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ing. This is an AA meeting. There's a lot of Faces to look
at. I don't know when we'll get to the one that's talking,
but when we do it's like this. Eyes like glue. 50 years old
with a face the color of a snuff-users hanky. He says this:
<b> BENNY
</b> .. after my third recovery my wife made
me swear I'd never bring another bottle
into the house. And I never did. I bur-
ied it under the lawn. Cut out a turf &
stood it upright with a piece of tin-
foil instead of a cork. So here we are
out in the yard, and she's happy because
I'm getting healthy in a pair of swim-
ing shorts & no way near no booze. She
decides to prune the roses. Meanwhile,
I'm laying there with a straw stuck in-
to the fucken lawn doing a quart of red ..
Curious thing about drunks. Their disease often amuses them.
That's how crazy I was - I was sick for
half a life till I finally found my san-
ity again in these rooms. Don't take that
drink - And for the one or two new faces
I see here, I say this: just do it by the
day. You gotta do it by the day - Don't
take that drink. And keep coming to these
meetings. Because here is where it works ..
<b> CHAIR
</b> Thank you, Benny .. We have a few more
minutes .. Anyone else like to share? ..
Ash into an ashtray and now a face. He's around 40 years old.
Intense eyes & dark hair. Probably good looking when the ang-
le's right. But this is a bad angle. His name is JOHN BERLIN.
<b> BERLIN
</b> My name's John .. and I'm an alcoholic ..
<b> ALL
</b>
|
here
|
How many times does the word 'here' appear in the text?
| 2
|
: WGAw
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> INT. ROB'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
<b> STEREO
</b>
Not a minisystem, not a matching set, but coveted audiophile
clutter of McIntosh and Nakamichi, each component from a
different era, bought piece by piece in various nanoseconds
of being flush.
<b> ROB (V.O.)
</b> What came first? The music or the
misery? People worry about kids
playing with guns and watching violent
videos, we're scared that some sort
of culture of violence is taking
them over...
<b> RECORDS
</b>
Big thin LPs. Fields of them. We move across them, slowly...
they seem to come to rest in an end of a few books... but
then the CD's start, and go on, faster and faster, forever
then the singles, then the tapes...
<b> ROB (V.O.)
</b> But nobody worries about kids
listening to thousands -- literally
thousands -- of songs about broken
hearts and rejection and pain and
misery and loss.
It seems the records, tapes, and CD's will never end until...
we come to ROB -- always a hair out of place, a face that
grows on you. He sits in an oversized beanbag chair and
addresses us, the wall
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 2
|
yes. Striking at them was like striking at air--was the same thing, in
fact.
While the men and machines tried uselessly to do something about it,
the new binary system--the stranger planet and Earth--began to move,
accelerating very slowly.
But accelerating.
In a week, astronomers knew something was happening. In a month, the
Moon sprang into flame and became a new sun--beginning to be needed,
for already the parent Sol was visibly more distant, and in a few years
it was only one other star among many.
* * * * *
When the little sun was burned to a clinker, they--whoever "they"
were, for men saw only the one Pyramid--would hang a new one in the
sky. It happened every five clock-years, more or less. It was the same
old moon-turned-sun, but it burned out, and the fires needed to be
rekindled.
The first of these suns had looked down on an Earthly population of ten
billion. As the sequence of suns waxed and waned, there were changes,
climatic fluctuation, all but immeasurable differences in the quantity
and kind of radiation from the new source.
The changes were such that the forty-fifth such sun looked down on a
shrinking human race that could not muster up a hundred million.
A frustrated man drives inward; it is the same with a race. The
hundred million that clung to existence were not the same as the bold,
vital ten billion.
The thing on Everest had, in its time, received many labels, too: The
Devil, The Friend, The Beast, A Pseudo-living Entity of Quite Unknown
Electrochemical Properties.
All these labels were also Xs.
If it did wake that morning, it did not open its eyes, for it had no
eyes--apart from the quivers of air that might or might not belong
to it. Eyes might have been gouged; therefore it had none. So an
illogical person might have argued--and yet it was tempting to apply
the "purpose, not function" fallacy to it. Limbs could be crushed; it
had no limbs. Ears could be deafened; it had none. Through a mouth, it
might be poisoned; it had no mouth. Intentions and actions could be
frustrated; apparently it had neither.
It was there. That was all.
It and others like it had stolen the Earth and the Earth did not know
why. It was there. And the one thing on Earth you could not do was hurt
it, influence it, or coerce it in any way whatever.
It was there--and it, or the masters it represented, owned the Earth by
right of theft. Utterly. Beyond human hope of challenge or redress.
II
Citizen and Citizeness Roget Germyn walked down Pine Street in the
chill and dusk of--one hoped--a Sun Re-creation Morning.
It was the convention to pretend that this was a morning like any other
morning. It was not proper either to cast frequent hopeful glances at
the sky, nor yet to seem disturbed or afraid because this was, after
all, the forty-first such morning since those whose specialty was Sky
Viewing had come to believe the Re-creation of the Sun was near.
The Citizen and his Citizeness exchanged the assurance-of-identity
sign with a few old friends and stopped to converse. This also was a
convention of skill divorced from purpose. The conversation was without
relevance to anything that any one of the participants might know, or
think, or wish to ask.
Germyn said for his friends a twenty-word poem he had made in honor
of the occasion and heard their responses. They did line-capping for
a while--until somebody indicated unhappiness and a wish to change by
frowning the Two Grooves between his brows. The game was deftly ended
with an improvised rhymed exchange.
Casually, Citizen Germyn glanced aloft. The sky-change had not begun
yet; the dying old Sun hung just over the horizon, east and south, much
more south than east. It was an ugly thought, but suppose
|
specialty
|
How many times does the word 'specialty' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and he impressed Custer, who frequently accompanied
him on his rounds, with the wisdom of keeping the lamps that shone upon
the homes of members of the town council in especially good order.
Furthermore, there were possibilities of adventure in the occupation; it
took Mr. Shrimplin into out-of-the-way streets and unfrequented alleys,
and, as Custer knew, he always went armed. Sometimes, when in an
unusually gracious mood, his father permitted him to verify this fact
by feeling his bulging hip pocket. The feel of it was vastly pleasing to
Custer, particularly when Mr. Shrimplin had to tell of strangers engaged
in mysterious conversation on dark street corners, who slunk away as he
approached. More than this, it was a matter of public knowledge that he
had had numerous controversies in low portions of the town touching the
right of the private citizen to throw stones at the street lamps; to
Custer he made dire threats. He'd "toss a scare into them red necks yet!
They'd bust his lamps once too often--he was laying for them! He knowed
pretty well who done it, and when he found out for sure--" He winked at
Custer, leaving it to his son's imagination to determine just what form
his vengeance would take, and Custer, being nothing if not sanguinary,
prayed for bloodshed.
But the thing that pleased the boy best was his father's account of
those meetings with mysterious strangers. How as he approached they
moved off with many a furtive backward glance; how he made as if to
drive away in the opposite direction, and then at the first corner
turned swiftly about and raced down some parallel street in hot pursuit,
to come on them again, to their great and manifest discomfiture.
Circumstantially he described each turn he made, down what streets he
drove Bill at a gallop, up which he walked that trustworthy animal; all
was elaborately worked out. The chase, however, always ended one
way--the strangers disappeared unaccountably, and, search as he might,
he could not find them again, but he and Custer felt certain that his
activity had probably averted some criminal act.
In short, to Mr. Shrimplin and his son the small events of life
magnified themselves, becoming distorted and portentous. A man, emerging
suddenly from an alley in the dusk of the early evening, furnished them
with a theme for infinite speculation and varied conjecture; that nine
times out of ten the man said, "Hello, Shrimp!" and passed on his way
perfectly well known to the little lamplighter was a matter of not the
slightest importance. Sometimes, it is true, Mr. Shrimplin told of the
salutation, but the man was always a stranger to him, and that he should
have spoken, calling him by name, he and Custer agreed only added to the
sinister mystery of the encounter.
It was midday on that twenty-seventh of November when Mr. Shrimplin
killed Murphy of the solitary eye, and he reached the climax of the
story just as Mrs. Shrimplin began to prepare the dressing for the small
turkey that was to be the principal feature of their four-o'clock
dinner. The morning's scanty fall of snow had been so added to as time
passed that now it completely whitened the strip of brown turf in the
little side yard beyond the kitchen windows.
"I think," said Mr. Shrimplin, "we are going to see some weather. Well,
snow ain't a bad thing." His dreamy eyes rested on Custer for an
instant; they seemed to invite a question.
"No?" said Custer interrogatively.
"If I was going to murder a man, I don't reckon I'd care to do it when
there was snow on the ground."
Mrs. Shrimplin here suggested cynically that perhaps he dreaded cold
feet, but her husband ignored this. To what he felt to be the
commonplaceness of her outlook he had long since accustomed himself. He
merely said:
"I suppose more criminals has been caught because they done their crimes
when it was snowing than any other way. Only chance a feller would have
to get off without leaving tracks would be in a balloon; I don't know as
I ever heard of a murderer escaping in a balloon, but I reckon it
|
furthermore
|
How many times does the word 'furthermore' appear in the text?
| 0
|
in this case. Taking
the last fortnight as a basis, I'm capitalized for just about one hour
longer."
He looked at his watch and got up wearily. "It's Kismet," he mused.
"I might as well take my hour now, and be done with it." Whereupon he
rolled the money into a compact little bundle, turned off the gas, and
felt his way down the dark stair to the street.
At the corner he ran against a stalwart young fellow, gloved and
overcoated, and carrying a valise.
"Why, hello, Jeffard, old man," said the traveler heartily, stopping to
shake hands. "Doing time on the street at midnight, as usual, aren't
you? When do you ever catch up on your sleep?"
Jeffard's laugh was perfunctory. "I don't have much to do but eat and
sleep," he replied. "Have you been somewhere?"
"Yes; just got down from the mine--train was late. Same old story with
you, I suppose? Haven't found the barrel of money rolling up hill yet?"
Jeffard shook his head.
"Jeff, you're an ass--that's what you are; a humpbacked burro of the
Saguache, at that! You come out here in the morning of a bad year with
a piece of sheepskin in your grip, and the Lord knows what little
pickings of civil engineering in your head, and camp down in Denver
expecting your lucky day to come along and slap you in the face. Why
don't you come up on the range and take hold with your hands?"
"Perhaps I'll have to before I get through," Jeffard admitted; and
then: "Don't abuse me to-night, Bartrow. I've about all I can carry."
The stalwart one put his free arm about his friend and swung him around
to the light.
"And that isn't the worst of it," he went on, ignoring Jeffard's
protest. "You've been monkeying with the fire and getting your fingers
burned; and, as a matter of course, making ducks and drakes of your
little stake. Drop it all, Jeffard, and come across to the St. James
and smoke a cigar with me."
"I can't to-night, Bartrow. I'm in a blue funk, and I've got to walk it
off."
"Blue nothing! You'll walk about two blocks, more or less, and then
you'll pull up a chair and proceed to burn your fingers some more. Oh,
I know the symptoms like a book."
Jeffard summoned his dignity, and found some few shreds and patches of
it left. "Bartrow, there is such a thing as overdrawing one's account
with a friend," he returned stiffly. "I don't want to quarrel with you.
Good-night."
Three minutes later the goggle-eyed swing doors opened and engulfed
him. At the top of the carpeted stair he met a hard-faced man who was
doubling a thick sheaf of bank-notes into portable shape. The outgoer
nodded, and tapped the roll significantly. "Go in and break 'em," he
rasped. "The bank's out o' luck to-night, and it's our rake-off. I win
all I can stand."
Jeffard pushed through another swing door and went to the faro-table.
Counting his money he dropped the odd change back into his pocket and
handed the bills to the banker.
"Ninety-five?" queried the man; and when Jeffard nodded, he pushed the
requisite number of blue, red, and white counters across the table.
Jeffard arranged them in a symmetrical row in front of him, and began
to play with the singleness of purpose which is the characteristic of
that particular form of dementia.
It was the old story with the usual variations. He lost, won, and then
lost again until he could reckon his counters by units. After which the
tide turned once more, and the roar of its flood dinned in his ears
like the drumming of a tornado in a forest. His capital grew by leaps
and bounds, doubling, trebling, and finally quadrupling the sum he had
handed the banker. Then his hands began to shake, and the man on his
|
jeffard
|
How many times does the word 'jeffard' appear in the text?
| 8
|
The sun disappears behind arid cliffs which cast giant
shadows on the sea.
A little boy around 8 years old -- tanned from head to toe
-- sprints along the cliffs, scrambles from one rock to
another with amazing agility.
In one hand, he carries a transparent plastic bag. In the
other, a net bag containing flippers, mask, pants and
sweater.
The only thing that slows him down is his bathing suit --
obvious hand-me-downs -- way too big. He tugs on them as
he goes, holding them up... Until they slide again... as
he leaps again... and pulls them up...
The little boy is JACQUES MAYOL.
End credits.
<b>EXT. GREEK ISLAND - SUNSET
</b>
JACQUES reaches a ledge jutting out over a deserted cove.
He spits in his mask... expertly spreads the spit with a
finger... locks his feet into the flippers... and dives.
He surfaces a long way out... adjusts his mask... and
swims away from shore.
<b>IN OPEN SEA
</b>
The boy stops swimming -- starts to gulp air -- sucks it
in -- oxygenating his blood in a series of deep rapid
breaths -- almost hyperventilating, almost alarming if
we've never seen this before.
His gaze is glued to the ocean floor. Clear clear water.
40 feet deep. And intensely blue.
Suddenly, he catches his breath and dives -- into the
blue.
<b>UNDERWATER
</b>
JACQUES touches bottom. Clamps his legs around a rock to
hold himself down. Unhurried, thoroughly at home, 40 feet
under... he opens the plastic bag. A huge speckled moray
eel appears in a hole in the rock, slithers toward him.
The carnivore's jaws are bigger than the boy's head.
The boy smiles at him. Pulls a piece of raw meat out of
his bag and holds it out. The eel takes the morsel
delicately -- and slithers back into his hole.
Gravely, JACQUES takes another morsel out of the bag.
<b>EXT. VILLAGE - DUSK
</b>
JACQUES walks up a steep road bordering the port, almost
dry now.
Two boys about his age run up the streets; call out, catch
up with him and gesture toward the port.
<b> THE BOYS
</b> Jacques! Come quick!
<b>EXT. PIER - DUSK
</b>
The little boys tug JACQUES to the end of the pier and
point to something in the water.
<b> BOYS
</b> Look! Right there! It's shining!
JACQUES walks over, and sure enough sees something shining
a few feet down in the water.
<b> JACQUES
</b> (squinting)
A coin.
<b> FIRST BOY
</b> I found it.
<b> SECOND BOY
</b> Liar!
Camera pans and we see a middle-aged PRIEST loading
supplies into a small boat. He stops to watch the
children's negotiations. Little JACQUES is putting his
flippers on.
<b> JACQUES
</b> Ok. I'll get it, but no fighting,
all right?
The two boys nod as they point to the coin.
<b> JACQUES
</b> We'll split it.
<b> FIRST BOY
</b> You can't split a coin. That's
stupid.
<b> SECOND BOY
</b> He's right. You're stupid.
The pope smiles.
|
smiles
|
How many times does the word 'smiles' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Inspired by the Brothers Grimm's
"Little Snow White"
November 22nd, 2011
<b> 1 EXT. GARDENS/ CASTLE - DAY. 1
</b>
From high above we see the castle gardens covered in a blanket
of snow. We hear the tread of footsteps then see a beautiful
WOMAN in a fur-lined cloak heading towards an unseen object.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen
was admiring the falling snow when she saw
a rose blooming in defiance of the cold.
The rose looks miraculously red. Nearby, a RAVEN looks on. The
Queen gazes at the flower, then bends down.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and
three drops of blood fell.
BOOM -- with the impact of an artillery shell, a DROP OF BLOOD
lands in the snow. Followed by ANOTHER. And ANOTHER.
The Queen startles, then calmly touches her stomach.
<b> ERIC (V.0.)
</b> And because the red seemed so alive against
the white, she thought, if only I had a
child as white as snow, lips as red as
blood, hair as black as a raven's wings and
all with the strength of that rose.
A beat, then we hear the piercing cry of a new-born baby --
<b> 2 INT. ROYAL BEDROOM - DAY. 2
</b>
We find ourselves in a crowded chamber full of MIDWIVES and
PHYSICIANS. Moving through the chaos we glimpse buckets of
water, dirty sponges, astrology charts and protection charms --
until we see a BABY GIRL in the arms of her happy mother.
<b> ERIC (V.O.)
</b> Soon after, a daughter was born to the
Queen and was named "Snow White."
With a radiant smile, the Queen offers SNOW WHITE to her proud
father, KING MAGNUS. The baby's CRIES grow louder as the King
cradles her gently in his arms, turning towards a mirror.
<b> ERIC V/
|
raven
|
How many times does the word 'raven' appear in the text?
| 1
|
loudspeaker declaring in French that loitering is not
permissible and that should any bags be left unattended that
they will be destroyed; the honking of the horns from other
automobiles; the unintelligible chatter of people as they get
their bearings. Inside the cab, playing on the radio, is
Angelique Kidjo's funky song "Batonga".
Then, the rear door to the cab opens and in an EXTREME CLOSE
UP we see ZED, a young man with wild, almost mesmerizing eyes
shielded by small round glasses, and with a head of nappy red
hair. His face has drops on it from the flurry outside.
He settles himself, then looks to the CAB DRIVER, an easy
going Senegalese/Frenchman, in the front seat.
<b> ZED
</b> Hotel Mondial.
<b> CAB DRIVER
</b> Le Mondial. Tres bien.
He starts driving.
<b> CAB DRIVER
</b> Avec cette pluie ca risque de prendre un
moment. L'autoroute est ferme. A cause
du 14 Juillet.
He drives for a while.
<b> CAB DRIVER
</b> [Do you mind the radio?]
Zed looks at the meter, francs are clicking away. He also
looks at the cab driver's license, his name is Moises Du
Bois.
<b> CAB DRIVER
</b> [Do you want me to turn the radio off?]
<b> ZED
</b> (realizing he's being asked a
question)
I don't speak French.
The driver turns around.
<b> CAB DRIVER
</b> (in broken English)
Ah. American?
<b> ZED
</b> That's right.
<b>
|
pluie
|
How many times does the word 'pluie' appear in the text?
| 0
|
<b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN:
</b>
Because a dog is smarter than its tail.
<b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS:
</b>
If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog.
<b>DISSOLVE
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT
</b>
<b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND
</b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL
</b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SEVERAL GUARDS WHO CHECK THE PHOTO-I.D.'S AROUND THEIR
</b><b>NECKS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<u>WILFRED AMES</u>, AND <u>AMY CAIN</u>, A BRIGHT YOUNG WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES, WALKING DOWN
<b>A CORRIDOR, LOOKING WORRIED.
</b>
<b>ANGLE AMES AND CAIN
</b><b>AMES AND CAIN HAVE STOPPED AT THE END OF THE HALL. BEYOND THEM WE SEE THE
</b><b>CLEANING PEOPLE COMING IN FROM THE VAN, AND BEING CLEARED THROUGH A METAL
</b><b>DETECTOR INTO A HOLDING AREA, AND HANDED CLEANING MATERIALS, MOPS, VACUUMS, ET
</b><b>CETERA, BY A TYPE HOLDING A CLIPBOARD. PART OF THE GROUP, A MAN IN HIS
</b><b>FORTIES, IN A RATTY JACKET, OPEN COLLARED SHIRT, PASSES THROUGH THE GROUP,
</b><b>AND IS STOPPED BY A SECRET SERVICEMAN WHO APPEARS NEXT TO AMES. IN THE B.G.
</b><b>WE SEE A TV IN AN ADJACENT ROOM, SHOWING A POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b> AMES
</b><b> (TO SECRET SERVICEMAN)
</b> ...That's him.
<b>AMES MOVES OUT OF THE SHOT. LEAVING US ON THE POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b>WE SEE TWO BUSINESS PEOPLE ON THE PLANE, A MAN AND A WOMAN.
</b>
<b> BUSINESSMAN
</b> Well, all I know, you don't change horses in the middle
of the stream.
<b> BUSINESSWOMAN
</b> "Don't change Horses," well, there's a lot of truth in
that.
<b>THE IMAGE SHIFTS TO A PRESIDENT, DOING PRESIDENTIAL THINGS. AND THE VOICE-
</b><b>OVER.
</b>
<b> VOICE-OVER
</b> For Peace
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, by inquiry, of the glory of the kings of the
people, they of the Spear-Danes, how the Athelings were doing deeds
of courage. [3] Full often Scyld, the son of Scef, with troops of
warriors, withheld the drinking-stools from many a tribe. This
earl caused terror when at first he was found in a miserable
case. Afterwards he gave help when he grew up under the welkin,
and worshipfully he flourished until all his neighbours over the sea
gave him obedience, and yielded him tribute. He was a good king. In
after-time there was born to him a son in the Court, whom God sent
thither as a saviour of the people. He saw the dire distress that
they formerly suffered when for a long while they were without a
prince. Then it was that the Lord of Life, the Wielder of glory,
gave to him glory. Famous was Beowulf. [4] Far and wide spread his
fame. Heir was he of Scyld in the land of the Danes. Thus should
a young man be doing good deeds, with rich gifts to the friends of
his father, so that in later days, when war shall come upon them,
boon companions may stand at his side, helping their liege lord. For
in all nations, by praiseworthy deeds, shall a man be thriving.
At the fated hour Scyld passed away, very vigorous in spirit, to the
keeping of his Lord. Then his pleasant companions carried him down to
the ocean flood, as he himself had bidden them, whilst the friend of
the Scyldings was wielding words, he who as the dear Lord of the Land
had ruled it a long time. And there, in the haven, stood the ship,
with rings at the prow, icy, and eager for the journey, the ferry of
the Atheling.
Then they laid down their dear Lord the giver of rings, the famous
man, on the bosom of the ship, close to the mast, where were heaps of
treasures, armour trappings that had been brought from far ways. Never
heard I of a comelier ship, decked out with battle-weapons and
weeds of war, with swords and byrnies. In his bosom they laid many
a treasure when he was going on a far journey, into the power of
the sea. Nor did they provide for him less of booty and of national
treasures than they had done, who at the first had sent him forth,
all alone o'er the waves, when he was but a child. Then moreover they
set a golden standard high o'er his head, and let the sea take him,
and gave all to the man of the sea. Full sad were their minds, and all
sorrowing were they. No man can say soothly, no, not any hall-ruler,
nor hero under heaven, who took in that lading. [5]
II
The Story
I
Moreover the Danish Beowulf, [6] the dear King of his people, was
a long time renowned amongst the folk in the cities (his father,
the Prince, had gone a-faring elsewhere from this world). Then was
there born to him a son, the high Healfdene; and while he lived he
was ruling the happy Danish people, and war-fierce and ancient was
he. Four children were born to him: Heorogar the leader of troops, and
Hrothgar, and Halga the good. And I heard say that Queen Elan (wife
of Ongentheow) was his daughter, and she became the beloved comrade
of the Swede. Then to Hrothgar was granted good speed in warfare and
honour in fighting, so that his loyal subjects eagerly obeyed him,
until the youths grew doughty, a very great band of warriors. Then
it burned in his mind that he would bid men be building a palace,
a greater mead-hall than the children of men ever had heard of, and
that he would therein distribute to young and to old, as God gave him
power, all the wealth that he had save the share of the folk and the
lives of men.
Then I heard far and wide how he gave commandment to many a people
throughout all the world, this work to be doing, and to deck out
the folkstead. In due time
|
scyld
|
How many times does the word 'scyld' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Some one remarked that it
reminded him of nothing so much as the native camp at Earl's Court on a
fine August evening, and that indeed was the effect.
After a little the stillness was broken by a sound which we could not
conceal from ourselves was 'the distant rattle of musketry'; somewhere a
gun fired startlingly; and now as we went each man felt vaguely that at
any minute we might be plunged into the thick of a battle, laden as we
were, and I think each man braced himself for a desperate struggle. Such
is the effect of marching in the dark to an unknown destination. Soon we
were halted in a piece of apparently waste land circled by trees, and
ordered to dig ourselves a habitation at once, for 'in the morning' it
was whispered 'the Turks search all this ground.' Everything was said in
a kind of hoarse, mysterious whisper, presumably to conceal our
observations from the ears of the Turks five miles away. But then we did
not know they were five miles away; we had no idea where they were or
where we were ourselves. Men glanced furtively at the North Star for
guidance, and were pained to find that, contrary to their military
teaching, it told them nothing. Even the digging was carried on a little
stealthily till it was discovered that the Turks were not behind those
trees. The digging was a comfort to the men, who, being pitmen, were now
in their element; and the officers found solace in whispering to each
other that magical communication about the prospective 'searching'; it
was the first technical word they had used 'in the field,' and they were
secretly proud to know what it meant.
In a little the dawn began, and the grey trees took shape; and the sun
came up out of Asia, and we saw at last the little sugar-loaf peak of
Achi Baba, absurdly pink and diminutive in the distance. A man's first
frontal impression of that great rampart, with the outlying slopes
masking the summit, was that it was disappointingly small; but when he
had lived under and upon it for a while, day by day, it seemed to grow
in menace and in bulk, and ultimately became a hideous, overpowering
monster, pervading all his life; so that it worked upon men's nerves,
and almost everywhere in the Peninsula they were painfully conscious
that every movement they made could be watched from somewhere on that
massive hill.
But now the kitchens had come, and there was breakfast and viscous,
milkless tea. We discovered that all around our seeming solitude the
earth had been peopled with sleepers, who now emerged from their holes;
there was a stir of washing and cooking and singing, and the smoke went
up from the wood fires in the clear, cool air. D Company officers made
their camp under an olive-tree, with a view over the blue water to
Samothrace and Imbros, and now in the early cool, before the sun had
gathered his noonday malignity, it was very pleasant. At seven o'clock
the 'searching' began. A mile away, on the northern cliffs, the first
shell burst, stampeding a number of horses. The long-drawn warning
scream and the final crash gave all the expectant battalion a faintly
pleasurable thrill, and as each shell came a little nearer the sensation
remained. No one was afraid; without the knowledge of experience no one
could be seriously afraid on this cool, sunny morning in the grove of
olive-trees. Those chill hours in the sweeper had been much more
alarming. The common sensation was: 'At last I am really under fire;
to-day I shall write home and tell them about it.' And then, when it
seemed that the line on which the shells were falling must, if
continued, pass through the middle of our camp, the firing mysteriously
ceased.
Harry, I know, was disappointed; personally, I was pleased.
* * * * *
I learned more about Harry that afternoon. He had been much exhausted by
the long night, but was now refreshed and filled with an almost childish
enthusiasm by the pictorial attractions of the place. For this
enthusiastic
|
under
|
How many times does the word 'under' appear in the text?
| 2
|
you."
"No, no!" said Ashe. "Oh, no; not at all--not at all! No. Oh,
no--not at all--no!" And would have continued to play on the
theme indefinitely had not the girl spoken again.
"I wanted to apologize," she said, "for my abominable rudeness in
laughing at you just now. It was idiotic of me and I don't know
why I did it. I'm sorry."
Science, with a thousand triumphs to her credit, has not yet
succeeded in discovering the correct reply for a young man to
make who finds himself in the appalling position of being
apologized to by a pretty girl. If he says nothing he seems
sullen and unforgiving. If he says anything he makes a fool of
himself. Ashe, hesitating between these two courses, suddenly
caught sight of the sheet of paper over which he had been poring
so long.
"What is a wand of death?" he asked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"A wand of death?"
"I don't understand."
The delirium of the conversation was too much for Ashe. He burst
out laughing. A moment later the girl did the same. And
simultaneously embarrassment ceased to be.
"I suppose you think I'm mad?" said Ashe.
"Certainly," said the girl.
"Well, I should have been if you hadn't come in."
"Why was that?"
"I was trying to write a detective story."
"I was wondering whether you were a writer."
"Do you write?"
"Yes. Do you ever read Home Gossip?"
"Never!"
"You are quite right to speak in that thankful tone. It's a
horrid little paper--all brown-paper patterns and advice to the
lovelorn and puzzles. I do a short story for it every week, under
various names. A duke or an earl goes with each story. I loathe
it intensely."
"I am sorry for your troubles," said Ashe firmly; "but we are
wandering from the point. What is a wand of death?"
"A wand of death?"
"A wand of death."
The girl frowned reflectively.
"Why, of course; it's the sacred ebony stick stolen from the
Indian temple, which is supposed to bring death to whoever
possesses it. The hero gets hold of it, and the priests dog him
and send him threatening messages. What else could it be?"
Ashe could not restrain his admiration.
"This is genius!"
"Oh, no!"
"Absolute genius. I see it all. The hero calls in Gridley Quayle,
and that patronizing ass, by the aid of a series of wicked
coincidences, solves the mystery; and there am I, with another
month's work done."
She looked at him with interest.
"Are you the author of Gridley Quayle?"
"Don't tell me you read him!"
"I do not read him! But he is published by the same firm that
publishes Home Gossip, and I can't help seeing his cover
sometimes while I am waiting in the waiting room to see the
editress."
Ashe felt like one who meets a boyhood's chum on a desert island.
Here was a real bond between them.
"Does the Mammoth publish you, too? Why, we are comrades in
misfortune--fellow serfs! We should be friends. Shall we be
friends?"
"I should be delighted."
"Shall we shake hands, sit down, and talk about ourselves a
little?"
"But I am keeping you from your work."
"An errand of mercy."
She sat down. It is a simple act, this of sitting down; but, like
everything else, it may be an index to character. There was
something wholly satisfactory to Ashe in the manner in which this
girl did it. She neither seated herself on the extreme edge of
the easy-chair, as one braced for instant flight; nor did she
wallow in the easy-chair, as one come to stay for the week-end.
She carried herself in an unconventional situation with an
unstudied self-confidence that he could not sufficiently admire.
|
girl
|
How many times does the word 'girl' appear in the text?
| 5
|
02/06/06
</b>
<b> INSPIRED BY REAL EVENTS
</b><b> 1.
</b>
Pitch black. We hear FOOTSTEPS sneaking up an old wooden
staircase. Two people moving as one.
Topping the stairs, they creep down the hall to the closed
door that protects us. We can hear them behind it,
whispering, bickering insanely, one shushing the other.
The squeak of a door knob slowly turning. The faint click of
the latch. And the door inches open, throwing a razor-thin
shaft of light into the darkness where it illuminates a
<b> FRIGHTENED EYE
</b>
As a ten-year-old GIRL sits up in bed. Dead tired. Staring
at the two dark faces peering in at her.
<b> GIRL
</b> I can see you...
And the door closes, leaving us once more in total darkness.
We can hear them bickering again as they shuffle away, their
footsteps descending the stairs, fading into the uneasy
silence of this old house...
<b> INT. FIFTH GRADE CLASSROOM, LOS ANGELES - DAY
</b>
A young teacher (DARLA) chalks a lesson on a blackboard in a
sun-drenched Los Angeles classroom.
<b> DARLA
</b> -- and we know from yesterday that the
base of a triangle times half the height
equals the area.
A girl in
|
door
|
How many times does the word 'door' appear in the text?
| 3
|
in the first instance, go on a month's visit to the young lady.
If we both wished it at the end of the time, I was to stay, on terms
arranged to my perfect satisfaction. There was our treaty!
The next day I started for my visit by the railway.
My instructions directed me to travel to the town of Lewes in Sussex.
Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony-chaise of my young lady's
father--described on his card as Reverend Tertius Finch. The chaise was
to take me to the rectory-house in the village of Dimchurch. And the
village of Dimchurch was situated among the South Down Hills, three or
four miles from the coast.
When I stepped into the railway carriage, this was all I knew. After my
adventurous life--after the volcanic agitations of my republican career
in the Doctor's time--was I about to bury myself in a remote English
village, and live a life as monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill?
Ah, with all my experience, I had yet to learn that the narrowest human
limits are wide enough to contain the grandest human emotions. I had seen
the Drama of Life amid the turmoil of tropical revolutions. I was to see
it again, with all its palpitating interest, in the breezy solitudes of
the South Down Hills.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
Madame Pratolungo makes a Voyage on Land
A WELL-FED boy, with yellow Saxon hair; a little shabby green chaise; and
a rough brown pony--these objects confronted me at the Lewes Station. I
said to the boy, "Are you Reverend Finch's servant?" And the boy
answered, "I be he."
We drove through the town--a hilly town of desolate clean houses. No
living creatures visible behind the jealously-shut windows. No living
creatures entering or departing through the sad-colored closed doors. No
theater; no place of amusement except an empty town-hall, with a sad
policeman meditating on its spruce white steps. No customers in the
shops, and nobody to serve them behind the counter, even if they had
turned up. Here and there on the pavements, an inhabitant with a capacity
for staring, and (apparently) a capacity for nothing else. I said to
Reverend Finch's boy, "Is this a rich place?" Reverend Finch's boy
brightened and answered, "That it be!" Good. At any rate, they don't
enjoy themselves here--the infamous rich!
Leaving this town of unamused citizens immured in domestic tombs, we got
on a fine high road--still ascending--with a spacious open country on
either side of it.
A spacious open country is a country soon exhausted by a sight-seer's
eye. I have learnt from my poor Pratolungo the habit of searching for the
political convictions of my fellow-creatures, when I find myself in
contact with them in strange places. Having nothing else to do, I
searched Finch's boy. His political programme, I found to be:--As much
meat and beer as I can contain; and as little work to do for it as
possible. In return for this, to touch my hat when I meet the Squire, and
to be content with the station to which it has pleased God to call me.
Miserable Finch's boy!
We reached the highest point of the road. On our right hand, the ground
sloped away gently into a fertile valley--with a village and a church in
it; and beyond, an abominable privileged enclosure of grass and trees
torn from the community by a tyrant, and called a Park; with the palace
in which this enemy of mankind caroused and fattened, standing in the
midst. On our left hand, spread the open country--a magnificent prospect
of grand grassy hills, rolling away to the horizon; bounded only by the
sky. To my surprise, Finch's boy descended; took the pony by the head;
and deliberately led him off the high road, and on to the wilderness of
grassy hills, on which not so much as a footpath was discernible
anywhere, far or near. The chaise began to heave and roll like a ship on
the sea. It became necessary to hold with both hands to keep
|
road
|
How many times does the word 'road' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Production draft
<b> EXT. EDGE OF CORN FIELDS - DAY
</b>
A pocket watch. Open. Ticking. Swinging from a chain.
Held by a young man named JOE in a clearing beside a Kansas
corn field. Sky pregnant with rain.
Waiting. He checks the watch, removes his earbud headphones,
stands.
Without much ceremony a BLOODIED MAN in a suit appears from
thin air, kneeling before the young man. Hands and feet
tied. Burlap sack over his head. Muffled screams, gagged.
With no hesitation Joe raises a squat gun and blows the man
apart with a single cough of a shot.
<b> LATER
</b> Joe loads the corpse into the flatbed of his truck.
Cuts open the back of the body's jacket, revealing FOUR bars
of gold taped to the dead man's back. Joe takes them.
<b> EXT. INDUSTRIAL PLANT - DAY
</b>
Massive, in the middle of nowhere. Black smoke.
<b> JOE (V.O.)
</b> Time travel has not yet been
invented. But twenty five years
from now it will be. Once the
technology exists, it will be
relatively cheap and available to
the public at large. And so. It
will be instantly outlawed, used
only in secret by the largest
criminal organizations. And then
only for a very specific purpose.
Joe drives up and parks his truck, removes the wrapped corpse
from the flatbed.
<b> JOE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b> It's nearly impossible to dispose
of a body in the future. I'm told.
Tagging techniques, whatnot. So
when these future criminal
organizations in the future need
someone gone, they use specialized
assassins in our present, called
loopers.
<b> INT. INDUSTRIAL PLANT - DAY
</b>
Cavernous and empty. Joe carries the body to an iron hatch,
opens it, and dumps him in.
|
chain
|
How many times does the word 'chain' appear in the text?
| 0
|
in a sensible way to get it," replied the
General. "The Belt was captured by a little girl named Dorothy, who
lives in Kansas, in the United States of America."
"But she left it in the Emerald City, with Ozma," declared the King.
"How do you know that?" asked the General.
"One of my spies, who is a Blackbird, flew over the desert to the Land
of Oz, and saw the Magic Belt in Ozma's palace," replied the King with a
groan.
"Now, that gives me an idea," said General Blug, thoughtfully. "There
are two ways to get to the Land of Oz without traveling across the sandy
desert."
"What are they?" demanded the King, eagerly.
"One way is _over_ the desert, through the air; and the other way is
_under_ the desert, through the earth."
[Illustration]
Hearing this the Nome King uttered a yell of joy and leaped from his
throne, to resume his wild walk up and down the cavern.
"That's it, Blug!" he shouted. "That's the idea, General! I'm King of
the Under World, and my subjects are all miners. I'll make a secret
tunnel under the desert to the Land of Oz--yes! right up to the Emerald
City--and you will march your armies there and capture the whole
country!"
"Softly, softly, your Majesty. Don't go too fast," warned the General.
"My Nomes are good fighters, but they are not strong enough to conquer
the Emerald City."
"Are you sure?" asked the King.
"Absolutely certain, your Majesty."
"Then what am I to do?"
"Give up the idea and mind your own business," advised the General. "You
have plenty to do trying to rule your underground kingdom."
"But I want that Magic Belt--and I'm going to have it!" roared the Nome
King.
"I'd like to see you get it," replied the General, laughing maliciously.
The King was by this time so exasperated that he picked up his scepter,
which had a heavy ball, made from a sapphire, at the end of it, and
threw it with all his force at General Blug. The sapphire hit the
General upon his forehead and knocked him flat upon the ground, where he
lay motionless. Then the King rang his gong and told his guards to drag
out the General and throw him away; which they did.
This Nome King was named Roquat the Red, and no one loved him. He was a
bad man and a powerful monarch, and he had resolved to destroy the Land
of Oz and its magnificent Emerald City, to enslave Princess Ozma and
little Dorothy and all the Oz people, and recover his Magic Belt. This
same Belt had once enabled Roquat the Red to carry out many wicked
plans; but that was before Ozma and her people marched to the
underground cavern and captured it. The Nome King could not forgive
Dorothy or Princess Ozma, and he had determined to be revenged upon
them.
But they, for their part, did not know they had so dangerous an enemy.
Indeed, Ozma and Dorothy had both almost forgotten that such a person as
the Nome King yet lived under the mountains of the Land of Ev--which lay
just across the deadly desert to the south of the Land of Oz.
An unsuspected enemy is doubly dangerous.
[Illustration]
_How_ UNCLE HENRY GOT INTO TROUBLE
CHAPTER TWO
[Illustration]
Dorothy Gale lived on a farm in Kansas, with her Aunt Em and her Uncle
Henry. It was not a big farm, nor a very good one, because sometimes the
rain did not come when the crops needed it, and then everything withered
and dried up. Once a cyclone had carried away Uncle Henry's house, so
that he was obliged to build another; and as he was a poor man he had to
mortgage his farm to get the money to pay for the new house. Then his
health became bad and he was too feeble to work. The doctor ordered him
to take a sea voyage and he went to Australia and took Dorothy with him.
That cost a lot of money, too.
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 4
|
"Out there, there's a world outside of Yonkers..."
<b>
</b> More stars.
Distant galaxies, constellations, nebulas...
A single planet.
Drab and brown.
Moving towards it.
Pushing through its polluted atmosphere.
<b>
</b> "...Close your eyes and see it glisten..."
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. PLANET'S SURFACE - CONTINUOUS
</b><b>
</b> A range of mountains takes form in the haze.
Moving closer.
The mountains are piles of TRASH.
The entire surface is nothing but waste.
<b>
</b> "...We're gonna find adventure in the evening air..."
<b>
</b> A silhouetted city in the distance.
What looks like skyscrapers turns into trash.
Thousands of neatly stacked CUBES OF TRASH, stories high.
Rows and rows of stacked cubes, like city avenues.
They go on for miles.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. AVENUE OF TRASH
</b><b>
</b> "...Beneath your parasol the world is all a smile..."
<b>
</b> Something moving on the ground far below.
A figure at the foot of a trash heap.
A SMALL SERVICE ROBOT diligently cubing trash.
Rusted, ancient.
Cute.
Every inch of him engineered for trash compacting.
<b>
</b> Mini-shovel hands collect junk.
Scoop it into his open chassis.
His front plate closes slowly, compressing waste.
A faded label on his corroded chest plate:
"Waste Allocation Loader - Earth Class" (WALL-E)
<b>
</b> Wall-E spits out a cube of trash.
Stacks it with the others.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>
</b><b>
|
moving
|
How many times does the word 'moving' appear in the text?
| 2
|
b></U></B>OCTOBER 21, 1997</CENTER></PRE>
</b>
<b><PRE>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT. CUMBERLAND, RHODE ISLAND HIGH SCHOOL - MORNING
</b>
It's the early 1980's and everyone is arriving at school. We push
through the parking lot crowd to a nervous, lanky kid, TED
<b>PELOQUIN.
</b>
<b> MAN'S VOICE (V.O.)
</b> When I was sixteen years old I fell in
love...
<U>CLOSE ON</U> - RENISE, a tough girl with stringy brown hair and a
shiny forehead, as she turns toward the camera.
<b> TED
</b> Hey, Renise.
She barely looks at him as he approaches, just drags on her smoke.
<b> RENISE
</b> Hey.
<b> TED
</b> So what's up?
<b> RENISE
</b> Eh.
<b> TED
</b> Great. Great.
(beat)
So listen, uh, I was wondering if maybe you
wanted to go to the prom you know, with
me.
Renise looks unenthused.
TED (cont'd)
It's no big deal, whatever I mean, if you
want.
<b> RENISE
</b> See, the thing is, I heard a rumor that
this guy I like was gonna ask me.
<b> TED
</b> Uh-huh.
<b> RENISE
</b> Yeah, so...I'm gonna wait and see what
happens there...But that sounds great,
yeah.
Ted nods, confused.
<b> TED
</b> Okay.
(beat)
So
|
great
|
How many times does the word 'great' appear in the text?
| 2
|
with
enormous white flowers. The man seated beside the basket
seems to be asleep, his face hidden by the drooping brim of a
straw hat. Betsy picks up one of the blooms, smells it and
then looks at the vendor.
BETSY
How much is this?
The vendor wakens and lifts his head, revealing a face
bloated and scarified by yaws, a hideous nightmare face.
Betsy, startled, steps back, letting the flower drop. Paul
Holland, passing her, looks at this little tableau of horror
and disgust.
HOLLAND
(in passing)
You're beginning to learn.
Betsy looks after him as he walks away into the village.
DISSOLVE
<u><b>EXT. ROAD TO FORT HOLLAND -- DAY -- (PROCESS)</b></u>
An umbrella-topped surrey, drawn by a gaunt mule and piloted
by an old coachman in dirty white singlet, a top hat with a
cockade on his graying hair, is making its way along a dusty
road between fields of sugar cane. In the distance, the sea
is visible and above it the great billowing white clouds of
the Caribbean. Betsy, seated on the back seat of the
carriage, is bending forward to listen to the old man.
COACHMAN
Times gone, Fort Holland was a
fort...now, no longer. The
Holland's are a most old family,
miss. They brought the colored
people to the island-- the colored
folks and Ti-Misery.
BETSY
Ti-Misery? What's that?
COACHMAN
A man, miss -- an old man who lives
in the garden at Fort Holland -
with arrows stuck in him and a
sorrowful, weeping look on his
black face.
BETSY
(incredulous)
Alive?
COACHMAN
(laughing, softly)
No, miss. He's just as he was in
the beginning -- on the front part
of an enormous boat.
BETSY
(understanding and amused)
You mean a figurehead.
COACHMAN
(warming up to his
orating)
If you say, miss. And the enormous
boat brought the long-ago Fathers
and the long-ago Mothers of us all
- chained down to the deep side
floor.
BETSY
(looking at the endless
fields and the richly
clouded blue sky)
But they came to a beautiful place,
didn't they?
COACHMAN
(smiling and nodding as
one who accepts a
personal compliment)
If you say, miss. If you say.
DISSOLVE
<u><b>EXT. FORT HOLLAND -- DAY
</b></u>
The jugheaded mule slowly pulls the carriage into the scene.
This beast comes to a somnolent stop without the coachman so
much as touching the reins. As the man climbs down and
starts to take the luggage out of the carriage, Betsy looks
through the wrought-iron gate into the garden.
Fort Holland is a one-story house built around the garden,
with low covered porches to give shade and breezeway. At the
open end of the U is a great gate much like the wrought-iron
gates of New Orleans. Through this Betsy can see the garden
and its profusion of verdure: azalea, bougainvillea, roses --
much like
|
white
|
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| 2
|
body, impetuous wishes, and powerful will.
He might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the 17th
century: "I can undertake and persevere even without hope of success."
Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been in all the battles of
that war. After having begun as a volunteer at Illinois, under Ulysses
Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont, Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of
Corinth, Port Gibson, Black River, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, on the
Potomac, everywhere and valiantly, a soldier worthy of the general who
said, "I never count my dead!" And hundreds of times Captain Harding had
almost been among those who were not counted by the terrible Grant; but
in these combats where he never spared himself, fortune favored him till
the moment when he was wounded and taken prisoner on the field of battle
near Richmond. At the same time and on the same day another important
personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than
Gideon Spilett, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered
to follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies.
Gideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or American
chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing to obtain
exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the shortest
possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New York Herald,
are genuine powers, and their reporters are men to be reckoned with.
Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of those reporters: a man of great
merit, energetic, prompt and ready for anything, full of ideas, having
traveled over the whole world, soldier and artist, enthusiastic in
council, resolute in action, caring neither for trouble, fatigue, nor
danger, when in pursuit of information, for himself first, and then for
his journal, a perfect treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious
subjects, of the unpublished, of the unknown, and of the impossible. He
was one of those intrepid observers who write under fire, "reporting"
among bullets, and to whom every danger is welcome.
He also had been in all the battles, in the first rank, revolver in one
hand, note-book in the other; grape-shot never made his pencil tremble.
He did not fatigue the wires with incessant telegrams, like those who
speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his notes, short,
decisive, and clear, threw light on some important point. Besides, he
was not wanting in humor. It was he who, after the affair of the Black
River, determined at any cost to keep his place at the wicket of the
telegraph office, and after having announced to his journal the result
of the battle, telegraphed for two hours the first chapters of the
Bible. It cost the New York Herald two thousand dollars, but the New
York Herald published the first intelligence.
Gideon Spilett was tall. He was rather more than forty years of age.
Light whiskers bordering on red surrounded his face. His eye was steady,
lively, rapid in its changes. It was the eye of a man accustomed to take
in at a glance all the details of a scene. Well built, he was inured to
all climates, like a bar of steel hardened in cold water.
For ten years Gideon Spilett had been the reporter of the New York
Herald, which he enriched by his letters and drawings, for he was as
skilful in the use of the pencil as of the pen. When he was captured,
he was in the act of making a description and sketch of the battle. The
last words in his note-book were these: "A Southern rifleman has just
taken aim at me, but--" The Southerner notwithstanding missed Gideon
Spilett, who, with his usual fortune, came out of this affair without a
scratch.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett, who did not know each other except
by reputation, had both been carried to Richmond. The engineer's
wounds rapidly healed, and it was during his convalescence that he made
acquaintance with the reporter. The two men then learned to appreciate
each other. Soon their common aim had but one object, that of escaping,
rejoining Grant's army, and fighting together in
|
richmond
|
How many times does the word 'richmond' appear in the text?
| 1
|
'P-p-p-proot.' And that was just the beginning; I was
always 'Tick,' but as for him--part of the time he was 'Tweel,' and part
of the time he was 'P-p-p-proot,' and part of the time he was sixteen
other noises!
"We just couldn't connect. I tried 'rock,' and I tried 'star,' and
'tree,' and 'fire,' and Lord knows what else, and try as I would, I
couldn't get a single word! Nothing was the same for two successive
minutes, and if that's a language, I'm an alchemist! Finally I gave it
up and called him Tweel, and that seemed to do.
"But Tweel hung on to some of my words. He remembered a couple of them,
which I suppose is a great achievement if you're used to a language you
have to make up as you go along. But I couldn't get the hang of his
talk; either I missed some subtle point or we just didn't _think_
alike--and I rather believe the latter view.
"I've other reasons for believing that. After a while I gave up the
language business, and tried mathematics. I scratched two plus two
equals four on the ground, and demonstrated it with pebbles. Again Tweel
caught the idea, and informed me that three plus three equals six. Once
more we seemed to be getting somewhere.
"So, knowing that Tweel had at least a grammar school education, I drew
a circle for the sun, pointing first at it, and then at the last glow of
the sun. Then I sketched in Mercury, and Venus, and Mother Earth, and
Mars, and finally, pointing to Mars, I swept my hand around in a sort of
inclusive gesture to indicate that Mars was our current environment. I
was working up to putting over the idea that my home was on the earth.
"Tweel understood my diagram all right. He poked his beak at it, and
with a great deal of trilling and clucking, he added Deimos and Phobos
to Mars, and then sketched in the earth's moon!
"Do you see what that proves? It proves that Tweel's race uses
telescopes--that they're civilized!"
"Does not!" snapped Harrison. "The moon is visible from here as a fifth
magnitude star. They could see its revolution with the naked eye."
"The moon, yes!" said Jarvis. "You've missed my point. Mercury isn't
visible! And Tweel knew of Mercury because he placed the Moon at the
_third_ planet, not the second. If he didn't know Mercury, he'd put the
earth second, and Mars third, instead of fourth! See?"
"Humph!" said Harrison.
"Anyway," proceeded Jarvis, "I went on with my lesson. Things were going
smoothly, and it looked as if I could put the idea over. I pointed at
the earth on my diagram, and then at myself, and then, to clinch it, I
pointed to myself and then to the earth itself shining bright green
almost at the zenith.
"Tweel set up such an excited clacking that I was certain he understood.
He jumped up and down, and suddenly he pointed at himself and then at
the sky, and then at himself and at the sky again. He pointed at his
middle and then at Arcturus, at his head and then at Spica, at his feet
and then at half a dozen stars, while I just gaped at him. Then, all of
a sudden, he gave a tremendous leap. Man, what a hop! He shot straight
up into the starlight, seventy-five feet if an inch! I saw him
silhouetted against the sky, saw him turn and come down at me head
first, and land smack on his beak like a javelin! There he stuck square
in the center of my sun-circle in the sand--a bull's eye!"
"Nuts!" observed the captain. "Plain nuts!"
"That's what I thought, too! I just stared at him open-mouthed while he
pulled his head out of the sand and stood up. Then I figured he'd missed
my point, and I went through the whole blamed rigamarole again, and it
ended the same way, with
|
earth
|
How many times does the word 'earth' appear in the text?
| 5
|
FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY
</b>
The white sun beats down on the rocky terrain. There's not a
cloud in the blue sky and the wind is at a standstill.
Far in the distance, a MEDIUM SIZED FLAT-BED TRUCK makes its
way to the entrance of a large cavern opening. Two VULTURES
perched on a barren tree watch the intruders.
<b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY
</b>
The truck screeches to a dusty stop. Three men in matching
coveralls and hard hats jump from the cab: CHIEF (42, stocky,
weary), LANKY (32, withered) and COLLEGE BOY (23, clean cut
and naive).
Chief holds a map and glares into the howling black mouth
before them.
<b> CHIEF
</b> This is it.
<b> LANKY
</b> Why did it have to be these caves...
<b> COLLEGE BOY
</b> Is something wrong?
<b> LANKY
</b> (to College Boy)
Don't mind me, buddy. It's nothin'.
Chief grabs a flashlight and moves to the back of the truck.
The logo on the rear gate reads "WIGWAM WASTE MANAGEMENT."
<b> CHIEF
</b> Let's get that first barrel.
The gate drops revealing their full load of YELLOW BARRELS
bearing the familiar BIOHAZARD WASTE symbol.
<b> INT. CAVERN -- MOMENTS LATER
</b>
|
reads
|
How many times does the word 'reads' appear in the text?
| 0
|
FADE IN:
</b><b>
</b><b> 1 1
</b><b> EXT. FOREST - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A dense forest on a dark, misty night.
<b>
</b> YOUNG EDWARD CARNBY (age 10), small, thin, and terrified,
runs for his life.
<b> 2
</b> The forest is pitch black. Young Edward ducks between trees,
under branches, not stopping for anything, GASPING for
breath. He doesn't turn to look behind him. He just runs as
fast as he can.
<b>
</b><b> P.O.V. CREATURE:
</b> Tomething chases Young Edward through the dark forest. Its
P.O.V. is skewed, inhuman. It is gaining on him.
<b>
</b> As Young Edward runs, beams of light become visible through
the closely packed trees. Something is up ahead, something
bright. Edward runs towards it.
<b>
</b> Young Edward bursts out into a clearing in the woods, running
towards the bright light.
<b>
</b><b> P.O.V. CREATURE:
</b><b>
</b> The light stops whatever is chasing Young Edward at the edge
of the forest. What is making the light isn't visible, only
Young Edward's silhouette running towards the blinding light.
<b>
</b><b> EXT. FOREST - LATER THAT NIGHT
</b><b> 1A 1A
</b><b> SUPER: 20 YEARS AGO
</b><b>
</b> The beams of a dozen flashlights cut through
|
edward
|
How many times does the word 'edward' appear in the text?
| 7
|
</b>
Tree branches enter into the frame, the camera pans
down and we see a truck approaching. We are at a
crossroads in the moors, looking sinister enough to
have earned their literary reputation.
The truck stops at the crossroads, the DRIVER,
mustached and wearing tweeds, boots, and a muffler,
climbs down.
"Moon Shadow" ends.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Loud bang of the back grating on the truck as it slams
down. Revealed among the sheep are two rudely-awakened
young American boys. They look exhausted. They both
carry backpacks, two American kids on a jaunt in
Europe. They are both in their late twenties.
It is very cold and they clamber out of the truck none
too happily. Pushing sheep aside they step out and
stretch.
<b> JACK GOODMAN AND DAVID KESSLER
</b>
They've been cramped for hours.
<b> TRUCK DRIVER
</b> Here, lads, East Proctor and
all about are the moors. I go
east here.
<b> JACK
</b> Yes, well thank you very much
for the ride, sir. You have
lovely sheep.
<b> TRUCK DRIVER
</b> (as he clambers back
up on his truck)
Boys, keep off the moors.
Stay on the road. Good luck
to you.
<b> DAVID
</b> Thanks again!
He drives off. LONG SHOT of the two boys as the lorry
pulls away. Surrounding them are the moors. They put
on their packs, David points to the signpost pointing
towards East Proctor.
<b> EXT. ROAD ON THE MOORS - NIGHT
</b>
As they walk, their breath visible:
<b> JACK
</b> Are you cold?
<b> DAVID
</b> Yes.
<b>
|
david
|
How many times does the word 'david' appear in the text?
| 3
|
murmur: "The four great alluvial plains of Asia--those of China and of
the Amoo Daria in temperate regions; of the Euphrates and Tigris in the
warm temperate; of the Indus and Ganges under the Tropic--with the Nile
valley in Africa, were the theatres of the most ancient civilizations
known to history or tradition----"
As she ended, a sigh escaped her, for the instruction of the young was
for her a matter not of choice, but of necessity. With the majority of
maiden ladies left destitute in Dinwiddie after the war, she had turned
naturally to teaching as the only nice and respectable occupation which
required neither preparation of mind nor considerable outlay of money.
The fact that she was the single surviving child of a gallant
Confederate general, who, having distinguished himself and his
descendants, fell at last in the Battle of Gettysburg, was sufficient
recommendation of her abilities in the eyes of her fellow citizens. Had
she chosen to paint portraits or to write poems, they would have rallied
quite as loyally to her support. Few, indeed, were the girls born in
Dinwiddie since the war who had not learned reading, penmanship ("up to
the right, down to the left, my dear"), geography, history, arithmetic,
deportment, and the fine arts, in the Academy for Young Ladies. The
brilliant military record of the General still shed a legendary lustre
upon the school, and it was earnestly believed that no girl, after
leaving there with a diploma for good conduct, could possibly go wrong
or become eccentric in her later years. To be sure, she might remain a
trifle weak in her spelling (Miss Priscilla having, as she confessed, a
poor head for that branch of study), but, after all, as the rector had
once remarked, good spelling was by no means a necessary accomplishment
for a lady; and, for the rest, it was certain that the moral education
of a pupil of the Academy would be firmly rooted in such fundamental
verities as the superiority of man and the aristocratic supremacy of the
Episcopal Church. From charming Sally Goode, now married to Tom
Peachey, known familiarly as "honest Tom," the editor of the Dinwiddie
_Bee_, to lovely Virginia Pendleton, the mark of Miss Priscilla was
ineffaceably impressed upon the daughters of the leading families.
Remembering this now, as she was disposed to do whenever she was
knitting without company, Miss Priscilla dropped her long wooden needles
in her lap, and leaning forward in her chair, gazed out upon the town
with an expression of child-like confidence, of touching innocence. This
innocence, which belonged to the very essence of her soul, had survived
both the fugitive joys and the brutal disillusionments of life.
Experience could not shatter it, for it was the product of a courage
that feared nothing except opinions. Just as the town had battled for a
principle without understanding it, so she was capable of dying for an
idea, but not of conceiving one. She had suffered everything from the
war except the necessity of thinking independently about it, and, though
in later years memory had become so sacred to her that she rarely
indulged in it, she still clung passionately to the habits of her
ancestors under the impression that she was clinging to their ideals.
Little things filled her days--the trivial details of the classroom and
of the market, the small domestic disturbances of her neighbours, the
moral or mental delinquencies of her two coloured servants--and even her
religious veneration for the Episcopal Church had crystallized at last
into a worship of customs.
To-day, at the beginning of the industrial awakening of the South, she
(who was but the embodied spirit of her race) stood firmly rooted in all
that was static, in all that was obsolete and outgrown in the Virginia
of the eighties. Though she felt as yet merely the vague uneasiness with
which her mind recoiled from the first stirrings of change, she was
beginning dimly to realize that the car of progress would move through
the quiet streets before the decade was over. The smoke of factories was
already succeeding the smoke of the battlefields, and out of the ashes
of a vanquished idealism the spirit of commercial materialism was born.
What was left of the old was fighting valiantly,
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 1
|
>
</b> [view looking straight down at rolling swells, sound of wind
and thunder, then a low heartbeat]
<b>
</b>
<b> PORT ROYAL
</b>
[teacups on a table in the rain]
[sheet music on music stands in the rain]
[bouquet of white orchids, Elizabeth sitting in the rain holding
the bouquet]
<b>
</b> [men rowing, men on horseback, to the sound of thunder]
[EITC logo on flag blowing in the wind]
[many rowboats are entering the harbor]
[Elizabeth sitting alone, at a distance]
[marines running, kick a door in]
[a mule is seen on the left in the barn where the marines enter]
<b>
</b><b>
</b> [Liz looking over her shoulder]
[Elizabeth drops her bouquet]
[Will is in manacles, being escorted by red coats]
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> Will...!
[Elizabeth runs to Will]
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> Why is this happening?
<b> WILL TURNER
</b> I don't know. You look beautiful.
<b> ELIZABETH SWANN
</b> I think it's bad luck for the groom
to see the bride before the wedding.
<b>
</b><b>
</b> [marines cross their long axes to bar Governor from entering]
<b>
</b><b>
</b>
|
swann
|
How many times does the word 'swann' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Now comes the moon riding over the horizon. Upon a hill at
the edge of the wood squats a castle, its crude stonework
bathed in cold silvery light. Queer carvings and runes
decorate the ponderous gate. Heavy vines are climbing up the
walls. The castle is old, its unfamiliar form testament to
an ancient mind and an ancient craft. Flickering candle light
dances on a leaded windowpane.
Inside, the corridors are dark and silent. Under low arched
ceilings the uneven floors are paved with stone blocks.
Perched over lintels and crouched in niches are icons with
strange animal heads.
<b> HODGE
</b>
A sleep on a straw palette in a room strewn with vegetables
and crockery is Hodge, a wrinkled old retainer. A flickering
candle and empty jug are beside the bed. He is snoring gently.
<b> CONJURING ROOM
</b>
This circular chamber at the heart of the castle is stuffed
with parchments, scrolls, dusty books, bronze braziers, glass
retorts, chemical salts, birds both stuffed and caged. An
iron candelabra stands on a work table, tapers burning. In
the soft glow it seems that the room is unoccupied, but no,
moving in the background is a shadowy figure, preparing for
a magical deed. Feet are positioned carefully within a
pentagram chiseled into the floor. A scroll is consulted; up
comes an arm and a voice blurts out:
<b> VOICE
</b> Omnia in duos: Duo in Unum: Unus in
Nihil: Haec nec Quattuor nec Omnia
nec Duo nec Unus nec Nihil Sunt.
Nothing happens.
<b> VOICE
</b> Come on, candles, out!
|
voice
|
How many times does the word 'voice' appear in the text?
| 2
|
HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.
HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that
is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I
promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so
everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have
him.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than
an even wager he may not have you.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?--Well, if
he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and
look out for some less difficult admirer.
HARDCASTLE. Bravely resolved! In the mean time I'll go prepare the
servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much
training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. (Alone). Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a
flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical
about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face
to-day?
MISS NEVILLE. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again--bless
me!--sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold
fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last
novel been too moving?
MISS HARDCASTLE. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened--I
can scarce get it out--I have been threatened with a lover.
MISS NEVILLE. And his name--
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. Indeed!
MISS HARDCASTLE. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my
admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Never.
MISS NEVILLE. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among
women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of
another stamp: you understand me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. An odd character indeed. I shall never be able to
manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust
to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear?
has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony as usual?
MISS NEVILLE. I have just come from one of our agreeable
tete-a-tetes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting
off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.
MISS HARDCASTLE.
|
papa
|
How many times does the word 'papa' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
very
|
How many times does the word 'very' appear in the text?
| 7
|
b>
An expensive bathroom suite. Excess of marble and gold
taps. Into the bath, a hand is scattering rupee notes.
Hundreds and hundreds of notes, worth hundreds of
thousands of rupees. The sound of a fist thumping on
the bathroom door, furious shouting from the other
side.
<b> JAVED O/S
</b> Salim! Salim!
<b>2 INT. STUDIO. BACKSTAGE. DAY. 2
</b>
Darkness. Then, glimpses of faces. In the half-light,
shadowy figures move with purpose. An implacable voice
announces.
<b> TALKBACK V/O
</b> Ten to white-out, nine, eight,
seven...
<b> PREM
</b> Are you ready?
Silence. A hand shakes a shoulder a little too roughly.
<b> PREM (CONT'D)
</b> I said are you ready?
<b> JAMAL
</b> Yes.
<b>3 INT. JAVED'S SAFE-HOUSE. BATHROOM. NIGHT. 3
</b>
The thumping at the door continues. The sound of
mumbled Indian prayer. Dull gleam of a pistol. A hand
cracks the chamber open. Loads a single bullet into the
chamber, snaps the chamber shut.
<b> TALKBACK V/O
</b> ...three, two, one, zero. Cue
Prem, cue applause...
Suddenly, the door splinters as it is smashed through.
A burst of gun-fire and white light as suddenly...
<b>4 INT. STUDIO. NIGHT. 4
</b>
...we are back in the studio, the gun-fire morphing
into rapturous applause.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>4 CONTINUED:
|
javed
|
How many times does the word 'javed' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
come
|
How many times does the word 'come' appear in the text?
| 5
|
Paul Thomas Anderson
<b>
</b>
<b>LOGO
</b>
Presentation cards with white, red, blue, blue-green
backgrounds, then:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. WAREHOUSE - EARLY MORNING
</b>
CAMERA (STEADICAM) holds on a man in a suit, sitting behind
a desk, on the phone: BARRY EGAN (Adam Sandler)
<b> BARRY
</b> ...yes I'm still on hold...
<b> OPERATOR
</b> And what was this?
<b> BARRY
</b> I'm looking at your advertisement
for the airline promotion and
giveaway?
<b> OPERATOR
</b> This is "Fly With Us?"
<b> BARRY
</b> It's hard to understand because it
says in addition to but I can't
exactly understand in addition to
what because there's actually
nothing to add it too...
<b> OPERATOR
</b> I think that's a type-o then, that
would be a mistake.
<b> BARRY
</b> So, just to clarify, I'm sorry: Ten
purchases of any of your Healthy
Choice products equals five hundred
miles and then with the coupon the
same purchases would value one
thousand miles --
<b> OPERATOR
</b> That's it.
<b> BARRY
</b> Do you realize that the monetary
value of this promotion and the
prize is potentially worth more
than the purchases?
<b> OPERATOR
</b> I don't know...I mean: I don't know.
<b>OC DISTANT SOUND OF A CAR SKIDDING TO A STOP, SOME V
|
operator
|
How many times does the word 'operator' appear in the text?
| 4
|
>
</b><b>
</b> April, 2008
<b>
</b><b>
</b>
<b> INT PAPAL APARTMENT DAY
</b><b>
</b> CLOSE ON an ornate ring. It's intricately carved with a seal, an
image of St. Peter casting a net. The ring is carried on a satin
pillow through a darkened, regal apartment. In the distance,
BELLS ARE TOLLING -- the slow, solemn tones that announce a death.
<b>
</b> A dozen men in scarlet cassocks, ROMAN CATHOLIC CARDINALS, bend
down to inspect the ring, nodding in affirmation, part of an
ancient ritual.
<b>
</b> A younger man (the CAMERLENGO) in a black cassock takes a silver
knife and scratches the ring's seal twice, once horizontally and
once vertically, in the sign of the cross.
<b>
</b> Now the ring is placed on a lead block. The Camerlengo raises a
silver mallet and SMASHES it down, shattering the ring into a
thousand tiny pieces.
<b>
</b> As the Cardinals confirm to their satisfaction that the ring has
been destroyed, the HUSHED VOICE of a NEWS REPORTER comes over the
image.
<b>
</b><b> REPORTER
</b> -- the Ring of the Fisherman, which
bears the official papal seal and by
Vatican law must be destroyed
immediately following the Pope's
death.
<b>
</b><b> IN THE HALLWAY JUST OUTSIDE THE APARTMENT,
</b><b>
</b> the Cardinals file out in a solemn procession. Behind them, the
Camerlengo closes and locks the doors to
|
image
|
How many times does the word 'image' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Guard reaches the top. The guard picks up the torch to
light the fire and sees Shan-Yu jump over the edge of the tower and looks at
him across from the caldron. The guard throws the torch into the caldron
lighting a large fire. Shan-Yu watches as each tower lights their caldrons
one by one]
Guard [sternly]: Now all of China knows you're here.
Shan-Yu [taking the flag and holding it over the fire]: Perfect.
[Cut to the palace. The large doors to the central chamber open as General Li
walks in flanked on his left and right by soldiers and approaches the Emperor.
He bows, then looks up]
General Li: Your Majesty, the Huns have crossed our Northern border.
Chi Fu: Impossible! No one can get through The Great Wall. [The Emperor
motions for Chi Fu's silence]
General Li: Shun-Yu is leading them. We'll set up defenses around your
palace immediately.
Emperor [forcefully]: No! Send your troops to protect my people. Chi Fu,
Chi Fu: Yes, your highness.
Emperor: Deliver conscription notices throughout all the provinces. Call up
reserves and as many new recruits as possible.
General Li: Forgive me your Majesty, but I believe my troops can stop him.
Emperor: I wont take any chances, General. A single grain of rice can tip
the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat.
[Cut to Mulan using her chopsticks to single out a grain of rice on top of the
mound of rice]
Mulan: Quiet and demure...graceful...polite...[picking up some rice with her
chopsticks and eating a mouthful] delicate...refined...poised... [She sets
down her chopsticks and writes down a final word on her right arm] punctual.
[A cock crows] Aiya. [Calling out] Little brother. Little brother. Lit-
ahhh, there you are. Who's the smartest doggie in the world? Come on smart
boy, can you help me with my chores today?
[Mulan ties a sack of grain around Little Brother's waist. She ties a stick
onto Little brother so that end of it is in front of Little Brother's face.
She ties the bone on the end of the stick just out of reach. Little Brother
begins to run after the bone which he cannot reach. Mulan opens the door for
Little Brother and he runs into the door frame, then out the open door.
Little brother runs by the chickens and Khan - the family horse]
[Cut to Mulan's Father, Fa Zhou, kneeling and praying before the Fa family's
ancestors]
Fa Zhou: Honorable ancestors, please help Mulan impress the matchmaker today.
Little Brother [running into the temple and around Fa Zhou scattering grain
around the floor]: Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.
[The chickens follow Little Brother into the temple and begin to feed on the
grain]
Fa Zhou: Please, PLEASE, help her.
[Mulan steps up to the temple seeing Little Brother on his hind legs trying to
get the bone. Mulan bends the stick down so that Little brother can reach the
bone. Little brother gnaws on the bone happily. Mulan continues toward the
temple]
Mulan [calling out]: Father I brought your--whoop! [Fa Zhou bumps into Mulan.
The cup falls to the ground and Fa Zhou catches the teapot with the handle of
his cane]
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan: I brought a spare. [Mulan pulls out a cup from underneath the back of
her dress and begins to pour the tea]
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan [hurried]: Remember, the doctor said three cups of tea in the morning--
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan: And three at night.
Fa Zhou: Mulan, you should already be in town. We're counting on you to up--
Mulan:
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 1
|
appears over a black
screen.
Every blade of grass has its Angel
that bends over it and whispers,
"Grow, grow."
The Talmud
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> 1987
</b>
<b>1 EXT HARLEM STREET DAY 1
</b>
A COLD WIND blows a bright red scarf tangled high on a street
lamp.
An iron waste bin is blown sideways into an intersection. A
stray dog investigates it briefly, urinates and then moves on.
A book bag drops onto the pavement.
Visible from the waist down, a LARGE YOUNG WOMAN in a
disintegrating leather jacket turns the waste bin upright and
then maneuvers it onto the sidewalk.
Once finished, her thick hands wipe each other until they
stop abruptly.
Here, for the first time, we see her PLUMP, YOUTHFUL, VACANT
AFRICAN AMERICAN FACE. It is 16-YEAR-OLD PRECIOUS JONES.
Something inside the bin has caught her attention.
Precious gazes down upon a soiled and tattered paperback book
as the breath from her nostrils steams. The title of the book
staring back up at her is unintelligible.
She pushes debris aside to get to it.
The book plunges deeper into the trash, as if trying to flee.
The sound of an ONCOMING CAR approaches.
Precious pins the book against the bottom of the bin as the
sounds of the oncoming car close in.
Precious finally comes up with the book. Its title is still
unintelligible. When she flips it over, however, the letters
on the cover, which are facing us now, make sense. They read
<b> CRYSTAL STAIR: SELECTED WORKS BY LANGSTON HUGHES.
</b>
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>1 CONTINUED: 1
</b> The car sounds incredibly close.
Precious looks sharply to her left.
AN EERIE SKID precedes an eerier THUD! Precious, almost hit,
falls back on to the pavement as her book skips across the
intersection and down into a drain.
She lays on the sidewalk pressed against the base of the
street lamp with her eyes closed
|
book
|
How many times does the word 'book' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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