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May 1, 2011
<b> INT. BISHOP'S HOUSE. DAY
</b>
A landing at the top of a crooked, wooden staircase. There is
a threadbare, braided rug on the floor. There is a long, wide
corridor decorated with faded paintings of sailboats and
battleships. The wallpapers are sun-bleached and peeling at
the corners except for a few newly-hung strips which are
clean and bright. A small easel sits stored in the corner.
Outside, a hard rain falls, drumming the roof and rattling
the gutters.
A ten-year-old boy in pajamas comes up the steps carefully
eating a bowl of cereal as he walks. He is Lionel. Lionel
slides open the door to a low cabinet under the window. He
takes out a portable record player, puts a disc on the
turntable, and sets the needle into the spinning groove.
A child's voice says over the speaker:
<b> RECORD PLAYER (V.O.)
</b> In order to show you how a big symphony
orchestra is put together, Benjamin
Britten has written a big piece of music,
which is made up of smaller pieces that
show you all the separate parts of the
orchestra.
As Lionel listens, three other children wander out of their
bedrooms and down to the landing.
The first is an eight-year-old boy in a bathrobe. He is
Murray. The second is a nine-year-old boy in white boxer
shorts and a white undershirt. He is Rudy. The third is a
twelve-year-old girl in a cardigan sweater with knee-high
socks and brightly polished, patent-leather shoes. She is
Suzy. She carries a one-month-old striped kitten.
The boys drop down to the floor next to their brother. They
lie on their stomachs with their chins propped up on
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ūdraka, Bhavabhūti--assuredly, these are the greatest
names in the history of the Indian drama. So different are these
men, and so great, that it is not possible to assert for any one of
them such supremacy as Shakspere holds in the English drama.
It is true that KÄlidÄsa's dramatic masterpiece, the ShakuntalÄ,
is the most widely known of the Indian plays. It is true that the
tender and elegant KÄlidÄsa has been called, with a not wholly fortunate
enthusiasm, the "Shakspere of India." But this rather exclusive
admiration of the ShakuntalÄ results from lack of information
about the other great Indian dramas. Indeed, it is partly due
to the accident that only the ShakuntalÄ became known in translation
at a time when romantic Europe was in full sympathy with
the literature of India.
BhavabhÅ«ti, too, is far less widely known than KÄlidÄsa; and for this
the reason is deeper-seated. The austerity of Bhavabhūti's style, his
lack of humor, his insistent grandeur, are qualities which prevent his
being a truly popular poet. With reference to KÄlidÄsa, he holds a
position such as Aeschylus holds with reference to Euripides. He will
always seem to minds that sympathize with his grandeur[3] the greatest
of Indian poets; while by other equally discerning minds of another
order he will be admired, but not passionately loved.
Yet however great the difference between KÄlidÄsa, "the grace
of poetry,"[4] and Bhavabhūti, "the master of eloquence,"[5] these two
authors are far more intimately allied in spirit than is either of
them with the author of The Little Clay Cart. KÄlidÄsa and BhavabhÅ«ti
are Hindus of the Hindus; the ShakuntalÄ and the Latter
Acts of RÄma could have been written nowhere save in India:
but Shūdraka, alone in the long line of Indian dramatists, has a
cosmopolitan character. ShakuntalÄ is a Hindu maid, MÄdhava is
a Hindu hero; but SansthÄnaka and Maitreya and MadanikÄ are
citizens of the world. In some of the more striking characteristics of
Sanskrit literature--in its fondness for system, its elaboration of
style, its love of epigram--KÄlidÄsa and BhavabhÅ«ti are far truer
to their native land than is Shūdraka. In Shūdraka we find few
of those splendid phrases in which, as the Chinese[6] say, "it is only
the words which stop, the sense goes on,"--phrases like KÄlidÄsa's[7]
"there are doors of the inevitable everywhere," or Bhavabhūti's[8] "for
causeless love there is no remedy." As regards the predominance of
swift-moving action over the poetical expression of great truths,
The Little Clay Cart stands related to the Latter Acts of RÄma as
Macbeth does to Hamlet. Again, Shūdraka's style is simple and direct,
a rare quality in a Hindu; and although this style, in the passages
of higher emotion, is of an exquisite simplicity, yet Shūdraka
cannot infuse into mere language the charm which we find in KÄlidÄsa
or the majesty which we find in Bhavabhūti.
Yet Shūdraka's limitations in regard to stylistic power are not
without their compensation. For love of style slowly strangled originality
and enterprise in Indian poets, and ultimately proved the
death of Sanskrit literature. Now just at this point, where other
Hindu
|
holds
|
How many times does the word 'holds' appear in the text?
| 2
|
MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> Courage to change the things I
can...
<b> MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Come on, you've been a good boy for
a long time, you deserve a little
fun.
Our view moves back up to the Woman's breasts.
<b> DISSOLVE THROUGH
</b><b> THIS TO:
</b>
EARL BROOKS' reflection in a mirror. Earl, in his 40's, has
on a tuxedo. He's in front of a sink in a Public Bathroom and
he's whispering to his image.
<b> MR. BROOKS
</b> ... and Wisdom to know the
difference.
Picking up speed against the hunger in his head:
<b> MR. BROOKS (CONT'D)
</b> Living one day at a time, Enjoying
one moment at a time, Accepting
hardship as a pathway to peace...
From far away comes the sound of applause.
<b>INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT
</b>
MEN in tuxedos and WOMEN in gowns.
Mr. Brooks is seated at one of the front tables with his
wife, EMMA, also 40's.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
The audience's hands are coming together for what a MAN at
the microphone has just said.
Mr. Brooks is smiling but not clapping; and although his lips
don't move we can hear:
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> (even faster now)
... Taking, as He did, this sinful
world as it is, not as I would have
it. Trusting that He will make all
things right if I surrender to His
will. That I may be reasonably
|
earl
|
How many times does the word 'earl' appear in the text?
| 2
|
oar. Then the
oiler took both oars; then the correspondent took both oars; then the
oiler; then the correspondent. They rowed and they rowed. The very
ticklish part of the business was when the time came for the reclining
one in the stern to take his turn at the oars. By the very last star
of truth, it is easier to steal eggs from under a hen than it was to
change seats in the dingey. First the man in the stern slid his hand
along the thwart and moved with care, as if he were of Sèvres. Then the
man in the rowing seat slid his hand along the other thwart. It was
all done with the most extraordinary care. As the two sidled past each
other, the whole party kept watchful eyes on the coming wave, and the
captain cried: "Look out now! Steady there!"
The brown mats of sea-weed that appeared from time to time were like
islands, bits of earth. They were travelling, apparently, neither one
way nor the other. They were, to all intents, stationary. They informed
the men in the boat that it was making progress slowly toward the land.
The captain, rearing cautiously in the bow, after the dingey soared on
a great swell, said that he had seen the lighthouse at Mosquito Inlet.
Presently the cook remarked that he had seen it. The correspondent was
at the oars then, and for some reason he too wished to look at the
lighthouse, but his back was toward the far shore and the waves were
important, and for some time he could not seize an opportunity to turn
his head. But at last there came a wave more gentle than the others,
and when at the crest of it he swiftly scoured the western horizon.
"See it?" said the captain.
"No," said the correspondent slowly, "I didn't see anything."
"Look again," said the captain. He pointed. "It's exactly in that
direction."
At the top of another wave, the correspondent did as he was bid, and
this time his eyes chanced on a small still thing on the edge of the
swaying horizon. It was precisely like the point of a pin. It took an
anxious eye to find a lighthouse so tiny.
"Think we'll make it, captain?"
"If this wind holds and the boat don't swamp, we can't do much else,"
said the captain.
The little boat, lifted by each towering sea, and splashed viciously
by the crests, made progress that in the absence of sea-weed was not
apparent to those in her. She seemed just a wee thing wallowing,
miraculously top-up, at the mercy of five oceans. Occasionally, a great
spread of water, like white flames, swarmed into her.
"Bail her, cook," said the captain serenely.
"All right, captain," said the cheerful cook.
III
It would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that
was here established on the seas. No one said that it was so. No one
mentioned it. But it dwelt in the boat, and each man felt it warm him.
They were a captain, an oiler, a cook, and a correspondent, and they
were friends, friends in a more curiously iron-bound degree than may
be common. The hurt captain, lying against the water-jar in the bow,
spoke always in a low voice and calmly, but he could never command
a more ready and swiftly obedient crew than the motley three of the
dingey. It was more than a mere recognition of what was best for the
common safety. There was surely in it a quality that was personal
and heartfelt. And after this devotion to the commander of the boat
there was this comradeship that the correspondent, for instance, who
had been taught to be cynical of men, knew even at the time was the
best experience of his life. But no one said that it was so. No one
mentioned it.
"I wish we had a sail," remarked the captain. "We might try my overcoat
on the end of an oar and give you two boys a chance to rest." So the
cook and the correspondent held the mast and spread wide the overcoat.
The oiler steered, and the
|
taught
|
How many times does the word 'taught' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Strindberg that the public would not tolerate any such unfamiliar
methods. Strindberg protested, and defended and tried to elucidate his
realistic handling of the almost sacred historical personages, but in
vain, for "Master Olof" was not produced until seven years later, when
it was put on at the Swedish Theatre at Stockholm in 1880, the year
Ibsen was writing "Ghosts" at Sorrento.
In 1874, after a year or two of unsuccessful effort to make a living in
various employments, he became assistant at the Court library, which was
indeed a haven of refuge, a position providing both leisure for study
and an assured income. Finding in the library some Chinese parchments
which had not been catalogued; he plunged into the study of that
language. A treatise which he wrote on the subject won him medals from
various learned societies at home, as well as recognition from the
French Institute. This success induced the many other treatises that
followed, for which he received a variety of decorations, and along with
the honors nearly brought upon himself "a salubrious idiocy," to use his
own phrase.
Then something happened that stirred the old higher voice in him,--he
fell in love. He had been invited through a woman friend to go to the
home of Baron Wrangel, where his name as an author was esteemed. He
refused the invitation, but the next day, walking in the city streets
with this same woman friend, they encountered the Baroness Wrangel to
whom Strindberg was introduced. The Baroness asked him once more to
come. He promised to do so, and they separated. As Strindberg's
friend went into a shop, he turned to look down the street; noting the
beautiful lines of the disappearing figure of the Baroness, noting, too,
a stray lock of her golden hair, that had escaped from her veil, and
played against the white ruching at her throat. He gazed after her long,
in fact, until she disappeared in the crowded street. From that moment
he was not a free man. The friendship which followed resulted in the
divorce of the Baroness from her husband and her marriage to Strindberg,
December 30, 1877, when he was twenty-eight years old. At last
Strindberg had someone to love, to take care of, to worship. This
experience of happiness, so strange to him, revived the creative
impulse.
The following year, 1878, "Master Olof" was finally accepted for
publication, and won immediate praise and appreciation. This, to his
mind, belated success, roused in Strindberg a smoldering resentment,
which lack of confidence and authority of position had heretofore caused
him to repress. He broke out with a burning satire, in novel form,
called "The Red Room," the motto of which he made Voltaire's words "Rien
n'est si désagréable que s'etre pendu obscurément."
Hardly more than mention can be made of the important work of this
dramatist, poet, novelist, historian, scientist and philosopher. In 1888
he left Sweden, as the atmosphere there had become too disagreeable for
him through controversy after controversy in which lie became involved.
He joined a group of painters and writers of all nationalities in it
little village in France. There he wrote "La France," setting forth the
relations between France and Sweden in olden times. This was published
in Paris and the French government, tendered him the decoration of the
legion of honor which, however, he refused very politely, explaining
that he never wore a frock coat! The episode ends amusingly with the
publisher, a Swede, receiving the decoration instead. In 1884 the first
volume of his famous short stories, called "Marriages" appeared. It
was aimed at the cult that had sprung up from Ibsen's "A Doll's House,"
which was threatening the peace of all households. A few days after the
publication of "Marriages" the first edition was literally swallowed up.
As the book dealt frankly with the physical facts of sex relations, it
was confiscated by the Swedish government a month after its publication,
and Strindberg was obliged to go to Stockholm to defend his cause in the
courts, which he won, and in another month "Marriages" was again on the
market.
|
strindberg
|
How many times does the word 'strindberg' appear in the text?
| 6
|
met him, how he grew until I became a part of him,
and the tremendous changes he wrought in my life. In this way may you
look at him through my eyes and learn him as I learned him--in all save
the things too secret and sweet for me to tell.
It was in February, 1912, that I first met him, when, as a guest of my
father's* at dinner, he came to our house in Berkeley. I cannot say that
my very first impression of him was favorable. He was one of many at
dinner, and in the drawing-room where we gathered and waited for all
to arrive, he made a rather incongruous appearance. It was "preacher's
night," as my father privately called it, and Ernest was certainly out
of place in the midst of the churchmen.
* John Cunningham, Avis Everhard's father, was a professor
at the State University at Berkeley, California. His chosen
field was physics, and in addition he did much original
research and was greatly distinguished as a scientist. His
chief contribution to science was his studies of the
electron and his monumental work on the "Identification of
Matter and Energy," wherein he established, beyond cavil and
for all time, that the ultimate unit of matter and the
ultimate unit of force were identical. This idea had been
earlier advanced, but not demonstrated, by Sir Oliver Lodge
and other students in the new field of radio-activity.
In the first place, his clothes did not fit him. He wore a ready-made
suit of dark cloth that was ill adjusted to his body. In fact, no
ready-made suit of clothes ever could fit his body. And on this night,
as always, the cloth bulged with his muscles, while the coat between
the shoulders, what of the heavy shoulder-development, was a maze of
wrinkles. His neck was the neck of a prize-fighter,* thick and strong.
So this was the social philosopher and ex-horseshoer my father had
discovered, was my thought. And he certainly looked it with those
bulging muscles and that bull-throat. Immediately I classified him--a
sort of prodigy, I thought, a Blind Tom** of the working class.
* In that day it was the custom of men to compete for purses
of money. They fought with their hands. When one was
beaten into insensibility or killed, the survivor took the
money.
** This obscure reference applies to a blind negro musician
who took the world by storm in the latter half of the
nineteenth century of the Christian Era.
And then, when he shook hands with me! His handshake was firm and
strong, but he looked at me boldly with his black eyes--too boldly, I
thought. You see, I was a creature of environment, and at that time had
strong class instincts. Such boldness on the part of a man of my own
class would have been almost unforgivable. I know that I could not avoid
dropping my eyes, and I was quite relieved when I passed him on and
turned to greet Bishop Morehouse--a favorite of mine, a sweet and
serious man of middle age, Christ-like in appearance and goodness, and a
scholar as well.
But this boldness that I took to be presumption was a vital clew to the
nature of Ernest Everhard. He was simple, direct, afraid of nothing, and
he refused to waste time on conventional mannerisms. "You pleased me,"
he explained long afterward; "and why should I not fill my eyes with
that which pleases me?" I have said that he was afraid of nothing. He
was a natural aristocrat--and this in spite of the fact that he was in
the camp of the non-aristocrats. He was a superman, a blond beast
such as Nietzsche* has described, and in addition he was aflame with
democracy.
* Friederich Nietzsche, the mad philosopher of the
nineteenth century of the Christian Era, who caught wild
glimpses of truth, but who, before he was done, reasoned
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
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
|
hope
|
How many times does the word 'hope' appear in the text?
| 1
|
all CLOSE and teasing.
-- A man's FEET, in shabby work shoes, stalking
through a junk bin in a dark, fire-lit, ash-
dusted place. A huge BOILER ROOM is what it
is, although we only glimpse it piecemeal.
Then we SEE a MAN'S HAND, dirty and nail-bitten,
reach INTO FRAME and pick up a piece of METAL.
-- ANOTHER ANGLE as the HAND grabs a grimey
WORKGLOVE and slashes at it with a straight
razor, until its fingertips are off.
-- CLOSE ON SAME HANDS dumping four fishing knives
out of a filthy bag. Their blades are thin,
curved, gleaming sharp.
-- MORE ANGLES, EVEN CLOSER. We can HEAR the MAN's
wheezing BREATHING, but we still haven't seen
his face. We never will. We just SEE more metal
being assembled with crude tools, into some sort
of linkage -- a splayed, spidery sort of apparatus,
against a background light of FIRE, and a deep
rushing of STEAM and HEAVY, DARK ENERGY.
-- And then we see this linkage attached to the glove.
-- Then the BLADES attached to all of it.
-- Then the MAN'S HAND slips into this glove-like
apparatus, filling it out and transforming
it into an awesome, deadly claw-hand with
four razor/talons gleaming at its blackened
fingertips. Suddenly the HAND arches and STRIKES
FORWARD, SLASHING THROUGH a DARK CANVAS, tearing
it to shreds.
1. EXT. LOS ANGELES. NIGHT. (2nd Unit) 1.
A PULSATION OF LIGHT AND SHADOW. MUSIC DROPS AWAY to a hushed
RUSHING OF WIND and DISTANT SIRENS. CAMERA RACKS INTO FOCUS on a
HIGH PANORAMA of the San Fernando Valley, its night sky lit from
within by a strange GREENISH LIGHT. TITLES BEGIN.
CAMERA TILTS DOWN and ZO
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 2
|
and John Romano
<b> FIRST DRAFT
</b>
<b> 3/25/97
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> BEVERLY HILLS STREET - NIGHT
</b>
It is late night, and deserted. Engine noise approaches;
headlights appear; as the car draws closer we hear singing.
It is a Mercedes convertible and as it roars by, the singing --
a sloppy baritone and a giggling soprano -- whooshes by with
it.
We hold as another car approaches. This one is a conservative
sedan, whose occupant does not sing.
<b> INSIDE THE CONVERTIBLE
</b>
The middle-aged driver is in a tuxedo with a rumpled shirt
and cocked bow tie. He is flushed, a Rogue forelock bouncing
over his forehead, and he merrily sings "Casey Jones" along
with the passenger, a young woman in a party dress who
squeals, rocks with the motion of the car, and
enthusiastically pipes in on the chorus.
<b> ANOTHER EMPTY STREET
</b>
The convertible makes a hot turn onto the street and
approaches with its singing.
<b> REVERSE
</b>
The car enters and roars away. After a beat of quiet, the
conservative sedan enters and recedes.
<b> BEACH
</b>
We are at the Malibu Guest Quarters Motel. The singing,
squealing Mercedes screeches into the lot and rocks to a
halt.
The young woman staggers out still giggling, and holding a
half-empty bottle of champagne.
The man tosses her a key with a large plastic tag.
<b> MAN
</b>
|
singing
|
How many times does the word 'singing' appear in the text?
| 3
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>CREDIT. POLYGRAM & WORKING TITLE PRESENT.
</b><b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. NATIONAL GALLERY. BOARD ROOM - DAY
</b>
The scene is as silent and static as we left it Last... then:
<b> GARETH
</b> I suppose we could just sack him.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. MR BEAN'S STREET. DAY
</b>
Mr BEAN comes out of his house, ready to face the world-
He walks up the street, tutting slightly at a 'NO PARKING' sign he passes.
The street is totally car-free except for a very visible lime green mini. A
policeman strolls by and glances down at a pair of legs sticking out from
under it, next to a toolbox. He moves on, satisfied that someone is mending
their car.
BEAN approaches the car and whips out the fake legs he left there. He then
unlocks the big padlock that secures the car door, pops the fake legs inside,
fiddles with something else in the back seat, and drives away at a frightening
speed with a smug look on his face.
The Theme Music - big and dramatic - begins, as do the rest of the credits.
BEAN gaily motors on - then unexpectedly the sweeping theme tune jumps, as if
it has hit a scratch: the cinema audience should be worried there's a sound
fault.
BEAN comes to a street full of sleeping policemen ~ he goes at them at quite a
lick - and every time he shoots over one of the bumps, the theme tune jumps
violently.
BEAN looks a little annoyed into the back seat - we now see the cause of the
problem. Instead of having a car radio, BEAN has an old record player
strapped into the back seat, playing the theme tune.
On he drives, through empty streets - then JOLT - he's reached the glorious
familiarity of Central London, Big Ben and all - but heels now in dreadful
traffic.
Heels not happy. He looks to the left and sees a very thin alleyway. He
takes out a metal comb from his pocket and, using it like a bomber's sight-
line-checker, measures the front of his car and the width of the alley. He 'S
<b>
</b>satisfied - does a 90-degree turn - and shoots down the alley. It is such a
perfect fit that sparks fly from the door handles as they graze the walls.
But at the end of the alley, the traffic's just as bad. BEAN notices he's
outside Harrods. There's a tail-coated Security Guard at the 'front door.
BEAN watches him stroll a bit down the street - and takes his chance. He
turns and drives straight through the double doors, into
|
heels
|
How many times does the word 'heels' appear in the text?
| 1
|
>
<b> GORDON (V.O)
</b> Harvey Dent was needed. He was
everything Gotham has been crying
out for. He was...a hero. Not the
hero we deserved - the hero we
needed. Nothing less than a knight,
shining...
The sound of cracking. Splintering. A shape appears, in ice.
The shape of a BAT. The ice disintegrates...
<b> EXT. GOTHAM STREET - DAY
</b>
Gordon stands before a massive picture of Harvey Dent.
<b> GORDON
</b> But I knew Harvey Dent. I was...his
friend. And it will be a very long
time before someone inspires us the
way he did.
Gordon, choked with emotion, gathers the papers of his
eulogy.
I believed in Harvey Dent.
And we FADE TO BLACK.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Racing along a cratered dirt road, and we are -
<b> INT. LAND CRUISER JOSTLING OVER UNEVEN TERRAIN - DAY
</b>
Three Hooded Men guarded by East European Militia. A third
Militia drives. Next to him is a nervous, bespectacled man.
<b> EXT. AIRSTRIP, EASTERN EUROPE - DAY
</b>
An airstrip overlooking a grey city rocked by artillery
fire. A bland CIA Operative, flanked by Special Forces Men,
stands in front of a commuter plane. CIA Man watches the
Land Cruiser pull up, hard. The Militia Men jump out of the
vehicle.
The Driver shoves the bespectacled man in front of the CIA
Man.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b>
|
dent
|
How many times does the word 'dent' appear in the text?
| 3
|
," exclaimed Short, "we ought to be hearing from him pretty soon!"
Hollis laughed nervously. "He's been gone only ten minutes," he
announced.
"Seems like an hour," snapped Short. "What's that? Did you hear that?
He's firing! It's the machine-gun! Oh, Lord; and here we are as
helpless as a lot of old ladies ten thousand miles away! We can't do a
thing. We don't know what's happening. Why didn't he let one of us go
with him?"
Yes, it was the machine-gun. We would hear it distinctly for at least
a minute. Then came silence. That was two weeks ago. We have had no
sign nor signal from Tom Billings since.
Chapter 2
I'll never forget my first impressions of Caspak as I circled in, high
over the surrounding cliffs. From the plane I looked down through a
mist upon the blurred landscape beneath me. The hot, humid atmosphere
of Caspak condenses as it is fanned by the cold Antarctic air-currents
which sweep across the crater's top, sending a tenuous ribbon of vapor
far out across the Pacific. Through this the picture gave one the
suggestion of a colossal impressionistic canvas in greens and browns
and scarlets and yellows surrounding the deep blue of the inland
sea--just blobs of color taking form through the tumbling mist.
I dived close to the cliffs and skirted them for several miles without
finding the least indication of a suitable landing-place; and then I
swung back at a lower level, looking for a clearing close to the bottom
of the mighty escarpment; but I could find none of sufficient area to
insure safety. I was flying pretty low by this time, not only looking
for landing places but watching the myriad life beneath me. I was down
pretty well toward the south end of the island, where an arm of the
lake reaches far inland, and I could see the surface of the water
literally black with creatures of some sort. I was too far up to
recognize individuals, but the general impression was of a vast army of
amphibious monsters. The land was almost equally alive with crawling,
leaping, running, flying things. It was one of the latter which nearly
did for me while my attention was fixed upon the weird scene below.
The first intimation I had of it was the sudden blotting out of the
sunlight from above, and as I glanced quickly up, I saw a most terrific
creature swooping down upon me. It must have been fully eighty feet
long from the end of its long, hideous beak to the tip of its thick,
short tail, with an equal spread of wings. It was coming straight for
me and hissing frightfully--I could hear it above the whir of the
propeller. It was coming straight down toward the muzzle of the
machine-gun and I let it have it right in the breast; but still it came
for me, so that I had to dive and turn, though I was dangerously close
to earth.
The thing didn't miss me by a dozen feet, and when I rose, it wheeled
and followed me, but only to the cooler air close to the level of the
cliff-tops; there it turned again and dropped. Something--man's
natural love of battle and the chase, I presume--impelled me to pursue
it, and so I too circled and dived. The moment I came down into the
warm atmosphere of Caspak, the creature came for me again, rising above
me so that it might swoop down upon me. Nothing could better have
suited my armament, since my machine-gun was pointed upward at an angle
of about 45 degrees and could not be either depressed or elevated by the
pilot. If I had brought someone along with me, we could have raked the
great reptile from almost any position, but as the creature's mode of
attack was always from above, he always found me ready with a hail of
bullets. The battle must have lasted a minute or more before the thing
suddenly turned completely over in the air and fell to the ground.
Bowen and I roomed together at college, and I learned a lot from him
outside my regular course. He was a pretty good
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 5
|
to
Rome for presentation to his patron, Giuliano de' Medici, who had in
the meanwhile become pope under the title of Clement VII. It is somewhat
remarkable that, as, in 1513, Machiavelli had written "The Prince" for
the instruction of the Medici after they had just regained power in
Florence, so, in 1525, he dedicated the "History of Florence" to the
head of the family when its ruin was now at hand. In that year the
battle of Pavia destroyed the French rule in Italy, and left Francis I
a prisoner in the hands of his great rival, Charles V. This was followed
by the sack of Rome, upon the news of which the popular party at
Florence threw off the yoke of the Medici, who were once more banished.
Machiavelli was absent from Florence at this time, but hastened his
return, hoping to secure his former office of secretary to the "Ten of
Liberty and Peace." Unhappily he was taken ill soon after he reached
Florence, where he died on 22nd June 1527.
THE MAN AND HIS WORKS
No one can say where the bones of Machiavelli rest, but modern Florence
has decreed him a stately cenotaph in Santa Croce, by the side of her
most famous sons; recognizing that, whatever other nations may have
found in his works, Italy found in them the idea of her unity and the
germs of her renaissance among the nations of Europe. Whilst it is idle
to protest against the world-wide and evil signification of his name,
it may be pointed out that the harsh construction of his doctrine which
this sinister reputation implies was unknown to his own day, and that
the researches of recent times have enabled us to interpret him more
reasonably. It is due to these inquiries that the shape of an "unholy
necromancer," which so long haunted men's vision, has begun to fade.
Machiavelli was undoubtedly a man of great observation, acuteness, and
industry; noting with appreciative eye whatever passed before him, and
with his supreme literary gift turning it to account in his enforced
retirement from affairs. He does not present himself, nor is he
depicted by his contemporaries, as a type of that rare combination,
the successful statesman and author, for he appears to have been
only moderately prosperous in his several embassies and political
employments. He was misled by Catherina Sforza, ignored by Louis XII,
overawed by Cesare Borgia; several of his embassies were quite barren of
results; his attempts to fortify Florence failed, and the soldiery that
he raised astonished everybody by their cowardice. In the conduct of his
own affairs he was timid and time-serving; he dared not appear by the
side of Soderini, to whom he owed so much, for fear of compromising
himself; his connection with the Medici was open to suspicion, and
Giuliano appears to have recognized his real forte when he set him to
write the "History of Florence," rather than employ him in the state.
And it is on the literary side of his character, and there alone, that
we find no weakness and no failure.
Although the light of almost four centuries has been focused on "The
Prince," its problems are still debatable and interesting, because they
are the eternal problems between the ruled and their rulers. Such as
they are, its ethics are those of Machiavelli's contemporaries; yet they
cannot be said to be out of date so long as the governments of Europe
rely on material rather than on moral forces. Its historical incidents
and personages become interesting by reason of the uses which
Machiavelli makes of them to illustrate his theories of government and
conduct.
Leaving out of consideration those maxims of state which still furnish
some European and eastern statesmen with principles of action, "The
Prince" is bestrewn with truths that can be proved at every turn. Men
are still the dupes of their simplicity and greed, as they were in the
days of Alexander VI. The cloak of religion still conceals the vices
which Machiavelli laid bare in the character of Ferdinand of Aragon.
Men will not look at things as they really are, but as they wish them
to be--and are ruined. In politics there are no perfectly safe courses;
prudence consists in choosing the least dangerous ones. Then--to pass
|
raised
|
How many times does the word 'raised' appear in the text?
| 0
|
January 21, 1997
1202 West Washington Blvd.
Culver City, CA 90232
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE -- BLACK
</b>
<b> INTERCUT -- QUICK FLASH-FORWARDS
</b>
INSIDE A STEAMY SHOWER -- A wet naked woman and man wrapped
around each other in ecstasy -- legs, arms, hair, mouths.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
Moonlight reflects on a vehicle's shiny surface. FISTS THUD into
flesh. O.S. -- a man slams of the hood, rebounds away.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
LOVERS -- caught in FREEZE-FRAMES of green neon -- off, on, off,
on -- like a strobe's instant-images -- of gasping, tough sex.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
ON A GLEAMING POOL DECK of black-and-white tile -- two women in
soaked, clinging clothes -- fight -- hands squeeze a throat.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
A SCREAM -- a sickening hollow THWACK -- an arc of blood, two
teeth fall on dark stone.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
GUNSHOTS -- Blood sprays across the glass of a picture frame --
obscures the photo inside.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
THE SURFACE OF A SPARKLING SEA -- a distant emerald island. A
40-foot sloop APPEARS -- shapes on deck -- we are about to SEE --
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
SHARKS -- underwater -- rip something into a bloody cloud.
<b> END MAIN TITLES.
</b>
<b> FADE TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BLUE BAY SCHOOL - DAY
</b>
A place of money and privilege. White coral buildings surround
an open yard. Tile roofs rise among banyan trees and banana
palms, shimmering before a blue blaze of sky.
Beyond the yard is the school's playing field and beyond that the
waters of Biscayne Bay, dappled in sunlight where the sloops of
the school's sailing class bob at their moorings.
For a moment all is quiet. Then, faintly, the HUM of many
VOICES, rising and falling, LAUGHTER.
The CAMERA PANS to the open windows of a building somewhat larger
than the others. The SOUNDS grow louder.
<b> INT. BLUE BAY AUDITORIUM - DAY
</b>
A hundred high school kids sit before a raised, hardwood stage.
The students are not unlike the campus, radiant, well-tended -- a
veritable sea of adolescent sexuality -- bronze boys who seem to
have just come from the boats or tennis courts -- girls in tight
shorts riding high up shapely thighs, as...
SAM LOMBARDO strolls out onto the stage. The man is thirtyish,
drop-dead handsome. Dressed not that differently from the kids,
in an Izod polo shirt, khakis and boat shoes.
His entrance has an effect upon the audience, particularly upon
the girls.
|
titles
|
How many times does the word 'titles' appear in the text?
| 7
|
A romantic turn-off used exclusively for parking. A river gushes by.
Crickets chirp. The trees blow in the autumn wind. A single car sits on
the lonely road. The muffled sound of a young couple making out drifts
through the streamed up windows.
<b>INT. CAR
</b>
A teenage boy's hand is under a teenage girl's shirt, gently massaging her
breast. He pulls his hand out from under her shirt and places it on her
bare knee.
As he starts to slide his hand up her leg, she grabs his hand and gently
pulls it away. She places it back on her breast, sliding it under her
shirt.
We pull back. STACY and ROD, two healthy sixteen year olds, are
passionately making out in the proverbial back seat of a big American car.
Rod smiles seductively, kisses Stacy, and places his hand back on her
knee. Once again, she stops him, this time just squeezing his hand
tightly.
<b> STACY
</b> No.
He doesn't give up easy. He playfully wrestles his hand free and slides it
under her skirt. She grabs his hand again.
<b> STACY
</b> I said no.
<b> ROD
</b> But you don't really
mean it.
He struggles to free his hand.
<b> STACY
</b> Yes I do. Keep it in your
pants Rod.
He gives up, aggravated.
<b> ROD
</b> Maybe it won't stay in.
<b>
</b><b> STACY
</b> Maybe you better just
drive me home.
He starts the car, glares at her for a second, then turns it off.
<b> ROD
</b> Let me just ask you a serious
question first.
<b> STACY
</b> What?
<b> ROD
</b> Aren't you worried you
could die a virgin?
<b> STACY
</b> (sarcastically)
Yeah. I'm extremely worried
about that. It's right up
there with global warming.
<b>
|
worried
|
How many times does the word 'worried' appear in the text?
| 1
|
1
</b>
The humming stillness of an American suburb on a summer's
day: nannies push strollers, joggers jog, mailmen deliver,
dogs are walked, kids shoot hoop in wide open driveways.
On a quiet, tree-lined street we pick up two young athletic-
looking boys riding bikes. LASER ALLGOOD (15) and his
friend, CLAY (15).
Like bats out of hell they pass block after block of
charming, evenly spaced houses until they round a corner and
drop their bikes in front of a large ranch house.
<b> INT. CLAY'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER
</b><b>2 2
</b> They walk inside. We HEAR a baseball game on TV in another
room.
<b> INT. CLAY'S, BATHROOM - LATER
</b><b>3 3
</b>
Clay pounds on blue pills with a hammer, reducing them to
powder. Laser watches.
<b> LASER
</b> I don't know, dude.
Clay cuts the powder into lines with a school ID card.
<b> CLAY
</b> B minus in geometry, yo! This
shits the bomb!
Clay rolls up a dollar bill and takes a snort. Then hands
the rolled up bill to Laser.
<b> CLAY (CONT'D)
</b> Add it up, son.
Laser takes the bill, bends over and snorts a line.
<b> INT. ALLGOOD HOUSE - GIRL'S BEDROOM - DAY
</b><b>4 4
</b> Part Oxford reading room, part teenage girl's lair. Leaning
against the bed we see JONI ALLGOOD (18). It's her room.
She pours over a game of Scrabble.
Sitting next to Joni is her best girl friend, SASHA, (18).
Sasha's checking out Joni's FACEBOOK PAGE.
<b> 2.
</b>
Joni's best guy friend, JAI (18) sits across from her,
calculating his next Scrabble move.
<b> SASHA
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 0
|
at my expense."
"A good bit of generalship, that, Frank," an old military man broke in.
"Esterton opened the breach and you at once galloped in. That 's the
highest art of war."
Claire was looking at her companion. Had he meant the approval of the
women, or was it one woman that he cared for? Had the speech had a
hidden meaning for her? She could never tell. She could not understand
this man who had been so much to her for so long, and yet did not seem
to know it; who was full of romance and fire and passion, and yet looked
at her beauty with the eyes of a mere comrade. She sighed as she rose
with the rest of the women to leave the table.
The men lingered over their cigars. The wine was old and the stories
new. What more could they ask? There was a strong glow in Francis
Oakley's face, and his laugh was frequent and ringing. Some discussion
came up which sent him running up to his room for a bit of evidence.
When he came down it was not to come directly to the dining-room. He
paused in the hall and despatched a servant to bring his brother to him.
Maurice found him standing weakly against the railing of the stairs.
Something in his air impressed his brother strangely.
"What is it, Francis?" he questioned, hurrying to him.
"I have just discovered a considerable loss," was the reply in a grieved
voice.
"If it is no worse than loss, I am glad; but what is it?"
"Every cent of money that I had to secure my letter of credit is gone
from my bureau."
"What? When did it disappear?"
"I went to my bureau to-night for something and found the money gone;
then I remembered that when I opened it two days ago I must have left
the key in the lock, as I found it to-night."
"It 's a bad business, but don't let 's talk of it now. Come, let 's go
back to our guests. Don't look so cut up about it, Frank, old man. It is
n't as bad as it might be, and you must n't show a gloomy face
to-night."
The younger man pulled himself together, and re-entered the room with
his brother. In a few minutes his gaiety had apparently returned.
When they rejoined the ladies, even their quick eyes could detect in his
demeanour no trace of the annoying thing that had occurred. His face did
not change until, with a wealth of fervent congratulations, he had bade
the last guest good-bye.
Then he turned to his brother. "When Leslie is in bed, come into the
library. I will wait for you there," he said, and walked sadly away.
"Poor, foolish Frank," mused his brother, "as if the loss could matter
to him."
III
THE THEFT
Frank was very pale when his brother finally came to him at the
appointed place. He sat limply in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the
floor.
"Come, brace up now, Frank, and tell me about it."
At the sound of his brother's voice he started and looked up as though
he had been dreaming.
"I don't know what you 'll think of me, Maurice," he said; "I have never
before been guilty of such criminal carelessness."
"Don't stop to accuse yourself. Our only hope in this matter lies in
prompt action. Where was the money?"
"In the oak cabinet and lying in the bureau drawer. Such a thing as a
theft seemed so foreign to this place that I was never very particular
about the box. But I did not know until I went to it to-night that the
last time I had opened it I had forgotten to take the key out. It all
flashed over me in a second when I saw it shining there. Even then I did
n't suspect anything. You don't know how I felt to open that cabinet and
find all my money gone. It 's awful."
"Don't worry. How much was there in all?"
"Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars, most of which, I am ashamed to
say, I had accepted from you."
"You have no right to
|
know
|
How many times does the word 'know' appear in the text?
| 3
|
same people at all those places: book fans who do lots of everything that has to do with books. I buy weird, fugly pirate editions of my favorite books in China because they're weird and fugly and look great next to the eight or nine other editions that I paid full-freight for of the same books. I check books out of the library, google them when I need a quote, carry dozens around on my phone and hundreds on my laptop, and have (at this writing) more than 10,000 of them in storage lockers in London, Los Angeles and Toronto.
If I could loan out my physical books without giving up possession of them, I *would*. The fact that I can do so with digital files is not a bug, it's a feature, and a damned fine one. It's embarrassing to see all these writers and musicians and artists bemoaning the fact that art just got this wicked new feature: the ability to be shared without losing access to it in the first place. It's like watching restaurant owners crying down their shirts about the new free lunch machine that's feeding the world's starving people because it'll force them to reconsider their business-models. Yes, that's gonna be tricky, but let's not lose sight of the main attraction: free lunches!
Universal access to human knowledge is in our grasp, for the first time in the history of the world. This is not a bad thing.
In case that's not enough for you, here's my pitch on why giving away ebooks makes sense at this time and place:
Giving away ebooks gives me artistic, moral and commercial satisfaction. The commercial question is the one that comes up most often: how can you give away free ebooks and still make money?
For me -- for pretty much every writer -- the big problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity (thanks to Tim O'Reilly for this great aphorism). Of all the people who failed to buy this book today, the majority did so because they never heard of it, not because someone gave them a free copy. Mega-hit best-sellers in science fiction sell half a million copies -- in a world where 175,000 attend the San Diego Comic Con alone, you've got to figure that most of the people who "like science fiction" (and related geeky stuff like comics, games, Linux, and so on) just don't really buy books. I'm more interested in getting more of that wider audience into the tent than making sure that everyone who's in the tent bought a ticket to be there.
Ebooks are verbs, not nouns. You copy them, it's in their nature. And many of those copies have a destination, a person they're intended for, a hand-wrought transfer from one person to another, embodying a personal recommendation between two people who trust each other enough to share bits. That's the kind of thing that authors (should) dream of, the proverbial sealing of the deal. By making my books available for free pass-along, I make it easy for people who love them to help other people love them.
What's more, I don't see ebooks as substitute for paper books for most people. It's not that the screens aren't good enough, either: if you're anything like me, you already spend every hour you can get in front of the screen, reading text. But the more computer-literate you are, the less likely you are to be reading long-form works on those screens -- that's because computer-literate people do more things with their computers. We run IM and email and we use the browser in a million diverse ways. We have games running in the background, and endless opportunities to tinker with our music libraries. The more you do with your computer, the more likely it is that you'll be interrupted after five to seven minutes to do something else. That makes the computer extremely poorly suited to reading long-form works off of, unless you have the iron self-discipline of a monk.
The good news (for writers) is that this means that ebooks on computers are more likely to be an enticement to buy the printed book (which is, after all, cheap, easily had, and easy to use) than a substitute for it. You can probably read just enough of the book off the screen to realize you want to be reading it on paper.
So ebooks sell print books. Every writer I've heard of who's tried giving away ebooks to promote paper books has come back to do it again. That's the commercial case for doing free ebooks.
Now, onto the artistic case. It's the twenty
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 6
|
PENTER.
The horse is frothing and wild-eyed, like the bride, who turns
to look behind her in terror. The horse's labored breathing
mingles with Maggie's panicked gasps.
We see a WEDDING BOUQUET fly into a ditch as the horse thunders
on. Maggie clings to the reins. She looks as though she is
running from the devil himself.
<b> FADE TO BLACK
</b>
<b> EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY
</b>
Establishing.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. IKE'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY - ESTABLISHING SHOT
</b>
<b> EXT. NEW YORK STREET - DAY
</b>
<b> IKE (V.O.)
</b> Hey, Fisher, pick up. I have some
column ideas I want to bounce off you.
Not there? Okay. Listen I'm thinking
of writing about those mind-numbing
informercials that are always on.
Ike walks out of his apartment building talking on cell phone.
IKE (cont'd)
What do you think? Good idea, right?
Boring, down to death, pointless -- It
sucks.
Ike yells at a CONSTRUCTION WORKER.
IKE (cont'd)
If you guys are here any longer,
they're gonna make you sign a lease.
<b> CONSTRUCTION WORKER
</b> Your column should be so funny.
Ike turns and walks down the street, talking into cell phone.
<b> IKE
</b> Okay, I was also thinking I might write
about...
He spots a RICH LADY with tons of diamonds getting out of a
Limousine, talking to a CHAUFFEUR. He goes up to her.
IKE (cont'd)
Excuse me. I was thinking of doing an
article on limousines. What would you
say to people who never had a chance to
drive in a limo?
They walk up to her DOORMAN.
<b> LADY
</b> I'm sorry, I don't know any people like
that.
Ike walks off. They stare at him as he goes.
<b> EXT. ANOTHER NEW YORK STREET - DAY
</b>
Ike's talking on the phone to his friend's machine again.
<b> IKE
</b> (into phone)
Fisher? Come on -- I know you're
sitting there laughing at me. Pick up.
I want to run an idea past you.
Ike continues walking now in the full panic of writer's block.
He pleads into his friend's answering machine as he walks.
IKE (cont'd)
(into phone)
I just could use someone to toss it
back and forth with for a few minutes,
get the juice flowing, help me. I have
an hour and twenty-seven minutes and
fifty-two seconds. Hello?
He walks away from the t-shirt table towards the bar. The
Vendor calls out to him.
<b> T-SHIRT VENDOR
</b> Hey, Ike, when are you going to put me
|
terror
|
How many times does the word 'terror' appear in the text?
| 0
|
December 4, 1986
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>INT. MIKE'S HOUSE - QUEENS - EARLY EVENING
</b>
Winter. A celebration. Close friends, cop friends,
family all here to celebrate patrolman MIKE KEEGAN'S
promotion to detective, NYPD.
The party spills through the house -- front room, dining
room, kitchen, with a small fenced backyard visible beyond
that. A community of cops on their off-hours, their
wives, kids. A mix of generations, all the way from
MIKE'S kid, TOMMY, and his FRIENDS, playing among the
adults, to an elderly woman observing quietly from her
chair at the side. The mood's warm, spirited; there's a
lot of friendship here.
ANGLE: MIKE, in the dining room, posing for a photo with
his ten-year-old son, TOMMY, proudly displaying his new
gold detective's SHIELD pinned to his jersey.
<b> MIKE
</b> (calling to his
wife, for a family
portrait)
Ellie! C'mon! Over here!
ANGLE: ELLIE, MIKE'S wife of fifteen years, a local
product, bright and lively, and clearly proud as hell of
her man. She frees herself from the crush of friends,
hurrying to join him.
ANGLE: MIKE, ELLIE giving him a full-mouthed smack on the
lips as he hooks her into his arms.
The picture's snapped, to a chorus of hoots and hollers.
Behind, a banner and poster blowup of Mike in gun and
uniform read: "FINALLY THEY'VE RECOGNIZED YOU, DETECTIVE
<b>KEEGAN."
</b>
SCOTTY, a patrolman with the 117th and one of MIKE'S best
pals, puts his hand vigorously, in congratulations, on
<b>MIKE'S SHOULDER.
</b>
<b> SCOTTY
</b> (to Mike)
No joke? You're being transferred
to the 19th as your first
assignment? Who the hell loves your
ass downtown?
<b> ROOKIE
</b> (naively)
What's the 21st?
BROOKLYN, a cop about Mike's age, joins in.
<b> SCOTTY
</b> What d'you care? You'll never know.
<b> BROOKLYN
</b> Manhattan. The Upper East Side,
East 59th to 96th.
The ROOKIE stares, impressed.
<b> SC
|
mike
|
How many times does the word 'mike' appear in the text?
| 11
|
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
|
believe
|
How many times does the word 'believe' appear in the text?
| 2
|
. That isn't quite the way to put it. [After some reflection]
I think it is even worse than that. But let us talk of something
else!--What was I saying?--Yes, you came here, and you enabled me to
see my art in its true light. Of course, for some time I had noticed my
growing lack of interest in painting, as it didn't seem to offer me the
proper medium for the expression of what I wanted to bring out. But when
you explained all this to me, and made it clear why painting must fail
as a timely outlet for the creative instinct, then I saw the light at
last--and I realised that hereafter it would not be possible for me to
express myself by means of colour only.
GUSTAV. Are you quite sure now that you cannot go on painting--that you
may not have a relapse?
ADOLPH. Perfectly sure! For I have tested myself. When I went to bed
that night after our talk, I rehearsed your argument point by point, and
I knew you had it right. But when I woke up from a good night's sleep
and my head was clear again, then it came over me in a flash that you
might be mistaken after all. And I jumped out of bed and got hold of
my brushes and paints--but it was no use! Every trace of illusion was
gone--it was nothing but smears of paint, and I quaked at the thought of
having believed, and having made others believe, that a painted canvas
could be anything but a painted canvas. The veil had fallen from my
eyes, and it was just as impossible for me to paint any more as it was
to become a child again.
GUSTAV. And then you saw that the realistic tendency of our day, its
craving for actuality and tangibility, could only find its proper form
in sculpture, which gives you body, extension in all three dimensions--
ADOLPH. [Vaguely] The three dimensions--oh yes, body, in a word!
GUSTAV. And then you became a sculptor yourself. Or rather, you have
been one all your life, but you had gone astray, and nothing was needed
but a guide to put you on the right road--Tell me, do you experience
supreme joy now when you are at work?
ADOLPH. Now I am living!
GUSTAV. May I see what you are doing?
ADOLPH. A female figure.
GUSTAV. Without a model? And so lifelike at that!
ADOLPH. [Apathetically] Yes, but it resembles somebody. It is remarkable
that this woman seems to have become a part of my body as I of hers.
GUSTAV. Well, that's not so very remarkable. Do you know what
transfusion is?
ADOLPH. Of blood? Yes.
GUSTAV. And you seem to have bled yourself a little too much. When
I look at the figure here I comprehend several things which I merely
guessed before. You have loved her tremendously!
ADOLPH. Yes, to such an extent that I couldn't tell whether she was I or
I she. When she is smiling, I smile also. When she is weeping, I weep.
And when she--can you imagine anything like it?--when she was giving
life to our child--I felt the birth pangs within myself.
GUSTAV. Do you know, my dear friend--I hate to speak of it, but you are
already showing the first symptoms of epilepsy.
ADOLPH. [Agitated] I! How can you tell?
GUSTAV. Because I have watched the symptoms in a younger brother of mine
who had been worshipping Venus a little too excessively.
ADOLPH. How--how did it show itself--that thing you spoke of?
[During the following passage GUSTAV speaks with great animation, and
ADOLPH listens so intently that, unconsciously, he imitates many of
GUSTAV'S gestures.]
GUSTAV. It was dreadful to witness, and if you don't feel strong enough
I won't inflict a description of it on you.
ADOLPH. [Nervously] Yes, go right on--just go on!
GUSTAV. Well, the boy happened to marry an innocent little creature with
curls,
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 6
|
_Pha_. Kissing your white hand (Mistress) I take leave,
To thank your Royal Father: and thus far,
To be my own free Trumpet. Understand
Great King, and these your subjects, mine that must be,
(For so deserving you have spoke me Sir,
And so deserving I dare speak my self)
To what a person, of what eminence,
Ripe expectation of what faculties,
Manners and vertues you would wed your Kingdoms?
You in me have your wishes. Oh this Country,
By more than all my hopes I hold it
Happy, in their dear memories that have been
Kings great and good, happy in yours, that is,
And from you (as a Chronicle to keep
Your Noble name from eating age) do I
Opine myself most happy. Gentlemen,
Believe me in a word, a Princes word,
There shall be nothing to make up a Kingdom
Mighty, and flourishing, defenced, fear'd,
Equall to be commanded and obey'd,
But through the travels of my life I'le find it,
And tye it to this Country. And I vow
My reign shall be so easie to the subject,
That every man shall be his Prince himself,
And his own law (yet I his Prince and law.)
And dearest Lady, to your dearest self
(Dear, in the choice of him, whose name and lustre
Must make you more and mightier) let me say,
You are the blessed'st living; for sweet Princess,
You shall enjoy a man of men, to be
Your servant; you shall make him yours, for whom
Great Queens must die.
_Thra_. Miraculous.
_Cle_. This speech calls him _Spaniard_, being nothing but
A large inventory of his own commendations.
[_Enter_ Philaster.
_Di_. I wonder what's his price? For certainly he'll tell
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 0
|
EXT. LIMBO - DAY/NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A heavy mist hangs before us - endless and impenetrable. And
out of that primordial fog a CROW materializes, flying toward
the camera in slow motion.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SARAH (O.S.)
</b><b>
</b> I believe there's a place where the restless souls wander. Burdened
by the weight of their own sadness, they cannot enter Heaven...
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Presently a second shape materializes - a FIGURE ON HORSEBACK.
A warrior whose baleful eyes shine behind the familiar irony
mask war paint.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SARAH (O.S.)
</b><b>
</b> And so they wait, trapped between our world and the next, endlessly
searching for a way to rid themselves of their pain - in the
hopes that somehow, some day...
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> The figure on horseback sweeps past us, disappearing once again
into the mists of time.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SARAH (V.O.)
</b><b>
</b> ... they will be reunited with the ones they love.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. DOCS, COMMERCIAL WATERFRONT - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Present day. The Crow settles on a shipping container, tilts
its head, watching...
<b>
</b><b> SUPER TITLE:
</b><b>
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 3
|
MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> Courage to change the things I
can...
<b> MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Come on, you've been a good boy for
a long time, you deserve a little
fun.
Our view moves back up to the Woman's breasts.
<b> DISSOLVE THROUGH
</b><b> THIS TO:
</b>
EARL BROOKS' reflection in a mirror. Earl, in his 40's, has
on a tuxedo. He's in front of a sink in a Public Bathroom and
he's whispering to his image.
<b> MR. BROOKS
</b> ... and Wisdom to know the
difference.
Picking up speed against the hunger in his head:
<b> MR. BROOKS (CONT'D)
</b> Living one day at a time, Enjoying
one moment at a time, Accepting
hardship as a pathway to peace...
From far away comes the sound of applause.
<b>INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT
</b>
MEN in tuxedos and WOMEN in gowns.
Mr. Brooks is seated at one of the front tables with his
wife, EMMA, also 40's.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
The audience's hands are coming together for what a MAN at
the microphone has just said.
Mr. Brooks is smiling but not clapping; and although his lips
don't move we can hear:
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> (even faster now)
... Taking, as He did, this sinful
world as it is, not as I would have
it. Trusting that He will make all
things right if I surrender to His
will. That I may be reasonably
|
front
|
How many times does the word 'front' appear in the text?
| 1
|
.
He was a strange, inconsequent mixture of courage and timidity. You and
I are consistent in character; we are either one thing or the other but
Denry Machin had no consistency.
For three days he hesitated, and then, secretly trembling, he slipped
into Shillitoe's, the young tailor who had recently set up, and who was
gathering together the _jeunesse dorée_ of the town.
"I want a dress-suit," he said.
Shillitoe, who knew that Denry only earned eighteen shillings a week,
replied with only superficial politeness that a dress-suit was out of
the question; he had already taken more orders than he could execute
without killing himself. The whole town had uprisen as one man and
demanded a dress-suit.
"So you're going to the ball, are you?" said Shillitoe, trying to
condescend, but, in fact, slightly impressed.
"Yes," said Denry; "are you?"
Shillitoe started and then shook his head. "No time for balls," said he.
"I can get you an invitation, if you like," said Denry, glancing at the
door precisely as he had glanced at the door before adding 2 to 7.
"Oh!" Shillitoe cocked his ears. He was not a native of the town, and
had no alderman to protect his legitimate interests.
To cut a shameful story short, in a week Denry was being tried on.
Shillitoe allowed him two years' credit.
The prospect of the ball gave an immense impetus to the study of the art
of dancing in Bursley, and so put quite a nice sum of money info the
pocket of Miss Earp, a young mistress in that art. She was the daughter
of a furniture dealer with a passion for the Bankruptcy Court. Miss
Earp's evening classes were attended by Denry, but none of his money
went into her pocket. She was compensated by an expression of the
Countess's desire for the pleasure of her company at the ball.
The Countess had aroused Denry's interest in women as a sex; Ruth Earp
quickened the interest. She was plain, but she was only twenty-four, and
very graceful on her feet. Denry had one or two strictly private lessons
from her in reversing. She said to him one evening, when he was
practising reversing and they were entwined in the attitude prescribed
by the latest fashion: "Never mind me! Think about yourself. It's the
same in dancing as it is in life--the woman's duty is to adapt herself
to the man." He did think about himself. He was thinking about himself
in the middle of the night, and about her too. There had been something
in her tone... her eye... At the final lesson he inquired if she would
give him the first waltz at the ball. She paused, then said yes.
V
On the evening of the ball, Denry spent at least two hours in the
operation which was necessary before he could give the Countess the
pleasure of his company. This operation took place in his minute bedroom
at the back of the cottage in Brougham Street, and it was of a complex
nature. Three weeks ago he had innocently thought that you had only to
order a dress-suit and there you were! He now knew that a dress-suit is
merely the beginning of anxiety. Shirt! Collar! Tie! Studs! Cuff-links!
Gloves! Handkerchief! (He was very glad to learn authoritatively from
Shillitoe that handkerchiefs were no longer worn in the waistcoat
opening, and that men who so wore them were barbarians and the truth was
not in them. Thus, an everyday handkerchief would do.) Boots!... Boots
were the rock on which he had struck. Shillitoe, in addition to being a
tailor was a hosier, but by some flaw in the scheme of the universe
hosiers do not sell boots. Except boots, Denry could get all he needed
on credit; boots he could not get on credit, and he could not pay cash
for them. Eventually he decided that his church boots must be dazzled up
to the level of this great secular occasion. The pity was that he
forgot--not
|
being
|
How many times does the word 'being' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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>
|
raya
|
How many times does the word 'raya' appear in the text?
| 7
|
and to curtsey again; and so
was I very natural all in doubt; but yet sufficient in wonder (having
some knowledge of the Lady Mirdath) to follow the wenches, the which I
did.
And they then, very speedy and sedate, as though I were some rack-rape
that they did well to be feared of alone at night; and so came at last
to the village green, where a great dance was a-foot, with torches, and
a wandering fiddler to set the tune; and ale in plenty.
And the two to join the dance, and danced very hearty; but had only each
the other for a partner, and had a good care to avoid the torches. And
by this, I was pretty sure that they were truly the Lady Mirdath and her
maid; and so I took chance when they had danced somewhat my way, to step
over to them, and ask boldly for a dance. But, indeed, the tall one
answered, simpering, that she was promised; and immediately gave her
hand to a great hulking farmer-lout, and went round the green with him;
and well punished she was for her waywardness; for she had all her skill
to save her pretty feet from his loutish stampings; and very glad she
was to meet the end of the dance.
And I knew now for certainty that it was Mirdath the Beautiful, despite
her plan of disguise, and the darkness and the wench's dress and the
foot-gear that marred her step so great. And I walked across to her, and
named her, whispering, by name; and gave her plain word to be done of
this unwisdom, and I would take her home. But she to turn from me, and
she stamped her foot, and went again to the lout; and when she had
suffered another dance with him, she bid him be her escort a part of the
way; the which he was nothing loath of.
And another lad, that was mate to him, went likewise; and in a moment,
so soon as they were gone away from the light of the torches, the rough
hind-lads made to set their arms about the waists of the two wenches,
not wetting who they had for companions. And the Lady Mirdath was no
longer able to endure, and cried out in her sudden fear and disgust, and
struck the rough hind that embraced her, so hard that he loosed her a
moment, swearing great oaths. And directly he came back to her again,
and had her in a moment, to kiss her; and she, loathing him to the very
death, beat him madly in the face with her hands; but to no end, only
that I was close upon them. And, in that moment, she screamed my name
aloud; and I caught the poor lout and hit him once, but not to harm him
overmuch; yet to give him a long memory of me; and afterward I threw him
into the side of the road. But the second hind, having heard my name,
loosed from the tiring-maid, and ran for his life; and, indeed, my
strength was known all about that part.
And I caught Mirdath the Beautiful by her shoulders, and shook her very
soundly, in my anger. And afterward, I sent the maid onward; and she,
having no word from her Mistress to stay, went forward a little; and in
this fashion we came at last to the hedge-gap, with the Lady Mirdath
very hushed; but yet walking anigh to me, as that she had some secret
pleasure of my nearness. And I led her through the gap, and so homeward
to the Hall; and there bid her good-night at a side door that she held
the key of. And, truly, she bid me good-night in an utter quiet voice;
and was almost as that she had no haste to be gone from me that night.
Yet, when I met her on the morrow, she was full of a constant impudence
to me; so that, having her alone to myself, when the dusk was come, I
asked her why she would never be done of her waywardness; because that I
ached to have companionship of her; and, instead, she denied my need.
And, at that, she was at once very gentle; and full of
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 4
|
had ever seen
upon Mars, and yet, at a distance, most manlike in appearance. The
larger specimens appeared to be about ten or twelve feet in height when
they stood erect, and to be proportioned as to torso and lower
extremities precisely as is earthly man.
Their arms, however, were very short, and from where I stood seemed as
though fashioned much after the manner of an elephant's trunk, in that
they moved in sinuous and snakelike undulations, as though entirely
without bony structure, or if there were bones it seemed that they must
be vertebral in nature.
As I watched them from behind the stem of a huge tree, one of the
creatures moved slowly in my direction, engaged in the occupation that
seemed to be the principal business of each of them, and which
consisted in running their oddly shaped hands over the surface of the
sward, for what purpose I could not determine.
As he approached quite close to me I obtained an excellent view of him,
and though I was later to become better acquainted with his kind, I may
say that that single cursory examination of this awful travesty on
Nature would have proved quite sufficient to my desires had I been a
free agent. The fastest flier of the Heliumetic Navy could not quickly
enough have carried me far from this hideous creature.
Its hairless body was a strange and ghoulish blue, except for a broad
band of white which encircled its protruding, single eye: an eye that
was all dead white--pupil, iris, and ball.
Its nose was a ragged, inflamed, circular hole in the centre of its
blank face; a hole that resembled more closely nothing that I could
think of other than a fresh bullet wound which has not yet commenced to
bleed.
Below this repulsive orifice the face was quite blank to the chin, for
the thing had no mouth that I could discover.
The head, with the exception of the face, was covered by a tangled mass
of jet-black hair some eight or ten inches in length. Each hair was
about the bigness of a large angleworm, and as the thing moved the
muscles of its scalp this awful head-covering seemed to writhe and
wriggle and crawl about the fearsome face as though indeed each
separate hair was endowed with independent life.
The body and the legs were as symmetrically human as Nature could have
fashioned them, and the feet, too, were human in shape, but of
monstrous proportions. From heel to toe they were fully three feet
long, and very flat and very broad.
As it came quite close to me I discovered that its strange movements,
running its odd hands over the surface of the turf, were the result of
its peculiar method of feeding, which consists in cropping off the
tender vegetation with its razorlike talons and sucking it up from its
two mouths, which lie one in the palm of each hand, through its
arm-like throats.
In addition to the features which I have already described, the beast
was equipped with a massive tail about six feet in length, quite round
where it joined the body, but tapering to a flat, thin blade toward the
end, which trailed at right angles to the ground.
By far the most remarkable feature of this most remarkable creature,
however, were the two tiny replicas of it, each about six inches in
length, which dangled, one on either side, from its armpits. They were
suspended by a small stem which seemed to grow from the exact tops of
their heads to where it connected them with the body of the adult.
Whether they were the young, or merely portions of a composite
creature, I did not know.
As I had been scrutinizing this weird monstrosity the balance of the
herd had fed quite close to me and I now saw that while many had the
smaller specimens dangling from them, not all were thus equipped, and I
further noted that the little ones varied in size from what appeared to
be but tiny unopened buds an inch in diameter through various stages of
development to the full-fledged and perfectly formed creature of ten to
twelve inches in length.
Feeding with the herd were many of the little fellows not much larger
than those which remained attached to their parents, and from the young
of that size the herd graded up to the immense
|
proved
|
How many times does the word 'proved' appear in the text?
| 0
|
<b>EXT. ALLEYS AND STREETS - SERIES OF ANGLES - DAWN
</b>
The streets and alleys of Ft. Dupree at dawn. On sound we hear
the clucking of DOVES. A garbage truck appears. Details of the
mechanisms at the back of the truck.
<b>NEW ANGLE
</b>
KIT CARRUTHERS, the hero, a 25-year-old garbageman, kneels beside
a dead dog. He inspects it briefly. then looks back at his friend
and co-worker, CATO, a stocky man in his forties.
<b>KIT
</b>I'll give you a dollar to eat this collie.
Cato inspects the dog.
<b>CATO
</b>I'm not going to eat him for a dollar... I don't think he's a
collie, either. Some kind of dog.
They drive off.
<b>KIT
</b>Watch your heads.
<b>NEW ANGLE
</b>
The truck comes to a stop. Kit bangs on the driver's door.
<b>KIT
</b>Hey. Woody. Gimme a cigarette.
WOODY waves him off. Kit shrugs to Cato.
<b>KIT
</b>Woody wouldn't give me a cigarette. (pause) Ever notice he don't
talk much?
Cato agrees with this. They make a terrible racket, with no
regard for the sleep of the neighbors.
<b>EXT. STREET
</b>
Holly, whispering some rhyme to herself, twirls a baton in the
middle of an empty street.
HOLLY (v.o.)
Little did I realize that what began in the alleys and back ways
of this quiet town would end in the Badlands of Montana.
<b>EXT. ALLEY
</b>
Kit tries to sell a passing BUM a pair of shoes.
<b>BUM
</b>Nah. they wouldn't fit.
<b>KIT
</b>How do you know? You hadn't tried them on yet.
<b>BUM
</b>Nah.
<b>KIT
</b>Gimme a dollar for them... Cost twenty new.
The Bum walks off. Kit pitches the shoes to Cato.
<b>KIT
</b>Why don't you see if they fit you?
Cato picks them up and looks at them.
<b>CLOSE ON TRASH CAN
</b>
Kit is culling through a trash can, looking for valuables.
reading other people's mail, etc.
KIT (o.c.)
This lady don't ever pay her bills. She's gonna get in trouble if
she doesn't watch out.
Cato, ignoring him, picks up a magazine that is lying in the
grass. When the CAMERA returns to Kit, he has stripped off his
apron.
<b>KIT
</b>I throwed enough trash for today, Cato.... I'll see you In the
morning.
He slaps Cato on the back and walks off. Cato throws a mouldy
loaf of bread at his back.
<b>CATO
</b>Catch!
<b>KIT
</b>What do you mean?
He throws the loaf back at Cato.
<b>EXT. ALLEYS
</b>
Kit walks through the deserted alleys of the sleeping town... as
the MAIN TITLES APPEAR. He balances a stolen mop on his finger;
he stomps a can and looks around to see if anyone has spotted him
at this. As the CREDITS end he sees Holly in front of her house
twirling her baton. He crosses the street and introduces himself.
<b>EXT. FRONT LAWN
</b>
<b>KIT
</b>Hi, I'm Kit. I'm not keeping you from anything important
|
ever
|
How many times does the word 'ever' appear in the text?
| 1
|
STREETS - NIGHT
</b>
A taxi careens down narrow roadways at breakneck speeds.
<b> INT. TAXI - NIGHT
</b>
In the back seat is WHITTLESLEY. Early 40's, the wreck of a once
handsome man. Unshaven. Sweat stained. Rail thin. Scratches on his
arms, a fresh scar on one cheek. As the taxi roars downhill towards
the harbor, Whittlesley leans over the front seat. (Italics indicate
Portuguese to be subtitled)
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Faster! We won't make it.</i>
<b> DRIVER
</b> <i>You want to die?</i>
Whittlesley pulls out A KNIFE, puts it to the driver's jugular vein.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Do you?</i>
Sweat pouring down his brow, the driver re-doubles his speed.
<b> EXT. BELEM STREETS - NIGHT
</b>
The taxi swerves around a corner, nearly crashing into a fruit cart,
flies out of sight.
<b> EXT. HARBOR - BELEM - NIGHT
</b>
Light rain obscures the bulky outlines of tethered freighters. We hear
faint laughter leavened with Portuguese phrases, distant Calypso music
from waterfront bars. One of the smaller boats, the SANTA LUCIA, is
loading as the TAXI fishtails to a halt.
Whittlesley gets out, sees the boat still at dock. His face floods
with relief.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> Thank God.
He tosses a handful of bills into the driver's lap, sprints up the
pier as the driver shouts curses after him in Portuguese. Whittlesley
shoves past the dock hands as the last load goes onto the Santa Lucia.
The boat's engines churn to life.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>I need to speak to the captain!
Where is he?</i>
The sailors hold Whittlesley back.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Get your hands off me! I'm trying
to save your lives, you fools!</i>
Several crew members
|
whittlesley
|
How many times does the word 'whittlesley' appear in the text?
| 10
|
made
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1. Performance Royalties Under Blanket Licenses. Licensor
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2. Mechanical Rights
|
perform
|
How many times does the word 'perform' appear in the text?
| 7
|
and stand over Debo. They flash
their lights on him.
CRAIG (cont'd) (V.O.)
Last Friday; I got fired for the first
time. I got high for the first time. I
got shot at for the first time and I
kicked Debo's ass for the first time...
They get him to his feet; but he stumbles and falls in the
bushes like a knocked out prize fighter. The sheriffs laugh
at him.
Debo looks dazed and confused. The sheriffs help him out the
bushes and start to cuff him.
CRAIG (cont'd) (V.O.)
I was the man that night; and Debo ended
up going to jail for a couple of years.
But he told Ezal he was getting out next
Friday. He said, when he see me, he was
gonna smoke me on the spot...
They walk him OUT OF FRAME...
<b> FADE TO BLACK.
</b>
<b> OVER BLACK:
</b>
CRAIG (cont'd) (V.O.)
And today is next Friday...
<b> SOUNDTRACK!
</b>
"New Line Cinema presents, etc., etc...
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. LOS ANGELES - EARLY MORNING
</b>
OPENING CREDITS. It's early Friday morning and the sun peeks
over the LA skyline. As the city starts to awake and the
credits continue to roll;
we see SEVERAL SHOTS of the real people who make up Los
Angeles. It seems that they all move to the same beat.
<b> EXT. L.A. COUNTY JAIL - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Debo is released from the Twin Towers County Jail. Still in
his orange jumpsuit, he walks right past us and down the
street. Everybody clears his path.
SOUNDTRACK still PUMPIN'.
Debo crosses the street passing an old man dancing and
directing traffic. Debo stops, the man starts to dance in
front of him. He stares for a second, then he's
|
debo
|
How many times does the word 'debo' appear in the text?
| 6
|
and a revelation. All the accouterments of former expeditions of
whatever sort, all that he had bought for this one, all that I had
shipped from week to week, were gathered there. There were wading boots
and camp boots and moccasins and Dutch bed-slippers and shoepacks--the
last-named a sort of Micmac Indian cross between a shoe and a moccasin,
much affected by guides, who keep them saturated with oil and wear them
in the water and out--there were nets of various sizes and sorts, from
large minnow nets through a line of landing nets to some silk head nets,
invented and made by Eddie himself, one for each of us, to pull on day
or night when the insect pests were bad. There was a quantity of
self-prepared ointment, too, for the same purpose, while of sovereign
remedies, balms and anodynes for ills and misfortunes, Eddie's
collection was as the sands of the sea. Soothing lotions there were for
wounds new and old; easing draughts for pains internal and external;
magic salves such as were used by the knights of old romance, Amadis de
Gaul and others, for the instant cure of ghastly lacerations made by man
or beast, and a large fresh bottle of a collodion preparation with
which the victim could be painted locally or in general, and stand forth
at last, good as new--restored, body, bones and skin. In addition there
was a certain bottle of the fluid extract of gelsemium, or something
like that, which was recommended for anything that the rest of the
assortment could do, combined. It was said to be good for everything
from a sore throat to a snake bite--the list of its benefits being
recorded in a text-book by which Eddie set great store.
"Take it, by all means, Eddie," I said, "then you won't need any of the
others."
That settled it. The gelsemium was left behind.
I was interested in Eddie's rods, leaning here and there on various
parcels about the room. I found that the new noibwood, such as I had
ordered, was only a unit in a very respectable aggregate--rather an
unimportant unit it appeared by this time, for Eddie calmly assured me
that the tip had remained set after landing a rather small trout in a
nearby stream and that he did not consider the wood altogether suitable
for trout rods. Whereupon I was moved to confess the little bamboo stick
I had bought in Boston, and produced it for inspection. I could see that
Eddie bristled a bit as I uncased it and I think viewed it and wiggled
it with rather small respect. Still, he did not condemn it utterly and I
had an impulse to confess the other things, the impossible little
scale-wing flies, the tin whistle and the Jock Scott with two hooks.
However, it did not seem just the psychological moment, and I refrained.
As for Eddie's flies, viewed together, they were a dazzling lot. There
were books and books of them--American, English, Scotch and what not.
There was one book of English dry-flies, procured during a recent
sojourn abroad, to be tried in American waters. One does not dance and
jiggle a dry-fly to give it the appearance of life--of some unusual
creature with rainbow wings and the ability to wriggle upstream, even
against a swift current. The dry-fly is built to resemble life itself,
color, shape and all, and is cast on a slow-moving stream where a trout
is seen to rise, and allowed to drift with the gently flowing current
exactly over the magic spot. All this Eddie explained to me and let me
hold the book a little time, though I could see he did not intend to let
me use one of the precious things, and would prefer that I did not touch
them.
He was packing now and I wandered idly about this uncatalogued museum of
sporting goods. There was a heap of canvas and blankets in one corner--a
sleeping bag, it proved, with an infinite number of compartments, or
layers; there were hats of many shapes, vests of many fabrics, coats of
many colors. There were things I had seen before only in sporting goods
windows; there were things I had
|
noibwood
|
How many times does the word 'noibwood' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Oxford Book Of Mystical Verse
<b> FADE IN:
</b> THE MOON. So fat and full in the night sky you can reach out
and touch it.
<b> HICKS W. 0.
</b> This is what's known: There has always
been man...and there have always been
vampires.
BLACK SHAPES swoop past the moonscape, vicious looking things.
Much shrieking and wailing.
Atop a STONE ZIGGURAT -- We see a GROUP OF MEN -- AZTEC
WARRIORS readying themselves with PRIMITIVE WEAPONS --
SLINGS, BOWS, SPEARS. Tonight they know they will die.
<b> HICKS (CONT'D)
</b> Since the beginning -- the two have been
locked forever in combat... The vampires
were quicker, stronger and had the gift
of flight.
Quick glimpses of a bloody, brutal battle. Men screaming.
Talons ripping. FIERY ARROWS launched against an unseen enemy.
<b> WHOOSH!
</b> With a HOWL, we see A MAN plucked off the ground, his body
disappearing in the night. THE IMAGE DISSOLVES as -- the sky
turns bright, the moon becoming a familiar ball of yellow gas.
<b> HICKS (CONT'D)
</b> But man had the sun.
THE CAMERA TILTS DOWN to find another GROUP OF MEN -- more
sophisticated than the first. Makeshift weapons made of metal
and steel slung across their backs glinting in the sunlight.
They stand before AN EARTHEN STRUCTURE, looks like a GIANT WASP
NEST. Unsheathing their weapons, they step grimly inside.
We HEAR a HISSING WAIL and the wielding of steel.
<b> HXCKS (V.0.) (CONT'D)
</b> And so it went like this over many years.
As man and vampire both evolved -- the
wars became bloodier.
From afar, we see GIANT STACKS OF CORPSES as hydraulic
machines stack the black bodies into pyres as big as
buildings, smoke rising to the sky in twisting columns.
<b> A LONE MAN
</b>
|
slung
|
How many times does the word 'slung' appear in the text?
| 0
|
resembling nothing else--no slight praise,
I think.
The "Memoirs of a Madman" is simultaneously a social satire, a
sentimental story, and a medico-legal study of the phenomena presented
by a brain which is becoming deranged. The study, I believe, is
carefully made and the process carefully depicted, but I do not like
this class of writing; madness is one of those misfortunes which arouse
pity but which disgust at the same time. Doubtless, by introducing a
madman in his story an author is sure of producing an effect. It causes
to vibrate a cord which is always susceptible; but it is a cheap method,
and Gogol's gifts are such as to be able to dispense with having resort
to such. The portrayal of lunatics and dogs--both of whom can produce an
irresistible effect--should be left to tyros. It is easy to extract
tears from a reader by breaking a poodle's paw. Homer's only excuse, in
my opinion, for making us weep at the mutual recognition of the dog
Argus and Ulysses, is because he was, I think, the first to discover the
resources which the canine race offers to an author at a loss for
expedients.
I hasten to go on to a small masterpiece, "An Old-time Household." In a
few pages Gogol sketches for us the life of two honest old folk living
in the country. There is not a grain of malice in their composition;
they are cheated and adored by their servants, and naïve egoists as they
are, believe everyone is as happy as themselves. The wife dies. The
husband, who only seemed born for merry-making, falls ill and dies some
months after his wife. We discover that there was a heart in this mass
of flesh. We laugh and weep in turns while reading this charming story,
in which the art of the narrator is disguised by simplicity. All is true
and natural; every detail is attractive and adds to the general effect.
* * * * *
_Translator's Note._--The rest of Merimée's essay is occupied with
analyses of Gogol's "Dead Souls" and "The Revisor," and therefore is not
given here.
THE MANTLE
In a certain Russian ministerial department----
But it is perhaps better that I do not mention which department it was.
There are in the whole of Russia no persons more sensitive than
Government officials. Each of them believes if he is annoyed in any way,
that the whole official class is insulted in his person.
Recently an Isprawnik (country magistrate)--I do not know of which
town--is said to have drawn up a report with the object of showing that,
ignoring Government orders, people were speaking of Isprawniks in terms
of contempt. In order to prove his assertions, he forwarded with his
report a bulky work of fiction, in which on about every tenth page an
Isprawnik appeared generally in a drunken condition.
In order therefore to avoid any unpleasantness, I will not definitely
indicate the department in which the scene of my story is laid, and will
rather say "in a certain chancellery."
Well, in a certain chancellery there was a certain man who, as I cannot
deny, was not of an attractive appearance. He was short, had a face
marked with smallpox, was rather bald in front, and his forehead and
cheeks were deeply lined with furrows--to say nothing of other physical
imperfections. Such was the outer aspect of our hero, as produced by the
St Petersburg climate.
As regards his official rank--for with us Russians the official rank
must always be given--he was what is usually known as a permanent
titular councillor, one of those unfortunate beings who, as is well
known, are made a butt of by various authors who have the bad habit of
attacking people who cannot defend themselves.
Our hero's family name was Bashmatchkin; his baptismal name Akaki
Akakievitch. Perhaps the reader may think this name somewhat strange and
far-fetched, but he can be assured that it is not so, and that
circum
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 9
|
Private Investigator
When you consider that a career in pro foot-
ball means maybe ten years, after which you
got no legs left, and during which you're a
painkiller drug addict, a million a year
sounds about right. So when people bitch
at me about the money I made, I have a pat
response: Go fuck yourself.
James Alexander Dix
Former quarterback,
L.A. Stallions
<b>
</b><b> THE LAST BOY SCOUT
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>INT. DARK BEDROOM
</b>The only light, that of a flickering TV screen.
A big MAN lies, shirtless, on the bed.
Watching a sports program. We hear:
<b> SPORTS FIGURE (V.O.)
</b> (on TV)
Eliminating the draft? Worst
thing ever happened to pro
football. Already you got Eric
Dickerson, no team's good enough
for him... You got Dion Sanders,
this guy, Bosworth, bunch of
peacocks. Nagurski, I saw him
play for 25 bucks a game. And he
woulda played for free, you get
me? He loved the game. Nowadays?
Forget about it.
The TELEPHONE SHRILLS in the stillness.
The Man On the Bed answers it. Speaks haltingly.
<b> MAN ON BED
</b> Hello...?
<b> MALE (V.O.)
</b> Hello, Billy. Do you know who
this is?
Silence.
<b> MALE (V.O.)
</b> Kid from Ohio is looking real
good, Billie...
The Man's hand unclenches. A container of pills spills
over the blanket. He stammers:
<b> MAN ON BED
</b> I'm... I'm gonna... try real
hard...
<b> MALE (V.O.)
</b> No, Billy. What you're gonna do
... is rush for 150 yards against
Chicago.
<b>
|
answers
|
How many times does the word 'answers' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</p><p><p ID="act">Mancini's "Ave Maria" fills the screen as a white BMW speeds along the road.
</p><p><p ID="act">CREDITS ROLL
</p><p><p ID="act">A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN is behind the wheel. We never see her face. Hanging from the mirror is a rosary with a crucifix. Her porcelain hand turns up the volume and the music swells. A silver bracelet dangles from her wrist.
</p><p><p ID="slug">EXT. TWO-LANE HIGHWAY - CONTINUOUS
</p><p><p ID="act">A slow-moving semi obstructs her path. The woman leans out the window to see if the road is clear before moving into the oncoming lane. She steps on the gas. She's in the wrong lane and can't get over. There are headlights in the distance and the moan of an airhorn is heard.
</p><p><p ID="slug">EXT. TWO-LANE HIGHWAY - CONTINUOUS
</p><p><p ID="act">Suddenly, the headlights are upon her. And airhorn blasts and she's trapped between two monstrous big rigs. She cuts the wheel hard, but too late. The oncoming truck clips her, sending her car end over end.
</p><p><p ID="act">SLO-MO
</p><p><p ID="act">The accident is violent and horrible. The BMW cartwheels along the highway in a grotesque ballet of destruction. The music crescendos and sparks fly as the car skids along the pavement on its roof. And as the BMW violently smashes headfirst into the embankment, the beautiful woman is slammed into the windshield like a crash-test dummy.
</p><p><p ID="slug">EXT. MIDDLE AMERICAN TOWN - PRE-DAWN
</p><p><p ID="act">The indigo horizon shimmers with the first light of morning. Vapor spewing smokestacks dwarf brick and mortar homes. Dairy Queens, Hardee's, and Walmarts line the main drag. Stars and Stripes flutter from lampposts.
</p><p><p ID="slug">INT. ARCHIBALD HOUSE - BEDROOM - MORNING
</p><p><p ID="act">A man sits propped up against pillows, his sleeping wife snuggled next to him. His name is JOHN QUINCY ARCHIBALD. His strong, handsome face is beginning to show wear and tear. From across the room, last night's news broadcast drones on the TV. The President is telling everybody how wonderful the country is doing.
</p><p><p ID="act">JOHN Q. watches impassively, the irony not lost on him. Suddenly, he hears a noise. Something's not right. He jumps out of bed, wearing only a pair of BVDs.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">WIFE
<P ID="dia">Honey, what is it?
</p><p><p ID="slug">EXT. ARCHIBALD HOUSE - MORNING
</p><p><p ID="act">The screen door bangs open. John Q. bursts onto the porch to find a tow truck parked in front of his house. TWO TRUCKERS are winching a hook and cable to a ten year old Chevy.
</p><p><P ID="speaker">J.Q.
<P ID="dia">Hey, what the hell are you doing?
</p><p><p ID="act">TOW TRUCK DRIVER #1
</p><p><p ID="act">What does it look like?
</p><p><P ID="speaker">J.Q.
<P ID="dia">Aw, come on. That's my car.
</p><p><p ID="act">TOW TRUCK DRIVER #1
</p><p><p ID="act">Yeah? That's not what the bank says.
</p><p><p ID="act">The truckers quickly circle to the front and hop in. John Q. just watches as the truck speeds away, dragging the car along the cement.
</p><p><p ID="act">The neighbors now stand on their
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 2
|
lobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a
Home boy. But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right--I'm not
saying they're not--but no London street Arabs for me,' I said. 'Give
me a native born at least. There'll be a risk, no matter who we get. But
I'll feel easier in my mind and sleep sounder at nights if we get a born
Canadian.' So in the end we decided to ask Mrs. Spencer to pick us out
one when she went over to get her little girl. We heard last week she
was going, so we sent her word by Richard Spencer's folks at Carmody
to bring us a smart, likely boy of about ten or eleven. We decided that
would be the best age--old enough to be of some use in doing chores
right off and young enough to be trained up proper. We mean to give him
a good home and schooling. We had a telegram from Mrs. Alexander Spencer
today--the mail-man brought it from the station--saying they were coming
on the five-thirty train tonight. So Matthew went to Bright River to
meet him. Mrs. Spencer will drop him off there. Of course she goes on to
White Sands station herself."
Mrs. Rachel prided herself on always speaking her mind; she proceeded to
speak it now, having adjusted her mental attitude to this amazing piece
of news.
"Well, Marilla, I'll just tell you plain that I think you're doing a
mighty foolish thing--a risky thing, that's what. You don't know what
you're getting. You're bringing a strange child into your house and home
and you don't know a single thing about him nor what his disposition is
like nor what sort of parents he had nor how he's likely to turn out.
Why, it was only last week I read in the paper how a man and his wife up
west of the Island took a boy out of an orphan asylum and he set fire to
the house at night--set it _on purpose_, Marilla--and nearly burnt them to
a crisp in their beds. And I know another case where an adopted boy used
to suck the eggs--they couldn't break him of it. If you had asked my
advice in the matter--which you didn't do, Marilla--I'd have said for
mercy's sake not to think of such a thing, that's what."
This Job's comforting seemed neither to offend nor to alarm Marilla. She
knitted steadily on.
"I don't deny there's something in what you say, Rachel. I've had some
qualms myself. But Matthew was terrible set on it. I could see that, so
I gave in. It's so seldom Matthew sets his mind on anything that when he
does I always feel it's my duty to give in. And as for the risk, there's
risks in pretty near everything a body does in this world. There's risks
in people's having children of their own if it comes to that--they don't
always turn out well. And then Nova Scotia is right close to the Island.
It isn't as if we were getting him from England or the States. He can't
be much different from ourselves."
"Well, I hope it will turn out all right," said Mrs. Rachel in a tone
that plainly indicated her painful doubts. "Only don't say I didn't
warn you if he burns Green Gables down or puts strychnine in the well--I
heard of a case over in New Brunswick where an orphan asylum child did
that and the whole family died in fearful agonies. Only, it was a girl
in that instance."
"Well, we're not getting a girl," said Marilla, as if poisoning wells
were a purely feminine accomplishment and not to be dreaded in the case
of a boy. "I'd never dream of taking a girl to bring up. I wonder at
Mrs. Alexander Spencer for doing it. But there, _she_ wouldn't shrink
from adopting a whole orphan asylum if she took it into her head."
Mrs. Rachel would have liked to stay until Matthew came home with his
imported orphan. But reflecting that it would be a good two hours at
least before his arrival she concluded to go up the road to Robert
Bell's and tell the news. It would certainly make a sensation second
to none, and Mrs. Rachel dearly loved to make a sensation.
|
orphan
|
How many times does the word 'orphan' appear in the text?
| 3
|
worst, "what sort of a
girl is this girl of Gussie's?"
"I have not met the young lady, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle speaks highly of her
attractions."
"Seemed to like her, did he?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did he mention her name? Perhaps I know her."
"She is a Miss Bassett, sir. Miss Madeline Bassett."
"What?"
"Yes, sir."
I was deeply intrigued.
"Egad, Jeeves! Fancy that. It's a small world, isn't it, what?"
"The young lady is an acquaintance of yours, sir?"
"I know her well. Your news has relieved my mind, Jeeves. It makes the
whole thing begin to seem far more like a practical working proposition."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Absolutely. I confess that until you supplied this information I was
feeling profoundly dubious about poor old Gussie's chances of inducing
any spinster of any parish to join him in the saunter down the aisle. You
will agree with me that he is not everybody's money."
"There may be something in what you say, sir."
"Cleopatra wouldn't have liked him."
"Possibly not, sir."
"And I doubt if he would go any too well with Tallulah Bankhead."
"No, sir."
"But when you tell me that the object of his affections is Miss Bassett,
why, then, Jeeves, hope begins to dawn a bit. He's just the sort of chap
a girl like Madeline Bassett might scoop in with relish."
This Bassett, I must explain, had been a fellow visitor of ours at
Cannes; and as she and Angela had struck up one of those effervescent
friendships which girls do strike up, I had seen quite a bit of her.
Indeed, in my moodier moments it sometimes seemed to me that I could not
move a step without stubbing my toe on the woman.
And what made it all so painful and distressing was that the more we met,
the less did I seem able to find to say to her.
You know how it is with some girls. They seem to take the stuffing right
out of you. I mean to say, there is something about their personality
that paralyses the vocal cords and reduces the contents of the brain to
cauliflower. It was like that with this Bassett and me; so much so that I
have known occasions when for minutes at a stretch Bertram Wooster might
have been observed fumbling with the tie, shuffling the feet, and
behaving in all other respects in her presence like the complete dumb
brick. When, therefore, she took her departure some two weeks before we
did, you may readily imagine that, in Bertram's opinion, it was not a day
too soon.
It was not her beauty, mark you, that thus numbed me. She was a pretty
enough girl in a droopy, blonde, saucer-eyed way, but not the sort of
breath-taker that takes the breath.
No, what caused this disintegration in a usually fairly fluent prattler
with the sex was her whole mental attitude. I don't want to wrong
anybody, so I won't go so far as to say that she actually wrote poetry,
but her conversation, to my mind, was of a nature calculated to excite
the liveliest suspicions. Well, I mean to say, when a girl suddenly asks
you out of a blue sky if you don't sometimes feel that the stars are
God's daisy-chain, you begin to think a bit.
As regards the fusing of her soul and mine, therefore, there was nothing
doing. But with Gussie, the posish was entirely different. The thing that
had stymied me--viz. that this girl was obviously all loaded down with
ideals and sentiment and what not--was quite in order as far as he was
concerned.
Gussie had always been one of those dreamy, soulful birds--you can't shut
yourself up in the country and live only for newts, if you're not--and I
could see no reason why, if he could somehow be induced to get the low,
burning words off his chest, he and the Bassett shouldn't hit
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 0
|
many and the power of many
becomes the power of one?
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EXT. SOUTH AFRICAN FARM - DAY (1939) 1
</b>
A white car sits in the yard of the farmhouse. On the
door, a decal: "CAPETOWN SANITORIUM." Two men dressed
in the white uniforms of the sanitorium exit the farm-
house; one gently guiding a rather frail, troubled
woman toward the car; the other totes her suitcase.
The V.O. of a young man narrates:
<b> YOUNG MAN (V.O.)
</b> There comes a time in everyone's
life when they discover that the
only person you can truly depend
on is yourself. That the only
real power anyone has to get
anything done is the power of one.
With any luck you can make it
through a lot of years before you
ever have to face the reality of
that fact.
(beat)
It was a luxury I never had. I
discovered it the year my mother
had her nervous breakdown.
One attendant holds the rear door of the car open for
the woman. Before entering, she turns one last time
toward the farmhouse.
<b>2 HER POV 2
</b>
A young BOY looking one part scared, one part sad, and
one part lost stares back at her, his hand held by a
large, amiable black woman with tears rolling down her
round cheeks.
<b> YOUNG MAN (V.O.)
</b> I was all of six.
<b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>3 BACK TO SCENE 3
</b>
The woman enters the car. The car drives off down the
road. The Boy watches it disappear behind a plume of
swirling dust.
<b>
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 2
|
. Mother is old, she may never see
her son again. Girls are vain and fickle, they will turn their thoughts
in other directions--there are the men who have done their military
service, who have paid their toll to the abominable government up at
Budapest and who are therefore free to court and free to marry.
Aye! Aye! That's how it is. They must go through with it, though they
hate it all--every moment of it. They hate to be packed into railway
carriages like so many dried heads of maize in a barn, they hate to wear
the heavy cloth clothes, the hard boots, the leather pouches and belts.
My God, how they hate it!
And the rude alien sergeant, with his "Vorwärts!" and "Marsch!" and
"Rechts" and "Links"--I ask you in the name of the Holy Virgin what kind
of gibberish is that?
But they must all go!--all those, at least, who are whole and sound in
body. Bless them! They are sound enough when they go! It is when they
come back! . . .
Yes! They must all go, those who are sound in eyes and wind and limb,
and it is very difficult to cheat the commission who come to take our
lads away. There was Benkó, for instance; he starved himself for three
months this summer, hoping to reduce his chest measurements by a few
needful centimètres; but it was no use. The doctor who examined him said
that with regular food and plenty of exercise he would soon put on more
flesh, and he would get both for the next three years. And János--you
remember?--he chopped off one of his toes--thinking that would get him
off those hated three years of service; but it seems there is a new
decree by which the lads need not be possessed of all ten toes in order
to serve the hateful government.
No, no! It is no use trying to get out of it. They measure you, and
bang your chest and your back, they look at your eyes and make you open
your mouth to look at your teeth, but anyhow they take you away for
three years.
They make you swear that you will faithfully serve your country and your
King during that time, that you will obey your superiors, and follow
your leader wherever he may command, over land and by water. By water! I
ask you! When there was Albert and Jenö who could not bear even the
sight of water; they would not have gone in a boat on the Maros if you
had offered them a gold piece each! How could they swear that they would
follow some fool of a German officer on water?
They could not swear that. They knew they could not do it. But they were
clapped in prison like common malefactors and treated like brigands and
thieves until they did swear. And after that--well! they had once to
cross the Theiss in a ferry-boat--they were made to do it!
Oh, no! Nothing happened to them then, but Albert came back after his
three years' service, with two of his front teeth gone, and we all know
that Jenö now is little better than an idiot.
So now you know, stranger, why we at Marosfalva call the fourteenth day
of September the very blackest in the whole calendar, and why at eight
o'clock in the morning nobody is at work in the fields.
For the fourteenth day being such a black one, we must all make the most
of the few hours that come before it. At nine o'clock of that miserable
morning the packing of our lads into the train will commence, but until
then they are making merry, bless them! They are true Hungarians, you
know! They will dance, and they will sing, they will listen to gipsy
music and kiss the girls so long as there is breath in their body, so
long as they are free to do it.
At nine o'clock to-day they cease to be free men, they are under the
orders of corporals and sergeants and officers who will command them to
go "Vorwärts" and "Rechts" and "Links" and all that God-forsaken
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 8
|
takes off her
sunglasses, and we can see her face.
JESSIE (in a good mood): Good morning, everybody.
ANOTHER ANGLE As Jessie walks across the room and to the corner. All the women
in the shop are looking at her funny.
JESSIE (sweetly): What?! What? (vicious) What y'all looking at? I know I'm Ane,
but damn! Get back to work.
THE SALON Where everybody goes about their business.
17A CONTINUED THE SINK Iesha's head is in the sink. Justice is shampooing and
conditioning her hair. Iesha's eyes are closed to
keep the suds from stinging them.
JUSTICE: Just let that conditioning sit for five minutes.
IESHA: Where you going? You not gonna talk to me?
JUSTICE: No, I wanna go over here and talk to Jessie. It's a fivehour job
anyway--you might as well just chill.
Justice walks away.
IESHA: All right, then, just play me like a biscuit. Hair all wet, cold.
THE COUNTER Where Justice joins Jessie, who is busy checking the receipts of the
morning.
JUSTICE: So.
JESSIE: Yeah.
They both start laughing. A Delivery Man arrives with boxes of shampoo. A few
sistahs throw him an in terested eye. Jessie is
checking him out also,
JUSTICE: So he's out, huh? Y'all got buckwild last night? Where'd y'all go?
JESSIE: Could you put 'em over there? Snooty Fox Motor Inn. (to the stylists)
Y'all make sure to fill out them receipts!
JUSTICE (laughing): They still got them red walls?
JESSIE: Yep, mirrors on the ceiling. Same ole, same o'. They been filling out
them receipts?
JUSTICE: Yeah.
JESSIE: What you know about mirrors on the ceiling? When the last time you been
there?
JUSTICE: Snooty Fox? Don't remember.
17B INT JESSIE'S BEAUTYSALON--DAY
DOORWAY Where we see a brother, Rodney, come in with this woman.
RODNEY: Hey, my girl need her hair and nails done.
JESSIE: She got an appointment?
RODNEY: Naw.
HEYWOOD (O.S.): She ain't got no hair, either!
Some people laugh. We see the Woman. She got about as much hair as a Snap.
JESSIE: Make an appointment. (lights a smoke, touches Justice's hat) Why you
keep wearing these hats? What you hidin?! Ooow,
keep it on.
JUSTICE (pulling her hat on): Stop.
JESSIE: You need to let me do somethin to that head of yours. Man, I'm tired.
Got a poem for me today? Lord knows I need one.
JUSTICE: I left my notebook in the car. I'11 get it in a bit.
JESSIE: When you gonna get a man? Asking all these questions about mine. You
still in mourning? Sportin black, don't make time to
do your own hair. Lookin tore up from tha floor up. You can always tell when a
woman ain't givin up no coochie.
JUSTICE: I like black. Besides, I don't have no time for no man right now.
JESSIE: See, your problem is you make bad choices in men. You don't know how to
pick 'em.
CUT TO: EXTSTREET-DAY Where we come down out of the sky to see a small U.S.
Postal Mail jeep turn in the street and come to
the curb. We hear the heavy bass beat ofhip-hop coming from the jeep.
JUSTICE (O.S.): Look who's talking.
19 INT. POSTAL JEEP--DAY Inside the jeep a hand presses the stop/eject on the
recorder and flips the tape.
19A EXT.CITYSTREET--DAY THE GROUND Where the jeep door
|
throw
|
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| 0
|
. We hear the calm voice
of Jerry Maguire, talking just to us.
<b>
</b><b> JERRY'S VOICE
</b> Airight so this is the world and
there are five billion people on
it. When I was a kid there were
three. It's hard to keep up.
<b>
</b><b> AMERICA FROM SPACE
</b><b>
</b> The great continent through mist and swirling skies.
(Satellites and other pieces of skycasting equipment float
by.)
<b>
</b><b> JERRY'S VOICE
</b> That's better. That's america.
See, America still sets the tone
for the world...
<b>
</b><b> KID ON BASKETBALL COURT
</b><b>
</b> A puberty-ravaged kid dribbles a basketball, stares straight
at us.
<b>
</b><b> JERRY'S VOICE
</b> In Indiana -- Clark Hodd. 13.
The best point guard in the
country. Puberty hasn't been easy.
<b>
</b> Discreetly, his hand slips into his pants and scratches.
<b>
</b> Girl on a high dive she's poised. A faraway look in her eyes.
<b>
</b><b> JERRY'S VOICE
</b> (continuing)
Becky Farling. You'll see her in
the next Olympics.
<b>
</b> She launches her dive into mid-air, into nothingness.
<b>
</b><b>
|
america
|
How many times does the word 'america' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Revisions by
Edward Zwick & Marshall Herskovitz
<b>
</b><b> 1.
</b>Fade In:
<b>A BRIGHT BLUE TIGER
</b>
Surrounded by a pack of dogs, ten of them snarling and gnashing their teeth.
The TIGER'S, eyes burn with fury as he wheels in a circle, lunging at one
dog clawing at another, keeping them all at bay.
Suddenly, the TIGER leaps over the dogs and transforms into a WHITE
BIRD, soaring majestically into the sky.
<b>THE FACE OF A JAPANESE MAN
</b>
Sits up into frame, sweating, waking from a dream. He is KATSUMOTO.
We will come to know him later.
Fade to black. CREDITS OVER.
The faint SOUND of a BRASS BAND.
<b> WINCHESTER REP (V.O.)
</b> the leader in all forms of armament used by the
United States Army. When you need a friend,
Winchester is by your side. .
<b>THE FACE OF AN AMERICAN MAN
</b>
As he smokes a cigar, barely listening. CAPTAIN _NATHAN ALGREN,
U.S. Army, ret, 36 years old and looking every da y of it. His eyes are lined
and saddened. He takes a swig from a flask. He is BACKSTAGE at:
<b>INT. CONVENTION HALL SAN FRANCISCO DAY
</b>
Where a trade show is in progress. Scantily clad lovelies in red-white-and-
blue undies demonstrate the nation's most important new export: arms.
Every weapon imaginable is on display: rifles, pistols, even howitzers. Banners
declaim the virtues of Winchester and Springfield. Of Colt and Remington
and Smith & Wesson. Crowds mill around a stage. where:
<b> WINCHESTER REP
</b> Ladies and Gentlemen ... the Winchester
Corporation is proud to bring to you... a true
American hero. A patriot who has proven his
gallantry time and again on the field of battle.
LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS are all lined up. A mass of grey. Rebel troops
surrounding a band of blue Union cavalry. A large, metal diorama.
<b>
|
fade
|
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| 1
|
my aunt added, laying her hand upon my sleeve,
âThe chapel has been long considered as common ground, my dear, and used
for a pinfold, and what objection can we have to the man for employing
what is his own to his own profit? Besides, I did speak to him, and he
very readily and civilly promised that if he found bones or monuments,
they should be carefully respected and reinstated; and what more could I
ask? So, the first stone they found bore the name of Margaret Bothwell,
1585, and I have caused it to be laid carefully aside, as I think it
betokens death, and having served my namesake two hundred years, it has
just been cast up in time to do me the same good turn. My house has been
long put in order, as far as the small earthly concerns require it; but
who shall say that their account with, Heaven is sufficiently revised?â
âAfter what you have said, aunt,â I replied, âperhaps I ought to take my
hat and go away; and so I should, but that there is on this occasion a
little alloy mingled with your devotion. To think of death at all times
is a duty--to suppose it nearer from the finding an old gravestone is
superstition; and you, with your strong, useful common sense, which was
so long the prop of a fallen family, are the last person whom I should
have suspected of such weakness.â
âNeither would I deserve your suspicions, kinsman,â answered Aunt
Margaret, âif we were speaking of any incident occurring in the actual
business of human life. But for all this, I have a sense of superstition
about me, which I do not wish to part with. It is a feeling which
separates me from this age, and links me with that to which I am
hastening; and even when it seems, as now, to lead me to the brink
of the grave, and bid me gaze on it, I do not love that it should be
dispelled. It soothes my imagination, without influencing my reason or
conduct.â
âI profess, my good lady,â replied I, âthat had any one but you made
such a declaration, I should have thought it as capricious as that of
the clergyman, who, without vindicating his false reading, preferred,
from habitâs sake, his old Mumpsimus to the modern Sumpsimus.â
âWell,â answered my aunt, âI must explain my inconsistency in this
particular by comparing it to another. I am, as you know, a piece of
that old-fashioned thing called a Jacobite; but I am so in sentiment and
feeling only, for a more loyal subject never joined in prayers for the
health and wealth of George the Fourth, whom God long preserve! But I
dare say that kind-hearted sovereign would not deem that an old woman
did him much injury if she leaned back in her arm-chair, just in such
a twilight as this, and thought of the high-mettled men whose sense of
duty called them to arms against his grandfather; and how, in a cause
which they deemed that of their rightful prince and country,
âThey fought till their hand to the broadsword was glued,
They fought against fortune with hearts unsubdued.â
Do not come at such a moment, when my head is full of plaids, pibrochs,
and claymores, and ask my reason to admit what, I am afraid, it cannot
deny--I mean, that the public advantage peremptorily demanded that these
things should cease to exist. I cannot, indeed, refuse to allow the
justice of your reasoning; but yet, being convinced against my will, you
will gain little by your motion. You might as well read to an infatuated
lover the catalogue of his mistressâs imperfections; for when he has
been compelled to listen to the summary, you will only get for answer
that âhe loâ�
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
face of MINERVA "MINI" DROGUES, 18, watching something.
She looks extremely bored by the television images flickering
across her eyes. She has a pretty face: Large eyes, and pouty
mouth. Her knowing look is incongruous with a face clearly
still that of a girl.
<b>
</b><b> - MINI (V.O.)
</b> I know what you're thinking. Don't
bullshit me, because I do... You're
- thinking, oh dear lord in heaven,
please, I'm begging you. I'll gouge
- out my eyes with the straw in my
drink right now. I'll jam every
last kernel of popcorn into my
- mouth until I suffocate, just not
another fucking teenage coming-of-
age story.
<b>
</b> We pull back to reveal her body, which is moving out of that
awkward stage between adolescence and womanhood. Though tall
and thin, her hips haven't quite rounded. She's wearing a
"FUCT" T-shirt and jean shorts.
<b> MINI (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b> Well, relax...no prom night
highjinks, no nerds becoming
popular and no Shakespeare set in
high school...I promise.
CLOSE ON: THE TV SCREEN. "When Animals Attack" is on. In a
series of quick cuts:
<b>
</b> A zoo keeper is mauled by an elephant.
<b>
</b> A sport fisherman is attacked on the deck of a boat by a
shark he and his buddies thought was dead.
A pit bull clamps down on his owner's arm.
<b>
</b> An alligator hunter stupidly puts his head in the mouth of a
just-captured alligator, only to have it chomp down on his
skull.
<b>
</b><b>
|
stupidly
|
How many times does the word 'stupidly' appear in the text?
| 0
|
them, and shares with them till
he undoes them. A lewd, impudent, debauched fellow, very expert in the
cant about town.
âShamwell, cousin to the Belfords, who, being ruined by Cheatly, is made
a decoy-duck for others, not daring to stir out of Alsatia, where he
lives. Is bound with Cheatly for heirs, and lives upon them a dissolute
debauched life.
âCaptain Hackum, a blockheaded bully of Alsatia, a cowardly, impudent,
blustering fellow, formerly a sergeant in Flanders, who has run from his
colours, and retreated into Whitefriars for a very small debt, where by
the Alsatians he is dubb'd a captain, marries one that lets lodgings,
sells cherry-brandy, and is a bawd.
âScrapeall a hypocritical, repeating, praying, psalm-singing, precise
fellow, pretending to great piety; a godly knave, who joins with
Cheatly, and supplies young heirs with goods, and money.â--Dramatis
Personae to the Squire of Alsatia, SHADWELL'S Works, vol. iv.] The play,
as we learn from the dedication to the Earl of Dorset and Middlesex, was
successful above the author's expectations, âno comedy these many years
having filled the theatre so long together. And I had the great honour,â
continues Shadwell, âto find so many friends, that the house was never
so full since it was built as upon the third day of this play, and vast
numbers went away that could not be admitted.â [Footnote: Dedication to
the Squire of Alsatia, Shadwell's Works, vol. iv.] From the Squire of
Alsatia the author derived some few hints, and learned the footing
on which the bullies and thieves of the Sanctuary stood with their
neighbours, the fiery young students of the Temple, of which some
intimation is given in the dramatic piece.
Such are the materials to which the author stands indebted for the
composition of the Fortunes of Nigel, a novel, which may be perhaps one
of those that are more amusing on a second perusal, than when read a
first time for the sake of the story, the incidents of which are few and
meagre.
The Introductory Epistle is written, in Lucio's phrase, âaccording
to the trick,â and would never have appeared had the writer meditated
making his avowal of the work. As it is the privilege of a masque or
incognito to speak in a feigned voice and assumed character, the author
attempted, while in disguise, some liberties of the same sort; and while
he continues to plead upon the various excuses which the introduction
contains, the present acknowledgment must serve as an apology for a
species of âhoity toity, whisky friskyâ pertness of manner, which, in
his avowed character, the author should have considered as a departure
from the rules of civility and good taste.
ABBOTSFORD.
1st July, 1831.
INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE
CAPTAIN CLUTTERBUCK TO THE REVEREND DR. DRYASDUST
DEAR SIR,
I readily accept of, and reply to the civilities with which you have
been pleased to honour me in your obliging letter, and entirely agree
with your quotation, of _âQuam bonum et quam jucundum!â_ We may indeed
esteem ourselves as come of the same family, or, according to our
country proverb, as being all one man's bairns; and there needed no
apology on your part, reverend and dear sir, for demanding of me any
information which I may be able to supply respecting the subject of your
curiosity. The interview which you allude to took place in the course
of last winter, and is so deeply imprinted on my recollection, that it
requires no effort to collect all
|
that
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| 4
|
Copyright, 1959 1988 & 1998
Leo Marks
The screen remains dark for a moment.
In the darkness WE HEAR the film's THEME MUSIC - a gentle
whirring purring noise. Nothing to be alarmed about. It
might be a small contented motor.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. A DESERTED STREET - NIGHT
</b>
LONG SHOT of the solitary figure of a WOMAN standing
professionally alone at the end of the street.
It is a bright, still night. We can HEAR the Woman whistling
'Stardust' merrily to herself.
CAMERA TRACKS around her. A Man's footsteps are overlaid.
We HEAR the Man start to whistle 'Stardust' under his breath -
haltingly at first, then in time with the Woman.
As we approach, she glances at us over her shoulder - then
turns round for a better look.
Her whistling stops - so, at the same moment, does the
man's.
CLOSE SHOT of DORA - a plump, attractive brunette - still
young enough to need two glances at the customers.
She smiles at us - and is pleased with the reception. She
hesitates for a long moment, weighing us up carefully...
and then - half defiantly, half expecting to be laughed
at.
<b> DORA
</b> It'll be two quid...
Evidently we have two quid.
She beams with relief - throws her fur over her shoulders,
jerks her head towards the right - and sets off.
CAMERA TRACKS after her. Overlaid is the sound of the
man's footsteps.
Dora resumes her whistling. So, under his breath, does the
man who is following her.
<b> EXT. A DESERTED STREET - NIGHT
</b>
A wider street than the last - but just as empty.
|
shot
|
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| 1
|
Written by
Bernardo Bertolucci & Franco Arcalli
<b> FINAL SHOOTING TRANSCRIPT
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. PARIS FRANCE - PONT DE BIR-HAKEIM - DAY
</b>
PAUL (50's) stands on the street under a RAISED TRAIN BRIDGE.
He covers his ears in UTTER DISGUST at the UNBEARABLE NOISE a
train makes as it ROARS OVERHEAD.
He BELLOWS TO THE HEAVENS.
<b> PAUL
</b><b> (ENGLISH)
</b><b> FUCKING GOD!!!!
</b>
As the train moves on he walks, slowly, DESPONDENT. Lost in a
private WORLD OF PAIN.
Behind him we see a woman in a fur collard coat and flowered
hat walking, gaining on him. This is JEANNE (20's).
As she PASSES Paul, she turns to GLANCE at him. We read a
HINT of EMPATHY on her face.
He is OBLIVIOUS to her or anything else for that matter.
She walks on, dodging STREET SWEEPERS as she covers the long
walkway, trying to forget the SAD MAN she saw.
We see her walk toward a 6 story APARTMENT BUILDING.
|
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|
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| 0
|
>
<b> GORDON (V.O)
</b> Harvey Dent was needed. He was
everything Gotham has been crying
out for. He was...a hero. Not the
hero we deserved - the hero we
needed. Nothing less than a knight,
shining...
The sound of cracking. Splintering. A shape appears, in ice.
The shape of a BAT. The ice disintegrates...
<b> EXT. GOTHAM STREET - DAY
</b>
Gordon stands before a massive picture of Harvey Dent.
<b> GORDON
</b> But I knew Harvey Dent. I was...his
friend. And it will be a very long
time before someone inspires us the
way he did.
Gordon, choked with emotion, gathers the papers of his
eulogy.
I believed in Harvey Dent.
And we FADE TO BLACK.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Racing along a cratered dirt road, and we are -
<b> INT. LAND CRUISER JOSTLING OVER UNEVEN TERRAIN - DAY
</b>
Three Hooded Men guarded by East European Militia. A third
Militia drives. Next to him is a nervous, bespectacled man.
<b> EXT. AIRSTRIP, EASTERN EUROPE - DAY
</b>
An airstrip overlooking a grey city rocked by artillery
fire. A bland CIA Operative, flanked by Special Forces Men,
stands in front of a commuter plane. CIA Man watches the
Land Cruiser pull up, hard. The Militia Men jump out of the
vehicle.
The Driver shoves the bespectacled man in front of the CIA
Man.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b>
|
rocked
|
How many times does the word 'rocked' appear in the text?
| 0
|
August 2, 1988
Director's Revision
<b>------------------------------------------------------------------------------
</b>
<b> THE ABYSS
</b>
<b>OMITTED 1
</b>
<b>OMITTED 2
</b>
<b>TITLE: THE ABYSS -- ON BLACK, DISSOLVING TO COBALT BLUE
</b>
<b>EXT. OCEAN/UNDERWATER -- DAY 3
</b>
Blue, deep and featureless, the twilight of five hundred feet down.
PROPELLER SOUND. Materializing out of the blue limbo is the enormous but
sleek form of an Ohio-class SSBN ballistic missile submarine.
<b>INT. U.S.S. MONTANA -- DAY 4
</b>
In the attack center, darkened to womb-red, the crew's faces shine with sweat
in the glow of their instruments. The SKIPPER and his EXEC crowd around
BARNES, the sonarman.
<b> CAPTAIN
</b> Sixty knots? No way, Barnes... the reds don't
have anything that fast.
<b> BARNES
</b> Checked it twice, skipper. It's a real unique
signature. No cavitation, no reactor noise...
doesn't even sound like screws.
He puts the signal onto a speaker and everyone in the attack room listens to
the intruder's acoustic signature, a strange THRUMMING. The captain studies
the electronic position board, a graphic representation of the contours of
the steep-walled canyon, a symbol for the Montana, and converging with it, an
amorphous trace, representing the bogey.
<b> CAPTAIN
</b> What the hell is it?
<b> EXEC
</b> I'll tell you what it's not, it's not one of
ours.
|
captain
|
How many times does the word 'captain' appear in the text?
| 2
|
bad between the new-married
couple; for in the course of the day the lady deserted her quarters,
and returned to her father's house in Glasgow, after having been a
night on the road; stage-coaches and steam-boats having then no
existence in that quarter.
Though Baillie Orde had acquiesced in his wife's asseveration regarding
the likeness of their only daughter to her father, he never loved or
admired her greatly; therefore this behaviour nothing astounded him. He
questioned her strictly as to the grievous offence committed against
her, and could discover nothing that warranted a procedure so fraught
with disagreeable consequences. So, after mature deliberation, the
baillie addressed her as follows:
"Aye, aye, Raby! An' sae I find that Dalcastle has actually refused to
say prayers with you when you ordered him; an' has guidit you in a rude
indelicate manner, outstepping the respect due to my daughter--as my
daughter. But, wi' regard to what is due to his own wife, of that he's
a better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to
MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return
the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths
of his wife--an' let him lick at that."
"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.
"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for what
he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for
this."
So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a
mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage
only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" exclaimed he, "I
shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she
as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is
nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your
husband's impertinence!"
The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not
abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many
stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her
chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on
bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of
Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from
carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall make the
sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."
Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but
she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets;
for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a
perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts,
and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was
often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of
the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.
That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that
there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after some
sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had
passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite
of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the
laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would
neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and
kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he
converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of
religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every
assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by
drawing him into argument.
The laird kept
|
drawing
|
How many times does the word 'drawing' appear in the text?
| 0
|
says, âDo not be downhearted, you poor friendless girl; I will be your
friend.â It IS a good friend to me, and my only one; it is my sister.
That first time that she forsook me! ah, I shall never forget that
--never, never. My heart was lead in my body! I said, âShe was all I
had, and now she is gone!â In my despair I said, âBreak, my heart; I
cannot bear my life any more!â and hid my face in my hands, and there
was no solace for me. And when I took them away, after a little, there
she was again, white and shining and beautiful, and I sprang into her
arms!
That was perfect happiness; I had known happiness before, but it was not
like this, which was ecstasy. I never doubted her afterward. Sometimes
she stayed away--maybe an hour, maybe almost the whole day, but I waited
and did not doubt; I said, âShe is busy, or she is gone on a journey,
but she will come.â And it was so: she always did. At night she would
not come if it was dark, for she was a timid little thing; but if there
was a moon she would come. I am not afraid of the dark, but she is
younger than I am; she was born after I was. Many and many are the
visits I have paid her; she is my comfort and my refuge when my life is
hard--and it is mainly that.
TUESDAY.--All the morning I was at work improving the estate; and I
purposely kept away from him in the hope that he would get lonely and
come. But he did not.
At noon I stopped for the day and took my recreation by flitting all
about with the bees and the butterflies and reveling in the flowers,
those beautiful creatures that catch the smile of God out of the sky and
preserve it! I gathered them, and made them into wreaths and garlands
and clothed myself in them while I ate my luncheon--apples, of course;
then I sat in the shade and wished and waited. But he did not come.
But no matter. Nothing would have come of it, for he does not care for
flowers. He called them rubbish, and cannot tell one from another, and
thinks it is superior to feel like that. He does not care for me, he
does not care for flowers, he does not care for the painted sky at
eventide--is there anything he does care for, except building shacks to
coop himself up in from the good clean rain, and thumping the melons,
and sampling the grapes, and fingering the fruit on the trees, to see
how those properties are coming along?
I laid a dry stick on the ground and tried to bore a hole in it with
another one, in order to carry out a scheme that I had, and soon I got
an awful fright. A thin, transparent bluish film rose out of the hole,
and I dropped everything and ran! I thought it was a spirit, and I WAS
so frightened! But I looked back, and it was not coming; so I leaned
against a rock and rested and panted, and let my limbs go on trembling
until they got steady again; then I crept warily back, alert, watching,
and ready to fly if there was occasion; and when I was come near, I
parted the branches of a rose-bush and peeped through--wishing the man
was about, I was looking so cunning and pretty--but the sprite was gone.
I went there, and there was a pinch of delicate pink dust in the hole. I
put my finger in, to feel it, and said OUCH! and took it out again. It
was a cruel pain. I put my finger in my mouth; and by standing first on
one foot and then the other, and grunting, I presently eased my misery;
then I was full of interest, and began to examine.
I was curious to know what the pink dust was. Suddenly the name of it
occurred to me, though I had never heard of
|
girl
|
How many times does the word 'girl' appear in the text?
| 0
|
�s uniform, has a
knapsack on his shoulders, appears in high spirits, and stops at the
door of the inn._
FREDERICK.
Halt! Stand at ease! It is a very hot dayâA draught of good wine will
not be amiss. But first let me consult my purse. [_Takes out a couple
of pieces of money, which he turns about in his hand._] This will do
for a breakfastâthe other remains for my dinner; and in the evening I
shall be home. [_Calls out_] Ha! Halloo! Landlord! [_Takes notice of_
Agatha, _who is leaning against the tree._] Who is that? A poor sick
woman! She donât beg; but her appearance makes me think she is in want.
Must one always wait to give till one is asked? Shall I go without my
breakfast now, or lose my dinner? The first I think is best. Ay, I
donât want a breakfast, for dinner time will soon be here. To do good
satisfies both hunger and thirst. [_Going towards her with the money in
his hand._] Take this, good woman.
[_She stretches her hand for the gift, looks steadfastly at him, and
cries out with astonishment and joy._]
AGATHA.
Frederick!
FREDERICK.
Mother! [_With astonishment and grief._] Mother! For Godâs sake what is
this! How is this! And why do I find my mother thus? Speak!
AGATHA.
I cannot speak, dear son! [_Rising and embracing him._] My dear
Frederick! The joy is too greatâI was not preparedâ
FREDERICK.
Dear mother, compose yourself: [_leans her head against his breast_]
now, then, be comforted. How she trembles! She is fainting.
AGATHA.
I am so weak, and my head so giddyâI had nothing to eat all yesterday.
FREDERICK.
Good heavens! Here is my little money, take it all! Oh mother! mother!
[_Runs to the inn_]. Landlord! Landlord! [_knocking violently at the
door._]
LANDLORD.
What is the matter?
FREDERICK.
A bottle of wineâquick, quick!
LANDLORD.
[_surprised_]. A bottle of wine! For who?
FREDERICK.
For me. Why do you ask? Why donât you make haste?
LANDLORD.
Well, well, Mr. soldier: but can you pay for it?
FREDERICK.
Here is moneyâmake haste, or Iâll break every window in your house.
LANDLORD.
Patience! Patience! [_goes off._
FREDERICK.
[_to Agatha_]. You were hungry yesterday when I sat down to a
comfortable dinner. You were hungry when I partook of a good supper.
Oh! Why is so much bitter mixed with the joy of my return?
AGATHA.
Be patient, my dear Frederick. Since I see you, I am well. But I _have
been_ very ill: so ill, that I despaired of ever beholding you again.
FREDERICK.
Ill, and I was not with you? I will, now, never leave you more. Look,
mother, how tall and strong I am grown. These arms can now afford you
support. They can, and shall, procure you subsistence.
[Landlord _coming out of the house with a small pitcher._]
LANDLORD.
Here is wineâa most delicious nectar. [_Aside._] It is only Rhenish;
but it will pass for the best old Hock.
FREDERICK.
[_impatiently snatching the pitcher_]. Give it me.
LANDLORD.
No, noâthe money first. One shilling and two-pence
|
mother
|
How many times does the word 'mother' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Ethan Coen
<b>1. FADE IN:
</b><b> CLOSE SHOT A WHISKEY TUMBLER
</b>
That sits on an oak side bar under a glowing green bankers
lamp, as two ice cubes are dropped in. From elsewhere in
the room:
Man (off)
I'm talkin' about friendship. I'm talkin' about
character. I'm talkin' about--hell, Leo, I ain't
embarassed to use the word--I'm talkin' about
ethics.
Whiskey is poured into the tumbler, filling it almost to
the rim, as the offscreen man continues.
. . . You know I'm a sporting man. I like to
make the occasional bet. But I ain't <u>that</u>
sporting.
<b> THE SPEAKER
</b>
A balding middle-aged man with a round, open face. He
still wears his overcoat and sits in a leather chair in the
dark room, illuminated by the offscreen glow of a desk
lamp. This is Johnny Caspar.
Behind him stands another man, harder looking, wearing an
overcoat and hat and holding another hat--presumably
Caspar's. This is Bluepoiont Vance.
Caspar (cont'd)
When I fix a fight, say--if I pay a three-to-one
favorite to throw a goddamn fight--I figure I got
a right to expect that fight to go off at three-
to-one. But every time I lay a bet with this
sonofabitch Bernie Bernheim, before I know it the
odds is even up--or worse, I'm betting the short
money. . .
Behind Caspar we hear the clink of ice in the tumbler and a
figure emerges from the shadows, walking away from the
glowing bar in the backgound.
. . . The sheeny knows I like sure things. He's
selling the information I fixed the fight. Out-
of-town money comes pourin' in. The odds go
straight to hell. I don't know who he's sellin'
it to, maybe the Los Angeles combine, I don't
know. The point is, Bernie ain't satisfied with
the honest dollar he can make off the vig. He
ain't satisfied with the business I do on his
book. He's sellin' tips on how I bet, and that
means part of the payoff that should be ridin' on
my hip is ridin' on someone else's. So back we
go to these questions--friendship, character,
ethics.
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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
|
shaggy
|
How many times does the word 'shaggy' appear in the text?
| 10
|
Third Draft
<b> 4/10/95
</b>
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
of dreams that wave before the half shut eye...
<b> EXT. GNARLED FOREST -- NIGHT
</b>
An UGLY MAN charges through on a horse, holding a lantern
forward on a long pole. He looks back, terrified.
INSERT TITLE: <b>1799 Sleepy Hollow, New York</b>
THUNDEROUS HOOFBEATS are HEARD behind.
The ugly man glances back again. His lantern swings wild...
SHATTERS against a tree. The jammed-up pole SLAMS the ugly
man off his horse...
He hits the ground. He runs, trips, falls and scrambles up.
DEEP IN THE FOREST, we glimpse the source of the HOOFBEATS: a
HUGE FORM on a HUGE BLACK HORSE, already gone.
The ugly man pushes through thorny bushes. Jagged branches
slit his hands and cheeks.
He bursts from the briar patch and tumbles to a trail. He
lifts his bloodied face. He runs.
IN THE FOREST BEHIND: the hooves of the black horse rip
underbrush. HOOFBEATS DEAFENING. A spur digs into the
snorting steed's already bleeding flank.
The pursuer's gloved hand draws a SWORD, blade RINGING.
ON THE TRAIL, the ugly man runs on. The shrill WHISTLE of a
SWORD SWING is HEARD as the pursuer blurs past.
The ugly man is still running when his head lolls back, at an
impossible angle... tumbles off his shoulders... His headless
body hits the dirt.
<b> EXT. CITY STREETS -- NIGHT
</b>
Empty cobblestone streets. Crooked buildings. A RAPIDLY
CLANGING BELL breaks the silence from afar.
INSERT TITLE: <b>New York City</b>
TWO CONSTABLES clamor round a corner, lanterns held high,
listening. They rush into an alleyway.
ELSEWHERE, piers border the Hudson River. The BELL is
LOUDER. The two constables arrive, searching. No one around.
Constable One hefts his pistol, scared.
<b> CONSTABLE ONE
</b> Where are you?!
MAN'S VOICE (o.s.)
Here! Over here!
They hurry to the river's edge. Down a hill, the MAN,
another constable, stands with his back to us. He's waist
deep in water, tossing away his ALARM BELL.
<b>
|
horse
|
How many times does the word 'horse' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers' ills are all to sell.
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well.
VII
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
The blackbird in the coppice
Looked out to see me stride,
And hearkened as I whistled
The tramping team beside,
And fluted and replied:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
What use to rise and rise?
Rise man a thousand mornings
Yet down at last he lies,
And then the man is wise."
I heard the tune he sang me,
And spied his yellow bill;
I picked a stone and aimed it
And threw it with a will:
Then the bird was still.
Then my soul within me
Took up the blackbird's strain,
And still beside the horses
Along the dewy lane
It Sang the song again:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
The sun moves always west;
The road one treads to labour
Will lead one home to rest,
And that will be the best."
VIII
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side."
"My mother thinks us long away;
'Tis time the field were mown.
She had two sons at rising day,
To-night she'll be alone."
"And here's a bloody hand to shake,
And oh, man, here's good-bye;
We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,
My bloody hands and I."
"I wish you strength to bring you pride,
And a love to keep you clean,
|
down
|
How many times does the word 'down' appear in the text?
| 5
|
it in others. D'Alembert relates another incident, which will serve
to show that not only affectation, but also everything that seemed to him
too studied, received his condemnation. "One day, he went to see a man
from whom he had received many letters, which were almost in his own
style, and, which, as one may well imagine, had seemed to him very
ingenious. Not finding him, he determined to wait. He noticed, by chance,
on the desk of this man, the rough draughts of the letters which he had
received from him, and which he supposed had been written off-hand. Here
are rough draughts, said he, which do him no credit: henceforth, he may
make minutes of his letters for whomsoever he likes, but he shall receive
no more of mine. He left the house instantly, and never returned."[15]
At the age of eighteen[16] (1706), and shortly after leaving college,
Marivaux made his début in literature as the result of a discussion in
which he maintained that a comedy was not a difficult thing to write. Upon
being challenged to prove his point, he set to work, and, a few days
later, brought to the company a comedy in one act, entitled _le Père
prudent et équitable, ou Crispin l'heureux fourbe_. It is the only one of
Marivaux's comedies written in verse, which form of composition he adopted
the better to test himself and to demonstrate his claim; but he took good
care not to give to the public his comedy, "pour ne pas perdre en public,"
he said, "le pari qu'il avait gagné en secret,"[17] and it was not until
nearly fifteen years later, when he had reached the age of thirty-two,
that he entrusted a work to the stage. He did well to keep this comedy
from the public, for it contained little that gave promise of genius,
being juvenile in character, dull and faulty in versification, and
largely, though poorly, imitated from Molière and Regnard.
It must have been shortly after this that Marivaux returned to Paris to
continue his studies, and possibly to prepare himself for the life of a
literary dilettante. His means were sufficient to enable him to indulge
his taste in this way. Here we find him admitted to the salon of Mme. de
Lambert, held in her famous apartments, situated at the corner of the rue
Richelieu and the rue Colbert, and now replaced by a portion of the
Bibliothèque Nationale. It was a rendezvous of select society on
Wednesdays, and particularly of the literary set on Tuesdays, and among
its habitués may be mentioned such men as Fontenelle, d'Argenson, Sainte-
Aulaire, La Motte, and President Hénault. "It was," says Fontenelle, "with
few exceptions, the only house which had preserved itself from the
epidemic disease of gambling, the only one in which one met to converse
reasonably and even with _esprit_ upon occasion."[18] Its influence was
inestimable upon literary questions of the time, and it might be
considered almost as the antechamber of the French Academy. The envious
dubbed it _un bureau d'esprit_, and its form of _préciosité_,
_lambertinage_.
That Mme. de Lambert had a great influence in forming the mind of the
young author no one can read his works and doubt. A "_précieuse_ in the
most flattering and most exact acceptation"[19] of the term, she promoted
a similar turn of mind in Marivaux. His dislike for Molière may have
received its encouragement from her, as she was never quite willing to
forgive that great genius for his attack upon _les femmes savantes_.
Marivaux, too, had, as Palissot expresses it, "un faible pour les
précieuses,"[20] and for the author of those famous attacks, a contempt as
unfeigned as absurd. The high moral character of his writings and his
ideas on marriage and children may readily have found their origin with
|
marivaux
|
How many times does the word 'marivaux' appear in the text?
| 4
|
<b>______________________________________________________________________________
</b>
<b> "TOTAL RECALL"
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EXT. DESERT - DAY
</b>
All we can see, filling the entire frame is a flame-orange
sky...almost like the sky from the burning of Atlanta in
"Gone with the Wind".
SUPERIMPOSE: Presenter credit.
PAN DOWN lower and lower until we see the terrain below...
the desert. There is no vegetation whatever, just sand and
odd-shaped rock formations. The air is filled with red dust,
which alternately obscures and then reveals the image.
CAMERA MOVES FORWARD optically - enlarging the film grain in
the process.
<b> SLOW DISOLVE
</b>
<b> OPENING CREDITS BEGIN.
</b>
ANOTHER SHOT of a barren landscape, once more with bizarre
rocks. Dust. Sound of wind. CAMERA MOVES FORWARD again.
<b> DISSOLVE.
</b>
ANOTHER LANDSCAPE, but this time, in the distance are some
enormous plastic domes. Sunlight striking them and reflect-
ing causes brilliant rainbows. CAMERA optically tracks
toward the dome, seen in tantalizingly indistinct fashion
through the red dust. DISSOLVE...
ANOTHER ANGLE, and, in the distance, on the horizon of the
arid landscape is a huge SPHINX-LIKE STRUCTURE. (It is
reminiscent of the Egyptian sphinx, but both body and face,
though gargoyle-like, are different in design.) There are
some large pyramids not far from the sphinx. CAMERA MOVES
optically FORWARD. DISSOLVE.
CAMERA is much closer to the sphinx and is directly in front.
It moves (combination of zoom and optical printer move)
towards the eyes, which appear to be red gems.
As CAMERA APPROACHES one of the eyes, it appears to be
stained red glass, as in a temple. Suddenly there is a
terrific explosion and the glass shatters into millions of
fragments which hurtle toward the camera...
<b>2 INT. CATACOMB BELOW "SPHINX" - DAY
</b>
A MAN wearing a LIGHTWEIGHT THERMAL SUIT is RUNNING THROUGH
THIS LABYRINTH of TUNNELS. The GROUND TREMBLES under him,
as if in an earthquake. We cannot clearly make out his face,
especially since he wears some kind of BREATHING APPARATUS
over a portion of it.
The surface of the tunnel's "walls" is curious; the walls
are, again, bright reddish orange, and a composite
|
camera
|
How many times does the word 'camera' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Claude turned and
went in to his brother's store. The two big show windows were
full of country children, their mothers standing behind them to
watch the parade. Bayliss was seated in the little glass cage
where he did his writing and bookkeeping. He nodded at Claude
from his desk.
"Hello," said Claude, bustling in as if he were in a great hurry.
"Have you seen Ernest Havel? I thought I might find him in here."
Bayliss swung round in his swivel chair to return a plough
catalogue to the shelf. "What would he be in here for? Better
look for him in the saloon." Nobody could put meaner insinuations
into a slow, dry remark than Bayliss.
Claude's cheeks flamed with anger. As he turned away, he noticed
something unusual about his brother's face, but he wasn't going
to give him the satisfaction of asking him how he had got a black
eye. Ernest Havel was a Bohemian, and he usually drank a glass of
beer when he came to town; but he was sober and thoughtful beyond
the wont of young men. From Bayliss' drawl one might have
supposed that the boy was a drunken loafer.
At that very moment Claude saw his friend on the other side of
the street, following the wagon of trained dogs that brought up
the rear of the procession. He ran across, through a crowd of
shouting youngsters, and caught Ernest by the arm.
"Hello, where are you off to?"
"I'm going to eat my lunch before show-time. I left my wagon out
by the pumping station, on the creek. What about you?"
"I've got no program. Can I go along?"
Ernest smiled. "I expect. I've got enough lunch for two."
"Yes, I know. You always have. I'll join you later."
Claude would have liked to take Ernest to the hotel for dinner.
He had more than enough money in his pockets; and his father was
a rich farmer. In the Wheeler family a new thrasher or a new
automobile was ordered without a question, but it was considered
extravagant to go to a hotel for dinner. If his father or Bayliss
heard that he had been there-and Bayliss heard everything they
would say he was putting on airs, and would get back at him. He
tried to excuse his cowardice to himself by saying that he was
dirty and smelled of the hides; but in his heart he knew that he
did not ask Ernest to go to the hotel with him because he had
been so brought up that it would be difficult for him to do this
simple thing. He made some purchases at the fruit stand and the
cigar counter, and then hurried out along the dusty road toward
the pumping station. Ernest's wagon was standing under the shade
of some willow trees, on a little sandy bottom half enclosed by a
loop of the creek which curved like a horseshoe. Claude threw
himself on the sand beside the stream and wiped the dust from his
hot face. He felt he had now closed the door on his disagreeable
morning.
Ernest produced his lunch basket.
"I got a couple bottles of beer cooling in the creek," he said.
"I knew you wouldn't want to go in a saloon."
"Oh, forget it!" Claude muttered, ripping the cover off a jar of
pickles. He was nineteen years old, and he was afraid to go into
a saloon, and his friend knew he was afraid.
After lunch, Claude took out a handful of good cigars he had
bought at the drugstore. Ernest, who couldn't afford cigars, was
pleased. He lit one, and as he smoked he kept looking at it with
an air of pride and turning it around between his fingers.
The horses stood with their heads over the wagon-box, munching
their oats. The stream trickled by under the willow roots with a
cool, persuasive sound. Claude and Ernest lay in the shade, their
coats under their heads, talking very little. Occasionally a
motor dashed along the road toward town, and a cloud of dust and
a smell of gasoline blew in over the creek bottom; but for the
most part the silence of the warm, lazy summer noon was
undisturbed. Claude could usually forget his own vexations and
chag
|
bayliss
|
How many times does the word 'bayliss' appear in the text?
| 5
|
residing as stated, a rich country gentleman. He is
sure--'confidence' was as near as he could get to 'confident'--that it
is pressing. There is our result--and a very workmanlike little bit of
analysis it was!"
Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work,
even as he mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which he
aspired. He was still chuckling over his success when Billy swung open
the door and Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard was ushered into the
room.
Those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when Alec MacDonald
was far from having attained the national fame which he has now
achieved. He was a young but trusted member of the detective force, who
had distinguished himself in several cases which had been intrusted
to him. His tall, bony figure gave promise of exceptional physical
strength, while his great cranium and deep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no
less clearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out from behind his
bushy eyebrows. He was a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a
hard Aberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success,
his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For
this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateur
colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which
he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothing higher
than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had
talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there
was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood
alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was
not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and
smiled at the sight of him.
"You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck with your
worm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot."
"If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth,
I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin.
"Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't
smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early
hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your
own self. But--but--"
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of
absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet upon
which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
"Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's
witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those
names?"
"It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. But
why--what's amiss with the names?"
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment.
"Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was
horribly murdered last night!"
Chapter 2--Sherlock Holmes Discourses
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It
would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited
by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in
his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long
overstimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual
perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the
horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face
showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees
the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.
"Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!"
"You don't seem surprised."
"Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised?
I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be
important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within
an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that
the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not
surprised."
In a
|
true
|
How many times does the word 'true' appear in the text?
| 0
|
bottles of vodka and a
small disposable camera on Oleg's tray table. The passport
is set down. Oleg picks it up. We hear Emil's voice in
CZECH. The scene is subtitled in ENGLISH.
<b> EMIL (V.O.)
</b> Just do what I do. Say the same thing I
say. Don't open your mouth.
<b> OLEG (V.O.)
</b> Okay.
<b> INT. PASSPORT CONTROL - KENNEDY AIRPORT - DAY
</b>
CAMERA DOLLIES down a long line of passengers. They are
split into two lines - one for Americans, the other for
visitors. CAMERA finally arrives at EMIL SLOVAK. An
unshaven Czech in his mid-30's. Tall, scraggly beard.
Piercing blue eyes. He's dressed in an outdated suit. His
eyes are alert, cunning and smart.
OLEG RAZGUL, stands in line behind Emil. Oleg is big. Not
tall - but wide. A wrestler's body. Emil looks at Oleg.
(The following is in CZECH and subtitled in ENGLISH.)
<b> EMIL
</b> Don't fool around.
<b> OLEG
</b> Okay.
Oleg holds up his disposable camera - at arms length - to
take a picture of himself.
<b> EMIL
</b> Did you hear what I said?
<b> OLEG
</b> I want to document my trip to America.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> Next.
(Emil steps up)
Could I see your documents, please?
<b> EMIL
</b> Yes sir.
He hands the passport to the officer who runs it through an
image swipe. Emil glances furtively back to Oleg.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> What is your intended purpose of your
visit to the United States?
<b> EMIL
</b> Two weeks holiday.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> How much money are you carrying with
you?
<b> EMIL
</b> I have five-hundred dollars.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> Can you show me? Sir, no cameras in the
FIS area!
Oleg was about to take a picture of Emil and the Immigration
Officer. Oleg puts the camera away. Smiles sheepishly.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER (CONT'D)
</b> (to Emil)
Is he with you? Are you travelling
together?
<b> EMIL
</b> Yes.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> Please join us.
(to Oleg)
Come on forward.
<b> EMIL
</b> Is there a problem?
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFICER
</b> No, you're travelling together. I want
to talk to you together. Hi, how are
you? Can I take a look at your
documents?
(takes Oleg's passport)
Are you related?
<b> OLEG
</b> Yes...he's my friend.
<b> IMMIGRATION OFFIC
|
officer
|
How many times does the word 'officer' appear in the text?
| 8
|
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
|
right
|
How many times does the word 'right' appear in the text?
| 1
|
insult? The bird erects every available feather upon its person.
So did Uncle Hughey seem to swell, clothes, mustache, and woolly white
beard; and without further speech he took himself on board the Eastbound
train, which now arrived from its siding in time to deliver him.
Yet this was not why he had not gone away before. At any time he could
have escaped into the baggage-room or withdrawn to a dignified distance
until his train should come up. But the old man had evidently got a sort
of joy from this teasing. He had reached that inevitable age when we are
tickled to be linked with affairs of gallantry, no matter how.
With him now the Eastbound departed slowly into that distance whence
I had come. I stared after it as it went its way to the far shores of
civilization. It grew small in the unending gulf of space, until all
sign of its presence was gone save a faint skein of smoke against the
evening sky. And now my lost trunk came back into my thoughts, and
Medicine Bow seemed a lonely spot. A sort of ship had left me marooned
in a foreign ocean; the Pullman was comfortably steaming home to port,
while I--how was I to find Judge Henry's ranch? Where in this unfeatured
wilderness was Sunk Creek? No creek or any water at all flowed here that
I could perceive. My host had written he should meet me at the station
and drive me to his ranch. This was all that I knew. He was not here.
The baggage-man had not seen him lately. The ranch was almost certain
to be too far to walk to, to-night. My trunk--I discovered myself still
staring dolefully after the vanished East-bound; and at the same instant
I became aware that the tall man was looking gravely at me,--as
gravely as he had looked at Uncle Hughey throughout their remarkable
conversation.
To see his eye thus fixing me and his thumb still hooked in his
cartridge-belt, certain tales of travellers from these parts forced
themselves disquietingly into my recollection. Now that Uncle Hughey was
gone, was I to take his place and be, for instance, invited to dance on
the platform to the music of shots nicely aimed?
"I reckon I am looking for you, seh," the tall man now observed.
II. "WHEN YOU CALL ME THAT, SMILE!"
We cannot see ourselves as others see us, or I should know what
appearance I cut at hearing this from the tall man. I said nothing,
feeling uncertain.
"I reckon I am looking for you, seh," he repeated politely.
"I am looking for Judge Henry," I now replied.
He walked toward me, and I saw that in inches he was not a giant. He was
not more than six feet. It was Uncle Hughey that had made him seem to
tower. But in his eye, in his face, in his step, in the whole man,
there dominated a something potent to be felt, I should think, by man or
woman.
"The Judge sent me afteh you, seh," he now explained, in his civil
Southern voice; and he handed me a letter from my host. Had I not
witnessed his facetious performances with Uncle Hughey, I should have
judged him wholly ungifted with such powers. There was nothing external
about him but what seemed the signs of a nature as grave as you could
meet. But I had witnessed; and therefore supposing that I knew him in
spite of his appearance, that I was, so to speak, in his secret and
could give him a sort of wink, I adopted at once a method of easiness.
It was so pleasant to be easy with a large stranger, who instead of
shooting at your heels had very civilly handed you a letter.
"You're from old Virginia, I take it?" I began.
He answered slowly, "Then you have taken it correct, seh."
A slight chill passed over my easiness, but I went cheerily on with a
further inquiry. "Find many oddities out here like Uncle Hughey?"
"Yes, seh, there is a right smart of oddities around. They come in on
every train."
At this point I dropped my method of easiness.
"I wish that trunks came
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 3
|
ORCHESTRAL
</b>
<b>TEXT, WHITE ON BLACK:
</b>
This film is a reenactment of actual
events. It is based on Mr. Barris's
private journals, public records, and
hundreds of hours of taped interviews.
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT. NYC STREET - NIGHT
</b>
<b>SUBTITLE: NEW YORK CITY, FALL 1981
</b>
It's raining. A cab speeds down a dark, bumpy side-street.
<b>INT. CAB - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Looking in his rearview mirror, the cab driver checks out his
passenger: a sweaty young man in a gold blazer with a "P"
insignia over his breast pocket. Several paper bags on the
back seat hedge him in. The young man is immersed in the
scrawled list he clutches in his hand. A passing street
light momentarily illuminates the list and we glimpse a few
of the entries: double-coated waterproof fuse (500 feet);
.38 ammo (hollowpoint configuration); potato chips (Lays).
<b>GONG SHOW
</b>
An excerpt from The Gong Show (reenacted). The video image
fills the screen. We watch a fat man recite Hamlet,
punctuating his soliloquy with loud belching noises. The
audience is booing. Eventually the man gets gonged. Chuck
Barris, age 50, hat pulled over his eyes, dances out from the
wings to comfort the agitated performer.
<b> PERFORMER
</b> Why'd they do that? I wasn't done.
<b> BARRIS (AGE 50)
</b> I don't understand. Juice, why'd you
gong this nice man?
<b> JAYE P. MORGAN
</b> Not to be. That is the answer.
The studio audience laughs.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. TAXI CAB - NIGHT
</b>
The cab sloshes to a stop in front of a liquor store. The
young man gets out, jogs through the rain toward the
fluorescent storefront. The cab driver waits, listens to
staticky reports in a foreign language on his radio. The
meter is running. The back seat is piled high with bags.
<b>GONG SHOW
</b>
Chuck Barris spastically dances on the screen along with Gene
Gene the Dancing Machine. Barris turns to the camera, points
at it.
<b> BARRIS
</b> We'll be right back with more stuff.
<b>INT. TAXI CAB - NIGHT
</b>
The back of the cab is filled with even more bags and boxes.
The cab stops. The young man gets out and confers with a
shady looking guy on the corner. The young man pulls out a
big wad of cash. Money and a small package change hands.
The meter in the cab is at thirty-five dollars and change.
<b>THE GONG SHOW
</b>
Chuck Barris is
|
gong
|
How many times does the word 'gong' appear in the text?
| 4
|
story. This, then, is the Consul-General's tale:--
"When I was two-and-twenty, and had taken my degree in law, my old
uncle, the Abbe Loraux, then seventy-two years old, felt it necessary
to provide me with a protector, and to start me in some career. This
excellent man, if not indeed a saint, regarded each year of his life as
a fresh gift from God. I need not tell you that the father confessor of
a Royal Highness had no difficulty in finding a place for a young man
brought up by himself, his sister's only child. So one day, towards the
end of the year 1824, this venerable old man, who for five years had
been Cure of the White Friars at Paris, came up to the room I had in his
house, and said:
"'Get yourself dressed, my dear boy; I am going to introduce you to some
one who is willing to engage you as secretary. If I am not mistaken, he
may fill my place in the event of God's taking me to Himself. I shall
have finished mass at nine o'clock; you have three-quarters of an hour
before you. Be ready.'
"'What, uncle! must I say good-bye to this room, where for four years I
have been so happy?'
"'I have no fortune to leave you,' said he.
"'Have you not the reputation of your name to leave me, the memory of
your good works----?'
"'We need say nothing of that inheritance,' he replied, smiling. 'You do
not yet know enough of the world to be aware that a legacy of that kind
is hardly likely to be paid, whereas by taking you this morning to M. le
Comte'--Allow me," said the Consul, interrupting himself, "to speak
of my protector by his Christian name only, and to call him Comte
Octave.--'By taking you this morning to M. le Comte Octave, I hope to
secure you his patronage, which, if you are so fortunate as to please
that virtuous statesman--as I make no doubt you can--will be worth, at
least, as much as the fortune I might have accumulated for you, if my
brother-in-law's ruin and my sister's death had not fallen on me like a
thunder-bolt from a clear sky.'
"'Are you the Count's director?'
"'If I were, could I place you with him? What priest could be capable
of taking advantage of the secrets which he learns at the tribunal of
repentance? No; you owe this position to his Highness, the Keeper of
the Seals. My dear Maurice, you will be as much at home there as in your
father's house. The Count will give you a salary of two thousand four
hundred francs, rooms in his house, and an allowance of twelve hundred
francs in lieu of feeding you. He will not admit you to his table,
nor give you a separate table, for fear of leaving you to the care of
servants. I did not accept the offer when it was made to me till I was
perfectly certain that Comte Octave's secretary was never to be a mere
upper servant. You will have an immense amount of work, for the Count
is a great worker; but when you leave him, you will be qualified to fill
the highest posts. I need not warn you to be discreet; that is the first
virtue of any man who hopes to hold public appointments.'
"You may conceive of my curiosity. Comte Octave, at that time, held one
of the highest legal appointments; he was in the confidence of Madame
the Dauphiness, who had just got him made a State Minister; he led such
a life as the Comte de Serizy, whom you all know, I think; but even more
quietly, for his house was in the Marais, Rue Payenne, and he hardly
ever entertained. His private life escaped public comment by its
hermit-like simplicity and by constant hard work.
"Let me describe my position to you in a few words. Having found in the
solemn headmaster of the College Saint-Louis a tutor to whom my uncle
delegated his authority, at the age of eighteen I had gone through all
the classes; I left school as innocent as a seminarist, full of faith,
on quitting Saint
|
hardly
|
How many times does the word 'hardly' appear in the text?
| 1
|
January 7, 1992
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> HIBERNATING GROUNDHOGS
</b> A family of groundhogs is nestled together in their burrow
sleeping off the end of a long winter.
<b> ROLL CREDITS AND THEME MUSIC
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. A FOREST CLEARING - EARLY MORNING
</b>
The crust of an old snowfall still covers the frozen ground,
and the bare, icy branches of the trees glisten dully in the
early morning light.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. TV STUDIO - SAME TIME
</b>
PHIL CONNORS is standing in front of a blank green wall
gesticulating animatedly at some invisible images on the wall,
talking a mile a minute (MOS) . He looks completely crazy as he
points at nothing and winks to an unseen audience.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. WESTERN PENNSYLVANIA - SAME TIME
</b>
CREDITS CONTINUE as we streak across the winter landscape,
flying over fields and farms, small towns and hamlets, railroad
lines and interstates, coalyards and factories, until we cross
the Allegheny River and follow it to the southwest.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. TV STUDIO - SAME TIME
</b>
Phil continues pointing out features on the blank wall , but
from a new angle we can see that he ' s looking at a monitor out
of the corner of his eye which shows the chromakey insert he's
pointing to -- a national weather map.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. NEAR PITTSBURGH - SAME TIME
</b>
The country towns turn to suburbs, traffic on the roads gets
heavier and finally we see the skyline of Pittsburgh and the
confluence of the Allegheny with the Monongahela and the Ohio.
<b>
</b>
<b> -2-
</b>
<b>
</b> We zoom into a tall building in
|
pointing
|
How many times does the word 'pointing' appear in the text?
| 1
|
spilled over into the market triggering a
fantastic speculative boom... "
<b> EXT. CLINTON CORRECTIONAL FACILITY - DAY
</b>
It's a summer day. The heat floats above the pavement.
A cab waits in the lot.
The large gates of New York's largest prison open and today's
group of newly released emerge.
They pass a guard who lifts up a copy of The USA Today to
reveal the headlines and date that tells us it's 2002.
Amongst this group we find a man carrying a small duffel.
And we know this man. He is Gordon Gekko.
But he is not as slick as we remember... he doesn't have that
gleam in his eyes or that gel in his hair. No, this is a
very different version of the man we remember... because now
there's nothing behind those eyes... nothing we can read
anyway.
And he just stands there... coldly watching his recently
freed brethren greet their wives and children... reuniting
with the people who waited for them... the people who love
them.
The cab slowly pulls up and Gordon holds up a finger... wait
a minute. He glares over to the entrance of the lot...
waiting for his people... but they don't come.
And the cab waits... Gordon stands there... in the heat...
completely disappointed... and completely alone.
And we...
<b> SLAM BACK INTO
</b> As the white letters reappear on the screen...
"As a result... the American economy collapsed...
Taken from an article about the pre-crash 1929...
... written by Alan Greenspan."
<b> JACOB (V.O.)
</b> It's funny, the more we find ourselves
slaves of chance... the more
superstitious we become.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> SLAM INTO: A MANHATTAN MORNING
</b> A gorgeous June Friday.
<b> JACOB (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b> And that would make Andrew Zabel one
superstitious motherfucker.
Find ANDREW ZABEL, mid 50s, shaved-head and in good shape.
<b>
|
amongst
|
How many times does the word 'amongst' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A small kid, TJ FORNEY (13), with a grubby worn cast on his arm,
rides his BMX really fast down a street. He chases a tow truck
towing a badly wrecked red Volvo.
He struggles to keep up. The truck makes a turn. TJ follows,
turning dangerously in front of oncoming traffic.
The truck makes another turn. TJ turns with it, running straight
into the side of a car pulling out of a driveway. He comes off
his bike and is thrown across the hood. He picks himself up,
stunned. The driver of the car gets out to see if he's hurt.
TJ looks down the street to see the tow truck disappearing in
the distance. He hurries back to his bike. He jumps on and
continues after the truck.
TJ gives chase. He gains on the truck. He can see it pull into a
used car lot ahead - FAIR OAKS CAR CITY.
<b> EXT. FAIR OAKS CAR CITY - DAY
</b>
TJ arrives at the car lot as the TOW TRUCK DRIVER is lowering
the car onto the drive. TJ dumps his bike, out of breath.
<b> TJ
</b> This car has to go back.
<b> TOW TRUCK DRIVER
</b> Huh?
<b> TJ
</b> This car has to go back to where it
came from. Put it back on the truck.
<b> TOW TRUCK DRIVER
</b> What are you talking about, kid?
The driver continues working, unhooking the car from the truck.
<b>
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 1
|
48
ââWhoâs that?ââ 52
âCheering and waving leaves and swinging out of the branches
to greet himâ 61
âJohn Dolittle was the last to crossâ 65
âHe made all the monkeys who were still well come and be
vaccinatedâ 68
ââ_ME, the King of Beasts_, to wait on a lot of dirty
monkeys?ââ 70
âThen the Grand Gorilla got upâ 76
ââLord save us!â cried the duck. âHow does it make up its
mind?ââ 85
âHe began reading the fairy-stories to himselfâ 96
âCrying bitterly and waving till the ship was out of sightâ 109
ââThey are surely the pirates of Barbaryââ 114
ââAnd you have heard that rats always leave a sinking ship?ââ 119
ââLook here, Ben Aliâââ 127
ââSh!âListen!âI do believe thereâs someone in there!ââ 136
ââYou stupid piece of warm bacon!ââ 153
ââDoctor!â he cried. âIâ�
|
heard
|
How many times does the word 'heard' appear in the text?
| 0
|
grow clever."
It was a question, none the less, on which she could perfectly stand up.
"All I can say is then that you'll have, the next day or two, an
interesting new experience."
"It _will_ be interesting," I declared while I thought--"and all the
more if I make out for myself that Lady John _is_ the agent."
"You'll make it out if you talk to her--that is, I mean, if you make
_her_ talk. You'll see how she _can_."
"She keeps her wit then," I asked, "in spite of all she pumps into
others?"
"Oh, she has enough for two!"
"I'm immensely struck with yours," I replied, "as well as with your
generosity. I've seldom seen a woman take so handsome a view of
another."
"It's because I like to be kind!" she said with the best faith in the
world; to which I could only return, as we entered the train, that it
was a kindness Lady John would doubtless appreciate. Long rejoined us,
and we ran, as I have said, our course; which, as I have also noted,
seemed short to me in the light of such a blaze of suggestion. To each
of my companions--and the fact stuck out of them--something
unprecedented had happened.
II
The day was as fine and the scene as fair at Newmarch as the party was
numerous and various; and my memory associates with the rest of the long
afternoon many renewals of acquaintance and much sitting and strolling,
for snatches of talk, in the long shade of great trees and through the
straight walks of old gardens. A couple of hours thus passed, and fresh
accessions enriched the picture. There were persons I was curious of--of
Lady John, for instance, of whom I promised myself an early view; but we
were apt to be carried away in currents that reflected new images and
sufficiently beguiled impatience. I recover, all the same, a full
sequence of impressions, each of which, I afterwards saw, had been
appointed to help all the others. If my anecdote, as I have mentioned,
had begun, at Paddington, at a particular moment, it gathered substance
step by step and without missing a link. The links, in fact, should I
count them all, would make too long a chain. They formed, nevertheless,
the happiest little chapter of accidents, though a series of which I can
scarce give more than the general effect.
One of the first accidents was that, before dinner, I met Ford Obert
wandering a little apart with Mrs. Server, and that, as they were known
to me as agreeable acquaintances, I should have faced them with
confidence had I not immediately drawn from their sequestered air the
fear of interrupting them. Mrs. Server was always lovely and Obert
always expert; the latter straightway pulled up, however, making me as
welcome as if their converse had dropped. She was extraordinarily
pretty, markedly responsive, conspicuously charming, but he gave me a
look that really seemed to say: "Don't--there's a good fellow--leave me
any longer alone with her!" I had met her at Newmarch before--it was
indeed only so that I had met her--and I knew how she was valued there.
I also knew that an aversion to pretty women--numbers of whom he had
preserved for a grateful posterity--was his sign neither as man nor as
artist; the effect of all of which was to make me ask myself what she
could have been doing to him. Making love, possibly--yet from that he
would scarce have appealed. She wouldn't, on the other hand, have given
him her company only to be inhuman. I joined them, at all events,
learning from Mrs. Server that she had come by a train previous to my
own; and we made a slow trio till, at a turn of the prospect, we came
upon another group. It consisted of Mrs. Froome and Lord Lutley and of
Gilbert Long and Lady John--mingled and confounded, as might be said,
not assorted according to tradition. Long and Mrs. Froome came first, I
recollect, together, and his lordship turned away from Lady John on
seeing me rather directly approach her. She had become for me, on the
|
straightway
|
How many times does the word 'straightway' appear in the text?
| 0
|
time, but the scene in the film being shot is
supposed to take place during the night. So all the artificial
lights make us believe it is night-time)
We still hear the sound of the radio.
We are on a film set, even though we don't know it yet. The way it
is filmed makes us believe we are in a real bedroom.
A bedroom, seen through a window. Nice, clean, elegantly furnished
and very well lit. Large bed. On the other side of the room from
the window, a young woman is seated in front of desk facing the
wall. The young woman stands up, with a paper document in her
hand. She is wearing thick hoses, large slippers and a man's white
shirt, which hangs down to the middle of her thighs.
She walks out of the bedroom, to the next room. The window opens,
and the camera, which acts as the eyes of the intruder, looks
around the room.
<b> VOICE ON THE RADIO
</b> We interrupt this program to bring you a special news
bulletin.
The camera moves to the next room :
FILM SET - DINING ROOM - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
A dining-room with a large mantlepiece. In the center of the room,
a round dining table with four chairs around it. The table is set,
ready for dinner.
<b> VOICE ON THE RADIO
</b> Ernest Strohbecker and two accomplices escaped from a
maximum-security ward in Bellevue Hospital last night...
The camera (and consequently the eyes of the intruder) keeps on
looking around the room and then focus on the radio set sitting on
a small table.
Close shot on the radio. The volume of the radio goes up.
<b> VOICE ON THE RADIO
</b> ... after brutally stabbing two nurses and a custodian to
death. Strohbecker is extremely dangerous, brutal and
unpredict...
The radio is suddenly switched off.
The camera moves upward to show us the corridor and the open door
of the bathroom in the corridor.
THE YOUNG WOMAN (Voice over)
Harry ?
FILM SET - BATHROOM - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
Close shot on the mirror, in front of which the young woman is
standing. She looks a bit surprised by the sudden silence of the
radio, but very soon goes back to her make-up.
FILM SET - CORRIDOR - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
The camera (and consequently the eyes of the intruder) moves along
the corridor, toward the door of the bathroom. It stops very
shortly to look at the young woman, still taking care of her make-
up, and moves away to look at the open door on the other side of
the corridor.
FILM SET - KITCHEN - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
A kitchen. There is no light and the room is very dark. Close shot
on the row of knives hanging on the wall. A man's hand takes one
of the knives.
FILM SET - BATHROOM - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
The young woman opens a small closet, temporarily hiding her face
to the camera. She takes a lipstick and start doing her lips.
Close-up shot on the woman's lips, with the lipstick moving around
them.
Back to the mirror, showing the reflection of the young woman. She
opens the small closet. In the mirror, which covers the door of
the closet, we see a man approaching slowly, with a knife in his
hand.
Close-up shot on the woman's lips.
FILM SET - CORRIDOR - INTERIOR DAY (NIGHT in the film)
High-angle shot of the corridor, seen from the ceiling.
The woman comes out of the bathroom. She sees something, stops and
walks slightly backward.
<b> THE YOUNG WOMAN
</b> Harry ?
|
radio
|
How many times does the word 'radio' appear in the text?
| 8
|
an attitude and proceeds in his most tragic
vein:
"Declare with speed what spot you claim by birth.
Or with this club fall stricken to the earth!
This club hath ofttimes slaughtered haughty kings!
Why mumble unintelligible things?
What land, what tribe produced that shaking head?
Declare it! On my journey when I sped
Far to the Kingdom of the triple King,
And from the Main Hesperian did bring
The goodly cattle to the Argive town,
There I beheld a mountain looking down
Upon two rivers: this the Sun espies
Right opposite each day he doth arise.
Hence, mighty Rhone, thy rapid torrents flow,
And Arar, much in doubt which way to go,
Ripples along the banks with shallow roll.
Say, is this land the nurse that bred thy soul?"
These lines he delivered with much spirit and a bold front. All the same,
he was not quite master of his wits, and had some fear of a blow from
the fool. Claudius, seeing a mighty man before him, saw things looked
serious and understood that here he had not quite the same pre-eminence
as at Rome, where no one was his equal: the Gallic cock was worth most on
his own dunghill. So this is what he was thought to say, as far as could
be made out: "I did hope, Hercules, bravest of all the gods, that you
would take my part with the rest, and if I should need a voucher, I meant
to name you who know me so well. Do but call it to mind, how it was I used
to sit in judgment before your temple whole days together during July and
August. You know what miseries I endured there, in hearing the lawyers
plead day and night. If you had fallen amongst these, you may think
yourself very strong, but you would have found it worse than the sewers of
Augeas: I drained out more filth than you did. But since I want..."
(Some pages have fallen out, in which Hercules must have been persuaded.
The gods are now discussing what Hercules tells them).
"No wonder you have forced your way into the 8
Senate House: no bars or bolts can hold against you. Only do say what
species of god you want the fellow to be made. An Epicurean god he cannot
be: for they have no troubles and cause none. A Stoic, then? How can he be
globular, as Varro says, without a head or any other projection? There is
in him something of the Stoic god, as I can see now: he has neither heart
nor head. Upon my word, if he had asked this boon from Saturn, he would not
have got it, though he kept up Saturn's feast all the year round, a truly
Saturnalian prince. A likely thing he will get it from Jove, whom he
condemned for incest as far as in him lay: for he killed his son-in-law
Silanus, because Silanus had a sister, a most charming girl, called Venus
by all the world, and he preferred to call her Juno. Why, says he, I want
to know why, his own sister? Read your books, stupid: you may go half-way
at Athens, the whole way at Alexandria. Because the mice lick meal at Rome,
you say. Is this creature to mend our crooked ways? What goes on in his own
closet he knows not;[Footnote: Perhaps alluding to a mock marriage of
Silius and Messalina.] and now he searches the regions of the sky, wants to
be a god. Is it not enough that he has a temple in Britain, that savages
worship him and pray to him as a god, so that they may find a fool
[Footnote: Again [GREEK: morou] for [GREEK: theou] as in ch. 6.] to have
mercy upon them?"
At last it came into Jove's head, that while strangers 9
were in the House it was not lawful to speak or debate. "My lords and
gentlemen
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 6
|
June 12, 2009
<b> FADE IN ON:
</b>
<b> A SHODDILY PRODUCED TV COMMERCIAL
</b>
The ad depicts videotaped scenes from Wisconsin's north
country-- a farmer and a cow, a woman waterskiing, a guy
mowing his lawn. A flat, nasally V.O. accompanies the images.
<b> ROGER LEMKE (V.O.)
</b> The Brown River Valley: It's where
we work. It's where we play. It's
where we live. But even here in
paradise, accidents can happen.
The ad wipes to an inappropriately gruesome photo of an
obviously fatal car wreck. The NARRATOR is chroma-keyed over
the image. He is ROGER LEMKE, 40, blandly charismatic, with a
blonde moustache that evokes a low-rent Tom Selleck.
<b> ROGER LEMKE (CONT'D)
</b> At Northlands Insurance, our goal is
to provide high quality insurance
services and related products to
businesses and individuals in
Wisconsin's Northlands. I'm Roger
Lemke. Not only do I care about you,
we also endeavor to give you the
coverage you need at the best prices
around. It's that reason Northlands
has been awarded the prestigious Two
Diamond Award from the American
Society of Mutual Insurers three
years running. Because at Northlands
Insurance, we insure your dreams.
The car accident photo dissolves into a sunset. The treacly
music crescendos and we:
<b> MATCH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT
|
commercial
|
How many times does the word 'commercial' appear in the text?
| 0
|
70
"Perched on the top of water-tanks" 73
"I took up my position in a crib made of sleepers" 77
Whitehead on a Trolley at the exact spot where the Lion
jumped upon him 79
Abdullah and his two Wives 80
A party of Wa Jamousi 83
"His length from tip of nose to tip of tail was nine feet
eight inches" 92
Head of the first Man-Eater 93
"The following evening I took up my position in this same tree" 100
"He measured nine feet six inches from tip of nose to
tip of tail, and stood three feet eleven and
a half inches high" 103
"The bridge over the Tsavo rapidly neared completion" 108
"The heavy stones were swung into position" 109
"The girder was run over its exact place" 110
"And finally lowered gently into position" 111
"Very soon I had the satisfaction of seeing the first train
cross the finished work" 112
The completed Tsavo bridge 113
One of the Trolley Lines after the Flood 114
Swahili Caravan Porters 120
"Such was my cook, Mabruki" 122
The women ... wear a long, brightly-coloured cloth" 123
"The women attire themselves only in a short kilt" 125
"We arrived at M'Gogo's capital"
|
took
|
How many times does the word 'took' appear in the text?
| 1
|
FROM THE BLACK WE HEAR--
</b>
<b> MARK (V.O.)
</b> Did you know there are more people with
genius IQ's living in China than there
are people of any kind living in the
United States?
<b> ERICA (V.O. )
</b> That can't be true.
<b> MARK (V.O.)
</b> it is true.
<b> ERICA (V.O.)
</b> What would account for that?
<b> MARK (V.0.)
</b> Well first of all, a lot of people live
in China. But here's my question:
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> INT. CAMPUS BAR - NIGHT
</b>
MARK ZUCKERBERG is a sweet looking 19 year old whose lack of
any physically intimidating attributes masks a very
complicated and dangerous anger. He has trouble making eye
contact- and sometimes it's hard to tell if he's talking to you
or to himself.
ERICA, also 19, is Mark's date. She has a girl-next-door face
that makes her easy to fall for. At this point in the
conversation she already knows that she'd rather not be there
and her politeness is about to be tested.
The scene is stark and simple.
<b> MARK
</b> How do you distinguish yourself in a
population of people who all got 1600 on
their SAT's?
<b> ERICA
</b> I didn't know they take SAT's in China.
<b> MARK
</b> I wasn't talking about China anymore, I
was talking about here.
<b> ERICA
</b> You got 1600?
<b> MARK
</b> You can sing in an a Capella group.
|
erica
|
How many times does the word 'erica' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Nov. 2009
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> SUNRISE
</b>
Big and orange and full of hope, as sure as fate. A dawn as
promising as, well, this new day...
Sun is rising over...
A flat roof that stretches to the horizon. A vast expanse.
A plain of gravel-embedded tar, studded with...
HVAC units and power lines, the kind that service a huge
commercial building. In fact this kind of building...
A UNIMART store. A flagship of savings; a mother lode of
low, low prices. 100,000-and-then-some square feet of the
Consumer Economy...
<b> PARKING LOT
</b>
Empty thus far. A few EMPLOYEE autos arriving in their
assigned slots far from the entrance. One of those cars is a
old, not so vintage nor classic convertible...
KARMANN GHIA -- Belonging to...
LARRY CROWNE - A man as reliable (and predictable) as that
rising sun.
Actually, he's a Team Leader of this Unimart, dressed in his
un-sexy, un-fashionable, un-flattering khaki pants and
Company Polo.
Larry has had the ragtop down. He wrestles it up, locks the
cover into place.
He doesn't just walk to work, but s t r i d e s across the
asphalt field like a Sultan of Sales; a Viscount of Discount.
He cheers co-workers at the start of the day, shouting
encouragement, flashing thumbs up, knocking on car doors and
squeezing shoulders...
<b> DOROTHY GENKOS (PRE-LAP)
</b> A seven-speed Mix-o-Meter Food
Processor! $21.69!
<b>
|
convertible
|
How many times does the word 'convertible' appear in the text?
| 0
|
<b> OPENING CREDITS:
</b>
A SPOTLIGHT slices black space.
In its beam, a DANCER materializes. She is fair-skinned.
Beautiful and pure.
The maiden twirls on pointe, a smile on her face, light as
air and carefree.
She pauses, her face grows worried. Sensing someone watching.
Scared, she peers into the darkness.
She moves now, looking, growing more frantic.
Then, a SINISTER MAN emerges out of the darkness behind her.
She stumbles backwards, frightened.
She tries to escape, twirling away, but he pursues. His true
form is revealed, the demon ROTHBART.
He flings his open hand towards her, casting the spell.
She wants to scream, but nothing comes out. She looks at her
body, sensing something happening to her. Something
terrifying.
She spins, panicking, but it's too late. She disappears
beneath the beast's cape.
She emerges as the WHITE SWAN, the iconic protagonist of SWAN
<b> LAKE.
</b>
<b> CUT TO BLACK.
</b>
<b> 2 INT. NINA'S BEDROOM - MORNING 2
</b>
In the darkness, a
|
sensing
|
How many times does the word 'sensing' appear in the text?
| 1
|
<b> THREE GUARDS
</b>
Flank the working prisoners... Mountie hats, shotguns,
sidearms, sunglasses; they look like they mean it.
<b> HIGHWAY
</b>
A battered pickup appears...approaches. Suddenly, it coughs,
shudders, stalls. A big Blackfoot Indian named BILLY BEAR
gets out and starts cursing and kicking the vehicle.Then he
begins walking toward the road gang...
<b> ROADSIDE
</b>
BRADY is the Guard near the center of the work gang; he
smiles at the oncoming man, pokes a prisoner beside him.
<b> BRADY
</b> Wonder what reservation they let
him off of...
The prisoner is GANZ who looks up, grins at Brady...
<b> GANZ
</b> Yeah, there goes the neighborhood.
Brady laughs as Billy Bear closes in on him.
<b> BILLY
</b> Say, buddy, my engine's
overheating and I got 30 miles
before the next station... Could
I get some water out of your
cooler?
Ganz leans on his hoe, speaks as Billy passes...
<b> GANZ
</b> Maybe you shoulda stole a better
truck, Tonto.
<b> BILLY
</b> You got a real big mouth, convict.
<b> BRADY
</b>
|
ganz
|
How many times does the word 'ganz' appear in the text?
| 3
|
mother, she had once seen, long before Curdie was born,
a certain mysterious light of the same description with one Irene spoke
of, calling it her grandmother's moon; and Curdie himself had seen this
same light, shining from above the castle, just as the king and princess
were taking their leave. Since that time neither had seen or heard
anything that could be supposed connected with her. Strangely enough,
however, nobody had seen her go away. If she was such an old lady, she
could hardly be supposed to have set out alone and on foot when all the
house was asleep. Still, away she must have gone, for of course, if she
was so powerful, she would always be about the princess to take care of
her.
But as Curdie grew older, he doubted more and more whether Irene had not
been talking of some dream she had taken for reality: he had heard it
said that children could not always distinguish betwixt dreams and
actual events. At the same time there was his mother's testimony: what
was he to do with that? His mother, through whom he had learned
everything, could hardly be imagined by her own dutiful son to have
mistaken a dream for a fact of the waking world. So he rather shrunk
from thinking about it, and the less he thought about it, the less he
was inclined to believe it when he did think about it, and therefore, of
course, the less inclined to talk about it to his father and mother; for
although his father was one of those men who for one word they say think
twenty thoughts, Curdie was well assured that he would rather doubt his
own eyes than his wife's testimony. There were no others to whom he
could have talked about it. The miners were a mingled company--some
good, some not so good, some rather bad--none of them so bad or so good
as they might have been; Curdie liked most of them, and was a favourite
with all; but they knew very little about the upper world, and what
might or might not take place there. They knew silver from copper ore;
they understood the underground ways of things, and they could look very
wise with their lanterns in their hands searching after this or that
sign of ore, or for some mark to guide their way in the hollows of the
earth; but as to great-great-grandmothers, they would have mocked him
all the rest of his life for the absurdity of not being absolutely
certain that the solemn belief of his father and mother was
nothing but ridiculous nonsense. Why, to them the very word
"great-great-grandmother" would have been a week's laughter! I am not
sure that they were able quite to believe there were such persons as
great-great-grandmothers; they had never seen one. They were not
companions to give the best of help towards progress, and as Curdie
grew, he grew at this time faster in body than in mind--with the usual
consequence, that he was getting rather stupid--one of the chief signs
of which was that he believed less and less of things he had never seen.
At the same time I do not think he was ever so stupid as to imagine that
this was a sign of superior faculty and strength of mind. Still, he was
becoming more and more a miner, and less and less a man of the upper
world where the wind blew. On his way to and from the mine he took less
and less notice of bees and butterflies, moths and dragon-flies, the
flowers and the brooks and the clouds. He was gradually changing into a
commonplace man. There is this difference between the growth of some
human beings and that of others: in the one case it is a continuous
dying, in the other a continuous resurrection. One of the latter sort
comes at length to know at once whether a thing is true the moment it
comes before him; one of the former class grows more and more afraid of
being taken in, so afraid of it that he takes himself in altogether, and
comes at length to believe in nothing but his dinner: to be sure of a
thing with him is to have it between his teeth. Curdie was not in a very
good way then at that time. His father and mother had, it is true, no
fault to find with him--and yet--and yet--neither of them was ready to
sing when the thought of him came up. There
|
think
|
How many times does the word 'think' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, growing louder, joined by
other DRUMS as a BLACK LEGEND scrolls up: In feudal Japan,
the warrior class of Samurai were sworn to protect their
liege lords with their lives. Those Samurai whose liege was
killed suffered a great shame, and they were forced to wander
the land, looking for work as hired swords or bandits. These
masterless warriors were no longer referred to as Samurai,
they were known by another name: Such men were called Ronin.
The words hang on the screen and we hold for a BEAT, and then
the DRUMS are cut off by - A SILENCED GUN SHOT: Thwpfft...
<b> FADE IN ON:
</b>
<b> INT. A MEDIEVAL CATHEDRAL - NIGHT
</b>
It's dark, and so it takes us a minute to realize we're
MOVING UP STONE SPIRALING STAIRS, up up up in what we now see
is a medieval cathedral. And as we continue MOVING UP
something TRICKLES DOWN INTO FRAME - BLOOD. Running thin,
then thicker, as we CONTINUE TO MOVE UP the stairs and find -
A BODY, sprawled awkwardly across the stones, arms and legs
akimbo, not so much Christ-like as victim-like. In one hand
the Body holds a GUN he never had a chance to use. In the
other - A DARK SHAPE, we can't quite tell what it is.
FOOTSTEPS sound from above and - THE KILLER walks into frame,
silenced pistol dangling at his side. We don't know him, and
it's going to be a while before we see him again, but mark
his face because we'll see him again. The Killer now picks
up the dark shape in the Body's hand, and we see it's - A
BRIEFCASE. The Killer cuffs the Briefcase to his wrist and
turns to - TWO MEN standing behind him: subordinates. The
Killer shows them the Briefcase.
<b> KILLER
</b> God loves me.
THE BODY suddenly twitches -- this guy is not quite dead.
The Killer raises his silenced pistol.
<b> KILLER
</b> (to his victim)
But I don't think he's too fond of you...
<b> SLAM CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. A BACK STREET - PARIS - NIGHT
</b>
A PHONE RINGS, replacing the sound of the silenced gun shot
we expected to hear.
Rain-slicked cobblestones gleam in a twinkling of
streetlight.
<b> EXT. A PHONE BOOTH AT THE END OF THE STREET
</b>
The source of the ringing. We start to PUSH SLOWLY IN one the
phone booth, and as we do we hear the VOICE of an UGLY
<b> AMERICAN.
</b>
<b> UGLY AMERICAN (V.O.)
</b>
|
killer
|
How many times does the word 'killer' appear in the text?
| 6
|
precentor's pecuniary affairs.
Chapter II
THE BARCHESTER REFORMER
Mr Harding has been now precentor of Barchester for ten years; and,
alas, the murmurs respecting the proceeds of Hiram's estate are again
becoming audible. It is not that any one begrudges to Mr Harding
the income which he enjoys, and the comfortable place which so well
becomes him; but such matters have begun to be talked of in various
parts of England. Eager pushing politicians have asserted in the
House of Commons, with very telling indignation, that the grasping
priests of the Church of England are gorged with the wealth which the
charity of former times has left for the solace of the aged, or the
education of the young. The well-known case of the Hospital of St
Cross has even come before the law courts of the country, and the
struggles of Mr Whiston, at Rochester, have met with sympathy and
support. Men are beginning to say that these things must be looked
into.
Mr Harding, whose conscience in the matter is clear, and who has never
felt that he had received a pound from Hiram's will to which he was
not entitled, has naturally taken the part of the church in talking
over these matters with his friend, the bishop, and his son-in-law,
the archdeacon. The archdeacon, indeed, Dr Grantly, has been somewhat
loud in the matter. He is a personal friend of the dignitaries of the
Rochester Chapter, and has written letters in the public press on the
subject of that turbulent Dr Whiston, which, his admirers think, must
well nigh set the question at rest. It is also known at Oxford that
he is the author of the pamphlet signed "Sacerdos" on the subject of
the Earl of Guildford and St Cross, in which it is so clearly argued
that the manners of the present times do not admit of a literal
adhesion to the very words of the founder's will, but that the
interests of the church for which the founder was so deeply concerned
are best consulted in enabling its bishops to reward those shining
lights whose services have been most signally serviceable to
Christianity. In answer to this, it is asserted that Henry de Blois,
founder of St Cross, was not greatly interested in the welfare of the
reformed church, and that the masters of St Cross, for many years
past, cannot be called shining lights in the service of Christianity;
it is, however, stoutly maintained, and no doubt felt, by all the
archdeacon's friends, that his logic is conclusive, and has not, in
fact, been answered.
With such a tower of strength to back both his arguments and his
conscience, it may be imagined that Mr Harding has never felt any
compunction as to receiving his quarterly sum of two hundred pounds.
Indeed, the subject has never presented itself to his mind in that
shape. He has talked not unfrequently, and heard very much about the
wills of old founders and the incomes arising from their estates,
during the last year or two; he did even, at one moment, feel a
doubt (since expelled by his son-in-law's logic) as to whether Lord
Guildford was clearly entitled to receive so enormous an income
as he does from the revenues of St Cross; but that he himself was
overpaid with his modest eight hundred pounds,--he who, out of that,
voluntarily gave up sixty-two pounds eleven shillings and fourpence a
year to his twelve old neighbours,--he who, for the money, does his
precentor's work as no precentor has done it before, since Barchester
Cathedral was built,--such an idea has never sullied his quiet, or
disturbed his conscience.
Nevertheless, Mr Harding is becoming uneasy at the rumour which he
knows to prevail in Barchester on the subject. He is aware that, at
any rate, two of his old men have been heard to say, that if everyone
had his own, they might each have their hundred pounds a year, and
live like gentlemen, instead of a beggarly one shilling and sixpence
a day; and that they had slender cause to be thankful for a miserable
dole of twopence, when Mr Harding and Mr Chadwick, between them,
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 7
|
of many islands, and had never lacked employment; and now,
at the age of fifty, found himself at the Mandarins, with a salary
of £3,000 a year, living in a temperature at which 80° in the shade
is considered to be cool, with eight daughters, and not a shilling
saved. A governor at the Mandarins who is social by nature and
hospitable on principle, cannot save money in the islands even on
£3,000 a year when he has eight daughters. And at the Mandarins,
though hospitality is a duty, the gentlemen who ate Sir Rowley's
dinners were not exactly the men whom he or Lady Rowley desired to
welcome to their bosoms as sons-in-law. Nor when Mr. Trevelyan came
that way, desirous of seeing everything in the somewhat indefinite
course of his travels, had Emily Rowley, the eldest of the flock,
then twenty years of age, seen as yet any Mandariner who exactly came
up to her fancy. And, as Louis Trevelyan was a remarkably handsome
young man, who was well connected, who had been ninth wrangler at
Cambridge, who had already published a volume of poems, and who
possessed £3,000 a year of his own, arising from various perfectly
secure investments, he was not forced to sigh long in vain. Indeed,
the Rowleys, one and all, felt that providence had been very good to
them in sending young Trevelyan on his travels in that direction, for
he seemed to be a very pearl among men. Both Sir Marmaduke and Lady
Rowley felt that there might be objections to such a marriage as that
proposed to them, raised by the Trevelyan family. Lady Rowley would
not have liked her daughter to go to England, to be received with
cold looks by strangers. But it soon appeared that there was no one
to make objections. Louis, the lover, had no living relative nearer
than cousins. His father, a barrister of repute, had died a widower,
and had left the money which he had made to an only child. The head
of the family was a first cousin who lived in Cornwall on a moderate
property,--a very good sort of stupid fellow, as Louis said, who
would be quite indifferent as to any marriage that his cousin might
make. No man could be more independent or more clearly justified in
pleasing himself than was this lover. And then he himself proposed
that the second daughter, Nora, should come and live with them in
London. What a lover to fall suddenly from the heavens into such a
dovecote!
"I haven't a penny-piece to give to either of them," said Sir Rowley.
"It is my idea that girls should not have fortunes," said Trevelyan.
"At any rate, I am quite sure that men should never look for money.
A man must be more comfortable, and, I think, is likely to be more
affectionate, when the money has belonged to himself."
Sir Rowley was a high-minded gentleman, who would have liked to have
handed over a few thousand pounds on giving up his daughters; but,
having no thousands of pounds to hand over, he could not but admire
the principles of his proposed son-in-law. As it was about time for
him to have his leave of absence, he and sundry of the girls went to
England with Mr. Trevelyan, and the wedding was celebrated in London
by the Rev. Oliphant Outhouse, of Saint Diddulph-in-the-East, who
had married Sir Rowley's sister. Then a small house was taken and
furnished in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and the Rowleys went back to the
seat of their government, leaving Nora, the second girl, in charge of
her elder sister.
The Rowleys had found, on reaching London, that they had lighted upon
a pearl indeed. Louis Trevelyan was a man of whom all people said
all good things. He might have been a fellow of his college had he
not been a man of fortune. He might already,--so Sir Rowley was
told,--have been in Parliament, had he not thought it to be wiser to
wait awhile. Indeed, he was very wise in many things. He had gone
out on his travels thus young,--not in search
|
trevelyan
|
How many times does the word 'trevelyan' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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
|
know
|
How many times does the word 'know' appear in the text?
| 2
|
63, but amazingly not far from his
physical prime--body chiseled, built like a truck. Handsome
too, save the LONG SCAR running down the side of his face.
Blake removes the kettle from the stove. He scoops some Asian
tea leaves from a can, dumps them in a cup .
<b> INT. EDWARD BLAKE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - EVENING
</b>
The apartment is expensive but not quite luxurious. Terrific
New York view from the window. Blake lives well, if alone. He
sits on the couch with his cup of, tea, puts his feet up. Hits
the remote, turns the big screen TV on. The news:
<b> ANCHORWOMAN
</b> --addressing the United Nations today,
the President expressed his concern over
the increasingly intense territorial
disputes in both Asia and the Middle
East.
CUT TO: The PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES--
<b> PRESIDENT
</b> The sound of a bullet at one end of the
world echoes across the ocean to the
other end. Armed conflict is not self
contained in its respective region--the
consequences reverberate through every
nation across the world and therefore
must be avoided at all costs.
CUT BACK TO: The Anchorwoman--
<b> ANCHORWOMAN
</b> While the President's position was clear,
he did not comment on whether or not he
would order Dr. Manhattan into action
should the situation continue to
escalate.
CUT TO: Stock footage of DR. MANHATTAN--a man, at least he
appears to be, who has glowing blue skin. The stock footage
shows Dr. Manhattan flying through the air as a MISSILE heads
straight for him.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> CONTINUED:
</b> With a wave of his hand, Dr. Manhattan stops the missile in
its flight--frozen in mid-air--inches from his face.
With another wave, Dr. Manhattan DETONATES the missile. Dr.
Manhattan disappears in the EXPLOSION . but once the
smoke clears, we see he's still there. Unscathed--
--Blake sn
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president
|
How many times does the word 'president' appear in the text?
| 3
|
dorians were not.
Eddore was--and is--huge, dense, and hot. Its atmosphere is not air,
as we of small, green Terra, know air, but is a noxious mixture of
gaseous substances known to mankind only in chemical laboratories.
Its hydrosphere, while it does contain some water, is a poisonous,
stinking, foully corrosive, slimy and sludgy liquid.
And the Eddorians were as different from any people we know as Eddore
is different from the planets indigenous to our space and time. They
were, to our senses, utterly monstrous; almost incomprehensible. They
were amorphous, amoeboid, sexless. Not androgynous or parthenogenetic,
but absolutely sexless; with a sexlessness unknown in any Earthly form
of life higher than the yeasts. Thus they were, to all intents and
purposes and except for death by violence, immortal; for each one,
after having lived for hundreds of thousands of Tellurian years and
having reached its capacity to live and to learn, simply divided into
two new individuals, each of which, in addition to possessing in full
its parent's mind and memories and knowledges, had also a brand-new
zest and a greatly increased capacity.
And, since life was, there had been competition. Competition for power.
Knowledge was worth while only insofar as it contributed to power.
Warfare began, and aged, and continued; the appallingly efficient
warfare possible only to such entities as those. Their minds, already
immensely powerful, grew stronger and stronger under the stresses of
internecine struggle.
But peace was not even thought of. Strife continued, at higher and even
higher levels of violence, until two facts became apparent. First, that
every Eddorian who could be killed by physical violence had already
died; that the survivors had developed such tremendous powers of mind,
such complete mastery of things physical as well as mental, that they
could not be slain by physical force. Second, that during the ages
through which they had been devoting their every effort to mutual
extermination, their sun had begun markedly to cool; that their planet
would very soon become so cold that it would be impossible for them
ever again to live their normal physical lives.
Thus there came about an armistice. The Eddorians worked together--not
without friction--in the development of mechanisms by the use of which
they moved their planet across light-years of space to a younger,
hotter sun. Then, Eddore once more at its hot and reeking norm, battle
was resumed. Mental battle, this time, that went on for more than a
hundred thousand Eddorian years; during the last ten thousand of which
not a single Eddorian died.
Realizing the futility of such unproductive endeavor, the relatively
few survivors made a peace of sorts. Since each had an utterly
insatiable lust for power, and since it had become clear that they
could neither conquer nor kill each other, they would combine forces
and conquer enough planets--enough galaxies--so that each Eddorian
could have as much power and authority as he could possibly handle.
What matter that there were not that many planets in their native
space? There were other spaces, an infinite number of them; some of
which, it was mathematically certain, would contain millions upon
millions of planets instead of only two or three. By mind and by
machine they surveyed the neighboring continua; they developed the
hyper-spatial tube and the inertialess drive; they drove their planet,
space-ship-wise, through space after space after space.
And thus, shortly after the Coalescence began, Eddore came into our
space-time; and here, because of the multitudes of planets already
existing and the untold millions more about to come into existence,
it stayed. Here was what they had wanted since their beginnings; here
were planets enough, here were fields enough for the exercise of power,
to sate even the insatiable. There was no longer any need for them to
fight each other; they could now cooperate whole-heartedly--as long as
each was getting more--and _more_ and MORE!
Enphilisor, a young Arisian, his mind roaming eagerly abroad as was its
wont, made first contact with the Eddorians in this space. Inoffensive,
naive
|
more
|
How many times does the word 'more' appear in the text?
| 4
|
_,
and delighted the spectators chiefly by the splendour of the costumes
and machinery employed in their representation; but, afterwards, the
chief actors spoke their parts, singing and dancing were introduced, and
the composition of masks for royal and other courtly patrons became an
occupation worthy of a poet. They were frequently combined with other
forms of amusement, all of which were, in the case of the Court, placed
under the management of a Master of Revels, whose official title was
Magister Jocorum, Revellorum et _Mascorum_; in the first printed English
tragedy, _Gorboduc_ (1565), each act opens with what is called a
dumb-show or mask. But the more elaborate form of the Mask soon grew to
be an entertainment complete in itself, and the demand for such became
so great in the time of James I. and Charles I. that the history of
these reigns might almost be traced in the succession of masks then
written. Ben Jonson, who thoroughly established the Mask in English
literature, wrote many Court Masks, and made them a vehicle less for the
display of 'painting and carpentry' than for the expression of the
intellectual and social life of his time. His masks are excelled only
by _Comus_, and possess in a high degree that 'Doric delicacy' in their
songs and odes which Sir Henry Wotton found so ravishing in Milton's
mask. Jonson, in his lifetime, declared that, next himself, only
Fletcher and Chapman could write a mask; and apart from the compositions
of these writers and of William Browne (_Inner Temple Masque_), there
are few specimens worthy to be named along with Jonson's until we come
to Milton's _Arcades_. Other mask-writers were Middleton, Dekker,
Shirley, Carew, and Davenant; and it is interesting to note that in
Carew's _Coelum Brittanicum_ (1633-4), for which Lawes composed the
music, the two boys who afterwards acted in _Comus_ had juvenile parts.
It has been pointed out that the popularity of the Mask in Milton's
youth received a stimulus from the Puritan hatred of the theatre which
found expression at that time, and drove non-Puritans to welcome the
Mask as a protest against that spirit which saw nothing but evil in
every form of dramatic entertainment. Milton, who enjoyed the
theatre--both "Jonson's learned sock" and what "ennobled hath the
buskined stage"--was led, through his friendship with the musician
Lawes, to compose a mask to celebrate the entry of the Earl of
Bridgewater upon his office of "Lord President of the Council in the
Principality of Wales and the Marches of the same." He had already
written, also at the request of Lawes, a mask, or portion of a mask,
called _Arcades_, and the success of this may have stimulated him to
higher effort. The result was _Comus_, in which the Mask reached its
highest level, and after which it practically faded out of our
literature.
Milton's two masks, _Arcades_ and _Comus_, were written for members of
the same noble family, the former in honour of the Countess Dowager of
Derby, and the latter in honour of John, first Earl of Bridgewater, who
was both her stepson and son-in-law. This two-fold relation arose from
the fact that the Earl was the son of Viscount Brackley, the Countess's
second husband, and had himself married Lady Frances Stanley, a daughter
of the Countess by her first husband, the fifth Earl of Derby. Amongst
the children of the Earl of Bridgewater were three who took important
parts in the representation of _Comus_--Alice, the youngest daughter,
then about fourteen years of age, who appeared as _The Lady_; John,
Viscount Brackley, who took the part of the _Elder Brother_, and Thomas
Egerton, who appeared as the _Second Brother_. We do not know who acted
the parts of _Comus_ and _Sabrina_, but the part of the _Attendant
Spirit_ was taken by Henry Lawes, "gentleman of the Chapel Royal, and
one of His Majesty's private musicians." The Earl's children were his
pupils, and the mask was naturally
|
masks
|
How many times does the word 'masks' appear in the text?
| 4
|
</b>
<b> SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> CREDITS
</b>
Still-life tableaus. Lawford, N.H., a town of fifty buildings
on a glacial ridge, neither mountain nor plateau. Developed
as 1880's forestland, discarded in the Depression. Winter
has set in. Halloween day. Snowy fields yield to overcast
skies: oppressive, horizonless, flourescent.
-- Wickham's Restaurant. Where Route 29 bends. 24-hour diner.
Margie Fogg works here.
-- Trailer park in shadow of Parker Mountain. Home of Wade
Whitehouse.
-- Toby's Inn. Roadhouse three miles from town on the river
side of Route 29. Everything not tied down ends up here.
-- Glen Whitehouse farm. White clapboard.
-- First Congregational Church. North on the Common from
City Hall.
-- LaRiviere Co. Ramshackle well-digging firm embarrassingly
near the town center. Wade works here.
-- Merritt's Shell Station. Cinder-block.
-- Alma Pittman's house. Like so many others.
-- Town Hall.
ROLFE WHITEHOUSE'S VOICE, thirtiesh, articulate, speaks over
credit tableaus:
<b> ROLFE (V.O.)
</b> This is the story of my older
brother's strange criminal behavior
and disappearance. We who loved him
no longer speak of Wade. It's as if
he never existed. By telling his
story like this, as his brother, I
separate myself from his family and
those who loved
|
wade
|
How many times does the word 'wade' appear in the text?
| 2
|
same people at all those places: book fans who do lots of everything that has to do with books. I buy weird, fugly pirate editions of my favorite books in China because they're weird and fugly and look great next to the eight or nine other editions that I paid full-freight for of the same books. I check books out of the library, google them when I need a quote, carry dozens around on my phone and hundreds on my laptop, and have (at this writing) more than 10,000 of them in storage lockers in London, Los Angeles and Toronto.
If I could loan out my physical books without giving up possession of them, I *would*. The fact that I can do so with digital files is not a bug, it's a feature, and a damned fine one. It's embarrassing to see all these writers and musicians and artists bemoaning the fact that art just got this wicked new feature: the ability to be shared without losing access to it in the first place. It's like watching restaurant owners crying down their shirts about the new free lunch machine that's feeding the world's starving people because it'll force them to reconsider their business-models. Yes, that's gonna be tricky, but let's not lose sight of the main attraction: free lunches!
Universal access to human knowledge is in our grasp, for the first time in the history of the world. This is not a bad thing.
In case that's not enough for you, here's my pitch on why giving away ebooks makes sense at this time and place:
Giving away ebooks gives me artistic, moral and commercial satisfaction. The commercial question is the one that comes up most often: how can you give away free ebooks and still make money?
For me -- for pretty much every writer -- the big problem isn't piracy, it's obscurity (thanks to Tim O'Reilly for this great aphorism). Of all the people who failed to buy this book today, the majority did so because they never heard of it, not because someone gave them a free copy. Mega-hit best-sellers in science fiction sell half a million copies -- in a world where 175,000 attend the San Diego Comic Con alone, you've got to figure that most of the people who "like science fiction" (and related geeky stuff like comics, games, Linux, and so on) just don't really buy books. I'm more interested in getting more of that wider audience into the tent than making sure that everyone who's in the tent bought a ticket to be there.
Ebooks are verbs, not nouns. You copy them, it's in their nature. And many of those copies have a destination, a person they're intended for, a hand-wrought transfer from one person to another, embodying a personal recommendation between two people who trust each other enough to share bits. That's the kind of thing that authors (should) dream of, the proverbial sealing of the deal. By making my books available for free pass-along, I make it easy for people who love them to help other people love them.
What's more, I don't see ebooks as substitute for paper books for most people. It's not that the screens aren't good enough, either: if you're anything like me, you already spend every hour you can get in front of the screen, reading text. But the more computer-literate you are, the less likely you are to be reading long-form works on those screens -- that's because computer-literate people do more things with their computers. We run IM and email and we use the browser in a million diverse ways. We have games running in the background, and endless opportunities to tinker with our music libraries. The more you do with your computer, the more likely it is that you'll be interrupted after five to seven minutes to do something else. That makes the computer extremely poorly suited to reading long-form works off of, unless you have the iron self-discipline of a monk.
The good news (for writers) is that this means that ebooks on computers are more likely to be an enticement to buy the printed book (which is, after all, cheap, easily had, and easy to use) than a substitute for it. You can probably read just enough of the book off the screen to realize you want to be reading it on paper.
So ebooks sell print books. Every writer I've heard of who's tried giving away ebooks to promote paper books has come back to do it again. That's the commercial case for doing free ebooks.
Now, onto the artistic case. It's the twenty
|
possession
|
How many times does the word 'possession' appear in the text?
| 0
|
TITLE SEQUENCE OVER MUSIC
</b> A series of tight CLOSE-UP shots of dancers moving in high
energy fast paced sexy choreography. Very provocative. Legs.
Arms. Butts. Boas. Sequins. Costumes. High heels. A
kaleidoscope of images and colors.
<b> END TITLES ON A BLACK SCREEN
</b> FADE IN sounds of PEOPLE TALKING -- GLASSES CLINKING -- all
the BACKGROUND SOUNDS of a BUSY, HIP NIGHTCLUB. SUDDENLY.. .a
loud DRUM ROLL.
CAMERA is low, moving through BACKSTAGE, passing CURTAINS and
the WINGS, flying out onto a shiny black STAGE awash in
light. PUSH IN on FOOTLIGHTS which are now blinding us,
blasting into camera as they form the word...
<b> BURLESQUE
</b> DRUM ROLL ends with a CYMBAL CRASH. The SCREEN goes BLACK.
Then we hear an opening MUSIC "INTRO", a bawdy QUARTET.
EXTREME CLOSE UP: RED LUSCIOUS LIPS... speaking directly into
CAMERA in a smoky, sultry voice.
<b> TESS
</b> Once upon a time ...a long, looong
time ago... there was a good little
girl...and they called her...
REVEAL ...TESS. A stunner with impossibly long lashes,
theatrical make-up and a sequined, skin-tight band-aid of a
dress. She works the tight stage of the club, toying with
the AUDIENCE.
<b> TESS (CONT'D)
</b> Burlesque.
MUSIC BLARES from a HOT YOUNG BUMPER BAND -- sax, drums, bass
-- wearing bowler hats, suspenders and lots of ink. The
crowd HOOTS. Lame streamers EXPLODE from the stage.
<b> TESS (CONT'D)
</b> Some say she up and died-of
neglect. Abandonment.
<b> (WHISPER)
</b> .old age.
The club's red booths are about half-full with a hip crowd.
Walls cluttered with photos. Celebrities tucked in shadows.
|
camera
|
How many times does the word 'camera' appear in the text?
| 2
|
precentor's pecuniary affairs.
Chapter II
THE BARCHESTER REFORMER
Mr Harding has been now precentor of Barchester for ten years; and,
alas, the murmurs respecting the proceeds of Hiram's estate are again
becoming audible. It is not that any one begrudges to Mr Harding
the income which he enjoys, and the comfortable place which so well
becomes him; but such matters have begun to be talked of in various
parts of England. Eager pushing politicians have asserted in the
House of Commons, with very telling indignation, that the grasping
priests of the Church of England are gorged with the wealth which the
charity of former times has left for the solace of the aged, or the
education of the young. The well-known case of the Hospital of St
Cross has even come before the law courts of the country, and the
struggles of Mr Whiston, at Rochester, have met with sympathy and
support. Men are beginning to say that these things must be looked
into.
Mr Harding, whose conscience in the matter is clear, and who has never
felt that he had received a pound from Hiram's will to which he was
not entitled, has naturally taken the part of the church in talking
over these matters with his friend, the bishop, and his son-in-law,
the archdeacon. The archdeacon, indeed, Dr Grantly, has been somewhat
loud in the matter. He is a personal friend of the dignitaries of the
Rochester Chapter, and has written letters in the public press on the
subject of that turbulent Dr Whiston, which, his admirers think, must
well nigh set the question at rest. It is also known at Oxford that
he is the author of the pamphlet signed "Sacerdos" on the subject of
the Earl of Guildford and St Cross, in which it is so clearly argued
that the manners of the present times do not admit of a literal
adhesion to the very words of the founder's will, but that the
interests of the church for which the founder was so deeply concerned
are best consulted in enabling its bishops to reward those shining
lights whose services have been most signally serviceable to
Christianity. In answer to this, it is asserted that Henry de Blois,
founder of St Cross, was not greatly interested in the welfare of the
reformed church, and that the masters of St Cross, for many years
past, cannot be called shining lights in the service of Christianity;
it is, however, stoutly maintained, and no doubt felt, by all the
archdeacon's friends, that his logic is conclusive, and has not, in
fact, been answered.
With such a tower of strength to back both his arguments and his
conscience, it may be imagined that Mr Harding has never felt any
compunction as to receiving his quarterly sum of two hundred pounds.
Indeed, the subject has never presented itself to his mind in that
shape. He has talked not unfrequently, and heard very much about the
wills of old founders and the incomes arising from their estates,
during the last year or two; he did even, at one moment, feel a
doubt (since expelled by his son-in-law's logic) as to whether Lord
Guildford was clearly entitled to receive so enormous an income
as he does from the revenues of St Cross; but that he himself was
overpaid with his modest eight hundred pounds,--he who, out of that,
voluntarily gave up sixty-two pounds eleven shillings and fourpence a
year to his twelve old neighbours,--he who, for the money, does his
precentor's work as no precentor has done it before, since Barchester
Cathedral was built,--such an idea has never sullied his quiet, or
disturbed his conscience.
Nevertheless, Mr Harding is becoming uneasy at the rumour which he
knows to prevail in Barchester on the subject. He is aware that, at
any rate, two of his old men have been heard to say, that if everyone
had his own, they might each have their hundred pounds a year, and
live like gentlemen, instead of a beggarly one shilling and sixpence
a day; and that they had slender cause to be thankful for a miserable
dole of twopence, when Mr Harding and Mr Chadwick, between them,
|
england
|
How many times does the word 'england' appear in the text?
| 1
|
no Discoveries made which contradict those which
this Author means; but the difference consists in this, _viz._ that in
our way there is a greater degree of Clearness and Perspicuity than
there is in the other; for in this we apprehend things by the help of
something, which we cannot properly call a _Power_; nor indeed will any
of those words, which are either us'd in common discourse, or occur in
the Writings of the Learned, serve to express _That_, by which this sort
of Perception do's apprehend.
This degree, which I have already mention'd, (and which perhaps I should
never have had any taste of, if your request had not put me upon a
farther search) is the very same thing which _Avicenna_ means, where he
says; _Then when a Man's desires are raised to a good pitch, and he is
competently well exercised in that way, there will appear to him some
small glimmerings of the Truth, as it were flashes of Lightning, very
delightful, which just shine upon him, and then go out; Then the more he
exercises himself, the oftner he'll perceive 'em, till at last he'll
become so well acquainted with them, that they will occur to him
spontaneously, without any exercise at all; and then, as soon as he
perceives any thing, he applies himself to the Divine Essence, so as to
retain some impression of it; then something occurs, to him on a sudden,
whereby he begins to discern the_ Truth _in every thing; till, through
frequent exercise, he at last attains to a perfect Tranquility; and that
which us'd to appear to him only by fits and starts, becomes habitual;
and that which was only a glimmering before, a constant Light; and he
obtains a constant and steady Knowledge._ Thus far _Avicenna_. Besides,
he has given an account of those several steps and degrees by which a
Man is brought to this perfection; till his Soul is like a polish'd
Looking-glass, in which he beholds the _Truth_: and then he swims in
pleasure, and rejoyces exceedingly in his Mind, because of the
impressions of _Truth_ which he perceives in it, When he is once
attain'd thus far, the next thing which employs him is, that he
sometimes looks towards _Truth_, and sometimes towards _himself_; and
thus he fluctuates between both, till he retires from himself wholly,
and looks only to-ward the Divine Essence; and if he do's at any time
look towards his own Soul, the only reason is, because that looks
to-wards God; and from thence arises a perfect Conjunction [with God.]
And, according to this manner which he has describ'd, he do's by no
means allow that this _Taste_ is attain'd by way of Speculation or
Deduction of Consequences. And that you may the more clearly apprehend
the difference between the perception of these sort of Men, and those
other; I shall propose you a familiar instance. Suppose a Man born
Blind, but of quick Parts, and a good Capacity, a tenacious Memory, and
solid Judgment, who had liv'd in the place of his Nativity, till he had
by the help of the rest of his Senses, contracted an acquaintance with a
great many in the Neighbourhood, and learn'd the several kinds of
Animals, and Things inanimate, and the Streets and Houses of the Town,
so as to go any where about it without a Guide, and to know such people
as he met, and call them, by their names; and knew the names of
Colours[10], and the difference of them by their descriptions and
definitions; and after he had learn'd all this, should have his Eyes
open'd: Why, this Man, when he walk'd about the Town, would find every
thing to be exactly agreeable to those notions which he had before; and
that Colours were such as he had before conceiv'd them to be, by those
descriptions he had receiv'd: so that the difference between his
apprehensions when blind, and those which he would have now his Eyes
were opened, would consist only in these two great Things, one of which
is a consequent of the other, _viz._, a greater Clearness,
|
those
|
How many times does the word 'those' appear in the text?
| 6
|
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> June 21, 2007
<b>
</b><b>
</b> A civilization is destroyed only when its gods are destroyed.
<b> -
</b><b>
</b> Emil Cioran
<b>
</b><b> EXT. FOREST - DAWN
</b><b>
</b> Bare as all hell. The trees stripped of their bark and white
like ghosts. Some torn violently from their roots and felled.
<b>
</b> STARK GRAY SUNLIGHT shafts between the trees, clouded by a
creeping fog that obscures the true color of everything. A
LIGHT SNOW flutters. The world monochrome, lifeless and cold.
<b>
</b> A CAT prowls across the dead earth. Barely recognizable as
the domestic breed it might once have been. Its fur mangy and
rank, body rib-thin from starvation. Entirely feral.
<b>
</b> It moves slowly, cautiously. Sniffing the air, scanning the
forest, alert. Trusting nothing of its surroundings. It paces
across a leaf-strewn clearing, closing stealthily on:
<b>
</b> A DEAD MAN, splayed face-down in the earth. His feet bare.
Face frozen in a grim death mask. A GAPING GUNSHOT WOUND in
his head, the dried blood caked around it matting his hair.
<b>
</b> As the cat moves closer, approaching warily:
<b>
</b><b> P.O.V. FROM ACROSS THE CLEARING
</b><b>
</b> About thirty yards away. Someone is watching. Waiting. SLOW,
DEEP BREATHS, heard through a GASMASK RESPIRATOR.
<b>
</b><b>
|
destroyed
|
How many times does the word 'destroyed' appear in the text?
| 1
|
EXT. SANTA MONICA PIER - NIGHT
</b>
The sultry dampness of a blistering summer hangs in the night
air. People stroll the boardwalk looking for a cool breeze.
The soft rhythms of a jazz concert float from the band shell.
<b> CLOSE SHOT - A PAIR OF SEXY HIGH HEELS
</b>
and a woman's shapely legs, walking along the wooden pier.
<b> OPENING TITLES & CREDITS OVER.
</b>
After several steps, a discarded piece of gum sticks to one
of her shoes, stretching out stickily. Two steps later, a
piece of paper sticks to the gum, flopping awkwardly with
each step.
The MOVING CAMERA PANS UP her gorgeous legs and sensuous
body. She wears a loose summer dress that floats like gossamer
around her soft curves. Her hair is long and blond.
<b> NED (V.O.)
</b> To some guys, women are like a cheap
puzzle... with pieces that just don't
fit. They think the soul of a woman
is darker than a back alley... more
tangled than a telephone cord... and
colder than a Klondike Bar in Canada.
But those guys don't even have a
clue.
She stops at the railing. We see an incredibly beautiful
face and cool, alluring eyes. This is LOLA CAIN. The term
"femme fatale" was coined for her. She's on display... and
knows it.
<b> NED (V.O.)
</b> When you know women the way I do,
you understand exactly what what
makes them tick... what makes them
|
sexy
|
How many times does the word 'sexy' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A white title appears on a black screen.
<i>"As night-fall does not come at once, neither</i>
<i>does oppression...It is in such twilight that</i>
<i>we all must be aware of change in the air</i>
<i>- however slight - lest we become victims of</i>
<i>the darkness."</i>
Justice William O. Douglas
The title fades off, replaced by a second title.
<i>"I not only think that we will tamper with</i>
<i>Mother Nature, I think Mother wants us to."</i>
William Gaylin
The second title fades off, leaving a dark screen.
The darkness gradually gives way to a dawning light.
We are confronted with sight of a barren, empty landscape. A
wide expanse of wasteland.
Suddenly, without warning, an elephant tusk falls from the sky
and crashes onto the parched ground. The earth-shuddering
impact causes the tusk to rebound once in slow motion before
finally settling to the desert floor in a cloud of dust.
The first tusk is quickly followed by a second, also dropping
from the heavens. It lands near the first. Another tusk
smashes to earth several yards away. Yet another comes crashing
into the foreground.
Finally the dust settles upon a graveyard of tusks.
<b> DISSOLVE TO
</b>
<b> A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
</b>
In another region of the wasteland, a forest of tree trunks
suddenly rains down from the sky. The trunks thump to the hard
ground, also rebounding in slow motion. Cleanly sawn,
branchless, palm-like trunks, they come to rest in the dust only
to be followed by a second cascade of lumber.
When the dust finally clears. the felled tree trunks lie in a
huge, log-jam in the desert.
<b> DISSOLVE TO
</b>
<b> A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
</b>
Next to descend from the sky, a torrent of firewood. One shower
after another, crashing to the plain. Enough chopped lumber to
fuel a thousand hearths.
<b> DISSOLVE TO
</b>
<b> A BARREN, EMPTY LANDSCAPE
</b>
Joining the rest of the debris is a deluge of slate - sheets
of shale from a great unseen quarry in the sky come slamming to
earth. Some of the pieces shattering, some rebounding into the
air until the granite litters acres of landscape as far as the
eye can see.
<b> TITLES ARE SPACED APPROPRIATELY THROUGHOUT THE PRECEDING
</b><b> SEQUENCE. THE FINAL TITLE READS:
</b>
<i>T H E N O T
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Grove Hill Productions Release Edit Draft
<b> EXT. LAFORCHE HOME - DAY
</b>
Sun spikes through the jostling leaves of a maple tree. A
strong wind bends them back, showing their light green
bellies.
This is a modest house in a row of modest houses. Propane
tanks and farmland at their backs show this neighborhood to
be more rural than suburb.
CURTIS LAFORCHE(35) stands in his driveway. His eyes, locked
on the sky, narrow as he stares at...
A STORM CELL stretching out on the horizon in front of him.
It's a bruised sky filled with a vicious mixture of black and
gray clouds. They swirl in and out of one another sending
wispy tentacles toward the ground.
Curtis stands, awestruck.
The clouds move fast overhead. He looks up as they overtake
his position. A light rain begins.
The rain pats the ground. It makes soft indentions on his
cotton shirt. He watches it hit the concrete, falling harder
now. He notices something strange.
The rain makes dark spots on the sidewalk. He pulls his
shirt out and sees dark spots forming there. He holds his
palm out flat in front of him. The rain pools.
He rubs the water through his thumb and fingers. It's an
amber color, viscous, like fresh motor oil.
Curtis looks to the sky, the rain pelting his face now.
Jagged, angry clouds blanketing overhead. The wind bends
back the trunk of the maple tree.
Curtis stands alone at the base of the surging STORM CELL.
<b> TITLE: TAKE SHELTER
</b>
<b> INT. BATHROOM - DAY
</b>
Curtis holds his head under the running shower nozzle. Cool,
clean water rushes over his face.
<b> INT. KITCHEN - DAY
</b>
SAMANTHA(29) stands at the stovetop stirring eggs in a pan.
She's still dressed in her sleeping attire, an oversized T-
shirt and pajama bottoms with cartoon frogs on them.
HANNAH(5) sits at the kitchen table tearing up a piece of
toast and feeding it to the dog.
<b> 2.
</b>
Hannah is a blonde little girl with a large hearing aid
wrapped over
|
curtis
|
How many times does the word 'curtis' appear in the text?
| 4
|
>
</b>
<b> UNDER THE STUDIO LOGO:
</b>
KNOCKING at a door and distant dog BARKING.
NOW UNDER BLACK, a CARD --
<b> SATURDAY
</b>
The rapping, at first tentative and polite, grows insistent.
Then we hear someone get out of bed.
<b> MILES (O.S.)
</b> ...the fuck...
A DOOR is opened, and the black gives way to BLINDING WHITE
LIGHT, the way one experiences the first glimpse of day amid,
say, a hangover.
A WORKER is there.
<b> MILES (O.S.)
</b> Yeah?
<b> WORKER
</b> Hi, Miles. Can you move your car,
please?
<b> MILES (O.S.)
</b> Why?
<b> WORKER
</b> The painters got to put the truck
in, and you didn't park too good.
<b> MILES (O.S.)
</b> (a sigh, then --)
Yeah, hold on.
He closes the door with a SLAM.
<b> EXT. MILES'S APARTMENT COMPLEX - DAY
</b>
<b> SUPERIMPOSE --
</b>
<b>
|
worker
|
How many times does the word 'worker' appear in the text?
| 2
|
of many islands, and had never lacked employment; and now,
at the age of fifty, found himself at the Mandarins, with a salary
of £3,000 a year, living in a temperature at which 80° in the shade
is considered to be cool, with eight daughters, and not a shilling
saved. A governor at the Mandarins who is social by nature and
hospitable on principle, cannot save money in the islands even on
£3,000 a year when he has eight daughters. And at the Mandarins,
though hospitality is a duty, the gentlemen who ate Sir Rowley's
dinners were not exactly the men whom he or Lady Rowley desired to
welcome to their bosoms as sons-in-law. Nor when Mr. Trevelyan came
that way, desirous of seeing everything in the somewhat indefinite
course of his travels, had Emily Rowley, the eldest of the flock,
then twenty years of age, seen as yet any Mandariner who exactly came
up to her fancy. And, as Louis Trevelyan was a remarkably handsome
young man, who was well connected, who had been ninth wrangler at
Cambridge, who had already published a volume of poems, and who
possessed £3,000 a year of his own, arising from various perfectly
secure investments, he was not forced to sigh long in vain. Indeed,
the Rowleys, one and all, felt that providence had been very good to
them in sending young Trevelyan on his travels in that direction, for
he seemed to be a very pearl among men. Both Sir Marmaduke and Lady
Rowley felt that there might be objections to such a marriage as that
proposed to them, raised by the Trevelyan family. Lady Rowley would
not have liked her daughter to go to England, to be received with
cold looks by strangers. But it soon appeared that there was no one
to make objections. Louis, the lover, had no living relative nearer
than cousins. His father, a barrister of repute, had died a widower,
and had left the money which he had made to an only child. The head
of the family was a first cousin who lived in Cornwall on a moderate
property,--a very good sort of stupid fellow, as Louis said, who
would be quite indifferent as to any marriage that his cousin might
make. No man could be more independent or more clearly justified in
pleasing himself than was this lover. And then he himself proposed
that the second daughter, Nora, should come and live with them in
London. What a lover to fall suddenly from the heavens into such a
dovecote!
"I haven't a penny-piece to give to either of them," said Sir Rowley.
"It is my idea that girls should not have fortunes," said Trevelyan.
"At any rate, I am quite sure that men should never look for money.
A man must be more comfortable, and, I think, is likely to be more
affectionate, when the money has belonged to himself."
Sir Rowley was a high-minded gentleman, who would have liked to have
handed over a few thousand pounds on giving up his daughters; but,
having no thousands of pounds to hand over, he could not but admire
the principles of his proposed son-in-law. As it was about time for
him to have his leave of absence, he and sundry of the girls went to
England with Mr. Trevelyan, and the wedding was celebrated in London
by the Rev. Oliphant Outhouse, of Saint Diddulph-in-the-East, who
had married Sir Rowley's sister. Then a small house was taken and
furnished in Curzon Street, Mayfair, and the Rowleys went back to the
seat of their government, leaving Nora, the second girl, in charge of
her elder sister.
The Rowleys had found, on reaching London, that they had lighted upon
a pearl indeed. Louis Trevelyan was a man of whom all people said
all good things. He might have been a fellow of his college had he
not been a man of fortune. He might already,--so Sir Rowley was
told,--have been in Parliament, had he not thought it to be wiser to
wait awhile. Indeed, he was very wise in many things. He had gone
out on his travels thus young,--not in search
|
went
|
How many times does the word 'went' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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