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s cards printed at once, please,â
which is manifestly part of an Editorâs duty; and every dissolute
ruffian that ever tramped the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business to
ask for employment as a proof-reader. And, all the time, the
telephone-bell is ringing madly, and Kings are being killed on the
Continent, and Empires are saying, âYouâre another,â and Mister
Gladstone is calling down brimstone upon the British Dominions, and the
little black copy-boys are whining, âkaa-pi chayha-yehâ (copy
wanted) like tired bees, and most of the paper is as blank as
Modredâs shield.
But that is the amusing part of the year. There are other six months
wherein none ever come to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch
up to the top of the glass, and the office is darkened to just above
reading light, and the press machines are red-hot of touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or
obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because
it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew
intimately, and the prickly-heat covers you as with a garment, and you
sit down and write:ââA slight increase of sickness is reported from
the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in its
nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District
authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret
we record the death, etc.â
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and
reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires
and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and
the foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in
twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the
middle of their amusements say:ââGood gracious! Why canât the
paper be sparkling? Iâm sure thereâs plenty going on up here.â
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say,
âmust be experienced to be appreciated.â
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper
began running the last issue of the week on Saturday night, which is to
say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a
great convenience, for immediately after the paper was put to bed, the
dawn would lower the thermometer from 96° to almost 84° for almost
half an hour, and in that chillâyou have no idea how cold is 84° on
the grass until you begin to pray for itâa very tired man could set
off to sleep ere the heat roused him.
One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed
alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a community was going to
die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on
the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open till the
latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. It was a pitchy
black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the
red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry trees
and pretending that the rain was on its heels. Now and again a spot of
almost boiling water would fall on the dust with the flop of a frog,
but all our weary world knew that was only pretence. It was a shade
cooler in the press-room than the office, so I sat there, while the
type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows, and
the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their foreheads and
called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was,
would not come off
|
would
|
How many times does the word 'would' appear in the text?
| 2
|
MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Why do you fight it so hard, Earl?
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> Courage to change the things I
can...
<b> MARSHALL (V.O.)
</b> Come on, you've been a good boy for
a long time, you deserve a little
fun.
Our view moves back up to the Woman's breasts.
<b> DISSOLVE THROUGH
</b><b> THIS TO:
</b>
EARL BROOKS' reflection in a mirror. Earl, in his 40's, has
on a tuxedo. He's in front of a sink in a Public Bathroom and
he's whispering to his image.
<b> MR. BROOKS
</b> ... and Wisdom to know the
difference.
Picking up speed against the hunger in his head:
<b> MR. BROOKS (CONT'D)
</b> Living one day at a time, Enjoying
one moment at a time, Accepting
hardship as a pathway to peace...
From far away comes the sound of applause.
<b>INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT
</b>
MEN in tuxedos and WOMEN in gowns.
Mr. Brooks is seated at one of the front tables with his
wife, EMMA, also 40's.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
The audience's hands are coming together for what a MAN at
the microphone has just said.
Mr. Brooks is smiling but not clapping; and although his lips
don't move we can hear:
<b> MR. BROOKS (V.O.)
</b> (even faster now)
... Taking, as He did, this sinful
world as it is, not as I would have
it. Trusting that He will make all
things right if I surrender to His
will. That I may be reasonably
|
front
|
How many times does the word 'front' appear in the text?
| 1
|
in the farmhouse still, but they were all upstairs.
"We can at least get a drink now," he said. And the children crept
quietly to the noisy little brook not far from the haystack.
"Cup," said Benny.
"No, you'll have to lie down and drink with your mouth," Jess explained.
And so they did. Never did water taste so cool and delicious as it did
that night to the thirsty children.
When they had finished drinking they jumped the brook, ran quickly over
the fields to the wall, and once more found themselves on the road.
"If we meet any one," said Jess, "we must all crouch behind bushes until
he has gone by."
They walked along in the darkness with light hearts. They were no longer
tired or hungry. Their one thought was to get away from their
grandfather, if possible.
"If we can find a big town," said Violet, "won't it be better to stay in
than a little town?"
"Why?" asked Henry, puffing up the hill.
"Well, you see, there are so many people in a big town, nobody will
notice us--"
"And in a little village everyone would be talking about us," finished
Henry admiringly. "You've got brains, Violet!"
He had hardly said this, when a wagon was heard behind them in the
distance. It was coming from Middlesex. Without a word, the four
children sank down behind the bushes like frightened rabbits. They could
plainly hear their hearts beat. The horse trotted nearer, and then
began to walk up the hill.
"If we hear nothing in Townsend," they heard a man say, "we have plainly
done our duty."
It was the baker's voice!
"More than our duty," said the baker's wife, "tiring out a horse with
going a full day, from morning until night!"
There was silence as the horse pulled the creaky wagon.
"At least we will go on to Townsend tonight," continued the baker, "and
tell them to watch out. We need not go to Intervale, for they never
could walk so far."
"We are well rid of them, I should say," replied his wife. "They may not
have come this way. The milkman did not see them, did he?"
The baker's reply was lost, for the horse had reached the hilltop, where
he broke into a canter.
It was some minutes before the children dared to creep out of the bushes
again.
"One thing is sure," said Henry, when he got his breath. "We will not go
to Townsend."
"And we _will_ go to Intervale," said Jess.
With a definite goal in mind at last, the children set out again with a
better spirit. They walked until two o'clock in the morning, stopping
often this time to rest and to drink from the horses' watering troughs.
And then they came upon a fork in the road with a white signpost shining
in the moonlight.
"Townsend, four miles; Intervale, six miles," read Henry aloud. "Any one
feel able to walk six more miles?"
He grinned. No one had the least idea how far they had already walked.
"We'll go that _way_ at least," said Jess finally.
"That we will," agreed Henry, picking up his brother for a change, and
carrying him "pig-back."
Violet went ahead. The new road was a pleasant woody one, with grass
growing in the middle. The children could not see the grass, but they
could feel it as they walked. "Not many people pass this way, I guess,"
remarked Violet. Just then she caught her toe in something and almost
fell, but Jess caught her.
The two girls stooped down to examine the obstruction.
"Hay!" said Jess.
"Hay!" repeated Violet.
"Hey!" cried Henry, coming up. "What did you say?"
"It must have fallen off somebody's load," said Jess.
"We'll take it with us," Henry decided wisely. "Load on all you can
carry, Jess."
"For Benny," thought Violet to herself. So the odd little party trudged
on for nearly three hours, laden with
|
nobody
|
How many times does the word 'nobody' appear in the text?
| 0
|
he might have used them
well--he was always doubtful whether it was eight sevens or nine
eights that was sixty-three--(he knew no method for settling the
difficulty) and he thought the merit of a drawing consisted in the
care with which it was "lined in." "Lining in" bored him beyond
measure.
But the _indigestions_ of mind and body that were to play so large a
part in his subsequent career were still only beginning. His liver and
his gastric juice, his wonder and imagination kept up a fight against
the things that threatened to overwhelm soul and body together.
Outside the regions devastated by the school curriculum he was still
intensely curious. He had cheerful phases of enterprise, and about
thirteen he suddenly discovered reading and its joys. He began to read
stories voraciously, and books of travel, provided they were also
adventurous. He got these chiefly from the local institute, and he
also "took in," irregularly but thoroughly, one of those inspiring
weeklies that dull people used to call "penny dreadfuls," admirable
weeklies crammed with imagination that the cheap boys' "comics" of
to-day have replaced. At fourteen, when he emerged from the valley of
the shadow of education, there survived something, indeed it survived
still, obscured and thwarted, at five and thirty, that pointed--not
with a visible and prevailing finger like the finger of that beautiful
woman in the picture, but pointed nevertheless--to the idea that there
was interest and happiness in the world. Deep in the being of Mr.
Polly, deep in that darkness, like a creature which has been beaten
about the head and left for dead but still lives, crawled a persuasion
that over and above the things that are jolly and "bits of all right,"
there was beauty, there was delight, that somewhere--magically
inaccessible perhaps, but still somewhere, were pure and easy and
joyous states of body and mind.
He would sneak out on moonless winter nights and stare up at the
stars, and afterwards find it difficult to tell his father where he
had been.
He would read tales about hunters and explorers, and imagine himself
riding mustangs as fleet as the wind across the prairies of Western
America, or coming as a conquering and adored white man into the
swarming villages of Central Africa. He shot bears with a revolver--a
cigarette in the other hand--and made a necklace of their teeth and
claws for the chief's beautiful young daughter. Also he killed a lion
with a pointed stake, stabbing through the beast's heart as it stood
over him.
He thought it would be splendid to be a diver and go down into the
dark green mysteries of the sea.
He led stormers against well-nigh impregnable forts, and died on the
ramparts at the moment of victory. (His grave was watered by a
nation's tears.)
He rammed and torpedoed ships, one against ten.
He was beloved by queens in barbaric lands, and reconciled whole
nations to the Christian faith.
He was martyred, and took it very calmly and beautifully--but only
once or twice after the Revivalist week. It did not become a habit
with him.
He explored the Amazon, and found, newly exposed by the fall of a
great tree, a rock of gold.
Engaged in these pursuits he would neglect the work immediately in
hand, sitting somewhat slackly on the form and projecting himself in a
manner tempting to a schoolmaster with a cane.... And twice he had
books confiscated.
Recalled to the realities of life, he would rub himself or sigh deeply
as the occasion required, and resume his attempts to write as good as
copperplate. He hated writing; the ink always crept up his fingers and
the smell of ink offended him. And he was filled with unexpressed
doubts. _Why_ should writing slope down from right to left? _Why_
should downstrokes be thick and upstrokes thin? _Why_ should the
handle of one's pen point over one's right shoulder?
His copy books towards the end foreshadowed his destiny and took the
form of commercial documents. "_Dear Sir_," they ran, "_Referring to
your esteemed order of the 26th ult., we beg to inform you_," and so
on.
The compression of Mr. Polly's mind and soul
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.
HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that
is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I
promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so
everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have
him.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than
an even wager he may not have you.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?--Well, if
he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and
look out for some less difficult admirer.
HARDCASTLE. Bravely resolved! In the mean time I'll go prepare the
servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much
training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. (Alone). Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a
flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical
about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face
to-day?
MISS NEVILLE. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again--bless
me!--sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold
fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last
novel been too moving?
MISS HARDCASTLE. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened--I
can scarce get it out--I have been threatened with a lover.
MISS NEVILLE. And his name--
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. Indeed!
MISS HARDCASTLE. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my
admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Never.
MISS NEVILLE. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among
women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of
another stamp: you understand me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. An odd character indeed. I shall never be able to
manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust
to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear?
has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony as usual?
MISS NEVILLE. I have just come from one of our agreeable
tete-a-tetes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting
off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.
MISS HARDCASTLE.
|
come
|
How many times does the word 'come' appear in the text?
| 1
|
room
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. A SAVANNAH STREET - DAY (1981)
</b>
A feather floats through the air. The falling feather.
A city, Savannah, is revealed in the background. The feather
floats down toward the city below. The feather drops down
toward the street below, as people walk past and cars drive
by, and nearly lands on a man's shoulder.
He walks across the street, causing the feather to be whisked
back on its journey. The feather floats above a stopped car.
The car drives off right as the feather floats down toward
the street.
The feather floats under a passing car, then is sent flying
back up in the air. A MAN sits on a bus bench. The feather
floats above the ground and finally lands on the man's
mudsoaked shoe.
The man reached down and picks up the feather. His name is
FORREST GUMP. He looks at the feather oddly, moves aside a
box of chocolates from an old suitcase, then opens the case.
Inside the old suitcase are an assortment of clothes, a
pingpong paddle, toothpaste and other personal items.
Forrest pulls out a book titled "Curious George," then places
the feather inside the book. Forrest closes the suitcase.
Something in his eyes reveals that Forrest may not be all
there.
Forrest looks right as the sound of an arriving bus is heard.
A bus pulls up. Forrest remains on the bus bench as the bus
continues on.
A BLACK WOMAN in a nurse's outfit steps up and sits down at
the bus bench next to Forrest. The nurse begins to read a
magazine as Forrest looks at her.
<b> FORREST
</b> Hello. My name's Forrest Gump.
He opens a box of chocolates and holds it out for the nurse.
<b> FORREST
</b>
|
feather
|
How many times does the word 'feather' appear in the text?
| 11
|
parents dreaded so much as
her being nervous. Mrs. Spragg's maternal apprehensions unconsciously
escaped in her next words.
"I do hope she'll quiet down now," she murmured, feeling quieter herself
as her hand sank into Mrs. Heeny's roomy palm.
"Who's that? Undine?"
"Yes. She seemed so set on that Mr. Popple's coming round. From the way
he acted last night she thought he'd be sure to come round this morning.
She's so lonesome, poor child--I can't say as I blame her."
"Oh, he'll come round. Things don't happen as quick as that in New
York," said Mrs. Heeny, driving her nail-polisher cheeringly.
Mrs. Spragg sighed again. "They don't appear to. They say New Yorkers
are always in a hurry; but I can't say as they've hurried much to make
our acquaintance."
Mrs. Heeny drew back to study the effect of her work. "You wait, Mrs.
Spragg, you wait. If you go too fast you sometimes have to rip out the
whole seam."
"Oh, that's so--that's SO!" Mrs. Spragg exclaimed, with a tragic
emphasis that made the masseuse glance up at her.
"Of course it's so. And it's more so in New York than anywhere. The
wrong set's like fly-paper: once you're in it you can pull and pull, but
you'll never get out of it again."
Undine's mother heaved another and more helpless sigh. "I wish YOU'D
tell Undine that, Mrs. Heeny."
"Oh, I guess Undine's all right. A girl like her can afford to wait.
And if young Marvell's really taken with her she'll have the run of the
place in no time."
This solacing thought enabled Mrs. Spragg to yield herself unreservedly
to Mrs. Heeny's ministrations, which were prolonged for a happy
confidential hour; and she had just bidden the masseuse good-bye, and
was restoring the rings to her fingers, when the door opened to admit
her husband.
Mr. Spragg came in silently, setting his high hat down on the
centre-table, and laying his overcoat across one of the gilt chairs. He
was tallish, grey-bearded and somewhat stooping, with the slack figure
of the sedentary man who would be stout if he were not dyspeptic; and
his cautious grey eyes with pouch-like underlids had straight black
brows like his daughter's. His thin hair was worn a little too long over
his coat collar, and a Masonic emblem dangled from the heavy gold chain
which crossed his crumpled black waistcoat.
He stood still in the middle of the room, casting a slow pioneering
glance about its gilded void; then he said gently: "Well, mother?"
Mrs. Spragg remained seated, but her eyes dwelt on him affectionately.
"Undine's been asked out to a dinner-party; and Mrs. Heeny says it's to
one of the first families. It's the sister of one of the gentlemen that
Mabel Lipscomb introduced her to last night."
There was a mild triumph in her tone, for it was owing to her insistence
and Undine's that Mr. Spragg had been induced to give up the house
they had bought in West End Avenue, and move with his family to the
Stentorian. Undine had early decided that they could not hope to get
on while they "kept house"--all the fashionable people she knew either
boarded or lived in hotels. Mrs. Spragg was easily induced to take
the same view, but Mr. Spragg had resisted, being at the moment unable
either to sell his house or to let it as advantageously as he had hoped.
After the move was made it seemed for a time as though he had been
right, and the first social steps would be as difficult to make in a
hotel as in one's own house; and Mrs. Spragg was therefore eager to have
him know that Undine really owed her first invitation to a meeting under
the roof of the Stentorian.
"You see we were right to come here, Abner," she added, and he absently
rejoined: "I guess you two always manage
|
right
|
How many times does the word 'right' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Darkness. Then the GLINT of a flashlight. Its beam rocks
crazily to and fro across the inside of a small storage room
as we hear two children arguing.
<b> OLDER KID
</b> You're doing it wrong.
<b> YOUNGER KID
</b> Shut up.
<b> OLDER KID
</b> You're doing it wrong.
It's hard, but we get a sense of the room in the whipping
beam of light. Huge, dark coats lined up like sides of beef
on steel batons. Bent, stained helmets hung like African
masks.
Beneath them BRIAN, 7, and STEPHEN, 12, are trying to struggle
into a pair of the ludicrously massive coats over their
pajamas.
<b> STEPHEN
</b> It doesn't go like that.
<b> BRIAN
</b> Who asked you?
<b> STEPHEN
</b> If you do it like that it'll open in
the fire. Then you'll get burned and
<b> DIE.
</b>
The door suddenly opens, morning sunlight roaring in. It's a
fire station storage room full of fire gear. A fireman stands
in the doorway, tall, athletic, their father; DENNIS
McCAFFREY.
<b> DENNIS
</b>
|
room
|
How many times does the word 'room' appear in the text?
| 2
|
en
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> ON BARTON FINK
</b>
He is a bespectacled man in his thirties, hale but somewhat
bookish. He stands, tuxedoed, in the wings of a theater,
looking out at the stage, listening intently to end of a
performance.
In the shadows behind him an old stagehand leans against a
flat, expressionlessly smoking a cigarette, one hand on a
thick rope that hangs from the ceiling.
The voices of the performing actors echo in from the offscreen
stage:
<b> ACTOR
</b> I'm blowin' out of here, blowin' for
good. I'm kissin' it all goodbye,
these four stinkin' walls, the six
flights up, the el that roars by at
three A.M. like a castiron wind.
Kiss 'em goodbye for me, Maury!
I'll miss 'em like hell I will!
<b> ACTRESS
</b> Dreaming again!
<b> ACTOR
</b> Not this time, Lil! I'm awake now,
awake for the first time in years.
Uncle Dave said it: Daylight is a
dream if you've lived with your eyes
closed. Well my eyes are open now! I
see that choir, and I know they're
dressed in rags! But we're part of
that choir, both of us yeah, and
you, Maury, and Uncle Dave too!
<b> MAURY
</b> The sun's coming up, kid. They'll be
hawking the fish down on Fulton
Street.
<b> ACTOR
</b> Let 'em hawk. Let 'em sing their
hearts out.
<b> MAURY
</b> That's it, kid. Take that ruined
choir. Make it sing!
<b> ACTOR
</b> So long, Maury.
<b> MAURY
</b> So long.
We hear a door open and close, then approaching footsteps. A
tall, dark actor in a used tweed suit and carrying a beat-up
valise passes in front of Barton: From offscreen stage:
<b> MAURY
</b> We'll hear from that kid. And I don't
mean a postcard.
The actor sets the valise down and then stands waiting int
he shadows behind Barton.
An older man in work clothes not wardrobe passes in front
of Barton from the other direction, pauses at the edge of
the stage and cups his hands to his mouth.
<b> OLDER MAN
</b><b> FISH! FRESH FISH!
</b>
As the man walks back off the screen:
<b> LILY
</b> Let's spit on our hands and get to
work. It's late, Maury.
<b> MAURY
</b> Not any more Lil...
Barton mouths the last line in sync with the offscreen actor:
<b> MAURY
</b> ...It's early.
With this the stagehand behind Barton furiously pulls the
rope hand-over-hand and we hear thunderous applause and shouts
of "Bravo!"
As the stagehand finishes bringing the curtain down, somewhat
muting the applause, the backstage actor trots out of frame
toward the stage.
|
good
|
How many times does the word 'good' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and animates hopes the sublimest."
Then made answer the landlord, with thoughts judicious and manly:
"Often the Rhine's broad stream have I with astonishment greeted,
As I have neared it again, after travelling abroad upon business.
Always majestic it seemed, and my mind and spirit exalted.
But I could never imagine its beautiful banks would so shortly
Be to a rampart transformed, to keep from our borders the Frenchman,
And its wide-spreading bed be a moat all passage to hinder.
See! thus nature protects, the stout-hearted Germans protect us,
And thus protects us the Lord, who then will he weakly despondent?
Weary already the combatants, all indications are peaceful.
Would it might be that when that festival, ardently longed for,
Shall in our church be observed, when the sacred Te Deum is rising,
Swelled by the pealing of organ and bells, and the blaring of trumpets,--
Would it might be that that day should behold my Hermann, sir pastor,
Standing, his choice now made, with his bride before thee at the altar,
Making that festal day, that through every land shall be honored,
My anniversary, too, henceforth of domestic rejoicing!
But I observe with regret, that the youth so efficient and active
Ever in household affairs, when abroad is timid and backward.
Little enjoyment he finds in going about among others;
Nay, he will even avoid young ladies' society wholly;
Shuns the enlivening dance which all young persons delight in."
Thus he spoke and listened; for now was heard in the distance
Clattering of horses' hoofs drawing near, and the roll of the wagon,
Which, with furious haste, came thundering under the gateway.
TERPSICHORE
HERMANN
Now when of comely mien the son came into the chamber,
Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him,
And, with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression,
Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing.
Then with a smile he spoke, and said in words of affection:
"Truly a different being thou comest! I never have seen thee
Cheerful as now, nor ever beheld I thy glances so beaming.
Joyous thou comest, and happy: 'tis plain that among the poor people
Thou hast been sharing thy gifts, and receiving their blessings upon thee."
Quietly then, and with serious words, the son made him answer:
"If I have acted as ye will commend, I know not; but I followed
That which my heart bade me do, as I shall exactly relate you.
Thou wert, mother, so long in rummaging 'mong thy old pieces,
Picking and choosing, that not until late was thy bundle together;
Then too the wine and the beer took care and time in the packing.
When I came forth through the gateway at last, and out on the high-road,
Backward the crowd of citizens streamed with women and children,
Coming to meet me; for far was already the band of the exiles.
Quicker I kept on my way, and drove with speed to the village,
Where they were meaning to rest, as I heard, and tarry till morning.
Thitherward up the new street as I hasted, a stout-timbered wagon,
Drawn by two oxen, I saw, of that region the largest and strongest;
While, with vigorous steps, a maiden was walking beside them,
And, a long staff in her hand, the two powerful creatures was guiding,
Urging them now, now holding them back; with skill did she drive them.
Soon as the maiden perceived me, she calmly drew near to the horses,
And in these words she addressed me: 'Not thus deplorable always
Has our condition been, as to-day on this journey thou seest.
I am not yet grown used to asking gifts of a stranger,
Which he will often unwillingly give, to be rid of the beggar.
But necessity drives me to speak; for here, on the straw, lies
Newly delivered of child, a rich land-owner's wife, whom I scarcely
Have in her pregnancy, safe brought off with the oxen and wagon.
Naked, now in her arms the new-born infant is lying,
And but little the help our friends will be able to furnish,
If in the neighboring
|
among
|
How many times does the word 'among' appear in the text?
| 1
|
TRAUMA-REINFORCEMENT which she can point to with a laser
pointing device. We see her from a considerable
distance... the back of the balcony. Her voice is crisp and
assured.
<b> HELEN
</b> Our society creates these socially
and psychically disenfranchised
men, and their revenge on society
is terrible. They are hard to
catch. They are "the nice guy next
door," their employers -- if they
work at all -- find them quiet and
uncomplaining. Early abuse and
rejection have taught them
passivity. Only in their violent
fantasies do they feel alive. What
they seek in their frenzied
assaults on their victims is relief
from passivity. For these men, ten
minutes relief is worth far more
than the life of another human
being. Torture, the pain they
inflict, the screams of the victim,
are all part of the ritual that
gives them a brief respite from
their own psychic pain. And then
the depression, the forgetting, the
feeling of sadness and despair
begins the cycle all over again.
Like addicts seeking their drug,
Albert DeSalvo, Bianchi and Buono,
Berkowitz, Dahmer, Bundy -- they
seek out their next victim.
During the second half of this speech, the eye of the camera
has moved slowly forward until it settles just behind the
balcony railing.
<b> CLOSEUP: HELEN
</b>
<b> HELEN
</b> The cycle is endless until they are
caught. And they are caught by
chance -- they run a red light, and
a body is in the trunk. A leaking
pipe brings a plumber to a basement
where they is the smell of death.
Her eyes have come to rest on the spot of the camera eye in
the balcony... Her voice chokes off. She stares.
<b> HELEN'S POV:
</b>
Sitting in the front row of the balcony, a YOUNG RED-HEADED
MAN (DARYLL LEE CULLUM) leans forward, resting his tattooed
arms on the railing. He smiles intimately at HELEN.
HELEN cuts her eyes to the left. She sees:
Backstage, an overweight COP in plain clothes. Instantly
alert to HELEN'S alarm, he jumps up, comes within an inch of
exposing his presence to the audience. A SECOND COP, in the
wings on the other side of the stage, also springs to
attention. FIRST COP'S eyes follow HELEN'S...
Their POV: THE BALCONY - YOUNG RED-HEADED MAN is no longer
there.
HELEN Can she believe her eyes? Resumes:
<b> HELEN
</b> At any time, right now, as you
listen, the FBI estimates there are
30 to 35 serial killers stalking
their victims. The serial killer is
a plaque that must be addressed not
only by the law, but by science.
Florida spent eight million dollars
to execute Ted Bundy. It would
have been better spent building a
forensic penal facility devoted to
research.
Once again her eyes fix on the balcony to reassure herself
that the smiling man is not there...
<b> HELEN
</b> Confined for life, without parole,
and subjected to scientific study,
these men's lives might finally, in
some small measure, educate and
thereby protect society. Thank
you.
Applause as Helen warily checks for the TWO COPS. They are
carefully
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 9
|
two first English visitors of the year came to the Baths of
Wildbad in the season of eighteen hundred and thirty-two.
II. THE SOLID SIDE OF THE SCOTCH CHARACTER.
AT ten o'clock the next morning, Mr. Neal--waiting for the medical visit
which he had himself appointed for that hour--looked at his watch, and
discovered, to his amazement, that he was waiting in vain. It was close
on eleven when the door opened at last, and the doctor entered the room.
"I appointed ten o'clock for your visit," said Mr. Neal. "In my country,
a medical man is a punctual man."
"In my country," returned the doctor, without the least ill-humor, "a
medical man is exactly like other men--he is at the mercy of accidents.
Pray grant me your pardon, sir, for being so long after my time; I have
been detained by a very distressing case--the case of Mr. Armadale,
whose traveling-carriage you passed on the road yesterday."
Mr. Neal looked at his medical attendant with a sour surprise. There
was a latent anxiety in the doctor's eye, a latent preoccupation in the
doctor's manner, which he was at a loss to account for. For a moment
the two faces confronted each other silently, in marked national
contrast--the Scotchman's, long and lean, hard and regular; the
German's, plump and florid, soft and shapeless. One face looked as if it
had never been young; the other, as if it would never grow old.
"Might I venture to remind you," said Mr. Neal, "that the case now under
consideration is MY case, and not Mr. Armadale's?"
"Certainly," replied the doctor, still vacillating between the case
he had come to see and the case he had just left. "You appear to be
suffering from lameness; let me look at your foot."
Mr. Neal's malady, however serious it might be in his own estimation,
was of no extraordinary importance in a medical point of view. He was
suffering from a rheumatic affection of the ankle-joint. The necessary
questions were asked and answered and the necessary baths were
prescribed. In ten minutes the consultation was at an end, and the
patient was waiting in significant silence for the medical adviser to
take his leave.
"I cannot conceal from myself," said the doctor, rising, and hesitating
a little, "that I am intruding on you. But I am compelled to beg your
indulgence if I return to the subject of Mr. Armadale."
"May I ask what compels you?"
"The duty which I owe as a Christian," answered the doctor, "to a dying
man."
Mr. Neal started. Those who touched his sense of religious duty touched
the quickest sense in his nature.
"You have established your claim on my attention," he said, gravely. "My
time is yours."
"I will not abuse your kindness," replied the doctor, resuming his
chair. "I will be as short as I can. Mr. Armadale's case is briefly
this: He has passed the greater part of his life in the West Indies--a
wild life, and a vicious life, by his own confession. Shortly after
his marriage--now some three years since--the first symptoms of an
approaching paralytic affection began to show themselves, and his
medical advisers ordered him away to try the climate of Europe. Since
leaving the West Indies he has lived principally in Italy, with no
benefit to his health. From Italy, before the last seizure attacked him,
he removed to Switzerland, and from Switzerland he has been sent to this
place. So much I know from his doctor's report; the rest I can tell you
from my own personal experience. Mr. Armadale has been sent to Wildbad
too late: he is virtually a dead man. The paralysis is fast spreading
upward, and disease of the lower part of the spine has already taken
place. He can still move his hands a little, but he can hold nothing
in his fingers. He can still articulate, but he may wake speechless
to-morrow or next day. If I give him a week more to live, I give him
what I honestly believe to be the utmost
|
baths
|
How many times does the word 'baths' appear in the text?
| 1
|
perforce be placed in the very front rank of the world's living writers.
To the English-speaking world he has so far been made known only through
the casual publication at long intervals of a few of his books:
"Hunger," "Fictoria" and "Shallow Soil" (rendered in the list above as
"New Earth"). There is now reason to believe that this negligence will
be remedied, and that soon the best of Hamsun's work will be available
in English. To the American and English publics it ought to prove a
welcome tonic because of its very divergence from what they commonly
feed on. And they may safely look to Hamsun as a thinker as well as a
poet and laughing dreamer, provided they realize from the start that his
thinking is suggestive rather than conclusive, and that he never meant
it to be anything else.
EDWIN BJÃRKMAN.
Part I
It was during the time I wandered about and starved in Christiania:
Christiania, this singular city, from which no man departs without
carrying away the traces of his sojourn there.
* * * * *
I was lying awake in my attic and I heard a clock below strike six. It
was already broad daylight, and people had begun to go up and down the
stairs. By the door where the wall of the room was papered with old
numbers of the _Morgenbladet_, I could distinguish clearly a notice
from the Director of Lighthouses, and a little to the left of that an
inflated advertisement of Fabian Olsens' new-baked bread.
The instant I opened my eyes I began, from sheer force of habit, to
think if I had anything to rejoice over that day. I had been somewhat
hard-up lately, and one after the other of my belongings had been taken
to my "Uncle." I had grown nervous and irritable. A few times I had
kept my bed for the day with vertigo. Now and then, when luck had
favoured me, I had managed to get five shillings for a feuilleton from
some newspaper or other.
It grew lighter and lighter, and I took to reading the advertisements
near the door. I could even make out the grinning lean letters of
"winding-sheets to be had at Miss Andersen's" on the right of it. That
occupied me for a long while. I heard the clock below strike eight as I
got up and put on my clothes.
I opened the window and looked out. From where I was standing I had a
view of a clothes-line and an open field. Farther away lay the ruins
of a burnt-out smithy, which some labourers were busy clearing away. I
leant with my elbows resting on the window-frame and gazed into open
space. It promised to be a clear day--autumn, that tender, cool time of
the year, when all things change their colour, and die, had come to us.
The ever-increasing noise in the streets lured me out. The bare room,
the floor of which rocked up and down with every step I took across it,
seemed like a gasping, sinister coffin. There was no proper fastening
to the door, either, and no stove. I used to lie on my socks at night
to dry them a little by the morning. The only thing I had to divert
myself with was a little red rocking-chair, in which I used to sit in
the evenings and doze and muse on all manner of things. When it blew
hard, and the door below stood open, all kinds of eerie sounds moaned
up through the floor and from out the walls, and the _Morgenbladet_
near the door was rent in strips a span long.
I stood up and searched through a bundle in the corner by the bed for a
bite for breakfast, but finding nothing, went back to the window.
God knows, thought I, if looking for employment will ever again avail
me aught. The frequent repulses, half-promises, and curt noes, the
cherished, deluded hopes, and fresh endeavours that always resulted in
nothing had done my courage
|
door
|
How many times does the word 'door' appear in the text?
| 4
|
and the
serjeant, though the touch of "sensibility" is on him, is excellent;
and Dr Harrison's country friend and his prig of a son are capital; and
Bondum, and "the author," and Robinson, and all the minor characters,
are as good as they can be.
It is, however, usual to detect a lack of vivacity in the book, an
evidence of declining health and years. It may be so; it is at least
certain that Fielding, during the composition of _Amelia,_ had much less
time to bestow upon elaborating his work than he had previously had,
and that his health was breaking. But are we perfectly sure that if the
chronological order had been different we should have pronounced the
same verdict? Had _Amelia_ come between _Joseph_ and _Tom,_ how many
of us might have committed ourselves to some such sentence as this: "In
_Amelia_ we see the youthful exuberances of _Joseph Andrews_ corrected
by a higher art; the adjustment of plot and character arranged with
a fuller craftsmanship; the genius which was to find its fullest
exemplification in _Tom Jones_ already displaying maturity"? And do
we not too often forget that a very short time--in fact, barely three
years--passed between the appearance of _Tom Jones_ and the appearance
of _Amelia?_ that although we do not know how long the earlier work had
been in preparation, it is extremely improbable that a man of Fielding's
temperament, of his wants, of his known habits and history, would have
kept it when once finished long in his desk? and that consequently
between some scenes of _Tom Jones_ and some scenes of _Amelia_ it is not
improbable that there was no more than a few months' interval? I do not
urge these things in mitigation of any unfavourable judgment against the
later novel. I only ask--How much of that unfavourable judgment ought
in justice to be set down to the fallacies connected with an imperfect
appreciation of facts?
To me it is not so much a question of deciding whether I like _Amelia_
less, and if so, how much less, than the others, as a question what part
of the general conception of this great writer it supplies? I do not
think that we could fully understand Fielding without it; I do not think
that we could derive the full quantity of pleasure from him without
it. The exuberant romantic faculty of Joseph Andrews and its pleasant
satire; the mighty craftsmanship and the vast science of life of _Tom
Jones;_ the ineffable irony and logical grasp of _Jonathan Wild_,
might have left us with a slight sense of hardness, a vague desire
for unction, if it had not been for this completion of the picture.
We should not have known (for in the other books, with the possible
exception of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the characters are a little too
determinately goats and sheep) how Fielding could draw _nuances_, how
he could project a mixed personage on the screen, if we had not had Miss
Matthews and Mrs. Atkinson--the last especially a figure full of the
finest strokes, and, as a rule, insufficiently done justice to by
critics.
And I have purposely left to the last a group of personages about whom
indeed there has been little question, but who are among the triumphs of
Fielding's art--the two Colonels and their connecting-link, the wife of
the one and the sister of the other. Colonel Bath has necessarily united
all suffrages. He is of course a very little stagey; he reminds us that
his author had had a long theatrical apprenticeship: he is something too
much _d'une piece_. But as a study of the brave man who is almost more
braggart than brave, of the generous man who will sacrifice not only
generosity but bare justice to "a hogo of honour," he is admirable, and
up to his time almost unique. Ordinary writers and ordinary readers have
never been quite content to admit that bravery and braggadocio can go
together, that the man of honour may be a selfish pedant. People have
been unwilling to tell and to hear the whole truth even about Wolfe and
Nelson, who were both favourable specimens of the type; but Fielding the
infallible saw that type in its quiddity,
|
fielding
|
How many times does the word 'fielding' appear in the text?
| 4
|
,
his glance fell on the looking-glass; and then he cried aloud: "Look!
There's another one!"
For in the glass he saw plainly a little, little creature who was
dressed in a hood and leather breeches.
"Why, that one is dressed exactly like me!" said the boy, and clasped
his hands in astonishment. But then he saw that the thing in the mirror
did the same thing. Then he began to pull his hair and pinch his arms
and swing round; and instantly he did the same thing after him; he, who
was seen in the mirror.
The boy ran around the glass several times, to see if there wasn't a
little man hidden behind it, but he found no one there; and then he
began to shake with terror. For now he understood that the elf had
bewitched him, and that the creature whose image he saw in the
glass--was he, himself.
THE WILD GEESE
The boy simply could not make himself believe that he had been
transformed into an elf. "It can't be anything but a dream--a queer
fancy," thought he. "If I wait a few moments, I'll surely be turned back
into a human being again."
He placed himself before the glass and closed his eyes. He opened them
again after a couple of minutes, and then expected to find that it had
all passed over--but it hadn't. He was--and remained--just as little. In
other respects, he was the same as before. The thin, straw-coloured
hair; the freckles across his nose; the patches on his leather breeches
and the darns on his stockings, were all like themselves, with this
exception--that they had become diminished.
No, it would do no good for him to stand still and wait, of this he was
certain. He must try something else. And he thought the wisest thing
that he could do was to try and find the elf, and make his peace with
him.
And while he sought, he cried and prayed and promised everything he
could think of. Nevermore would he break his word to anyone; never again
would he be naughty; and never, never would he fall asleep again over
the sermon. If he might only be a human being once more, he would be
such a good and helpful and obedient boy. But no matter how much he
promised--it did not help him the least little bit.
Suddenly he remembered that he had heard his mother say, all the tiny
folk made their home in the cowsheds; and, at once, he concluded to go
there, and see if he couldn't find the elf. It was a lucky thing that
the cottage-door stood partly open, for he never could have reached the
bolt and opened it; but now he slipped through without any difficulty.
When he came out in the hallway, he looked around for his wooden shoes;
for in the house, to be sure, he had gone about in his stocking-feet. He
wondered how he should manage with these big, clumsy wooden shoes; but
just then, he saw a pair of tiny shoes on the doorstep. When he observed
that the elf had been so thoughtful that he had also bewitched the
wooden shoes, he was even more troubled. It was evidently his intention
that this affliction should last a long time.
On the wooden board-walk in front of the cottage, hopped a gray sparrow.
He had hardly set eyes on the boy before he called out: "Teetee! Teetee!
Look at Nils goosey-boy! Look at Thumbietot! Look at Nils Holgersson
Thumbietot!"
Instantly, both the geese and the chickens turned and stared at the boy;
and then they set up a fearful cackling. "Cock-el-i-coo," crowed the
rooster, "good enough for him! Cock-el-i-coo, he has pulled my comb."
"Ka, ka, kada, serves him right!" cried the hens; and with that they
kept up a continuous cackle. The geese got together in a tight group,
stuck their heads together and asked: "Who can have done this? Who can
have done this?"
But the strangest thing of all was, that the boy understood what they
said. He was so astonished,
|
both
|
How many times does the word 'both' appear in the text?
| 0
|
fasten the door of the trap on the inside
by means of a powerful combination of screws and bolts of his own
invention. He also covered up very carefully the glass lights with
strong iron plates of extreme solidity and tightly fitting joints.
Ardan's first care was to turn on the gas, which he found burning rather
low; but he lit no more than one burner, being desirous to economize as
much as possible their store of light and heat, which, as he well knew,
could not at the very utmost last them longer than a few weeks.
Under the cheerful blaze, the interior of the Projectile looked like a
comfortable little chamber, with its circular sofa, nicely padded walls,
and dome shaped ceiling.
All the articles that it contained, arms, instruments, utensils, etc.,
were solidly fastened to the projections of the wadding, so as to
sustain the least injury possible from the first terrible shock. In
fact, all precautions possible, humanly speaking, had been taken to
counteract this, the first, and possibly one of the very greatest
dangers to which the courageous adventurers would be exposed.
Ardan expressed himself to be quite pleased with the appearance of
things in general.
"It's a prison, to be sure," said he "but not one of your ordinary
prisons that always keep in the one spot. For my part, as long as I can
have the privilege of looking out of the window, I am willing to lease
it for a hundred years. Ah! Barbican, that brings out one of your stony
smiles. You think our lease may last longer than that! Our tenement may
become our coffin, eh? Be it so. I prefer it anyway to Mahomet's; it may
indeed float in the air, but it won't be motionless as a milestone!"
[Illustration: TURN ON THE GAS.]
Barbican, having made sure by personal inspection that everything was in
perfect order, consulted his chronometer, which he had carefully set a
short time before with Chief Engineer Murphy's, who had been charged to
fire off the Projectile.
"Friends," he said, "it is now twenty minutes past ten. At 10 46' 40'',
precisely, Murphy will send the electric current into the gun-cotton. We
have, therefore, twenty-six minutes more to remain on earth."
"Twenty-six minutes and twenty seconds," observed Captain M'Nicholl, who
always aimed at mathematical precision.
"Twenty-six minutes!" cried Ardan, gaily. "An age, a cycle, according to
the use you make of them. In twenty-six minutes how much can be done!
The weightiest questions of warfare, politics, morality, can be
discussed, even decided, in twenty-six minutes. Twenty-six minutes well
spent are infinitely more valuable than twenty-six lifetimes wasted! A
few seconds even, employed by a Pascal, or a Newton, or a Barbican, or
any other profoundly intellectual being
Whose thoughts wander through eternity--"
"As mad as Marston! Every bit!" muttered the Captain, half audibly.
"What do you conclude from this rigmarole of yours?" interrupted
Barbican.
"I conclude that we have twenty-six good minutes still left--"
"Only twenty-four minutes, ten seconds," interrupted the Captain, watch
in hand.
"Well, twenty-four minutes, Captain," Ardan went on; "now even in
twenty-four minutes, I maintain--"
"Ardan," interrupted Barbican, "after a very little while we shall have
plenty of time for philosophical disputations. Just now let us think of
something far more pressing."
"More pressing! what do you mean? are we not fully prepared?"
"Yes, fully prepared, as far at least as we have been able to foresee.
But we may still, I think, possibly increase the number of precautions
to be taken against the terrible shock that we are so soon to
experience."
"What? Have you any doubts whatever of the effectiveness of your
brilliant and extremely original idea? Don't you think that the layers
of water, regularly disposed in easily-ruptured partitions beneath this
floor, will afford us sufficient protection by their elasticity?"
"I hope so, indeed, my dear friend,
|
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|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 2
|
March 16, 1994
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> 1 EXT. SPACE (VFX-I) 1
</b>
A vast and sparkling starfield. A pinpoint of LIGHT
appears and starts moving toward the camera... a small
and distant cylindrical object tumbling end over end,
but we can't determine exactly what it is yet...
<b> 2 EXT. WHEATFIELD - DAY 2
</b>
A vast and undulating sea of wheat. We become aware
that there are two HEADS sticking out of the stalks of
wheat: two men are standing and looking up at the
sky. As we move towards them, we begin to hear their
conversation...and we can see that the two men are
SCOTTY and CHEKOV, dressed in civilian clothing.
<b> CHEKOV
</b> (points to sky)
There he is -- there, to the
South!
<b> SCOTTY
</b> (peers upward)
What are ye, blind? That's a
bird.
As they stare up at the sky...
<b> 3 EXT. SPACE (VFX-I) 3
</b>
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' 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>
|
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|
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| 0
|
b> June 20, 2007
Notice:
This material is the property of Beach City Productions LLC
(A wholly owned subsidiary of Universal City Studios, Inc.)
and is intended and restricted solely for studio use by
studio personnel. Distribution or disclosure of the
material to unauthorized persons is prohibited. The sale,
copying or reproduction of this material in any form is
also prohibited.
<b>
</b><b> 1
</b>
<b>1 EXT. NIGHT. HOUSING PROJECTS -- MOSCOW 1
</b>
<b> SMASH CUT
</b>
MOTION -- flat out -- it's us -- we're running -- stumbling
-- breathing rushed -- blood in the snow...
We are JASON BOURNE and we're running down an alley...
Supered below: MOSCOW
BLUE LIGHTS -- from the distance -- strobing through the
night -- rushing toward us -- POLICE CARS -- three of them -
- SIRENS HOWLING as they bear down -- closer -- faster --
until they whip past the alley...
Up against the wall -- BOURNE is hidden in the shadows.
BOURNE is badly wounded -- shot through the shoulder --
bruises and broken bones from the final car chase in
<b> SUPREMACY...
</b>
With a GROAN, he lifts himself up, staggers across a park
toward a PHARMACY...
<b>4 INT. NIGHT. PHARMACY -- MOSCOW 4
</b>
ROWS of MEDICINE and FIRST AID supplies, and in the
background, a DOOR being jimmied...It's BOURNE...The ALARM
goes off...
<b> MACRO ON -- MEDICINE BOTTLE
</b>
VICODIN, as BOURNE grabs it...Then PENICILLIN...
Then SURGICAL SUPPLIES:
Scalpel...Forceps...Sutures...Cotton gauze...Betadine...
BOURNE finds a large sink...Rests his gun there...Lays out
SURGICAL SUPPLIES...Checks out his back in the
mirror...Opens the capsules of penicillin and pours the
powder directly into the wound...Begins treating himself...
<b>5 EXT. NIGHT. PHARMACY -- MOSCOW 5
</b>
A POLICE CAR pulls up to the curb, lights flashing. One
POLICEMAN goes to the jimmied DOOR. SECOND POLICEMAN sees
blood and footprints. He motions to his partner to
follow...
<b>6 INT. NIGHT. PHARMACY BATHROOM -- MOSCOW 6
</b>
BOURNE finishing up -- splashes water on his face -- he
seems a man on a mission. He looks up --
<b>
</b><b>
|
pharmacy
|
How many times does the word 'pharmacy' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. Once--it
was when your sister was born--I was ready to give up and die, but your
Mother kept me trying. Another time she kept the fire going a whole
week all by herself when I was sick. Nursed me and took care of the two
of you, too."
* * * * *
"You know that game we sometimes play, sitting in a square in the Nest,
tossing a ball around? Courage is like a ball, son. A person can hold
it only so long, and then he's got to toss it to someone else. When
it's tossed your way, you've got to catch it and hold it tight--and
hope there'll be someone else to toss it to when you get tired of being
brave."
His talking to me that way made me feel grown-up and good. But it
didn't wipe away the thing outside from the back of my mind--or the
fact that Pa took it seriously.
* * * * *
It's hard to hide your feelings about such a thing. When we got back in
the Nest and took off our outside clothes, Pa laughed about it all and
told them it was nothing and kidded me for having such an imagination,
but his words fell flat. He didn't convince Ma and Sis any more than
he did me. It looked for a minute like we were all fumbling the
courage-ball. Something had to be done, and almost before I knew what
I was going to say, I heard myself asking Pa to tell us about the old
days, and how it all happened.
He sometimes doesn't mind telling that story, and Sis and I sure like
to listen to it, and he got my idea. So we were all settled around the
fire in a wink, and Ma pushed up some cans to thaw for supper, and Pa
began. Before he did, though, I noticed him casually get a hammer from
the shelf and lay it down beside him.
It was the same old story as always--I think I could recite the main
thread of it in my sleep--though Pa always puts in a new detail or two
and keeps improving it in spots.
He told us how the Earth had been swinging around the Sun ever so
steady and warm, and the people on it fixing to make money and wars and
have a good time and get power and treat each other right or wrong,
when without warning there comes charging out of space this dead star,
this burned out sun, and upsets everything.
You know, I find it hard to believe in the way those people felt,
any more than I can believe in the swarming number of them. Imagine
people getting ready for the horrible sort of war they were cooking up.
Wanting it even, or at least wishing it were over so as to end their
nervousness. As if all folks didn't have to hang together and pool
every bit of warmth just to keep alive. And how can they have hoped to
end danger, any more than we can hope to end the cold?
Sometimes I think Pa exaggerates and makes things out too black. He's
cross with us once in a while and was probably cross with all those
folks. Still, some of the things I read in the old magazines sound
pretty wild. He may be right.
* * * * *
The dark star, as Pa went on telling it, rushed in pretty fast and
there wasn't much time to get ready. At the beginning they tried
to keep it a secret from most people, but then the truth came out,
what with the earthquakes and floods--imagine, oceans of _unfrozen_
water!--and people seeing stars blotted out by something on a clear
night. First off they thought it would hit the Sun, and then they
thought it would hit the Earth. There was even the start of a rush to
get to a place called China, because people thought the star would hit
on the other side. But then they found it wasn't going to hit either
side, but was going to
|
down
|
How many times does the word 'down' appear in the text?
| 0
|
A GATOR crawls out through the open doors of AN ABANDONED BANK. LOOSE
BILLS are dragged along under the animal's tail. They flutter away on
the WIND.
<b>3 EXT. THE CITY - DAY
</b>
GATORS crawl over A '79 CADELLIC. A FEMALE SKELETON sits slumped over
the steering wheel. In the back a BABY'S BONES are strapped into AN
INFANT'S SAFETY SEAT. One of the gators THUMPS its tail maddeningly
against the windshield. ANOTHER TITLE APPEAR:
<b>FLORIDA - 1987
</b>
<b>4 EXT. THE CITY - DAY
</b>
CLOSE ON A SECTION OF PAVEMENT as we hear THE SOUND OF SLUGGISH
FOOTSTEPS approaching. A SHADOW appears at the bottom of the frame.
It gets longer and takes on the shape of a man.
TIGHT ON THE AFTERNOON SUN, blinding us. Into the FOREGROUND lurches
THE FIGURE which cast the shadow. Glare obscures all facial detail
until the head jogs into position directly in front of the fiery ball
in the sky. Then we see its hideous, dead eyes, its blue-grey colour,
the blackened wound where a large portion of jaw has been ripped
away. This is a ZOMBIE! A MUSIC CHORD SOUNDS and THE MAIN TITLE
<b>APPEARS:
</b>
<b>DAY OF THE DEAD
</b>
<b>5 EXT. THE CITY - DAY
</b>
HEAD CREDITS ROLL over A MONTAGE: the CITY STREETS are now populated
by the WALKING DEAD. In every shape, size and colour they wander,
without purpose, up and down the avenues, in and out of buildings.
The city is theirs, they have inherited the place. Man, in his human
form, seems to be gone.
As the CREDITS END, we CUT TO:
<b>6 EXT. A MAIN STREET - DAY
</b>
We are looking down from a HIGH ANGLE. The corner of A TALL BUILDING
is in the FOREGROUND. A CORPSE is dangling from A NOOSE. It's been
dead for some time. It's mostly bone now, its blackened flesh picked
clean by scavenger birds and harbour rats. A SIGN flaps against its
chest cavity. Its hurriedly scrawled message reads: TAKE ME, LORD! I
<b>LOVE YOU!
</b>
THE ROPE BREAKS suddenly and THE CORPSE FALLS out of frame.
<b>7 EXT. THE STREET - DAY
</b>
We're at GROUND LEVEL now...SMACK!!! THE CORPSE HITS THE PAVEMENT and
SHATTERS as though made of potter's clay. BONES bounce over a wide
area. THE SIGN is carried off by the WIND.
<b>8 EXT. AN ABANDONED MARINA - DAY
</b>
THE SIGN gallops across the grass of A HARBOUR PARK towards the water
where A FEW DERELICT BOATS sway in the WIND.
Slowly, THE SOUND OF A MOTOR FADES IN.
<b>9 EXT. THE MARINA (CLOSER ANGLE) - DAY
</b>
A FISHING BOATS, old and sea-worn, chugs into the harbour.
<b>10 EXT. THE MARINA (CLOSE ON THE FISHING BOAT) - DAY
</b>
There are people on board, THREE MEN AND TWO WOMEN. They look like
guerilleros from somewhere in Latin America. They're heavily armed,
unshaven, covered with months worth of jungle crud. They are
obviously exhausted. They gaze up to the city. Their deep-sunken eyes
are too war-weary to show much emotion but we can read their despair.
<b>TONY
</b>Another dead place. I tol' you. Let's get
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' 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
|
b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS HOUSE - EARLY EVENING
</b>
A modest but handsome home in the foothills above Gower.
<b>SUPERIMPOSE: "1983"
</b>
A young boy, SONNY STORM, rushes out -- excited but pouty
and a little peeved. He glowers at a 1981 Mercury, parked
at the curb -- then turns back toward the house.
<b> SONNY
</b> (calls back to
house)
Daddy! I don't want you to go!
<b>MASON STORM
</b>
emerges from the house -- wearing a dark Gianni Versace
sport coat with a black vest underneath, carrying some
kind of case in his hand. He looks great -- a man of
action, not dandified at all by the snappy attire. He
squints down toward Sonny, proudly -- very much the family
man.
Mason's pretty wife, FELICIA, appears in the doorway.
<b> FELICIA
</b> (calls to Sonny)
Your father has work to do, Sonny
... but he'll be home soon. And
we'll all watch it together.
<b> SONNY
</b> You promise, Dad?
<b> STORM
</b> I promise.
Storm and Felicia come down to car, his arm around her.
Sonny grabs his father's shirtsleeve.
<b> SONNY
</b> Daddy ...
(very serious)
Daddy, is E.T. gonna win?
<b> STORM
</b> He's got my vote.
Storm laughs and ruffles his son's hair.
<b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 2.
<b> FELICIA
</b> (tight to Storm)
I want you back early. Tonight's
the night those little starlets are
crawling all over town.
<b> STORM
</b> Don't worry. I'll beat 'em off
with a stick.
He kisses Felicia, ready to leave.
<b> SONNY
</b>
|
daddy
|
How many times does the word 'daddy' appear in the text?
| 2
|
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. CONFERENCE ROOM
</b><b>
</b> A dozen or so shadowy people are seated in the darkened room.
A slide projector dimly lights MR. FULLER, a crew-cutted
Robert Stack type in a suit, as he addresses the group. The
current slide is a still from a security video of a blurry
figure - it could be any of about a billion people.
<b>
</b><b> FULLER
</b> ...So, let's keep a steely eye out
for this bastard. (THEN) Before we
dismiss, this is your monthly
reminder of why we're here.
<b>
</b> Fuller advances to a slide of the American flag. Close on
one of the group - a heavyset bald man in his mid-thirties.
He politely pays close attention to the presentation.
<b>
</b><b> FULLER (CONT'D)
</b> The American people want to travel.
(Slide: Family in front of a fake
dinosaur) They want to attend
baseball contests (Slide: Fat guys
spilling beers as they go for a
foul ball) and popular music
concerts. (Slide: John Tesh)
<b>
</b> Close on another face in the group. A doughy man with three-
day scruff and a trendily long haircut. He looks bored,
rolling his eyes at the speech.
<b>
</b><b> FULLER (CONT'D)
</b> They want to be happy. (Slide: People
line dancing) But, Security comes
first. (Slide: Army soldier with a
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 1
|
. DAY.
</b>
A college counselor stands at the Podium lecturing the high
school seniors about their future.
<b> COLLEGE COUNSELOR
</b> ... For those of you going on to college
next year, the chance of finding a good
job will actually decrease by the time
you graduate. Entry level jobs will drop
from thirty-one to twenty-six percent,
and the median income for those jobs
will go down as well ...
There is some rustling in the audience.
<b> COLLEGE COUNSELOR (CONT)
</b> Obviously, my friends, it's a
competitive world and good grades are
your only ticket through. By the year
Two Thousand ...
<b> INT. HIGH SCHOOL. HEALTH CLASS.
</b>
A different teacher lectures a different class of students.
<b> HEALTH TEACHER
</b> ... The chance of contracting HIV from a
promiscuous lifestyle will climb to one
in one hundred and fifty. The odds of
dying in an auto accident are only one
in twenty-five hundred.
(beat)
Now this marks a drastic increase ...
<b> INT. HIGH SCHOOL. SCIENCE CLASS.
</b>
Same angle. Different teacher.
<b> SCIENCE TEACHER
</b> ... From just four years ago when ozone
depletion was at ten percent of its
current level. By the time you are
twenty years old, average global
temperature will have risen two and a
half degrees. Even a shift of one
degree can cause such catastrophic
consequences as typhoons, floods,
widespread drought and famine.
<b> REVERSE ANGLE. STUDENTS.
</b>
They stare back in stunned silence. One of them, DAVID
WAGNER, sits in the front row with a pencil in his mouth.
Nobody moves ...
<b> SCIENCE TEACHER
</b> (chipper classroom tone)
Okay. Who can tell me what famine is?
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 1958.
</b>
Birds are chirping. The sun is shining. All the hedges are
neatly pruned and the lawns are perfectly manicured. A sweet
stillness hangs over the SUBURBAN STREET, which is bathed in
beautiful BLACK AND WHITE.
<b> MAN'S VOICE (OS)
</b> Honey, I'm home.
<b> SUBURBAN HOME.
</b>
GEORGE PARKER enters the front door and hangs his hat on the
coatrack. He sets his briefcase down and moves into the foyer
with a huge smile on his face. It's a frozen smile that
doesn't seem to be affected by too much in particular--like a
tour guide at Disneyland.
<b> WOMAN'S VOICE (OS)
</b> Hello darling.
<b> WIDER.
</b>
MRS. GEORGE PARKER (BETTY) enters, untying the back of her
apron. She is a vision of '50s beauty with a thin figure and
concrete hair. Betty crosses to her husband and hands him a
fresh martini. She kisses him on the cheek.
<b> BETTY
</b> How was your day?
<b> GEORGE
</b> Oh, swell. You know, Mr. Connel said
that if things keep going the way they
are, I might be seeing that promotion
sooner than I thought.
<b> BETTY
</b
|
college
|
How many times does the word 'college' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Buy them, buy them: eve and morn
Lovers' ills are all to sell.
Then you can lie down forlorn;
But the lover will be well.
VII
When smoke stood up from Ludlow,
And mist blew off from Teme,
And blithe afield to ploughing
Against the morning beam
I strode beside my team,
The blackbird in the coppice
Looked out to see me stride,
And hearkened as I whistled
The tramping team beside,
And fluted and replied:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
What use to rise and rise?
Rise man a thousand mornings
Yet down at last he lies,
And then the man is wise."
I heard the tune he sang me,
And spied his yellow bill;
I picked a stone and aimed it
And threw it with a will:
Then the bird was still.
Then my soul within me
Took up the blackbird's strain,
And still beside the horses
Along the dewy lane
It Sang the song again:
"Lie down, lie down, young yeoman;
The sun moves always west;
The road one treads to labour
Will lead one home to rest,
And that will be the best."
VIII
"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
Farewell to Severn shore.
Terence, look your last at me,
For I come home no more.
"The sun burns on the half-mown hill,
By now the blood is dried;
And Maurice amongst the hay lies still
And my knife is in his side."
"My mother thinks us long away;
'Tis time the field were mown.
She had two sons at rising day,
To-night she'll be alone."
"And here's a bloody hand to shake,
And oh, man, here's good-bye;
We'll sweat no more on scythe and rake,
My bloody hands and I."
"I wish you strength to bring you pride,
And a love to keep you clean,
|
will
|
How many times does the word 'will' appear in the text?
| 3
|
DISTANT GUN AND MORTAR FIRE
</b>
Muffled by the wet green forest.
The very earth seems to tremble.
<b> A RABBIT
</b>
Darts out of a log, lifts itself on its hind legs and sniffs
the air.
<b> LOBBED GRENADE EXPLODES
</b>
VOICES and SHOUTS, closer now, mix with the rumbling WAR
SOUNDS in a veritable symphony of violence and confusion.
A DEAD AMERICAN GI lays splayed out, careless in death.
A pair of SOLDIERS flash among the trees, running hunched
over and low, and disappear into the gray blooms of SMOKE.
For a moment the forest takes a breath.
Nothing but trembling leaves. Then - The RATTLE of a Jeep
Coming closer in fits and starts, GRINDING through low gears.
A Willys MB appears, CRASHING through the undergrowth.
It's driven by Private First Class KELLY ERNSWILER.
Eighteen, if that. Not much meat on him. His insignias
indicate he's in the 29th Infantry.
His face might be attractive, under other conditions.
He pauses and pulls a map from the pocket of his M41 standard-
issue field jacket.
<b> KELLY
</b> Where the hell are those Krauts?
To give himself courage, he SINGS Tommy Dorsey's "I'll Be
Seeing You [in all the old familiar places]" while maneuvering
the Jeep through the bushes and rocks.
He drives straight for a fallen LOG, GUNS the engine and
tries to go over it.
The Jeep's FRONT WHEELS catch on the log.
The BACK TIRES spin.
Kelly gets out. Takes off his M1 combat helmet and wipes his
face. Assesses the situation.
He grabs a BRANCH. Jams it under the wheel, trying to lever
the Jeep free. When --
The
|
kelly
|
How many times does the word 'kelly' appear in the text?
| 2
|
to have that thing hanging up there in the sky without
that kind of talk." He glanced up for a moment. "It gives you the
willies. Sometimes I wonder, myself, if Granny isn't half-right."
There was a stillness in the street as the people slowly dispersed ahead
of the Sheriff. Voices were low, and the banter was gone. The yellow
light from the sky cast weird, bobbing shadows on the pavement and
against the buildings.
"Shall we go?" Maria asked. "This is giving me--what do you say?--the
creeps."
"It's crazy!" Ken exclaimed with a burst of feeling. "It shows what
ignorance of something new and strange can do. One feebleminded, old
woman can infect a whole crowd with her crazy superstitions, just
because they don't know any more about this thing than she does!"
"It's more than that," said Maria quietly. "It's the feeling that people
have always had about the world they find themselves in. It doesn't
matter how much you know about the ocean and the winds and the tides,
there is always a feeling of wonder and fear when you stand on the shore
and watch enormous waves pounding the rocks.
"Even if you know what makes the thunder and the lightning, you can't
watch a great storm without feeling very small and puny."
"Of course not," Ken said. "Astronomers feel all that when they look a
couple of billion light-years into space. Physicists know it when they
discover a new particle of matter. But _they_ don't go around muttering
about omens and signs. You can feel the strength of natural forces
without being scared to death.
"Maybe that's what marks the only real difference between witches and
scientists, after all! The first scientist was the guy who saw fire come
down from the sky and decided that was the answer to some of his
problems. The witch doctor was too scared of both the problem and the
answer to believe the problem could ever have a solution. So he
manufactured delusions to make himself and others think the problem
would just quietly go away. There are a lot of witch doctors still
operating and they're not all as easy to recognize as Granny Wicks!"
They reached Ken's car, and he held the door open for Maria. As he
climbed in his own side he said, "How about coming over to my place and
having a look at the comet through my telescope? You'll see something
really awe-inspiring then."
"I'd love to. Right now?"
"Sure." Ken started the car and swung away from the curb, keeping a
careful eye on the road, watching for any others like Dad Martin.
"Sometimes I think there will be a great many things I'll miss when we
go back to Sweden," Maria said thoughtfully, as she settled back in the
seat, enjoying the smooth, powerful ride of Ken's souped-up car.
Ken shot a quick glance at her. He felt a sudden sense of loss, as if he
had not realized before that their acquaintance was strictly temporary.
"I guess a lot of people here will miss the Larsens, too," he said
quietly. "What will you miss most of all?"
"The bigness of everything," said Maria. "The hundreds and hundreds of
miles of open country. The schoolboys with cars to cover the distance.
At home, a grown man is fortunate to have one. Papa had a very hard time
owning one."
"Why don't you persuade him to stay here? Mayfield's a darn good place
to live."
"I've tried already, but he says that when a man is grown he has too
many things to hold him to the place he's always known. He has promised,
however, to let me come back if I want to, after I finish the university
at home."
"That would be nice." Ken turned away, keeping his eyes intently on the
road. There was nothing else he could say.
He drove slowly up the long grade of College Avenue. His family lived in
an older house a block below the brow of College Hill. It gave a
pleasant view of the entire expanse of the valley in which Mayfield was
situated. The houses of the town ranged themselves in neat, orderly rows
below, and spread out on the other side of the
|
house
|
How many times does the word 'house' appear in the text?
| 0
|
be safer to do exactly what he tells me."
Accordingly, in spite of many grumbles and remonstrances from Summerlee,
I ordered an additional tube, which was placed with the other in his
motor-car, for he had offered me a lift to Victoria.
I turned away to pay off my taxi, the driver of which was very
cantankerous and abusive over his fare. As I came back to Professor
Summerlee, he was having a furious altercation with the men who had
carried down the oxygen, his little white goat's beard jerking with
indignation. One of the fellows called him, I remember, "a silly old
bleached cockatoo," which so enraged his chauffeur that he bounded out of
his seat to take the part of his insulted master, and it was all we could
do to prevent a riot in the street.
These little things may seem trivial to relate, and passed as mere
incidents at the time. It is only now, as I look back, that I see their
relation to the whole story which I have to unfold.
The chauffeur must, as it seemed to me, have been a novice or else have
lost his nerve in this disturbance, for he drove vilely on the way to the
station. Twice we nearly had collisions with other equally erratic
vehicles, and I remember remarking to Summerlee that the standard of
driving in London had very much declined. Once we brushed the very edge
of a great crowd which was watching a fight at the corner of the Mall.
The people, who were much excited, raised cries of anger at the clumsy
driving, and one fellow sprang upon the step and waved a stick above our
heads. I pushed him off, but we were glad when we had got clear of them
and safe out of the park. These little events, coming one after the
other, left me very jangled in my nerves, and I could see from my
companion's petulant manner that his own patience had got to a low ebb.
But our good humour was restored when we saw Lord John Roxton waiting for
us upon the platform, his tall, thin figure clad in a yellow tweed
shooting-suit. His keen face, with those unforgettable eyes, so fierce
and yet so humorous, flushed with pleasure at the sight of us. His ruddy
hair was shot with grey, and the furrows upon his brow had been cut a
little deeper by Time's chisel, but in all else he was the Lord John who
had been our good comrade in the past.
"Hullo, Herr Professor! Hullo, young fella!" he shouted as he came
toward us.
He roared with amusement when he saw the oxygen cylinders upon the
porter's trolly behind us. "So you've got them too!" he cried. "Mine is
in the van. Whatever can the old dear be after?"
"Have you seen his letter in the Times?" I asked.
"What was it?"
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Summerlee harshly.
"Well, it's at the bottom of this oxygen business, or I am mistaken,"
said I.
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried Summerlee again with quite unnecessary
violence. We had all got into a first-class smoker, and he had already
lit the short and charred old briar pipe which seemed to singe the end of
his long, aggressive nose.
"Friend Challenger is a clever man," said he with great vehemence. "No
one can deny it. It's a fool that denies it. Look at his hat. There's
a sixty-ounce brain inside it--a big engine, running smooth, and turning
out clean work. Show me the engine-house and I'll tell you the size of
the engine. But he is a born charlatan--you've heard me tell him so to
his face--a born charlatan, with a kind of dramatic trick of jumping into
the limelight. Things are quiet, so friend Challenger sees a chance to
set the public talking about him. You don't imagine that he seriously
believes all this nonsense about a change in the ether and a danger to
the human race? Was ever such a cock-and-bull story in this life?"
He sat like an old white raven, croaking and shaking with sardonic
|
else
|
How many times does the word 'else' appear in the text?
| 1
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
martin
|
How many times does the word 'martin' appear in the text?
| 4
|
the time, for the fashion of
affectation changes. The Winterblossoms and Quacklebens are accurate
enough in themselves, but are seen through a Blackwoodian atmosphere, as
it were, through a mist of the temporary and boisterous Scotch humour of
the day. The author occasionally stoops to a pun, and, like that which
Hood made in the hearing of Thackeray, the pun is not good. Indeed the
novel, in its view of the decay of the Border, the ruined Laird, the
frivolous foolish society of the Well, taking the place of sturdy
William of Deloraine, and farmers like Scott's grandfather, makes a
picture of decadence as melancholy as "Redgauntlet." "Not here, O
Apollo, are haunts meet for thee!" Strangely enough, among the features
of the time, Scott mentions reckless borrowings, "accommodation," "Banks
of Air." His own business was based on a "Bank of Air," "wind-capital,"
as Cadell, Constable's partner, calls it, and the bubble was just about
to burst, though Scott had no apprehension of financial ruin. A horrid
power is visible in Scott's second picture of _la mauvaise pauvre_, the
hag who despises and curses the givers of "handfuls of coals and of
rice;" his first he drew in the witches of "The Bride of Lammermoor." He
has himself indicated his desire to press hard on the vice of gambling,
as in "The Fortunes of Nigel." Ruinous at all times and in every shape,
gambling, in Scott's lifetime, during the Regency, had crippled or
destroyed many an historical Scottish family. With this in his mind he
drew the portrait of Mowbray of St. Ronan's. His picture of duelling is
not more seductive; he himself had lost his friend, Sir Alexander
Boswell, in a duel; on other occasions this institution had brought
discomfort into his life, and though he was ready to fight General
Gourgaud with Napoleon's pistols, he cannot have approved of the
practices of the MacTurks and Bingo Binkses. A maniac, as his
correspondence shows, challenged Sir Walter, insisting that he was
pointed at and ridiculed in the character of MacTurk. (Abbotsford MSS.)
It is interesting to have the picture of contemporary manners from
Scott's hand--Meg Dods remains among his immortal portraits; but a novel
in which the absurd will of fiction and the conventional Nabob are
necessary machinery can never be ranked so high as even "The Monastery"
and "Peveril." In Scotland, however, it was infinitely more successful
than its admirable successor "Redgauntlet."
ANDREW LANG.
_December 1893._
INTRODUCTION
TO
ST. RONAN'S WELL.
The novel which follows is upon a plan different from any other that the
author has ever written, although it is perhaps the most legitimate
which relates to this kind of light literature.
It is intended, in a word--_celebrare domestica facta_--to give an
imitation of the shifting manners of our own time, and paint scenes, the
originals of which are daily passing round us, so that a minute's
observation may compare the copies with the originals. It must be
confessed that this style of composition was adopted by the author
rather from the tempting circumstance of its offering some novelty in
his compositions, and avoiding worn-out characters and positions, than
from the hope of rivalling the many formidable competitors who have
already won deserved honours in this department. The ladies, in
particular, gifted by nature with keen powers of observation and light
satire, have been so distinguished by these works of talent, that,
reckoning from the authoress of Evelina to her of Marriage, a catalogue
might be made, including the brilliant and talented names of Edgeworth,
Austin, Charlotte Smith, and others, whose success seems to have
appropriated this province of the novel as exclusively their own. It was
therefore with a sense of temerity that the author intruded upon a
species of composition which had been of late practised with such
distinguished success. This consciousness was lost, however, under the
necessity of seeking for novelty, without which, it
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 6
|
ÂÂAh!â she said laughing. âÂÂWhat is it all but words!â And so again she
closed the conversation. But Ursula was still brooding.
âÂÂAnd how do you find home, now you have come back to it?â she asked.
Gudrun paused for some moments, coldly, before answering. Then, in a
cold truthful voice, she said:
âÂÂI find myself completely out of it.âÂÂ
âÂÂAnd father?âÂÂ
Gudrun looked at Ursula, almost with resentment, as if brought to bay.
âÂÂI havenâÂÂt thought about him: IâÂÂve refrained,â she said coldly.
âÂÂYes,â wavered Ursula; and the conversation was really at an end. The
sisters found themselves confronted by a void, a terrifying chasm, as
if they had looked over the edge.
They worked on in silence for some time, GudrunâÂÂs cheek was flushed
with repressed emotion. She resented its having been called into being.
âÂÂShall we go out and look at that wedding?â she asked at length, in a
voice that was too casual.
âÂÂYes!â cried Ursula, too eagerly, throwing aside her sewing and leaping
up, as if to escape something, thus betraying the tension of the
situation and causing a friction of dislike to go over GudrunâÂÂs nerves.
As she went upstairs, Ursula was aware of the house, of her home round
about her. And she loathed it, the sordid, too-familiar place! She was
afraid at the depth of her feeling against the home, the milieu, the
whole atmosphere and condition of this obsolete life. Her feeling
frightened her.
The two girls were soon walking swiftly down the main road of Beldover,
a wide street, part shops, part dwelling-houses, utterly formless and
sordid, without poverty. Gudrun, new from her life in Chelsea and
Sussex, shrank cruelly from this amorphous ugliness of a small colliery
town in the Midlands. Yet forward she went, through the whole sordid
gamut of pettiness, the long amorphous, gritty street. She was exposed
to every stare, she passed on through a stretch of torment. It was
strange that she should have chosen to come back and test the full
effect of this shapeless, barren ugliness upon herself. Why had she
wanted to submit herself to it, did she still want to submit herself to
it, the insufferable torture of these ugly, meaningless people, this
defaced countryside? She felt like a beetle toiling in the dust. She
was filled with repulsion.
They turned off the main road, past a black patch of common-garden,
where sooty cabbage stumps stood shameless. No one thought to be
ashamed. No one was ashamed of it all.
âÂÂIt is like a country in an underworld,â said Gudrun. âÂÂThe colliers
bring it above-ground with them, shovel it up. Ursula, itâÂÂs marvellous,
itâÂÂs really marvellousâÂÂitâÂÂs really wonderful, another world. The people
are all ghouls, and everything is ghostly. Everything is a ghoulish
replica of the real world, a replica, a ghoul, all soiled, everything
sordid. ItâÂÂs like being mad,
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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
|
left
|
How many times does the word 'left' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
|
stairs
|
How many times does the word 'stairs' appear in the text?
| 1
|
uncle not letting him. All manner of solemn nonsense was talked on the
subject, but I believed none of it.
"Ever since the day--about four years ago--that Miss Taylor and I met
with him in Broadway Lane, when, because it began to drizzle, he darted
away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from
Farmer Mitchell's, I made up my mind on the subject. I planned the match
from that hour; and when such success has blessed me in this instance,
dear papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off match-making."
"I do not understand what you mean by 'success,'" said Mr. Knightley.
"Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately
spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring
about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady's mind! But
if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means
only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, 'I think it
would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry
her,' and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards, why
do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You
made a lucky guess; and _that_ is all that can be said."
"And have you never known the pleasure and triumph of a lucky guess?--I
pity you.--I thought you cleverer--for, depend upon it a lucky guess is
never merely luck. There is always some talent in it. And as to my
poor word 'success,' which you quarrel with, I do not know that I am so
entirely without any claim to it. You have drawn two pretty pictures;
but I think there may be a third--a something between the do-nothing and
the do-all. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston's visits here, and given
many little encouragements, and smoothed many little matters, it might
not have come to any thing after all. I think you must know Hartfield
enough to comprehend that."
"A straightforward, open-hearted man like Weston, and a rational,
unaffected woman like Miss Taylor, may be safely left to manage their
own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm to yourself, than
good to them, by interference."
"Emma never thinks of herself, if she can do good to others," rejoined
Mr. Woodhouse, understanding but in part. "But, my dear, pray do not
make any more matches; they are silly things, and break up one's family
circle grievously."
"Only one more, papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr.
Elton, papa,--I must look about for a wife for him. There is nobody in
Highbury who deserves him--and he has been here a whole year, and has
fitted up his house so comfortably, that it would be a shame to have him
single any longer--and I thought when he was joining their hands to-day,
he looked so very much as if he would like to have the same kind office
done for him! I think very well of Mr. Elton, and this is the only way I
have of doing him a service."
"Mr. Elton is a very pretty young man, to be sure, and a very good young
man, and I have a great regard for him. But if you want to shew him any
attention, my dear, ask him to come and dine with us some day. That will
be a much better thing. I dare say Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to
meet him."
"With a great deal of pleasure, sir, at any time," said Mr. Knightley,
laughing, "and I agree with you entirely, that it will be a much better
thing. Invite him to dinner, Emma, and help him to the best of the fish
and the chicken, but leave him to chuse his own wife. Depend upon it, a
man of six or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself."
CHAPTER II
Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, and born of a respectable family,
which for the last two or three generations had been rising into
gentility and property. He had received a good education, but
|
only
|
How many times does the word 'only' appear in the text?
| 3
|
curb where an ELDERLY MAN waits with
his MIDDLE-AGED SON in THE RAIN.
<b> MIDDLE-AGED SON
</b> (as they climb in)
23rd and Lex.
The CABBIE grunts a reply.
<b> MIDDLE-AGED SON (CONT'D)
</b> How ya doin', Papa, you doin'
alright?
<b> ELDERLY MAN
</b> Fine, fine...
<b> MIDDLE-AGED SON
</b> This is just a check-up, okay?
Doctor Katz says you'll outlive us
all.
(looks out the window)
Traffic isn't bad. We should be
back in time to watch the Mets.
He notices his father is STARING, wide-eyed, at the cabby's
HACK LICENSE. We glimpse only the last name..."Bielski."
<b> MIDDLE-AGED SON (CONT'D)
</b> Papa? .Papa, what is it?
IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR, the old man catches the furtive
eyes of the cabby.
<b> ELDERLY MAN
</b> ...You. Can it be?
The eyes in the mirror look away. And then back.
<b> ELDERLY MAN (CONT'D)
</b> Bielski. Can it possibly be?
As we PUSH IN on the eyes in the mirror, we HEAR THE
<b> DESPERATE RASPING SOUND OF PANTING.
</b>
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 A MAN RUNNING FOR HIS LIFE THROUGH THE WOODS. 2
</b> Bombs EXPLODE all around as he passes dead bodies and BURNT-
OUT VEHICLES. Without slowing he discards a WW II Red Army
helmet, a field jacket, a heavy pack, anything that might
impede his flight. He glances back up over his shoulder.
The sky is filled with BOMBERS. He runs on.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b> SALMON Revision - 8-18-07 2.
<b> 3 OMITTED 3
</b>
<b> 4 THE VILLAGE OF NALIBOKI 4
</b> A typical Eastern European
|
flight
|
How many times does the word 'flight' appear in the text?
| 0
|
poses
playfully...dressed in the local custom of boots and cowboy hats, the
TOW ORIENTAL MEN, A CAUCASIAN MAN, AND A CAUCASIAN WOMAN squint into
the hot sun and then down at the jiggling home movie camera, the
operator lopsided...
<b>NARRATOR
</b>The advent of the Soviet nuclear capability ushers in a dangerous phase
of the Cold War as the decade of the 1950s looms. Stung by this Soviet
challenge and the rapid race to develop ever more sophisticated
weapons, the United States resurrects maverick Professor Toichi
Hikita's work in electromagnetic particle acceleration...despite the
dismal record of failure that has dogged the project.
TOICHI HIKITA, one of the group, walks forward, taking the CAMERA from
its present operator, a four-year-old child...A LITTLE BOY IN CHAPS AND
COWBOY HAT who now joins the other adults, in particular Caucasian
woman and the elder Oriental man who pick him up and hug him...
<b>NARRATOR
</b>Doctor Masado Banzai, preeminent Japanese quantum theorist, declares
himself anxious to work for the Allies. Enamored of the great American
West, Banzai sires a precocious son and tags the tiny child "Buckaroo."
A tribute to his adopted homeland.
<b>EXT. TEST SITE - DAY 2
</b>
A strange TWO-MAN SPEED VEHICLE readies for takeoff...the FIRST "PILOT"
in the cockpit Dr. Banzai himself:
<b>NARRATOR
</b>And thus given a second chance after his secret pre-war laboratory
disaster at Princeton, Doctor Hikita finds new life at the Texas School
of Mines, where he assembles a team of crack scientists willing to
gamble he's right in his bold assertion that man can indeed pass
unharmed through solid matter.
The SECOND "PILOT," a fair-haired Caucasian: 3
<b>NARRATOR
</b>Sir Alan Motley of Cambridge, a brainy, affable limey, co-developer
with Whitehead and Lord Russell of the world's most advanced
theoretical gravity catapult...
<b> 4
</b>The fourth scientist, the female Caucasian, busy with last-minute
details, securing the two pilots in their seats, checking their
instrument data, writing on a clipboard...
<b>NARRATOR
</b>Dr. Sandra Banzai, Texas-born pioneer in Negative Mass Propulsion
...wife of Dr. Masado Banzai.
...as the four-year-old BUCKAROO BANZAI now approaches the speed
machine and gives his father a good-bye kiss...Dr. Banzai saying
something to the boy, Buckaroo bowing respectfully, as his father and
mother exchange last-minute assurances...
The cockpit canopy comes down, and Sandra Banzai tugs a reluctant
little Buckaroo toward a sandbagged shelter...
<b>EXT. SANDBAGS - DAY 5
</b>
...where Professor Hikita sits at a bank of monitoring equipment,
Sandra Banzai and Buckaroo entering the enclosure as...
...A SUDDEN NOISE causes Sandra Banzai to turn in fear, the bizarre
speed machine's motors whining at an astonishing rpm, BLINDING GREEN
<b>FLAMES ENGULFING ITS COCKPIT...
</b>
<b>EXT. TEST SITE - DAY 6
</b>
...Sandra Banzai rushing toward the sheet-metal vehicle through SMOKE
AND GREEN FLAME as her husband and Sir Alan both struggle to get out...
<b> 7
</b>...Buckaroo running after his mother who attempts to help the
scientists free themselves when suddenly the child is thrown to the
ground and protected by Professor Hikita's own body...as the
experimental car VAPORIZES IN A FLASH OF EMERALD GREEN LIGHT! THE
<b>SCREEN GOING WHITE, A LAUNCH COUNTDOWN BEGINNING UNDER A SOM
|
decade
|
How many times does the word 'decade' appear in the text?
| 0
|
She looks so haughty that I should have thought
her a princess at the very least, with a pedigree reaching as far back
as the Deluge. But this lady was no better born than many other ladies
who give themselves airs; and all sensible people laughed at her absurd
pretensions. The fact is, she had been maid-servant to the Queen when
Her Majesty was only Princess, and her husband had been head footman;
but after his death or DISAPPEARANCE, of which you shall hear presently,
this Mrs. Gruffanuff, by flattering, toadying, and wheedling her royal
mistress, became a favourite with the Queen (who was rather a weak
woman), and Her Majesty gave her a title, and made her nursery governess
to the Princess.
And now I must tell you about the Princess's learning and
accomplishments, for which she had such a wonderful character. Clever
Angelica certainly was, but as IDLE as POSSIBLE. Play at sight, indeed!
she could play one or two pieces, and pretend that she had never seen
them before; she could answer half a dozen Mangnall's Questions; but
then you must take care to ask the RIGHT ones. As for her languages,
she had masters in plenty, but I doubt whether she knew more than a few
phrases in each, for all her presence; and as for her embroidery and her
drawing, she showed beautiful specimens, it is true, but WHO DID THEM?
This obliges me to tell the truth, and to do so I must go back ever so
far, and tell you about the FAIRY BLACKSTICK.
III. TELLS WHO THE FAIRY BLACKSTICK WAS, AND WHO WERE EVER SO MANY GRAND
PERSONAGES BESIDES
Between the kingdoms of Paflagonia and Crim Tartary, there lived a
mysterious personage, who was known in those countries as the Fairy
Blackstick, from the ebony wand or crutch which she carried; on which
she rode to the moon sometimes, or upon other excursions of business or
pleasure, and with which she performed her wonders.
When she was young, and had been first taught the art of conjuring
by the necromancer, her father, she was always practicing her skill,
whizzing about from one kingdom to another upon her black stick, and
conferring her fairy favours upon this Prince or that. She had scores of
royal godchildren; turned numberless wicked people into beasts, birds,
millstones, clocks, pumps, boot jacks, umbrellas, or other absurd
shapes; and, in a word, was one of the most active and officious of the
whole College of fairies.
But after two or three thousand years of this sport, I suppose
Blackstick grew tired of it. Or perhaps she thought, 'What good am I
doing by sending this Princess to sleep for a hundred years? by fixing a
black pudding on to that booby's nose? by causing diamonds and pearls to
drop from one little girl's mouth, and vipers and toads from another's?
I begin to think I do as much harm as good by my performances. I might
as well shut my incantations up, and allow things to take their natural
course.
'There were my two young goddaughters, King Savio's wife, and Duke
Padella's wife, I gave them each a present, which was to render them
charming in the eyes of their husbands, and secure the affection of
those gentlemen as long as they lived. What good did my Rose and my Ring
do these two women? None on earth. From having all their whims indulged
by their husbands, they became capricious, lazy, ill-humoured, absurdly
vain, and leered and languished, and fancied themselves irresistibly
beautiful, when they were really quite old and hideous, the ridiculous
creatures! They used actually to patronise me when I went to pay them
a visit--ME, the Fairy Blackstick, who knows all the wisdom of the
necromancers, and could have turned them into baboons, and all their
diamonds into strings of onions, by a single wave of my rod!' So
she locked up her books in her cupboard, declined further magical
performances, and scarcely used her wand at all except as a cane to walk
about with
|
pumps
|
How many times does the word 'pumps' appear in the text?
| 0
|
go on, and tell my story my own way:--Or, if I should
seem now and then to trifle upon the road,--or should sometimes put on
a fool's cap with a bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass
along,--don't fly off,--but rather courteously give me credit for a
little more wisdom than appears upon my outside;--and as we jog on,
either laugh with me, or at me, or in short do any thing,--only keep
your temper.
Chapter 1.VII.
In the same village where my father and my mother dwelt, dwelt also a
thin, upright, motherly, notable, good old body of a midwife, who with
the help of a little plain good sense, and some years full employment
in her business, in which she had all along trusted little to her own
efforts, and a great deal to those of dame Nature,--had acquired, in her
way, no small degree of reputation in the world:--by which word world,
need I in this place inform your worship, that I would be understood to
mean no more of it, than a small circle described upon the circle of the
great world, of four English miles diameter, or thereabouts, of which
the cottage where the good old woman lived is supposed to be the
centre?--She had been left it seems a widow in great distress, with
three or four small children, in her forty-seventh year; and as she was
at that time a person of decent carriage,--grave deportment,--a
woman moreover of few words and withal an object of compassion, whose
distress, and silence under it, called out the louder for a friendly
lift: the wife of the parson of the parish was touched with pity; and
having often lamented an inconvenience to which her husband's flock had
for many years been exposed, inasmuch as there was no such thing as a
midwife, of any kind or degree, to be got at, let the case have been
never so urgent, within less than six or seven long miles riding; which
said seven long miles in dark nights and dismal roads, the country
thereabouts being nothing but a deep clay, was almost equal to fourteen;
and that in effect was sometimes next to having no midwife at all; it
came into her head, that it would be doing as seasonable a kindness to
the whole parish, as to the poor creature herself, to get her a little
instructed in some of the plain principles of the business, in order
to set her up in it. As no woman thereabouts was better qualified to
execute the plan she had formed than herself, the gentlewoman very
charitably undertook it; and having great influence over the female part
of the parish, she found no difficulty in effecting it to the utmost of
her wishes. In truth, the parson join'd his interest with his wife's in
the whole affair, and in order to do things as they should be, and give
the poor soul as good a title by law to practise, as his wife had given
by institution,--he cheerfully paid the fees for the ordinary's licence
himself, amounting in the whole, to the sum of eighteen shillings and
four pence; so that betwixt them both, the good woman was fully invested
in the real and corporal possession of her office, together with all its
rights, members, and appurtenances whatsoever.
These last words, you must know, were not according to the old form in
which such licences, faculties, and powers usually ran, which in
like cases had heretofore been granted to the sisterhood. But it was
according to a neat Formula of Didius his own devising, who having a
particular turn for taking to pieces, and new framing over again
all kind of instruments in that way, not only hit upon this dainty
amendment, but coaxed many of the old licensed matrons in the
neighbourhood, to open their faculties afresh, in order to have this
wham-wham of his inserted.
I own I never could envy Didius in these kinds of fancies of his:--But
every man to his own taste.--Did not Dr. Kunastrokius, that great man,
at his leisure hours, take the greatest delight imaginable in combing of
asses tails, and plucking the dead hairs out with his teeth, though he
had
|
over
|
How many times does the word 'over' appear in the text?
| 1
|
conditions had been prohibitive. They were, somehow, simply afraid. It
sounded dull--it sounded strange; and all the more so because of his
main condition."
"Which was--?"
"That she should never trouble him--but never, never: neither appeal
nor complain nor write about anything; only meet all questions herself,
receive all moneys from his solicitor, take the whole thing over and let
him alone. She promised to do this, and she mentioned to me that when,
for a moment, disburdened, delighted, he held her hand, thanking her for
the sacrifice, she already felt rewarded."
"But was that all her reward?" one of the ladies asked.
"She never saw him again."
"Oh!" said the lady; which, as our friend immediately left us again, was
the only other word of importance contributed to the subject till, the
next night, by the corner of the hearth, in the best chair, he opened
the faded red cover of a thin old-fashioned gilt-edged album. The whole
thing took indeed more nights than one, but on the first occasion the
same lady put another question. "What is your title?"
"I haven't one."
"Oh, _I_ have!" I said. But Douglas, without heeding me, had begun to
read with a fine clearness that was like a rendering to the ear of the
beauty of his author's hand.
I
I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a
little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town,
to meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days--found
myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this
state of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that
carried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle
from the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and
I found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in
waiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a country
to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly welcome, my
fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue, encountered
a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to which it had
sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something so melancholy
that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a most pleasant
impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and fresh curtains
and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn and the bright
flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and the clustered
treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the golden sky. The
scene had a greatness that made it a different affair from my own scant
home, and there immediately appeared at the door, with a little girl in
her hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent a curtsy as if I had
been the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I had received in Harley
Street a narrower notion of the place, and that, as I recalled it, made
me think the proprietor still more of a gentleman, suggested that what I
was to enjoy might be something beyond his promise.
I had no drop again till the next day, for I was carried triumphantly
through the following hours by my introduction to the younger of my
pupils. The little girl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on the
spot a creature so charming as to make it a great fortune to have to
do with her. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, and I
afterward wondered that my employer had not told me more of her. I slept
little that night--I was too much excited; and this astonished me, too,
I recollect, remained with me, adding to my sense of the liberality with
which I was treated. The large, impressive room, one of the best in
the house, the great state bed, as I almost felt it, the full, figured
draperies, the long glasses in which, for the first time, I could see
myself from head to foot, all struck me--like the extraordinary charm of
my small charge--as so many things thrown in. It was thrown in as
well, from the first moment, that I should get
|
place
|
How many times does the word 'place' appear in the text?
| 1
|
a deep moaning noise. She looks likes she's on the verge of pain and ecstasy.
<b>GIRL
</b>Oh yes, Telly it hurts, oh yes, oh yes, please Telly, Telly.
The CAMERA backs up to reveal Telly having sex with the girl. Telly is seventeen years old. He is short, dirty, slightly muscular, he has an interesting face, he is a street-smart punk, He is biting his bottom lip, the two of them are sweating like mad, the sound of the bed post smashing against the wall combines with the rhythmical moaning of the two.
<b>RAPID FADE TO BLACK
</b>
<b>BACK IN TIME - BEFORE THEY HAD SEX
</b>
Telly is in bed with the girl. The two of them are sitting up in the big bed that is raised high of the ground. Telly is naked except for a tight pair of white underwater. He is sitting above the blankets with his legs spread apart. The girl is partially covered, she is wearing a black bra, one of her nipples is poking through. The two of them are very sweaty, they both have messed up hair, there is a great feeling of heat and wetness.
The windows to her room are open, the sound of outside of outside traffic is circulating. There is a small fan on her dresser that is blowing from side to side. Socks, shirts, and pants are lying on her hard wood floor. The room is neat except for the clothing. A large poster of the Beastie Boys hangs on the wall. She has many stuffed animals on her bed and dresser drawer, she also has a small dollhouse in the corner.
Telly and the girl are looking at each other.
The girl speaks slowly and softly, she has a very innocent beauty about her.
<b>TELLY
</b>You know what I want to do?
<b>GIRL
</b>Yeah.
<b>TELLY
</b>What do I want to do?
<b>GIRL
</b>You want to fuck me. But you can't fuck me.
<b>TELLY
</b>(smiling)
Why?
<b>GIRL
</b>Because, you know why. You know.
<b>TELLY
</b>Because your a virgin?
<b>GIRL
</b>Because I'm a virgin and I don't want no baby.
<b>TELLY
</b>You think I want a baby? When you're with me, you don't have to worry about that kinda stuff.
<b>GIRL
</b>Why is that?
<b>TELLY
</b>Because I like you. I think you're beautiful. I think if we fucked you would love it. You wouldn't even believe it.
<b>GIRL
</b>I wouldn't believe it?
<b>TELLY
</b>I don't know. I just think that you would love it.
<b>GIRL
</b>But, I don't know. I'm just scared that things would change. Between us.
<b>TELLY
</b>What things? I'm telling you, nothing's going to change.
(he begins to caress her cheek and hair)
I want to make you happy. That's all.
Telly scoots up to the girl and starts to kiss her. He sticks his tongue in her mouth. They kiss.
<b>TELLY
</b>(whispering)
You know it won't hurt. I'll be gentle. I promise.
<b>GIRL
</b>(whispering)
Do you care about me?
<b>TELLY
</b>(whispering)
Of course I do.
<b>RAPID CUT TO BLACK
</b>
<b>AN EXTREME CLOSEUP OF THE GIRL'S FACE
</b>
As she screams in total agony. Telly and the girl are on the bed having sex. All the lights are on. This scene should look very white and bleached out, very electric and shocking. Everything should be exposed as Telly takes advantage of the virgin girl.
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 4
|
disadvantages. It was not likely that he would stay with him long; but
at any rate, the fact that he was taking his wife with him would ensure
his staying, until he saw something a great deal better elsewhere.
When Gregory returned, therefore, he said:
"I have been thinking this matter over. What is your name?"
"Gregory Hilliard, sir."
"Well, I have been thinking it over, and I have decided to engage you.
I quite believe the story that you have told me, and your appearance
fully carries it out. You may consider the matter settled. I am willing
to pay for a second-class passage for your wife, as well as yourself;
and will give such instructions, to my agents there, as will render
your position as easy for you as possible. In the natural course of
things, your duties would have included the sweeping out of the
offices, and work of that description; but I will instruct him to
engage a native to do this, under your supervision. You will be in
charge of the warehouse, under the chief storekeeper; and, as you say,
you will, in case of pressure of work in the office, take a desk there.
"In consideration of your knowledge of the language, which will render
you, at once, more useful than a green hand would be, I shall add ten
shillings a week to the wages named in the advertisement, which will
enable you to obtain comfortable lodgings."
"I am heartily obliged to you, sir," Gregory said, "and will do my best
to show that your confidence in me has not been misplaced. When do you
wish me to sail? I shall only require a few hours to make my
preparations."
"Then in that case I will take a passage, for you and your wife, in the
P. and O. that sails, next Thursday, from Southampton. I may say that it
is our custom to allow fifteen pounds, for outfit. If you will call
again in half an hour, I will hand you the ticket and a cheque for that
amount; and you can call, the day before you go, for a letter to our
agents there."
Gregory ascended the stairs to his lodging with a far more elastic step
than usual. His wife saw at once, as he entered, that he had good news
of some sort.
"What is it, Gregory?"
"Thank God, darling, that I have good news to give you, at last! I have
obtained a situation, at about a hundred and thirty pounds a year, in
Alexandria."
"Alexandria?" she repeated, in surprise.
"Yes. It is the place of all others that I wanted to go to. You see, I
understand the language. That is one thing; and what is of infinitely
more consequence, it is a place that will suit your health; and you
will, I hope, very soon get rid of that nasty cough. I did not tell you
at the time, but the doctor I took you to said that this London air did
not suit you, but that a warm climate would soon set you up again."
"You are going out there for my sake, Gregory! As if I hadn't brought
trouble enough on you, already!"
"I would bear a good deal more trouble for your sake, dear. You need
not worry about that."
"And what are you going to do?" she asked.
"I am going to be a sort of useful man--extra clerk, assistant
storekeeper, et cetera, et cetera. I like Egypt very much. It will suit
me to a T. At any rate, it will be a vast improvement upon this.
"Talking of that, I have forgotten the rashers. I will go and get them,
at once. We sha'n't have to depend upon them as our main staple, in
future; for fruit is dirt cheap, out there, and one does not want much
meat. We shall be able to live like princes, on two pounds ten a week;
and besides, this appointment may lead to something better, and we may
consider that there is a future before us.
"We are to sail on Thursday. Look! Here are fifteen golden sovereigns.
That is for my outfit, and we can begin with luxuries, at once. We
shall not want much
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 8
|
November 20, 2005
<b> 1 EXT. MANHATTAN. BROADWAY. UPPER 70S. DAY. 1
</b>
From across Broadway we see a little girl waiting at the
curb. She steps off the curb toward us --
A TRUCK BARRELS into frame -- The long lens' flattened
perspective makes it look like she's just been crushed. But
the truck flashes by and she's fine. More traffic passes to
and fro through the frame.
<b> CREDITS BEGIN OVER:
</b>
<b> 2 EXT. ANOTHER CORNER. DAY. 2
</b>
The LIGHT CHANGES and a crowded corner full of New Yorkers
step off the curb and into the crosswalk -- Before the first
foot lands on the street we go to SUPER SLOW MOTION as the
mid-day work crowd crosses the street.
<b> 3 EXT. NEW YORK CITY STREETS. DAY. 3
</b>
MONTAGE -- Slow motion shots of New Yorkers, mid-day, all
kinds, going all different ways, all over the city.
CREDITS END with some high school kids with book bags,
walking among the crowds.
<b> 4 INT. HIGH SCHOOL CLASSROOM. DAY. 4
</b>
An 11th-grade math class at the Ralph Waldo Emerson School,
one of the few remaining Manhattan '60s-inspired progressive
schools. About twenty kids, mostly white secular Jewish. A
sprinkling of black and Hispanic kids.
The teacher, MR AARON, late 20s, is returning test papers.
<b> MR AARON
</b> Abrams... Allende...
One after the other the students get up to collect their
tests, glance at the results and drag themselves back to
their chairs.
On LISA COHEN, just 17. Not the best-looking girl in her
class but definitely in the top five. She listens listlessly,
somewhat bad-temperedly.
<b> MR AARON (CONT'D)
</b> Bernstein... Cohen...
At "Cohen" LISA gets up and heads for the desk.
LISA'S POV, closing in slowly on MR AARON who glances up at
her as she approaches. Their eyes meet. Aaron has the classic
handsome young teacher's no-nonsense expression on his face
as she reaches out her hand --
|
different
|
How many times does the word 'different' appear in the text?
| 0
|
a rough windlass, which
brought up the miners and the mullock.
My brothers and sisters contracted mumps, measles, scarlatina, and
whooping-cough. I rolled in the bed with them yet came off scot-free. I
romped with dogs, climbed trees after birds' nests, drove the bullocks
in the dray, under the instructions of Ben, our bullocky, and always
accompanied my father when he went swimming in the clear, mountain,
shrub-lined stream which ran deep and lone among the weird gullies,
thickly carpeted with maidenhair and numberless other species of ferns.
My mother shook her head over me and trembled for my future, but father
seemed to consider me nothing unusual. He was my hero, confidant,
encyclopedia, mate, and even my religion till I was ten. Since then I
have been religionless.
Richard Melvyn, you were a fine fellow in those days! A kind and
indulgent parent, a chivalrous husband, a capital host, a man full of
ambition and gentlemanliness.
Amid these scenes, and the refinements and pleasures of Caddagat, which
lies a hundred miles or so farther Riverinawards, I spent the first
years of my childhood.
CHAPTER TWO
An Introduction to Possum Gully
I was nearly nine summers old when my father conceived the idea that he
was wasting his talents by keeping them rolled up in the small napkin of
an out-of-the-way place like Bruggabrong and the Bin Bin stations.
Therefore he determined to take up his residence in a locality where he
would have more scope for his ability.
When giving his reason for moving to my mother, he put the matter before
her thus: The price of cattle and horses had fallen so of late years
that it was impossible to make much of a living by breeding them. Sheep
were the only profitable article to have nowadays, and it would be
impossible to run them on Bruggabrong or either of the Bin Bins. The
dingoes would work havoc among them in no time, and what they left the
duffers would soon dispose of. As for bringing police into the matter,
it would be worse than useless. They could not run the offenders to
earth, and their efforts to do so would bring down upon their employer
the wrath of the duffers. Result, all the fences on the station would be
fired for a dead certainty, and the destruction of more than a hundred
miles of heavy log fencing on rough country like Bruggabrong was no
picnic to contemplate.
This was the feasible light in which father shaded his desire to leave.
The fact of the matter was that the heartless harridan, discontent, had
laid her claw-like hand upon him. His guests were ever assuring him he
was buried and wasted in Timlinbilly's gullies. A man of his
intelligence, coupled with his wonderful experience among stock, would,
they averred, make a name and fortune for himself dealing or
auctioneering if he only liked to try. Richard Melvyn began to think so
too, and desired to try. He did try.
He gave up Bruggabrong, Bin Bin East and Bin Bin West, bought Possum
Gully, a small farm of one thousand acres, and brought us all to live
near Goulburn. Here we arrived one autumn afternoon. Father, mother, and
children packed in the buggy, myself, and the one servant-girl, who had
accompanied us, on horseback. The one man father had retained in his
service was awaiting our arrival. He had preceded us with a
bullock-drayload of furniture and belongings, which was all father had
retained of his household property. Just sufficient for us to get along
with, until he had time to settle and purchase more, he said. That was
ten years ago, and that is the only furniture we possess yet--just
enough to get along with.
My first impression of Possum Gully was bitter disappointment--an
impression which time has failed to soften or wipe away.
How flat, common, and monotonous the scenery appeared after the rugged
peaks of the Timlinbilly Range!
Our new house was a ten-roomed wooden structure, built on a barren
hillside. Crooked
|
father
|
How many times does the word 'father' appear in the text?
| 6
|
Story by:
<b> ALAN DEAN FOSTER & GENE RODDENBERRY
</b>
<b>
</b><b> SHOOTING SCRIPT
</b>
July 19, 1978
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN :
</b>
<b> 1 EXT SPACE (S) 1
</b>
An ever expanding infinity of light and color as CAMERA
<b>
</b> TRAVELS THROUGH deep space, MOVING DIRECTLY for one
pinpoint of light: a STAR GROWING RAPIDLY as we SWEEP
TOWARD IT, a normal white star SUDDENLY CHANGING,
brightening, flaring unbelievable intensity: supernova.
The CAMERA HOLDS just a moment, then MOVES on, SEARCH-
ING through space, the jeweled beauty of other star
systems, sparkling nebulae, swirling hydrogen clouds.
STILL MOVING, then CAMERA FINDS:
<b> 2 EXT. AREA OF LUMINESCENCE (S) 2
</b>
In the far distance, slowly growing in size as CAMERA
APPROACHES: it resembles, vaguely at this distance, an
Aurora Borealis: flaring colors from the fringes,
beautiful yet ominous. It is so large, this Cloud, it
can envelope an entire solar system. CAMERA CONTINUES
APPROACHING the Cloud, and then suddenly, crossing
our POV, a:
<b>
</b><b> 3 KLINGON HEAVY CRUISER (S) 3
</b>
In a graceful, turning arc toward the mysterious
LUMINESCENCE. CAMERA FOLLOWS this Klingon, then FINDS
a second Klingon cruiser, also turning toward the Cloud,
which continues to grow in size as the Klingons
approach at warp speed, CAMERA CLOSING on the lead
ship, until the vessel's detail can be clearly MADE
OUT: lights, weaponry, power systems, identification
emblazoned on the nacelles and saucer in Klingon
language (and symbols).
<b> 4 INT. KLINGON CRUISER BRIDGE (O)
|
growing
|
How many times does the word 'growing' appear in the text?
| 1
|
the sleepers,
and the trysail was handy on deck already, for we hadn't been
expecting anything better. We were all in oilskins, of course,
and the night was as black as a coal mine, with only a ray of
light from the slit in the binnacle shield, and you couldn't tell
one man from another except by his voice. The old man took the
wheel; we got the boom amidships, and he jammed her into the wind
until she had hardly any way. It was blowing now, and it was all
that I and two others could do to get in the slack of the
downhaul, while the others lowered away at the peak and throat,
and we had our hands full to get a couple of turns round the wet
sail. It's all child's play on a fore-and-after compared with
reefing topsails in anything like weather, but the gear of a
schooner sometimes does unhandy things that you don't expect, and
those everlasting long halliards get foul of everything if they
get adrift. I remember thinking how unhandy that particular job
was. Somebody unhooked the throat-halliard block, and thought he
had hooked it into the head-cringle of the trysail, and sang out
to hoist away, but he had missed it in the dark, and the heavy
block went flying into the lee rigging, and nearly killed him
when it swung back with the weather roll. Then the old man got
her up in the wind until the jib was shaking like thunder; then
he held her off, and she went off as soon as the head-sails
filled, and he couldn't get her back again without the spanker.
Then the _Helen B._ did her favourite trick, and before we had
time to say much we had a sea over the quarter and were up to our
waists, with the parrels of the trysail only half becketed round
the mast, and the deck so full of gear that you couldn't put your
foot on a plank, and the spanker beginning to get adrift again,
being badly stopped, and the general confusion and hell's delight
that you can only have on a fore-and-after when there's nothing
really serious the matter. Of course, I don't mean to say that
the old man couldn't have steered his trick as well as you or I
or any other seaman; but I don't believe he had ever been on
board the _Helen B._ before, or had his hand on her wheel till
then; and he didn't know her ways. I don't mean to say that what
happened was his fault. I don't know whose fault it was. Perhaps
nobody was to blame. But I knew something happened somewhere on
board when we shipped that sea, and you'll never get it out of my
head. I hadn't any spare time myself, for I was becketing the
rest of the trysail to the mast. We were on the starboard tack,
and the throat-halliard came down to port as usual, and I suppose
there were at least three men at it, hoisting away, while I was
at the beckets.
Now I am going to tell you something. You have known me, man and
boy, several voyages; and you are older than I am; and you have
always been a good friend to me. Now, do you think I am the sort
of man to think I hear things where there isn't anything to hear,
or to think I see things when there is nothing to see? No, you
don't. Thank you. Well now, I had passed the last becket, and I
sang out to the men to sway away, and I was standing on the jaws
of the spanker-gaff, with my left hand on the bolt-rope of the
trysail, so that I could feel when it was board-taut, and I
wasn't thinking of anything except being glad the job was over,
and that we were going to heave her to. It was as black as a
coal-pocket, except that you could see the streaks on the seas as
they went by, and abaft the deck-house I could see the ray of
light from the binnacle on the captain's yellow oilskin as he
stood at the wheel--or rather I might have seen it if I had
looked round at
|
becket
|
How many times does the word 'becket' appear in the text?
| 0
|
"It is, father. A granite trough that floats on the water like a cork
is a miraculous trough. There is not the slightest doubt about it. What
conclusion do you draw from that?"
"I am greatly perplexed. Is it right to perfect so miraculous a machine
by human and natural means?"
"Father, if you lost your right foot and God restored it to you, would
not that foot be miraculous?"
"Without doubt, my son."
"Would you put a shoe on it?"
"Assuredly."
"Well, then, if you believe that one may cover a miraculous foot with a
natural shoe, you should also believe that we can put natural rigging
on a miraculous boat. That is clear. Alas! Why must the holiest persons
have their moments of weakness and despondency? The most illustrious of
the apostles of Brittany could accomplish works worthy of eternal glory
. . . But his spirit is tardy and his hand is slothful. Farewell then,
father! Travel by short and slow stages and when at last you approach
the coast of Hoedic you will see the smoking ruins of the chapel that
was built and consecrated by your own hands. The pagans will have burned
it and with it the deacon you left there. He will be as thoroughly
roasted as a black pudding."
"My trouble is extreme," said the servant of God, drying with his sleeve
the sweat that gathered upon his brow. "But tell me, Samson, my son,
would not rigging this stone trough be a difficult piece of work? And if
we undertook it might we not lose time instead of gaining it?"
"Ah! father," exclaimed the Devil, "in one turning of the hour-glass the
thing would be done. We shall find the necessary rigging in this shed
that you have formerly built here on the coast and in those store-houses
abundantly stocked through your care. I will myself regulate all the
ship's fittings. Before being a monk I was a sailor and a carpenter and
I have worked at many other trades as well. Let us to work."
Immediately he drew the holy man into an outhouse filled with all things
needful for fitting out a boat.
"That for you, father!"
And he placed on his shoulders the sail, the mast, the gaff, and the
boom.
Then, himself bearing a stem and a rudder with its screw and tiller, and
seizing a carpenter's bag full of tools, he ran to the shore, dragging
the holy man after him by his habit. The latter was bent, sweating, and
breathless, under the burden of canvas and wood.
IV. ST. MAEL'S NAVIGATION ON THE OCEAN OF ICE
The Devil, having tucked his clothes up to his arm-pits, dragged the
trough on the sand, and fitted the rigging in less than an hour.
As soon as the holy Mael had embarked, the vessel, with all its sails
set, cleft through the waters with such speed that the coast was almost
immediately out of sight. The old man steered to the south so as to
double the Land's End, but an irresistible current carried him to the
south-west. He went along the southern coast of Ireland and turned
sharply towards the north. In the evening the wind freshened. In vain
did Mael attempt to furl the sail. The vessel flew distractedly towards
the fabulous seas.
By the light of the moon the immodest sirens of the North came around
him with their hempen-coloured hair, raising their white throats and
their rose-tinted limbs out of the sea; and beating the water into foam
with their emerald tails, they sang in cadence:
Whither go'st thou, gentle Mael,
In thy trough distracted?
All distended is thy sail
Like the breast of Juno
When from it gushed the Milky Way.
For a moment their harmonious laughter followed him beneath the stars,
but the vessel fled on, a hundred times more swiftly than the red ship
of a Viking. And the petrels, surprised in their flight, clung with
their feet to the hair of the holy man.
Soon a tempest arose full of darkness and groanings, and the trough
|
their
|
How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 7
|
(The women enter.)
_Chorus of men._
(Behind scenes.)
Your spinning wheels now busily are humming,
O'er fields of golden corn the sound is coming;
We linger where the leafy shade is restful;
Of you we think, and every heart is zestful.
Oh lovely women! Allured by you and enraptured,
Like the bird by the lure held, now are we captured!
(The men enter.)
_Women._
Work in the field now is ended;--
The Holy Mother mild
In ecstasy fondles the Child.
_All._
(Withdrawing from stage.)
Murmurs of tender song tell of a joyful world,
And of thankful hearts.
Ah! gladsome hour!
(Enter, Santuzza, approaching Lucia's dwelling.)
SCENA I.
La scena rappresenta una piazza in un paese della Sicilia. Nel fondo, a
destra, Chiesa con porta practicabile. A sinistra l'osteria e la casa di
Mamma Lucia.
E il giorno Pasqua.
CORO D'INTRODUZIONE.
(Campane interne dalla Chiesa. Si alza la tela. La scena sul principio è
vuota. Albeggia. Paesani, contadini, contadine e ragazzi traversano la
scena. Si apre la chiesa e la folla vi entra. Il movimento del popolo
continua fino al Coro punto in cui rimane la scena vuota.)
_Coro._
(Donne di dentro.)
Ah!
(Uomini di dentro.)
Ah!
(Donne di dentro.)
Gli aranci olezzano sui verdi margini,
Cantan le allodole tra i mirti in fior;
Tempo è si mormori da ognuno il tenero canto che i palpiti--
Raddoppia al cor.
(Le donne entrano in iscena.)
(Uomini di dentro.)
_Coro_.
In mezzo al campo tra le spiche d'oro
Giunge il rumore delle vostre spole,
Noi stanchi riposando dal lavoro
A voi pensiamo, o belle occhidisole.
O belle occhidisole, a voi corriamo,
Come vola l'augelo--al suo richiamo.
(Gli uomini entrano in iscena.)
_Donne._ Cessin le rustiche opre:
La Virgine serena allietasi del Salvator;
Tempo è si mormori da ognuno il
tenero canto che i palpiti--
Raddoppia al cor.
_Uomini._
(Allontanandosi.)
In mezzo al campo, etc.
_Donne._
|
lucia
|
How many times does the word 'lucia' appear in the text?
| 1
|
</b> Slowly we pan downwards revealing the city that spreads
below ... A glittering conglomeration of elevated
transport tubes, smaller square buildings which are merely
huge, with, here and there, the comparatively minuscule
relics of previous ages of architecture, pavement level
awnings suggesting restaurants and shops ... Transparent
tubes carry whizzing transport cages past us ... an
elevated highway carrying traffic composed primarily of
large transport lorries passes thru frame. As we descend,
the sunlight is blocked out and street lights & neon signs
take over as illumination. Eventually we reach the upper
levels of a plush shopping precinct.
<b>2 INT. SHOPPING PRECINT NIGHT 2
</b><b>
</b> Xmas decorations are everywhere. PEOPLE are busy buying,
ogling, discussing, choosing wisely from the goodies on
display. SHOPPERS are going by laden with superbly
packaged goods ... the shop windows are full of
elaborately boxed and be-ribboned who-knows-what. In one
window is a bank of TV sets - on the great majority of the
screens is the face of MR. HELPMANN - the Deputy Minister
of Information. He is being interviewed. No-one bothers to
listen to HELPMANN.
<b> INTERVIEWER
</b> Deputy minister, what do you believe
is behind this recent increase in
terrorist bombings?
<b> HELPMANN
</b> Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless
minority of people seems to have
forgotten certain good old fashioned
virtues. They just can't stand seeing
the other fellow win. If these people
would just play the game, instead of
standing on the touch line heckling -
<b> INTERVIEWER
</b> In fact, killing people -
<b> HELPMANN
</b> - In fact, killing people - they'd
get a lot more out of life.
We PULL AWAY from the shop to concentrate on the shoppers.
HELPMANN's voice carries over the rest of the scene.
<b> INTERVIEWER
</b> Mr. HELPMANN, what would you say to
those critics who maintain that the
Ministry Of Information has become
too large and unwieldy ...?
<b>
|
helpmann
|
How many times does the word 'helpmann' appear in the text?
| 5
|
les the
tin cup between the entrance bar.
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
The inmates stir, rubbing their dirty faces and trying to sit
up. The camera dollies slowly down the narrow hallway of the
block which has three cells: Two small ones side by side, and
one bigger cell that faces the block entrance. The sound of
scribbling and business dealing can be heard from inside the
cell. It is AZUL jottin ginto a business ledger while
chatting on his cellular phone. His cell is equipped with a
small desk and a refridgerator. He hangs up the phone and
continues writing.
<b>INT. JAIL LOBBY - DAY
</b>
The Officer with the tin cup sits in a couch across from his
partner, who is now eating, and reads a magazine.
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul picks up his phone and makes another call. He talks
business. In the other cell, prisoners are getting up and
looking around. Azul hangs up the phone and writes.
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
A gorgeous, bikini-clad BABE struts slowly into a tighly
framed glamour shot. She pauses, takes a deep breath, then
dives a 'perfect ten' dive into a house-side moat. She swims
long, slow motion strokes around the moat as the camera
tracks alonside her, lovingly admiring her tan lines and
hydrodynamic build. She slides out of the water and walks up
a cobble stone walk, dripping as she passes a seated
GENTLEMAN in a white suit. His face is unrevealed. As she
enters the house, he sets his drink down by a phone. He lifts
up the receiver and dials.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul's phone rings. He looks up at it, startled, as if no one
has ever called him before. He glances at his watch, and then
back at the phone, hesitating to answer it. He looks around
the cell block as if someone might be playing a trick on him.
Finally he answers it, pausing before saying hello. It is El
Moco.
<b> MOCO (V.O.)
</b> Good morning, Azul. Do you know who this
is?
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
Moco... What the hell do you want after
all these years?
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
MOCO is sitting on his porch drinking tequila.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
We've got a lot to talk about. I'm just a
few town away with a whole new gang. I
heard you were nearby so I thought I'd
give you a call, amigo.
<b> AZUL (V.O)
</b> That's sweet of you, asshole. I don't
|
cell
|
How many times does the word 'cell' appear in the text?
| 4
|
supposed to be giving a lecture in
twenty minutes and my driver's a bit
lost.
<b> YOUNG WOMAN
</b> (heavy European accent)
Go straight aheads and makes a left
over za bridge.
Lloyd checks out her body.
<b> LLOYD
</b> I couldn't help noticing the accent.
You from Jersey?
<b> YOUNG WOMAN
</b> (unimpressed)
Austria.
<b> LLOYD
</b> Austria? You're kidding.
(mock-Australian accent)
Well, g'day, mate. What do you say
we get together later and throw a
few shrimp on the barbie.
The Young Woman turns her back to him and walks away.
<b> LLOYD (CONT'D)
</b> (to self)
Guess I won't be going Down Under
tonight...
He SIGHS and zips the window back up.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. LIMO
</b>
Lloyd climbs through the driver's partition into the front
seat. Then he puts a CHAUFFEUR'S CAP on his head and drives
away. We see that HE'S THE DRIVER!
The dispatch radio CRACKLES TO LIFE:
<b> DISPATCHER
</b> (v.o.)
Carr 22, come in, car 22...
Lloyd grabs his CB mike.
<b> LLOYD
</b> This is 22.
<b> DISPATCHER
</b> 22, where the hell are you, Lloyd?
You're running late on the East Side
pick-up.
<b> LLOYD
</b> Cool your jets, Arnie. I'm on my
way.
<b>
|
lloyd
|
How many times does the word 'lloyd' appear in the text?
| 8
|
-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
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 6
|
WE HOLD on this for a moment
before we
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. A CORRIDOR IN THE RESIDENCE - DAY
</b>
A SECRET SERVICE AGENT presses the button by the private
elevator as he talks into his shirt cuff.
<b> AGENT COOPER
</b> Liberty's moving.
Another AGENT rounds the corner into the corridor and is
followed a step or two later by
<b> PRESIDENT ANDREW BENJAMIN SHEPHERD.
</b>
SHEPHERD's walking with his personal assistant, JANIE, a shy,
professional and incredibly efficient 25-year-old.
<b> JANIE
</b> The 10:15 event's been moved inside
to the Indian Treaty Room.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> (to Janie)
The 10:15 is American Fisheries?
<b> JANIE
</b> Yes, sir. They're giving you a
200-pound halibut.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> Janie, make a note. We need to
schedule more events where somebody
gives me a really big fish.
JANIE starts to make a note.
<b> JANIE
</b> Yes, sir.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> Janie, I was kidding.
<b> JANIE
</b> Of course, sir.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> (to the AGENT at the
elevator)
Hey, Cooper.
<b> AGENT COOPER
</b> 'Morning, Mr. President.
SHEPHERD and JANIE enter the elevator. As the doors close...
<b> JANIE
</b> Mr. Rothschild asked to have a moment
with you this morning.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> Is he upset about the speech last night?
<b> JANIE
</b> He seemed concerned.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> Well, it wouldn't be a Monday morning
unless Lewis was concerned about
something I did Sunday night.
The elevator doors open, revealing LEWIS ROTHSCHILD. At 32,
LEWIS is the President's chief domestic policy advisor. It
would appear that he averages about two hours sleep a night,
though that doesn't seem to slow him down.
<b> LEWIS
</b> You skipped the whole paragraph.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> (to Janie)
And Monday morning it is.
LEWIS falls into the pace as the three of them head for the
double doors leading to the South Lawn.
<b> LEWIS
</b> "American can no longer afford to
pretend that they live in a great
society"...and then nothing. You
dumped the whole handguns paragraph.
<b> SHEPHERD
</b> This is a time for prudence, Lewis.
<b> LEWIS
</b> That was the kick-ass section.
The three of them are now OUTSIDE and making their way down
|
shepherd
|
How many times does the word 'shepherd' appear in the text?
| 10
|
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,
|
some
|
How many times does the word 'some' appear in the text?
| 3
|
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright (c) 1971
Mike Hodges
All Rights Reserved.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. PENTHOUSE APARTMENT - LONDON - NIGHT
</b>
Framed in the large picture window stands JACK CARTER,
alone, looking out at the night. He turns away as the heavy
satin curtains close, wiping him from view.
<b> INT. FLETCHER'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
A blinding beam of light cuts across the room. One
pornographic slide after another hits the screen at the
opposite end of the room. They show a dowdy group in some
anonymous bedroom, frozen in various stages of a sexual
orgy.
GERALD FLETCHER is slumped on a sofa. His young wife, ANNA,
is curled up beside him.
SID FLETCHER, operating the projector's remote-control,
has the same flaccid appearance as his twin brother.
Jack Carter, drink in hand, watches from an armchair.
Clunk. Another slide hits the screen. Gerald is getting
turned on. He runs his hand along his wife's stockinged
leg. Anna shudders momentarily. She obviously finds his
touch repulsive. Carter watches Gerald's hand.
<b> GERALD
</b> (removing the cigar
from his mouth)
Bollock naked with his socks still
on?
<b> SID
</b> (thoughtfully)
They do that up North.
<b> GERALD
</b>
|
beside
|
How many times does the word 'beside' appear in the text?
| 0
|
in William, to his friend's mind he was
faultless; for Marner had one of those impressible self-doubting
natures which, at an inexperienced age, admire imperativeness and lean
on contradiction. The expression of trusting simplicity in Marner's
face, heightened by that absence of special observation, that
defenceless, deer-like gaze which belongs to large prominent eyes, was
strongly contrasted by the self-complacent suppression of inward
triumph that lurked in the narrow slanting eyes and compressed lips of
William Dane. One of the most frequent topics of conversation between
the two friends was Assurance of salvation: Silas confessed that he
could never arrive at anything higher than hope mingled with fear, and
listened with longing wonder when William declared that he had
possessed unshaken assurance ever since, in the period of his
conversion, he had dreamed that he saw the words "calling and election
sure" standing by themselves on a white page in the open Bible. Such
colloquies have occupied many a pair of pale-faced weavers, whose
unnurtured souls have been like young winged things, fluttering
forsaken in the twilight.
It had seemed to the unsuspecting Silas that the friendship had
suffered no chill even from his formation of another attachment of a
closer kind. For some months he had been engaged to a young
servant-woman, waiting only for a little increase to their mutual
savings in order to their marriage; and it was a great delight to him
that Sarah did not object to William's occasional presence in their
Sunday interviews. It was at this point in their history that Silas's
cataleptic fit occurred during the prayer-meeting; and amidst the
various queries and expressions of interest addressed to him by his
fellow-members, William's suggestion alone jarred with the general
sympathy towards a brother thus singled out for special dealings. He
observed that, to him, this trance looked more like a visitation of
Satan than a proof of divine favour, and exhorted his friend to see
that he hid no accursed thing within his soul. Silas, feeling bound to
accept rebuke and admonition as a brotherly office, felt no resentment,
but only pain, at his friend's doubts concerning him; and to this was
soon added some anxiety at the perception that Sarah's manner towards
him began to exhibit a strange fluctuation between an effort at an
increased manifestation of regard and involuntary signs of shrinking
and dislike. He asked her if she wished to break off their engagement;
but she denied this: their engagement was known to the church, and had
been recognized in the prayer-meetings; it could not be broken off
without strict investigation, and Sarah could render no reason that
would be sanctioned by the feeling of the community. At this time the
senior deacon was taken dangerously ill, and, being a childless
widower, he was tended night and day by some of the younger brethren or
sisters. Silas frequently took his turn in the night-watching with
William, the one relieving the other at two in the morning. The old
man, contrary to expectation, seemed to be on the way to recovery, when
one night Silas, sitting up by his bedside, observed that his usual
audible breathing had ceased. The candle was burning low, and he had
to lift it to see the patient's face distinctly. Examination convinced
him that the deacon was dead--had been dead some time, for the limbs
were rigid. Silas asked himself if he had been asleep, and looked at
the clock: it was already four in the morning. How was it that William
had not come? In much anxiety he went to seek for help, and soon there
were several friends assembled in the house, the minister among them,
while Silas went away to his work, wishing he could have met William to
know the reason of his non-appearance. But at six o'clock, as he was
thinking of going to seek his friend, William came, and with him the
minister. They came to summon him to Lantern Yard, to meet the church
members there; and to his inquiry concerning the cause of the summons
the only reply was, "You will hear." Nothing further was said until
Silas was seated in the vestry, in front of the minister, with the eyes
of those who to him represented God's
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 4
|
as we see) the frame Thou gavest,
compacting its limbs, ornamenting its proportions, and, for its general
good and safety, implanting in it all vital functions, Thou commandest
me to praise Thee in these things, to confess unto Thee, and sing unto
Thy name, Thou most Highest. For Thou art God, Almighty and Good, even
hadst Thou done nought but only this, which none could do but Thou:
whose Unity is the mould of all things; who out of Thy own fairness
makest all things fair; and orderest all things by Thy law. This age
then, Lord, whereof I have no remembrance, which I take on others' word,
and guess from other infants that I have passed, true though the guess
be, I am yet loth to count in this life of mine which I live in this
world. For no less than that which I spent in my mother's womb, is it
hid from me in the shadows of forgetfulness. But if I was shapen in
iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me, where, I beseech Thee, O
my God, where, Lord, or when, was I Thy servant guiltless? But, lo! that
period I pass by; and what have I now to do with that, of which I can
recall no vestige?
Passing hence from infancy, I came to boyhood, or rather it came to me,
displacing infancy. Nor did that depart,--(for whither went it?)--and
yet it was no more. For I was no longer a speechless infant, but a
speaking boy. This I remember; and have since observed how I learned to
speak. It was not that my elders taught me words (as, soon after, other
learning) in any set method; but I, longing by cries and broken accents
and various motions of my limbs to express my thoughts, that so I might
have my will, and yet unable to express all I willed, or to whom I
willed, did myself, by the understanding which Thou, my God, gavest me,
practise the sounds in my memory. When they named any thing, and as they
spoke turned towards it, I saw and remembered that they called what they
would point out by the name they uttered. And that they meant this
thing and no other was plain from the motion of their body, the natural
language, as it were, of all nations, expressed by the countenance,
glances of the eye, gestures of the limbs, and tones of the voice,
indicating the affections of the mind, as it pursues, possesses,
rejects, or shuns. And thus by constantly hearing words, as they
occurred in various sentences, I collected gradually for what they
stood; and having broken in my mouth to these signs, I thereby gave
utterance to my will. Thus I exchanged with those about me these current
signs of our wills, and so launched deeper into the stormy intercourse
of human life, yet depending on parental authority and the beck of
elders.
O God my God, what miseries and mockeries did I now experience, when
obedience to my teachers was proposed to me, as proper in a boy, in
order that in this world I might prosper, and excel in tongue-science,
which should serve to the "praise of men," and to deceitful riches. Next
I was put to school to get learning, in which I (poor wretch) knew not
what use there was; and yet, if idle in learning, I was beaten. For this
was judged right by our forefathers; and many, passing the same course
before us, framed for us weary paths, through which we were fain to
pass; multiplying toil and grief upon the sons of Adam. But, Lord, we
found that men called upon Thee, and we learnt from them to think of
Thee (according to our powers) as of some great One, who, though hidden
from our senses, couldest hear and help us. For so I began, as a boy, to
pray to Thee, my aid and refuge; and broke the fetters of my tongue to
call on Thee, praying Thee, though small, yet with no small earnestness,
that I might not be beaten at school. And when Thou heardest me not (not
thereby giving me over to folly), my elders
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 8
|
iles embark as passengers on
these rafts of flowers; and the brilliant colony, unfolding to the wind
its golden sails, glides along slumberingly till it arrives at some
retired creek in the river.
The two shores of the Mississippi present the most extraordinary
picture. On the western border vast savannahs spread away farther than
the eye can reach, and their waves of verdure, as they recede, appear
to rise gradually into the azure sky, where they fade away. In these
limitless meadows herds of three or four thousand wild buffaloes wander
at random. Sometimes, cleaving the waters as it swims, a bison, laden
with years, comes to repose among the high grass on an island of the
Mississippi, its forehead ornamented with two crescents, and its ancient
and slimy beard giving it the appearance of a god of the river throwing
an eye of satisfaction upon the grandeur of its waters, and the wild
abundance of its shores.
[Illustration: 013]
Such is the scene upon the western border; but it changes on the
opposite side, which forms an admirable contrast with the other shore.
Suspended along the course of the waters, grouped upon the rocks and
upon the mountains, and dispersed in the valleys, trees of every
form, of every color, and of every perfume, throng and grow together,
stretching up into the air to heights that weary the eye to follow. Wild
vines, bignonias, coloquintidas, intertwine each other at the feet of
these trees, escalade their trunks, and creep along to the extremity of
their branches, stretching from the maple to the tulip-tree, from the
tulip-tree to the holly-hock, and thus forming thousands of grottoes,
arches and porticoes. Often, in their wanderings from tree to tree,
these creepers cross the arm of a river, over which they throw a bridge
of flowers. Out of the midst of these masses, the magnolia, raising
its motionless cone, surmounted by large white buds, commands all the
forest, where it has no other rival than the palm-tree, which gently
waves, close by, its fans of verdure.
A multitude of animals, placed in these retreats by the hand of the
Creator, spread about life and enchantment. From the extremities of the
avenues may be seen bears, intoxicated with the grape, staggering
upon the branches of the elm-trees; cariboos bathe in the lake;
black-squirrels play among the thick foliage; mocking-birds, and
Virginian pigeons not bigger than sparrows, fly down upon the turf,
reddened with strawberries; green parrots with yellow heads, purple
woodpeckers, cardinals red as fire, clamber up to the very tops of the
cypress-trees; humming-birds sparkle upon the jessamine of the Floridas;
and bird-catching serpents hiss while suspended to the domes of the
woods, where they swing about like the creepers themselves.
If all is silence and repose in the savannahs on the other side of the
river, all here, on the contrary, is sound and motion; peckings against
the trunks of the oaks, frictions of animals walking along as they
nibble or crush between their teeth the stones of fruits, the roaring of
the waves, plaintive cries, dull bellowings and mild cooings, fill these
deserts with a tender yet wild harmony. But when a breeze happens to
animate these solitudes, to swing these floating bodies, to confound
these masses of white, blue, green, and pink, to mix all the colors and
to combine all the murmurs, there issue such sounds from the depths of
the forests, and such things pass before the eyes, that I should in
vain endeavor to describe them to those who have never visited these
primitive fields of Nature.
After the discovery of the Mississippi by Father Marquette and the
unfortunate La Salle, the first Frenchmen who established themselves at
Biloxi and at New Orleans entered into an alliance with the Natchez, an
Indian nation whose power was redoubtable in those countries. Quarrels
and jealousies subsequently ensanguined the land of hospitality. Amongst
these savages
|
upon
|
How many times does the word 'upon' appear in the text?
| 6
|
DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. LATE AFTERNOON SKY
</b>
Blue sky, a few puffs of cloud, pierced by slanting rays of
sunlight. Late afternoon on a perfect day.
<b> SUPER TITLE: "HOUSTON, TEXAS. JULY 4, 2020."
</b>
As we hear, after a few more beats, an ASTRONAUT'S VOICE.
<b> PHIL
</b> T minus ten, nine, eight, start
ignition sequence, five, four, three,
two, one, ignition... Liftoff!
A tiny red streak zips into the sky, then bursts with a faint,
ludicrous POP. A bottle rocket. We hear CHILDREN'S LAUGHTER,
excited SHOUTS.
<b> EXT. LAWN PARTY. LUKE GRAHAM'S HOUSE. LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
DESCENDING, we see PHIL OHLMYER, late 20's, kneeling, with a
gaggle of eager CHILDREN around him. Phil, an astronaut, has
got an impressive array of fireworks lined up, and is using
an empty longneck as his launching tube.
<b> CHILDREN
</b> (all at once)
My turn! My turn! No, I was next!
No, me! Uncle Phil, Uncle Phil, can
I do one? I want to do one!
<b> PHIL
</b> Guys, guys, please! This is risky
stuff here. And I'm a highly trained
professional.
Derisive GR
|
afternoon
|
How many times does the word 'afternoon' appear in the text?
| 2
|
>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
|
're no joke to me!"
Having just finished her spring cleaning and having had, for economy's
sake, to do it all herself, the housewife's tidy soul was doubly tried,
and she had a momentary desire to put the baby and her wagon out upon
the street again, to take its chances with somebody else. However, when
she re-entered with her pail and cloths, she was instantly diverted by
the sight that met her.
Dorothy C. had managed to pull her coat over her head and in some
unknown fashion twist the strings of her bonnet around her throat, in an
effort to remove the objectionable headgear. The result was disaster.
The more she pulled the tighter grew that band around her neck and her
face was already blue from choking when Mrs. Chester uncovered it and
rescued the child from strangling.
As the lady afterward described the affair to her husband it appeared
that:
"Seeing that, and her so nigh death, as it were, gave me the terriblest
turn! So that, all unknown, down sits I in that puddle of milk as
careless as the little one herself. And I cuddled her up that close, as
if I'd comforted lots of babies before, and me a green hand at the
business. To see her sweet little lip go quiver-quiver, and her big
brown eyes fill with tears--Bless you, John! I was crying myself in the
jerk of a lamb's tail! Then I got up, slipped off my wet skirt and got
her out of her outside things, and there pinned to her dress was this
note. Read it out again, please, it so sort of puzzles me."
So the postman read all that they were to learn, for many and many a
day, concerning the baby which had come to their home; and this is a
copy of that ill-spelled, rudely scrawled document:
"thee child Is wun Yere an too Munths old hur burthDay is aPrill
Furst. til firthur notis Thar will Bee a letur in The posOfis the
furst of Everi mounth with Ten doLurs. to Pay." Signed:
"dorothy's Gardeen
hur X mark."
Now John Chester had been a postman for several years and he had learned
to decipher all sorts of handwriting. Instantly, he recognized that this
scrawl was in a disguised hand, wholly different from that upon the card
pinned to the child's coat, and that the spelling was also incorrect
from a set purpose. Laying the two bits of writing together he carefully
studied them, and after a few moments' scrutiny declared:
"The same person wrote both these papers. The first one in a natural,
cultivated hand, and a woman's. The second in a would-be-ignorant one,
to divert suspicion. But--the writer didn't think it out far enough;
else she never would have given the same odd shape to her r's and that
twist to the tails of her y's. It's somebody that knows us, too,
likely, though I can't for the life of me guess who. What shall we do
about her? Send her to an Orphanage, ourselves? Or turn her over to the
police to care for, Martha dear?"
His face was so grave that, for a moment, she believed him to be in
earnest; then that sunny smile which was never long absent from his
features broke over them and in that she read the answer to her own
desire. To whomsoever Dorothy C. belonged, that heartless person had
passed the innocent baby on to them and they might safely keep her for
their own.
Only, knowing the extreme tidiness of his energetic wife, John finally
cautioned:
"Don't settle it too hastily, Martha. By the snap of her brown eyes and
the toss of her yellow head, I foresee there'll be a deal more spilled
milk before we've done with her!"
"I don't care!" recklessly answered the housewife, "_she's mine_!"
CHAPTER II
A POSTAL SUBSTITUTE
So long a time had passed that Dorothy C. had grown to be what father
John called "a baker's dozen
|
john
|
How many times does the word 'john' appear in the text?
| 3
|
the Benedictine,
and I willingly make you the medium of apology to many, who have
honoured me more than I deserve.
I admit that my retrenchments have been numerous, and leave gaps in the
story, which, in your original manuscript, would have run well-nigh to
a fourth volume, as my printer assures me. I am sensible, besides, that,
in consequence of the liberty of curtailment you have allowed me, some
parts of the story have been huddled up without the necessary details.
But, after all, it is better that the travellers should have to step
over a ditch, than to wade through a morass--that the reader should have
to suppose what may easily be inferred, than be obliged to creep through
pages of dull explanation. I have struck out, for example, the whole
machinery of the White Lady, and the poetry by which it is so ably
supported, in the original manuscript. But you must allow that
the public taste gives little encouragement to those legendary
superstitions, which formed alternately the delight and the terror of
our predecessors. In like manner, much is omitted illustrative of
the impulse of enthusiasm in favour of the ancient religion in Mother
Magdalen and the Abbot. But we do not feel deep sympathy at this period
with what was once the most powerful and animating principle in
Europe, with the exception of that of the Reformation, by which it was
successfully opposed.
You rightly observe, that these retrenchments have rendered the title
no longer applicable to the subject, and that some other would have been
more suitable to the Work, in its present state, than that of THE ABBOT,
who made so much greater figure in the original, and for whom your
friend, the Benedictine, seems to have inspired you with a sympathetic
respect. I must plead guilty to this accusation, observing, at the same
time, in manner of extenuation, that though the objection might have
been easily removed, by giving a new title to the Work, yet, in doing
so, I should have destroyed the necessary cohesion between the present
history, and its predecessor THE MONASTERY, which I was unwilling to do,
as the period, and several of the personages, were the same.
After all, my good friend, it is of little consequence what the work
is called, or on what interest it turns, provided it catches the public
attention; for the quality of the wine (could we but insure it) may,
according to the old proverb, render the bush unnecessary, or of little
consequence.
I congratulate you upon your having found it consistent with prudence
to establish your Tilbury, and approve of the colour, and of your
boy's livery, (subdued green and pink.)--As you talk of completing
your descriptive poem on the âRuins of Kennaquhair, with notes by an
Antiquary,â I hope you have procured a steady horse.--I remain, with
compliments to all friends, dear Captain, very much
Yours, &c. &c. &c.
THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.
THE ABBOT.
Chapter the First.
_Domum mansit--lanam fecit._
Ancient Roman Epitaph.
She keepit close the hous, and birlit at the quhele.
GAWAIN DOUGLAS.
The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly, makes the
same gradual change in habits, manners, and character, as in personal
appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves
another, and yet the same--there is a change of views, and no less of
the light in which we regard them; a change of motives as well as
of actions. Nearly twice that space had glided away over the head of
Halbert Glendinning and his lady, betwixt the period of our former
narrative, in which they played a distinguished part, and the date at
which our present tale commences.
Two circumstances only had imbittered their union, which was otherwise
as happy as mutual affection could render it. The first of these was
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 5
|
her a death like haughty Jezebel's!
BERTRAND.
The fearful Salisbury conducts the siege,
The town-destroyer; with him Lionel,
The brother of the lion; Talbot, too,
Who, with his murd'rous weapon, moweth down
The people in the battle: they have sworn,
With ruthless insolence to doom to shame
The hapless maidens, and to sacrifice
All who the sword have wielded, with the sword.
Four lofty watch-towers, to o'ertop the town,
They have upreared; Earl Salisbury from on high
Casteth abroad his cruel, murd'rous glance,
And marks the rapid wanderers in the streets.
Thousands of cannon-balls, of pond'rous weight,
Are hurled into the city. Churches lie
In ruined heaps, and Notre Dame's royal tower
Begins at length to bow its lofty head.
They also have formed powder-vaults below,
And thus, above a subterranean hell,
The timid city every hour expects,
'Midst crashing thunder, to break forth in flames.
[JOHANNA listens with close attention, and places
the helmet on her head.
THIBAUT.
But where were then our heroes? Where the swords
Of Saintrailles, and La Hire, and brave Dunois,
Of France the bulwark, that the haughty foe
With such impetuous force thus onward rushed?
Where is the king? Can he supinely see
His kingdom's peril and his cities' fall?
BERTRAND.
The king at Chinon holds his court; he lacks
Soldiers to keep the field. Of what avail
The leader's courage, and the hero's arm,
When pallid fear doth paralyze the host?
A sudden panic, as if sent from God,
Unnerves the courage of the bravest men.
In vain the summons of the king resounds
As when the howling of the wolf is heard,
The sheep in terror gather side by side,
So Frenchmen, careless of their ancient fame,
Seek only now the shelter of the towns.
One knight alone, I have been told, has brought
A feeble company, and joins the king
With sixteen banners.
JOHANNA (quickly).
What's the hero's name?
BERTRAND.
'Tis Baudricour. But much I fear the knight
Will not be able to elude the foe,
Who track him closely with too numerous hosts.
JOHANNA.
Where halts the knight? Pray tell me, if you know.
BERTRAND.
About a one day's march from Vaucouleurs.
THIBAUT (to JOHANNA).
Why, what is that to thee? Thou dost inquire
Concerning matters which become thee not.
BERTRAND.
The foe being now so strong, and from the king
No safety to be hoped, at Vaucouleurs
They have with unanimity resolved
To yield them to the Duke of Burgundy.
Thus we avoid the foreign yoke, and still
Continue by our ancient royal line;
Ay, to the ancient crown we may fall back
Should France and Burgundy be reconciled.
JOHANNA (as if inspired).
Speak not of treaty! Speak not of surrender!
The savior comes, he arms him for the fight.
The fortunes of the foe before the walls
Of Orleans shall be wrecked! His hour is come,
He now is ready for the reaper's hand,
And with her sickle will the maid appear,
And mow to earth the harvest of his pride.
She from the heavens will tear his glory down,
Which he had hung aloft among the stars;
Despair not! Fly not! for ere yonder corn
Assumes its golden hue, or ere the moon
Displays her perfect orb, no English horse
Shall drink the rolling waters of the Loire.
BERTRAND.
Alas! no miracle will happen now!
JOHANNA.
Yes, there shall yet be one--a snow-white dove
Shall fly, and with the eagle's boldness, tear
The birds of prey which rend her fatherland.
She shall o'erthrow this haughty Burgundy
|
sheep
|
How many times does the word 'sheep' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Second Draft
February 19th, 2008
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> OVER BLACK
</b><b>
</b> We listen to the immortal music of Mozart's Adagio of the
Clarinet Concerto in A.
<b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. THE SOLAR SYSTEM
</b><b>
</b> Space, infinite and empty.
<b>
</b> But then, slowly all nine planets of our Solar System move
into frame and align.
<b>
</b> The last of them is the giant, burning sphere of the sun.
<b>
</b> Just as the sun enters frame, a solar storm of gigantic
proportion unfolds. The eruptions shoot thousands of miles
into the blackness of space.
<b>
</b><b> FADE TO BLACK
</b><b>
</b><b> 2009
</b><b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. COUNTRY SIDE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b
|
space
|
How many times does the word 'space' appear in the text?
| 1
|
b> EXT. DESERT - DAWN
</b>
FULL SHOT. The sun, spinning up from behind the dark rim of
eastern hills, is bleaching the cloudless, morning sky. This
is volcanic country, barren, desolate, forbidding. There is
no sign of life, no sound. Then on a distant hill, a man
appears, to be followed by two others. They walk steadily
forward.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. NARROW CANYON - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT. A dry watercourse threads its way through the cut
in the treeless hills. The sun is not high enough as yet to
drive night from the canyon. A man appears around a bend;
another and still another. They are McCall, Peters and Lednov,
clad in prison clothes, hatless, their heads closely cropped.
As Lednov's face comes into a closeup,
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. HILL - DAWN
</b>
LONG SHOT - DOWN ANGLE. A narrow valley lies below. Through
it runs a cottonwood-bordered stream. Smoke curls up out of
the trees. Horses graze in a small meadow near the creek.
From O.O. comes the SOUND of heavy boots crunching across
the dry, eroded earth. The three men file past camera to
stop in the immediate F.g. and look down into the valley.
They exchange glances and start down.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT - ANGLED THROUGH willows. A bearded man, Cal
Forster, and two young fellows in their late teens squat
|
appears
|
How many times does the word 'appears' appear in the text?
| 1
|
SUPERIMPOSURE:
</b>
<b> MANHATTAN. 10.30 P.M.
</b> Park Avenue in mid-December. On the lampposts, Xmas lights
sparkle over streets slick with slush and rain. Limousines
line up for a public function.
<b> 2 EXT. BLACKWOOD BUILDING - NIGHT 2
</b>
<b> SUPERIMPOSURE:
</b>
<b> BLACKWOOD'S AUCTION HOUSE
</b> Under black umbrellas, wealthy men and women exit the limos
and enter a stately ten-story building. On the facade, a
sign reads: TONIGHT - TREASURES OF PRE-CHRISTIAN EUROPE.
A SHADOWY FIGURE lurks in an alley near the corner. His
features are hidden by a broad-brimmed hat. He watches as-
The guests present gleaming, golden invitations to the
security people at the door.
<b> SHADOWY FIGURE
</b> (in Elvish, subtitled)
I'll go up first. You'll enter from below-
He addresses WINK, an eight-foot tall TROLL with grey skin
and a huge scar over his left, empty, eye socket. His right
hand is missing and he sports a heavy IRON MACE instead. A
plume of breath escapes from his brutish mouth.
<b> SHADOWY FIGURE (CONT'D)
</b> And remember Wink-
<b> (BEAT)
</b> Don't be shy.
He extends his arms and with a swoop, he climbs the wall,
up, up, like a bat. Five floors up...
<b> 3
</b>
<b> 3 INT. SALES ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
CAMERA lingers on the bloated features of a stone FERTILITY
<b> GODDESS.
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> HELLBOY 2 2
</b>
<b> AUCTIONEER
</b> Pre-Celtic votive sculpture is in granite
and has been dated circa 700 B.C.
Like the guests, the AUCTIONEER is dressed in formal wear.
TV MONITORS display the image of the statue so the bidders
can have a closer look.
<b> AUCTIONEER (CONT'D)
</b>
|
blackwood
|
How many times does the word 'blackwood' appear in the text?
| 1
|
its great game with a kind of pleasurable excitement. Yet this novel
emotion had nothing to do with the wind. Indeed, so vague was the sense of
distress I experienced, that it was impossible to trace it to its source
and deal with it accordingly, though I was aware somehow that it had to do
with my realization of our utter insignificance before this unrestrained
power of the elements about me. The huge-grown river had something to do
with it too--a vague, unpleasant idea that we had somehow trifled with
these great elemental forces in whose power we lay helpless every hour of
the day and night. For here, indeed, they were gigantically at play
together, and the sight appealed to the imagination.
But my emotion, so far as I could understand it, seemed to attach itself
more particularly to the willow bushes, to these acres and acres of
willows, crowding, so thickly growing there, swarming everywhere the eye
could reach, pressing upon the river as though to suffocate it, standing in
dense array mile after mile beneath the sky, watching, waiting, listening.
And, apart quite from the elements, the willows connected themselves subtly
with my malaise, attacking the mind insidiously somehow by reason of their
vast numbers, and contriving in some way or other to represent to the
imagination a new and mighty power, a power, moreover, not altogether
friendly to us.
Great revelations of nature, of course, never fail to impress in one way or
another, and I was no stranger to moods of the kind. Mountains overawe and
oceans terrify, while the mystery of great forests exercises a spell
peculiarly its own. But all these, at one point or another, somewhere link
on intimately with human life and human experience. They stir
comprehensible, even if alarming, emotions. They tend on the whole to
exalt.
With this multitude of willows, however, it was something far different, I
felt. Some essence emanated from them that besieged the heart. A sense of
awe awakened, true, but of awe touched somewhere by a vague terror. Their
serried ranks, growing everywhere darker about me as the shadows deepened,
moving furiously yet softly in the wind, woke in me the curious and
unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed here upon the borders of an
alien world, a world where we were intruders, a world where we were not
wanted or invited to remain--where we ran grave risks perhaps!
The feeling, however, though it refused to yield its meaning entirely to
analysis, did not at the time trouble me by passing into menace. Yet it
never left me quite, even during the very practical business of putting up
the tent in a hurricane of wind and building a fire for the stew-pot. It
remained, just enough to bother and perplex, and to rob a most delightful
camping-ground of a good portion of its charm. To my companion, however, I
said nothing, for he was a man I considered devoid of imagination. In the
first place, I could never have explained to him what I meant, and in the
second, he would have laughed stupidly at me if I had.
There was a slight depression in the center of the island, and here we
pitched the tent. The surrounding willows broke the wind a bit.
"A poor camp," observed the imperturbable Swede when at last the tent stood
upright, "no stones and precious little firewood. I'm for moving on early
tomorrow--eh? This sand won't hold anything."
But the experience of a collapsing tent at midnight had taught us many
devices, and we made the cozy gipsy house as safe as possible, and then set
about collecting a store of wood to last till bed-time. Willow bushes drop
no branches, and driftwood was our only source of supply. We hunted the
shores pretty thoroughly. Everywhere the banks were crumbling as the rising
flood tore at them and carried away great portions with a splash and a
gurgle.
"The island's much smaller than when we landed," said the accurate Swede.
"It won't last long at this rate. We'd better drag the canoe close to the
tent, and be ready to start at a moment's notice. I shall sleep in my
clothes."
He was a little distance off, climbing along the bank, and I heard his
|
something
|
How many times does the word 'something' appear in the text?
| 1
|
BLACK
</b> Some microphone feedback followed by:
<b> SEBASTIAN (V.O.)
</b> Okay, here we go... everybody watching?
Our screen goes WHITE as a POWERPOINT PRESENTATION BEGINS...
<b> SEBASTIAN (V.0.) (CONT'D)
</b> I'd like to tell you all a little lov e
story...
But the images n screen are JOURNALISTIC PHOTOS OF
<b> PEOPLE RIOTING I STREETS
</b>
<b> SEBASTIAN (V.0.) (CONT'D)
</b> Whoops... wrong file...
LAUGHTER O.S. and we begin PULLING BACK TO REVEAL:
<b> A RECEPTION HALL (BEGIN CREDITS) - DAY
</b> The lights are dim. We're looking at a blank, pull-down
movie screen in a darkened ballroom.
<b> SEBASTIAN (O.S.) (CONT'D)
</b> Hang on, I got this--
Someone O.S. starts CLINKING a fork against a wine glass. Is
joined by others, and then we HEAR calls of "Kiss! Kiss!"
<b> ON A BRIDE AND GROOM
</b> sitting at the main table, In silhouette, seen from behind,
lit only by the votives sprinkled along the table: JOHN
GROGAN and his bride of two hours, JENNY. In response to the
crowd, they kiss.
Standing right by them is SEBASTIAN -- tall, good looking,
rugged type --John's best man.
<b> SEBASTIAN (CONT'D)
</b> Alright, now I'm ready--
And now, on THE PORTABLE SCREEN, Sebastian'S MONTAGE BEGINS:
John with his Mom in front of the college dorm, etc.
<b> SEBASTIAN (O.S.) (CONT'D)
</b> Here's John, first week of college.
Nice hair, right?
<b> (MORE)
</b>
<b> 2.
</b><b>
|
screen
|
How many times does the word 'screen' appear in the text?
| 3
|
in
permanent absolute control of a certain number of pages, in which to
express his opinions, is to place him in a position of great personal
danger, It is almost inevitable that he should come to overrate
the importance of those opinions, to take himself with far too much
seriousness, and in the end adopt the dogma of his own infallibility.
The liberty to summon this or that man-of-letters to a supposititious
bar of justice is apt to beget in the self-appointed judge an
exaggerated sense of superiority. He becomes impatient of any rulings
not his, and says in effect, if not in so many words: "I am Sir Oracle,
and when I ope my lips let no dog bark." When the critic reaches this
exalted frame of mind his slight usefulness is gone.
AFTER a debauch of thunder-shower, the weather takes the pledge and
signs it with a rainbow.
I LIKE to have a thing suggested rather than told in full. When every
detail is given, the mind rests satisfied, and the imagination loses the
desire to use its own wings. The partly draped statue has a charm which
the nude lacks. Who would have those marble folds slip from the raised
knee of the Venus of Melos? Hawthorne knew how to make his lovely
thought lovelier by sometimes half veiling it.
I HAVE just tested the nib of a new pen on a slight fancy which Herrick
has handled twice in the "Hesperides." The fancy, however, is not
Herrick's; it is as old as poetry and the exaggeration of lovers, and I
have the same privilege as another to try my fortune with it:
UP ROOS THE SONNE, AND UP ROOS EMELYE CHAUCER
When some hand has partly drawn The cloudy curtains of her bed, And my
lady's golden head Glimmers in the dusk like dawn, Then methinks is day
begun. Later, when her dream has ceased And she softly stirs and
wakes, Then it is as when the East A sudden rosy magic takes From the
cloud-enfolded sun, And full day breaks!
Shakespeare, who has done so much to discourage literature by
anticipating everybody, puts the whole matter into a nutshell:
But soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and
Juliet is the sun.
THERE is a phrase spoken by Hamlet which I have seen quoted innumerable
times, and never once correctly. Hamlet, addressing Horatio, says:
Give me that man That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him In my
heart's core, ay, in my _heart of heart_.
The words italicized are invariably written "heart of hearts"--as if a
person possessed that organ in duplicate. Perhaps no one living, with
the exception of Sir Henry Irving, is more familiar with the play of
Hamlet than my good friend Mr. Bram Stoker, who makes his heart plural
on two occasions in his recent novel, "The Mystery of the Sea." Mrs.
Humphry Ward also twice misquotes the passage in "Lady Rose's Daughter."
BOOKS that have become classics--books that ave had their day and now
get more praise than perusal--always remind me of venerable colonels and
majors and captains who, having reached the age limit, find themselves
retired upon half pay.
WHETHER or not the fretful porcupine rolls itself into a ball is
a subject over which my friend John Burroughs and several brother
naturalists have lately become as heated as if the question involved
points of theology. Up among the Adirondacks, and in the very heart
of the region of porcupines, I happen to have a modest cottage. This
retreat is called The Porcupine, and I ought by good rights to know
something about the habits of the small animal from which it derives
its name. Last winter my dog Buster used to return home on an average of
three times a month from an excursion up Mt. Pisgah with his nose
stuck full of quills, and _he_ ought to have some concrete ideas on the
subject. We two, then, are prepared to testify that the porcupine in its
moments of relaxation occasionally contracts itself into what might be
taken for a ball by persons not too difficult to please in the matter
of spheres. But neither
|
come
|
How many times does the word 'come' appear in the text?
| 0
|
and a pure,
A learned, and a Poet never went
More famous yet twixt Po and silver Trent:
Chaucer (of all admir'd) the Story gives,
There constant to Eternity it lives.
If we let fall the Noblenesse of this,
And the first sound this child heare, be a hisse,
How will it shake the bones of that good man,
And make him cry from under ground, 'O fan
From me the witles chaffe of such a wrighter
That blastes my Bayes, and my fam'd workes makes lighter
Then Robin Hood!' This is the feare we bring;
For to say Truth, it were an endlesse thing,
And too ambitious, to aspire to him,
Weake as we are, and almost breathlesse swim
In this deepe water. Do but you hold out
Your helping hands, and we shall take about,
And something doe to save us: You shall heare
Sceanes, though below his Art, may yet appeare
Worth two houres travell. To his bones sweet sleepe:
Content to you. If this play doe not keepe
A little dull time from us, we perceave
Our losses fall so thicke, we must needs leave. [Florish.]
Actus Primus.
[Scaena 1.] (Athens. Before a temple.)
[Enter Hymen with a Torch burning: a Boy, in a white Robe before
singing, and strewing Flowres: After Hymen, a Nimph, encompast
in
her Tresses, bearing a wheaten Garland. Then Theseus betweene
two other Nimphs with wheaten Chaplets on their heades. Then
Hipolita the Bride, lead by Pirithous, and another holding a
Garland over her head (her Tresses likewise hanging.) After
her Emilia holding up her Traine. (Artesius and Attendants.)]
The Song, [Musike.]
Roses their sharpe spines being gon,
Not royall in their smels alone,
But in their hew.
Maiden Pinckes, of odour faint,
Dazies smel-lesse, yet most quaint
And sweet Time true.
Prim-rose first borne child of Ver,
Merry Spring times Herbinger,
With her bels dimme.
Oxlips, in their Cradles growing,
Mary-golds, on death beds blowing,
Larkes-heeles trymme.
All deere natures children sweete,
Ly fore Bride and Bridegroomes feete, [Strew Flowers.]
Blessing their sence.
Not an angle of the aire,
Bird melodious, or bird faire,
Is absent hence.
The Crow, the slaundrous Cuckoe, nor
The boding Raven, nor Chough hore
Nor chattring Pie,
May on our Bridehouse pearch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly.
[Enter 3. Queenes in Blacke, with vailes staind, with imperiall
Crownes. The 1. Queene fals downe at the foote of Theseus; The
2. fals downe at the foote of Hypolita. The 3. before Emilia.]
1. QUEEN.
For pitties sake and true gentilities,
Heare, and respect me.
2. QUEEN.
For your Mothers sake,
And as you wish your womb may thrive with faire ones,
Heare and respect me.
3. QUEEN
Now for the love of him whom Iove hath markd
The honour of your Bed, and for the sake
Of cleere virginity, be Advocate
For us, and our distresses. This good deede
Shall raze you out o'th Booke of Trespasses
All you are set downe there.
THESEUS.
Sad Lady, rise.
HIPPOLITA.
Stand up.
EMILIA.
No knees to me.
What woman I may steed that is distrest,
Does bind me to her.
THESEUS.
What's your request?
|
sharpe
|
How many times does the word 'sharpe' appear in the text?
| 0
|
b> KIRSTY
</b> Okay. Cubic root of nine thousand two
hundred and sixty one.
TREVOR is her husband, late twenties as well. God gave him
brains and beauty. He has used them both prodigiously.
<b> TREVOR
</b> Twenty one. Why do we have to do this now
Kirsty?
<b> KIRSTY
</b> Shut up and play darling. Your turn.
<b> TREVOR
</b> Five hundred ninety two thousand seven
hundred and four.
<b> KIRSTY
</b> Uh... eighty two?
<b> TREVOR
</b> Eighty four.
Kirsty takes a calculator out of her purse and double checks
the math.
<b> KIRSTY
</b> You win! Okay pull over.
<b> TREVOR
</b> (looking at his watch)
But... I thought...
<b> KIRSTY
</b> (laughing)
If what I've heard is true this could be
the last time for a long long time.
Besides we've got a whole seven minutes
before the next one. Clock's ticking.
Tick-tock...
Trevor waits a moment to see if she's kidding.
<b> KIRSTY
</b> (through clenched teeth)
<b> PULL OVER NOW.
</b>
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>CONTINUED:
</b>
Then pulls over to the side of the road. Kirsty reaches over,
quickly unzips his pants immediately goes down on Trevor OUT
OF FRAME. He reacts accordingly. A little pleasure, utter
shock.
<b> KIRSTY'S VOICE
</b> (from BELOW FR
|
ninety
|
How many times does the word 'ninety' appear in the text?
| 0
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
water
|
How many times does the word 'water' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Starling dives behind two parked cars. Hare and Bolton
fire from behind another. Auto glass shatters and clangs on
the ground.
Everyone in the market scrambling for cover, finally hitting
the fish-bloodied cement. <i>The Macarena</i> still blasting.
Pinned down, Starling watches the wiry black man drop back
against the building, Drumgo picks up the satchel, the gunship
slowing enough for someone to pull her in.
Starling stands and fires several shots, taking out Hawaiian
Shirt, the other man by the building, the driver of the accel-
erating Cadillac, one of the men perched on the window frames
- drops the magazine out of her .45 slams another in
before the empty hits the ground.
The Cadillac goes out of control, sideswiping a line of
cars, grinds to a stop against them. Starling moving toward
it now, following the sight of her gun. A shooter still
sitting in a window frame, alive but trapped, chest
compressed between the Cadillac and a parked car. Gunfire
from somewhere behind Starling hits him and shatters the rear
window.
STARLING
Hold it! Hold your fire! Watch the door
behind me! Evelda!
The firing stops but the pounding of <i>The Macarena</i> doesn't.
STARLING
Evelda! Put your hands out the window!
Nothing for a moment. Then Drumgo emerges from the car, head
down, hands buried in the blanket-sling, cradling the crying
baby.
STARLING
Show me your hands!
(Evelda doesn't)
<i>Please!</i> Show me your hands!
Evelda looks up at her finally, fondly it seems, doesn't show
her hands.
DRUMGO
Is that <i>you</i>, Starling?
STARLING
Show me your hands!
DRUMGO
How you been?
STARLING
Don't do this!
DRUMGO
Do what?
She smiles sweetly. The blanket flutters. Starling falls.
Fires high enough to miss the baby. Hits Drumgo in the neck.
She goes down.
Starling
|
hands
|
How many times does the word 'hands' appear in the text?
| 5
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>CREDIT. POLYGRAM & WORKING TITLE PRESENT.
</b><b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. NATIONAL GALLERY. BOARD ROOM - DAY
</b>
The scene is as silent and static as we left it Last... then:
<b> GARETH
</b> I suppose we could just sack him.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. MR BEAN'S STREET. DAY
</b>
Mr BEAN comes out of his house, ready to face the world-
He walks up the street, tutting slightly at a 'NO PARKING' sign he passes.
The street is totally car-free except for a very visible lime green mini. A
policeman strolls by and glances down at a pair of legs sticking out from
under it, next to a toolbox. He moves on, satisfied that someone is mending
their car.
BEAN approaches the car and whips out the fake legs he left there. He then
unlocks the big padlock that secures the car door, pops the fake legs inside,
fiddles with something else in the back seat, and drives away at a frightening
speed with a smug look on his face.
The Theme Music - big and dramatic - begins, as do the rest of the credits.
BEAN gaily motors on - then unexpectedly the sweeping theme tune jumps, as if
it has hit a scratch: the cinema audience should be worried there's a sound
fault.
BEAN comes to a street full of sleeping policemen ~ he goes at them at quite a
lick - and every time he shoots over one of the bumps, the theme tune jumps
violently.
BEAN looks a little annoyed into the back seat - we now see the cause of the
problem. Instead of having a car radio, BEAN has an old record player
strapped into the back seat, playing the theme tune.
On he drives, through empty streets - then JOLT - he's reached the glorious
familiarity of Central London, Big Ben and all - but heels now in dreadful
traffic.
Heels not happy. He looks to the left and sees a very thin alleyway. He
takes out a metal comb from his pocket and, using it like a bomber's sight-
line-checker, measures the front of his car and the width of the alley. He 'S
<b>
</b>satisfied - does a 90-degree turn - and shoots down the alley. It is such a
perfect fit that sparks fly from the door handles as they graze the walls.
But at the end of the alley, the traffic's just as bad. BEAN notices he's
outside Harrods. There's a tail-coated Security Guard at the 'front door.
BEAN watches him stroll a bit down the street - and takes his chance. He
turns and drives straight through the double doors, into
|
front
|
How many times does the word 'front' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Guard reaches the top. The guard picks up the torch to
light the fire and sees Shan-Yu jump over the edge of the tower and looks at
him across from the caldron. The guard throws the torch into the caldron
lighting a large fire. Shan-Yu watches as each tower lights their caldrons
one by one]
Guard [sternly]: Now all of China knows you're here.
Shan-Yu [taking the flag and holding it over the fire]: Perfect.
[Cut to the palace. The large doors to the central chamber open as General Li
walks in flanked on his left and right by soldiers and approaches the Emperor.
He bows, then looks up]
General Li: Your Majesty, the Huns have crossed our Northern border.
Chi Fu: Impossible! No one can get through The Great Wall. [The Emperor
motions for Chi Fu's silence]
General Li: Shun-Yu is leading them. We'll set up defenses around your
palace immediately.
Emperor [forcefully]: No! Send your troops to protect my people. Chi Fu,
Chi Fu: Yes, your highness.
Emperor: Deliver conscription notices throughout all the provinces. Call up
reserves and as many new recruits as possible.
General Li: Forgive me your Majesty, but I believe my troops can stop him.
Emperor: I wont take any chances, General. A single grain of rice can tip
the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat.
[Cut to Mulan using her chopsticks to single out a grain of rice on top of the
mound of rice]
Mulan: Quiet and demure...graceful...polite...[picking up some rice with her
chopsticks and eating a mouthful] delicate...refined...poised... [She sets
down her chopsticks and writes down a final word on her right arm] punctual.
[A cock crows] Aiya. [Calling out] Little brother. Little brother. Lit-
ahhh, there you are. Who's the smartest doggie in the world? Come on smart
boy, can you help me with my chores today?
[Mulan ties a sack of grain around Little Brother's waist. She ties a stick
onto Little brother so that end of it is in front of Little Brother's face.
She ties the bone on the end of the stick just out of reach. Little Brother
begins to run after the bone which he cannot reach. Mulan opens the door for
Little Brother and he runs into the door frame, then out the open door.
Little brother runs by the chickens and Khan - the family horse]
[Cut to Mulan's Father, Fa Zhou, kneeling and praying before the Fa family's
ancestors]
Fa Zhou: Honorable ancestors, please help Mulan impress the matchmaker today.
Little Brother [running into the temple and around Fa Zhou scattering grain
around the floor]: Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.
[The chickens follow Little Brother into the temple and begin to feed on the
grain]
Fa Zhou: Please, PLEASE, help her.
[Mulan steps up to the temple seeing Little Brother on his hind legs trying to
get the bone. Mulan bends the stick down so that Little brother can reach the
bone. Little brother gnaws on the bone happily. Mulan continues toward the
temple]
Mulan [calling out]: Father I brought your--whoop! [Fa Zhou bumps into Mulan.
The cup falls to the ground and Fa Zhou catches the teapot with the handle of
his cane]
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan: I brought a spare. [Mulan pulls out a cup from underneath the back of
her dress and begins to pour the tea]
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan [hurried]: Remember, the doctor said three cups of tea in the morning--
Fa Zhou: Mulan--
Mulan: And three at night.
Fa Zhou: Mulan, you should already be in town. We're counting on you to up--
Mulan:
|
opens
|
How many times does the word 'opens' appear in the text?
| 0
|
the sleepers,
and the trysail was handy on deck already, for we hadn't been
expecting anything better. We were all in oilskins, of course,
and the night was as black as a coal mine, with only a ray of
light from the slit in the binnacle shield, and you couldn't tell
one man from another except by his voice. The old man took the
wheel; we got the boom amidships, and he jammed her into the wind
until she had hardly any way. It was blowing now, and it was all
that I and two others could do to get in the slack of the
downhaul, while the others lowered away at the peak and throat,
and we had our hands full to get a couple of turns round the wet
sail. It's all child's play on a fore-and-after compared with
reefing topsails in anything like weather, but the gear of a
schooner sometimes does unhandy things that you don't expect, and
those everlasting long halliards get foul of everything if they
get adrift. I remember thinking how unhandy that particular job
was. Somebody unhooked the throat-halliard block, and thought he
had hooked it into the head-cringle of the trysail, and sang out
to hoist away, but he had missed it in the dark, and the heavy
block went flying into the lee rigging, and nearly killed him
when it swung back with the weather roll. Then the old man got
her up in the wind until the jib was shaking like thunder; then
he held her off, and she went off as soon as the head-sails
filled, and he couldn't get her back again without the spanker.
Then the _Helen B._ did her favourite trick, and before we had
time to say much we had a sea over the quarter and were up to our
waists, with the parrels of the trysail only half becketed round
the mast, and the deck so full of gear that you couldn't put your
foot on a plank, and the spanker beginning to get adrift again,
being badly stopped, and the general confusion and hell's delight
that you can only have on a fore-and-after when there's nothing
really serious the matter. Of course, I don't mean to say that
the old man couldn't have steered his trick as well as you or I
or any other seaman; but I don't believe he had ever been on
board the _Helen B._ before, or had his hand on her wheel till
then; and he didn't know her ways. I don't mean to say that what
happened was his fault. I don't know whose fault it was. Perhaps
nobody was to blame. But I knew something happened somewhere on
board when we shipped that sea, and you'll never get it out of my
head. I hadn't any spare time myself, for I was becketing the
rest of the trysail to the mast. We were on the starboard tack,
and the throat-halliard came down to port as usual, and I suppose
there were at least three men at it, hoisting away, while I was
at the beckets.
Now I am going to tell you something. You have known me, man and
boy, several voyages; and you are older than I am; and you have
always been a good friend to me. Now, do you think I am the sort
of man to think I hear things where there isn't anything to hear,
or to think I see things when there is nothing to see? No, you
don't. Thank you. Well now, I had passed the last becket, and I
sang out to the men to sway away, and I was standing on the jaws
of the spanker-gaff, with my left hand on the bolt-rope of the
trysail, so that I could feel when it was board-taut, and I
wasn't thinking of anything except being glad the job was over,
and that we were going to heave her to. It was as black as a
coal-pocket, except that you could see the streaks on the seas as
they went by, and abaft the deck-house I could see the ray of
light from the binnacle on the captain's yellow oilskin as he
stood at the wheel--or rather I might have seen it if I had
looked round at
|
could
|
How many times does the word 'could' appear in the text?
| 7
|
upon my tongue's end, but lacked the
nerve to deliver it. Nobs had come over and nosed his muzzle into her
lap, and she stroked his ugly face, and at last she leaned over and put
her cheek against his forehead. I have always admired Nobs; but this
was the first time that it had ever occurred to me that I might wish to
be Nobs. I wondered how he would take it, for he is as unused to women
as I. But he took to it as a duck takes to water. What I lack of
being a ladies' man, Nobs certainly makes up for as a ladies' dog. The
old scalawag just closed his eyes and put on one of the softest
"sugar-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth" expressions you ever saw and stood
there taking it and asking for more. It made me jealous.
"You seem fond of dogs," I said.
"I am fond of this dog," she replied.
Whether she meant anything personal in that reply I did not know; but I
took it as personal and it made me feel mighty good.
As we drifted about upon that vast expanse of loneliness it is not
strange that we should quickly become well acquainted. Constantly we
scanned the horizon for signs of smoke, venturing guesses as to our
chances of rescue; but darkness settled, and the black night enveloped
us without ever the sight of a speck upon the waters.
We were thirsty, hungry, uncomfortable, and cold. Our wet garments had
dried but little and I knew that the girl must be in grave danger from
the exposure to a night of cold and wet upon the water in an open boat,
without sufficient clothing and no food. I had managed to bail all the
water out of the boat with cupped hands, ending by mopping the balance
up with my handkerchief--a slow and back-breaking procedure; thus I had
made a comparatively dry place for the girl to lie down low in the
bottom of the boat, where the sides would protect her from the night
wind, and when at last she did so, almost overcome as she was by
weakness and fatigue, I threw my wet coat over her further to thwart
the chill. But it was of no avail; as I sat watching her, the
moonlight marking out the graceful curves of her slender young body, I
saw her shiver.
"Isn't there something I can do?" I asked. "You can't lie there
chilled through all night. Can't you suggest something?"
She shook her head. "We must grin and bear it," she replied after a
moment.
Nobbler came and lay down on the thwart beside me, his back against my
leg, and I sat staring in dumb misery at the girl, knowing in my heart
of hearts that she might die before morning came, for what with the
shock and exposure, she had already gone through enough to kill almost
any woman. And as I gazed down at her, so small and delicate and
helpless, there was born slowly within my breast a new emotion. It had
never been there before; now it will never cease to be there. It made
me almost frantic in my desire to find some way to keep warm the
cooling lifeblood in her veins. I was cold myself, though I had almost
forgotten it until Nobbler moved and I felt a new sensation of cold
along my leg against which he had lain, and suddenly realized that in
that one spot I had been warm. Like a great light came the
understanding of a means to warm the girl. Immediately I knelt beside
her to put my scheme into practice when suddenly I was overwhelmed with
embarrassment. Would she permit it, even if I could muster the courage
to suggest it? Then I saw her frame convulse, shudderingly, her
muscles reacting to her rapidly lowering temperature, and casting
prudery to the winds, I threw myself down beside her and took her in my
arms, pressing her body close to mine.
She drew away suddenly, voicing a little cry of fright, and tried to
push me from her.
"Forgive me," I managed to stammer. "It is the only way. You will die
of exposure if you are not warmed, and Nobs and I are the only means we
can command for furnishing
|
would
|
How many times does the word 'would' appear in the text?
| 2
|
grandfather was M. Dupin de Francueil, the charming friend
of Rousseau and Mme. d'Epinay; her father, Maurice Dupin, was a gay and
brilliant soldier, who married the pretty daughter of a bird-fancier,
and died early. She was a child of the people on her mother's side, an
aristocrat on her father's. In 1807 she was taken by her father, who was
on Murat's staff, into Spain, from which she returned to the house of
her grandmother, at Nohant in Berry. This old lady adopted Aurore at the
death of her father, in 1808. Of her childhood George Sand has given a
most picturesque account in her "Histoire de ma Vie." In 1817 the girl
was sent to the Convent of the English Augustinians in Paris, where she
passed through a state of religious mysticism. She returned to Nohant
in 1820, and soon threw off her pietism in the outdoor exercises of a
wholesome country life. Within a few months, Mme. Dupin de Francueil
died at a great age, and Aurore was tempted to return to Paris. Her
relatives, however, were anxious that she should not do this, and
they introduced to her the natural son of a retired colonel, the Baron
Dudevant, whom, in September, 1822, she married. She brought him to live
with her at Nohant, and she bore him two sons, Maurice and Solange,
and a daughter. She quickly perceived, as her own intellectual nature
developed, that her boorish husband was unsuited to her, but their early
years of married life were not absolutely intolerable. In 1831, however,
she could endure him no longer, and an amicable separation was agreed
upon. She left M. Dudevant at Nohant, resigning her fortune, and
proceeded to Paris, where she was hard pressed to find a living. She
endeavoured, without success, to paint the lids of cigar-boxes, and in
final desperation, under the influence of Jules Sandeau--who became her
lover, and who invented the pseudonym of George Sand for her--she turned
her attention to literature. Her earliest work was to help Sandeau in
the composition of his novel, "Rose et Blanche" Her first independent
novel, "Indiana," appeared at the close of 1831, and her second,
"Valentine," two months later. These books produced a great and
immediate sensation, and she felt that she had found her vocation.
In 1833 she produced "Lebia"; in 1834 the "Lettres d'un Voyageur" and
"Jacques"; in 1835 "Andre" and "Leone Leoni." After this her works
become too numerous and were produced with too monotonous a regularity
to be chronicled here. But it should be said that "Mauprat" was written
in 1836 at Nohant, while she was pleading for a legal separation from
her husband, which was given her by the tribunal of Bourges, with full
authority over the education of her children. These early novels all
reflect in measure the personal sorrows of the author, although
George Sand never ceased to protest against too strict a biographical
interpretation of their incidents. "Spiridion" (1839), composed under
the influence of Lamennais, deals with questions of free thought in
religion. But the novels of the first period of her literary activity,
which came to a close in 1840, are mainly occupied with a lyrical
individualism, and are inspired by the wrongs and disillusions of the
author's personal adventures.
The years 1833 and 1834 were marked by her too-celebrated relations with
Alfred de Musset, with whom she lived in Paris and at Venice, and with
whom she quarrelled at last in circumstances deplorably infelicitous.
Neither of these great creatures had the reticence to exclude the world
from a narrative of their misfortunes and adventures; of the two it was
fairly certainly the woman who came the less injured out of the furnace.
In "Elle et Lui" (1859) she gave long afterward her version of the
unhappy and undignified story. Her stay in Venice appears to have
impressed her genius more
|
rousseau
|
How many times does the word 'rousseau' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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>
|
beside
|
How many times does the word 'beside' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
|
right
|
How many times does the word 'right' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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
|
ziggurat
|
How many times does the word 'ziggurat' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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
|
said
|
How many times does the word 'said' appear in the text?
| 3
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>PHILADELPHIA'S GLORIOUSLY ORNATE CITY HALL (EXT./DAY) ...
</b>
TITLE: "Philadelphia City Hall."
<b>CITY EMPLOYEES, JUDGES, COPS, LAWYERS, CRIMINALS, TOURISTS
</b>pour into City Hall, into...
<b> TO:
</b>
<b>TWO STORY HIGH CORRIDORS THAT REEK OF HISTORY (INT-DAY).
</b>
Young lawyer JAMEY COLLINS darts through the crowd, carrying
an accordion file under his arm like a football.
Jamey elbows his way through a JAPANESE TOUR GROUP.
Jamey trots up a marble staircase, two steps at a time
<b> TO:
</b>
<b>JAMEY RUNS LIKE HELL DOWN A THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR, FOOTSTEPS
</b>making a racket...
Jamey rushes toward a door marked "JUDGE TATE."
RAISED VOICES from inside Judge Tate's chambers:
<b> JOSEPH MILLER (OS)
</b> This construction site is
causing mortal and irreparable
harm to an unsuspecting public!
<b> ANDREW BECKETT (OS)
</b> My client has one of the finest
and most respected safety records
in the business, Your Honor!
Jamey shoves open the door, REVEALING TWO LAWYERS (BACKS TO
<b>CAMERA) STANDING BEFORE JUDGE EUNICE TATE: ANDREW BECKETT
</b>(in conservative gray) and JOSEPH MILLER (in pinstripes).
<b> JUDGE TATE
</b> One at a time. Mr. Miller?
<b> JOE
</b> Your Honor, since Rockwell Corp.
began construction, the
surrounding residential
neighborhood has been enshrouded
in a cloud of foul-smelling,
germ-carrying,
|
jamey
|
How many times does the word 'jamey' appear in the text?
| 5
|
, it may be, there were in those gorgeous salons
philosophers who said to themselves, as they discussed an ice or a
sherbet, or placed their empty punch glasses on a tray:
"I should not be surprised to learn that these people are knaves. That
old fellow who keeps out of sight and appears only at the equinoxes or
solstices, looks to me exactly like an assassin."
"Or a bankrupt."
"There's very little difference. To destroy a man's fortune is worse
than to kill the man himself."
"I bet twenty louis, monsieur; there are forty due me."
"Faith, monsieur; there are only thirty left on the cloth."
"Just see what a mixed company there is! One can't play cards in peace."
"Very true. But it's almost six months since we saw the Spirit. Do you
think he's a living being?"
"Well, barely."
These last remarks were made in my neighborhood by persons whom I did
not know, and who passed out of hearing just as I was summarizing in one
last thought my reflections, in which black and white, life and death,
were inextricably mingled. My wandering imagination, like my eyes,
contemplated alternately the festivities, which had now reached the
climax of their splendor, and the gloomy picture presented by the
gardens. I have no idea how long I meditated upon those two faces of
the human medal; but I was suddenly aroused by the stifled laughter of
a young woman. I was stupefied at the picture presented to my eyes.
By virtue of one of the strangest of nature's freaks, the thought half
draped in black, which was tossing about in my brain, emerged from it
and stood before me personified, living; it had come forth like Minerva
from Jupiter's brain, tall and strong; it was at once a hundred years
old and twenty-two; it was alive and dead. Escaped from his chamber,
like a madman from his cell, the little old man had evidently crept
behind a long line of people who were listening attentively to
Marianina's voice as she finished the cavatina from _Tancred_. He seemed
to have come up through the floor, impelled by some stage mechanism. He
stood for a moment motionless and sombre, watching the festivities, a
murmur of which had perhaps reached his ears. His almost somnambulistic
preoccupation was so concentrated upon things that, although he was
in the midst of many people, he saw nobody. He had taken his place
unceremoniously beside one of the most fascinating women in Paris, a
young and graceful dancer, with slender figure, a face as fresh as a
child's, all pink and white, and so fragile, so transparent, that it
seemed that a man's glance must pass through her as the sun's rays pass
through flawless glass. They stood there before me, side by side, so
close together, that the stranger rubbed against the gauze dress, and
the wreaths of flowers, and the hair, slightly crimped, and the floating
ends of the sash.
I had brought that young woman to Madame de Lanty's ball. As it was
her first visit to that house, I forgave her her stifled laugh; but I
hastily made an imperious sign which abashed her and inspired respect
for her neighbor. She sat down beside me. The old man did not choose
to leave the charming creature, to whom he clung capriciously with the
silent and apparently causeless obstinacy to which very old persons are
subject, and which makes them resemble children. In order to sit down
beside the young lady he needed a folding-chair. His slightest movements
were marked by the inert heaviness, the stupid hesitancy, which
characterize the movements of a paralytic. He sat slowly down upon
his chair with great caution, mumbling some unintelligible words. His
cracked voice resembled the noise made by a stone falling into a well.
The young woman nervously pressed my hand, as if she were trying to
avoid a precipice, and shivered when that man, at whom she happened to
be looking, turned upon her two lifeless, sea-green eyes, which could be
compared to nothing save tarnished mother-of-pearl.
"
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 8
|
Chris McQuarrie
Tom DeSanto
Bryan Singer
February 24, 1999
<b> BLACK
</b>
Sounds of a train rolling to a halt, a shrill whistle.
<b> EXT. CAMP - DAY
</b>
UP ON the door of a weathered cattle car as a German
soldier steps into frame wearing that familiar gray of
the all-too familiar era.
He throws the door to reveal a mass of huddled and
frightened people inside.
The words are not necessary. The language is not ours
and the images say enough.
Men, women and children are herded off the train like
cattle toward a large open yard. There they huddle until
the Germans begin to shout and shove through the mob.
<b> EXT. FENCE CORRIDOR - DAY
</b>
We are looking up at rows and rows of fences topped with
barbed wire all designed to create a separator for the
thousands of Jew who pour through each day.
Then we see the eyes themselves that look up at them.
A LITTLE BOY. A boy who will not die this day. A boy
who will live to see the end of the war and the world of
the future.
He stares at the metal wire with an unusual fascination.
The boy looks up at HIS WORRIED PARENTS - a sturdy-
looking couple who try to smile and comfort him.
The corridor comes to a junction where it splits in
several different directions.
Soldiers here push the mob using rifles as pikes,
screaming and terrorizing the lot of them. Suddenly it
is clear what they are doing. They are dividing the mob
into smaller groups.
Soon, the groups themselves become evident.
Men from women. Children from adults.
The family tries to stay together, clinging to one
another dearly, until finally, they are put upon by a
number of gray uniforms and pulled apart. The boy is
dragged screaming his feet no longer touching the ground.
Two soldiers carry him as they follow the back of a large
column of children being led through a gate of barbed
wire so dense, it resembles wool.
The gate closes and the boy looks back to see his parents
- along with many others - being restrained by a number
of soldiers. The screaming is deafening.
And the boy's can be heard above it all. The soldiers
seem to be having a hard time carrying such a frail
child. The farther they get from the fence, the heavier
he seems to get, until they are literally pulling him as
though he were anchored to something
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soldiers
|
How many times does the word 'soldiers' appear in the text?
| 3
|
>
</b>
<b> EXT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - EARLY DAWN
</b>
RAE is naked.
Wrapped around her shoulders is a loose-knit spread that
conceals her slender form. She is in her 20's: a strawberry
blond, with cinnamon freckles spotted across her pale skin.
She is beautiful without trying.
She stares at the distant trees. This is the South; the small
town of FISHERVILLE, TENNESSEE.
Soon Rae will be alone.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - EARLY MORNING
</b>
RONNIE is 25 years old. His hair is cropped in a military
issue buzz.
Rae's face is wet with tears as Ronnie gently makes love to
her. She touches his face and sobs like a child.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. RONNIE'S TRAILER - LATER THAT MORNING
</b>
RONNIE is dressed in his National Guard fatigues, packing up
his gear.
Rae is now wearing a short jeans skirt and a T-shirt with a
gray wolf print ironed on the front. There is a knock at the
door. Rae flinches. Ronnie opens the door revealing GILL
MORTON, Ronnie's buddy from high school.
<b> GILL
</b> Still need a lift?
<b> RONNIE
</b> Yeah. Transmission's shot.
Gill and Rae's eyes meet. Gill sees that Rae is crying.
<b>
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skirt
|
How many times does the word 'skirt' appear in the text?
| 0
|
abs, her sheer dress clinging to her remarkable body.
A Club in THE MEATPACKING DISTRICT. A long line waits to get
in. A couple of Gorgeous Girls show up at the velvet rope and
are promptly" let inside.
SOHO. A Crowd spills out of a Bar and onto the sidewalk. A
Confident Knock Out in jeans and a tank top laughs, drinking
a beer out of the bottle.
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
Ahhhh... The sweet, uncomplicated
satisfaction of The Younger Woman. That
fleeting age when everything just falls
right into place. It's magic time and it
can render any man, anywhere --
absolutely helpless. Some say I'm an
expert on The Younger Woman. Guess that's
'cause I've been dating them for over
forty years...
<b>INTO AN EMPTY FRAME COMES HARRY LANGER
</b>
What is it about him? Could be his eyes, the turn of his
mouth...something about this guy is just so damn appealing.
Maybe it's just the way he wears the Young Slinky Girl on his
arm. He's confident, cool, enviable. We're in:
<b>A CHIC EATERY - DOWNTOWN
</b>
The place is full. Everybody is somebody here.
<b> HARRY
</b>
(to Hostess)
Langer. ..
The Maitre'd snaps to attention at the sight of him.
<b> MAITRE'D
</b>
Mr. Langer, got your table waiting.
As Harry and his Girl wend their way around tables, we pass Other
Couples. Young Couples. Middle-aged couples. Not talking Couples.
<b> HARRY (V.O.)
</b>
So what does a life of bucking the system
all add up to?
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> HARRY (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b>
To never settle down with the right woman
for a life of leftovers and Christmas
mornings. No his and her IRA accounts, no
mini van parked in the garage. I think
it's made me what I am today.
(Harry smiles to someone
across the room)
The luckiest son of a bitch on earth.
Look
|
harry
|
How many times does the word 'harry' appear in the text?
| 6
|
yes. Striking at them was like striking at air--was the same thing, in
fact.
While the men and machines tried uselessly to do something about it,
the new binary system--the stranger planet and Earth--began to move,
accelerating very slowly.
But accelerating.
In a week, astronomers knew something was happening. In a month, the
Moon sprang into flame and became a new sun--beginning to be needed,
for already the parent Sol was visibly more distant, and in a few years
it was only one other star among many.
* * * * *
When the little sun was burned to a clinker, they--whoever "they"
were, for men saw only the one Pyramid--would hang a new one in the
sky. It happened every five clock-years, more or less. It was the same
old moon-turned-sun, but it burned out, and the fires needed to be
rekindled.
The first of these suns had looked down on an Earthly population of ten
billion. As the sequence of suns waxed and waned, there were changes,
climatic fluctuation, all but immeasurable differences in the quantity
and kind of radiation from the new source.
The changes were such that the forty-fifth such sun looked down on a
shrinking human race that could not muster up a hundred million.
A frustrated man drives inward; it is the same with a race. The
hundred million that clung to existence were not the same as the bold,
vital ten billion.
The thing on Everest had, in its time, received many labels, too: The
Devil, The Friend, The Beast, A Pseudo-living Entity of Quite Unknown
Electrochemical Properties.
All these labels were also Xs.
If it did wake that morning, it did not open its eyes, for it had no
eyes--apart from the quivers of air that might or might not belong
to it. Eyes might have been gouged; therefore it had none. So an
illogical person might have argued--and yet it was tempting to apply
the "purpose, not function" fallacy to it. Limbs could be crushed; it
had no limbs. Ears could be deafened; it had none. Through a mouth, it
might be poisoned; it had no mouth. Intentions and actions could be
frustrated; apparently it had neither.
It was there. That was all.
It and others like it had stolen the Earth and the Earth did not know
why. It was there. And the one thing on Earth you could not do was hurt
it, influence it, or coerce it in any way whatever.
It was there--and it, or the masters it represented, owned the Earth by
right of theft. Utterly. Beyond human hope of challenge or redress.
II
Citizen and Citizeness Roget Germyn walked down Pine Street in the
chill and dusk of--one hoped--a Sun Re-creation Morning.
It was the convention to pretend that this was a morning like any other
morning. It was not proper either to cast frequent hopeful glances at
the sky, nor yet to seem disturbed or afraid because this was, after
all, the forty-first such morning since those whose specialty was Sky
Viewing had come to believe the Re-creation of the Sun was near.
The Citizen and his Citizeness exchanged the assurance-of-identity
sign with a few old friends and stopped to converse. This also was a
convention of skill divorced from purpose. The conversation was without
relevance to anything that any one of the participants might know, or
think, or wish to ask.
Germyn said for his friends a twenty-word poem he had made in honor
of the occasion and heard their responses. They did line-capping for
a while--until somebody indicated unhappiness and a wish to change by
frowning the Two Grooves between his brows. The game was deftly ended
with an improvised rhymed exchange.
Casually, Citizen Germyn glanced aloft. The sky-change had not begun
yet; the dying old Sun hung just over the horizon, east and south, much
more south than east. It was an ugly thought, but suppose
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this
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How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 2
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b><P> </P>
</b>
<b><OL START=1>
</b><b><LI>EXT. BANGKOK. NIGHT.</LI>
</b><I><P>A single headlamp in close up shines directly and brightly out</P>
<P>Extreme noise and light.</P>
<P>Beyond its glare can be seen the outline of a motorized tricycle ("tuk-tud") and its Thai driver</P>
<P>A young man, Richard, sits in the back, his rucksack beside him, swaying with the motion of the vehicle. He is worn and sweating.</P>
<P>They travel through nocturnal Bangkok: fleets of tuk-tuks, taxis, road works, food vendors, dogs, tourists.</P>
<P>Music and credits.</P>
<b></OL>
</b>
<b><OL START=2>
</b><b></I><LI>EXT. KHAO SAN ROAD. NIGHT</LI>
</b><I><P>The bright headlight comes to a halt. </P>
<P>Richard climbs down from the tuk-tuk</P>
<b></I><B><P>RICHARD</B> (V.O.)</P>
</b><P>When you hit Bangkok, there's really only one place to go.</P>
<I><P>The street is busy, full of Thai's and travelers.</P>
<P>Richard picks his way through the crowd, his rucksack on his back.</P>
<P>He absorbs the scene as he passes boarding houses and hotels, and the shops and stalls selling food, clothes, pirated tapes, jewelry, travel tickets, and international phone calls. Restaurantes are filled with western travelers watching American films or European sport.</P>
<b></I><B><P>RICHARD</B> (V.O.)</P>
</b><P>(continuing)</P>
<P>The Khao San Road is a decompression chamber between east and west. It's where you learn to breathe car fumes and tropical air for the very first time, or else carefully rearrange your memories before you catch your flight home.</P>
<I><P>Richard is approached by a young male Thai Hustler who walks backwards in front of him while making his pitch.</P>
<b></I><B><P>HUSTLER</P>
</b></B><P>You need somewhere to stay?</P>
<b><B><P>RICHARD </P>
</b></B><P>I'll be OK, Thanks.</P>
<I><P>Richard politely ignores each of his subsequent offers.</P>
<b></I><B><P>HUSTLER</P>
</b></B><P>What do you want? Sell your passport? Buy passport? Airline tickets? You want silk? I'll take you to the best silk place? You get a suit in twenty-four hours. Diamonds? You want to come with me, you get present for your girlfriend. Maybe no girlfriend. You want a girl, no problem. Good time. Boy girl fucking no problem. You want to drink some snake blood?</P>
<I><P>At this last one Richard stops and addresses the Hustler.</P>
<b></I><B><P>RICHARD</P>
</b></B><P>No thanks.</P>
<I><P>Richard walks on, the hustler fading out behind him.</P>
<b></I><B><P>HUSTLER</P>
</b></B><P>You want designer clothes? I get you Versache, Gucci, Armani, no problem. You want a camera, all the best makes: Nikon, Leica, Canon I can get you.</P>
<b><B><P>RICHARD</B> (V.O.) </P>
</b><P>Yeah, it's all here: you an phone home, meet up with strangers, split up with your friends, watch Hollywood movies while you sip Budweiser and eat a burger or get some massage and green chicken soup. You could be anywhere in the world bu you could only find it here. And what do they want, all these people?</P></OL>
<b><OL START=3>
</b><b
|
want
|
How many times does the word 'want' appear in the text?
| 7
|
1
</b>
Out west where the sun descends gloriously over desolate
mountains. A sense of timeless and incorruptible beauty
if you ignore the TWANG of the MUSIC, the SPUTTER of the
TRACTOR, the ZAPS, the THWACKS... and something else...
... MEN'S VOICES. Garrulous with drink, fraternity and
amusement.
We PAN DOWN TO:
<b>2 EXT. DRIVING RANGE - LATE DAY 2
</b>
A man, JOSE, is on the roof, wrestling with a rickety
satellite dish, stringing wire, trying to get it to work.
(We get glimpses of him throughout the scene as he
struggles with what is assuredly a pirate operation.)
Four of six floodlights nailed to the roof cast pools of
yellow into the gathering darkness. ROY "TIN CUP" McAVOY
stands under the swarm of moths crowding the brightest
light, hitting golf balls. THWOCK...! Launching them,
really, into the deepening night. There's a beer between
his legs. Behind him:
A group of men forms a semicircle, facing away from Tin
Cup. These men are the range regulars: CURT, CLINT,
EARL, and DEWEY. Each man has money in one hand and his
preferred libation in the other. They're all looking
back and forth between the bug lights hung on the back
wall, and muttering what sounds like bets to:
ROMEO POSAR -- a smaller man, he stands at the center of
the group with a handful of cash. Romeo is a part-time
bookie and full-time driving range man. Born across the
river in Mexico, Romeo is Tin Cup's caddie, confidante,
best friend.
<b> ROMEO
</b> Okay, all bets are down!
Their eyes rivet on the bug lights, edgy, hopeful,
until... ZAP! A BUG is ELECTROCUTED. And Dewey cheers
triumphantly while the other regulars mutter curses about
how they woulda, coulda, shoulda bet.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b> ROMEO
</b> Number one is the winner! Dewey
has the winner. Pays five to two!
Romeo quickly pays Dewey and more quickly takes money from
the losers. It's fast-paced, inane, time-killing
gambling. Tin Cup looks over.
<b> TIN CUP
</b> Don't you shitheels ever get
bored?
The regulars flap dismissive palms and mutter in the
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dewey
|
How many times does the word 'dewey' appear in the text?
| 3
|
eyes. The phone RINGS. Keeps ringing.
Nell, feeling the drug, finds her way to the phone and picks up.
NELL
Hello? Yes, this is Eleanor.
-- Where? Yes, it's right here.
Nell listens for a long moment. She picks up the classifieds,
flips through. And there it is:
TROUBLE SLEEPING?
WANTED - RESEARCH SUBJECTS. $900.00/.WEEK + RM.&BD. @ BEAUTIFUL
OLD HOUSE IN BERKSHIRES. PSYCHOLOGY STUDY.
<b>END MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE</b>
INT. PSYCH OBSERVATION LAB - DAY
The lab feels more like the video center of a security office than
a psychologist's laboratory. Two banks of black and white monitors
give us images of men and women, different ages, different races,
wired to electrodes. They are taking psychological tests, although
we never see the Testers. The subjects are working through
variations on object manipulation and pattern recognition tests.
There are subtle differences between the two banks of monitors. On
the left, the subjects are all twitching at exactly the same time,
on the right, the subjects are also twitching, but in no
discernible sequence. The subjects on the left are better able to
concentrate on their tasks. The subjects on the right keep
stopping, and going over what they have done.
Two men, <b>MALCOLM KEOGH</b>, in his 50's, is a graying professor, the
head of the department; someone we trust.
He faces <b>PROFESSOR JAMES MARROW</b>. He is a man whose confidence
rests uneasily on his ambition, and in the tension between the two
is the power that makes him the teacher students love. Right now,
though, he is defending himself before a Department Review. This
is not a court martial with judges behind a desk, it's more free
form.
The men are having a fight, and they are watched by OTHER
PROFESSORS.
MALCOLM
It's still an electric shock!
MARROW
Come on Malcolm, it's only seven
ohms, it's nothing, it's like a
joy buzzer! And it's not about
the pain, it's about the
interference with concentration...
Malcolm looks at the monitor. This is Marrow's chance to explain
it again.
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malcolm
|
How many times does the word 'malcolm' appear in the text?
| 3
|
<b>EXT. ALLEYS AND STREETS - SERIES OF ANGLES - DAWN
</b>
The streets and alleys of Ft. Dupree at dawn. On sound we hear
the clucking of DOVES. A garbage truck appears. Details of the
mechanisms at the back of the truck.
<b>NEW ANGLE
</b>
KIT CARRUTHERS, the hero, a 25-year-old garbageman, kneels beside
a dead dog. He inspects it briefly. then looks back at his friend
and co-worker, CATO, a stocky man in his forties.
<b>KIT
</b>I'll give you a dollar to eat this collie.
Cato inspects the dog.
<b>CATO
</b>I'm not going to eat him for a dollar... I don't think he's a
collie, either. Some kind of dog.
They drive off.
<b>KIT
</b>Watch your heads.
<b>NEW ANGLE
</b>
The truck comes to a stop. Kit bangs on the driver's door.
<b>KIT
</b>Hey. Woody. Gimme a cigarette.
WOODY waves him off. Kit shrugs to Cato.
<b>KIT
</b>Woody wouldn't give me a cigarette. (pause) Ever notice he don't
talk much?
Cato agrees with this. They make a terrible racket, with no
regard for the sleep of the neighbors.
<b>EXT. STREET
</b>
Holly, whispering some rhyme to herself, twirls a baton in the
middle of an empty street.
HOLLY (v.o.)
Little did I realize that what began in the alleys and back ways
of this quiet town would end in the Badlands of Montana.
<b>EXT. ALLEY
</b>
Kit tries to sell a passing BUM a pair of shoes.
<b>BUM
</b>Nah. they wouldn't fit.
<b>KIT
</b>How do you know? You hadn't tried them on yet.
<b>BUM
</b>Nah.
<b>KIT
</b>Gimme a dollar for them... Cost twenty new.
The Bum walks off. Kit pitches the shoes to Cato.
<b>KIT
</b>Why don't you see if they fit you?
Cato picks them up and looks at them.
<b>CLOSE ON TRASH CAN
</b>
Kit is culling through a trash can, looking for valuables.
reading other people's mail, etc.
KIT (o.c.)
This lady don't ever pay her bills. She's gonna get in trouble if
she doesn't watch out.
Cato, ignoring him, picks up a magazine that is lying in the
grass. When the CAMERA returns to Kit, he has stripped off his
apron.
<b>KIT
</b>I throwed enough trash for today, Cato.... I'll see you In the
morning.
He slaps Cato on the back and walks off. Cato throws a mouldy
loaf of bread at his back.
<b>CATO
</b>Catch!
<b>KIT
</b>What do you mean?
He throws the loaf back at Cato.
<b>EXT. ALLEYS
</b>
Kit walks through the deserted alleys of the sleeping town... as
the MAIN TITLES APPEAR. He balances a stolen mop on his finger;
he stomps a can and looks around to see if anyone has spotted him
at this. As the CREDITS end he sees Holly in front of her house
twirling her baton. He crosses the street and introduces himself.
<b>EXT. FRONT LAWN
</b>
<b>KIT
</b>Hi, I'm Kit. I'm not keeping you from anything important
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quiet
|
How many times does the word 'quiet' appear in the text?
| 0
|
"I beg your pardon," said Syme grimly, "I forgot we had abolished all
conventions."
For the first time a red patch appeared on Gregory's forehead.
"You don't expect me," he said, "to revolutionise society on this lawn?"
Syme looked straight into his eyes and smiled sweetly.
"No, I don't," he said; "but I suppose that if you were serious about
your anarchism, that is exactly what you would do."
Gregory's big bull's eyes blinked suddenly like those of an angry lion,
and one could almost fancy that his red mane rose.
"Don't you think, then," he said in a dangerous voice, "that I am
serious about my anarchism?"
"I beg your pardon?" said Syme.
"Am I not serious about my anarchism?" cried Gregory, with knotted
fists.
"My dear fellow!" said Syme, and strolled away.
With surprise, but with a curious pleasure, he found Rosamond Gregory
still in his company.
"Mr. Syme," she said, "do the people who talk like you and my brother
often mean what they say? Do you mean what you say now?"
Syme smiled.
"Do you?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" asked the girl, with grave eyes.
"My dear Miss Gregory," said Syme gently, "there are many kinds of
sincerity and insincerity. When you say 'thank you' for the salt, do you
mean what you say? No. When you say 'the world is round,' do you mean
what you say? No. It is true, but you don't mean it. Now, sometimes a
man like your brother really finds a thing he does mean. It may be only
a half-truth, quarter-truth, tenth-truth; but then he says more than he
means--from sheer force of meaning it."
She was looking at him from under level brows; her face was grave
and open, and there had fallen upon it the shadow of that unreasoning
responsibility which is at the bottom of the most frivolous woman, the
maternal watch which is as old as the world.
"Is he really an anarchist, then?" she asked.
"Only in that sense I speak of," replied Syme; "or if you prefer it, in
that nonsense."
She drew her broad brows together and said abruptly--
"He wouldn't really use--bombs or that sort of thing?"
Syme broke into a great laugh, that seemed too large for his slight and
somewhat dandified figure.
"Good Lord, no!" he said, "that has to be done anonymously."
And at that the corners of her own mouth broke into a smile, and she
thought with a simultaneous pleasure of Gregory's absurdity and of his
safety.
Syme strolled with her to a seat in the corner of the garden, and
continued to pour out his opinions. For he was a sincere man, and in
spite of his superficial airs and graces, at root a humble one. And
it is always the humble man who talks too much; the proud man watches
himself too closely. He defended respectability with violence and
exaggeration. He grew passionate in his praise of tidiness and
propriety. All the time there was a smell of lilac all round him. Once
he heard very faintly in some distant street a barrel-organ begin to
play, and it seemed to him that his heroic words were moving to a tiny
tune from under or beyond the world.
He stared and talked at the girl's red hair and amused face for what
seemed to be a few minutes; and then, feeling that the groups in such a
place should mix, rose to his feet. To his astonishment, he discovered
the whole garden empty. Everyone had gone long ago, and he went himself
with a rather hurried apology. He left with a sense of champagne in his
head, which he could not afterwards explain. In the wild events which
were to follow this girl had no part at all; he never saw her again
until all his tale was over. And yet, in some indescribable way, she
kept recurring like a motive in music through all his mad adventures
afterwards, and the glory of her strange hair ran like a red thread
through those dark and ill
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 2
|
and teacher
whom they implicitly obey. This Superior had been a disciple of the
starets Ambrose, who was a disciple of Makarius, who was a disciple of
the starets Leonid, who was a disciple of Paussy Velichkovsky.
To this Abbot Kasatsky submitted himself as to his chosen director. Here
in the monastery, besides the feeling of ascendency over others that
such a life gave him, he felt much as he had done in the world: he found
satisfaction in attaining the greatest possible perfection outwardly
as well as inwardly. As in the regiment he had been not merely an
irreproachable officer but had even exceeded his duties and widened the
borders of perfection, so also as a monk he tried to be perfect, and was
always industrious, abstemious, submissive, and meek, as well as
pure both in deed and in thought, and obedient. This last quality in
particular made life far easier for him. If many of the demands of life
in the monastery, which was near the capital and much frequented, did
not please him and were temptations to him, they were all nullified by
obedience: 'It is not for me to reason; my business is to do the task
set me, whether it be standing beside the relics, singing in the choir,
or making up accounts in the monastery guest-house.' All possibility of
doubt about anything was silenced by obedience to the starets. Had
it not been for this, he would have been oppressed by the length and
monotony of the church services, the bustle of the many visitors, and
the bad qualities of the other monks. As it was, he not only bore it
all joyfully but found in it solace and support. 'I don't know why it is
necessary to hear the same prayers several times a day, but I know that
it is necessary; and knowing this I find joy in them.' His director told
him that as material food is necessary for the maintenance of the life
of the body, so spiritual food--the church prayers--is necessary for
the maintenance of the spiritual life. He believed this, and though the
church services, for which he had to get up early in the morning, were
a difficulty, they certainly calmed him and gave him joy. This was the
result of his consciousness of humility, and the certainty that whatever
he had to do, being fixed by the starets, was right.
The interest of his life consisted not only in an ever greater and
greater subjugation of his will, but in the attainment of all the
Christian virtues, which at first seemed to him easily attainable. He
had given his whole estate to his sister and did not regret it, he had
no personal claims, humility towards his inferiors was not merely easy
for him but afforded him pleasure. Even victory over the sins of the
flesh, greed and lust, was easily attained. His director had specially
warned him against the latter sin, but Kasatsky felt free from it and
was glad.
One thing only tormented him--the remembrance of his fiancee; and not
merely the remembrance but the vivid image of what might have been.
Involuntarily he recalled a lady he knew who had been a favourite of the
Emperor's, but had afterwards married and become an admirable wife and
mother. The husband had a high position, influence and honour, and a
good and penitent wife.
In his better hours Kasatsky was not disturbed by such thoughts, and
when he recalled them at such times he was merely glad to feel that the
temptation was past. But there were moments when all that made up his
present life suddenly grew dim before him, moments when, if he did not
cease to believe in the aims he had set himself, he ceased to see them
and could evoke no confidence in them but was seized by a remembrance
of, and--terrible to say--a regret for, the change of life he had made.
The only thing that saved him in that state of mind was obedience and
work, and the fact that the whole day was occupied by prayer. He went
through the usual forms of prayer, he bowed in prayer, he even prayed
more than usual, but it was lip-service only and his soul was not in it.
This condition would continue for a day, or sometimes for two days, and
would then pass of itself. But those days were dreadful. Kasatsky felt
that he was
|
evoke
|
How many times does the word 'evoke' appear in the text?
| 0
|
me in a dream, and to
love me, and so on; but I can't help my husband having disagreeable
relatives, can I?
HE [brightening up] Ah, of course they are your husband's relatives: I
forgot that. Forgive me, Aurora. [He takes her hand from his shoulder
and kisses it. She sits down on the stool. He remains near the table,
with his back to it, smiling fatuously down at her].
SHE. The fact is, Teddy's got nothing but relatives. He has eight
sisters and six half-sisters, and ever so many brothers--but I don't
mind his brothers. Now if you only knew the least little thing about
the world, Henry, you'd know that in a large family, though the sisters
quarrel with one another like mad all the time, yet let one of the
brothers marry, and they all turn on their unfortunate sister-in-law and
devote the rest of their lives with perfect unanimity to persuading
him that his wife is unworthy of him. They can do it to her very face
without her knowing it, because there are always a lot of stupid low
family jokes that nobody understands but themselves. Half the time you
can't tell what they're talking about: it just drives you wild. There
ought to be a law against a man's sister ever entering his house after
he's married. I'm as certain as that I'm sitting here that Georgina
stole those poems out of my workbox.
HE. She will not understand them, I think.
SHE. Oh, won't she! She'll understand them only too well. She'll
understand more harm than ever was in them: nasty vulgar-minded cat!
HE [going to her] Oh don't, don't think of people in that way. Don't
think of her at all. [He takes her hand and sits down on the carpet at
her feet]. Aurora: do you remember the evening when I sat here at your
feet and read you those poems for the first time?
SHE. I shouldn't have let you: I see that now. When I think of Georgina
sitting there at Teddy's feet and reading them to him for the first
time, I feel I shall just go distracted.
HE. Yes, you are right. It will be a profanation.
SHE. Oh, I don't care about the profanation; but what will Teddy think?
what will he do? [Suddenly throwing his head away from her knee]. You
don't seem to think a bit about Teddy. [She jumps up, more and more
agitated].
HE [supine on the floor; for she has thrown him off his balance] To me
Teddy is nothing, and Georgina less than nothing.
SHE. You'll soon find out how much less than nothing she is. If you
think a woman can't do any harm because she's only a scandalmongering
dowdy ragbag, you're greatly mistaken. [She flounces about the room. He
gets up slowly and dusts his hands. Suddenly she runs to him and throws
herself into his arms]. Henry: help me. Find a way out of this for me;
and I'll bless you as long as you live. Oh, how wretched I am! [She sobs
on his breast].
HE. And oh! how happy I am!
SHE [whisking herself abruptly away] Don't be selfish.
HE [humbly] Yes: I deserve that. I think if I were going to the stake
with you, I should still be so happy with you that I could hardly feel
your danger more than my own.
SHE [relenting and patting his hand fondly] Oh, you are a dear darling
boy, Henry; but [throwing his hand away fretfully] you're no use. I want
somebody to tell me what to do.
HE [with quiet conviction] Your heart will tell you at the right time. I
have thought deeply over this; and I know what we two must do, sooner or
later.
SHE. No, Henry. I will do nothing improper, nothing dishonorable. [She
sits down plump on the stool and looks inflexible].
HE. If you did, you would no longer be Aurora. Our course is perfectly
simple, perfectly straightforward, perfectly stainless and
|
teddy
|
How many times does the word 'teddy' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ūdraka, Bhavabhūti--assuredly, these are the greatest
names in the history of the Indian drama. So different are these
men, and so great, that it is not possible to assert for any one of
them such supremacy as Shakspere holds in the English drama.
It is true that KÄlidÄsa's dramatic masterpiece, the ShakuntalÄ,
is the most widely known of the Indian plays. It is true that the
tender and elegant KÄlidÄsa has been called, with a not wholly fortunate
enthusiasm, the "Shakspere of India." But this rather exclusive
admiration of the ShakuntalÄ results from lack of information
about the other great Indian dramas. Indeed, it is partly due
to the accident that only the ShakuntalÄ became known in translation
at a time when romantic Europe was in full sympathy with
the literature of India.
BhavabhÅ«ti, too, is far less widely known than KÄlidÄsa; and for this
the reason is deeper-seated. The austerity of Bhavabhūti's style, his
lack of humor, his insistent grandeur, are qualities which prevent his
being a truly popular poet. With reference to KÄlidÄsa, he holds a
position such as Aeschylus holds with reference to Euripides. He will
always seem to minds that sympathize with his grandeur[3] the greatest
of Indian poets; while by other equally discerning minds of another
order he will be admired, but not passionately loved.
Yet however great the difference between KÄlidÄsa, "the grace
of poetry,"[4] and Bhavabhūti, "the master of eloquence,"[5] these two
authors are far more intimately allied in spirit than is either of
them with the author of The Little Clay Cart. KÄlidÄsa and BhavabhÅ«ti
are Hindus of the Hindus; the ShakuntalÄ and the Latter
Acts of RÄma could have been written nowhere save in India:
but Shūdraka, alone in the long line of Indian dramatists, has a
cosmopolitan character. ShakuntalÄ is a Hindu maid, MÄdhava is
a Hindu hero; but SansthÄnaka and Maitreya and MadanikÄ are
citizens of the world. In some of the more striking characteristics of
Sanskrit literature--in its fondness for system, its elaboration of
style, its love of epigram--KÄlidÄsa and BhavabhÅ«ti are far truer
to their native land than is Shūdraka. In Shūdraka we find few
of those splendid phrases in which, as the Chinese[6] say, "it is only
the words which stop, the sense goes on,"--phrases like KÄlidÄsa's[7]
"there are doors of the inevitable everywhere," or Bhavabhūti's[8] "for
causeless love there is no remedy." As regards the predominance of
swift-moving action over the poetical expression of great truths,
The Little Clay Cart stands related to the Latter Acts of RÄma as
Macbeth does to Hamlet. Again, Shūdraka's style is simple and direct,
a rare quality in a Hindu; and although this style, in the passages
of higher emotion, is of an exquisite simplicity, yet Shūdraka
cannot infuse into mere language the charm which we find in KÄlidÄsa
or the majesty which we find in Bhavabhūti.
Yet Shūdraka's limitations in regard to stylistic power are not
without their compensation. For love of style slowly strangled originality
and enterprise in Indian poets, and ultimately proved the
death of Sanskrit literature. Now just at this point, where other
Hindu
|
india
|
How many times does the word 'india' appear in the text?
| 2
|
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b>
<b>EXT. GALAXY - PLANET HOTH
</b>
A Star Destroyer moves through space, releasing Imperial probe robots
from its underside.
One of these probes zooms toward the planet Hoth and lands on its ice-
covered surface. An explosion marks the point of
impact.
<b>EXT. HOTH - METEORITE CRATER - SNOW PLAIN - DAY
</b>
A weird mechanical sound rises above the whining of the wind. A
strange probe robot, with several extended sensors, emerges from the
smoke-shrouded crater. The ominous mechanical probe floats across the
snow plain and disappears into the distance.
<b>EXT. PLAIN OF HOTH - DAY
</b>
A small figure gallops across the windswept ice slope. The bundled
rider is mounted on a large gray snow lizard, a Tauntaun. Curving
plumes of snow rise from beneath the speeding paws of the two-legged
beast.
The rider gallops up a slope and reins his lizard to a stop. Pulling
off his protective goggles, Luke Skywalker notices something in the
sky. He takes a pair of electrobinoculars from his utility belt and
through them sees smoke rising from where the probe robot has crashed.
The wind whips at Luke's fur-lined cap and he activates a comlink
transmitter. His Tauntaun shifts and moans nervously beneath him.
<b> LUKE
</b> (into comlink)
Echo Three to Echo Seven. Han,
old buddy, do you read me?
After a little static a familiar voice is heard.
<b> HAN
</b> (over comlink)
Loud and clear, kid. What's up?
<b> LUKE
</b> (into comlink)
Well, I finished my circle. I
don't pick up any life readings.
<b> HAN
</b> (over comlink)
There isn't enough life on this
ice cube to fill a space cruiser.
The sensors are placed, I'm going
back.
<b> LUKE
</b> (into comlink)
Right. I'll see you shortly.
There's a meteorite that hit the
ground near here. I want to check
it out. It won't take long.
Luke clicks off his transmitter and reins back on his nervous lizard.
He pats the beast on the head to calm it.
<b> LUKE
</b> Hey, steady girl. What's the
matter? You smell something?
Luke takes a small device from his belt and starts to adjust it when
suddenly a large shadow falls over him from behind. He hears a
monstrous howl and turns to see an eleven-foot-tall shape towering over
him. It is a Wampa Ice Creature, lunging at him ferociously.
<b> LUKE
</b> Aaargh!
Luke grabs for his pistol, but is hit flat in the face by a huge white
claw. He falls unconscious into the snow and in a moment the terrified
screams of the Tauntaun are cut short by the horrible snap of a neck
being broken.
The Wampa Ice Creature grabs Luke by one ankle and drags him away
across the frozen plain.
<b>EXT. HOTH - REBEL BASE ENTRANCE - DAY
</b>
A stalwart figure rides his Tauntaun up to the entrance of an enormous
ice cave.
<b>INT. HOTH - REBEL BASE - MAIN HANGAR DECK
</b>
Rebel troopers rush about unloading
|
face
|
How many times does the word 'face' appear in the text?
| 0
|
weapons...
CUT TO:
EXT. CAMERON CABIN, DOORWAY - NIGHT
CAMERON
Appears warily, musket in hand.
FENCE: CHINGACHGOOK
CHINGACHGOOK
Halloo! John Cameron!
Doorway: Cameron towards the interior...
CAMERON
Alexandria! Set three more places.
(to the fence)
How is Chingachgook, then?
Behind him, emerging from the dark trees are Hawkeye, Uncas,
cradling flint locks, blankets and packs over their shoulders,
leading a mule laden with skins and the elk carcass. Crossing
the splitrail fence...
CHINGACHGOOK
The Master of Life is good. Another
year pass... How is it with you,
John?
CAMERON
Gettin' along. Yes, it is.
(warm)
Nathaniel.
HAWKEYE
Hello John. Cleared another quarter,
I see.
CAMERON
|
another
|
How many times does the word 'another' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ill-formed--the work of a
child.
<b>MAIN TITLES BEGIN.
</b>
<b>EXT. ANOTHER GRAVE MARKER
</b>
A child's printing again, this time on a chunk of warped crating:
<b>BIFFER BIFFER A HELLUVA SNIFFER UNTIL HE DIED HE MADE US RICHER
</b><b>1971-1974.
</b>
<b>MAIN TITLES CONTINUE
</b>
<b>EXT. TWO MARKERS
</b>
I think all these shots are LAP DISSOLVES. All is silence but for
the crickets and the wind stirring the grass. Around the markers
themselves, the grass has been clipped short, and by some markers
there are flowers in cheap vases. Crisco cans, Skippy peanut
butter jars, etc.
These two markers: IN MEMORY OF MARTA OUR PET RABIT DYED MARCH 1,
1965 (on a wide flat board) and GEN PATTON (OUR! GOOD! DOG!) APRIL
1958 (another board).
<b>MAIN TITLES CONTINUE
</b>
<b>EXT. FIVE OR SIX MARKERS
</b>
We can't read all of them; some are too faded (or the
"gravestones" themselves too degenerated), but we can see now that
this woodland clearing's a rather eerie -- and well-populated --
animal graveyard.
We can see: POLYNESIA, 1953 and HANNAH THE BEST DOG THAT EVER
LIVED. HANNAH'S tombstone is part of an old Chevrolet hood,
painstakingly hammered flat.
<b>MAIN TITLES CONTINUE.
</b>
<b>EXT. ANGLE ON THE PET SEMATARY
</b>
From here we can see most of the clearing, which is surrounded by
forest pines. We can see that the graves--maybe 80 in all--are
arranged in rough concentric circles. On the far side of this
clearing is the end of a path which spills into this graveyard
clearing. The end of the path is flanked by wooden poles which
hold up a crude arch. We can see no writing on this side -- the
words on the arch face those arriving along the path.
<b>MAIN TITLES CONTINUE
</b>
<b>EXT. THE ARCH, FROM THE PATH SIDE, CU
</b>
MAIN TITLES CONCLUDE. Written on the arch in faded black paint is
the work of some long-gone child: PET SEMATARY.
<b>THE CAMERA HOLDS ON THIS FOR A MOMENT OR TWO, THEN PANS SLOWLY
</b>DOWN to look through the arch. From this angle we are looking
across to a deadfall--a tangle of weather-whitened old dead
branches at the back of the graveyard. It's maybe twenty-five feet
from side to side and about nine feet high. At either end are
thick tangles of underbrush that look impassible.
AS MAIN TITLES CONCLUDE, THE CAMERA MOVES SLOWLY IN on the
deadfall. And as it does, we realize that there is a horrible
snarling face in those branches. Is this an accident? Coincidence?
Our imagination? Perhaps the audience will wonder. THE CAMERA
HOLDS ON IT and then we
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
BLACK. And a white title card: MOVING DAY.
<b>EXT. A HOUSE IN THE COUNTRY EVENING
</b>
SOUND of crickets: ree-ree-ree-ree...
To the left of this house: a big empty field. Behind it: the
woods. Before it: a wide two-lane road.
The house is a pleasant two-story New England dwelling with a
shed/garage attached. In front of it is a sign which reads QUINN
REALTORS 292 HAMMOND STREET, BANGOR
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' 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
|
white
|
How many times does the word 'white' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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