Government to convey convicts to Van
Dieman's Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage without any
casualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then set forth on
our return home. It was the 17th of December when we left. From the
first adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make any progress we
were obliged to keep well to the south. At length, on the 6th of
January, we sighted Desolation Island. We found it, indeed, a desolate
spot. In its vicinity we saw a multitude of smaller islands, perhaps a
thousand in number, which made navigation difficult, and forced us to
hurry away as fast as possible. But the aspect of this dreary spot was
of itself enough to repel us. There were no trees, and the multitude
of islands seemed like moss-covered rocks; while the temperature,
though in the middle of the antarctic summer, was from 38 to 58
degrees Fahr.
In order to get rid of these dangerous islands we stood south and
west
|
sheets
|
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| 2
|
,
his glance fell on the looking-glass; and then he cried aloud: "Look!
There's another one!"
For in the glass he saw plainly a little, little creature who was
dressed in a hood and leather breeches.
"Why, that one is dressed exactly like me!" said the boy, and clasped
his hands in astonishment. But then he saw that the thing in the mirror
did the same thing. Then he began to pull his hair and pinch his arms
and swing round; and instantly he did the same thing after him; he, who
was seen in the mirror.
The boy ran around the glass several times, to see if there wasn't a
little man hidden behind it, but he found no one there; and then he
began to shake with terror. For now he understood that the elf had
bewitched him, and that the creature whose image he saw in the
glass--was he, himself.
THE WILD GEESE
The boy simply could not make himself believe that he had been
transformed into an elf. "It can't be anything but a dream--a queer
fancy," thought he. "If I wait a few moments, I'll surely be turned back
into a human being again."
He placed himself before the glass and closed his eyes. He opened them
again after a couple of minutes, and then expected to find that it had
all passed over--but it hadn't. He was--and remained--just as little. In
other respects, he was the same as before. The thin, straw-coloured
hair; the freckles across his nose; the patches on his leather breeches
and the darns on his stockings, were all like themselves, with this
exception--that they had become diminished.
No, it would do no good for him to stand still and wait, of this he was
certain. He must try something else. And he thought the wisest thing
that he could do was to try and find the elf, and make his peace with
him.
And while he sought, he cried and prayed and promised everything he
could think of. Nevermore would he break his word to anyone; never again
would he be naughty; and never, never would he fall asleep again over
the sermon. If he might only be a human being once more, he would be
such a good and helpful and obedient boy. But no matter how much he
promised--it did not help him the least little bit.
Suddenly he remembered that he had heard his mother say, all the tiny
folk made their home in the cowsheds; and, at once, he concluded to go
there, and see if he couldn't find the elf. It was a lucky thing that
the cottage-door stood partly open, for he never could have reached the
bolt and opened it; but now he slipped through without any difficulty.
When he came out in the hallway, he looked around for his wooden shoes;
for in the house, to be sure, he had gone about in his stocking-feet. He
wondered how he should manage with these big, clumsy wooden shoes; but
just then, he saw a pair of tiny shoes on the doorstep. When he observed
that the elf had been so thoughtful that he had also bewitched the
wooden shoes, he was even more troubled. It was evidently his intention
that this affliction should last a long time.
On the wooden board-walk in front of the cottage, hopped a gray sparrow.
He had hardly set eyes on the boy before he called out: "Teetee! Teetee!
Look at Nils goosey-boy! Look at Thumbietot! Look at Nils Holgersson
Thumbietot!"
Instantly, both the geese and the chickens turned and stared at the boy;
and then they set up a fearful cackling. "Cock-el-i-coo," crowed the
rooster, "good enough for him! Cock-el-i-coo, he has pulled my comb."
"Ka, ka, kada, serves him right!" cried the hens; and with that they
kept up a continuous cackle. The geese got together in a tight group,
stuck their heads together and asked: "Who can have done this? Who can
have done this?"
But the strangest thing of all was, that the boy understood what they
said. He was so astonished,
|
once
|
How many times does the word 'once' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ouncer--this is, by several
degrees, too bad! I had a whole box full, three days ago, and now
there's only one! I'm perfectly aware that she purloins my coals and
my candles, and my sugar--but I did think--oh, yes, I did think that
my lucifers would be sacred! [_Takes candlestick off the mantel-piece,
R., in which there is a very small end of candle--looks at it._] Now I
should like to ask any unprejudiced person or persons their opinion
touching this candle. In the first place, a candle is an article that
I don't require, because I'm only at home in the day time--and I
bought this candle on the first of May--Chimney-sweepers'
Day--calculating that it would last me three months, and here's one
week not half over, and the candle three parts gone! [_Lights the
fire--then takes down a gridiron, which is hanging over the fireplace,
R._] Mrs. Bouncer has been using my gridiron! The last article of
consumption that I cooked upon it was a pork chop, and now it is
powerfully impregnated with the odour of red herrings! [_Places
gridiron on fire, and then, with a fork, lays rasher of bacon on the
gridiron._] How sleepy I am, to be sure! I'd indulge myself with a
nap, if there was anybody here to superintend the turning of my bacon.
[_Yawning again._] Perhaps it will turn itself. I must lie down--so,
here goes. [_Lies on the bed, closing the curtains round him--after a
short pause--_
_Enter COX, hurriedly, L. C._
COX. Well, wonders will never cease! Conscious of being eleven minutes
and a half behind time, I was sneaking into the shop, in a state of
considerable excitement, when my venerable employer, with a smile of
extreme benevolence on his aged countenance, said to me--"Cox, I
shan't want you to-day--you can have a holiday."--Thoughts of
"Gravesend and back--fare, One Shilling," instantly suggested
themselves, intermingled with visions of "Greenwich for Fourpence!"
Then came the Twopenny Omnibuses, and the Halfpenny boats--in short,
I'm quite bewildered! However, I must have my breakfast first--that'll
give me time to reflect. I've bought a mutton chop, so I shan't want
any dinner. [_Puts chop on table._] Good gracious! I've forgot the
bread. Holloa! what's this? A roll, I declare! Come, that's lucky!
Now, then, to light the fire. Holloa--[_Seeing the lucifer-box on
table,_]--who presumes to touch my box of lucifers? Why, it's empty! I
left one in it--I'll take my oath I did. Heydey! why, the fire _is_
lighted! Where's the gridiron? _On_ the fire, I declare! And what's
that on it? Bacon? Bacon it is! Well, now, 'pon my life, there is a
quiet coolness about Mrs. Bouncer's proceedings that's almost amusing.
She takes my last lucifer--my coals, and my gridiron, to cook her
breakfast by! No, no--I can't stand this! Come out of that! [_Pokes
fork into bacon, and puts it on a plate on the table, then places his
chop on the gridiron, which he puts on the fire._] Now, then, for my
breakfast things. [_Taking key, hung up, L., opens door L. and goes
out, slamming the door after him, with a loud noise._
BOX. [_Suddenly showing his head from behind the curtains._] Come in!
if it's you, Mrs. Bouncer--you needn't be afraid. I wonder how long
I've been asleep? [_Suddenly recollecting._] Goodness gracious--my
bacon! [_Leaps off bed, and runs to the fireplace._] Holloa! what's
this? A chop! Whose chop
|
instantly
|
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| 0
|
</b>
<b> A WINDOWPANE
</b>
Assaulted from without by SNOWFLAKES. Wind tossed.
INSIDE, a bed, dappled with moon shadow. A LITTLE GIRL, fast
asleep. The wind whistles and sighs outside. She DREAMS...
Eyelids closed, eyes roving beneath... then suddenly they
SNAP open. A stifled cry. She thrashes for her STUFFED BEAR,
as a soft voice says:
<b> VOICE
</b> Shhhhh.
And there's MOM, kneeling beside her. Vague shape in the
dimness. The full moon throws light across one sparkling
eye.
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Mommy, the men on the mountain...!
<b> MOM
</b> Shhhh. Gone, all gone now.
(strokes her hair)
I'm here. Mommy's always here and no
one can ever hurt you. Safe now...
safe and warm... snug as a bug in a
rug.
(beat)
I'll sit with you, think you can
sleep?
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Turn on the nightlight.
The mother nods. Passes her left hand gently over the girl's
forehead.
<b> MOM
</b>
|
mother
|
How many times does the word 'mother' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Company
<b>1 EXT. LATE 1942. THE SAHARA DESERT. DAY.
</b>
SILENCE. THE DESERT seen from the air. An ocean of dunes for mile
after mile. The late sun turns the sand every color from crimson to
black.
An old AEROPLANE is flying over the Sahara. Its shadow swims over the
contours of sand.
A woman's voice begins to sing unaccompanied on the track. Szerelem,
szerelem, she cries, in a haunting lament for her loved one.
INSIDE the aeroplane are two figures. One, A WOMAN, seems to be
asleep. Her pale head rests against the side of the cockpit. THE
PILOT, a man, wears goggles and a leather helmet. He is singing, too,
but we can't hear him or the plane or anything save the singer's
plaintive voice.
The plane shudders over a ridge. Beneath it A SUDDEN CLUSTER OF MEN
AND MACHINES, camouflage nets draped over the sprawl of gasoline tanks
and armored vehicles. An OFFICER, GERMAN, focuses his field glasses.
The glasses pick out the MARKINGS on the plane. They are English. An
ANTI-AIRCRAFT GUN swivels furiously.
Shocking bursts of GUNFIRE. Explosions rock the plane, which lurches
violently. THE WOMAN SLUMPS FORWARD, slamming her head against the
instruments. The pilot grabs her, pulls her back, but she's not
conscious. The fuel tank above their heads is punctured. It sprays
them both, then EXPLODES.
THE MAN FALLS OUT OF THE SKY, clinging to his dead lover. The are both
ON FIRE. She is wrapped in a parachute silk and it burns fiercely. He
looks up to see the flames licking at his own parachute as it carries
them slowly to earth. Even his helmet is on fire, but the man makes no
sound as the flames erase all that matters - his name, his past, his
face, his lover...
<b>2 EXT. THE DESERT. 1942. DAY.
</b>
THE PILOT HAS BEEN RESCUED BY BEDOUIN TRIBESMEN. Behind them the
wreckage of the plane, still smoking, the Arabs picking over it. A
SILVER THIMBLE glints in the sun, is retrieved. Another man comes
across A LARGE LEATHER-BOUND BOOK and takes it over to the Pilot. The
Pilot is charred. His helmet has melted into his head. He's oblivious
to this, cares only about the woman who crashed with him. He twists
frantically to find her. Two men pick him up and carry him across to a
litter where they carefully wrap him in blankets.
<b>3 EXT. THE DESERT. DUSK.
</b>
The Pilot is being carried across the desert. A mask covers his face.
His view of the world is through the slats of reed. He glimpses
camels, fierce low sun, the men who carry him.
<b>4 EXT. AN OASIS. DUSK.
</b>
The Pilot sees a man squat down beside him, takes a date from a sack
and begin to chew it. Carefully, the Bedouin eases the mask from the
Pilot's face, leaving bandages of cloth and oil, but revealing a mouth.
He stops chewing and passes the pulped date into the Pilot's mouth.
Mouth to mouth.
4a*. EXT. DESERT. DAWN.
THE CARAVANSERAI CROSSES THE DESERT, silhouetted against the dunes.
<b>5 EXT. AN OASIS. NIGHT.
|
over
|
How many times does the word 'over' appear in the text?
| 5
|
youth she caressed a kitten, who, too
much excited by marks of affection, scratched her involuntarily. Was it
from wickedness? No, it was from sensibility. However, since that day my
sister has sworn an eternal hatred for cats."
Moumouth regarded his mistress with an air which seemed to say,--
"But you, at least, you do us justice, truly superior woman!"
After a moment of silence and meditation, the Countess added,--
"Mother Michel, I confide my cat to you."
"We will take good care of him, madame," said Father Lustucru.
"Don't you trouble yourself about him, I pray you," interrupted the
Countess. "You know that he has taken a dislike to you; your presence
merely is sufficient to irritate him. Why, I don't know; but you are
insupportable to him."
"That is true," said Father Lustucru, with contrition; "but the cat is
unjust, for I love him and he doesn't love me."
[Illustration: "Mother Michel, I confide my Cat to you."]
"My sister is also unjust. Cats, perhaps, love her, and she does not love
them. I respect her opinion. Respect that of Moumouth." Having pronounced
these words in a firm tone, Madame de la Grenouillère addressed herself
to Mother Michel.
"It is to you, Mother Michel, and to you alone, that I confide him.
Return him to me safe and sound, and I will cover you with benefits. I am
sixty-five years of age, you are ten years younger; it is probable that
you will live to close my eyes"--
"Ah, madame! why such sorrowful ideas?"
"Let me finish. To guard against mischance, I have already thought to
provide for you comfortably; but, if you keep Moumouth for me, I will
give you a pension of fifteen hundred livres."
"Ah, madame!" said Mother Michel, in an impressive tone, "it is not
necessary to hire my services; I love the cat with all my heart, and I
will always be devoted to him."
"I am sure of it, and I shall also know how to reward your zeal." During
this conversation, Father Lustucru employed all his forces to conceal the
expression of his jealousy.
"Everything for her, and nothing for me!" he said to himself. "Fifteen
hundred livres a year! It is a fortune, and she will have it! Oh, no! she
shall not have it."
[Illustration: The Post-chaise is ready.]
The next morning, at half-past seven, four lively horses were harnessed
to the post-chaise which was to convey the excellent old lady to
Normandy. She said a last adieu to her favorite, pressed him to her
heart, and stepped into the carriage.
Until then, Moumouth had felt only a vague uneasiness; but at this moment
he understood it all! He saw his benefactress ready to depart; and,
trembling at the thought of losing her, he made one bound to her side.
"It is necessary for you to stay here," said Madame de la Grenouillère,
making an effort to restrain her tears.
Will it be believed?--the cat also wept!
[Illustration: The Cat wishes to go with the Carriage.]
To put an end to this painful scene, Mother Michel seized the cat by the
shoulders and detached him from the carriage-cushion, to which he clung;
the door closed, the horses gave a vigorous pull, and started off at a
speed of not less than three leagues an hour. Moumouth rolled in a
convulsion, and then fainted.
[Illustration: Moumouth faints.]
Madame de la Grenouillère, her head stretched out of the post-chaise,
waved her handkerchief, crying:--
"Mother Michel, I commend my cat to you!"
[Illustration: "He shall die!"]
"Be tranquil, madame; I swear you shall find him large and plump when you
return."
"And I," muttered Father Lustucru, in a deep voice, "I swear
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 1
|
the pass-key of all the apartments. As
for this little key, it is that of the closet at the end of the long
gallery, on the ground floor. Open everything, and go everywhere except
into that little closet, which I forbid you to enter, and I forbid you
so strictly, that if you should venture to open the door, there is
nothing that you may not have to dread from my anger!" She promised to
observe implicitly all his directions, and after he had embraced her,
he got into his coach and set out on his journey.
The neighbours and friends of the young bride did not wait for her
invitation, so eager were they to see all the treasures contained in
the mansion, not having ventured to enter it while the husband was at
home, so terrified were they at his blue beard. Behold them immediately
running through all the rooms, closets, and wardrobes, each apartment
exceeding the other in beauty and richness. They ascended afterwards to
the store-rooms, where they could not sufficiently admire the number
and elegance of the tapestries, the beds, the sofas, the cabinets,
the stands,[1] the tables, and the mirrors in which they could see
themselves from head to foot, and that had frames some of glass,[2]
some of silver, and some of gilt metal, more beautiful and magnificent
than had ever been seen. They never ceased enlarging upon and envying
the good fortune of their friend, who in the meanwhile was not in the
least entertained by the sight of all these treasures, in consequence
of her impatience to open the closet on the ground floor.
Her curiosity increased to such a degree that, without reflecting how
rude it was to leave her company, she ran down a back staircase in such
haste that twice or thrice she narrowly escaped breaking her neck.
Arrived at the door of the closet, she paused for a moment, bethinking
herself of her husband's prohibition, and that some misfortune might
befall her for her disobedience; but the temptation was so strong
that she could not conquer it. She therefore took the little key and
opened, tremblingly, the door of the closet. At first she could discern
nothing, the windows being closed; after a short time she began to
perceive that the floor was all covered with clotted blood, in which
were reflected the dead bodies of several females suspended against
the walls. These were all the wives of Blue Beard, who had cut their
throats one after the other. She was ready to die with fright, and the
key of the closet, which she had withdrawn from the lock, fell from
her hand. After recovering her senses a little, she picked up the key,
locked the door again, and went up to her chamber to compose herself;
but she could not succeed, so greatly was she agitated. Having observed
that the key of the closet was stained with blood, she wiped it two
or three times, but the blood would not come off. In vain she washed
it, and even scrubbed it with sand and free-stone, the blood was still
there, for the key was enchanted, and there were no means of cleaning
it completely: when the blood was washed off one side, it came back on
the other.
Blue Beard returned that very evening, and said that he had received
letters on the road informing him that the business on which he was
going had been settled to his advantage. His wife did all she could
to persuade him that she was delighted at his speedy return. The next
morning he asked her for his keys again; she gave them to him; but her
hand trembled so, that he had not much difficulty in guessing what had
occurred. "How comes it," said he, "that the key of the closet is not
with the others?" "I must have left it," she replied, "upstairs on my
table." "Fail not," said Blue Beard, "to give it me presently." After
several excuses, she was compelled to produce the key. Blue Beard
having examined it, said to his wife, "Why is there some blood on
this key?" "I don't know," answered the poor wife, paler than death.
"You don't know?" rejoined Blue Beard. "I know well enough. You must
needs enter the closet. Well, madam, you shall enter it, and go take
your place amongst the ladies you saw there." She flung herself at her
husband's feet, weeping
|
closet
|
How many times does the word 'closet' appear in the text?
| 8
|
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. ELEMENTARY SCHOOL - DAY
</b>
SUPER: April 27, 1973
All is quiet outside this suburban school on a sunny
Friday afternoon. Cars idle in the driveway awaiting
the three o'clock onslaught of liberated children.
Two faded yellow buses stand ready.
The lull is shattered by the CLANGING of the final BELL.
A swarm of children pours out the door and down the
broad front steps, scattering across the lawn toward
the cars and the buses.
Moving slowly through the crowd, ROBIN and ALEX HAMMOND,
nine-year-old identical twins, appear at the doorway..
Attractive, dark-haired children, they seem more sub-
dued than the others. As they walk quietly down the
stairs, Robin lags behind, staring at a boy teasing a
girl nearby. He is NICK MCBRIDE, eleven years old,
two grades ahead of Robin and the most popular boy in
school. The pretty girl laughing at his antics is KIM
HAMMOND, also eleven, Robin's older sister.
<b> ALEX
</b> C'mon, Robin.
<b> ROBIN
</b>
<b> (STUTTERING BADLY)
</b> W-w-where's D-d-daddy?
<b> ALEX
</b> He's got a meeting at the high
school. We're supposed to walk
home with Kim...
(sees Robin watching
the young couple)
She's too busy. Let's go
by ourselves.
<b> ROBIN
</b> N-n-n-no, Alex. Let's w-w-wait.
<b> ALEX
</b> Why?
Robin is staring at Nick. Alex looks, understands.
He's angry.
<b> ALEX
</b>
<b>
|
robin
|
How many times does the word 'robin' appear in the text?
| 8
|
days.
She is sitting on the floor, where she has slept the last
several hours, covered by an old overcoat.
Tony: YOU OK?
Fran stares at the young man. She is shaking. She doesn't speak.
Tony: THE SHIT'S REALLY HITTING THE FAN.
The girl tries to clear her head as the young man moves on to
where others sleep on the floor. He wakes them up one at a time.
We begin to hear voices over the busy hum of the studio. They
have an electronic tinniness, as broadcast over a monitor. Fran
looks about. She is still shaken from her dream.
3 We see the television studio. Reporters buzz about madly.
Everybody looks dishevelled and exhausted. Technicians man
monitors, and we see people on the little screens, arguing
emotionally.
4 Voice: WHAT'S MAKING IT HAPPEN? WHAT THE HELL
<b> DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE, WHAT'S MAKING IT
</b><b> HAPPEN.
</b>
Voice: YES, BUT THAT'S...
Voice: THAT'S A WHOLE OTHER STUDY. THEY'RE TRYING...
Voice: BUT IF WE KNEW THAT, WE COULD...
Voice: WE DON'T KNOW THAT! WE DON'T KNOW THAT!
<b> WE'VE GOTTA OPERATE ON WHAT WE DO KNOW!
</b>
5 The room is pandemonium. People run in with wire copy; others
organise the stacks of bulletins as they arrive. Others trip
over cables and generally get in each other's way.
6 Francine stares at the madness, still trying to clear her head.
Man's voice: I'M STILL DREAMING.
Fran turns her head. Another young man sits next to her on the
floor. He is one of the ones Tony awakened.
Fran: NO YOU'RE NOT.
Woman: MY TURN WITH THE COAT.
Fran looks up. A young woman is offering her coffee in a paper
cup. She is next in line for the overcoat and a few hours sleep.
Fran takes the coffee and struggles to her feet.
Woman: THE GUYS ON THE CREW ARE GETTING CRAZY.
<b> A BUNCH OF 'EM FLEW THE COOP ALREADY.
</b><b> I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER WE'LL BE ABLE
</b><b> TO STAY ON AIR.
</b>
7 Fran staggers over to the control consoles. The technicians are
at the end of their ropes.
Technicians: (all at once)
<b> WATCH CAMERA TWO...WHO THE HELL'S ON CAMERA
</b><b> TWO, A BLIND MAN...
</b><b> WATCH THE FRAME...WATCH THE FRAME...
</b><b> ROLL THE RESCUE STATIONS AGAIN.
</b>
Technicians: WE GOT A REPORT THAT HALF THOSE RESCUE
<b> STATIONS HAVE BEEN KNOCKED OUT.
</b><b> SO GET ME A NEW LIST.
</b><b> SURE, I'LL PULL IT OUTA MY ASS.
</b>
Fran focuses on the monitors. She is incredulous... stunned by
the madness which surrounds her. She realises the hopelessness
of the situation as she zeroes in on the televised conversation.
8 We begin to listen over the din of the news room.
TV Man 1: I DON'T BELIEVE THAT, DOCTOR, AND I DON'T
<b> BELIEVE...
</b>
TV Man 2: DO YOU BELIEVE THE DEAD ARE RETURNING TO
<b> LIFE?
</b>
TV Man 1: I'M NOT SO...
TV Man 2: DO YOU BELIEVE THE DEAD
|
voice
|
How many times does the word 'voice' appear in the text?
| 5
|
May 28, 1985
<b>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
</b>
<b> ALIENS
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE - SPACE 1
</b>
Silent and endless. The stars shine like the love of
God...cold and remote. Against them drifts a tiny chip
of technology.
CLOSER SHOT It is the NARCISSUS, lifeboat of the
ill-fated star-freighter Nostromo. Without interior
or running lights it seems devoid of life. The PING
of a RANGING RADAR grows louder, closer. A shadow
engulfs the Narcissus. Searchlights flash on, playing
over the tiny ship, as a MASSIVE DARK HULL descends
toward it.
<b> INT. NARCISSUS 2
</b>
Dark and dormant as a crypt. The searchlights stream
in the dusty windows. Outside, massive metal forms can
BE SEEN descending around the shuttle. Like the tolling
of a bell, a BASSO PROFUNDO CLANG reverberates through
the hull.
CLOSE ON THE AIRLOCK DOOR Light glares as a cutting
torch bursts through the metal. Sparks shower into the
room.
A second torch cuts through. They move with machine
precision, cutting a rectangular path, converging. The
torches meet. Cut off. The door falls inward REVEALING
a bizarre multi-armed figure. A ROBOT WELDER.
FIGURES ENTER, backlit and ominous. THREE MEN in
bio-isolation suits, carrying lights and equipment. They
approach a sarcophaguslike HYPERSLEEP CAPSULE, f.g.
<b> LEADER
</b> (filtered)
Internal pressure positive. Assume
nominal hull integrity. Hypersleep
capsules, style circa late twenties...
His gloved hand wipes at on opaque layer of dust on the
canopy.
ANGLE INSIDE CAPSULE as light stabs in where the dust is
wiped away, illuminating a WOMAN, her face in peaceful
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ABIN - ESTABLISHING A2
</b>
<b>2 INT. CABIN - LAKE SILJAN - DAY 2
</b> An elderly man who lives alone in this rustic cabin -
a retired policeman - regards the phone, both expecting
and dreading the call. He picks up the receiver.
<b> MORELL
</b> What kind is it?
<b> VANGER O/S
</b> I don't know. White.
<b> MORELL
</b> And the frame?
<b> VANGER O/S
</b> Dark.
<b> MORELL
</b> Postmark?
<b> VANGER O/S
</b> Same as last time.
<b> MORELL
</b> No note.
<b> VANGER O/S
</b> No.
<b>3 INT. VANGER'S STUDY - SAME TIME 3
</b>
Henrik Vanger - at 82, even older than Morell - listens
to the silence from his end of the line in a wood-paneled
room as baronial as the policeman's was spartan.
<b> VANGER
</b> I can't take it anymore.
<b> MORELL O/S
</b> I know. I'm sorry, Henrik.
There's nothing more to say. Vanger sets the receiver
down and regards a dried white flower in a 6" x 11" frame
resting on the brown paper it was wrapped and mailed in.
It's somehow ominous, like the dark storm clouds that now
burst outside -
<b>
|
receiver
|
How many times does the word 'receiver' appear in the text?
| 1
|
SUPERIMPOSURE:
</b>
<b> MANHATTAN. 10.30 P.M.
</b> Park Avenue in mid-December. On the lampposts, Xmas lights
sparkle over streets slick with slush and rain. Limousines
line up for a public function.
<b> 2 EXT. BLACKWOOD BUILDING - NIGHT 2
</b>
<b> SUPERIMPOSURE:
</b>
<b> BLACKWOOD'S AUCTION HOUSE
</b> Under black umbrellas, wealthy men and women exit the limos
and enter a stately ten-story building. On the facade, a
sign reads: TONIGHT - TREASURES OF PRE-CHRISTIAN EUROPE.
A SHADOWY FIGURE lurks in an alley near the corner. His
features are hidden by a broad-brimmed hat. He watches as-
The guests present gleaming, golden invitations to the
security people at the door.
<b> SHADOWY FIGURE
</b> (in Elvish, subtitled)
I'll go up first. You'll enter from below-
He addresses WINK, an eight-foot tall TROLL with grey skin
and a huge scar over his left, empty, eye socket. His right
hand is missing and he sports a heavy IRON MACE instead. A
plume of breath escapes from his brutish mouth.
<b> SHADOWY FIGURE (CONT'D)
</b> And remember Wink-
<b> (BEAT)
</b> Don't be shy.
He extends his arms and with a swoop, he climbs the wall,
up, up, like a bat. Five floors up...
<b> 3
</b>
<b> 3 INT. SALES ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
CAMERA lingers on the bloated features of a stone FERTILITY
<b> GODDESS.
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> HELLBOY 2 2
</b>
<b> AUCTIONEER
</b> Pre-Celtic votive sculpture is in granite
and has been dated circa 700 B.C.
Like the guests, the AUCTIONEER is dressed in formal wear.
TV MONITORS display the image of the statue so the bidders
can have a closer look.
<b> AUCTIONEER (CONT'D)
</b>
|
facade
|
How many times does the word 'facade' appear in the text?
| 0
|
WATSON'S VOICE
</b> Somewhere in the vaults of a bank in
London is a tin dispatch box with my name
on it. It is not to be opened until
fifty years after my death.
The guards find a battered tin dispatch box with the name
JOHN H. WATSON, M.D., painted on it. They remove it from
the shelf, set it down on a table. The box is tied with
heavy cord, the knots sealed with wax. Strung on the
cord is the key.
<b> WATSON'S VOICE
</b> It contains certain mementos of my long
association with a man who elevated the
science of deduction to an art -- the
world's first, and undoubtedly most
famous, consulting detective.
While one of the guards dusts the box off, the other cuts
the cord with a pair of scissors. He then inserts the
key in the lock, turns it, raises the lid -- revealing
the dusty contents of the box.
<b>OVER THIS, SUPERIMPOSE THE MAIN TITLE.
</b>
The guards now start to remove the objects from the box,
one at a time: -- A daguerreotype of Holmes, standing,
and Watson, seated, in a a stiff studio pose; Holmes'
deerstalker hat, his curved pipe, his magnifying glass;
Watson's stethoscope, Holmes' revolver; a small enamel
sign with the number 221B; a pair of handcuffs;
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
a sheet of music paper which is unrolled to disclose a
violin piece composed by Holmes, titled FOR ILSE von H.;
A pocket watch, the back of which is opened to reveal a
photograph of Gabrielle Valladon; a signet ring bearing
the initials S.H. -- under which is concealed a compass;
a worn morocco case -- inside which is an early-model
hypodermic syringe; a crystal ball which, when shaken,
produces a snowstorm - and when the snow settles, we see
a bust of Queen Victoria.
<b>OVER THESE OBJECTS, THE REST OF THE CREDIT TITLES ARE
</b><b>SUPERIMPOSED.
</b>
The last item out of the box is a thick stack of
manuscript paper, bound with green ribbon. The guard
undoes the ribbon, dusts off the top page, as CAMERA
MOVES IN CLOSER. Written in ink, in the cursive
penmanship of the period, is the following paragraph:
To my heirs:
In my lifetime, I have recorded some
sixty cases demonstrating the singular
gift of my friend Sherlock Holmes --
dealing with everything from The Hound of
the Baskervilles to his mysterious
brother Mycroft and the devilish
Professor Moriarty. But there were other
adventures which, for reasons of
discretion, I have decided to withhold
from the public until this much later
date. They involve matters of a delicate
|
watson
|
How many times does the word 'watson' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ulliver. There was John Gibbs hadnât a mole on
his face no more nor you have, anâ I was all for having you hire _him_;
anâ so you did hire him, anâ if he hadnât died oâ thâ inflammation, as
we paid Dr Turnbull for attending him, heâd very like haâ been drivinâ
the wagon now. He might have a mole somewhere out oâ sight, but how was
I to know that, Mr Tulliver?â
âNo, no, Bessy; I didnât mean justly the mole; I meant it to stand for
summat else; but niver mindâitâs puzzling work, talking is. What Iâm
thinking on, is how to find the right sort oâ school to send Tom to,
for I might be taâen in again, as Iâve been wiâ thâ academy. Iâll have
nothing to do wiâ a âcademy again: whativer school I send Tom to, it
shaânât be a âcademy; it shall be a place where the lads spend their
time iâ summat else besides blacking the familyâs shoes, and getting up
the potatoes. Itâs an uncommon puzzling thing to know what school to
pick.â
Mr Tulliver paused a minute or two, and dived with both hands into his
breeches pockets as if he hoped to find some suggestion there.
Apparently he was not disappointed, for he presently said, âI know what
Iâll do: Iâll talk it over wiâ Riley; heâs coming to-morrow, tâ
arbitrate about the dam.â
âWell, Mr Tulliver, Iâve put the sheets out for the best bed, and
Keziaâs got âem hanging at the fire. They arenât the best sheets, but
theyâre good enough for anybody to sleep in, be he who he will; for as
for them best Holland sheets, I should repent buying âem, only theyâll
do to lay us out in. Anâ if you was to die to-morrow, Mr Tulliver,
theyâre mangled beautiful, anâ all ready, anâ smell oâ lavender as it
âud be a pleasure to lay âem out; anâ they lie at the left-hand corner
oâ the big oak linen-chest at the back: not as I should trust anybody
to look âem out but myself.â
As Mrs Tulliver uttered the last sentence, she drew a bright bunch of
keys from her pocket, and singled out one, rubbing her thumb and finger
up and down it with a placid smile while she looked at the clear fire.
If Mr Tulliver had been a susceptible man in his conjugal relation, he
might have supposed that she drew out the key to aid her imagination in
anticipating the moment when he would be in a state to justify the
production of the best Holland sheets. Happily he was not so; he was
only susceptible in respect of his right to water-power; moreover, he
had the marital habit of not listening very closely, and since his
mention of Mr Riley, had been apparently occupied in a tactile
examination of his woollen stockings.
âI think Iâ
|
place
|
How many times does the word 'place' appear in the text?
| 0
|
attractive FEMALE SCIENTIST in a gore-spattered lab
coat moves fearfully along a wall, passing benches strewn
with broken lab equipment. Her ample bosom heaves as she
PANTS nervously, mascara-rimmed eyes darting to and fro.
Glass SMASHES on the floor nearby and MELODRAMATIC MUSIC
swells. The woman backs into a shadow, not noticing a
pair of dead eyes catching the moonlight behind her.
The music climbs to a frenzy as something GROANS horribly
into the woman's ear. She spins around on her stiletto
heels as a rotted face looms out of the darkness,
drooling through broken teeth, and lunges at her neck.
<b> ZOMBIE
</b> Brains!
CLOSE ON the woman as she raises her hands and SCREAMS.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 2
</b>
<b> INT. BABCOCK'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Eleven year-old NORMAN BABCOCK sits on the floor
watching TV. He has large piercing eyes and a messy shock
of hair. The movie scene we just witnessed continues off-
screen with the sound of bloodcurdling SCREAMS.
Behind him sitting upon a sofa is GRANDMA BABCOCK, a
plump old lady squinting through thick glasses.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> What's happening now?
<b> NORMAN
</b> The zombie is eating her head,
Grandma.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> That's not very nice. What's he
doing that for?
<b> NORMAN
</b> Because he's a zombie. That's what
they do.
<b> GRANDMA BABCOCK
</b> Well he's going to ruin his
dinner. I'm sure if they just
bothered to sit down and talk it
through it
|
music
|
How many times does the word 'music' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Revised Draft
September 8, 1987
<b> FACE IN ON
</b>
<b> THE SURFACE OF THE OCEAN
</b>
sunny and placid then slowly WE BEGIN DESCENDING UNDERWATER
Moving down from the bright surface waters, through layers
of fish and marine life...
A school of vibrantly colored fish move with the current,
their numbers are enormous, their movements in unison.
Suddenly out of the darkness a barracuda cuts through the
school, taking out four or five before disappearing into the
shadows. The school moves on as if nothing happened,
quickly closing ranks where the missing ones swam only
seconds before.
<b> WE MOVE DEEPER AND DEEPER
</b>
Fish disappear, darkness envelopes us. Cold and lifeless
where light has never penetrated...Five thousand feet, ten
thousand. Deeper, where only strange, self-illuminating
echoniderms move eerily through the currents. Then suddenly
WE HEAR STATIC from RADIO TRANSMISSION. THEN VOICES...
<b> JONES
</b> Burritos...Enchiladas...
<b> DEJESUS
</b> (hispanic voice)
Oh, gag, man, how can you eat that
stuff?...
<b> BOWMAN
</b> (female)
I can't wait for fresh vegetables...
Several voices suddenly break into argument..."vegetables?"
"shit," "burgers"...Suddenly another voice rises above the
others.
<b> BECK'S VOICE/ RADIO
</b> Okay, cut the chatter. You're
not out of here, yet. Who's the
hook? Seven?...You got a hook on
container 22?
A pause, then more voices.
<b> SIXPACK'S VOICE/ RADIO
</b> (redneck drawl)
|
sunny
|
How many times does the word 'sunny' appear in the text?
| 0
|
>
</b>
<b> INT. STAIRCASE OUTSIDE OLD SALIERI'S SALON - NIGHT - 1823
</b>
Total darkness. We hear an old man's voice, distinct and in
distress. It is OLD SALIERI. He uses a mixture of English
and occasionally Italian.
<b> OLD SALIERI
</b> Mozart! Mozart! Mozart. Forgive me!
Forgive your assassin! Mozart!
A faint light illuminates the screen. Flickeringly, we see
an eighteenth century balustrade and a flight of stone stairs.
We are looking down into the wall of the staircase from the
point of view of the landing. Up the stair is coming a
branched candlestick held by Salieri's VALET. By his side is
Salieri's COOK, bearing a large dish of sugared cakes and
biscuits. Both men are desperately worried: the Valet is
thin and middle-aged; the Cook, plump and Italian. It is
very cold. They wear shawls over their night-dresses and
clogs on their feet. They wheeze as they climb. The candles
throw their shadows up onto the peeling walls of the house,
which is evidently an old one and in bad decay. A cat scuttles
swiftly between their bare legs, as they reach the salon
door.
The Valet tries the handle. It is locked. Behind it the voice
goes on, rising in volume.
<b> OLD SALIERI
</b> Show some mercy! I beg you. I beg
you! Show mercy to a guilty man!
The Valet knocks gently on the door. The voice stops.
<b> VALET
</b> Open the door, Signore! Please! Be
|
salieri
|
How many times does the word 'salieri' appear in the text?
| 5
|
gentleman seemed really smitten."
"That is quite possible," said Farnham. "But I hope you will not amuse
yourself by breaking his heart."
"I can't promise. He must look out for his own heart." She had regained
her saucy ease, and evidently enjoyed the turn the conversation was
taking. "I find my hands full taking care of myself."
"You are quite sure you can do that?"
"Certainly, sir!" This was said with pouting lips, half-shut eyes, the
head thrown back, the chin thrust forward, the whole face bright with
smiles of provoking defiance. "Do you doubt it, Monsieur?" She
pronounced this word Moshoor.
Farnham thought in his heart "You are about as fit to take care of
yourself as a plump pigeon at a shooting match." But he said to her,
"Perhaps you are right--only don't brag. It isn't lucky. I do not know
what are the chances about this place. You would do well to get some of
your friends to write a letter or two in your behalf, and I will see
what can be done at the next meeting of the Board."
But her returning fluency had warmed up Miss Maud's courage somewhat,
and instead of taking her leave she began again, blushingly, but still
boldly enough:
"There is something I would like much better than the library."
Farnham looked at her inquiringly. She did not hesitate in the least,
but pushed on energetically, "I have thought you must need a secretary.
I should be glad to serve you in that capacity."
The young man stared with amazement at this preposterous proposal. For
the first time, he asked himself if the girl's honest face could be the
ambush of a guileful heart; but he dismissed the doubt in an instant,
and said, simply:
"No, thank you. I am my own secretary, and have no reason for
displacing the present incumbent. The library will suit you better in
every respect."
In her embarrassment she began to feel for her glasses, which were
lying in her lap. Farnham picked up a small photograph from the table
near him, and said:
"Do you recognize this?"
"Yes," she said. "It is General Grant."
"It is a photograph of him, taken in Paris, which I received to-day.
May I ask a favor of you?"
"What is it?" she said, shyly.
"Stop wearing those glasses. They are of no use to you, and they will
injure your eyes."
Her face turned crimson. Without a word of reply she seized the glasses
and put them on, her eyes flashing fire. She then rose and threw her
shawl over her arm, and said, in a tone to which her repressed anger
lent a real dignity:
"When can I learn about that place in the library?"
"Any time after Wednesday," Farnham answered.
She bowed and walked out of the room. She could not indulge in tragic
strides, for her dress held her like a scabbard, giving her scarcely
more freedom of movement than the high-born maidens of Carthage
enjoyed, who wore gold fetters on their ankles until they were married.
But in spite of all impediments her tall figure moved, with that grace
which is the birthright of beauty in any circumstances, out of the
door, through the wide hall to the outer entrance, so rapidly that
Farnham could hardly keep pace with her. As he opened the door she
barely acknowledged his parting salutation, and swept like a huffy
goddess down the steps. Farnham gazed after her a moment, admiring the
undulating line from the small hat to the long and narrow train which
dragged on the smooth stones of the walk. He then returned to the
library. Budsey was mending the fire.
"If you please, sir," he said, "Mrs. Belding's man came over to ask,
would you dine there this evening, quite informal."
"Why didn't he come in?"
"I told him you were engaged."
"Ah, very well. Say to Mrs. Belding that I will come, with pleasure."
II.
A HIGH-SCHOOL
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 6
|
author, Linnæus. Mr. Lloyd has a very
complete list of the Linnæan works, and his commissioners in Europe and
America are looking out for the missing volumes. An extremely odd work
is the book of Dr. Josselyn, entitled "New England Rarities," in which
the Puritan author discusses wisely on "byrds, beastes and fishes" of
the New World. Dr. Carolus Plumierus, a French savant, who flourished in
1762, contributes an exhaustive work on the "Flora of the Antilles." He
is antedated many years, however, by Dr. John Clayton, who is termed
Johannes Claytonus, and Dr. John Frederick Gronovius. These gentlemen
collated a work entitled the "Flora of Virginia," which is among the
first descriptions of botany in the United States. Two venerable works
are those of Mattioli, an Italian writer, who gave his knowledge to the
world in 1586, and Levinus Lemnius, who wrote "De Miraculis Occultis
Naturæ" in 1628. The father of modern systematized botany is conceded to
be Mons. J. P. Tournefort, whose comprehensive work was published in
1719. It is the fortune of Mr. Lloyd to possess an original edition in
good condition. His "Histoire des Plantes," Paris (1698), is also on the
shelves. In the modern department of the library are the leading French
and German works. Spanish and Italian authors are also on the shelves,
the Lloyd collection of Spanish flora being among the best extant.
Twenty-two volumes of rice paper, bound in bright yellow and stitched in
silk, contain the flora of Japan. All the leaves are delicately tinted
by those unique flower-painters, the Japanese. This rare work was
presented to the Lloyd library by Dr. Charles Rice, of New York, who
informed the Lloyds that only one other set could be found in America.
One of the most noted books in the collection of J. U. Lloyd is a Materia
Medica written by Dr. David Schoepf, a learned German scholar, who
traveled through this country in 1787. But a limited number of copies
were printed, and but few are extant. One is in the Erlangen library in
Germany. This Mr. Lloyd secured, and had it copied verbatim. In later
years Dr. Charles Rice obtained an original print, and exchanged it for
that copy. A like work is that of Dr. Jonathan Carver of the provincial
troops in America, published in London in 1796. It treats largely of
Canadian materia medica. Manasseh Cutler's work, 1785, also adorns this
part of the library. In addition to almost every work on this subject,
Mr. Lloyd possesses complete editions of the leading serials and
pharmaceutical lists published in the last three quarters of a century.
Another book, famous in its way, is Barton's "Collections Toward a
Materia Medica of the United States," published in 1798, 1801, and 1804.
Several noted botanists and chemists have visited the library in recent
years. Prof. Flueckiger formed the acquaintance of the Lloyds through
their work, "Drugs and Medicines of North America," being struck by the
exhaustive references and foot-notes. Students and lovers of the old art
of copper-plate engraving especially find much in the ornate title pages
and portraits to please their æsthetic sense. The founders are not
miserly, and all students and delvers into the medical and botanical
arts are always welcome. This library of rare books has been collected
without ostentation and with the sole aim to benefit science and
humanity. We must not neglect to state that the library is especially
rich in books pertaining to the American Eclectics and Thomsonians.
Since it has been learned that this library is at the disposal of
students and is to pass intact to some worthy institution of learning,
donations of old or rare books are becoming frequent.
CONTENTS.
|
library
|
How many times does the word 'library' appear in the text?
| 7
|
he got a job of surveying to do, and now and
then a merchant got him to straighten out his books. With Scotch patience
and pluck he resolved to live down his reputation and work his way into
the legal field yet. Poor fellow, he could foresee that it was going to
take him such a weary long time to do it.
He had a rich abundance of idle time, but it never hung heavy on his
hands, for he interested himself in every new thing that was born into
the universe of ideas, and studied it, and experimented upon it at his
house. One of his pet fads was palmistry. To another one he gave no
name, neither would he explain to anybody what its purpose was, but
merely said it was an amusement. In fact, he had found that his fads
added to his reputation as a pudd'nhead; there, he was growing chary of
being too communicative about them. The fad without a name was one which
dealt with people's finger marks. He carried in his coat pocket a
shallow box with grooves in it, and in the grooves strips of glass five
inches long and three inches wide. Along the lower edge of each strip
was pasted a slip of white paper. He asked people to pass their hands
through their hair (thus collecting upon them a thin coating of the
natural oil) and then making a thumb-mark on a glass strip, following it
with the mark of the ball of each finger in succession. Under this row
of faint grease prints he would write a record on the strip of white
paper--thus:
JOHN SMITH, right hand--
and add the day of the month and the year, then take Smith's left hand on
another glass strip, and add name and date and the words "left hand." The
strips were now returned to the grooved box, and took their place among
what Wilson called his "records."
He often studied his records, examining and poring over them with
absorbing interest until far into the night; but what he found there--if
he found anything--he revealed to no one. Sometimes he copied on paper
the involved and delicate pattern left by the ball of the finger, and
then vastly enlarged it with a pantograph so that he could examine its
web of curving lines with ease and convenience.
One sweltering afternoon--it was the first day of July, 1830--he was at
work over a set of tangled account books in his workroom, which looked
westward over a stretch of vacant lots, when a conversation outside
disturbed him. It was carried on in yells, which showed that the people
engaged in it were not close together.
"Say, Roxy, how does yo' baby come on?" This from the distant voice.
"Fust-rate. How does _you_ come on, Jasper?" This yell was from close
by.
"Oh, I's middlin'; hain't got noth'n' to complain of, I's gwine to come
a-court'n you bimeby, Roxy."
"_You_ is, you black mud cat! Yah--yah--yah! I got somep'n' better to
do den 'sociat'n' wid niggers as black as you is. Is ole Miss Cooper's
Nancy done give you de mitten?" Roxy followed this sally with another
discharge of carefree laughter.
"You's jealous, Roxy, dat's what's de matter wid you, you
hussy--yah--yah--yah! Dat's de time I got you!"
"Oh, yes, _you_ got me, hain't you. 'Clah to goodness if dat conceit o'
yo'n strikes in, Jasper, it gwine to kill you sho'. If you b'longed to
me, I'd sell you down de river 'fo' you git too fur gone. Fust time I
runs acrost yo' marster, I's gwine to tell him so."
This idle and aimless jabber went on and on, both parties enjoying the
friendly duel and each well satisfied with his own share of the wit
exchanged--for wit they considered it.
Wilson stepped to the window to observe the combatants; he could not work
while their chatter continued. Over in the vacant lots was Jasper,
young, coal black, and of magnificent build, sitting on a wheelbar
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
now that we say to ourselves, if we could but once more
come across such a green and wooded resting-place, we would stay there
for the rest of our lives, would pitch our tent there, and there end our
days.
But the body cannot go back and renew its existence, and so memory has
to make its pious pilgrimage alone; back to the early days and fresh
beginnings of life it travels, like those light vessels that are borne
upward by their white sails against the current of a river. Then the
body once more pursues its journey; but the body without memory is as
the night without stars, as the lamp without its flame.... And so body
and memory go their several ways.
The body, with chance for its guide, moves towards the unknown.
Memory, that bright will-oâ-the-wisp, hovers over the land-marks that
are left behind; and memory, we may be sure, will not lose her way.
Every oasis is revisited, every association recalled, and then with a
rapid flight she returns to the body that grows ever more and more
weary, and like the humming of a bee, like the song of a bird, like the
murmur of a stream, tells the tale of all that she has seen.
And as the tired traveller listens, his eyes grow bright again, his
mouth smiles, and a light steals over his face. For Providence in
kindness, seeing that he cannot return to youth, allows youth to return
to him. And ever after he loves to repeat aloud what memory tells, him
in her soft, low voice.
And is our life, then, bounded by a circle like the earth? Do we,
unconsciously, continue to walk towards the spot from which we started?
And as we travel nearer and nearer to the grave, do we again draw
closer, ever closer, to the cradle?
II
I cannot say. But what happened to myself, that much at any rate I know.
At my first halt along the road of life, my first glance backwards, I
began by relating the tale of Bernard and his uncle Berthelin, then the
story of Ange Pitou, his fair _fiancée_, and of Aunt Angélique; after
that I told of Conscience and Mariette; and lastly of Catherine Blum and
Father Vatrin.
I am now going to tell you the story of Thibault and his wolves, and of
the Lord of Vez. And how, you will ask, did I become acquainted with the
events which I am now about to bring before you? I will tell you.
Have you read my _Mémoires_, and do you remember one, by name Mocquet,
who was a friend of my fatherâs?
If you have read them, you will have some vague recollection of this
personage. If you have not read them, you will not remember anything
about him at all.
In either case, then, it is of the first importance that I should bring
Mocquet clearly before your mindâs eye.
As far back as I can remember, that is when I was about three years of
age, we lived, my father and mother and I, in a little Château called
Les Fossés, situated on the boundary that separates the departments of
Aisne and Oise, between Haramont and Longpré. The little house in
question had doubtless been named Les Fossés on account of the deep and
broad moat, filled with water, with which it was surrounded.
I do not mention my sister, for she was at school in Paris, and we only
saw her once a year, when she was home for a monthâs holiday.
The household, apart from my father, mother and myself,
consisted--firstly: of a large black dog, called Truffe, who was a
privileged animal and made welcome wherever he appeared, more especially
as I regularly went about on his back; secondly: of a gardener, named
Pierre, who kept me amply provided with frogs and snakes, two species of
living creatures in which I was particularly interested; thirdly: of a
negro, a valet of my fatherâs, named Hippolyte, a sort of black
merry
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 1
|
="slug">EXT. STREET - DAY
</p><p><p ID="act">A UPS Man with a big pot belly is walking down the street, whistling and carelessly tossing a
package in the air. We hear the sound of broken glass in the box. He passes a professional woman.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">Good morning, UPS!
</p><p><p ID="act">He tosses the box behind his back like a basketball, then acknowledges another passerby.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">UPS, good to see you!
</p><p><p ID="act">He takes a couple of steps, then flings the package incredibly high into the air, spins completely
around and expertly drops to one knee and catches the box. A Hispanic man passes.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">Buenos dias. Uo Pay eSsay.
</p><p><p ID="slug">EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY
</p><p><p ID="act">The UPS Man dodges a couple of black kids as though playing basketball. He runs up the front
steps of the building. He reaches out to open the front door and inadvertently flings the package
behind him and back down the steps.
</p><p><p ID="act">He goes back, retrieves the package, then enters the building.
</p><p><p ID="slug">INT. LOBBY - DAY
</p><p><p ID="act">Several people stand in the elevator. The UPS Man just makes it, but the door closes on the
package... REPEATEDLY. He feigns embarrassment.
</p><p><p ID="slug">INT. 3RD FLOOR - DAY
</p><p><p ID="act">ELEVATOR DOORS OPEN. The UPS Man throws the package out onto the floor and starts
kicking it down the hall like a soccer player. With one last big kick the parcel lands in front of
APARTMENT 3B. He picks it up and knocks on the door.
</p><p><p ID="act">We hear a small dog barking.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">GRUFF MAN (O.S.)
<P ID="dia">Shut the hell up, you stupid mutt!
</p><p><p ID="act">An angry, burly man pokes his nose hairs out the chained door.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">GRUFF MAN
<P ID="dia">What do you want?
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">UPS, sir. And how are you this
afternoon? Alrighty then!
</p><p><p ID="act">The man grumpily unchains the door. He's a big guy - 6'5", 250, and 50 of that is chest hair. A
small Shiatsu stands beside him.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">I have a package for you.
</p><p><p ID="act">The UPS guy thrusts the package toward the man. We can clearly hear broken glass inside. The
man takes the package.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">GRUFF MAN
<P ID="dia">It sounds broken.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">Most likely sir! I bet it was
something nice though! Now... I
haver an insurance form. If you'll
just sign here, here, and here,
and initial here, and print your name
here, we'll get the rest of the
forms out to you as soon as we
can.
</p><p><p ID="act">The man begrudgingly begins to fill out the form. The dog wags his tail and whines. We can see
that he likes the UPS guy.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">UPS MAN
<P ID="dia">That's a lovely dog you have. Do
you mind if I
|
slug
|
How many times does the word 'slug' appear in the text?
| 3
|
(in order of appearance)
Reting Rinpoche ... Regent of Tibet, served in the years between
the death of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama and the discovery
of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama. A monk.
Lama of Sera ... Keustang Rinpoche A high lama.
Lhamo Dhondrup ... The Fourteenth Dalai Lama. Also known
as Tenzin Gyatso.
Lobsang Samten ... The Dalai Lama's immediate older brother.
Tsering Dolma ... The Dalai Lama's older sister.
Mother ... The Dalai Lama's mother.
Father ... The Dalai Lama's father.
Chinese Governor ... Representative of China in Amdo Province
Takster Rinpoche ... The Dalai Lam's oldest brother, abbot of
Kumbum Monastery.
Bodyguard ... A Khamba, monk bodyguard.
The Attendants ... Masters of the Kitchen, the Robe and the
Ritual. All monks.
Lord Chamberlain ... The official closest to the Dalai Lama. A
monk.
Norbu Thundrup ... A sweeper who works at the Potala.
The Yigstang and the Tsitang ... The Tibetan Government. Monks
and laymen.
Taktra Rinpoche ... The Regent who replaced Reting Rinpoche.
A monk.
Ling Rinpoche ... A senior tutor, a monk.
Kashag ... The Dalai Lama's personal cabinet of advisors.
Nechung Oracle ... The monk medium for the deity, Droje Drakden.
Lukhangwa and Lobsang Tashi ... The Prime Ministers
Muslim Man, Tibetan Woman, Noble Boy ... People the Dalai Lama
meets on his way to Yadung.
General Chiang Chin-wu ... First representative of Communist
China sent to Tibet.
Mao Tse Tung ... Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party.
Khamba Leaders ... Leaders of the Tibetan Resistance Movement.
Ghurka Soldiers ... Indians who make up the welcoming party for
the Dalai Lama.
The Himalayas.
A still photograph, a portrait, of a mountain; the north
face of Chomolungma - a peak also known as Mount Everest -
twenty-nine thousand feet high.
We hear a very young boy speak.
<b> BOY (VO)
</b> Mama, my story.
A woman speaks:
<b> WOMAN (VO)
</b> Again?
<b> BOY (VO)
</b>
|
chinese
|
How many times does the word 'chinese' appear in the text?
| 1
|
giant living room watching bad
television on a 70-inch flat screen TV. He looks bored and
empty. After a few beats he pauses the TV, and picks up the
phone.
<b> GEORGE
</b> (on the phone)
Hey, it's George Simmons, I'm
coming in.
<b> INT. NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
</b>
Shots of George doing stand up on stage at a comedy club.
The place adores him. We see quick images of him after the
show interacting with people. He is clearly a very famous
comedian.
<b> INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
</b>
George has sex with a girl in her early twenties.
<b> INT. BEL AIR HOME - NIGHT
</b>
George sits back down, the thrill of his performance is gone,
he is bored and alone again. He hits play on his TV and
begins watching his show from the same spot it was at before.
<b> MUSIC UP:"WITH A LITTLE LUCK" - PAUL MCCARTNEY
</b>
<b> BEGIN CREDIT SEQUENCE
</b>
<b> INT. BEL AIR HOME - BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
GEORGE wakes up in a large, clean, modern house. He is all
alone. We get the feeling that he hired someone to decorate
his house. It is very nice, but doesn't seem personal to him
at all. It feels new, with all the gadgets, but a little
cold. On the kitchen table is a stack of scripts he is
supposed to read.
<b> EXT. GEORGE'S HOME - MORNING
</b>
George hits balls in his home batting cage. Then we see him
driving golf balls inside there. In the background we see
his modern, space ship looking house. It is enormous.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. BATHROOM - LATER
</b>
George walks into a fancy, steam-filled shower.
<b> EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
</b>
George drives his large black Mercedes.
<b> EXT. MEDICAL TOWER - DAY
</b>
George gets out of his car and walks towards the tower. Two
COLLEGE STUDENTS walk over.
<b> COLLEGE STUDENT
</b>
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
MANOOJ and SHAMBU, 11 and 9; HASARI'S MOTHER and
FATHER. They embark toward the night, the rising sun
behind them.
<b>EXT. ROADSIDE - BUS STOP - DAY (DAWN)
</b>Hasari's Father passes a gourd of precious water. Hasari
serves the children first. Shambu gulps entirely too
much, the others forcing him to stop by a unified force
of will. Embarrassed, he passes the cup to his brother,
who sips, as does his sister. Aloka barely wets her
lips, insisting on leaving the last drops for Hasari.
And now, a rooster tail of dust rises up behind the
approaching bus and the old parents bid farewell to their
son's family. There is an intense sadness at leaving
the land and Hasari's Mother clings to him...
<b> HASARI
</b> I'll send money soon.
His Mother nods, as Hasari erupts in a small cough which,
by habit, he suppresses. His Mother crushes Aloka to
her.
<b> HASARI'S MOTHER
</b> Don't let the children out of your
sight. Not for a moment.
Now the children. She wants to keep them here even as
the old man touches her, reminding her she must let them
go.
<b> HASARI'S MOTHER
</b> Help your parents. Don't fight
with each other. And, Manooj,
stay away from the cinema, do you
hear?
Shambu, his eyes big as saucers, whispers to his
grandma...
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b><b> SHAMBU
</b> I don't want to go. There are bad
men with long knives who steal
children.
That does it: Hasari's Mother dissolves in tears, but
the old man nevertheless unlooses her insistently from
the children. Aloka and the children get on the bus as
the old man embraces his son.
<b> HASARI'S FATHER
</b> A man's journey to the end of his
obligations is a very long road.
Yours begins here.
<b>EXT. ROADSIDE/INT. BUS - DAY
</b>There's not an empty inch inside the little vehicle or
on top. The passengers are silent. A woman breast feeds
a baby. Several passengers fan themselves. Many sleep.
The Pals squeeze wearily into the rear seat.
<b> MANOOJ
</
|
hasari
|
How many times does the word 'hasari' appear in the text?
| 10
|
rev 1st draft
July 30, 1986
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> EXT. FERRY LANDING - NEW ENGLAND SHORE - DAY
</b> The sparkling waters. The chirping spring day. We are on an isolated
stretch of country shore , and a quiet, sheltered island is visible
distantly across the Sound. There is asense of anticipation,
excitement. VOICES can be heard. THE CAMERA is the POV of a VIDEO
CAMERA, and a group of college kids wait just o.s. On-screen, however,
for the moment, a proper, sweet-faced young COED faces the camera and
-- reluctantly, under the urging of her friend behind the video lens -
- sets the scene.
<b> SWEET COED
</b><b> (SHYLY)
</b> Hi... My name is Mary O'Reilly O'Toole O'Shea and...over there is the
island my friend Muffy owns... It's spring break... and she's invited
us over for the weekend, and we're waiting for the ferry now to take
us there...
(blushing, mortified to cameraman)
I don't know what else to say!
<b> CAMERAMAN (CHAZ'S VOICE)
</b> Tell us something about yourself.
<b> SWEET COED
</b> Something about myself? Oh, Gee...
(composing herself, earnestly)
Well, I want to work with handicapped children... My parents are my
best Friends... Next semester I start convent school, and I... fuck on
the first date.
O.S. her friends explode with LAUGHTER. Brassy former deb NIKKI
BRASHEARS gives us a big, wet wink, dropping the act.
|
shore
|
How many times does the word 'shore' appear in the text?
| 1
|
me. He was so very elegant, his complexion so nice and
white, his uniform so brand new, that I immediately guessed that he had
not been long with our army in the Caucasus.
"'I suppose you have been transferred from Russia?' I asked.
"'Exactly, captain,' he answered.
"I took him by the hand and said:
"'I'm delighted to see you--delighted! It will be a bit dull for you...
but there, we will live together like a couple of friends. But, please,
call me simply "Maksim Maksimych"; and, tell me, what is this full
uniform for? Just wear your forage-cap whenever you come to me!'
"Quarters were assigned to him and he settled down in the fortress."
"What was his name?" I asked Maksim Maksimych.
"His name was Grigori Aleksandrovich Pechorin. He was a splendid fellow,
I can assure you, but a little peculiar. Why, to give you an instance,
one time he would stay out hunting the whole day, in the rain and cold;
the others would all be frozen through and tired out, but he wouldn't
mind either cold or fatigue. Then, another time, he would be sitting in
his own room, and, if there was a breath of wind, he would declare that
he had caught cold; if the shutters rattled against the window he
would start and turn pale: yet I myself have seen him attack a boar
single-handed. Often enough you couldn't drag a word out of him for
hours together; but then, on the other hand, sometimes, when he started
telling stories, you would split your sides with laughing. Yes, sir,
a very eccentric man; and he must have been wealthy too. What a lot of
expensive trinkets he had!"...
"Did he stay there long with you?" I went on to ask.
"Yes, about a year. And, for that very reason, it was a memorable year
to me. He gave me a great deal of trouble--but there, let bygones be
bygones!... You see, it is true enough, there are people like that,
fated from birth to have all sorts of strange things happening to them!"
"Strange?" I exclaimed, with an air of curiosity, as I poured out some
tea.
CHAPTER III
"WELL, then, I'll tell you," said Maksim Maksimych. "About six versts
from the fortress there lived a certain 'friendly' prince. His son, a
brat of about fifteen, was accustomed to ride over to visit us. Not a
day passed but he would come, now for one thing, now for another. And,
indeed, Grigori Aleksandrovich and I spoiled him. What a dare-devil the
boy was! Up to anything, picking up a cap at full gallop, or bringing
things down with his gun! He had one bad quality; he was terribly
greedy for money. Once, for the fun of the thing, Grigori Aleksandrovich
promised to give him a ducat if he would steal the best he-goat from his
father's herd for him; and, what do you think? The very next night he
came lugging it in by the horns! At times we used to take it into our
heads to tease him, and then his eyes would become bloodshot and his
hand would fly to his dagger immediately.
"'You'll be losing your life if you are not careful, Azamat,' I would
say to him. 'That hot head of yours will get you into trouble.'
"On one occasion, the old prince himself came to invite us to the
wedding of his eldest daughter; and, as we were guest-friends with him,
it was impossible to decline, Tartar though he was. We set off. In the
village we were met by a number of dogs, all barking loudly. The women,
when they saw us coming, hid themselves, but those whose faces we were
able to get a view of were far from being beauties.
"'I had a much better opinion of the Circassian women,' remarked Grigori
Aleksandrovich.
"'Wait a bit!' I answered, with a smile; I had my own views on
|
would
|
How many times does the word 'would' appear in the text?
| 10
|
man. From here he
started along another road; then came back and tried another; but each
time he found the way strange and decided it would not take them to the
farm house. Finally, when Dorothy had begun to tire with chasing after
him, Toto sat down panting beside the shaggy man and gave up.
Dorothy sat down, too, very thoughtful. The little girl had encountered
some queer adventures since she came to live at the farm; but this was
the queerest of them all. To get lost in fifteen minutes, so near to
her home and in the unromantic State of Kansas, was an experience that
fairly bewildered her.
"Will your folks worry?" asked the shaggy man, his eyes twinkling in a
pleasant way.
"I s'pose so," answered Dorothy, with a sigh. "Uncle Henry says there's
_always_ something happening to me; but I've always come home safe at
the last. So perhaps he'll take comfort and think I'll come home safe
this time."
"I'm sure you will," said the shaggy man, smilingly nodding at her.
"Good little girls never come to any harm, you know. For my part, I'm
good, too; so nothing ever hurts me."
Dorothy looked at him curiously. His clothes were shaggy, his boots were
shaggy and full of holes, and his hair and whiskers were shaggy. But his
smile was sweet and his eyes were kind.
"Why didn't you want to go to Butterfield?" she asked.
"Because a man lives there who owes me fifteen cents, and if I went to
Butterfield and he saw me he'd want to pay me the money. I don't want
money, my dear."
"Why not?" she inquired.
"Money," declared the shaggy man, "makes people proud and haughty; I
don't want to be proud and haughty. All I want is to have people love
me; and as long as I own the Love Magnet everyone I meet is sure to love
me dearly."
[Illustration: "THIS, MY DEAR, IS THE WONDERFUL LOVE MAGNET."]
"The Love Magnet! Why, what's that?"
"I'll show you, if you won't tell anyone," he answered, in a low,
mysterious voice.
"There isn't any one to tell, 'cept Toto," said the girl.
The shaggy man searched in one pocket, carefully; and in another pocket;
and in a third. At last he drew out a small parcel wrapped in crumpled
paper and tied with a cotton string. He unwound the string, opened the
parcel, and took out a bit of metal shaped like a horseshoe. It was dull
and brown, and not very pretty.
"This, my dear," said he, impressively, "is the wonderful Love Magnet.
It was given me by an Eskimo in the Sandwich Islands--where there are no
sandwiches at all--and as long as I carry it every living thing I meet
will love me dearly."
"Why didn't the Eskimo keep it?" she asked, looking at the Magnet with
interest.
"He got tired being loved and longed for some one to hate him. So he
gave me the Magnet and the very next day a grizzly bear ate him."
"Wasn't he sorry then?" she inquired.
"He didn't say," replied the shaggy man, wrapping and tying the Love
Magnet with great care and putting it away in another pocket. "But the
bear didn't seem sorry a bit," he added.
"Did you know the bear?" asked Dorothy.
[Illustration]
"Yes; we used to play ball together in the Caviar Islands. The bear
loved me because I had the Love Magnet. I couldn't blame him for eating
the Eskimo, because it was his nature to do so."
"Once," said Dorothy, "I knew a Hungry Tiger who longed to eat fat
babies, because it was his nature to; but he never ate any because he
had a Conscience."
"This bear," replied the shaggy man, with a sigh, "had no Conscience,
you see."
The shaggy man
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 5
|
;--but here comes
Monsieur and his gang: I'll pump them: they have trotted after him all
round Europe, from the Canaries to the Isle of Wight.
_Enter several foreign Servants and two Tradesmen._
(_The Porter takes one of them aside._)
_Tradesm._ Well then, you have shew'd us all?
_Frenchm._ All, _en vérité, Messieurs_! you _avez_ seen every ting.
_Serviteur, serviteur._ [_Exeunt_ Tradesmen.
Ah, here comes one _autre_ curious Englishman, and dat's one _autre_
guinea _pour moi_.
_Enter_ Saville.
_Allons, Monsieur_, dis way; I will shew you tings, such tings you
never see, begar, in England!--velvets by Le Mosse, suits cut by Verdue,
trimmings by Grossette, embroidery by Detanville----
_Sav._ Puppy!--where is your Master?
_Port._ Zounds! you chattering frog-eating dunderhead, can't you see a
Gentleman?--'Tis Mr. Saville.
_Frenchm._ Monsieur Saville! _Je suis mort de peur._--Ten tousand
pardons! _Excusez mon erreur_, and permit me you conduct to Monsieur
Doricourt; he be too happy _Ã vous voir_. [_Exeunt_ Frenchman _and_
Saville.
_Port._ Step below a bit;--we'll make it out some-how!--I suppose a
slice of sirloin won't make the story go down the worse. [_Exeunt_
Porter _and_ Crowquill.
SCENE III.----_An Apartment at_ Doricourt'_s_.
_Enter_ Doricourt.
_Doric._ (_speaking to a servant behind_) I shall be too late for St.
James's; bid him come immediately.
_Enter_ Frenchman _and_ Saville.
_Frenchm._ Monsieur Saville. [_Exit_ Frenchman.
_Doric._ Most fortunate! My dear Saville, let the warmth of this embrace
speak the pleasure of my heart.
_Sav._ Well, this is some comfort, after the scurvy reception I met
with in your hall.--I prepared my mind, as I came up stairs, for a _bon
jour_, a grimace, and an _adieu_.
_Doric._ Why so?
_Sav._ Judging of the master from the rest of the family. What the devil
is the meaning of that flock of foreigners below, with their parchment
faces and snuffy whiskers? What! can't an Englishman stand behind your
carriage, buckle your shoe, or brush your coat?
_Doric._ Stale, my dear Saville, stale! Englishmen make the best
Soldiers, Citizens, Artizans, and Philosophers in the world; but the
very worst Footmen. I keep French fellows and Germans, as the Romans
kept slaves; because their own countrymen had minds too enlarged and
haughty to descend with a grace to the duties of such a station.
_Sav._ A good excuse for a bad practice.
_Doric._ On my honour, experience will convince you of its truth. A
Frenchman neither hears, sees, nor breathes, but as his master directs;
and his whole system of conduct is compris'd in one short word,
_Obedience_! An Englishman reasons, forms opinions, cogitates, and
disputes; he is the mere creature of your will: the other, a being,
conscious of equal importance in the universal scale with yourself, and
is therefore your judge, whilst he wears your livery, and decides on
your actions with the freedom of a censor.
_Sav._ And this in defence of a custom I have heard you execrate,
together with all the adventitious manners imported by our Travell'd
Gentry.
_Doric._ Ay, but that was at eighteen; we are always _very_ wise at
eighteen
|
saville
|
How many times does the word 'saville' appear in the text?
| 7
|
irurgeon in
London," replied Baldred. "If I can manage to transport you to his
lodgings, he will speedily heal your wounds."
"Do not delay, then," replied Auriol faintly; "for though I am free from
pain, I feel that my life is ebbing fast away."
"Press this handkerchief to your side, and lean on me," said Baldred.
"Doctor Lamb's dwelling is but a step from the gateway--in fact, the
first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor declares he is your
kinsman."
"It is the first I ever heard of him," replied Auriol faintly; "but take
me to him quickly, or it will be too late."
In another moment they were at the doctor's door. Baldred tapped against
it, and the summons was instantly answered by a diminutive personage,
clad in a jerkin of coarse grey serge, and having a leathern apron tied
round his waist. This was Flapdragon.
Blear-eyed, smoke-begrimed, lantern-jawed, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it had
been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In his
hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.
"So you have been playing the leech, Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.
"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and displaying
a wolfish set of teeth. "My master ordered me to smear the halberd with
the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him: rubbed the steel point, first on
one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then smeared it again."
"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory."
"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."
"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"
Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two, Auriol
was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the laboratory.
Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on which a large
alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task that he scarcely
noticed the entrance of the others.
"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair," he
cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction in
that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."
"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag, which
was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head protruded--"I ought
to take them back with me."
"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb
impatiently; "to-morrow--to-morrow."
Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the sufferer's
temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's injunctions,
turned to inquire what he should do next.
"Begone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of the
room, clapping the door after him.
Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and in
a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a stranger.
Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and fantastical
did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements used by the
adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts, scattered about
without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was a large
terrestrial sphere: near it was an astrolabe, and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels.
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 2
|
entice his own
To evil should be done by none:
But custom what they did begin
Was with long use account no sin.
The beauty of this sinful dame
Made many princes thither frame,
To seek her as a bed-fellow,
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:
Which to prevent he made a law,
To keep her still, and men in awe,
That whoso ask'd her for his wife,
His riddle told not, lost his life:
So for her many a wight did die,
As yon grim looks do testify.
What now ensues, to the judgement your eye
I give, my cause who lest can justify.
[Exit.]
SCENE I. Antioch. A room in the palace.
[Enter ANTIOCHUS, PRINCE PERICLES, and followers.]
ANTIOCHUS.
Young prince of Tyre, you have at large received
The danger of the task you undertake.
PERICLES.
I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul
Embolden'd with the glory of her praise,
Think death no hazard in this enterprise.
ANTIOCHUS.
Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
For the embracements even of Jove himself;
At whose conception, till Lucina reign'd,
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,
The senate-house of planets all did sit,
To knit in her their best perfections.
[Music. Enter the Daughter of Antiochus.]
PERICLES
See where she comes, apparell'd like the spring,
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
Of every virtue gives renown to men!
Her face the book of praises, where is read
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence
Sorrow were ever razed, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.
You gods that made me man, and sway in love,
That have inflamed desire in my breast
To taste the fruit of yon celestal tree,
Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
As I am son and servant to your will,
To compass such a boundless happiness!
ANTIOCHUS.
Prince Pericles, --
PERICLES.
That would be son to great Antiochus.
ANTIOCHUS.
Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,
With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch'd;
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view
Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
And which, without desert, because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
Yon sometimes famous princes, like thyself,
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,
Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale,
That without covering, save yon field of stars,
Here they stand Martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars;
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist
For going on death's net, whom none resist.
PERICLES.
Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
My frail mortality to know itself,
And by those fearful objects to prepare
This body, like to them, to what I must;
For death remember'd should be like a mirror,
Who tells us life 's but breath, to trust it error.
I'll make my will then, and, as sick men do
Who know the world, see heaven, but, feeling woe,
Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did;
So I bequeath a happy peace to you
And all good men, as every prince should do;
My riches to the earth from whence they came;
But my unspotted fire of love to you.
[To the daughter of Antiochus.]
Thus ready for the way of life or death,
I wait the sharpest blow, Antiochus.
ANTIOCHUS.
Scorning advice, read the conclusion, then:
Which read and not expounded, 'tis decreed,
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.
DAUGHTER.
Of all say'd yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!
Of all say'd yet, I wish thee happiness!
PERICLES
Like a bold champion, I assume THe lists,
Nor ask advice of any other
|
glory
|
How many times does the word 'glory' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ES THEATER - NIGHT
</b>
A familiar beam of light shines down. The beam of light
descends onto a stage. Lightning flashes to reveal Prince
Charming riding his valiant steed Chauncey across the open
plains. The wind blows back his golden mane.
<b> PRINCE CHARMING
</b> Onward Chauncey, to the highest
room of the tallest tower! Where
my princess awaits rescue from her
handsome Prince Charming.
Lightning cracks. Thunder booms. Charming straddles a
wooden hobby horse and gallops in place. A stage hand uses a
bellow to blow air into Prince Charming's face. Another
stage hand turns a crank that creates the moving background.
In the orchestra, a man uses coconuts to create the sound
effects of a galloping horse. Two more stage hands back
stage create the cheap sound effects of thunder and
lightning. A crudely constructed castle tower sits in front
of a cheaply painted backdrop.
The Fairytale Creatures are sitting at a table in the
audience.
<b> GINGERBREAD MAN
</b> This is worse than Love Letters! I
hate dinner theatre.
<b> PINOCCHIO
</b> Me too.
Pinocchio's nose grows as he is caught in the lie.
Prince Charming rides to the base of the tower.
<b> PRINCE CHARMING
</b> Whoa there, Chauncey!
He dismounts and sets his hobby horse on the ground. He
strikes a dramatic pose.
|
charming
|
How many times does the word 'charming' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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