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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
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| 4
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be, continued after Powell with only
a brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate of
speed as his.
I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished
to capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I
urged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope
that I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.
Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two
shots far ahead of me. I knew that Powell would need me now if ever,
and I instantly urged my horse to his topmost speed up the narrow and
difficult mountain trail.
I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further
sounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau
near the summit of the pass. I had passed through a narrow,
overhanging gorge just before entering suddenly upon this table land,
and the sight which met my eyes filled me with consternation and dismay.
The little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and
there were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around some
object near the center of the camp. Their attention was so wholly
riveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and I
easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge and
made my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that this
thought did not occur to me until the following day removes any
possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this
episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.
I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes,
because, in all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts
have placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single one
where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many
hours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I am
subconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse to
tiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regretted
that cowardice is not optional with me.
In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center
of attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but
within an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I had
whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of
warriors, shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.
Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men,
convinced by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars
was upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows,
arrows, and rifles.
The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with
apprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon
lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the
braves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet
I would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches
as quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.
Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his
cartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backward
glance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more
hazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my
poor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I could
distinguish on the far side of the table land.
The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was
pursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that it
is difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by moonlight,
that they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent,
and that I was a rather rapidly moving target saved me from the various
deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadows
of the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.
My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had
probably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass
than he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to the
summit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry
me to the valley and to safety.
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intent.
"Therefore," said he ironically, "I hope you will be patient with my
shortcomings. Nick, a chair for Master Godolphin and another cup. I bid
you welcome to Penarrow."
A sneer flickered over the younger man's white face. "You pay me a
compliment, sir, which I fear me 'tis not mine to return to you."
"Time enough for that when I come to seek it," said Sir Oliver, with
easy, if assumed, good humour.
"When you come to seek it?"
"The hospitality of your house," Sir Oliver explained.
"It is on that very matter I am come to talk with you."
"Will you sit?" Sir Oliver invited him, and spread a hand towards the
chair which Nicholas had set. In the same gesture he waved the servant
away.
Master Godolphin ignored the invitation. "You were," he said, "at
Godolphin Court but yesterday, I hear." He paused, and as Sir Oliver
offered no denial, he added stiffly: "I am come, sir, to inform you that
the honour of your visits is one we shall be happy to forgo."
In the effort he made to preserve his self-control before so direct an
affront Sir Oliver paled a little under his tan.
"You will understand, Peter," he replied slowly, "that you have said too
much unless you add something more." He paused, considering his visitor
a moment. "I do not know whether Rosamund has told you that yesterday
she did me the honour to consent to become my wife...."
"She is a child that does not know her mind," broke in the other.
"Do you know of any good reason why she should come to change it?" asked
Sir Oliver, with a slight air of challenge.
Master Godolphin sat down, crossed his legs and placed his hat on his
knee.
"I know a dozen," he answered. "But I need not urge them. Sufficient
should it be to remind you that Rosamund is but seventeen and that she
is under my guardianship and that of Sir John Killigrew. Neither Sir
John nor I can sanction this betrothal."
"Good lack!" broke out Sir Oliver. "Who asks your sanction or Sir
John's? By God's grace your sister will grow to be a woman soon and
mistress of herself. I am in no desperate haste to get me wed, and by
nature--as you may be observing--I am a wondrous patient man. I'll even
wait," And he pulled at his pipe.
"Waiting cannot avail you in this, Sir Oliver. 'Tis best you should
understand. We are resolved, Sir John and I."
"Are you so? God's light. Send Sir John to me to tell me of his resolves
and I'll tell him something of mine. Tell him from me, Master Godolphin,
that if he will trouble to come as far as Penarrow I'll do by him what
the hangman should have done long since. I'll crop his pimpish ears for
him, by this hand!"
"Meanwhile," said Master Godolphin whettingly, "will you not essay your
rover's prowess upon me?"
"You?" quoth Sir Oliver, and looked him over with good-humoured
contempt. "I'm no butcher of fledgelings, my lad. Besides, you are your
sister's brother, and 'tis no aim of mine to increase the obstacles
already in my path." Then his tone changed. He leaned across the table.
"Come, now, Peter. What is at the root of all this matter? Can we not
compose such differences as you conceive exist? Out with them. 'Tis
no matter for Sir John. He's a curmudgeon who signifies not a finger's
snap. But you, 'tis different. You are her brother. Out with your
plaints, then. Let us be frank and friendly."
"Friendly?" The other sneered again. "Our fathers set us an example in
that."
"Does it matter what our fathers did? More shame to them if, being
neighbours, they could not be friends. Shall we follow so deplorable an
example?"
"You'll not impute that the fault lay with my father," cried the other,
with a show of ready anger.
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INE
PART SECOND THE ISABELS
PART THIRD THE LIGHTHOUSE
NOSTROMO
PART FIRST THE SILVER OF THE MINE
CHAPTER ONE
In the time of Spanish rule, and for many years afterwards, the town of
Sulaco--the luxuriant beauty of the orange gardens bears witness to its
antiquity--had never been commercially anything more important than a
coasting port with a fairly large local trade in ox-hides and indigo.
The clumsy deep-sea galleons of the conquerors that, needing a brisk
gale to move at all, would lie becalmed, where your modern ship built on
clipper lines forges ahead by the mere flapping of her sails, had been
barred out of Sulaco by the prevailing calms of its vast gulf. Some
harbours of the earth are made difficult of access by the treachery
of sunken rocks and the tempests of their shores. Sulaco had found an
inviolable sanctuary from the temptations of a trading world in
the solemn hush of the deep Golfo Placido as if within an enormous
semi-circular and unroofed temple open to the ocean, with its walls of
lofty mountains hung with the mourning draperies of cloud.
On one side of this broad curve in the straight seaboard of the Republic
of Costaguana, the last spur of the coast range forms an insignificant
cape whose name is Punta Mala. From the middle of the gulf the point of
the land itself is not visible at all; but the shoulder of a steep hill
at the back can be made out faintly like a shadow on the sky.
On the other side, what seems to be an isolated patch of blue mist
floats lightly on the glare of the horizon. This is the peninsula
of Azuera, a wild chaos of sharp rocks and stony levels cut about by
vertical ravines. It lies far out to sea like a rough head of stone
stretched from a green-clad coast at the end of a slender neck of
sand covered with thickets of thorny scrub. Utterly waterless, for the
rainfall runs off at once on all sides into the sea, it has not soil
enough--it is said--to grow a single blade of grass, as if it were
blighted by a curse. The poor, associating by an obscure instinct of
consolation the ideas of evil and wealth, will tell you that it is
deadly because of its forbidden treasures. The common folk of the
neighbourhood, peons of the estancias, vaqueros of the seaboard plains,
tame Indians coming miles to market with a bundle of sugar-cane or a
basket of maize worth about threepence, are well aware that heaps of
shining gold lie in the gloom of the deep precipices cleaving the stony
levels of Azuera. Tradition has it that many adventurers of olden time
had perished in the search. The story goes also that within men's memory
two wandering sailors--Americanos, perhaps, but gringos of some sort for
certain--talked over a gambling, good-for-nothing mozo, and the three
stole a donkey to carry for them a bundle of dry sticks, a water-skin,
and provisions enough to last a few days. Thus accompanied, and with
revolvers at their belts, they had started to chop their way with
machetes through the thorny scrub on the neck of the peninsula.
On the second evening an upright spiral of smoke (it could only have
been from their camp-fire) was seen for the first time within memory of
man standing up faintly upon the sky above a razor-backed ridge on the
stony head. The crew of a coasting schooner, lying becalmed three miles
off the shore, stared at it with amazement till dark. A negro fisherman,
living in a lonely hut in a little bay near by, had seen the start and
was on the lookout for some sign. He called to his wife just as the
sun was about to set. They had watched the strange portent with envy,
incredulity, and awe.
The impious adventurers gave no other sign. The sailors, the Indian,
and the stolen burro were never seen again. As to the mozo, a Sulaco
man--his wife paid for some masses,
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</b>
OPENING CREDITS ROLL over a TENT MONTAGE -- ASSORTED
ANGLES of a group of men hard at work erecting a large
striped "big-top" style canvas tent, INCLUDING: The long
steel stakes being sledge-hammered into the lawn,
practiced hands rapidly rigging the lines, the tall
center poles being leveraged upright, the heavy rolled-up
sections of canvas being maneuvered into position, and
ENDING WITH the canvas being hoisted up the poles as the
tent assumes its full and finished form.
<b>NEW ANGLE - TENT
</b>
-- on the front yard of the Abbott mansion. The
residence is on Main Street, four blocks from where the
commercial district begins. The mature, over-arching
trees makes this street of prosperous houses a grand
promenade.
<b>2EXT. ABBOTT HOME - STREET - DAY 2
</b>
JACEY HOLT and DOUG HOLT walk along the sidewalk on their
way to school. Jacey is seventeen; he's as handsome and
seemingly self-confident as his younger brother is
rumpled and impulsive. Doug is fifteen, a popular
culture chameleon who takes on the colors and
affectations of whomever his "hero" is at the moment
(which presently happens to be Elvis Presley).
Jacey stops and stares with open-faced misery at the tent
on the Abbott's front yard (the installation of the tent
indicates that the Abbott's are having yet another of the
many parties they throw every year).
<b> DOUG
</b> Didn't get invited, huh?
<b> JACEY
</b> Go to hell.
<b> DOUG
</b> Who cares? I'm not going and I
got invited.
<b> JACEY
</b> Who invited you?
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b> INVENTING THE ABBOTTS - Rev. 2/16/96 2.
<b>2CONTINUED:
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jacey
|
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|
him and Emmert. Rainsford
could be a Federation agent--a roving naturalist would have a wonderful
cover occupation. But this Big Blackwater business was so utterly silly.
Nick Emmert had too much graft on his conscience; it was too bad that
overloaded consciences couldn't blow fuses.
"Suppose he is, Leonard. What could he report on us? We are a chartered
company, and we have an excellent legal department, which keeps us safely
inside our charter. It is a very liberal charter, too. This is a Class-III
uninhabited planet; the Company owns the whole thing outright. We can do
anything we want as long as we don't violate colonial law or the
Federation Constitution. As long as we don't do that, Nick Emmert hasn't
anything to worry about. Now forget this whole damned business, Leonard!"
He was beginning to speak sharply, and Kellogg was looking hurt. "I know
you were concerned about injurious reports getting back to Terra, and that
was quite commendable, but...."
By the time he got through, Kellogg was happy again. Victor blanked the
screen, leaned back in his chair and began laughing. In a moment, the
screen buzzed again. When he snapped it on, his screen-girl said:
"Mr. Henry Stenson's on, Mr. Grego."
"Well, put him on." He caught himself just before adding that it would be
a welcome change to talk to somebody with sense.
The face that appeared was elderly and thin; the mouth was tight, and
there were squint-wrinkles at the corners of the eyes.
"Well, Mr. Stenson. Good of you to call. How are you?"
"Very well, thank you. And you?" When he also admitted to good health, the
caller continued: "How is the globe running? Still in synchronization?"
Victor looked across the office at his most prized possession, the big
globe of Zarathustra that Henry Stenson had built for him, supported six
feet from the floor on its own contragravity unit, spotlighted in orange
to represent the KO sun, its two satellites circling about it as it
revolved slowly.
"The globe itself is keeping perfect time, and Darius is all right, Xerxes
is a few seconds of longitude ahead of true position."
"That's dreadful, Mr. Grego!" Stenson was deeply shocked. "I must adjust
that the first thing tomorrow. I should have called to check on it long
ago, but you know how it is. So many things to do, and so little time."
"I find the same trouble myself, Mr. Stenson." They chatted for a while,
and then Stenson apologized for taking up so much of Mr. Grego's valuable
time. What he meant was that his own time, just as valuable to him, was
wasting. After the screen blanked, Grego sat looking at it for a moment,
wishing he had a hundred men like Henry Stenson in his own organization.
Just men with Stenson's brains and character; wishing for a hundred
instrument makers with Stenson's skills would have been unreasonable, even
for wishing. There was only one Henry Stenson, just as there had been only
one Antonio Stradivari. Why a man like that worked in a little shop on a
frontier planet like Zarathustra....
Then he looked, pridefully, at the globe. Alpha Continent had moved slowly
to the right, with the little speck that represented Mallorysport
twinkling in the orange light. Darius, the inner moon, where the
Terra-Baldur-Marduk Spacelines had their leased terminal, was almost
directly over it, and the other moon, Xerxes, was edging into sight.
Xerxes was the one thing about Zarathustra that the Company didn't own;
the Terran Federation had retained that as a naval base. It was the one
reminder that there was something bigger and more powerful than the
Company.
* * * * *
Gerd van Riebeek saw Ruth Ortheris leave the escalator, step aside and
stand looking around the cocktail lounge. He set his glass, with its inch
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was
palsied; and he died at Westminster, at the age of sixty-six, on
September 11, 1677. He was buried in St. Margaret's Church, by the grave
of Sir Walter Raleigh, on the south side of the altar.
H. M.
OCEANA
PART I. THE PRELIMINARIES
Showing the Principles of Government
JANOTTI, the most excellent describer of the Commonwealth of Venice,
divides the whole series of government into two times or periods: the
one ending with the liberty of Rome, which was the course or empire, as
I may call it, of ancient prudence, first discovered to mankind by
God himself in the fabric of the commonwealth of Israel, and afterward
picked out of his footsteps in nature, and unanimously followed by the
Greeks and Romans; the other beginning with the arms of Caesar, which,
extinguishing liberty, were the transition of ancient into modern
prudence, introduced by those inundations of Huns, Goths, Vandals,
Lombards, Saxons, which, breaking the Roman Empire, deformed the whole
face of the world with those ill-features of government, which at this
time are become far worse in these western parts, except Venice, which,
escaping the hands of the barbarians by virtue of its impregnable
situation, has had its eye fixed upon ancient prudence, and is attained
to a perfection even beyond the copy.
Relation being had to these two times, government (to define it de jure,
or according to ancient prudence) is an art whereby a civil society of
men is instituted and preserved upon the foundation of common right or
interest; or, to follow Aristotle and Livy, it is the empire of laws,
and not of men.
And government (to define it de facto, or according to modern prudence)
is an art whereby some man, or some few men, subject a city or a nation,
and rule it according to his or their private interest; which, because
the laws in such cases are made according to the interest of a man, or
of some few families, may be said to be the empire of men, and not of
laws.
The former kind is that which Machiavel (whose books are neglected) is
the only politician that has gone about to retrieve; and that Leviathan
(who would have his book imposed upon the universities) goes about to
destroy. For "it is," says he, "another error of Aristotle's politics
that in a well-ordered commonwealth, not men should govern, but the
laws. What man that has his natural senses, though he can neither write
nor read, does not find himself governed by them he fears, and believes
can kill or hurt him when he obeys not? or, who believes that the law
can hurt him, which is but words and paper, without the hands and swords
of men?" I confess that the magistrate upon his bench is that to the
law which a gunner upon his platform is to his cannon. Nevertheless, I
should not dare to argue with a man of any ingenuity after this manner.
A whole army, though they can neither write nor read, are not afraid
of a platform, which they know is but earth or stone; nor of a cannon,
which, without a hand to give fire to it, is but cold iron; therefore a
whole army is afraid of one man. But of this kind is the ratiocination
of Leviathan, as I shall show in divers places that come in my way,
throughout his whole politics, or worse; as where he says, "of Aristotle
and of Cicero, of the Greeks, and of the Romans, who lived under popular
States, that they derived those rights, not from the principles of
nature, but transcribed them into their books out of the practice of
their own commonwealths, as grammarians describe the rules of language
out of poets." Which is as if a man should tell famous Harvey that he
transcribed his circulation of the blood, not out of the principles of
nature, but out of the anatomy of this or that body.
To go on therefore with his preliminary discourse, I shall divide it,
according to the two definitions of government relating to Janotti's two
times, in two parts: the first, treating of the principles of government
in general, and according to the ancients; the second, treating of
the late governments of Oceana
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| 0
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1
</b>
<b> INT KITTREDGE'S APARTMENT LIVING ROOM DAWN
</b> JOHN FLANDERS KITTREDGE and LOUISA KITTREDGE ("FLAN" and
"OUISA") , an attractive couple in their 40s, in their night
clothes are in an uncharacteristic state of shock.
Some sort of horrible disaster has happened to them.
THEY survey their living room which under normal
circumstances would appear to be a serene haven.
But why are they-so aghast? And terrified?
Has the apartment been violated?
The Fifth Avenue apartment, red and cozy, threadbare with
the legacy of years of kids and dogs running in and out, is
filled with beautiful objects chosen with care. Even though
the apartment is 19th Century in feel, a lot of modern
paintings hang on the walls.
No. No visible disaster here.
But then why FLAN and OUISA's emotional state? THEY run
between the hall and the living room.
<b> OUISA
</b> Is anything gone?
OUISA opens the front closet with trepidation. But nothing
leaps out. SHE sees a mink is still there..
<b> FLAW
</b> How can I look? I'm shaking.
<b> OUISA
</b> My god! The Kandinsky!
0UISA runs into the living room. SHE can see by the
discoloration on that wall that a painting is missing.
<b> OUISA Y
</b> It's gone! Call the police!
<b> FLAN
</b> There it is!
An early abstract painting by Kandinsky leans against a
Philadelphia Chippendale chair: the painting is wild and
brilliantly colored.
<b> 0UISA
</b> Thank god!
SHE picks the painting up and flips it around. It's a double
sided painting. The artist, Kandinsky, had painted in
different styles on either side of the canvas.
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|
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| 4
|
lour fire, looking back, as men will look back on the upshot of
their life, was well contented with that upshot, as regarded his
eldest offshoot, the Rev. Mark Robarts, the vicar of Framley.
But little has as yet been said, personally, as to our hero himself,
and perhaps it may not be necessary to say much. Let us hope that by
degrees he may come forth upon the canvas, showing to the beholder
the nature of the man inwardly and outwardly. Here it may suffice
to say that he was no born heaven's cherub, neither was he a born
fallen devil's spirit. Such as his training made him, such he was.
He had large capabilities for good--and aptitudes also for evil,
quite enough: quite enough to make it needful that he should repel
temptation as temptation only can be repelled. Much had been done to
spoil him, but in the ordinary acceptation of the word he was not
spoiled. He had too much tact, too much common sense, to believe
himself to be the paragon which his mother thought him. Self-conceit
was not, perhaps, his greatest danger. Had he possessed more of it,
he might have been a less agreeable man, but his course before him
might on that account have been the safer.
In person he was manly, tall, and fair-haired, with a square
forehead, denoting intelligence rather than thought, with clear white
hands, filbert nails, and a power of dressing himself in such a
manner that no one should ever observe of him that his clothes were
either good or bad, shabby or smart.
Such was Mark Robarts when at the age of twenty-five, or a little
more, he married Fanny Monsell. The marriage was celebrated in his
own church, for Miss Monsell had no home of her own, and had been
staying for the last three months at Framley Court. She was given
away by Sir George Meredith, and Lady Lufton herself saw that the
wedding was what it should be, with almost as much care as she had
bestowed on that of her own daughter. The deed of marrying, the
absolute tying of the knot, was performed by the Very Reverend the
Dean of Barchester, an esteemed friend of Lady Lufton's. And Mrs.
Arabin, the dean's wife, was of the party, though the distance from
Barchester to Framley is long, and the roads deep, and no railway
lends its assistance. And Lord Lufton was there of course; and people
protested that he would surely fall in love with one of the four
beautiful bridesmaids, of whom Blanche Robarts, the vicar's second
sister, was by common acknowledgment by far the most beautiful.
And there was there another and a younger sister of Mark's--who did
not officiate at the ceremony, though she was present--and of whom no
prediction was made, seeing that she was then only sixteen, but of
whom mention is made here, as it will come to pass that my readers
will know her hereafter. Her name was Lucy Robarts.
And then the vicar and his wife went off on their wedding tour, the
old curate taking care of the Framley souls the while.
And in due time they returned; and after a further interval, in due
course, a child was born to them; and then another; and after that
came the period at which we will begin our story. But before doing
so, may I not assert that all men were right in saying all manner of
good things to the Devonshire physician, and in praising his luck in
having such a son?
"You were up at the house to-day, I suppose?" said Mark to his wife,
as he sat stretching himself in an easy chair in the drawing-room,
before the fire, previously to his dressing for dinner. It was a
November evening, and he had been out all day, and on such occasions
the aptitude for delay in dressing is very powerful. A strong-minded
man goes direct from the hall-door to his chamber without
encountering the temptation of the drawing-room fire.
"No; but Lady Lufton was down here."
"Full of arguments in favour of Sarah Thompson?"
"Exactly so, Mark."
|
robarts
|
How many times does the word 'robarts' appear in the text?
| 3
|
</b>
<b> 1 1
</b>
<b> EXT. BAR, LAE, NEW GUINEA - DAY
</b>
CLOSE on a mud-streaked AIRFIELD in mist and driving RAIN.
A Lockheed ELECTRA sits. Sleek, twin-engine, state-of-the-
art, its metallic surface battered by the monsoon. Waiting.
PULL BACK to see...
...our VIEW down onto the landing strip is from an open-
sided, thatched roof BAR high above the airfield. And
peering down through the mist and rain...
...a WOMAN in grimy flight clothes gazes at the plane.
Slender. Feminine. At first glance, fragile. Then the gray
eyes change like the sea, as a stray thought transforms her.
Something fierce lives there.
<b> SUPERIMPOSE: LAE, NEW GUINEA - 1937.
</b>
<b> FRED (O.S.)
</b> Sure I can't talk you inta
somethin' more adventurous?
She turns. FRED NOONAN is tall and lean, ruggedly handsome
in a reckless way. His flight clothes as rumpled and dirt-
streaked as her own. He carries his bottle of tequila, and a
Coke which he sets down for her.
<b> AMELIA
</b> Adventurous? You've got the wrong
girl, Mister. You should know that
by now.
Her eyes study him. Assessing something as he pours himself
four fingers.
<b> FRED
</b> Actually. I knew that the moment I
met ol' George.
He sips his drink.
|
rain
|
How many times does the word 'rain' appear in the text?
| 1
|
-topped phial, for making oneâs bath
aromatic. No one before him, never--not even the infamous Pope--had
so sat up to his neck in such a bath. It showed, for that matter, how
little one of his race could escape, after all, from history. What was
it but history, and of THEIR kind very much, to have the assurance of
the enjoyment of more money than the palace-builder himself could have
dreamed of? This was the element that bore him up and into which Maggie
scattered, on occasion, her exquisite colouring drops. They were of the
colour--of what on earth? of what but the extraordinary American good
faith? They were of the colour of her innocence, and yet at the same
time of her imagination, with which their relation, his and these
peopleâs, was all suffused. What he had further said on the occasion of
which we thus represent him as catching the echoes from his own thoughts
while he loitered--what he had further said came back to him, for it had
been the voice itself of his luck, the soothing sound that was always
with him. âYou Americans are almost incredibly romantic.â
âOf course we are. Thatâs just what makes everything so nice for us.â
âEverything?â He had wondered.
âWell, everything thatâs nice at all. The world, the beautiful,
world--or everything in it that is beautiful. I mean we see so much.â
He had looked at her a moment--and he well knew how she had struck him,
in respect to the beautiful world, as one of the beautiful, the
most beautiful things. But what he had answered was: âYou see too
much--thatâs what may sometimes make you difficulties. When you donât,
at least,â he had amended with a further thought, âsee too little.â
But he had quite granted that he knew what she meant, and his warning
perhaps was needless.
He had seen the follies of the romantic disposition, but there seemed
somehow no follies in theirs--nothing, one was obliged to recognise, but
innocent pleasures, pleasures without penalties. Their enjoyment was
a tribute to others without being a loss to themselves. Only the funny
thing, he had respectfully submitted, was that her father, though older
and wiser, and a man into the bargain, was as bad--that is as good--as
herself.
âOh, heâs better,â the girl had freely declared âthat is heâs worse.
His relation to the things he cares for--and I think it beautiful--is
absolutely romantic. So is his whole life over here--itâs the most
romantic thing I know.â
âYou mean his idea for his native place?â
âYes--the collection, the Museum with which he wishes to endow it, and
of which he thinks more, as you know, than of anything in the world.
Itâs the work of his life and the motive of everything he does.â
The young man, in his actual mood, could have smiled again--smiled
delicately, as he had then smiled at her. âHas it been his motive in
letting me have you?â
âYes, my dear, positively--or in a manner,â she had said.
âAmerican City isnât, by the way, his native town, for, though heâs not
old, itâs a young thing compared with him--a younger one. He started
there, he has a feeling about it, and the place has grown, as he says,
like the programme of a charity performance. Youâre at any rate a
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 8
|
.
A snarling face APPEARS under a mushroom cap. This is BLIX a brigand
goblin hunter. Clad in decrepit armor and slung with savage weapons,
he is a terrifying figure.
Blix WHISTLES. The SOUND is unexpectedly lovely, a nightingale's
call.
Further back, three other goblins return the BIRDCALL. They bristle
with weaponry. POX is a pig-faced fop wearing tattered lace and
flithy brocade. Tiny BLUNDER and TIC are both masked by grotesque
helmets. Swarms of gnats drone above their hidden heads. They creep
forward to join Blix.
<b>1B GOBLIN'S POV : HILLTOP
</b>
The distant animals silhouetted by dazzling LIGHT.
<b>1C EXTERIOR FOREST NIGHT
</b>
Blix signals an advance and the goblins creep through the forest
towards the hilltop.
A moth lands on a twig two feet from Tic's head. He turns. His
incredibly sticky tongue uncoils from within the helmet seizing the
moth and retracting with it, quick as a flash.
As the goblins near the hilltop, the fantastic LIGHT gradually
illuminates their hideous features. A tiny mouse runs out of the
eye-slits on Blunder's helmet, circles the crest, and runs back in
on the other side.
Blix signals silently for the other goblins to spread out.
The goblins crawl separately through the underbrush.
Pox comes snout to snout with a wild piglet. Terrified, the little
shoat SQUEALS and scampers off.
<b>2 DELETED
</b>
<b>2A CLOSE : ANIMALS
</b>
Alerted by the NOISE, they face the impending threat. The startled
animals run for cover down the hillside.
<b>3 DELETED
</b>
<b>3A EXTERIOR FOREST NIGHT
</b>
Blix charges forward, brandishing his crossbow.
BLIX: Kill. . . . !
Blix runs over the top of the hill and down into the gully beyond,
closely followed by Tic, Pox, and Blunder. Brilliant clumps of
forget-me-nots are everywhere, like disgarded jewels.
<b>3B GOBLIN'S POV : DISTANT FOREST
</b>
The pair of shining LIGHT BEAMS race away between the trees.
<b>4 DELETED
</b>
<b>5 DELETED
</b>
<b>5A EXTERIOR FOREST NIGHT
</b>
The goblins watch the LIGHT BEAMS disappear. Blix GROWLS in
frustration.
BLUNDER(musing): . . . . Fast as a hound dog with his ass on fire. .
<b>. .
</b>
Blunder spots a SHINING silver hair caught on the bark. He reaches
up and plucks it free.
POX: What's that . . . . ? L-l-let me see, old chap.
BLUNDER: No! It's mine!
Blunder hides the hair behind his back, but Pox quickly grabs the
other end.
POX: Give it to m-m-m-me!
Both goblins pull on the hair. Miraculously, it does not break, but
stretches between them like spun steel.
BLUNDER: Turn loose, anus features!
POX: Hard cheese!
A furious tug of war. Pox pulls his knife and tries unsuccessfully
to cut the hair.
BLUNDER: It's mine you rectum! Mine! Mine!
Blix marches up and furiously bangs their heads together. Pox and
Blunder fall dazed to the ground.
Blix holds the silver hair shining above his head and studies it.
BLIX: Disgusting and pure, like a prayer. .
|
forest
|
How many times does the word 'forest' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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
|
should
|
How many times does the word 'should' appear in the text?
| 4
|
December 2, 1996
Story by:
Ronald Bass
and Michael Herzberg
<b> EXT. HANCOCK TOWER, CHICAGO - LATE NIGHT
</b>
Lake Shore Drive. Four o'clock in the morning. Minimal traffic,
minimal life. As MAIN TITLES BEGIN, we PAN UP the face of...
...Hancock Tower. Up, up, forty floors, sixty, eighty, very dark
up here, street sounds fading fast, and as CREDITS CONTINUE we can
just make out...
...a dark FIGURE. Like a spider. Inching its way up the steel
surface of the 98th floor, and we CLOSE to see...
The THIEF. All in black, nearly invisible, with a sleek visored
helmet that conceals the face. Two long, oblong backpacks, climb-
ing ropes and harness across back and shoulders, tools at the belt.
Moving STRAIGHT UP the face of the skyscraper. How is it possible?
CLOSER still to see...
...the piton-like BOLTS are electromagnetic, CLANKING to the steel
to support weight. A button releases the magnetic charge when the
bolt is pulled up by cords to a higher position. The Thief is
remarkably strong and agile, scaling the wall with fluid precision,
until...
...our summit. A softly-lit, glass-walled PENTHOUSE on the
100th floor. Subtle spots which bathe paintings, sculptures,
in a cavernous coldly-decorated space.
Swiftly, deftly, the Thief rigs a suction-mounted HARNESS to the
steel casing above a massive window. Pulleys, metal caribiner
clips, yellow Kevlar ropes. So superbly practiced, the rigging is
placed in seconds, huge SUCTION CUPS pressed to the surface of the
glass. The Thief reaches to a metal rectangle at the top of the
rigging, touches a button, a motor WHINES, the ropes TIGHTEN and
the window...
...POPS FREE, hangs SUSPENDED by the Kevlar ropes which amazingly
sustain its awesome weight. The huge pane shudders in the wind,
and the Thief slips...
...INTO the Penthouse. Nearby, an ALARM BOX softly BEEPS its
60-second warning to the pulsing of a green light, and the Thief
attaches a small computerized DEVICE which runs a series of
possible CODES at dazzling speed on its display panel, until...
...the right one STOPS. Illuminated in red. The beeping, the
green light, go OFF. The device is removed.
Back to the window, air rushing in, attach a similar suction-
mounted harness from the inside, all exquisitely engineered to rig
in seconds, press new suction cups to the inside of the dangling
window pane. A small remote control clicker...
|
inside
|
How many times does the word 'inside' appear in the text?
| 1
|
of Earth, the desert of the real. The
rotted skeleton of a massive city is sprawled everywhere. We approach
a fissure in the Earth's crust, and as we do, we hear the increasing
buzz of multiple hovercraft engines. Blue flashes grow in intensity
from the fissure. Radio voices, indistinct at first, grow louder as
we approach the fissure.
<b> WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>
"Six o'clock, 300 meters. We can't outrun 'em."
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"I know. Can't tow this crate fast enough! We gotta ditch it!"
We hear the voices as though we're listening to cops through a police
scanner. The woman is NIOBE, the captain of the lead ship, Sephora.
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Can't, the core is still good. And they've got 'The One.'"
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"Oooh, our savior. Hed better be worth it."
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Shut up and make the exit. Hold on!"
The azure glow from the fissure is suddenly overwhelming. A tight
convoy of three HOVERCRAFT explode from the fissure, traveling
nearly straight up, like a trio of massive locomotives flying into
the sky in tight formation, linked together by tow cables. The blue
glow has been emanating from the overworked flare drives of the
first and third hovercrafts. Between them, suspended by tow cables,
is the dark, scorched, and sliced NEBACHANEZZER. They rocket upward,
slowing as they reach the top of the arc.
<b> NIOBE (V.O.)
</b>
"Woo-hoooh!"
The rush to the ground, pulling up at the last second. The NEB flails
wildly between them.
<b> MAN (V.O.)
</b>
"They're still on us!"
More vehicles fly from the fissure. A massive army of SQUIDDIES pours
up onto the surface.
<b>INT. NEBACHANEZZER COCKPIT
</b>
The NEB is slung between the two HOVERCRAFT, with the cockpit facing
backwards. TRINITY, MORPHEUS, TANK, and NEO, the former Thomas
Anderson, crowd the cockpit. Helpless, the landscape speeds away from
them, while a wall of red-eyed SQUIDDIES speeds to them.
It's been a mere TWO DAYS since the
|
still
|
How many times does the word 'still' appear in the text?
| 1
|
's got a pouch for a racquet but no racquet in it.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> What color hair does he have?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Black hair. Paul Michael Glaser.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Making Hutch David Soul?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Right. The blond guy.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> OK. That's wrong.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Dignan, it's --
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Plus where's Huggie Bear?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> He's not there. Huggie Bear isn't
in every single episode.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I think you might of dreamed this
one, Anthony.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> No. It's a real episode. The killer
is leading him across the city by
calling different pay phones.
They climb over a high wooden fence.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD. DAY
</b>
They walk through somebody's backyard.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Why?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> As part of his plan. I don't know
why.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> See, that's what I'm saying. It has
the logic of a dream.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> The point is the killer always
goes, May I speak to Starsky? He
says his name.
<b> DIGN
|
dignan
|
How many times does the word 'dignan' appear in the text?
| 7
|
With a
fierceness born of his terror he turned sharply to the boy at his side.
"David, we've got to go! We've got to go--TO-MORROW!"
"Father!"
"Yes, yes, come!" He stumbled blindly, yet in some way he reached the
cabin door.
Behind him David still sat, inert, staring. The next minute the boy had
sprung to his feet and was hurrying after his father.
CHAPTER II
THE TRAIL
A curious strength seemed to have come to the man. With almost steady
hands he took down the photographs and the Sistine Madonna, packing
them neatly away in a box to be left. From beneath his bunk he dragged
a large, dusty traveling-bag, and in this he stowed a little food, a
few garments, and a great deal of the music scattered about the room.
David, in the doorway, stared in dazed wonder. Gradually into his eyes
crept a look never seen there before.
"Father, where are we going?" he asked at last in a shaking voice, as
he came slowly into the room.
"Back, son; we're going back."
"To the village, where we get our eggs and bacon?"
"No, no, lad, not there. The other way. We go down into the valley this
time."
"The valley--MY valley, with the Silver Lake?"
"Yes, my son; and beyond--far beyond." The man spoke dreamily. He was
looking at a photograph in his hand. It had slipped in among the loose
sheets of music, and had not been put away with the others. It was the
likeness of a beautiful woman.
For a moment David eyed him uncertainly; then he spoke.
"Daddy, who is that? Who are all these people in the pictures? You've
never told me about any of them except the little round one that you
wear in your pocket. Who are they?"
Instead of answering, the man turned faraway eyes on the boy and smiled
wistfully.
"Ah, David, lad, how they'll love you! How they will love you! But you
mustn't let them spoil you, son. You must remember--remember all I've
told you."
Once again David asked his question, but this time the man only turned
back to the photograph, muttering something the boy could not
understand.
After that David did not question any more. He was too amazed, too
distressed. He had never before seen his father like this. With nervous
haste the man was setting the little room to rights, crowding things
into the bag, and packing other things away in an old trunk. His cheeks
were very red, and his eyes very bright. He talked, too, almost
constantly, though David could understand scarcely a word of what was
said. Later, the man caught up his violin and played; and never before
had David heard his father play like that. The boy's eyes filled, and
his heart ached with a pain that choked and numbed--though why, David
could not have told. Still later, the man dropped his violin and sank
exhausted into a chair; and then David, worn and frightened with it
all, crept to his bunk and fell asleep.
In the gray dawn of the morning David awoke to a different world. His
father, white-faced and gentle, was calling him to get ready for
breakfast. The little room, dismantled of its decorations, was bare and
cold. The bag, closed and strapped, rested on the floor by the door,
together with the two violins in their cases, ready to carry.
"We must hurry, son. It's a long tramp before we take the cars."
"The cars--the real cars? Do we go in those?" David was fully awake now.
"Yes."
"And is that all we're to carry?"
"Yes. Hurry, son."
"But we come back--sometime?"
There was no answer.
"Father, we're coming back--sometime?" David's voice was insistent now.
The man stooped and tightened a strap that was already quite tight
enough. Then he laughed lightly.
"Why, of course you're coming back sometime, David. Only think of all
these things we're
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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
|
landing
|
How many times does the word 'landing' appear in the text?
| 1
|
The hallway is a mess. A window opening onto a light well is
open.
The door to the apartment is suddenly broken open. A plain-
clothes detective, two uniformed police officers and several
firemen - also in uniform - enter and look around. They all
wear gloves and masks that cover their mouths and noses.
Behind them, the superintendent and his wife also push their
way in. They're both holding their noses. In his free hand,
the superintendent holds a pile of mail and promotional
flyers. Behind him, comes a female neighbor.
<b> PLAIN-CLOTHES DETECTIVE
</b> (to the superintendent and the
<b> NEIGHBOR)
</b> Wait Outside please.
He signals to a police officer who herds the curious
onlookers back out through the door.
<b> POLICE OFFICER
</b> (to the superintendent, pointing to
a pile of mail)
What's the date of the last letter?
<b> SUPERINTENDENT
</b><b> (VERIFYING)
</b> The 16th from what I can see...
Wait...
The plain-clothes detective has tried in vain to open the
door on the left. It has been sealed up with adhesive tape.
<b> PLAIN-CLOTHES DETECTIVE
</b> (to the fire officer)
Can you try?
While the firemen go to work on the door, the plain-clothes
detective goes into the adjoining dining room. He opens the
windows quickly and turns to go into the room to the left via
the double
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b><b>
</b><b> 1. INT. CITY ROOM OF NEWSPAPER OFFICE
</b><b> - DAY - FULL SHOT
</b><b>
</b> General atmosphere, typical of a busy
newspaper office. Copy boys running
about, shirtsleeved reporters and rewrite
men pounding away on typewriters. Little
wire baskets containing cylinders of
copy whizzing back and forth, such as
are used in some department stores,
etc.
<b>
</b><b> SOUND
</b><b>
</b> (Morkrum machines,[1] typewriters, telephone
bells and all other sounds relative
to a newspaper office)
<b>
</b> When shot has been fully established:
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> CAMERA STARTS TRUCKING DOWN MAIN AISLE
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> It takes in the battery of Morkrum machines
|
machines
|
How many times does the word 'machines' appear in the text?
| 1
|
outer side
of the curving prongs of land stretched a rugged, desolate coast,
indented with coves and creeks, lined with bowlders of granite half
sunken in the sea, and edged by beaches overgrown with pale sedge, or
covered with beds of seaweed. Nothing alive, except the gulls, abode
on these solitary shores. No lighthouse stood on any point, to shake
its long, warning light across the mariners' wake. Now and then a
drowned man floated in among the sedge, or a small craft went to
pieces on the rocks. When an easterly wind prevailed, the coast
resounded with the bellowing sea, which brought us tidings from those
inaccessible spots. We heard its roar as it leaped over the rocks
on Gloster Point, and its long, unbroken wail when it rolled in on
Whitefoot Beach. In mild weather, too, when our harbor was quiet, we
still heard its whimper. Behind the village, the ground rose toward
the north, where the horizon was bounded by woods of oak and pine,
intersected by crooked roads, which led to towns and villages near
us. The inland scenery was tame; no hill or dale broke its dull
uniformity. Cornfields and meadows of red grass walled with gray
stone, lay between the village and the border of the woods. Seaward
it was enchanting--beautiful under the sun and moon and clouds. Our
family had lived in Surrey for years. Probably some Puritan of
the name of Morgeson had moved from an earlier settlement, and,
appropriating a few acres in what was now its center, lived long
enough upon them to see his sons and daughters married to the sons and
daughters of similar settlers. So our name was in perpetuation, though
none of our race ever made a mark in his circle, or attained a place
among the great ones of his day. The family recipes for curing herbs
and hams, and making cordials, were in better preservation than the
memory of their makers. It is certain that they were not a progressive
or changeable family. No tradition of any individuality remains
concerning them. There was a confusion in the minds of the survivors
of the various generations about the degree of their relationship to
those who were buried, and whose names and ages simply were cut in the
stones which headed their graves. The _meum_ and _tuum_ of blood were
inextricably mixed; so they contented themselves with giving their
children the old Christian names which were carved on the headstones,
and which, in time, added a still more profound darkness to the
anti-heraldic memory of the Morgesons. They had no knowledge of
that treasure which so many of our New England families are boastful
of--the Ancestor who came over in the Mayflower, or by himself, with
a grant of land from Parliament. It was not known whether two or three
brothers sailed together from the Old World and settled in the New.
They had no portrait, nor curious chair, nor rusty weapon--no old
Bible, nor drinking cup, nor remnant of brocade.
_Morgeson_--_Born_--_Lived_--_Died_--were all their archives. But
there is a dignity in mere perpetuity, a strength in the narrowest
affinities. This dignity and strength were theirs. They are still
vital in our rural population. Occasionally something fine is their
result; an aboriginal reappears to prove the plastic powers of nature.
My great-grandfather, Locke Morgeson, the old man whose head I saw
bound in a red handkerchief, was the first noticeable man of the name.
He was a scale of enthusiasms, ranging from the melancholy to the
sarcastic. When I heard him talked of, it seemed to me that he was
born under the influence of the sea, while the rest of the tribe
inherited the character of the landscape. Comprehension of life, and
comprehension of self, came too late for him to make either of value.
The spirit of progress, however, which prompted his schemes benefited
others. The most that could be said of him was that he had the
rudiments of a Founder.
My father, whose name was Locke Morgeson also, married early. My
mother was five years his elder; her maiden name was Mary Warren. She
was the daughter of
|
when
|
How many times does the word 'when' appear in the text?
| 3
|
wens were astonished by all this commotion
around them. The building of a canal across their land made them
strangers in their own place, this raw bank of earth shutting
them off disconcerted them. As they worked in the fields, from
beyond the now familiar embankment came the rhythmic run of the
winding engines, startling at first, but afterwards a narcotic
to the brain. Then the shrill whistle of the trains re-echoed
through the heart, with fearsome pleasure, announcing the
far-off come near and imminent.
As they drove home from town, the farmers of the land met the
blackened colliers trooping from the pit-mouth. As they gathered
the harvest, the west wind brought a faint, sulphurous smell of
pit-refuse burning. As they pulled the turnips in November, the
sharp clink-clink-clink-clink-clink of empty trucks shunting on
the line, vibrated in their hearts with the fact of other
activity going on beyond them.
The Alfred Brangwen of this period had married a woman from
Heanor, a daughter of the "Black Horse". She was a slim, pretty,
dark woman, quaint in her speech, whimsical, so that the sharp
things she said did not hurt. She was oddly a thing to herself,
rather querulous in her manner, but intrinsically separate and
indifferent, so that her long lamentable complaints, when she
raised her voice against her husband in particular and against
everybody else after him, only made those who heard her wonder
and feel affectionately towards her, even while they were
irritated and impatient with her. She railed long and loud about
her husband, but always with a balanced, easy-flying voice and a
quaint manner of speech that warmed his belly with pride and
male triumph while he scowled with mortification at the things
she said.
Consequently Brangwen himself had a humorous puckering at the
eyes, a sort of fat laugh, very quiet and full, and he was
spoilt like a lord of creation. He calmly did as he liked,
laughed at their railing, excused himself in a teasing tone that
she loved, followed his natural inclinations, and sometimes,
pricked too near the quick, frightened and broke her by a deep,
tense fury which seemed to fix on him and hold him for days, and
which she would give anything to placate in him. They were two
very separate beings, vitally connected, knowing nothing of each
other, yet living in their separate ways from one root.
There were four sons and two daughters. The eldest boy ran
away early to sea, and did not come back. After this the mother
was more the node and centre of attraction in the home. The
second boy, Alfred, whom the mother admired most, was the most
reserved. He was sent to school in Ilkeston and made some
progress. But in spite of his dogged, yearning effort, he could
not get beyond the rudiments of anything, save of drawing. At
this, in which he had some power, he worked, as if it were his
hope. After much grumbling and savage rebellion against
everything, after much trying and shifting about, when his
father was incensed against him and his mother almost
despairing, he became a draughtsman in a lace-factory in
Nottingham.
He remained heavy and somewhat uncouth, speaking with broad
Derbyshire accent, adhering with all his tenacity to his work
and to his town position, making good designs, and becoming
fairly well-off. But at drawing, his hand swung naturally in
big, bold lines, rather lax, so that it was cruel for him to
pedgill away at the lace designing, working from the tiny
squares of his paper, counting and plotting and niggling. He did
it stubbornly, with anguish, crushing the bowels within him,
adhering to his chosen lot whatever it should cost. And he came
back into life set and rigid, a rare-spoken, almost surly
man.
He married the daughter of a chemist, who affected some
social superiority, and he became something of a snob, in his
dogged fashion, with a passion for outward refinement in the
household, mad when anything clumsy or gross occurred. Later,
when his three children were growing up, and he seemed
|
against
|
How many times does the word 'against' appear in the text?
| 3
|
twiddles his thumbs very slowly in a circle. He crosses his
legs as if to get comfortable.
The camera moves to a CLOSE UP of his burning shoes. The
image of his feet begins to appear through his shoes; the
flames fade; the background changes as we
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. GIDEON'S BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Gideon's bare feet are resting on reddish dry earth. Gideon
is sitting in his backyard under a fruit tree with a Bible
resting in his hands.
His house is a small, neatly painted bungalow in South
Central Los Angeles. Corn, tomatoes, other vegetables grow in
the yard. Chickens scratch around.
He slowly awakens; his hands are trembling. He looks around
and sees the chickens. He looks up at the sky and sighs, with
some relief.
SUNNY, Gideon's grandson, five years old, has been watching
him from the back window of the house. He leaves the window.
<b>INT. HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
<b>DOLLY SHOT OF SUNNY
</b>
Sunny peeps in the workroom. Through the crack in the door, a
Woman waves to Sunny.
<b>INT. WORKROOM - DAY
</b>
The room is nearly filled with pregnant women and their
husbands. SUZIE, Gideon's wife, late 60's or early 70's, a
picture of health, is giving a last bit of instruction before
the class ends. Some of the people are already preparing to
leave.
<b> SUZIE
</b> Remember, especially you men, that
working together now will already
have formed a bond before the child
arrives. The woman is very
sensitive.
Somewhere in the room a Male Voice booms out.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Tell me about it.
There is a bit of LAUGHTER as all start putting away their
things.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Gideon looks over at the chickens, scratching around in the
garden. He calls to them, but they don't respond. He puts his
shoes on and walks towards the back door of the house.
Entering the house, he stops and waits inside the door
peeping out. In a sort of devilish manner he talks to
himself.
<b> GIDEON
</b> Spoiling the little foxes that
spoil my vines.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Shot of the backyard. Nothing. Suddenly, with the grace and
suspicion of alley cats, kids jump over Gideon's back fence,
look around timidly, and start climbing up his fruit tree.
Gideon walks down the steps slowly while humming in a deep
voice. He turns the water on and walks over to the tree,
trapping the kids. Dangling legs, hanging from the tree, try
to scurry up the tree to safety. Gideon sprays the tree with
water. Wet kids fall out of the tree and in one motion leap
the fence. Gideon cuts the water off and slaps the dirt off
his hands. He is quite pleased with himself.
<b>EXT. ALLEYWAY - DAY
</b>
One of the wet kids is watching Gideon as he goes back inside
the house. The boy signals the others who slowly follow in
single file. They jump the fence and climb back up the tree.
They let their half-eaten fruit fall to the ground.
<b>INT. BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
Suzie opens a letter and a picture of a baby falls out. Suzie
looks at the picture before reading the letter.
She tries to find a place for it among the other baby
pictures that cover the entire mirror on the dresser. Gideon
comes in and starts to undress.
<b> GIDEON
</b> My mind plays tricks on me. Is it
okay if I take a bath now?
<b> SU
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 5
|
of gold,
a precious independent work. I remember rather profanely wondering
whether the ultimate production could possibly keep at the pitch. His
reading of the fond epistle, at any rate, made me feel as if I were, for
the advantage of posterity, in close correspondence with himâwere the
distinguished person to whom it had been affectionately addressed. It
was a high distinction simply to be told such things. The idea he now
communicated had all the freshness, the flushed fairness, of the
conception untouched and untried: it was Venus rising from the sea and
before the airs had blown upon her. I had never been so throbbingly
present at such an unveiling. But when he had tossed the last bright
word after the others, as I had seen cashiers in banks, weighing mounds
of coin, drop a final sovereign into the tray, I knew a sudden prudent
alarm.
âMy dear master, how, after all, are you going to do it? Itâs infinitely
noble, but what time it will take, what patience and independence, what
assured, what perfect conditions! Oh for a lone isle in a tepid sea!â
âIsnât this practically a lone isle, and arenât you, as an encircling
medium, tepid enough?â he asked, alluding with a laugh to the wonder of
my young admiration and the narrow limits of his little provincial home.
âTime isnât what Iâve lacked hitherto: the question hasnât been to find
it, but to use it. Of course my illness made, while it lasted, a great
holeâbut I dare say there would have been a hole at any rate. The earth
we tread has more pockets than a billiard-table. The great thing is now
to keep on my feet.â
âThatâs exactly what I mean.â
Neil Paraday looked at me with eyesâsuch pleasant eyes as he hadâin
which, as I now recall their expression, I seem to have seen a dim
imagination of his fate. He was fifty years old, and his illness had
been cruel, his convalescence slow. âIt isnât as if I werenât all
right.â
âOh if you werenât all right I wouldnât look at you!â I tenderly said.
We had both got up, quickened as by this clearer air, and he had lighted
a cigarette. I had taken a fresh one, which with an intenser smile, by
way of answer to my exclamation, he applied to the flame of his match.
âIf I werenât better I shouldnât have thought of _that_!â He flourished
his script in his hand.
âI donât want to be discouraging, but thatâs not true,â I returned. âIâm
sure that during the months you lay here in pain you had visitations
sublime. You thought of a thousand things. You think of more and more
all the while. Thatâs what makes you, if youâll pardon my familiarity,
so respectable. At a time when so many people are spent you come into
your second wind. But, thank God, all the same, youâre better! Thank
God, too, youâre not, as you were telling me yesterday, âsuccessful.â If
_you_ werenât a failure what would be the use of trying? Thatâs my one
reserve on the subject of
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
well in his movements as in his port, his eye, and the general
expression of his face. He greeted me with brevity, and, in the moment
of shaking hands, scanned me from head to foot; he took his seat in the
morocco covered arm-chair, and motioned me to another seat.
"'I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the Close,'
said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent, probably
habitual to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern tone, which
sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery utterance of the
South.
"'The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed me here,'
said I. 'I doubted at first the accuracy of his information, not being
aware that you had such a residence as this.'
"'Oh, it is all right!' he replied, 'only I was kept half an hour behind
time, waiting for you--that is all. I thought you must be coming by the
eight o'clock coach.'
"I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer, but
stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience; then he
scanned me again.
"I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first moment of
meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I had saluted this
man with a quiet and steady phlegm.
"'Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?' he asked hastily.
"'I do not think I shall have any further communication with them; my
refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a barrier against
all future intercourse.'
"'Why,' said he, 'I may as well remind you at the very outset of our
connection, that "no man can serve two masters." Acquaintance with Lord
Tynedale will be incompatible with assistance from me.' There was a kind
of gratuitous menace in his eye as he looked at me in finishing this
observation.
"Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with an
inward speculation on the differences which exist in the constitution
of men's minds. I do not know what inference Mr. Crimsworth drew from
my silence--whether he considered it a symptom of contumacity or an
evidence of my being cowed by his peremptory manner. After a long and
hard stare at me, he rose sharply from his seat.
"'To-morrow,' said he, 'I shall call your attention to some other
points; but now it is supper time, and Mrs. Crimsworth is probably
waiting; will you come?'
"He strode from the room, and I followed. In crossing the hall, I
wondered what Mrs. Crimsworth might be. 'Is she,' thought I, 'as alien
to what I like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses Seacombe--as the
affectionate relative now striding before me? or is she better than
these? Shall I, in conversing with her, feel free to show something of
my real nature; or--' Further conjectures were arrested by my entrance
into the dining-room.
"A lamp, burning under a shade of ground-glass, showed a handsome
apartment, wainscoted with oak; supper was laid on the table; by the
fire-place, standing as if waiting our entrance, appeared a lady;
she was young, tall, and well shaped; her dress was handsome and
fashionable: so much my first glance sufficed to ascertain. A gay
salutation passed between her and Mr. Crimsworth; she chid him, half
playfully, half poutingly, for being late; her voice (I always take
voices into the account in judging of character) was lively--it
indicated, I thought, good animal spirits. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked
her animated scolding with a kiss--a kiss that still told of the
bridegroom (they had not yet been married a year); she took her seat
at the supper-table in first-rate spirits. Perceiving me, she begged
my pardon for not noticing me before, and then shook hands with me, as
ladies do when a flow of good-humour disposes them to be cheerful to
all, even the most indifferent
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 2
|
suffering to increase throughout that hapless place. 45
They had committed a dire sin against God: on that
account dire punishment befell them. They asserted,
in fierce mood, that they wished to seize the kingdom
and could easily do so: but this presumption mocked
them when their Lord, the high King of heaven, lifted 50
up his almighty hand against the throng. The mad
rebels, accursed ones, could not make head against God,
but the Highest troubled their spirits and humbled their
pride, for he was incensed; he stripped the sinners of 55
victory and might, of dominion and honor, and further
took from his foes happiness, peace, and all joys, as well
as bright glory, and finally, with his own exceeding power,
wreaked his wrath on his adversaries in mighty ruin. 60
He was stern in mood, grimly embittered, and seized
upon his foes with resistless grasp and broke them in
his grip, enraged at heart, and deprived his opponents of
their native seat,[4] their bright abodes on high. For 65
our Creator dismissed and banished from heaven the
overweening band of angels: the Lord sent away on a
long journey the faithless multitude, the hateful host,
the miserable spirits; their pride was broken, their threat 70
overthrown, their glory shattered, and their beauty
dimmed; thenceforth they abode in desolation, because
of their dark exile. They did not dare to laugh aloud,
but lived wearied by the torments of hell and became
familiar with woes, bitterness, and sorrow; covered with 75
darkness, they bore their pain,--a heavy sentence,
because they had begun to battle against God.
Then, as formerly, true peace existed in heaven, fair
amity: for the Lord was dear to all, the Sovereign to his 80
servants; and the majesty of the joyful angelic hosts
increased, through the favor of the Almighty.
II.
So those who inhabited the sky, home of glory, were
at peace; hatred was gone, as well as sorrow and strife
among angels, ever since the rebellious hosts, bereft of the 85
light, had relinquished heaven. Behind them stood in
grandeur their seats rich in glorious workmanship, teeming
with blessings in God's kingdom, bright and perennially
bountiful,--but all devoid of occupants, ever since the 90
miserable spirits had gone to their place of punishment,
their vile prison. Then our Lord bethought him, in
meditative mood, how he might people again, and with
a better race, his high creation, the noble seats and glory- 95
crowned abodes which the haughty rebels had left
vacant, high in heaven. Therefore Holy God willed by
his plenteous power that under the circle of the firma-
ment the earth should be established, with sky above and 100
wide water, a world-creation in place of the foes whom
in their apostasy he hurled from bliss.
As yet there was nothing at all created here, except
shadows, but this broad earth stood deep and dim, idle 105
and useless, alien even to God himself; on it the King
whose purpose never falters turned his eyes and beheld
the place void of joy; he saw dark clouds, black under
the firmament, throng in the eternal night, dun and 110
waste, until this world-creation came to pass through
the word of the King of Glory. First the everlasting
Lord, protector of all things, created heaven and earth;
|
lord
|
How many times does the word 'lord' appear in the text?
| 4
|
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b>
<b> (SINGING)
</b> Winds in the East
Mist coming in--
<b> FADE IN:
</b> A whoosh of wind spins us around in a blue sky, spinning,
spinning until we slow to a stop and find ourselves amongst
white fluffy clouds. A shadow (oddly shaped like an umbrella)
dances amongst the nimbus.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Like something is brewing,
about to begin--
The shadow's direction becomes purposeful - taking us down
through the clouds, whipping us on the wind towards a small
town in the distance.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Can't put me finger on what lies
<b> IN STORE--
</b> Downwards and downwards until it skittishly circles a large,
bustling park and then swoops us into the lavish gardens.
There, a ten-year-old girl plays in the lush grass; she puts
the finishing touches to a miniature version of the large
park she sits in - benches made from twigs, trees from
flowers, picnic cups from acorns - and gives a satisfied nod.
She wraps her arms tightly around her chest, lifts her face
to the sky, a half-smile threatening to break across her
concentrated face. This is the young P.L. TRAVERS (whom we
will also know as GINTY.)
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --But I feel what's to happen, all
<b> HAPPENED BEFORE--
</b> Her little brow is furrowed with imagination and then, all of
a sudden, the smile breaks free as something in her mind
becomes real.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - PAMELA'S OFFICE - LONDON - MORNING (1961)
</b>
P.L. TRAVERS sits in her rocking chair (in the same position
as above) arms clasped tightly around her body, face to the
sky. Older, beautiful; striking blue eyes aid her air of
stiff and steely determination.
Her office is a canvas of a life well travelled. Buddha
smiles from every corner
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 0
|
is
on the mound for the Yankees! He looks into the catcher's mitt, shakes
off the first signal, takes the turn, wipes the sweat off his brow,
leans back and fires...
<b>BILLY
</b>Yeah! Good-bye Mr. Spaulding! ...Here, here! Quick!
<b>SCENE 3
</b>
<b>JOSH
</b>Got it. Need it. Need it. Got it.
<b>BILLY
</b>Hey. Hey. Hey! You ever go by Simpson's desk when she's grading
papers or somethin'? When she's leaned over, you can see right down
her shirt.
<b>JOSH
</b>No!
<b>BILLY
</b>Swear to God.
<b>JOSH
</b>Bra?
<b>BILLY
</b>No. No. She's got one of those undershirt things. So if you get real
close to the board, you can see all the way down to her flowers.
<b>JOSH
</b>Woah!
<b>BILLY
</b>Yeah. Give me your gum.
<b>JOSH
</b>Need it. Got it. Got it. Need it...
<b>BILLY
</b>Hey. Hey. Hey! Oh my God, it's Cynthia! How did a geek like Freddy
Benson get a sister like that?
<b>JOSH
</b>Beats me.
<b>CYNTHIA
</b>Hi Josh.
<b>BILLY
</b>Hi!...He says hi!...Unbelievable! God! She likes you! I know she
likes you! I'll find out, okay!
<b>SCENE 4
</b>
<b>BILLY &
</b><b>JOSH
</b>Shimmy, shimmy cocoa pop! Shimmy, shimmy rock! Shimmy, shimmy cocoa
pop! Shimmy, shimmy rock! I met a girlfriend a triscuit! She said, a
triscuit a biscuit! Ice cream, soda pop, vanilla on the top! Ooh,
Shelly's out, walking down the street, ten times a week! I read it! I
said it! I stole my momma's credit! I'm cool! I'm hot! Sock me in
the stomach three more times!
<b>JOSH
</b>Don't forget to call me after supper.
<b>BILLY
</b>Okay.
<b>JOSH
</b>Remember about Cynthia!
<b>BILLY
</b>Don't worry! I'm as interested as you are.
<b>SCENE 5
</b>
<b>JOSH
</b>So, will you tell me?
<b>BILLY
</b>You're in!
<b>JOSH
</b>What do you mean, I'm in?
<b>BILLY
</b>Cynthia Benson!
<b>JOSH
</b>What about her?
<b>BILLY
</b>You ready for this? She doesn't like Barry anymore!
<b>JOSH
</b>So?
<b>BILLY
</b>So what do you mean so?! That's it! She's available!
<b>MOM
</b>Josh...?
<b>JOSH
</b>It doesn't mean...
<b>MOM
</b>Hey, it's after midnight. Now say goodnight to Billy.
<b>JOSH
</b>Goodnight Billy. I've gotta go.
<b>BILLY
</b>Goodnight Mrs. Baskin! Sweet dreams.
<b>SCENE 6
</b>
<b>DAD
</b>Are you sure you want to go
|
scene
|
How many times does the word 'scene' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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
|
swivel
|
How many times does the word 'swivel' appear in the text?
| 0
|
weakly constitution, which would not
have been half so dangerous to him if his mind also had been weakly.
But his mind (or at any rate that rudiment thereof which appears in the
shape of self-will even before the teeth appear) was a piece of muscular
contortion, tough as oak and hard as iron. "Pet" was his name with his
mother and his aunt; and his enemies (being the rest of mankind) said
that pet was his name and his nature.
For this dear child could brook no denial, no slow submission to his
wishes; whatever he wanted must come in a moment, punctual as an
echo. In him re-appeared not the stubbornness only, but also the keen
ingenuity of Yordas in finding out the very thing that never should be
done, and then the unerring perception of the way in which it could be
done most noxiously. Yet any one looking at his eyes would think how
tender and bright must his nature be! "He favoreth his forebears; how
can he help it?" kind people exclaimed, when they knew him. And the
servants of the house excused themselves when condemned for putting up
with him, "Yo know not what 'a is, yo that talk so. He maun get 's own
gait, lestwise yo wud chok' un."
Being too valuable to be choked, he got his own way always.
CHAPTER III
A DISAPPOINTING APPOINTMENT
For the sake of Pet Carnaby and of themselves, the ladies of the house
were disquieted now, in the first summer weather of a wet cold year, the
year of our Lord 1801. And their trouble arose as follows:
There had long been a question between the sisters and Sir Walter
Carnaby, brother of the late colonel, about an exchange of outlying
land, which would have to be ratified by "Pet" hereafter. Terms
being settled and agreement signed, the lawyers fell to at the linked
sweetness of deducing title. The abstract of the Yordas title was nearly
as big as the parish Bible, so in and out had their dealings been, and
so intricate their pugnacity.
Among the many other of the Yordas freaks was a fatuous and generally
fatal one. For the slightest miscarriage they discharged their lawyer,
and leaped into the office of a new one. Has any man moved in the
affairs of men, with a grain of common-sense or half a pennyweight of
experience, without being taught that an old tenter-hook sits easier to
him than a new one? And not only that, but in shifting his quarters he
may leave some truly fundamental thing behind.
Old Mr. Jellicorse, of Middleton in Teesdale, had won golden opinions
every where. He was an uncommonly honest lawyer, highly incapable of
almost any trick, and lofty in his view of things, when his side of them
was the legal one. He had a large collection of those interesting boxes
which are to a lawyer and his family better than caskets of silver
and gold; and especially were his shelves furnished with what might be
called the library of the Scargate title-deeds. He had been proud to
take charge of these nearly thirty years ago, and had married on the
strength of them, though warned by the rival from whom they were wrested
that he must not hope to keep them long. However, through the peaceful
incumbency of ladies, they remained in his office all those years.
This was the gentleman who had drawn and legally sped to its purport the
will of the lamented Squire Philip, who refused very clearly to leave
it, and took horse to flourish it at his rebellious son. Mr. Jellicorse
had done the utmost, as behooved him, against that rancorous testament;
but meeting with silence more savage than words, and a bow to depart,
he had yielded; and the squire stamped about the room until his job was
finished.
A fact accomplished, whether good or bad, improves in character with
every revolution of this little world around the sun, that heavenly
example of subservience. And now Mr. Jellicorse was well convinced, as
nothing had occurred to disturb that will, and the life of the testator
had been sacrificed to it, and the devisees under it were his own good
clients, and
|
when
|
How many times does the word 'when' appear in the text?
| 2
|
opping before the side that faced the road.
"There!" he cried. "It's in the upper left-hand corner, just as I told
you." And he chuckled as loud as he dared--with Farmer Green inside the
building, milking the cows.
As Ferdinand Frog gazed upward a shadow of disappointment came over his
face. And for once he did not smile.
"Do I look like that?" he faltered.
"You certainly do," old Mr. Crow assured him. "See those eyes--don't
they bulge just like yours? And look at that mouth! It's fully as wide
as yours--and maybe a trifle wider!"
"The face does look a bit like mine, I'll admit," Ferdinand Frog
muttered. "But no one could ever mistake one of us for the other. . . .
What's the name of this creature?"
"It's called the _hippopotamus_," old Mr. Crow replied. "I heard Johnnie
Green say so. And he ought to know, if anyone does."
IV
MR. CROW LOSES SOMETHING
The picture of the hippopotamus on Farmer Green's barn did not please
Ferdinand Frog. But in a few moments he began to smile again.
"You've made a mistake," he told old Mr. Crow with a snicker. "When Aunt
Polly Woodchuck said I was as pretty as a picture she never could have
had this one in mind."
"Why not?" Mr. Crow inquired. "The eyes and the mouth----"
"Yes! Yes--I know!" Ferdinand interrupted. "But this creature has a
tail! And tails are terribly out of fashion. I haven't worn one since I
was a tadpole."
That was enough for old Mr. Crow. _He_ had a tail----or tail feathers,
at least. And he at once flew into a terrible rage.
"You've insulted me!" he shouted.
Ferdinand Frog knew then that he had blundered. So he hastened to mend
matters.
"There, there!" he said in a soothing tone. "Having a tail is not so
bad, after all; for you can always cut it off, if you want to be in
style." And he was surprised to find that his remark only made Mr. Crow
angrier than ever.
[Illustration: Old Mr. Crow Plays a Joke on Mr. Frog]
"Cut off my tail, indeed!" the old gentleman snorted. "I'd be a pretty
sight, if I did. Why, I wouldn't part with a single tail-feather, on any
account." He continued to scold Ferdinand Frog at the top of his lungs,
telling him that he was a silly fellow, and that nobody--unless it
was a few foolish young creatures--thought he was the least bit
handsome.
Now, old Mr. Crow was in such a temper that he forgot that Farmer Green
was inside the barn. And he made so much noise that Farmer Green heard
him and peeped around the corner of the barn to see what was going on.
A moment later the old shot-gun went off with a terrific roar. Ferdinand
Frog saw Mr. Crow spring up and go tearing off towards the woods. And a
long, black tail-feather floated slowly down out of the air and settled
on the ground near the place where Mr. Crow had been standing.
After shaking his fist in Mr. Crow's direction, Farmer Green
disappeared.
"That's a pity," Mr. Frog thought. "Mr. Crow has parted with one of his
tail-feathers. And I must find him as soon as I can and tell him how
sorry I am."
Then Mr. Frog turned to look at the other pictures, which covered the
whole side of the big barn. He beheld many strange creatures--some with
necks of enormous length, some with humps on their backs, and all of
them of amazing colors.
But whether they were ringed, streaked or striped, not one of them
was--in Mr. Frog's opinion--one-half as beautiful as the hippopotamus.
"Even he----" Mr. Frog decided----"even he couldn't be called half as
handsome as I am. For once old Mr. Crow certainly was mistaken."
And he began to laugh. And
|
just
|
How many times does the word 'just' appear in the text?
| 1
|
|
| 1915 BY |
| |
| L Frank Baum |
| |
| ALL |
| |
| RIGHTS RESERVED |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration]
'TWIXT YOU AND ME
The Army of Children which besieged the Postoffice, conquered the Postmen
and delivered to me its imperious Commands, insisted that Trot and Cap'n
Bill be admitted to the Land of Oz, where Trot could enjoy the society
of Dorothy, Betsy Bobbin and Ozma, while the one-legged sailor-man might
become a comrade of the Tin Woodman, the Shaggy Man, Tik-Tok and all the
other quaint people who inhabit this wonderful fairyland.
It was no easy task to obey this order and land Trot and Cap'n Bill
safely in Oz, as you will discover by reading this book. Indeed, it
required the best efforts of our dear old friend, the Scarecrow, to save
them from a dreadful fate on the journey; but the story leaves them
happily located in Ozma's splendid palace and Dorothy has promised me
that Button-Bright and the three girls are sure to encounter, in the near
future, some marvelous adventures in the Land of Oz, which I hope to be
permitted to relate to you in the next Oz Book.
Meantime, I am deeply grateful to my little readers for their continued
enthusiasm over the Oz stories, as evinced in the many letters they send
me, all of which are lovingly cherished. It takes more and more Oz Books
every year to satisfy the demands of old and new readers, and there
have been formed many "Oz Reading Societies," where the Oz Books owned
by different members are read aloud. All this is very gratifying to me
and encourages me to write more Oz stories. When the children have had
enough of them, I hope they will let me know, and then I'll try to write
something different.
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 1
|
MUSIC UP:
</b> A simple GAME SHOW SET -- one long desk-that houses four
"CELEBRITY PANELISTS," a small pulpit with attached microphone
for the host, BUD COLLYER, who walks through the curtain to
the delight of the audience. Bud bows and waves to the
celebrities -- ORSON BEAN, KITTY CARLISLE, TOM POSTON, and
<b> PEGGY CASS.
</b>
<b> BUD COLLYER
</b> Hello, panel, and welcome everyone
to another exciting day on "To Tell
The Truth." Let's get the show
started.
<b> THE CURTAIN STARTS TO RISE
</b> BRIGHT LIGHTS SHINE on the faces of THREE MEN who walk toward
center stage. All thre n wear identical AIRLINE PILOT
UNIFORMS, each with m; c ng blue blazers and caps.
(cont' d)
Gentleman, please state
your names.
<b> PILOT #1
</b> My name is Frank Abagnale Jr.
THE PILOT IN THE MIDDLE steps forward.
<b> PILOT #2
</b> My name is Frank Abagnale Jr.
THE THIRD PILOT does the same.
<b> PILOT #3
</b> My name is Frank Abagnale Jr.
Bud smiles, grabs a piece of paper.
<b> BUD COLLYER
</b> Panel, listen to this one.
(he starts to read)
My name is Frank Abagnale Jr, and
some people consider me the worlds
greatest imposter.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Debbie Zane -
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b>
|
another
|
How many times does the word 'another' appear in the text?
| 0
|
on."
"Is she stupid?" asked Cameron stubbornly. "It's my impression that
she's not."
"Clever with her hands," agreed the medicouncilor. "People in her
mental classification, which is very low, sometimes are. But don't
confuse manual dexterity with intelligence. For one thing she doesn't
have the brain structure for the real article.
"She's definitely not normal. She can't talk or hear, and never will.
Her larynx is missing and though we could replace it, it wouldn't
help if we did. We'd have to change her entire brain structure to
accommodate it and we're not that good at the present."
"I was thinking about the nerve dissimilarities," began Cameron.
"A superior mutation, is that what you were going to say? You can
forget that. It's much more of an anomaly, in the nature of cleft
palates, which were once common--poor pre-natal nutrition or traumas.
These we can correct rather easily but Nona is surgically beyond us.
There always is something beyond us, you know." The medicouncilor
glanced at the chronometer beside him.
Cameron saw the time too but continued. It ought to be settled. It
would do no good to bring up Helen Keller; the medicouncilor would
use that evidence against him. The Keller techniques had been studied
and reinterpreted for Nona's benefit. That much was in her medical
record. They had been tried on Nona, and they hadn't worked. It made no
difference that he, Cameron, thought there were certain flaws in the
way the old techniques had been applied. Thorton would not allow that
the previous practitioners could have been wrong. "I've been wondering
if we haven't tried to force her to conform. She can be intelligent
without understanding what we say or knowing how to read and write."
"How?" demanded the medicouncilor. "The most important tool humans
have is language. Through this we pass along all knowledge." Thorton
paused, reflecting. "Unless you're referring to this Gland Opera stuff
you mentioned. I believe you are, though personally I prefer to call it
Rhine Opera."
"I've been thinking of that," admitted Cameron. "Maybe if there was
someone else like her she wouldn't need to talk the way we do. Anyway
I'd like to make some tests, with your permission. I'll need some new
equipment."
The medicouncilor found the sheet he'd been looking for from time
to time. He creased it absently. "Go ahead with those tests if it
will make you feel better. I'll personally approve the requisition.
It doesn't mean you'll get everything you want. Others have to sign
too. However you ought to know you're not the first to think she's
telepathic or something related to that phenomena."
"I've seen that in the record too. But I think I can be the first one
to prove it."
"I'm glad you're enthusiastic. But don't lose sight of the main
objective. Even if she _is_ telepathic, and so far as we're concerned
she's not, would she be better suited to life outside?"
He had one answer--but the medicouncilor believed in another. "Perhaps
you're right. She'll have to stay here no matter what happens."
"She will. It would solve your problems if you could break up the
group, but don't count on it. You'll have to learn to manage them as
they are."
"I'll see that they don't cause any trouble," said Cameron.
"I'm sure you will." The medicouncilor's manner didn't ooze confidence.
"If you need help we can send in reinforcements."
"I don't anticipate that much difficulty," said Cameron hastily. "I'll
keep them running around in circles."
"Confusion is the best policy," agreed the medicouncilor. He unfolded
the sheet and looked down at it. "Oh yes, before it's too late I'd
better tell you I'm sending details of new treatments for a number of
deficients----"
The picture collapsed into meaningless swirls of color. For an instant
the voice was distinguishable again before it too was drowned by noise.
"Did you understand what I said,
|
medicouncilor
|
How many times does the word 'medicouncilor' appear in the text?
| 7
|
1
</b>
<b>
</b> KYM, a darkly beautiful girl in her early 20's, is smoking
furiously on the porch of an URBAN HALFWAY HOUSE. She glances
impatiently at her watch and presses her ear to her cell
phone. As she exhales, WE HEAR the rumble of thunder.
<b>
</b> Irritated, she crams her cell phone into her bag.
ROSA a halfway house staff nurse is patiently handling
WALTER, an irate patient who is screeching...
<b> WALTER
</b> I want my fucking Zippo now!
Walter starts yanking at his hair.
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> Walter, that is a behavior...
<b> WALTER
</b> (raking his nails against
his forearm)
Fuck you!
<b> ROSA
</b> And you are making a choice.
Her cell phone rings...
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> (to Walter)
Hold on...Hello?
<b> WALTER
</b> God!
<b> KYM
</b> Don't you get it yet, Waldo? She's
making a choice not to give you
|
cell
|
How many times does the word 'cell' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Saturday. He had regained his composure,
which seemed to have been somewhat impaired the night before. He was
eager to be gone, as he looked forward to a lively week in Carondelet
Street.
Mr. Pontellier gave his wife half of the money which he had brought away
from Klein's hotel the evening before. She liked money as well as most
women, and accepted it with no little satisfaction.
"It will buy a handsome wedding present for Sister Janet!" she
exclaimed, smoothing out the bills as she counted them one by one.
"Oh! we'll treat Sister Janet better than that, my dear," he laughed, as
he prepared to kiss her good-by.
The boys were tumbling about, clinging to his legs, imploring that
numerous things be brought back to them. Mr. Pontellier was a great
favorite, and ladies, men, children, even nurses, were always on hand to
say goodby to him. His wife stood smiling and waving, the boys shouting,
as he disappeared in the old rockaway down the sandy road.
A few days later a box arrived for Mrs. Pontellier from New Orleans. It
was from her husband. It was filled with friandises, with luscious
and toothsome bits--the finest of fruits, pates, a rare bottle or two,
delicious syrups, and bonbons in abundance.
Mrs. Pontellier was always very generous with the contents of such a
box; she was quite used to receiving them when away from home. The
pates and fruit were brought to the dining-room; the bonbons were passed
around. And the ladies, selecting with dainty and discriminating fingers
and a little greedily, all declared that Mr. Pontellier was the best
husband in the world. Mrs. Pontellier was forced to admit that she knew
of none better.
IV
It would have been a difficult matter for Mr. Pontellier to define to
his own satisfaction or any one else's wherein his wife failed in her
duty toward their children. It was something which he felt rather than
perceived, and he never voiced the feeling without subsequent regret and
ample atonement.
If one of the little Pontellier boys took a tumble whilst at play, he
was not apt to rush crying to his mother's arms for comfort; he would
more likely pick himself up, wipe the water out of his eyes and the
sand out of his mouth, and go on playing. Tots as they were, they pulled
together and stood their ground in childish battles with doubled
fists and uplifted voices, which usually prevailed against the other
mother-tots. The quadroon nurse was looked upon as a huge encumbrance,
only good to button up waists and panties and to brush and part hair;
since it seemed to be a law of society that hair must be parted and
brushed.
In short, Mrs. Pontellier was not a mother-woman. The mother-women
seemed to prevail that summer at Grand Isle. It was easy to know them,
fluttering about with extended, protecting wings when any harm, real or
imaginary, threatened their precious brood. They were women who idolized
their children, worshiped their husbands, and esteemed it a holy
privilege to efface themselves as individuals and grow wings as
ministering angels.
Many of them were delicious in the role; one of them was the embodiment
of every womanly grace and charm. If her husband did not adore her,
he was a brute, deserving of death by slow torture. Her name was Adele
Ratignolle. There are no words to describe her save the old ones that
have served so often to picture the bygone heroine of romance and the
fair lady of our dreams. There was nothing subtle or hidden about her
charms; her beauty was all there, flaming and apparent: the spun-gold
hair that comb nor confining pin could restrain; the blue eyes that were
like nothing but sapphires; two lips that pouted, that were so red one
could only think of cherries or some other delicious crimson fruit in
looking at them. She was growing a little stout, but it did not seem to
detract an iota from the grace of every step, pose, gesture. One would
not have wanted her white neck a mite less full or her beautiful arms
more slender. Never were hands more exquisite than hers, and it was a
|
were
|
How many times does the word 'were' appear in the text?
| 9
|
off, or more.
Patrasche watched the milk-cans come and go that one day when he had got
well and was lying in the sun with the wreath of marguerites round his
tawny neck.
The next morning, Patrasche, before the old man had touched the cart,
arose and walked to it and placed himself betwixt its handles, and
testified as plainly as dumb show could do his desire and his ability
to work in return for the bread of charity that he had eaten. Jehan Daas
resisted long, for the old man was one of those who thought it a foul
shame to bind dogs to labor for which Nature never formed them. But
Patrasche would not be gainsaid: finding they did not harness him, he
tried to draw the cart onward with his teeth.
At length Jehan Daas gave way, vanquished by the persistence and the
gratitude of this creature whom he had succored. He fashioned his cart
so that Patrasche could run in it, and this he did every morning of his
life thenceforward.
When the winter came, Jehan Daas thanked the blessed fortune that had
brought him to the dying dog in the ditch that fair-day of Louvain; for
he was very old, and he grew feebler with each year, and he would ill
have known how to pull his load of milk-cans over the snows and through
the deep ruts in the mud if it had not been for the strength and the
industry of the animal he had befriended. As for Patrasche, it seemed
heaven to him. After the frightful burdens that his old master had
compelled him to strain under, at the call of the whip at every step, it
seemed nothing to him but amusement to step out with this little light
green cart, with its bright brass cans, by the side of the gentle old
man who always paid him with a tender caress and with a kindly word.
Besides, his work was over by three or four in the day, and after that
time he was free to do as he would--to stretch himself, to sleep in the
sun, to wander in the fields, to romp with the young child, or to play
with his fellow-dogs. Patrasche was very happy.
Fortunately for his peace, his former owner was killed in a drunken
brawl at the Kermesse of Mechlin, and so sought not after him nor
disturbed him in his new and well-loved home.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A few years later, old Jehan Daas, who had always been a cripple, became
so paralyzed with rheumatism that it was impossible for him to go out
with the cart any more. Then little Nello, being now grown to his sixth
year of age, and knowing the town well from having accompanied his
grandfather so many times, took his place beside the cart, and sold the
milk and received the coins in exchange, and brought them back to their
respective owners with a pretty grace and seriousness which charmed all
who beheld him.
The little Ardennois was a beautiful child, with dark, grave, tender
eyes, and a lovely bloom upon his face, and fair locks that clustered to
his throat; and many an artist sketched the group as it went by him--the
green cart with the brass flagons of Teniers and Mieris and Van Tal,
and the great tawny-colored, massive dog, with his belled harness that
chimed cheerily as he went, and the small figure that ran beside him
which had little white feet in great wooden shoes, and a soft, grave,
innocent, happy face like the little fair children of Rubens.
Nello and Patrasche did the work so well and so joyfully together that
Jehan Daas himself, when the summer came and he was better again, had no
need to stir out, but could sit in the doorway in the sun and see them
go forth through the garden wicket, and then doze and dream and pray
a little, and then awake again as the clock tolled three and watch for
their return. And on their return Patrasche would shake himself free of
his harness with a bay of glee, and Nello would recount with pride the
doings of the day; and they would all go in together to their meal of
ry
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
I had this portrait by me for a few
days after her death, and the likeness was so astonishing that it has
helped to refresh my memory in regard to some points which I might not
otherwise have remembered.
Some among the details of this chapter did not reach me until later,
but I write them here so as not to be obliged to return to them when the
story itself has begun.
Marguerite was always present at every first night, and passed every
evening either at the theatre or the ball. Whenever there was a new
piece she was certain to be seen, and she invariably had three things
with her on the ledge of her ground-floor box: her opera-glass, a bag of
sweets, and a bouquet of camellias.
For twenty-five days of the month the camellias were white, and for five
they were red; no one ever knew the reason of this change of colour,
which I mention though I can not explain it; it was noticed both by her
friends and by the habitue's of the theatres to which she most often
went. She was never seen with any flowers but camellias. At the
florist's, Madame Barjon's, she had come to be called "the Lady of the
Camellias," and the name stuck to her.
Like all those who move in a certain set in Paris, I knew that
Marguerite had lived with some of the most fashionable young men in
society, that she spoke of it openly, and that they themselves
boasted of it; so that all seemed equally pleased with one another.
Nevertheless, for about three years, after a visit to Bagnees, she was
said to be living with an old duke, a foreigner, enormously rich, who
had tried to remove her as far as possible from her former life, and, as
it seemed, entirely to her own satisfaction.
This is what I was told on the subject. In the spring of 1847 Marguerite
was so ill that the doctors ordered her to take the waters, and she went
to Bagneres. Among the invalids was the daughter of this duke; she
was not only suffering from the same complaint, but she was so like
Marguerite in appearance that they might have been taken for sisters;
the young duchess was in the last stage of consumption, and a few days
after Marguerite's arrival she died. One morning, the duke, who had
remained at Bagneres to be near the soil that had buried a part of his
heart, caught sight of Marguerite at a turn of the road. He seemed to
see the shadow of his child, and going up to her, he took her hands,
embraced and wept over her, and without even asking her who she was,
begged her to let him love in her the living image of his dead child.
Marguerite, alone at Bagneres with her maid, and not being in any fear
of compromising herself, granted the duke's request. Some people who
knew her, happening to be at Bagneres, took upon themselves to explain
Mademoiselle Gautier's true position to the duke. It was a blow to
the old man, for the resemblance with his daughter was ended in one
direction, but it was too late. She had become a necessity to his heart,
his only pretext, his only excuse, for living. He made no reproaches,
he had indeed no right to do so, but he asked her if she felt herself
capable of changing her mode of life, offering her in return for the
sacrifice every compensation that she could desire. She consented.
It must be said that Marguerite was just then very ill. The past seemed
to her sensitive nature as if it were one of the main causes of her
illness, and a sort of superstition led her to hope that God would
restore to her both health and beauty in return for her repentance and
conversion. By the end of the summer, the waters, sleep, the natural
fatigue of long walks, had indeed more or less restored her health. The
duke accompanied her to Paris, where he continued to see her as he had
done at Bagneres.
This liaison, whose motive and origin were quite unknown, caused a great
sensation, for the duke, already known for his immense fortune,
now became known for his prodigality. All this was set
|
satisfaction
|
How many times does the word 'satisfaction' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A 5-year old girl wearing pajamas wanders alone down the
street.
<b> FRANKIE
</b><b> (BARELY AUDIBLE)
</b> Me-gan!
<b> INT. PERIERA HOME - PRESENT DAY
</b><b> 2 2
</b>
FRANKIE crawls through a dog door. She walks into the living
room where the TV is on loud.
DEAN PERIERA, 30 years old, hefty, sleeps in a lazyboy.
<b> FRANKIE
</b><b> (HUSHED)
</b> Daddydaddydaddy.
Frankie uses the footrest to crawl up onto her dad's belly.
<b> FRANKIE (CONT'D)
</b> Wake up Daddy.
<b> DEAN (WAKING)
</b> What time is it baby?
She sniffles. He notices.
<b> EXT. PERIERA HOME - BACK/FRONT YARDS - PRESENT DAY
</b>
The back door opens and Dean carries Frankie to the yard. The
first yellow rays of sunlight hit their faces.
He looks over the lawn, an empty bowl, water tin and a
doghouse posting the name MEGAN. He peeks inside the
doghouse. There's no one home. Dean moves to
|
wake
|
How many times does the word 'wake' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> INT./EXT. A CAR (MOVING). NIGHT
</b>
The shifting lights from the odd passing car play over the
faces of MR. and MRS. PRESCOTT, a pleasant-looking couple in
their late thirties, dressed up for a night out. Mr. Prescott
drives them along a dark hilly two-lane highway.
<b> MRS. PRESCOTT
</b> Why do they always put braces on
teenage girls at the exact moment
when they're the most self-conscious
about their appearance?
Pause.
<b> MR. PRESCOTT
</b> I don't know.
UP AHEAD, near the top of the oncoming hill, a RED PICKUP
TRUCK is poking its nose out of the short exit lane.
<b> MRS. PRESCOTT
</b> Tom --
<b> MR. PRESCOTT
</b> I see him...
The PICKUP LURCHES into the road, with not nearly enough
time to spare.
<b> MRS. PRESCOTT
</b> Tom!
<b> MR. PRESCOTT
</b> Jesus!
Mr. Prescott swerves OVER the DOUBLE SOLID WHITE LINE and
clears the truck as --
Another pair of HEADLIGHTS from an oncoming truck RISES UP
|
truck
|
How many times does the word 'truck' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Cherry Pie..."
7. The Lonely Grave of Paula Schultz
8. The Cruel Tutelage Of Pai Mei
9. Elle and I
10. The Blood-Splattered Bride
<b>OVER BLACK
</b>We hear labored breathing.
<b>BLACK FRAME
</b><b>QUOTE APPEARS:
</b>
"Revenge is a dish
best served cold"
- Old Klingon Proverb -
<b>QUOTE FADES OUT
</b>
<b>WE STAY ON BLACK
</b>...breathing continues...
Then a MAN'S VOICE talks over the breathing;
<b> MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Do you find me sadistic?
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
BLACK AND WHITE CU of a WOMAN
lying on the floor, looking up. The woman on the floor has
just taken a severe spaghetti-western-style gang beating. Her
face is bloody, beaten up, and torn. The high contrast B/W
turning the red blood into black blood.
A hand belonging to the off-screen Man's Voice ENTERS FRAME
holding a white handkerchief with the name "BILL" sewn in the
corner, and begins tenderly wiping away the blood from the
young woman's face. Little by little as the Male Voice
speaks, the beautiful face underneath is revealed to the
audience.
But what can't be wiped away, is the white hot hate that
shines in both eyes at the man who stands over her, the
"BILL" of the title.
In another age men who shook the world for their own purposes
were called conquerors. In our age, the men who shake the
planet for their own power and greed are called corrupters.
And of the world's corrupters Bill stands alone. For while he
<b>
</b>corrupts the world, inside himself he is pure.
<b> BILL'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> I bet I could fry an egg on your
head about now, if I wanted to.
He continues wiping away the blood.
<b> BILL'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> No kiddo, I'd like to believe, even
now, you're aware enough to know
there isn't a trace of sadism in
my actions... Okay - Maybe towards
these other jokers - bot not your.
<b>OVERHEAD SHOT
</b>We see for a moment, A WIDE SHOT looking down at the woman on
the floor
|
voice
|
How many times does the word 'voice' appear in the text?
| 5
|
I love her, I feel.
Pedro. That she is worthy, I know.
Bene. That I neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she
should be worthy, is the opinion that fire cannot melt out of me.
I will die in it at the stake.
Pedro. Thou wast ever an obstinate heretic in the despite of
beauty.
Claud. And never could maintain his part but in the force of his
will.
Bene. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me
up, I likewise give her most humble thanks; but that I will have
a rechate winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible
baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them
the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust
none; and the fine is (for the which I may go the finer), I will
live a bachelor.
Pedro. I shall see thee, ere I die, look pale with love.
Bene. With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, my lord; not with
love. Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get
again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen
and hang me up at the door of a brothel house for the sign of
blind Cupid.
Pedro. Well, if ever thou dost fall from this faith, thou wilt
prove a notable argument.
Bene. If I do, hang me in a bottle like a cat and shoot at me; and
he that hits me, let him be clapp'd on the shoulder and call'd
Adam.
Pedro. Well, as time shall try.
'In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke.'
Bene. The savage bull may; but if ever the sensible Benedick bear
it, pluck off the bull's horns and set them in my forehead, and
let me be vilely painted, and in such great letters as they write
'Here is good horse to hire,' let them signify under my sign
'Here you may see Benedick the married man.'
Claud. If this should ever happen, thou wouldst be horn-mad.
Pedro. Nay, if Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice, thou
wilt quake for this shortly.
Bene. I look for an earthquake too then.
Pedro. Well, you will temporize with the hours. In the meantime,
good Signior Benedick, repair to Leonato's, commend me to him and
tell him I will not fail him at supper; for indeed he hath made
great preparation.
Bene. I have almost matter enough in me for such an embassage; and
so I commit you--
Claud. To the tuition of God. From my house--if I had it--
Pedro. The sixth of July. Your loving friend, Benedick.
Bene. Nay, mock not, mock not. The body of your discourse is
sometime guarded with fragments, and the guards are but slightly
basted on neither. Ere you flout old ends any further, examine
your conscience. And so I leave you. Exit.
Claud. My liege, your Highness now may do me good.
Pedro. My love is thine to teach. Teach it but how,
And thou shalt see how apt it is to learn
Any hard lesson that may do thee good.
Claud. Hath Leonato any son, my lord?
Pedro. No child but Hero; she's his only heir.
Dost thou affect her, Claudio?
Claud.O my lord,
When you went onward on this ended action,
I look'd upon her with a soldier's eye,
That lik'd, but had a rougher task in hand
Than to drive liking to the
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 8
|
Rev. 05/31/01 (Buff)
<b>
</b> OCEAN'S 11 - Rev. 1/8/01
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EMPTY ROOM WITH SINGLE CHAIR 1
</b>
We hear a DOOR OPEN and CLOSE, followed by APPROACHING
FOOTSTEPS. DANNY OCEAN, dressed in prison fatigues,
ENTERS FRAME and sits.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Good morning.
<b> DANNY
</b> Good morning.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Please state your name for the
record.
<b> DANNY
</b> Daniel Ocean.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Thank you. Mr. Ocean, the purpose
of this meeting is to determine
whether, if released, you are
likely to break the law again.
While this was your first
conviction, you have been
implicated, though never charged,
in over a dozen other confidence
schemes and frauds. What can you
tell us about this?
<b> DANNY
</b> As you say, ma'am, I was never
charged.
<b>2 INT. PAROLE BOARD HEARING ROOM - WIDER VIEW - MORNING 2
</b>
Three PAROLE BOARD MEMBERS sit opposite Danny, behind a
table.
<b> BOARD MEMBER #2
</b> Mr. Ocean, what we're trying to
find out is: was there a reason
you chose to commit this crime, or
was there
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 1
|
asure!"
Chapter Two
Finishing the Submarine
"What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, hurrying in
from the kitchen, where she was washing the dishes. "Have you seen some
of those scoundrels who robbed you, Mr. Swift? If you have, the police
down here ought to--"
"No, it's nothing like that," explained Mr. Swift. "Tom has merely
discovered in the paper an account of a sunken treasure ship, and he
wants us to go after it, down under the ocean."
"Oh, dear! Some more of Captain Kidd's hidden hoard, I suppose?"
ventured the housekeeper. "Don't you bother with it, Mr. Swift. I had a
cousin once, and he got set in the notion that he knew where that
pirate's treasure was. He spent all the money he had and all he could
borrow digging for it, and he never found a penny. Don't waste your
time on such foolishness. It's bad enough to be building airships and
submarines without going after treasure." Mrs. Baggert spoke with the
freedom of an old friend rather than a hired housekeeper, but she had
been in the family ever since Tom's mother died, when he was a baby,
and she had many privileges.
"Oh, this isn't any of Kidd's treasure," Tom assured her. "If we get
it, Mrs. Baggert, I'll buy you a diamond ring."
"Humph!" she exclaimed, as Tom began to hug her in boyish fashion. "I
guess I'll have to buy all the diamond rings I want, if I have to
depend on your treasure for them," and she went back to the kitchen.
"Well," went on Mr. Swift after a pause, "if we are going into the
treasure-hunting business, Tom, we'll have to get right to work. In the
first place, we must find out more about this ship, and just where it
was sunk."
"I can do that part," said Mr. Sharp. "I know some sea captains, and
they can put me on the track of locating the exact spot. In fact, it
might not be a bad idea to take an expert navigator with us. I can
manage in the air all right, but I confess that working out a location
under water is beyond me."
"Yes, an old sea captain wouldn't be a bad idea, by any means,"
conceded Mr. Swift. "Well, if you'll attend to that detail, Mr. Sharp,
Tom, Mr. Jackson and I will finish the submarine. Most of the work is
done, however, and it only remains to install the engine and motors.
Now, in regard to the negative and positive electric plates, I'd like
your opinion, Tom."
For Tom Swift was an inventor, second in ability only to his father,
and his advice was often sought by his parent on matters of electrical
construction, for the lad had made a specialty of that branch of
science.
While father and son were deep in a discussion of the apparatus of the
submarine, there will be an opportunity to make the reader a little
better acquainted with them. Those of you who have read the previous
volumes of this series do not need to be told who Tom Swift is. Others,
however, may be glad to have a proper introduction to him.
Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the village of
Shopton, New York. The Swift home was on the outskirts of the town, and
the large house was surrounded by a number of machine shops, in which
father and son, aided by Garret Jackson, the engineer, did their
experimental and constructive work. Their house was not far from Lake
Carlopa, a fairly large body of water, on which Tom often speeded his
motor-boat.
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His
Motor-Cycle," it was told how he became acquainted with Mr. Wakefield
Damon, who suffered an accident while riding one of the speedy
machines. The accident disgusted Mr. Damon with motor-cycles, and Tom
secured it for a low price. He had many adventures on it, chief among
which was being knocked senseless and robbed of a valuable patent model
belonging to his father, which he
|
swift
|
How many times does the word 'swift' appear in the text?
| 10
|
give the path a tunnel-like feeling.
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. OCEANLINER'S DECK - DAYBLACK & WHITE . . .
</b>
Pauline and Juliet running . . . this time they are happy, in holiday clothing, weaving around OTHER PASSENGERS as they race along the deck of an oceanliner.
<b>INTERCUT BETWEEN:
</b>
EXT. VICTORIA PARK/BUSHY TRACK - LATE AFTERNOON Pauline and Juliet desperately scrambling up the track.
<b>AND
</b>
<b>EXT. OCEANLINER S DECK - DAYBLACK & WHITE . . .
</b>
Pauline and Juliet happily bounding along the ships deck.
They push past a group of PASSENGERS. Juliet waves and calls out.
<b>JULIET
</b>Mummy!
The PACE of the INTERCUTTING between TRACK and SHIP, COLOUR and BLACK & WHITE, increases in rhythm.
Pauline and Juliet run up toward a MAN and WOMAN (HENRY and HILDA) on the deck.
<b>JULIET
</b>Mummy!
<b>PAULINE
</b>Mummy!
CAMERA RUSHES toward Hilda and Henry (not seen clearly) as they turn to greet the two girls:
<b>CRASH CUT:
</b>
EXT. VICTORIA PARK/TEAROOMS - DAYAGNES RITCHIE, proprietor of the tearooms at the top of Victoria Park, comes rushing down the steps toward CAMERA . . . her face alarmed.
<b>PAULINE
</b>(O.S.) (Panicked) It's Mummy!
Pauline and Juliet rush into CLOSE-UP . . . panting heavily. For the first time we realise their clothes, and Pauline's face, are splattered with blood.
<b>PAULINE
</b>(Panicked) She's terribly hurt . . .
<b>JULIET
</b>(Hysterical) Somebody's got to help us!
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
<b>SUPERTITLES ON BLACK:
</b>
During 1953 and 1954 Pauline Yvonne Parker kept diaries recording her friendship with Juliet Marion Hulme. This is their story. All diary entries are in Pauline's own words.
INT. CHRISTCHURCH GIRLS' HIGH - FOYER - MORNING MUSIC: "Just a Closer Walk With Thee," sung by a HUNDRED SCHOOLGIRLS.
The school crest "Sapienta et Veritas" embossed in the lino just inside the entrance.
Lisle-stockinged schoolgirl legs carefully walk around the crest . . . TRACK along with the schoolgirl legs.
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
EXT. SCHOOL BUILDING/CRANMER SQUARE - MORNING HYMN CONTINUES OVER:TRACKING . . . with a row of schoolgirl legs, marching in a crocodile line across Cranmer Square.
CRANE UP . . . to reveal CHRISTCHURCH GIRLS' HIGH.
SUPER: "Christchurch Girls' High, 1952"
CREDITS BEGIN . . . GROUPS OF GIRLS, in heavy, pleated, over-the-knee school uniforms, wearing hats, gloves and blazers, flock through the school grounds.
MISS STEWART, the headmistress, stands by the rear entrance, scanning girls' uniforms as they enter.
EXT. RIEPERS' HOUSE/BACK GARDEN - MORNINGCLOSE ON . . . Pauline Rieper's legs as she tries to hitch up her baggy stockings. She hops over a fence and hurries toward the school, which backs onto the Riepers' garden.
She carries a boy's-style school bag on her shoulder and walks with a slight limp.
EXT. CHRISTCHURCH STREETS - MORNINGTRACKING . . . LOW ANGLE with the Hulme car coming toward CAMERA.
INT. SCHOOL CORRIDOR - MORNINGTRACKING . . . with Pauline
|
girls
|
How many times does the word 'girls' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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
|
still
|
How many times does the word 'still' appear in the text?
| 0
|
(in order of appearance)
Reting Rinpoche ... Regent of Tibet, served in the years between
the death of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama and the discovery
of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama. A monk.
Lama of Sera ... Keustang Rinpoche A high lama.
Lhamo Dhondrup ... The Fourteenth Dalai Lama. Also known
as Tenzin Gyatso.
Lobsang Samten ... The Dalai Lama's immediate older brother.
Tsering Dolma ... The Dalai Lama's older sister.
Mother ... The Dalai Lama's mother.
Father ... The Dalai Lama's father.
Chinese Governor ... Representative of China in Amdo Province
Takster Rinpoche ... The Dalai Lam's oldest brother, abbot of
Kumbum Monastery.
Bodyguard ... A Khamba, monk bodyguard.
The Attendants ... Masters of the Kitchen, the Robe and the
Ritual. All monks.
Lord Chamberlain ... The official closest to the Dalai Lama. A
monk.
Norbu Thundrup ... A sweeper who works at the Potala.
The Yigstang and the Tsitang ... The Tibetan Government. Monks
and laymen.
Taktra Rinpoche ... The Regent who replaced Reting Rinpoche.
A monk.
Ling Rinpoche ... A senior tutor, a monk.
Kashag ... The Dalai Lama's personal cabinet of advisors.
Nechung Oracle ... The monk medium for the deity, Droje Drakden.
Lukhangwa and Lobsang Tashi ... The Prime Ministers
Muslim Man, Tibetan Woman, Noble Boy ... People the Dalai Lama
meets on his way to Yadung.
General Chiang Chin-wu ... First representative of Communist
China sent to Tibet.
Mao Tse Tung ... Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party.
Khamba Leaders ... Leaders of the Tibetan Resistance Movement.
Ghurka Soldiers ... Indians who make up the welcoming party for
the Dalai Lama.
The Himalayas.
A still photograph, a portrait, of a mountain; the north
face of Chomolungma - a peak also known as Mount Everest -
twenty-nine thousand feet high.
We hear a very young boy speak.
<b> BOY (VO)
</b> Mama, my story.
A woman speaks:
<b> WOMAN (VO)
</b> Again?
<b> BOY (VO)
</b>
|
dalai
|
How many times does the word 'dalai' appear in the text?
| 11
|
<b> KARAOKE ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> Let's give a hand to Rodney!
Scattered APPLAUSE and LAUGHTER.
<b> KARAOKE ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> Next up, we've got a little lady
named...KATE!
Joyful APPLAUSE.
<b> BAR VOICES (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, Kate!
<b> THE OPENING MUZAK STRAINS OF A "KARAOKE SONG TO BE
</b><b> DETERMINED"
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 INT. KARAOKE BAR - NIGHT 1
</b>
CLOSE ON: KATE HANNAH -- late-20s, pretty and wholesome and, *
oh yeah, piss drunk. She stands on a tiny
<b> KARAOKE STAGE
</b>
in the far corner of a half-empty dive bar.
Kate holds a MICROPHONE and dances as she SINGS a bad karaoke
version of "SONG TO BE DETERMINED." What Kate lacks in talent
she more than makes up for with charm and enthusiasm.
At a table near the stage is --
-- CHARLIE HANNAH: Kate's husband, late-20's, scruffy but *
handsome, also pretty damn drunk. He enthusiastically claps
and points to Kate, making up a cheering section along with --
-- OWEN HANNAH -- Charlie's younger brother, early-20's -- *
who sings along with --
-- the small but energetic CROWD.
Kate begins to ramble between verses -- and gleefully points
to Charlie and Owen. For the moment, this drunk girl is the
Queen of Karaoke.
<b> LATER
</b><b> 2.
</b>
Kate finishes the song and drunkenly tumbles off the stage to
join Charlie and Owen.
<b> CHARLIE
</b> That was so good, baby!
<b> KATE
</b> Bullshit.
<b> CHARLIE
</b> I'm serious. You sing like an angel
-- a drunk angel.
Owen and Kate LAUGH.
<b>
|
charlie
|
How many times does the word 'charlie' appear in the text?
| 5
|
A LOW RUMBLE increases in volume.
<b> FADE UP:
</b>
A BLACK-GLOVED HAND wraps around a bulky electrical lever,
thrusts FORWARD.
SNAP! - Electricity arcs through darkness.
O.S. sound of MACHINERY turning ON.
<b> TITLES OVER
</b>
MONTAGE OF CLOCKS starting - various. Second hands turn -
TICKING gets louder.
<b> INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
</b>
SHADOWS DANCE. A bare bulb swings from the ceiling revealing:
clothes on a chair, puddles of water on the floor...
SLEEPING EYES in and out of darkness. The eyes open.
Confusion.
WIDEN ANGLE ON JONATHAN WHITE - a man in his early thirties,
dark featured.
He sits up. Water splashes. He's in a tub of long cold water.
His neck aches like he's been sleeping forever.
He looks down into the murky water around him. A feint
movement beneath the surface, something swimming - A SMALL
DARK SHAPE. Startled, he leaps from the bath.
ANGLE - THE SWINGING LIGHT BULB. The man's hand reaches up,
stops the light-bulb mid swing.
He steps to a circular window. The glass is cracked, covered
in grime. He wipes it, this only smears the dirt.
It's dark out there.
<b> EXT. BUILDING - NIGHT
</b>
ANGLE ON WHITE - from outside the window, through blurry
glass.
A RAPID FLYING P.O.V. PULLS BACK in silence. The window is a
SPECK on the side of a vast grey tower.
<b> BACK IN THE BATHROOM
</b>
White shivers, cold. He stares down at the puddle he drips on
the floor. He looks at his feet and legs, covered with
numerous SMALL BITES. He dries the bloody wounds with a towel.
He picks up the clothes lying on the chair, puts them on.
Loose trousers with braces, a plain shirt, leathers shoes with
HOLES in both soles. In his trouser pocket he finds a key -
a room number on a plastic tag.
He hears splashing in the bath-tub. He steps over, looks into
the murky water. Suddenly a SMALL SILVER FISH leaps from the
water, lands at his feet, panting heavily and flapping about.
He leans down, picks the fish up, throws it back into the
water.
Like a blind man, he feels the walls, comes to a door in the
shadows. He hears something on the other side, hesitates, hand
inches from the doorknob. He leans down.
<b> TIGHT ON HIS EYE
</b>
Blinking through the key-hole.
P.O.V. OF AN EMPTY ROOM - A glimpse of motion - the door
across the room (leading to a corridor?) is shutting.
<b> INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
WHITE pushes the door open, steps into the adjoining room.
|
down
|
How many times does the word 'down' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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>
|
side
|
How many times does the word 'side' appear in the text?
| 0
|
everything else. This is why many
children who live in the towns are so extremely naughty. They do not
know what is the matter with them, and no more do their fathers and
mothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, tutors, governesses, and nurses; but I
know. And so do you, now. Children in the country are naughty sometimes,
too, but that is for quite different reasons.
The children had explored the gardens and the outhouses thoroughly
before they were caught and cleaned for tea, and they saw quite well
that they were certain to be happy at the White House. They thought so
from the first moment, but when they found the back of the house covered
with jasmine, all in white flower, and smelling like a bottle of the
most expensive perfume that is ever given for a birthday present; and
when they had seen the lawn, all green and smooth, and quite different
from the brown grass in the gardens at Camden Town; and when they found
the stable with a loft over it and some old hay still left, they were
almost certain; and when Robert had found the broken swing and tumbled
out of it and got a bump on his head the size of an egg, and Cyril had
nipped his finger in the door of a hutch that seemed made to keep
rabbits in, if you ever had any, they had no longer any doubts
whatever.
[Illustration: Cyril had nipped his finger in the door of a hutch]
The best part of it all was that there were no rules about not going to
places and not doing things. In London almost everything is labelled
"You mustn't touch," and though the label is invisible it's just as bad,
because you know it's there, or if you don't you very soon get told.
The White House was on the edge of a hill, with a wood behind it--and
the chalk-quarry on one side and the gravel-pit on the other. Down at
the bottom of the hill was a level plain, with queer-shaped white
buildings where people burnt lime, and a big red brewery and other
houses; and when the big chimneys were smoking and the sun was setting,
the valley looked as if it was filled with golden mist, and the
limekilns and hop-drying houses glimmered and glittered till they were
like an enchanted city out of the _Arabian Nights_.
Now that I have begun to tell you about the place, I feel that I could
go on and make this into a most interesting story about all the
ordinary things that the children did,--just the kind of things you do
yourself, you know, and you would believe every word of it; and when I
told about the children's being tiresome, as you are sometimes, your
aunts would perhaps write in the margin of the story with a pencil, "How
true!" or "How like life!" and you would see it and would very likely be
annoyed. So I will only tell you the really astonishing things that
happened, and you may leave the book about quite safely, for no aunts
and uncles either are likely to write "How true!" on the edge of the
story. Grown-up people find it very difficult to believe really
wonderful things, unless they have what they call proof. But children
will believe almost anything, and grown-ups know this. That is why they
tell you that the earth is round like an orange, when you can see
perfectly well that it is flat and lumpy; and why they say that the
earth goes round the sun, when you can see for yourself any day that the
sun gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night like a good sun as
it is, and the earth knows its place, and lies as still as a mouse. Yet
I daresay you believe all that about the earth and the sun, and if so
you will find it quite easy to believe that before Anthea and Cyril and
the others had been a week in the country they had found a fairy. At
least they called it that, because that was what it called itself; and
of course it knew best, but it was not at all like any fairy you ever
saw or heard of or read about.
It was at the gravel-pits. Father had to go away suddenly on business,
and mother had gone away to stay with Granny, who was not very well.
They both went
|
when
|
How many times does the word 'when' appear in the text?
| 7
|
because there are as yet no words to
enable us to get there.
(beat)
But I was there for the end. I took part
in it. And I think my words can help shed
light on what happened. My name is
Abigail. This is our story.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. IRAQI DESERT - DAWN
</b>
Harsh sunlight beats down over a bleak, unforgiving stretch of
rocky desert. Amidst this desolation rise the ruins of an
ancient Sumerian ziggurat, a massive stepped pyramid of mud
brick that was once the center of the city known as Ur.
<b> SUPER TITLE: SOUTHEASTERN IRAQ, DHI QAR PROVINCE
</b>
<b> SIX MONTHS AGO
</b>
<b> AN EMACIATED SHEEP HERDER
</b>
kneels by the ziggurat, tending to a ragged band of sheep. He
is conducting the first of his daily prayers, listening to a
religious broadcast from Baghdad on a tinny RADIO.
Presently, we hear HELICOPTERS. The sheepherder looks up --
<b> TWO ANERICAN RAH-66 COMANCHE HELICOPTERS
</b>
approach from the East. They touch down near the base of the
ziggurat, rotors stirring up clouds of dust.
<b> FOUR FIGURES
</b>
disembark, their bodies covered in desert camo-gear. They
wear helmets with polarized face-plates and are armed to the
teeth. To the sheepherder they might as well be aliens.
One of the figures turns to the East. We can see the rising
sun reflected in the face-plate of his helmet -- and a hint of
a skull-like under-mask/respirator beneath the face-plate. He
raises a gloved hand, gives the "finger" to the new day.
Another figure (a woman) waves a hand, urging them onward.
They mount the central steps of the ziggurat.
<b> INT. ZIGGURAT - SHRINE - DAY
</b>
The shrine is
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' 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
|
only
|
How many times does the word 'only' appear in the text?
| 2
|
. She watches
her husband unguarded in sleep. Her pretty face, alert,
she's barely breathing. Traces the just visible lines around
his eyes, and mouth. Brushes fingertips against his
eyelashes.
<b> TIGHT CLOSE - SALLY'S HAND PULLS THE BEDROOM SHADE.
</b>
It retracts with a loud WHACK, sun, sky, trees.
<b> STEVEN (O.S.)
</b> And breath...and chataronga...
<b> EXT. POOL AREA - DAY
</b>
We're in the middle of a yoga lesson. Joe and Sally stand on
their mats. Steven, their instructor, wanders around the
couple issuing soft-spoken instructions.
A large room with hard wood floors, dominated by a huge
fireplace. The dining room on one side, living room on the
other. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the back porch
garden pool... The house is classic Neutra. All GLASS and
<b> SMOOTH LINES.
</b>
The calm is broken by the telephone. Joe and Sally ignore it
until the answering machine picks up. They break their yoga
poses and listen.
The CAMERA hovers over the answering machine.
<b> LUCY (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine; sweet,
British, slightly desperate)
Joe, it's Lucy. Remember me? It's the
black sheep here. Bah...not funny.
Haven't heard from you, need you, call
me. Love you madly. Hi, Sally. Joe,
I'd love to talk to you before I go...
<b> JOE
</b> Go where?
<b> LUCY (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine)
It's a damn nuisance you aren't here, big
brother. Sorry I drone on. I miss you.
I lo--
The machine cuts her off.
<b> NEW ANGLE
</b>
Joe and Sally have resumed their positions. This wasn't the
call they were waiting for.
<b> WIDE SHOT
</b>
AMERICA, forty-one, and ROSA, fifty, struggle up the steps of
the back porch carrying grocery bags and packages, come
through the sliding glass door...
<b> THE CAMERA FOLLOWS THEM
</b>
Through the dining room and into the kitchen, watches the two
unpack groceries, flowers, etc., and start to dress the
dining room table. They speak quietly to each other in
Spanish.
<b> JOE
</b> America, could you just...
America closes the sliding doors between the kitchen and the
dining room, giving the couple their privacy.
<b> JOE (CONT'D)
</b> (calls out)
Thank you, America!
<b> STEVEN
</b> Okay, let's just take a deep breath, let
your ribs expand and relax. And reach up
and into downward dog.
Otis, the Bisenji/Sheperd mix, sleeping on his leopard
pillow, stirs, stretches and groans.
<b> JOE AND SALLY
</b> Good boy, Otis.
The phone RINGS again.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine)
Hello, I have Dr. Harmon calling for
Sally Therrian.
Sally jumps out of the down dog position and runs to the
phone, all angles.
<b> SALLY
</b> Hello, hi, hi...and? Thank God.
S
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their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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
|
brooks
|
How many times does the word 'brooks' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Dec. 13, 1994
Third draft
<b> 1 EXT. HOLLYWOOD - NIGHT 1
</b>
The soundtrack opens with Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the
Moon".
A HELICOPTER SHOT OF THE L.A. basin.
The pool of golden light disintegrates into the thousands of
points which constitute it as we rapidly draw closer to the
city.
We are just above the tops of the highest buildings as we
approach Hollywood Boulevard. Below is neon and the icy
thrust of search lights rotating on the corner of Hollywood
and Vine.
We continue west, then quickly north.
There is the momentary appearance of the moonlit HOLLYWOOD
sign as we pass the blinking red beacon of the Capital
Records building and drop into Franklin avenue and over the
<b> 101.
</b>
Architectural remnants of Hollywood's past whip up. We are
heading east at treetop level. A warm glow in the distance
quickly grows into a modest commercial strip which includes
cafes, bookstores, and a theater.
We drop to eye level as we spy through the plate glass
showcase window of the "Bourgeois Pig" coffeehouse, which
holds the translucent reflection of the full moon.
A cigarette wedged between knuckles smoulders. MIKE takes
the last drag with great effort, then crushes it out. He
sits in the window sprawled across a red velvet couch that
once perfectly complemented a faux spanish foyer.
<b> MATCH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 EXT. "BOURGEOIS PIG" COFFEEHOUSE - COUCHES AND TABLE IN FRONT 2
</b><b> WINDOW - NIGHT
</b>
ROB sits down next to Mike, pouring himself some tea.
<b> MIKE
</b> And what if I don't want to give up on
her?
<b> ROB
</b> You don't call.
<b>
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 2
|
healthy
are weakened and nerveless. And, nevertheless, they show great
joy; for that they have escaped from the sea and come hither
where they would be. And because they were suffering greatly,
they lie that night above Southampton and show great joy and let
ask and inquire whether the king is in England. They are told
that he is at Winchester; and that they can be there full soon if
they will depart with morning provided that they keep to the
right way. This news pleases them well; and on the morrow, when
the day is born, the lads wake up with morning and equip and
prepare themselves. And when they were equipped they have turned
from above Southampton and have kept to the right way till they
have reached Winchester where the king was tarrying. Before Prime
the Greeks had come to Court. They dismount at the foot of the
steps, the squires and the horses stayed in the court below; and
the youths ascend to the presence of the best king that ever was
or ever may be in the world. And when the king sees them come,
they please and delight him much; but ere they had come before
him, they throw off the cloaks from their necks that they might
not be taken for clowns. Thus all having thrown off their cloaks
have come before the king. And the barons one and all keep
silence; for the youths please them mightily for that they see
them fair and comely. Never do they dream that they are all sons
of counts or of a king; yet truly so they were, and they were in
the flower of their youth, comely and well set up in body; and
the robes that they wore were of one cloth and one cut, of one
appearance and one colour. Twelve were they without their lord of
whom I will tell you this much without more ado; that none was
better than he; but without arrogance and yet unabashed he stood
with his mantle off before the king, and was very fair and well
shaped. He has kneeled down before him, and all the others from
courtesy, kneel beside their lord.
Alexander, whose tongue was sharpened to speak well and wisely,
greets the king. "King," quoth he, "if renown lie not concerning
you since God made the first man, no king with faith in God was
born so powerful as you. King, the report that is in men's mouths
has brought me to your Court to serve and honour you, and if my
service is pleasing I will stay till I be a new-made knight at
your hand, not at that of another. For never shall I be dubbed
knight if I be not so by you. If my service so please you that
you will to make me a knight, keep me, gracious king, and my
comrades who are here." Straightway the king replies: "Friend,"
quoth he, "I reject not a whit either you or your company; but ye
are all right welcome; for ye have the air, I well think it, of
being sons of men of high rank. Whence are ye?" "We are from
Greece." "From Greece?" "Truly are we." "Who is thy father?"
"Faith, sire, the emperor." "And what is thy name, fair friend?"
"Alexander was the name given me when I received salt and chrism
and Christianity and baptism." "Alexander, fair dear friend, I
keep you right willingly; and much does it please and joy me, for
you have done me exceeding great honour in that you are come to
my Court. It is my good pleasure that you be honoured here as a
noble warrior, wise and gentle. Too long have you been on your
knees: rise, I bid you, and henceforth be free of my Court and of
me; for you have arrived at a good haven."
Forthwith the Greeks rise. Blithe are they for that the king has
thus courteously kept them. Alexander is welcome; for there is no
lack of aught that he wishes nor is there any baron in the Court
so high that he does not speak him fair and welcome him. For he
is not foolish nor boastful nor doth he vaunt his noble birth. He
makes himself known to Sir Gawain and to the others one by one.
He makes himself much loved by each; even Sir Gawain loves him so
much that he hails him as friend and
|
court
|
How many times does the word 'court' appear in the text?
| 5
|
inventiveness has furnished us."
And then, like a flash, some genius struck out an idea that fired
the world.
"Why should we wait? Why should we run the risk of having our cities
destroyed and our lands desolated a second time? Let us go to Mars. We
have the means. Let us beard the lion in his den. Let us ourselves
turn conquerors and take possession of that detestable planet, and if
necessary, destroy it in order to relieve the earth of this perpetual
threat which now hangs over us like the sword of Damocles."
Chapter II.
This enthusiasm would have had but little justification had Mr. Edison
done nothing more than invent a machine which could navigate the
atmosphere and the regions of interplanetary space.
He had, however, and this fact was generally known, although the details
had not yet leaked out--invented also machines of war intended to meet
the utmost that the Martians could do for either offence or defence in
the struggle which was now about to ensue.
A Wonderful Instrument.
Acting upon the hint which had been conveyed from various investigations
in the domain of physics, and concentrating upon the problem all those
unmatched powers of intellect which distinguished him, the great inventor
had succeeded in producing a little implement which one could carry in
his hand, but which was more powerful than any battleship that ever
floated. The details of its mechanism could not be easily explained,
without the use of tedious technicalities and the employment of terms,
diagrams and mathematical statements, all of which would lie outside
the scope of this narrative. But the principle of the thing was simple
enough. It was upon the great scientific doctrine, which we have since
seen so completely and brilliantly developed, of the law of harmonic
vibrations, extending from atoms and molecules at one end of the series up
to worlds and suns at the other end, that Mr. Edison based his invention.
Every kind of substance has its own vibratory rhythm. That of iron
differs from that of pine wood. The atoms of gold do not vibrate in the
same time or through the same range as those of lead, and so on for all
known substances, and all the chemical elements. So, on a larger scale,
every massive body has its period of vibration. A great suspension
bridge vibrates, under the impulse of forces that are applied to it,
in long periods. No company of soldiers ever crosses such a bridge
without breaking step. If they tramped together, and were followed by
other companies keeping the same time with their feet, after a while the
vibrations of the bridge would become so great and destructive that it
would fall in pieces. So any structure, if its vibration rate is known,
could easily be destroyed by a force applied to it in such a way that
it should simply increase the swing of those vibrations up to the point
of destruction.
Now Mr. Edison had been able to ascertain the vibratory swing of many
well-known substances, and to produce, by means of the instrument which
he had contrived, pulsations in the ether which were completely under his
control, and which could be made long or short, quick or slow, at his
will. He could run through the whole gamut from the slow vibrations of
sound in air up to the four hundred and twenty-five millions of millions
of vibrations per second of the ultra red rays.
Having obtained an instrument of such power, it only remained to
concentrate its energy upon a given object in order that the atoms
composing that object should be set into violent undulation, sufficient
to burst it asunder and to scatter its molecules broadcast. This the
inventor effected by the simplest means in the world--simply a parabolic
reflector by which the destructive waves could be sent like a beam of
light, but invisible, in any direction and focused upon any desired point.
Testing the "Disintegrator."
I had the good fortune to be present when this powerful engine of
destruction was submitted to its first test. We had gone upon the roof
of Mr. Edison's laboratory and the inventor held the little instrument,
with its attached mirror, in his hand. We looked about for some object
on which to try its powers. On a bare limb of a tree not far away,
for it was late in the Fall, sat a disconsolate crow.
"Good," said Mr. Edison, "that will do." He touched a button at
|
remained
|
How many times does the word 'remained' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A GLIMPSE of young JAKE LAMOTTA.
<b>
</b><b> THEN CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. BARBIZON PLAZA THEATRE - DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT (1964)
</b><b>
</b> JAKE LAMOTTA, wearing a tux, is shadow-boxing.
<b>
</b> We are unsure of where he is -- he moves in and out of the
shadows. At 42, he's overweight and out of shape, but the
balls of his feet still pop up and down like they were on
canvas and his tiny fists still jerk forward with short
bursts of light. He is rehearsing a nightclub monologue.
<b>
</b><b> JAKE
</b> Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
It's a thrill to be standing here
talking to you wonderful people. In
fact, it's a thrill to be standing!
I haven't seen so many people since
my last fight at Madison Square
Garden. After that fight, a
reporter asked me, 'Jake, where do
you go from here?' I said, 'To a
hospital!' I fought one hundred and
six professional fights and still
none of them bums figured out how
to fight me -- they kept hitting me
in the head! And that's why I'm
here tonight...
(starts to sing)
'When the fighter's not engaged in
his employment, his employment,
although he was Champ and quite the
rage, he must go somewhere else to
seek employment, seek employment.
But a fighter's life is not a bowl
of cherries, still I'd rather have
an egg than a fist upon my face...
That's Entertainment!'
<b>
</b><b> INT. CLEVELAND ARENA - NIGHT (1941)
</b><b>
</b> Bam! JIMMY REEVES, a fast, black middleweight, jabs LAMOTTA,
19 years old, in the face. JAKE staggers forward. No matter
how hard LAMOTTA is hit, no matter how often, he always
staggers forward -- like a bull. The bell sounds.
<b>
</b> Battered, JAKE slumps on the stool in his corner.
<b>
</b> It's September, 1941. Europe and Asia are already at war.
Young SOLDIERS, freshly recruited, dot the hostile audience --
each screaming at the FIGHTERS in the ring.
<b>
</b> Suddenly, words are exchanged, a GIRL screams, and a SOLDIER
and a CIVILIAN stand and start swinging.
<b>
</b> AND IN THE RING: JAKE LAMOTTA takes a swig of water and spits
blood into the bucket his younger brother, JOEY, holds for
him. TONY, his trainer, works the cuts.
<b>
</b><b> JOEY
</b> You didn't have to come to
Cleveland to get beat by a "moulan
yan," Jake!
<b>
</b><b> TONY
</b>
|
fights
|
How many times does the word 'fights' appear in the text?
| 0
|
arch of that neck with room to spare.
But the most astonishing thing was that the bird had an open book on
the ground and was apparently trying to learn part of it by heart.
"_Vivo, vives, vive_," the bird read, very slowly and distinctly,
staring hard at the book. "_Vivimos, vivÃs, viven._ _That_ is simple
enough, you blockhead! Now, then, without looking." It cleared its
throat, looked away from the book, and repeated in a rapid mutter:
"_Vivo vives vive vi_--ah--_vivi_--oh, dear, what _is_ the matter with
me?" Here the temptation to peek overcame it for an instant, and its
head wavered. But it said, "No, no!" in a firm tone, looked carefully
the other way, and began once more.
"_Vivo, vives, vive_--quite correct so far. Ah--_vi_--ah--Oh, dear,
these verbs! Where was I? Oh, yes. _Vivo_--"
David's head reeled as he watched this amazing performance. There was
no need to pinch himself to see if he were dreaming: he was perfectly
wide awake. Everything else around him was behaving in a normal way.
The mountain was solid beneath him, the sunlight streamed down as
before. Yet there was the bird, unmistakably before him, undeniably
studying its book and speaking to itself. David's mind caught hold of
a phrase and repeated it over and over again: "What on _earth_? What
on _earth_?" But of course there was no answer to that question. And
he might have lain hidden there all day, staring out at the bird and
marveling, had it not been for a bee which came droning into the
thicket straight for him.
He had a horror of bees, ever since he had once bumped into a hive by
mistake. When he heard that dread sound approaching, his whole body
broke into a sweat. All thought of the bird was immediately driven
from his head. He could tell from the noise that it was one of those
big black-and-yellow fuzzy bees, the ones with the nasty dispositions.
Perhaps--the thought paralyzed him--perhaps he was lying on its nest.
On it came, buzzing and blundering through the leaves. Suddenly it
was upon him, so close that he could feel the tiny breeze stirred up
by its wings. All self-control vanished. He beat at it wildly with his
hands, burst out of the thicket like an explosion, and smashed full
tilt into the bird before he could stop himself.
With a piercing squawk the bird shot into the air, flipped over, and
came fluttering down facing him--talons outstretched, hooked beak
open, eyes a-glare. Completely terrified, David turned and bolted for
the thicket. He managed to thrash halfway through when a vine trapped
his feet. He pitched forward, shielding his face with his arms, and
was caught up short by a dead branch snagging his shirt.
He was stuck. This was the end. He closed his eyes and waited, too
numb with fear to think or cry out.
Nothing happened. Slowly he turned his head around. The bird, although
it still glared menacingly, seemed undecided whether to attack or
flee.
"What, may I ask, are you doing here?" it said at last, in a severe
voice.
"I--I--I was taking a walk," David said faintly. "I'm awfully sorry if
I bothered you or anything."
"You should not have come up here at _all_," the bird snapped.
[Illustration]
"Well, I'm really sorry. But there was a bee in the bush here. I--I
didn't mean to...." The fright had been too much. Tears started in
David's eyes, and his lip began to tremble.
The bird seemed reassured, for its manner visibly softened. It lowered
and folded its wings, and the glare faded from its eyes.
"I'd go away," David mumbled apologetically, "only I'm stuck." He
rubbed his eyes on his sleeve.
The bird looked at his dismal face and began to fidget awkwardly.
"There, there," it
|
around
|
How many times does the word 'around' appear in the text?
| 1
|
<b> INT. KIEV APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
We're in a large closet. JACK KIEFER, an athletic American
in his late thirties wearing a headset, is wedged into a
corner, staring at a television screen.
The television shows a surveillance view of the living room
that lies outside the confines of the closet. The TV image
is in black and white. JACK shifts, trying like hell to get
comfortable but he's been there a while
<b> ON THE SCREEN
</b>
A bare bulb shines down on the contents of a shabby hotel
room. Directly under the blub a man, GENNADY KASIMOV, sits
in a straight backed wooden chair in his blood-stained T-
shirt. There are a couple of THUGS and a stray HOOKER in the
room behind him. A legend:
<b> KIEV
</b>
KASIMOV is sobbing. Uncontrollably. A MAN enters the room,
ANATOLY, an imperious Russian in his forties, a Russian
godfather. The THUGS and HOOKERS are ushered out. ANATOLY
looks down at KASIMOV pitiously and urges him to go and sit
by him in a chair he picks up for him. KASIMOV does as he is
bid, looking gratefully up at ANATOLY. They speak in Russian
which is subtitled.
<b> ANATOLY
</b> Kasimov, Kasimov, good that you called
us.
<b> KASIMOV
</b> (sobbing)
I don't remember what happened! We were
at the bar, drinking, laughing -- having
fun.
ANATOLY gets up out of the chair and goes to a bed across the
room. A WOMAN lies half under the sheets. She's lying in an
unnatural position on the bed, and the sheets are smeared
with blood. She's dead. ANATOLY lifts her eyelid.
<b> KASIMOV
</b> I don't even know how I got here.
I swear, Anatoly, I never touched her! I
didn't lay a finger on her.
ANATOLY moves away from the WOMAN.
<b> ANATOLY
</b> Kasimov. Don't flounder.
<b> IN THE CLOSET
</b>
JACK, impatient, checks his watch.
<b>
|
unnatural
|
How many times does the word 'unnatural' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Based on the novel by
<b> MICHAEL PUNKE
</b>
September 26, 2007
Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice.
- Samuel Johnson
Based on a true story
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. UPPER MISSOURI RIVER/1820'S - EVENING
</b>
ANGLE ON A SINGLE COTTONWOOD LEAF... brown and crisp...
clinging to its empty branch... the solitary sign of life on
an otherwise barren tree.
A gust of wind... the leaf breaks free... flutters down,
landing in the slow current of the Missouri. The last leaf
of the fall, taking its final journey south.
As it floats along the surface, rising and falling with the
current, all we can hear is the river's gentle movement...
the trickle of water... the splash of timid rapids... until
DISTANT VOICES invade this world... soft at first, but
growing louder... LAUGHTER... SINGING.
And then our leaf CRASHES INTO A WOODEN BOARD... the BOW OF A
|
current
|
How many times does the word 'current' appear in the text?
| 1
|
<b> INT. KIEV APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
We're in a large closet. JACK KIEFER, an athletic American
in his late thirties wearing a headset, is wedged into a
corner, staring at a television screen.
The television shows a surveillance view of the living room
that lies outside the confines of the closet. The TV image
is in black and white. JACK shifts, trying like hell to get
comfortable but he's been there a while
<b> ON THE SCREEN
</b>
A bare bulb shines down on the contents of a shabby hotel
room. Directly under the blub a man, GENNADY KASIMOV, sits
in a straight backed wooden chair in his blood-stained T-
shirt. There are a couple of THUGS and a stray HOOKER in the
room behind him. A legend:
<b> KIEV
</b>
KASIMOV is sobbing. Uncontrollably. A MAN enters the room,
ANATOLY, an imperious Russian in his forties, a Russian
godfather. The THUGS and HOOKERS are ushered out. ANATOLY
looks down at KASIMOV pitiously and urges him to go and sit
by him in a chair he picks up for him. KASIMOV does as he is
bid, looking gratefully up at ANATOLY. They speak in Russian
which is subtitled.
<b> ANATOLY
</b> Kasimov, Kasimov, good that you called
us.
<b> KASIMOV
</b> (sobbing)
I don't remember what happened! We were
at the bar, drinking, laughing -- having
fun.
ANATOLY gets up out of the chair and goes to a bed across the
room. A WOMAN lies half under the sheets. She's lying in an
unnatural position on the bed, and the sheets are smeared
with blood. She's dead. ANATOLY lifts her eyelid.
<b> KASIMOV
</b> I don't even know how I got here.
I swear, Anatoly, I never touched her! I
didn't lay a finger on her.
ANATOLY moves away from the WOMAN.
<b> ANATOLY
</b> Kasimov. Don't flounder.
<b> IN THE CLOSET
</b>
JACK, impatient, checks his watch.
<b>
|
lifts
|
How many times does the word 'lifts' appear in the text?
| 0
|
>INT. CONFERENCE ROOM - CONTINUOUS
</b>
THE CAMERA PANS THE EXPRESSIONLESS FACES of the REVIEW BOARD as
CASANOVA FRANKENSTEIN sits across from them. Dressed in an
immaculately tailored prison smock (with "Casanova" exquisitely
embroidered above the pocket), he sits contritely as DOCTOR EMMET
BIERCE, the hospital's fatherly Chief of Psychiatry, presents his case.
<b> BIERCE
</b> No one can deny the horrendous nature of Mr.
Frankenstein's crimes, but in the twenty years
he has been with us, I have never seen a
patient turn his energies to more productive
use.
CASANOVA, the picture of remorse and repentance.
<b> BIERCE
</b> Just look at his accomplishments... three
volumes of poetry, two rock operas, a sculpture
garden, four romance novels... and who can
forget his touching portrayal of Billy Bigelow
in our all-psychotic production of
"Carousel"...
ON SEVERAL OF THE BOARD getting misty eyed at the memory of that
brilliant performance...
<b> BIERCE
</b> Directed by our own Doctor Anabel Leek.
ON DOCTOR ANABEL LEEK, the hospital's icily beautiful, ultra cool, top
shrink.
A moment later Casanova addresses them... His manner is charming,
sincere, his voice soft, filled with emotion. He is a master of
seduction.
<b> CASANOVA
</b> Twenty years ago I was a lost soul.
Loveless...
(with a son-like glance at Doctor Bierce)
Fatherless...
(chokes on the word)
A... psycho!
(breaks down sobbing)
Oh! How could I have done it? The murder...
the mayhem... all of those lovely young girls!
(weeping, a brilliant performance)
I'm sorry! I'm SO SO SORRY!
Doctor Bierce wipes the tears from his eyes. Reactions from the board,
moved, as Casanova weeps convulsively. Doctor Leek shows no reaction.
<b> CASANOVA
</b> (pulls himself together)
But my deeds have been done, and my youth is
gone, and we can only go forward in this cruel
world... and if I have learned anything from my
wretched life it is that... When you walk
through a storm, keep your head held high...
(singing)
And don't be afraid of the dark...
Tears plop dawn the cheeks of the review board as the FULLY
<b>ORCHESTRATED STRAINS OF "WHEN YOU WALK THROUGH A STORM" SWELL...
</b>
<b>SERIES OF SHOTS - AS THE MUSIC CONTINUES
</b>
A hand stamps Casanova's file "CURED"... Casanova shakes hands and
embraces the tearful members of the review board, finishing with a
paternal hug from Doctor Bierce.
In his cell a guard delivers Casanova his favorite old disco suit
(that's been waiting far him for twenty years).
Casanova, dressed in the suit, walks down the central aisle of the
lock-up... A moment later he steps out of the massive gates of the
hospital, and takes his first deep breath of freedom... while in an
office window high above Bierce and the members of the review board
stand watching, very proud...
But suddenly THE MUSIC CHANGES TO SEVENTIES DISCO as a black Ferrari
drives up, and Doctor Leek, now dressed very sexily, gets out
|
doctor
|
How many times does the word 'doctor' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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
|
Third Revision
November 14, 1986
(c) LFL 1986
Lucasfilm LTD.
All Rights Reserved
Act I
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT.. NOCKMAAR CASTLE - DAY
</b>
Under gloomy sky a huge fortress looms on a volcanic
mountainside. From within WE HEAR the agonizing scream
of a woman giving birth.
<b>INT.. NOCKMAAR CASTLE - DAY
</b>
The scream continues as WE MOVE THROUGH the grim corri-
dors of the castle TOWARD stairs leading down to a
dungeon.
<b>INT.. DUNGEON - DAY
</b>
Silhouetted in sadows, three Nockmaar MINIONS stand
guard. In a jail cell, sex fully pregnant WOMEN watch
from behind iron bars. The screaming stops. There's a
moment of silence. As WE MOVE INTO another jail cell
WE HEAR a slap and the first cry of a newborn BABY.
In the cell a black-robed DRUID watches intensely as
ETHNA, a midwife, leans over the MOTHER and wraps the
baby in swaddling.
<b> DRUID
</b> Is it a girl?
<b> ETHNA
</b> It is a girl.
<b> DRUID
</b> Show me its arm.
Ethna peels back the swaddling. On the baby's arm is a
small marking.
<b> DRUID
</b> It's true then. I must tell Queen
Bavmorda.
With great urgency the druid hurries up the dungeon
stairs. Ethna gently places the baby on the mother's
breast. The mother comforst the baby lovingly until it
stops crying. Then she reaches out and clasps the
midwife's wrist.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Ethna, please. Help me. They're
going to kill my baby.
Ethna nervously looks out at the guards, then shakes
her head at the mother.
<b> ETHNA
</b> They'll kill you.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Please save my baby.
Ethna hesitates. Then decides. She quickly wraps to-
gether some rags and gives them to the mother.
<b> ETHNA
</b> Pretend this is the child.
<b> MOTHER
</b> Thank you, Ethna. Thank you.
The mother kisses her baby and hands it to Ethna, who
|
gloomy
|
How many times does the word 'gloomy' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, although with hesitation, that much of
the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced to a
more natural and far more palpable origin--to the severe and
long-continued illness--indeed to the evidently approaching
dissolution--of a tenderly beloved sister--his sole companion for
long years--his last and only relative on earth. "Her decease,"
he said, with a bitterness which I can never forget, "would leave
him (him the hopeless and the frail) the last of the ancient race
of the Ushers." While he spoke, the lady Madeline (for so was
she called) passed slowly through a remote portion of the
apartment, and, without having noticed my presence, disappeared.
I regarded her with an utter astonishment not unmingled with
dread--and yet I found it impossible to account for such
feelings. A sensation of stupor oppressed me, as my eyes
followed her retreating steps. When a door, at length, closed
upon her, my glance sought instinctively and eagerly the
countenance of the brother--but he had buried his face in his
hands, and I could only perceive that a far more than ordinary
wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers through which
trickled many passionate tears.
The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill
of her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of
the person, and frequent although transient affections of a
partially cataleptical character, were the unusual diagnosis.
Hitherto she had steadily borne up against the pressure of her
malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed; but, on the
closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she
succumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible
agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I
learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would thus
probably be the last I should obtain--that the lady, at least
while living, would be seen by me no more.
For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by either
Usher or myself: and during this period I was busied in earnest
endeavours to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. We
painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, to
the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as a
closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly
into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive
the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which
darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon
all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing
radiation of gloom.
I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn hours
I thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. Yet I
should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact
character of the studies, or of the occupations, in which he
involved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly
distempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. His
long improvised dirges will ring for ever in my ears. Among
other things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular
perversion and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of
Von Weber. From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy
brooded, and which grew, touch by touch, into vagueness at which
I shuddered the more thrillingly, because I shuddered knowing not
why;--from these paintings (vivid as their images now are before
me) I would in vain endeavour to educe more than a small portion
which should lie within the compass of merely written words. By
the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of his designs, he
arrested and overawed attention. If ever mortal painted an idea,
that mortal was Roderick Usher. For me at least--in the
circumstances then surrounding me--there arose out of the pure
abstractions which the hypochondriac contrived to throw upon his
canvas, an intensity of intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt
I ever yet in the contemplation of the certainly glowing yet too
concrete reveries of Fuseli.
One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend,
partaking not so rigidly
|
relative
|
How many times does the word 'relative' appear in the text?
| 0
|
racts in a constant collision of water.
SLOW MOTION, the hallucinatory prisms, like liquid
diamonds taking flight, dreamlike...
<b>EXT. OCEAN - DUSK
</b>
Backlit against a flaming sun a solitary SURFER glides
across the green glassy peak. TIME IS STRETCHED until his
movements gain a grace and fluidity not of this world.
Total Zen concentration. Body weight centered, eyes
forward and on the next section.
<b>EXT. URBAN STREET - DUSK
</b>
SLOW MOTION ON a black sedan.
Creeping along store fronts. Past a Winchell's.
PEOPLE splash steps down rain-washed sidewalks in DREAM
MOTION. The sedan turns past the FIRST VIRGINIA BANK and
into an alley.
<b>INT. BLACK SEDAN
</b>
TWO MEN and ONE WOMAN in SUSPENDED TIME put on overcoats
and hats. Under their hats strips of Scotch tape stretch
taut from the base of their nose to their forehead,
hideously distorting their features. Makes them look like
human PIGS.
<b>EXT. OCEAN
</b>
SILVERY in this light, almost metallic, as if from some
future-scape. The lone surfer SHREDS a long, endless
right wall.
ACCELERATING INTO REAL TIME -- as he stares into the pit,
digs in, drops into the sweet spot on the wave, hunkers
down.
His moves becoming aggressive, frenzied--
<b>INT. BLACK SEDAN
</b>
An M-16 clip is SMACKED into place and cocked with a
CACHACK! Ammo clips are SNICK-SNICKED into handgun butts
and a long clip is SSSNICKED into an UZI.
Watches are checked. The PIG NOSE people nod to each
other.
<b>EXT. BANK
</b>
Pig Nose #1, steals into position near the glass doors,
slams his back to the wall, weapon to cheek, breath fast.
<b>EXT. OCEAN
</b>
FAST NOW -- the surfboard rips a brutal gash in the face
of the wave. The surfer TRIMS down the line, pivoting the
board and going straight down, CARVING the bottom. He
slashes viciously back toward the lip and--
In a radical INVERTED AIR ATTACK sails SIX feet above the
wave in an explosion of water--
<b>INT. BANK
</b>
<b>--BAAAAAAMMM!
</b>Glass doors explode OPEN and Pig Nose #1 SPINS inside. He
fires a burst into the ceiling. BRRAAMM!!
<b> PIG NOSE #1
</b> EVERYBODY on the floor!
PEOPLE drop.
<b>VERY FAST HERE--
</b>Two bandits handle BANK EMPLOYEES and customers--
Another PIG NOSE watches the door--
Pig Nose #1 moves behind counter, Uzi and canvas sack in
hand.
<b>INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN
</b>
Dark. Monitors SHOW SLOW SCANS of the bank INTERIOR.
Two MEN wear headphones and black windbreakers with FBI
stenciled on the back. One watches with binoculars.
<b> BINOCULARS
</b> Bingo. We're on. Let's go.
Where's the big college
quarterback?! Are you with us,
Utah?
<b>EXT. BANK WALL
</b>
A MAN in his twenties. His head
|
nose
|
How many times does the word 'nose' appear in the text?
| 6
|
among a portion of the gentry in
Cumberland and Westmoreland,--did not go with her. She had married
without due care. Some men said,--and many women repeated the
story,--that she had known of the existence of the former wife, when
she had married the Earl. She had run into debt, and then repudiated
her debts. She was now residing in the house of a low radical tailor,
who had assaulted the man she called her husband; and she was living
under her maiden name. Tales were told of her which were utterly
false,--as when it was said that she drank. Others were reported
which had in them some grains of truth,--as that she was violent,
stiff-necked, and vindictive. Had they said of her that it had
become her one religion to assert her daughter's right,--per fas aut
nefas,--to assert it by right or wrong; to do justice to her child
let what injustice might be done to herself or others,--then the
truth would have been spoken.
The case dragged itself on slowly, and little Anna Murray was a child
of nine years old when at last the Earl was acquitted of the criminal
charge which had been brought against him. During all this time he
had been absent. Even had there been a wish to bring him personally
into court, the law would have been powerless to reach him. But there
was no such wish. It had been found impossible to prove the former
marriage, which had taken place in Sicily;--or if not impossible, at
least no adequate proof was forthcoming. There was no real desire
that there should be such proof. The Earl's lawyers abstained, as
far as they could abstain, from taking any steps in the matter. They
spent what money was necessary, and the Attorney-General of the day
defended him. In doing so, the Attorney-General declared that he had
nothing to do with the Earl's treatment of the lady who now called
herself Mrs. Murray. He knew nothing of the circumstances of that
connection, and would not travel beyond his brief. He was there to
defend Earl Lovel on a charge of bigamy. This he did successfully,
and the Earl was acquitted. Then, in court, the counsel for the wife
declared that his client would again call herself Lady Lovel.
But it was not so easy to induce other people to call her Lady Lovel.
And now not only was she much hampered by money difficulties, but so
also was the tailor. But Thomas Thwaite never for a moment slackened
in his labours to make good the position of the woman whom he had
determined to succour; and for another and a longer period of eight
years the battle went on. It went on very slowly, as is the wont with
such battles; and very little way was made. The world, as a rule, did
not believe that she who now again called herself the Countess Lovel
was entitled to that name. The Murrays, her own people,--as far as
they were her own people,--had been taught to doubt her claim. If
she were a countess why had she thrown herself into the arms of an
old tailor? Why did she let her daughter play with the tailor's
child,--if, in truth, that daughter was the Lady Anna? Why, above
all things, was the name of the Lady Anna allowed to be mentioned,
as it was mentioned, in connection with that of Daniel Thwaite, the
tailor's son?
During these eight weary years Lady Lovel,--for so she shall be
called,--lived in a small cottage about a mile from Keswick, on the
road to Grassmere and Ambleside, which she rented from quarter to
quarter. She still obtained a certain amount of alimony, which,
however, was dribbled out to her through various sieves, and which
reached her with protestations as to the impossibility of obtaining
anything like the moderate sum which had been awarded to her. And
it came at last to be the case that she hardly knew what she was
struggling to obtain. It was, of course, her object that all the
world should acknowledge her to be the Countess Lovel, and her
daughter to be the Lady Anna. But all the world could not be made to
do this by course of law. Nor could the law make her lord come home
and live with her, even such a cat
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 4
|
iv -- Containing infallible nostrums for procuring universal
disesteem and hatred.
Chapter v -- Showing who the amiable lady, and her unamiable maid,
were.
Chapter vi -- Containing, among other things, the ingenuity of
Partridge, the madness of Jones, and the folly of Fitzpatrick.
Chapter vii -- In which are concluded the adventures that happened at
the inn at Upton.
Chapter viii -- In which the history goes backward.
Chapter ix -- The escape of Sophia.
BOOK XI -- CONTAINING ABOUT THREE DAYS.
Chapter i -- A crust for the critics.
Chapter ii -- The adventures which Sophia met with after her leaving
Upton.
Chapter iii -- A very short chapter, in which however is a sun, a
moon, a star, and an angel.
Chapter iv -- The history of Mrs Fitzpatrick.
Chapter v -- In which the history of Mrs Fitzpatrick is continued.
Chapter vi -- In which the mistake of the landlord throws Sophia into
a dreadful consternation.
Chapter vii -- In which Mrs Fitzpatrick concludes her history.
Chapter viii -- A dreadful alarm in the inn, with the arrival of an
unexpected friend of Mrs Fitzpatrick.
Chapter ix -- The morning introduced in some pretty writing. A
stagecoach. The civility of chambermaids. The heroic temper of
Sophia. Her generosity. The return to it. The departure of the
company, and their arrival at London; with some remarks for the use of
travellers.
Chapter x -- Containing a hint or two concerning virtue, and a few
more concerning suspicion.
BOOK XII -- CONTAINING THE SAME INDIVIDUAL TIME WITH THE FORMER.
Chapter i -- Showing what is to be deemed plagiarism in a modern
author, and what is to be considered as lawful prize.
Chapter ii -- In which, though the squire doth not find his daughter,
something is found which puts an end to his pursuit.
Chapter iii -- The departure of Jones from Upton, with what passed
between him and Partridge on the road.
Chapter iv -- The adventure of a beggar-man.
Chapter v -- Containing more adventures which Mr Jones and his
companion met on the road.
Chapter vi -- From which it may be inferred that the best things are
liable to be misunderstood and misinterpreted.
Chapter vii -- Containing a remark or two of our own and many more of
the good company assembled in the kitchen.
Chapter viii -- In which fortune seems to have been in a better humour
with Jones than we have hitherto seen her.
Chapter ix -- Containing little more than a few odd observations.
Chapter x -- In which Mr Jones and Mr Dowling drink a bottle together.
Chapter xi -- The disasters which befel Jones on his departure for
Coventry; with the sage remarks of Partridge.
Chapter xii -- Relates that Mr Jones continued his journey, contrary
to the advice of Partridge, with what happened on that occasion.
Chapter xiii -- A dialogue between Jones and Partridge.
Chapter xiv -- What happened to Mr Jones in his journey from St
Albans.
BOOK XIII -- CONTAINING THE SPACE OF TWELVE DAYS.
Chapter i -- An Invocation.
Chapter ii -- What befel Mr Jones on his arrival in London.
Chapter iii -- A project of Mrs Fitzpatrick, and her visit to Lady
Bellaston.
Chapter iv -- Which consists of visiting.
Chapter v -- An adventure which happened to Mr Jones at his lodgings,
with some account of a young gentleman who lodged there, and of the
mistress of the house, and her two daughters.
Chapter vi -- What arrived while the company were at breakfast, with
some hints concerning the government of daughters.
Chapter vii -- Containing the whole humours of a masquerade.
Chapter viii -- Containing a scene of distress, which will appear very
extraordinary to most of our readers.
Chapter ix -- Which treats of matters of a very different kind from
those in the preceding chapter.
Chapter x -- A chapter which, though short, may draw tears from some
eyes.
Chapter xi -- In which the reader will be surprized.
Chapter xii -- In which the thirteenth book is concluded
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 6
|
"Telepaths, psychokinetics, parapsychs, just about anything else. For
all practical purposes they're the Gods of Darkover. And one of the
Hasturs--a rather young and unimportant one, I'll admit, the old man's
grandson--came to the Legate's office, in person, mind you. He offered,
if the Terran Medical would help Darkover lick the trailmen's fever, to
coach selected Terran men in matrix mechanics."
"Good Lord," Jay said. It was a concession beyond Terra's wildest
dreams; for a hundred years they had tried to beg, buy or steal some
knowledge of the mysterious science of matrix mechanics--that curious
discipline which could turn matter into raw energy, and vice versa,
without any intermediate stages and without fission by-products. Matrix
mechanics had made the Darkovans virtually immune to the lure of Terra's
advanced technologies.
Jay said, "Personally I think Darkovan science is over-rated. But I can
see the propaganda angle--"
"Not to mention the humanitarian angle of healing--"
* * * * *
Jay Allison gave one of his cold shrugs. "The real angle seems to be
this; _can_ we cure the 48-year fever?"
"Not yet. But we have a lead. During the last epidemic, a Terran
scientist discovered a blood fraction containing antibodies against the
fever--in the trailmen. Isolated to a serum, it might reduce the
virulent 48-year epidemic form to the mild form again. Unfortunately, he
died himself in the epidemic, without finishing his work, and his
notebooks were overlooked until this year. We have 18,000 men, and their
families, on Darkover now, Jay. Frankly, if we lose too many of them,
we're going to have to pull out of Darkover--the big brass on Terra will
write off the loss of a garrison of professional traders, but not of a
whole Trade City colony. That's not even mentioning the prestige we'll
lose if our much-vaunted Terran medical sciences can't save Darkover
from an epidemic. We've got exactly five months. We can't synthesize a
serum in that time. We've got to appeal to the trailmen. And that's why
I called you up here. You know more about the trailmen than any living
Terran. You ought to. You spent eight years in a Nest."
* * * * *
(In Forth's darkened office I sat up straighter, with a flash of
returning memory. Jay Allison, I judged, was several years older than I,
but we had one thing in common; this cold fish of a man shared with
myself that experience of marvelous years spent in an alien world!)
Jay Allison scowled, displeased. "That was years ago. I was hardly more
than a baby. My father crashed on a Mapping expedition over the
Hellers--God only knows what possessed him to try and take a light plane
over those crosswinds. I survived the crash by the merest chance, and
lived with the trailmen--so I'm told--until I was thirteen or fourteen.
I don't remember much about it. Children aren't particularly observant."
Forth leaned over the desk, staring. "You speak their language, don't
you?"
"I used to. I might remember it under hypnosis, I suppose. Why? Do you
want me to translate something?"
"Not exactly. We were thinking of sending you on an expedition to the
trailmen themselves."
(In the darkened office, watching Jay's startled face, I thought; God,
what an adventure! I wonder--I wonder if they want me to go with him?)
Forth was explaining: "It would be a difficult trek. You know what the
Hellers are like. Still, you used to climb mountains, as a hobby, before
you went into Medical--"
"I outgrew the childishness of hobbies many years ago, sir," Jay said
stiffly.
"We'd get you the best guides
|
allison
|
How many times does the word 'allison' appear in the text?
| 2
|
he has
on the one side a singular sense of the familiar, salient, importunate
facts of life, on the other they reproduce themselves in his mind in a
delightfully qualifying medium. It is this medium that the fond observer
must especially envy Mr. Abbey, and that a literary observer will envy
him most of all.
Such a hapless personage, who may have spent hours in trying to produce
something of the same result by sadly different means, will measure
the difference between the roundabout, faint descriptive tokens of
respectable prose and the immediate projection of the figure by the
pencil. A charming story-teller indeed he would be who should write as
Mr. Abbey draws. However, what is style for one art is style for other,
so blessed is the fraternity that binds them together, and the worker
in words may take a lesson from the picture-maker of "She Stoops to
Conquer." It is true that what the verbal artist would like to do
would be to find out the secret of the pictorial, to drink at the same
fountain. Mr. Abbey is essentially one of those who would tell us if he
could, and conduct us to the magic spring; but here he is in the nature
of the case helpless, for the happy _ambiente_ as the Italians call it,
in which his creations move is exactly the thing, as I take it, that
he can least give an account of. It is a matter of genius and
imagination--one of those things that a man determines for himself as
little as he determines the color of his eyes. How, for instance, can
Mr. Abbey explain the manner in which he directly _observes_ figures,
scenes, places, that exist only in the fairy-land of his fancy? For the
peculiar sign of his talent is surely this observation in the remote. It
brings the remote near to us, but such a complicated journey as it must
first have had to make! Remote in time (in differing degrees), remote
in place, remote in feeling, in habit, and in their ambient air, are the
images that spring from his pencil, and yet all so vividly, so minutely,
so consistently seen! Where does he see them, where does he find them,
how does he catch them, and in what language does he delightfully
converse with them? In what mystic recesses of space does the revelation
descend upon him?
The questions flow from the beguiled but puzzled admirer, and their
tenor sufficiently expresses the claim I make for the admirable artist
when I say that his truth is interfused with poetry. He spurns the
literal and yet superabounds in the characteristic, and if he makes
the strange familiar he makes the familiar just strange enough to be
distinguished. Everything is so human, so humorous and so caught in the
act, so buttoned and petticoated and gartered, that it might be round
the corner; and so it is--but the corner is the corner of another world.
In that other world Mr. Abbey went forth to dwell in extreme youth, as I
need scarcely be at pains to remind those who have followed him in
Harper. It is not important here to give a catalogue of his
contributions to that journal: turn to the back volumes and you will
meet him at every step. Every one remembers his young, tentative,
prelusive illustrations to Herrick, in which there are the prettiest
glimpses, guesses and foreknowledge of the effects he was to make
completely his own. The Herrick was done mainly, if I mistake not,
before he had been to England, and it remains, in the light of this
fact, a singularly touching as well as a singularly promising
performance. The eye of sense in such a case had to be to a rare extent
the mind's eye, and this convertibility of the two organs has persisted.
From the first and always that other world and that qualifying medium
in which I have said that the human spectacle goes on for Mr. Abbey have
been a county of old England which is not to be found in any geography,
though it borders, as I have hinted, on the Worcestershire Broadway. Few
artistic phenomena are more curious than the congenital acquaintance of
this perverse young Philadelphian with that mysterious locality. It is
there that he finds them all--the nooks, the corners, the people, the
clothes, the arbors and gardens and
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 5
|
Which is here -- Notting Hill
-- not a bad place to be...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
It's a full fruit market day.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> There's the market on weekdays,
selling every fruit and vegetable
known to man...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
A man in denims exits the tattoo studio.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The tattoo parlour -- with a guy
outside who got drunk and now can't
remember why he chose 'I Love Ken'...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The racial hair-dressers where
everyone comes out looking like the
Cookie Monster, whether they like
it or not...
Sure enough, a girl exits with a huge threaded blue bouffant.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - SATURDAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> Then suddenly it's the weekend, and
from break of day, hundreds of stalls
appears out of nowhere, filling
Portobello Road right up to Notting
Hill Gate...
A frantic crowded Portobello market.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and thousands of people buy
millions of antiques, some genuine...
The camera finally settles on a stall selling beautiful stained
glass windows of various sizes, some featuring biblical scenes
and saints.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and some not so genuine.
<b> EXT. GOLBORNE ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> And what's great is that lots of
friends have ended up in this part of
London -- that's Tony, architect
turned chef, who recently invested
all the money he ever earned in a new
restaurant...
Shot of Tony proudly setting out a board outside his restaurant,
the sign still being painted. He receives and approves a huge
fresh salmon.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> So this is where I spend my days
and years -- in this small village in
the middle of a city -- in a house
with a blue door that my wife and I
bought together... before she left
me for a man who looked like Harrison
Ford, only even handsomer...
We arrive outside his blue-doored house just off Portobello.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and where I now lead a strange
half-life with a lodger called...
<b> INT. WILLIAM'S HOUSE - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM
</b> Spike!
The house has far too many things in it. Definitely two-
bachelor flat.
Spike appears. An unusual looking fellow. He has unusual
hair, unusual facial hair and an unusual Welsh accent: very
white, as though his flesh has never seen the sun. He wears
only shorts.
<b> SPIKE
</b> Even
|
tattoo
|
How many times does the word 'tattoo' appear in the text?
| 1
|
FINAL DRAFT
</b>
March 27, 1987
<b>WARNER BROS. INC. © 1987
</b>4000 Warner Boulevard WARNER BROS. INC.
Burbank, California 91522 All Rights Reserved
<b>
</b><b> ABOVE THE LAW
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b><b>1 TITLES SEQUENCE - MONTAGE WITH SCORE
</b>
PHOTOGRAPHIC STILLS show us NICOLA TOSCANI as a city boy in
various growing-up SHOTS, circa 1950's -- with street chums
wearing a Wyatt Earp T-shirt, in a communion suit. Then:
in his first qi, a youngster studying the martial arts; he
grows, we see news clippings of him winning trophies, his
name on contest posters, SHOTS of him in action. Then:
Japan. Nico now in his teens, studying with real masters,
being dumped on his butt, posing smiling beside Japanese
martial artists, then himself as an instructor. Now: a
few military uniforms enter the picture, we see security
clearance documents with Nico's picture and name on them.
Then Nico near draft age with an American friend NELSON
FOX on some kind of training base. TITLES END.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b><b>2 EXT. JUNGLE - DAY
</b> Blowing through the roof of a dense jungle straight AT
CAMERA, HELICOPTER ROTORS RISE to a DEAFENING PITCH.
SUPER: Viet - Cambodian Border, 1972. Jungle foliage
whips in the fierce downdraft as --
<b>3 "HUEY" GUNSHIP
</b> with US Army markings becomes discernible. The chopper
lowers toward a crude landing zone hacked out of the
wilderness. We GLIMPSE Cambodian troops and several
machine gun positions around the LZ.
<b>4 EXT. JUNGLE - TWO ARMED AMERICANS - DAY
</b> watch from the edge of the landing zone. We recognize Nico
and Fox, now in their twenties, dressed in the nonmilitary
jungle attire that usually marks a CIA "spook."
<b>5 HELICOPTER
</b> touches down. THREE OLDER AMERICANS -- rough-looking, in
their mid-thirties, all carrying some kind of medical bags
-- disembark into the HOWLING ROTOR BLAST. They hit the
ground nimbly, as if they've done it many times before.
<b>6 LEADER OF THREE
</b>
wears a khaki cowboy hat and packs a pearl-handled .45.
<b>7 NICO AND FOX
</b>
don't know whether to react with laughter or uneasiness.
<b>
</b><b>
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 3
|
like the Squire himself, hailed from Delaware State.
Upon the Blackadder plantation was punishment enough, and of every kind
known to the skin of the negro. At times there was even mutilation--of
the milder type--extending beneath his skin. If Pomp or Scip tried to
escape work by shamming a toothache, the tooth was instantly extracted,
though not the slightest sign of decay might be detected in the "ivory!"
Under such rigid discipline, the Blackadder plantation should have
thrived, and its owner become a wealthy man. No doubt he would have
done so, but for an outlet on the other side, that, dissipating the
profits, kept him comparatively poor.
The "'scape-pipe" was the Squire's own and only son, Blount, who had
grown up what is termed a wild fellow. He was not only wild, but
wicked; and what, perhaps, grieved his father far more, he had of late
years become ruinously expensive. He kept low company, preferring the
"white trash;" fought cocks, and played "poker" with them in the woods;
and, in a patronising way, attended all the "candy pullings" and
"blanket trampings" for ten miles around.
The Squire could not be otherwise than indulgent to a youth of such
tastes, who was his only son and heir. In boyhood's days he had done
the same himself. For this reason, his purse-strings, held tight
against all others, were loosed to his hopeful son Blount, even to
aiding him in his evil courses. He was less generous to his daughter
Clara, a girl gifted with great beauty, as also endowed with many of
those moral graces, so becoming to woman. True, it was she who had
stood in the porch while Blue Dick was undergoing the punishment of the
pump. And it is true, also, that she exhibited but slight sympathy with
the sufferer. Still was there something to palliate this apparent
hardness of heart: she was not fully aware of the terrible pain that was
being inflicted; and it was her father's fault not hers, that she was
accustomed to witness such scenes weekly--almost daily. Under other
tutelage Clara Blackadder might have grown up a young lady, good as she
was graceful; and under other circumstances been happier than she was on
the day she was seen to such disadvantage.
That, at this time, a cloud overshadowed her fate, was evident from that
overshadowing her face; for, on looking upon it, no one could mistake
its expression to be other than sadness.
The cause was simple, as it is not uncommon. The lover of her choice
was not the choice of her father. A youth, poor in purse, but rich in
almost every other quality to make man esteemed--of handsome person, and
mind adorned with rare cultivation--a stranger in the land--in short, a
young Irishman, who had strayed into Mississippi, nobody knew wherefore
or when. Such was he who had won the friendship of Clara Blackadder,
and the enmity both of her brother and father.
In heart accepted by her--though her lips dared not declare it--he was
rejected by them in words scornful, almost insulting.
They were sufficient to drive him away from the State; for the girl,
constrained by parental authority, had not spoken plain enough to retain
him. And he went, as he had come, no one knew whither; and perhaps only
Clara Blackadder cared.
As she stood in the porch, she was thinking more of him than the
punishment that was being inflicted on Blue Dick; and not even on the
day after, when her maid Sylvia was discovered dead under the trees, did
the dread spectacle drive from her thoughts the remembrance of a man
lodged there for life!
As the overseer had predicted, Squire Blackadder, on his return home,
was angry at the chastisement that had been inflicted on Blue Dick, and
horrified on hearing of the tragedy that succeeded it.
The sins of his own earlier life seemed rising in retribution against
him!
CHAPTER THREE.
A CHANGED PLANTATION.
We pass over a period of five years succeeding the scene recorded.
During this time there was
|
dick
|
How many times does the word 'dick' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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.
|
music
|
How many times does the word 'music' appear in the text?
| 2
|
,
sustains himself outside himself.
<b> --LAOZI
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> INT. DARKENED BEDROOM - NIGHT
</b>
A spherical black monolith rises up from a white surface...
white like the moon.
In the darkness, the towers metal skin is barely visible.
We ROTATE AROUND, revealing the tower to actually be a LAMP --
not rising up from a surface, but hanging down from a white
ceiling. The bulb unlit.
Directly below the lamp is the very definition of innocence -
a sleeping child. Chest rising and falling with each breath.
We HOVER over the young boy...watching him. A blanket
emblazoned with dinosaurs is draped across his limbs. His
mouth is slack, eyelids twitching to dreams unseen.
The truly deep sleep that an adult can only wish for.
We move away from him, exploring the dark room. Strewn with
toys. The door is slightly ajar. We float through it into--
<b> INT. CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS
</b>
--a long hallway. Even darker than the bedroom. And without
the boys rhythmic breathing, even quieter.
A window at the end of the hall enlarges as we approach.
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 3
|
?
POSEIDON.
Yea; but lay bare thy heart. For this land's sake
Thou comest, not for Hellas?
PALLAS.
I would make
Mine ancient enemies laugh for joy, and bring
On these Greek ships a bitter homecoming.
POSEIDON.
Swift is thy spirit's path, and strange withal,
And hot thy love and hate, where'er they fall.
PALLAS.
A deadly wrong they did me, yea within
Mine holy place: thou knowest?
POSEIDON.
I know the sin
Of Ajax[8], when he cast Cassandra down....
PALLAS.
And no man rose and smote him; not a frown
Nor word from all the Greeks!
POSEIDON.
And 'twas thine hand
That gave them Troy!
PALLAS.
Therefore with thee I stand
To smite them.
POSEIDON.
All thou cravest, even now
Is ready in mine heart. What seekest thou?
PALLAS.
An homecoming that striveth ever more
And cometh to no home.
POSEIDON.
Here on the shore
Wouldst hold them or amid mine own salt foam?
PALLAS.
When the last ship hath bared her sail for home!
Zeus shall send rain, long rain and flaw of driven
Hail, and a whirling darkness blown from heaven;
To me his levin-light he promiseth
O'er ships and men, for scourging and hot death:
Do thou make wild the roads of the sea, and steep
With war of waves and yawning of the deep,
Till dead men choke Euboea's curling bay.
So Greece shall dread even in an after day
My house, nor scorn the Watchers of strange lands!
POSEIDON.
I give thy boon unbartered. These mine hands
Shall stir the waste Aegean; reefs that cross
The Delian pathways, jag-torn Myconos,
Scyros and Lemnos, yea, and storm-driven
Caphêreus with the bones of drownèd men
Shall glut him.--Go thy ways, and bid the Sire
Yield to thine hand the arrows of his fire.
Then wait thine hour, when the last ship shall wind
Her cable coil for home! [_Exit_ PALLAS.
How are ye blind,
Ye treaders down of cities, ye that cast
Temples to desolation, and lay waste
Tombs, the untrodden sanctuaries where lie
The ancient dead; yourselves so soon to die!
[_Exit_ POSEIDON.
* * * * *
_The day slowly dawns_: HECUBA _wakes_.
HECUBA.
Up from the earth, O weary head!
This is not Troy, about, above--
Not Troy, nor we the lords thereof.
Thou breaking neck, be strengthenèd!
Endure and chafe not. The winds rave
And falter. Down the world's wide road,
Float, float where streams the breath of God;
Nor turn thy prow to breast the wave.
Ah woe!... For what woe lacketh here?
My children lost, my land, my lord.
O thou great wealth of glory, stored
Of old in Ilion, year by year
We watched ... and wert thou nothingness?
What is there that I fear to say?
And yet, what help?... Ah, well-a-day,
This ache of lying, comfortless
And haunted! Ah, my side, my brow
And temples! All with changeful pain
My body rocketh, and would fain
Move to the tune of tears that flow:
For tears are music too, and keep
A song unheard in hearts that weep.
[_She rises and gazes towards the Greek ships far off on the shore._
|
poseidon
|
How many times does the word 'poseidon' appear in the text?
| 7
|
nights; and long
ago determined what to take or to reject; in fine, he had only been
waiting for those topographical details which it had been my chance
privilege to supply. I now learned that he had numerous houses in a
similar state upon his list; something or other was wanting in each
case in order to complete his plans. In that of the Bond Street
jeweller it was a trusty accomplice; in the present instance, a more
intimate knowledge of the house. And lastly, this was a Wednesday
night, when the tired legislator gets early to his bed.
How I wish I could make the whole world see and hear him, and smell the
smoke of his beloved Sullivan, as he took me into these, the secrets of
his infamous trade! Neither look nor language would betray the infamy.
As a mere talker, I shall never listen to the like of Raffles on this
side of the sod; and his talk was seldom garnished by an oath, never in
my remembrance by the unclean word. Then he looked like a man who had
dressed to dine out, not like one who had long since dined; for his
curly hair, though longer that another's, was never untidy in its
length; and these were the days when it was still as black as ink. Nor
were there many lines as yet upon the smooth and mobile face; and its
frame was still that dear den of disorder and good taste, with the
carved book-case, the dresser and chests of still older oak, and the
Wattses and Rossettis hung anyhow on the walls.
It must have been one o'clock before we drove in a hansom as far as
Kensington Church, instead of getting down at the gates of our private
road to ruin. Constitutionally shy of the direct approach, Raffles was
further deterred by a ball in full swing at the Empress Rooms, whence
potential witnesses were pouring between dances into the cool deserted
street. Instead he led me a little way up Church Street, and so
through the narrow passage into Palace Gardens. He knew the house as
well as I did. We made our first survey from the other side of the
road. And the house was not quite in darkness; there was a dim light
over the door, a brighter one in the stables, which stood still farther
back from the road.
"That's a bit of a bore," said Raffles. "The ladies have been out
somewhere--trust them to spoil the show! They would get to bed before
the stable folk, but insomnia is the curse of their sex and our
profession. Somebody's not home yet; that will be the son of the
house; but he's a beauty, who may not come home at all."
"Another Alick Carruthers," I murmured, recalling the one I liked least
of all the household, as I remembered it.
"They might be brothers," rejoined Raffles, who knew all the loose fish
about town. "Well, I'm not sure that I shall want you after all,
Bunny."
"Why not?"
"If the front door's only on the latch, and you're right about the
lock, I shall walk in as though I were the son of the house myself."
And he jingled the skeleton bunch that he carried on a chain as honest
men carry their latchkeys.
"You forget the inner doors and the safe."
"True. You might be useful to me there. But I still don't like
leading you in where it isn't absolutely necessary, Bunny."
"Then let me lead you, I answered, and forthwith marched across the
broad, secluded road, with the great houses standing back on either
side in their ample gardens, as though the one opposite belonged to me.
I thought Raffles had stayed behind, for I never heard him at my heels,
yet there he was when I turned round at the gate.
"I must teach you the step," he whispered, shaking his head. "You
shouldn't use your heel at all. Here's a grass border for you: walk it
as you would the plank! Gravel makes a noise, and flower-beds tell a
tale. Wait--I must carry you across this."
It was the sweep of the drive, and in the dim
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 3
|
16th April 1973
<b> 1.
</b>
<b> FADE IN: (BEFORE TITLES)
</b>
<b> EXT. NEW YORK CITY - BLOOMINGDALE'S - DAY
</b>
The busy block between 59th and 60th-Streets in the
middle of a weekday afternoon. Buses, taxis, trucks;
shoppers, messengers, teenagers. In one corner of the
screen the time is SUPERIMPOSED:
<b> "1:52"
</b> Now a man (GREEN) is ZOOMED IN on -- little of his actual
face is visible because of his thick white hair, large
bushy white mustache, dark glasses and slouch hat. The
rest of him is encased in a knee-length raincoat. He
wears gloves and is carrying a large, brown-paper-covered
package by a wooden handle attached to the twine securing
it. The box has been addressed in black felt marker --
"Everest Printing Corp., 826. Lafayette St." -- and appears
quite heavy. But Green has the gait of a man. younger than
he appears. As he turns and heads down a flight of stairs,
CAMERA ZOOMS IN even more to the single word on a sign:
<b> "SUBWAY."
</b>
<b> INT. SUBWAY - 59TH ST. CHANGE BOOTH - DAY
</b>
A level above the locals, two above the express trains.
Green appears and joins the line waiting to buy tokens.
Wordlessly he shoves two coins under the grille, receives
his token, moves on, drops it into the slot, pushes
through the turnstile and heads for one of the descending
stairways. CAMERA HOLDS on a sign identifying his choice:
<b> "IRT. LEX. AVE. LOCAL. DOWNTOWN.."
</b>
<b> INT. SUBWAY PLATFORM - 59TH ST. DOWNTOWN LOCAL - DAY
</b>
Green comes off the stairs and arrives on a line with a
placard that hangs over the edge of the platform bearing
the number "10", black on a white ground, indicating the
point where the front of a ten-car train stops. Now the
|
teenagers
|
How many times does the word 'teenagers' appear in the text?
| 0
|
among a portion of the gentry in
Cumberland and Westmoreland,--did not go with her. She had married
without due care. Some men said,--and many women repeated the
story,--that she had known of the existence of the former wife, when
she had married the Earl. She had run into debt, and then repudiated
her debts. She was now residing in the house of a low radical tailor,
who had assaulted the man she called her husband; and she was living
under her maiden name. Tales were told of her which were utterly
false,--as when it was said that she drank. Others were reported
which had in them some grains of truth,--as that she was violent,
stiff-necked, and vindictive. Had they said of her that it had
become her one religion to assert her daughter's right,--per fas aut
nefas,--to assert it by right or wrong; to do justice to her child
let what injustice might be done to herself or others,--then the
truth would have been spoken.
The case dragged itself on slowly, and little Anna Murray was a child
of nine years old when at last the Earl was acquitted of the criminal
charge which had been brought against him. During all this time he
had been absent. Even had there been a wish to bring him personally
into court, the law would have been powerless to reach him. But there
was no such wish. It had been found impossible to prove the former
marriage, which had taken place in Sicily;--or if not impossible, at
least no adequate proof was forthcoming. There was no real desire
that there should be such proof. The Earl's lawyers abstained, as
far as they could abstain, from taking any steps in the matter. They
spent what money was necessary, and the Attorney-General of the day
defended him. In doing so, the Attorney-General declared that he had
nothing to do with the Earl's treatment of the lady who now called
herself Mrs. Murray. He knew nothing of the circumstances of that
connection, and would not travel beyond his brief. He was there to
defend Earl Lovel on a charge of bigamy. This he did successfully,
and the Earl was acquitted. Then, in court, the counsel for the wife
declared that his client would again call herself Lady Lovel.
But it was not so easy to induce other people to call her Lady Lovel.
And now not only was she much hampered by money difficulties, but so
also was the tailor. But Thomas Thwaite never for a moment slackened
in his labours to make good the position of the woman whom he had
determined to succour; and for another and a longer period of eight
years the battle went on. It went on very slowly, as is the wont with
such battles; and very little way was made. The world, as a rule, did
not believe that she who now again called herself the Countess Lovel
was entitled to that name. The Murrays, her own people,--as far as
they were her own people,--had been taught to doubt her claim. If
she were a countess why had she thrown herself into the arms of an
old tailor? Why did she let her daughter play with the tailor's
child,--if, in truth, that daughter was the Lady Anna? Why, above
all things, was the name of the Lady Anna allowed to be mentioned,
as it was mentioned, in connection with that of Daniel Thwaite, the
tailor's son?
During these eight weary years Lady Lovel,--for so she shall be
called,--lived in a small cottage about a mile from Keswick, on the
road to Grassmere and Ambleside, which she rented from quarter to
quarter. She still obtained a certain amount of alimony, which,
however, was dribbled out to her through various sieves, and which
reached her with protestations as to the impossibility of obtaining
anything like the moderate sum which had been awarded to her. And
it came at last to be the case that she hardly knew what she was
struggling to obtain. It was, of course, her object that all the
world should acknowledge her to be the Countess Lovel, and her
daughter to be the Lady Anna. But all the world could not be made to
do this by course of law. Nor could the law make her lord come home
and live with her, even such a cat
|
lady
|
How many times does the word 'lady' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Archive Foundation."
If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or
software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at:
[email protected]
[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart
and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.]
[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales
of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or
software or any other related product without express permission.]
*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END*
This Etext prepared by Sue Asscher [email protected]
THE DIFFERENT FORMS OF FLOWERS ON PLANTS OF THE SAME SPECIES
by CHARLES DARWIN, M.A., F.R.S.
TO
PROFESSOR ASA GRAY
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR
AS A SMALL TRIBUTE OF RESPECT AND AFFECTION.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION.
CHAPTER I.
HETEROSTYLED DIMORPHIC PLANTS: PRIMULACEAE.
Primula veris or the cowslip.--Differences in structure between the two forms.--
Their degrees of fertility when legitimately and illegitimately united.--P.
elatior, vulgaris, Sinensis, auricula, etc.--Summary on the fertility of the
heterostyled species of Primula.--Homostyled species of Primula.--Hottonia
palustris.--Androsace vitalliana.
CHAPTER II.
HYBRID PRIMULAS.
The oxlip a hybrid naturally produced between Primula veris and vulgaris.--The
differences in structure and function between the two parent-species.--Effects
of crossing long-styled and short-styled oxlips with one another and with the
two forms of both parent-species.--Character of the offspring from oxlips
artificially self-fertilised and cross-fertilised in a state of nature.--Primula
elatior shown to be a distinct species.--Hybrids between other heterostyled
species of Primula.--Supplementary note on spontaneously produced hybrids in the
genus Verbascum.
CHAPTER III.
HETEROSTYLED DIMORPHIC PLANTS--continued.
Linum grandiflorum, long-styled form utterly sterile with own-form pollen.--
Linum perenne, torsion of the pistils in the long-styled form alone.--Homostyled
species of Linum.--Pulmonaria officinalis, singular difference in self-fertility
between the English and German long-styled plants.--Pulmonaria angustifolia
shown to be a distinct species, long-styled form completely self-sterile.--
Polygonum fagopyrum.--Various other heterostyled genera.--Rubiaceae.--Mitchella
repens, fertility of the flowers in pairs.--Houstonia.--Faramea, remarkable
difference in the pollen-grains of the two forms; torsion of the stamens in the
short-styled form alone; development not as yet perfect.--The heterostyled
structure in the several Rubiaceous genera not due to descent in common.
CHAPTER IV.
HETEROSTYLED TRIMORPHIC PLANTS.
Lythrum salicaria.--Description of the three forms.--Their power and complex
manner of fertilising one another.--Eighteen different unions possible.--Mid-
styled form eminently feminine in nature.--Lythrum Graefferi likewise
trimorphic.--L. hymifolia dimorphic.--L. hyssopifolia homostyled.--Nesaea
verticillata trimorphic.--Lagerstroemia, nature doubtful.--Oxalis, trimorphic
species of.--O. Valdiviana.--O. Regnelli, the illegitimate unions quite barren.-
-O. speciosa.--O. sensitiva.--Homostyled species of Oxalis.--Pontederia, the one
monocotyledonous genus known to include heterostyled species.
CHAPTER V.
ILLEGITIMATE OFFSPRING OF H
|
when
|
How many times does the word 'when' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b>
<b> A WINDOWPANE
</b>
Assaulted from without by SNOWFLAKES. Wind tossed.
INSIDE, a bed, dappled with moon shadow. A LITTLE GIRL, fast
asleep. The wind whistles and sighs outside. She DREAMS...
Eyelids closed, eyes roving beneath... then suddenly they
SNAP open. A stifled cry. She thrashes for her STUFFED BEAR,
as a soft voice says:
<b> VOICE
</b> Shhhhh.
And there's MOM, kneeling beside her. Vague shape in the
dimness. The full moon throws light across one sparkling
eye.
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Mommy, the men on the mountain...!
<b> MOM
</b> Shhhh. Gone, all gone now.
(strokes her hair)
I'm here. Mommy's always here and no
one can ever hurt you. Safe now...
safe and warm... snug as a bug in a
rug.
(beat)
I'll sit with you, think you can
sleep?
<b> LITTLE GIRL
</b> Turn on the nightlight.
The mother nods. Passes her left hand gently over the girl's
forehead.
<b> MOM
</b>
|
light
|
How many times does the word 'light' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, illuminated only by the streetlight
coming through the window.
A hand presses a cassette into a recorder and fiddles
with a small microphone.
Malloy sits over a table fiddling with the tape. He is
young, half-shaven, dressed in T-shirt and jeans. He
looks too -
LOUIS, who stands by the window, looking out on the
street, with his back to Malloy. Louis is dressed in an
old-fashioned suit.
<b> LOUIS
</b> So you want me to tell you the
story of my life...
<b> MALLOY
</b> That's what I do. I interview
people. I collect lives. F.M.
radio. F.F.R.C. I just interviewed
a genuine hero, a cop who -
<b> LOUIS
</b> (quietly interrupting)
You'd have to have a lot of tape
for my story. I've had a very
unusual life.
<b> MALLOY
</b> So much the better. I've got a
pocket full of tapes.
<b> LOUIS
</b> You followed me here, didn't you?
<b> MALLOY
</b> Saw you in the street outside. You
seemed interesting. Is this where
you live?
<b> LOUIS
</b> It's just a room...
<b> MALLOY
</b> So shall we begin?
(playfully, almost
teasing)
What do you do?
<b> LOUIS
</b> I'm a vampire.
Malloy laughs.
<b> MALLOY
</b> See? I knew you were interesting.
You mean this literally, I take it?
<b> LOUIS
</b> Absolutely. I was watching you
watching me. I was waiting for you
in that alleyway. And then you
began to speak.
<b> MALLOY
</b> Well, what a lucky break for me.
<b> LOUIS
</b> Perhaps lucky for both of us.
Still in shadow he turns from the window and approaches
the table.
<b> LOUIS
</b> I'll tell you my story. All of it.
I'd like to do that very much.
Malloy is uneasy as he studies the shadowy figure,
fascinated but afraid.
<b> MALLOY
</b> You were going to kill me? Drink my
blood?
<b> LOUIS
</b> Yes but you needn't worry about
that now. Things change.
Louis stands opposite, hand on the chair. Malloy is
riveted.
<b> MALLOY
</b> You believe this, don't you? That
you're a vampire? You really
think...
<b> LOUIS
</b> We can't begin this way. Let me
turn on the light.
<b> MALLOY
</b> But I thought vampires didn't like
the light.
<b> LOUIS
</b> We love it. I only wanted to
prepare you.
Louis pulls the chord of the overhead naked light bulb.
<b> LOUIS' FACE
</b>
Appears inhumanly white, eyes glittering. Inhuman or
not alive. the effect is subtle,
|
began
|
How many times does the word 'began' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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
|
laird
|
How many times does the word 'laird' appear in the text?
| 8
|
from such press-gang captures, as
Lord Thurlow could have told, after a certain walk he took about
this time on Tower Hill, when he, the attorney-general of England,
was impressed, when the Admiralty had its own peculiar ways of
getting rid of tiresome besiegers and petitioners. Nor yet were
lonely inland dwellers more secure; many a rustic went to a statute
fair or 'mop,' and never came home to tell of his hiring; many a
stout young farmer vanished from his place by the hearth of his
father, and was no more heard of by mother or lover; so great was
the press for men to serve in the navy during the early years of the
war with France, and after every great naval victory of that war.
The servants of the Admiralty lay in wait for all merchantmen and
traders; there were many instances of vessels returning home after
long absence, and laden with rich cargo, being boarded within a
day's distance of land, and so many men pressed and carried off,
that the ship, with her cargo, became unmanageable from the loss of
her crew, drifted out again into the wild wide ocean, and was
sometimes found in the helpless guidance of one or two infirm or
ignorant sailors; sometimes such vessels were never heard of more.
The men thus pressed were taken from the near grasp of parents or
wives, and were often deprived of the hard earnings of years, which
remained in the hands of the masters of the merchantman in which
they had served, subject to all the chances of honesty or
dishonesty, life or death. Now all this tyranny (for I can use no
other word) is marvellous to us; we cannot imagine how it is that a
nation submitted to it for so long, even under any warlike
enthusiasm, any panic of invasion, any amount of loyal subservience
to the governing powers. When we read of the military being called
in to assist the civil power in backing up the press-gang, of
parties of soldiers patrolling the streets, and sentries with
screwed bayonets placed at every door while the press-gang entered
and searched each hole and corner of the dwelling; when we hear of
churches being surrounded during divine service by troops, while the
press-gang stood ready at the door to seize men as they came out
from attending public worship, and take these instances as merely
types of what was constantly going on in different forms, we do not
wonder at Lord Mayors, and other civic authorities in large towns,
complaining that a stop was put to business by the danger which the
tradesmen and their servants incurred in leaving their houses and
going into the streets, infested by press-gangs.
Whether it was that living in closer neighbourhood to the
metropolis--the centre of politics and news--inspired the
inhabitants of the southern counties with a strong feeling of that
kind of patriotism which consists in hating all other nations; or
whether it was that the chances of capture were so much greater at
all the southern ports that the merchant sailors became inured to
the danger; or whether it was that serving in the navy, to those
familiar with such towns as Portsmouth and Plymouth, had an
attraction to most men from the dash and brilliancy of the
adventurous employment--it is certain that the southerners took the
oppression of press-warrants more submissively than the wild
north-eastern people. For with them the chances of profit beyond
their wages in the whaling or Greenland trade extended to the lowest
description of sailor. He might rise by daring and saving to be a
ship-owner himself. Numbers around him had done so; and this very
fact made the distinction between class and class less apparent; and
the common ventures and dangers, the universal interest felt in one
pursuit, bound the inhabitants of that line of coast together with a
strong tie, the severance of which by any violent extraneous
measure, gave rise to passionate anger and thirst for vengeance. A
Yorkshireman once said to me, 'My county folk are all alike. Their
first thought is how to resist. Why! I myself, if I hear a man say
it is a fine day, catch myself trying to find out that it is no such
thing. It is so in thought; it is so in word; it is so in deed.'
So you may imagine the press-gang had
|
carried
|
How many times does the word 'carried' appear in the text?
| 0
|
, two playing
on the floor.
The man at the table, Arthur Lestrange, was seated with his large,
deep-sunken eyes fixed on a book. He was most evidently in
consumptionâvery near, indeed, to reaping the result of that last and
most desperate remedy, a long sea voyage.
Emmeline Lestrange, his little nieceâeight years of age, a mysterious
mite, small for her age, with thoughts of her own, wide-pupilled eyes
that seemed the doors for visions, and a face that seemed just to have
peeped into this world for a moment ere it was as suddenly
withdrawnâsat in a corner nursing something in her arms, and rocking
herself to the tune of her own thoughts.
Dick, Lestrangeâs little son, eight and a bit, was somewhere under the
table. They were Bostonians, bound for San Francisco, or rather for the
sun and splendour of Los Angeles, where Lestrange had bought a small
estate, hoping there to enjoy the life whose lease would be renewed by
the long sea voyage.
As he sat reading, the cabin door opened, and appeared an angular
female form. This was Mrs Stannard, the stewardess, and Mrs Stannard
meant bedtime.
âDicky,â said Mr Lestrange, closing his book, and raising the
table-cloth a few inches, âbedtime.â
âOh, not yet, daddy!â came a sleep-freighted voice from under the
table; âI ainât ready. I dunno want to go to bed, Iâ Hi yow!â
Mrs Stannard, who knew her work, had stooped under the table, seized him
by the foot, and hauled him out kicking and fighting and blubbering all
at the same time.
As for Emmeline, she having glanced up and recognised the inevitable,
rose to her feet, and, holding the hideous rag-doll she had been
nursing, head down and dangling in one hand, she stood waiting till
Dicky, after a few last perfunctory bellows, suddenly dried his eyes
and held up a tear-wet face for his father to kiss. Then she presented
her brow solemnly to her uncle, received a kiss and vanished, led by
the hand into a cabin on the port side of the saloon.
Mr Lestrange returned to his book, but he had not read for long when
the cabin door was opened, and Emmeline, in her nightdress, reappeared,
holding a brown paper parcel in her hand, a parcel of about the same
size as the book you are reading.
âMy box,â said she; and as she spoke, holding it up as if to prove its
safety, the little plain face altered to the face of an angel.
She had smiled.
When Emmeline Lestrange smiled it was absolutely as if the light of
Paradise had suddenly flashed upon her face: the happiest form of
childish beauty suddenly appeared before your eyes, dazzled themâand
was gone.
Then she vanished with her box, and Mr Lestrange resumed his book.
This box of Emmelineâs, I may say in parenthesis, had given more
trouble aboard ship than all of the rest of the passengersâ luggage put
together.
It had been presented to her on her departure from Boston by a lady
friend, and what it contained was a dark secret to all on board, save
its owner and her uncle; she was a woman, or, at all events, the
beginning of a woman, yet she kept this secret to herselfâa fact which
you will please note.
The trouble of the thing was that it was frequently being lost.
Suspecting herself, maybe, as an unpractical dreamer in a world filled
with robbers, she would cart it about with her for safety, sit down
behind a coil of rope and fall into a fit of abstraction: be recalled
to life
|
long
|
How many times does the word 'long' appear in the text?
| 2
|
VADA
</b> (to camera)
I was born jaundiced. Once I sat on a toilet
seat at a Truck stop and caught hemorrhoids.
And i've learned to live with this chicken
Bone that's been lodged in my throat for the
past three years, so I knew Dad would be
devastated when he learned of my latest
affliction.
(to Harry)
Dad, I don't wanna upset you, but my left
breast is developing at a significantly faster
rate than my right. It can only mean one
thing. Cancer. I'm dying.
<b> HARRY
</b> (ignoring Vada)
O.K. Sweetie, hand me the mayonnaise out of
the fridge.
<b> FRONT OF SULTENFUSS' HOUSE
</b>
Vada closes front door and goes down the steps to a group
of boys
<b> VADA
</b> All right, who's in raise your hand.
All the boys raise their hands except Thomas J
<b> BOY
</b> Are you coming or not Thomas J?
<b> THOMAS J
</b> I don't think so.
<b> VADA
</b> I knew he wouldn't come.
<b> THOMAS J
</b> I can't, I have to go home.
<b> BOY#2
</b> Yeah, to play with his DOLLS.
<b>
|
than
|
How many times does the word 'than' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of a dyer's she
knew, overlooking the Eau-de-Robec. She made arrangements for his
board, got him furniture, table and two chairs, sent home for an old
cherry-tree bedstead, and bought besides a small cast-iron stove with
the supply of wood that was to warm the poor child.
Then at the end of a week she departed, after a thousand injunctions to
be good now that he was going to be left to himself.
The syllabus that he read on the notice-board stunned him; lectures
on anatomy, lectures on pathology, lectures on physiology, lectures on
pharmacy, lectures on botany and clinical medicine, and therapeutics,
without counting hygiene and materia medica--all names of whose
etymologies he was ignorant, and that were to him as so many doors to
sanctuaries filled with magnificent darkness.
He understood nothing of it all; it was all very well to listen--he did
not follow. Still he worked; he had bound note-books, he attended all
the courses, never missed a single lecture. He did his little daily task
like a mill-horse, who goes round and round with his eyes bandaged, not
knowing what work he is doing.
To spare him expense his mother sent him every week by the carrier a
piece of veal baked in the oven, with which he lunched when he came back
from the hospital, while he sat kicking his feet against the wall.
After this he had to run off to lectures, to the operation-room, to the
hospital, and return to his home at the other end of the town. In the
evening, after the poor dinner of his landlord, he went back to his
room and set to work again in his wet clothes, which smoked as he sat in
front of the hot stove.
On the fine summer evenings, at the time when the close streets are
empty, when the servants are playing shuttle-cock at the doors, he
opened his window and leaned out. The river, that makes of this quarter
of Rouen a wretched little Venice, flowed beneath him, between the
bridges and the railings, yellow, violet, or blue. Working men, kneeling
on the banks, washed their bare arms in the water. On poles projecting
from the attics, skeins of cotton were drying in the air. Opposite,
beyond the roots spread the pure heaven with the red sun setting. How
pleasant it must be at home! How fresh under the beech-tree! And he
expanded his nostrils to breathe in the sweet odours of the country
which did not reach him.
He grew thin, his figure became taller, his face took a saddened look
that made it nearly interesting. Naturally, through indifference, he
abandoned all the resolutions he had made. Once he missed a lecture; the
next day all the lectures; and, enjoying his idleness, little by little,
he gave up work altogether. He got into the habit of going to the
public-house, and had a passion for dominoes. To shut himself up every
evening in the dirty public room, to push about on marble tables the
small sheep bones with black dots, seemed to him a fine proof of his
freedom, which raised him in his own esteem. It was beginning to see
life, the sweetness of stolen pleasures; and when he entered, he put
his hand on the door-handle with a joy almost sensual. Then many things
hidden within him came out; he learnt couplets by heart and sang them to
his boon companions, became enthusiastic about Beranger, learnt how to
make punch, and, finally, how to make love.
Thanks to these preparatory labours, he failed completely in his
examination for an ordinary degree. He was expected home the same night
to celebrate his success. He started on foot, stopped at the beginning
of the village, sent for his mother, and told her all. She excused
him, threw the blame of his failure on the injustice of the examiners,
encouraged him a little, and took upon herself to set matters straight.
It was only five years later that Monsieur Bovary knew the truth; it was
old then, and he accepted it. Moreover, he could not believe that a man
born of him could be a fool.
So Charles set to work again and crammed for his examination,
ceaselessly learning all the old questions by heart. He passed pretty
|
sent
|
How many times does the word 'sent' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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>
|
ripping
|
How many times does the word 'ripping' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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/
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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:
|
notes
|
How many times does the word 'notes' appear in the text?
| 1
|
of America, New York
Centre, on January 22 and 23, 1917,--the conversation between _Jonathan_
and _Jenny_. In Philadelphia, under the auspices of the Drama League
Centre, and in coöperation with the University of Pennsylvania, the
play, in its entirety, was presented on January 18, 1917, by the "Plays
and Players" organization. A revival was also given in Boston, produced
in the old manner, "and the first rows of seats were reserved for those
of the audience who appeared in the costume of the time."
The play in its first edition is rare, but, in 1887, it was reprinted by
the Dunlap Society. The general reader is given an opportunity of
judging how far _Jonathan_ is the typical Yankee, and how far Royall
Tyler cut the pattern which later was followed by other playwrights in a
long series of American dramas, in which the Yankee was the chief
attraction.[3]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The/Contrast,/a/Comedy;/In Five Acts:/Written By a/Citizen of the
United States;/Performed with Applause at the Theatres in
New-York,/Philadelphia, and Maryland;/and published (under an Assignment
of the Copy-Right) by/Thomas Wignell./_Primus ego in patriam/
Aonio--deduxi vertice Musas_./Virgil./(Imitated.)/ First on our shores I
try Thalia's powers,/And bid the _laughing, useful_ Maid be
ours./Philadelphia:/From the Press of Prichard & Hall, in Market
Street:/Between Second and Front Streets./M. DCC. XC. [See
Frontispiece.]
[2] For example, "The Duelists," a Farce in three acts; "The Georgia
Spec; or, Land in the Moon" (1797); "The Doctor in Spite of Himself," an
imitation of Molière; and "Baritaria; or, The Governor of a Day," being
adventures of Sancho Panza. He also wrote a libretto, "May-day in Town;
or, New York in an Uproar." (See Sonneck: "Early Opera in America.")
[3] The song which occurs in the play under the title, "Alknomook," had
great popularity in the eighteenth century. Its authorship was
attributed to Philip Freneau, in whose collected poems it does not
appear. It is also credited to a Mrs. Hunter, and is contained in her
volume of verse, published in 1806. It appears likewise in a Dublin play
of 1740, "New Spain; or, Love in Mexico." See also, the _American
Museum_, vol. I, page 77. The singing of "Yankee Doodle" is likewise to
be noted (See Sonneck's interesting essay on the origin of "Yankee
Doodle," General Bibliography), not the first time it appears in early
American Drama, as readers of Barton's "Disappointment" (1767) will
recognize.
[Illustration: AS A JUST ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE LIBERAL EXERTIONS BY
WHICH THE _STAGE_ HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM AN IGNOMINIOUS PROSCRIPTION,
THE CONTRAST,
(BEING THE FIRST ESSAY OF _AMERICAN_ GENIUS IN THE DRAMATIC ART)
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO
THE PRESIDENT AND MEMBERS OF THE
Dramatic Association,
BY
THEIR MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT,
_THOMAS WIGNELL._
PHILADELPHIA, }
1 January, 1790. }
DEDICATION PAGE IN THE FIRST EDITION OF "THE CONTRAST"]
ADVERTISEMENT
The Subscribers (to whom the Editor thankfully professes his
obligations) may reasonably expect an apology for the delay which has
attended the appearance of "The Contrast;" but, as the true cause cannot
be declared without leading to a discussion, which the Editor wishes to
avoid, he hopes that the care and expence which have been bestowed upon
this work will be accepted, without further
|
given
|
How many times does the word 'given' appear in the text?
| 1
|
1
</b>
<b>
</b> KYM, a darkly beautiful girl in her early 20's, is smoking
furiously on the porch of an URBAN HALFWAY HOUSE. She glances
impatiently at her watch and presses her ear to her cell
phone. As she exhales, WE HEAR the rumble of thunder.
<b>
</b> Irritated, she crams her cell phone into her bag.
ROSA a halfway house staff nurse is patiently handling
WALTER, an irate patient who is screeching...
<b> WALTER
</b> I want my fucking Zippo now!
Walter starts yanking at his hair.
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> Walter, that is a behavior...
<b> WALTER
</b> (raking his nails against
his forearm)
Fuck you!
<b> ROSA
</b> And you are making a choice.
Her cell phone rings...
<b>
</b>
<b> ROSA
</b> (to Walter)
Hold on...Hello?
<b> WALTER
</b> God!
<b> KYM
</b> Don't you get it yet, Waldo? She's
making a choice not to give you
|
rosa
|
How many times does the word 'rosa' appear in the text?
| 3
|
giant living room watching bad
television on a 70-inch flat screen TV. He looks bored and
empty. After a few beats he pauses the TV, and picks up the
phone.
<b> GEORGE
</b> (on the phone)
Hey, it's George Simmons, I'm
coming in.
<b> INT. NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
</b>
Shots of George doing stand up on stage at a comedy club.
The place adores him. We see quick images of him after the
show interacting with people. He is clearly a very famous
comedian.
<b> INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
</b>
George has sex with a girl in her early twenties.
<b> INT. BEL AIR HOME - NIGHT
</b>
George sits back down, the thrill of his performance is gone,
he is bored and alone again. He hits play on his TV and
begins watching his show from the same spot it was at before.
<b> MUSIC UP:"WITH A LITTLE LUCK" - PAUL MCCARTNEY
</b>
<b> BEGIN CREDIT SEQUENCE
</b>
<b> INT. BEL AIR HOME - BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
GEORGE wakes up in a large, clean, modern house. He is all
alone. We get the feeling that he hired someone to decorate
his house. It is very nice, but doesn't seem personal to him
at all. It feels new, with all the gadgets, but a little
cold. On the kitchen table is a stack of scripts he is
supposed to read.
<b> EXT. GEORGE'S HOME - MORNING
</b>
George hits balls in his home batting cage. Then we see him
driving golf balls inside there. In the background we see
his modern, space ship looking house. It is enormous.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. BATHROOM - LATER
</b>
George walks into a fancy, steam-filled shower.
<b> EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
</b>
George drives his large black Mercedes.
<b> EXT. MEDICAL TOWER - DAY
</b>
George gets out of his car and walks towards the tower. Two
COLLEGE STUDENTS walk over.
<b> COLLEGE STUDENT
</b>
|
very
|
How many times does the word 'very' appear in the text?
| 1
|
firstborn by a nearly equal
interval.
Some circumstance had apparently caused much grief to Charley just
previous to the entry of the choir, and he had absently taken down a
small looking-glass, holding it before his face to learn how the human
countenance appeared when engaged in crying, which survey led him to
pause at the various points in each wail that were more than ordinarily
striking, for a thorough appreciation of the general effect. Bessy was
leaning against a chair, and glancing under the plaits about the waist of
the plaid frock she wore, to notice the original unfaded pattern of the
material as there preserved, her face bearing an expression of regret
that the brightness had passed away from the visible portions. Mrs. Dewy
sat in a brown settle by the side of the glowing wood fire--so glowing
that with a heedful compression of the lips she would now and then rise
and put her hand upon the hams and flitches of bacon lining the chimney,
to reassure herself that they were not being broiled instead of smoked--a
misfortune that had been known to happen now and then at Christmas-time.
"Hullo, my sonnies, here you be, then!" said Reuben Dewy at length,
standing up and blowing forth a vehement gust of breath. "How the blood
do puff up in anybody's head, to be sure, a-stooping like that! I was
just going out to gate to hark for ye." He then carefully began to wind
a strip of brown paper round a brass tap he held in his hand. "This in
the cask here is a drop o' the right sort" (tapping the cask); "'tis a
real drop o' cordial from the best picked apples--Sansoms, Stubbards,
Five-corners, and such-like--you d'mind the sort, Michael?" (Michael
nodded.) "And there's a sprinkling of they that grow down by the orchard-
rails--streaked ones--rail apples we d'call 'em, as 'tis by the rails
they grow, and not knowing the right name. The water-cider from 'em is
as good as most people's best cider is."
"Ay, and of the same make too," said Bowman. "'It rained when we wrung
it out, and the water got into it,' folk will say. But 'tis on'y an
excuse. Watered cider is too common among us."
"Yes, yes; too common it is!" said Spinks with an inward sigh, whilst his
eyes seemed to be looking at the case in an abstract form rather than at
the scene before him. "Such poor liquor do make a man's throat feel very
melancholy--and is a disgrace to the name of stimmilent."
"Come in, come in, and draw up to the fire; never mind your shoes," said
Mrs. Dewy, seeing that all except Dick had paused to wipe them upon the
door-mat. "I am glad that you've stepped up-along at last; and, Susan,
you run down to Grammer Kaytes's and see if you can borrow some larger
candles than these fourteens. Tommy Leaf, don't ye be afeard! Come and
sit here in the settle."
This was addressed to the young man before mentioned, consisting chiefly
of a human skeleton and a smock-frock, who was very awkward in his
movements, apparently on account of having grown so very fast that before
he had had time to get used to his height he was higher.
"Hee--hee--ay!" replied Leaf, letting his mouth continue to smile for
some time after his mind had done smiling, so that his teeth remained in
view as the most conspicuous members of his body.
"Here, Mr. Penny," resumed Mrs. Dewy, "you sit in this chair. And how's
your daughter, Mrs. Brownjohn?"
"Well, I suppose I must say pretty fair." He adjusted his spectacles a
quarter of an inch to the right. "But she'll be worse before she's
better, 'a b'lieve."
"Indeed--poor soul! And how many will that make in all, four or five?"
"Five; they've buried three
|
before
|
How many times does the word 'before' appear in the text?
| 4
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. ALEX'S BEDROOM - NIGHT - CLOSE - BED
</b>
An airline ticket is tossed INTO FRAME beside a suitcase; "EURO-AIR. FLIGHT #180. New York City (JFK) - Paris, Charles de Gaulle (CDG.) Departure: Thursday 13May. 16H25 - Arrival: Friday 14May. 05H40."
"And When I Die" Continues throughout the MAIN TITLES:
<b>AN OLD TABLE FAN
</b>
swivels beside and open window. Outside, a humid spring THUNDER STORM drops warm, ominous rain. The figure of a seventeen year old boy, ALEX BROWNING, packing for a trip, passing the fan...
<b>THE BED
</b>
A Paris guidebook is tossed atop the plane ticket. CAMERA PUSHES IN ON THE BOOK as the fan's breezes flip through the pages.
<b>THE TABLE FAN
</b>
turns, head swiveling away from the bed.
<b>TIGHTER - THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
stop flipping, REVEALING A GULLOTINE from the Reign of Terror.
As an American passport is dropped beside the guidebook...
<b>THE TABLE FAN
</b>
swivels, returning towards the guidebook on the bed.
<b>THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
FLIP. FLIP. FLIP. Alex's faint shadow continues moving about the room. The fan head swivels away, allowing the pages to settle... upon a Louvre masterpiece, Francisco de Zurbarans Lying-in-the State of St. Bonaventura.
CAMERA CREEPS IN, teasingly on the dark faced corpse. The pages begin to turn once again.
<b>TIGHTER, OMINOUS ANGLE - THE DESK FAN
</b>
There is more of a hint of conincidence as the blades whirl and head swivels. The boy's figure passes, blocking the breeze.
<b>THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
stop dead on... Jim Morrison's decorated tomb in the Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise. A pilgrim has spray painted "This is the End." Which in fact, it is... of the MAIN TITLE.
<b> BARBARA
</b> Alex...
CAMERA ADJUSTS, to fully reveal Alex Browning as he turns toward the bedroom door. Alex is an average kid; handsome. A high school "everyman."
One the wall amongst Yankee and Knicks posters, hangs a pennant;
"Mt. Abraham High School, New York. The Fighting Colonials!"
Alex's mother, BARBARA, 45, walks in, excited and a bit anxious.
BARABRA (Cont'd)
Tod and George's dad just called,
he's picking you up at 10 in the
morning. Bus leaves the high school
for JFK at noon.
Barbara moves towards the suitcase to help him pack. Alex's father, KEN BROWNING, 48 appears, leaning against the door threshold, smiling enviously at his son.
<b> KEN
</b> My suitcase workin' out for ya?
Alex nods and buckles it. Barbara reaches in to tear off an airline baggage I.D. ticket attached from the previous flight.
<b> ALEX
</b>
|
barbara
|
How many times does the word 'barbara' appear in the text?
| 3
|
"Yes, he's the youngest of our children, sir. He and
Jennie--that's home, and 'most as tall as meself--are all that's left.
The other two went to heaven when they was little ones."
"Can't the little fellow's leg be straightened?" asked Babcock, in a
tone which plainly showed his sympathy for the boy's suffering.
"No, not now; so Dr. Mason says. There was a time when it might have
been, but I couldn't take him. I had him over to Quarantine again two
years ago, but it was too late; it'd growed fast, they said. When he
was four years old he would be under the horses' heels all the time, and
a-climbin' over them in the stable, and one day the Big Gray fetched
him a crack, and broke his hip. He didn't mean it, for he's as dacint
a horse as I've got; but the boys had been a-worritin' him, and he let
drive, thinkin', most likely, it was them. He's been a-hoistin' all the
mornin'." Then, catching sight of Cully leading the horse back to work,
she rose to her feet, all the fire and energy renewed in her face.
"Shake the men up, Cully! I can't give 'em but half an hour to-day.
We're behind time now. And tell the cap'n to pull them macaronis out
of the hold, and start two of 'em to trimmin' some of that stone to
starboard. She was a-listin' when we knocked off for dinner. Come,
lively!"
II. A BOARD FENCE LOSES A PLANK
The work on the sea-wall progressed. The coffer-dam which had been built
by driving into the mud of the bottom a double row of heavy tongued and
grooved planking in two parallel rows, and bulkheading each end with
heavy boards, had been filled with concrete to low-water mark, consuming
not only the contents of the delayed scow, but two subsequent cargoes,
both of which had been unloaded by Tom Grogan.
To keep out the leakage, steam-pumps were kept going night and day.
By dint of hard work the upper masonry of the wall had been laid to the
top course, ready for the coping, and there was now every prospect that
the last stone would be lowered into place before the winter storms set
in.
The shanty--a temporary structure, good only for the life of the
work--rested on a set of stringers laid on extra piles driven outside of
the working-platform. When the submarine work lies miles from shore, a
shanty is the only shelter for the men, its interior being arranged
with sleeping-bunks, with one end partitioned off for a kitchen and
a storage-room. This last is filled with perishable property, extra
blocks, Manila rope, portable forges, tools, shovels, and barrows.
For this present sea-wall--an amphibious sort of structure, with one
foot on land and the other in the water--the shanty was of light pine
boards, roofed over, and made water-tight by tarred paper. The bunks had
been omitted, for most of the men boarded in the village. In this way
increased space for the storage of tools was gained, besides room for
a desk containing the government working drawings and specifications,
pay-rolls, etc. In addition to its door, fastened at night with a
padlock, and its one glass window, secured by a ten-penny nail, the
shanty had a flap-window, hinged at the bottom. When this was propped
up with a barrel stave it made a counter from which to pay the men, the
paymaster standing inside.
Babcock was sitting on a keg of dock spikes inside this working
shanty some days after he had discovered Tom's identity, watching his
bookkeeper preparing the pay-roll, when a face was thrust through the
square of the window. It was not a prepossessing face, rather pudgy and
sleek, with uncertain, drooping mouth, and eyes that always looked over
one's head when he talked. It was the property of Mr. Peter Lathers, the
|
stable
|
How many times does the word 'stable' appear in the text?
| 0
|
he got a job of surveying to do, and now and
then a merchant got him to straighten out his books. With Scotch patience
and pluck he resolved to live down his reputation and work his way into
the legal field yet. Poor fellow, he could foresee that it was going to
take him such a weary long time to do it.
He had a rich abundance of idle time, but it never hung heavy on his
hands, for he interested himself in every new thing that was born into
the universe of ideas, and studied it, and experimented upon it at his
house. One of his pet fads was palmistry. To another one he gave no
name, neither would he explain to anybody what its purpose was, but
merely said it was an amusement. In fact, he had found that his fads
added to his reputation as a pudd'nhead; there, he was growing chary of
being too communicative about them. The fad without a name was one which
dealt with people's finger marks. He carried in his coat pocket a
shallow box with grooves in it, and in the grooves strips of glass five
inches long and three inches wide. Along the lower edge of each strip
was pasted a slip of white paper. He asked people to pass their hands
through their hair (thus collecting upon them a thin coating of the
natural oil) and then making a thumb-mark on a glass strip, following it
with the mark of the ball of each finger in succession. Under this row
of faint grease prints he would write a record on the strip of white
paper--thus:
JOHN SMITH, right hand--
and add the day of the month and the year, then take Smith's left hand on
another glass strip, and add name and date and the words "left hand." The
strips were now returned to the grooved box, and took their place among
what Wilson called his "records."
He often studied his records, examining and poring over them with
absorbing interest until far into the night; but what he found there--if
he found anything--he revealed to no one. Sometimes he copied on paper
the involved and delicate pattern left by the ball of the finger, and
then vastly enlarged it with a pantograph so that he could examine its
web of curving lines with ease and convenience.
One sweltering afternoon--it was the first day of July, 1830--he was at
work over a set of tangled account books in his workroom, which looked
westward over a stretch of vacant lots, when a conversation outside
disturbed him. It was carried on in yells, which showed that the people
engaged in it were not close together.
"Say, Roxy, how does yo' baby come on?" This from the distant voice.
"Fust-rate. How does _you_ come on, Jasper?" This yell was from close
by.
"Oh, I's middlin'; hain't got noth'n' to complain of, I's gwine to come
a-court'n you bimeby, Roxy."
"_You_ is, you black mud cat! Yah--yah--yah! I got somep'n' better to
do den 'sociat'n' wid niggers as black as you is. Is ole Miss Cooper's
Nancy done give you de mitten?" Roxy followed this sally with another
discharge of carefree laughter.
"You's jealous, Roxy, dat's what's de matter wid you, you
hussy--yah--yah--yah! Dat's de time I got you!"
"Oh, yes, _you_ got me, hain't you. 'Clah to goodness if dat conceit o'
yo'n strikes in, Jasper, it gwine to kill you sho'. If you b'longed to
me, I'd sell you down de river 'fo' you git too fur gone. Fust time I
runs acrost yo' marster, I's gwine to tell him so."
This idle and aimless jabber went on and on, both parties enjoying the
friendly duel and each well satisfied with his own share of the wit
exchanged--for wit they considered it.
Wilson stepped to the window to observe the combatants; he could not work
while their chatter continued. Over in the vacant lots was Jasper,
young, coal black, and of magnificent build, sitting on a wheelbar
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 2
|
FROM BLACK, VOICES EMERGE--
</b> We hear the actual recorded emergency calls made by World
Trade Center office workers to police and fire departments
after the planes struck on 9/11, just before the buildings
collapsed.
<b> TITLE OVER: SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
</b> We listen to fragments from a number of these calls...starting
with pleas for help, building to a panic, ending with the
caller's grim acceptance that help will not arrive, that the
situation is hopeless, that they are about to die.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> TITLE OVER: TWO YEARS LATER
</b>
<b> INT. BLACK SITE - INTERROGATION ROOM
</b>
<b> DANIEL
</b> I own you, Ammar. You belong to me.
Look at me.
This is DANIEL STANTON, the CIA's man in Islamabad - a big
American, late 30's, with a long, anarchical beard snaking
down to his tattooed neck. He looks like a paramilitary
hipster, a punk rocker with a Glock.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> (explaining the rules)
If you don't look at me when I talk
to you, I hurt you. If you step off
this mat, I hurt you. If you lie to
me, I'm gonna hurt you. Now, Look
at me.
His prisoner, AMMAR, stands on a decaying gym mat, surrounded
by four GUARDS whose faces are covered in ski masks.
Ammar looks down. Instantly: the guards rush Ammar, punching
and kicking.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> Look at me, Ammar.
Notably, one of the GUARDS wearing a ski mask does not take
part in the beating.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> EXT. BLACK SITE - LATER
</b>
Daniel and the masked figures emerge from the interrogation
room into the light of day. They remove their
|
guards
|
How many times does the word 'guards' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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