context
stringlengths 1.27k
4.69k
| word
stringlengths 4
13
| claim
stringlengths 55
64
| label
int64 0
11
|
|---|---|---|---|
101
âSat scowling down upon the amazed and gaping juryâ 115
ââWhat else can I think?ââ 133
ââBoy, whereâs the skipper?ââ 147
âIn these lower levels we came upon the shadowy shapes
of dead shipsâ (in colors) 162
âThe Doctor started chatting in Spanish to the bed-makerâ 175
âDid acrobatics on the beastâs hornsâ 189
ââHe talks English!ââ 201
âI was alone in the ocean!â 226
âIt was a great momentâ 257
The Terrible Three 279
âWorking away with their noses against the end of the
islandâ 293
âThe Whispering Rocksâ 295
âHad to chase his butterflies with a crown upon his headâ 317
ââTiptoe incognito,â whispered Bumpoâ 353
_THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE_
THE VOYAGES OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE
PROLOGUE
ALL that I have written so far about Doctor Dolittle I heard long after
it happened from those who had known himâindeed a great deal of it took
place before I was born. But I now come to set down that part of the
great manâs life which I myself saw and took part in.
Many years ago the Doctor gave me permission to do this. But we were
both of us so busy then voyaging around the world,
|
life
|
How many times does the word 'life' appear in the text?
| 0
|
01. OCTOBER 14TH, 1962. OVER CUBA.
</b>
The spy plane's CAMERA DOORS whine open. The glassy eye of
the 36-inch camera focuses. And then with a
BANGBANGBANGBANG, its high-speed motor kicks in, shutter
flying.
<b> MATCH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. O'DONNELL BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
A simple CAMERA, snapping away furiously in the hands of a
giggling MARK O'DONNELL, 4. He's straddling and in the face
of his dad, KENNY O'DONNELL, 30's, tough, Boston-Irish, with
a prodigious case of morning hair. Kenny awakens, red-eyed.
<b> HELEN (O.S.)
</b> Mark, get off your father!
Kenny sits up to the morning bedlam of the O'Donnell house.
KIDS screech, doors bang all over. Kenny pushes Mark over,
rolls out of bed, snatches up the corners of the blanket and
hoists Mark over his shoulder in a screaming, kicking bundle.
<b> INT. O'DONNELL HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
Kenny, with Mark in the bundle on his shoulder, meets his
wife HELEN going the other way in the hall with LITTLE HELEN,
1, in her arms.
<b> KENNY
</b> Hi, hon.
They kiss in passing. Daughter KATHY, 12, races by in angry
pursuit of her twin, KEVIN, 12.
<b> HELEN
</b> Don't forget, Mrs. Higgins wants to talk
to you this afternoon about Kevin. You
need to do something about this.
<b> KENNY
</b> Kids are supposed to get detention.
Kenny dumps the bundle with Mark in a big pile of dirty
laundry.
<b> SMASH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. MCCOY AIR FORCE BASE - FLORIDA - DAY
</b>
A pair of massive FILM CANISTERS unlock and drop from the
belly of the U-2. TECHNICIANS secure them in orange carrying
cases, lock them under key, fast and proficient. They whisk
them out from under the spy plane.
The Technicians run for an idling Jeep. They sling the cases
into the rear of the vehicle which in turn accelerates away
hard, curving across the runway for another waiting plane.
<b> SMASH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. O'DONNELL KITCHEN - DAY
</b>
A kitchen out of the late 1950's. Kenny drinks coffee, ties
a tie, rifles through a briefcase at the kitchen table. The
horde of kids, ages 2-14, breakfast on an array of period
food. Kenny grills the kids while he goes over papers.
<b> KENNY
</b> Secretary of Defense...
<b> KEVIN
</b> Dean Rusk!
<b> KENNY
</b> Wrong, and you get to wax my car.
KENNY JR. smirk at Kevin.
<b> KENNY JR.
</b> Rusk is State, moron. Robert McNamara.
<b> HELEN
</b> Got time for pancakes?
<b> KENNY
</b> Nope. Attorney General?
A PHONE RINGS as the kids cry out en masse.
<b> KIDS
</b> (chorus)
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 0
|
><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> First Draft
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SIMPLE BLACK ON WHITE CREDITS ROLL TO BIG STAR'S "I'M IN LOVE
</b> WITH A GIRL." When all is said and done, up comes a single
number in parenthesis, like so:
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> (478)
</b><b> EXT. PARK - DAY
</b><b>
</b> For a few seconds we watch A MAN (20s) and a WOMAN (20s) on a
park bench. Their names are TOM and SUMMER. Neither one says
a word.
<b>
</b><b>
</b> CLOSE ON her HAND, covering his. Notice the wedding ring. No
words are spoken. Tom looks at her the way every woman wants
to be looked at.
<b>
</b> A DISTINGUISHED VOICE begins to speak to us.
<b>
</b><b> NARRATOR
</b> This is a story of boy meets girl.
<b>
</b><b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> (1)
</b><b> INT CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
</b><b>
</b> The boy is TOM HANSEN. He sits at a very long rectangular
conference table. The walls are lined with framed blow-up
sized greeting cards. Tom, dark hair and blue eyes, wears a t-
shirt under his sports coat and Adidas tennis shoes to
balance out the corporate dress code. He looks pretty bored.
<b>
</b><b> NARRATOR
</b>
|
woman
|
How many times does the word 'woman' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
hustler
|
How many times does the word 'hustler' appear in the text?
| 4
|
'P-p-p-proot.' And that was just the beginning; I was
always 'Tick,' but as for him--part of the time he was 'Tweel,' and part
of the time he was 'P-p-p-proot,' and part of the time he was sixteen
other noises!
"We just couldn't connect. I tried 'rock,' and I tried 'star,' and
'tree,' and 'fire,' and Lord knows what else, and try as I would, I
couldn't get a single word! Nothing was the same for two successive
minutes, and if that's a language, I'm an alchemist! Finally I gave it
up and called him Tweel, and that seemed to do.
"But Tweel hung on to some of my words. He remembered a couple of them,
which I suppose is a great achievement if you're used to a language you
have to make up as you go along. But I couldn't get the hang of his
talk; either I missed some subtle point or we just didn't _think_
alike--and I rather believe the latter view.
"I've other reasons for believing that. After a while I gave up the
language business, and tried mathematics. I scratched two plus two
equals four on the ground, and demonstrated it with pebbles. Again Tweel
caught the idea, and informed me that three plus three equals six. Once
more we seemed to be getting somewhere.
"So, knowing that Tweel had at least a grammar school education, I drew
a circle for the sun, pointing first at it, and then at the last glow of
the sun. Then I sketched in Mercury, and Venus, and Mother Earth, and
Mars, and finally, pointing to Mars, I swept my hand around in a sort of
inclusive gesture to indicate that Mars was our current environment. I
was working up to putting over the idea that my home was on the earth.
"Tweel understood my diagram all right. He poked his beak at it, and
with a great deal of trilling and clucking, he added Deimos and Phobos
to Mars, and then sketched in the earth's moon!
"Do you see what that proves? It proves that Tweel's race uses
telescopes--that they're civilized!"
"Does not!" snapped Harrison. "The moon is visible from here as a fifth
magnitude star. They could see its revolution with the naked eye."
"The moon, yes!" said Jarvis. "You've missed my point. Mercury isn't
visible! And Tweel knew of Mercury because he placed the Moon at the
_third_ planet, not the second. If he didn't know Mercury, he'd put the
earth second, and Mars third, instead of fourth! See?"
"Humph!" said Harrison.
"Anyway," proceeded Jarvis, "I went on with my lesson. Things were going
smoothly, and it looked as if I could put the idea over. I pointed at
the earth on my diagram, and then at myself, and then, to clinch it, I
pointed to myself and then to the earth itself shining bright green
almost at the zenith.
"Tweel set up such an excited clacking that I was certain he understood.
He jumped up and down, and suddenly he pointed at himself and then at
the sky, and then at himself and at the sky again. He pointed at his
middle and then at Arcturus, at his head and then at Spica, at his feet
and then at half a dozen stars, while I just gaped at him. Then, all of
a sudden, he gave a tremendous leap. Man, what a hop! He shot straight
up into the starlight, seventy-five feet if an inch! I saw him
silhouetted against the sky, saw him turn and come down at me head
first, and land smack on his beak like a javelin! There he stuck square
in the center of my sun-circle in the sand--a bull's eye!"
"Nuts!" observed the captain. "Plain nuts!"
"That's what I thought, too! I just stared at him open-mouthed while he
pulled his head out of the sand and stood up. Then I figured he'd missed
my point, and I went through the whole blamed rigamarole again, and it
ended the same way, with
|
tweel
|
How many times does the word 'tweel' appear in the text?
| 7
|
DARKNESS. SILENCE. The following words sear onto screen:
Whenever a new breed of evil
emerges, a new breed of solider
must fight it.
<b> -- GENERAL CLAYTON "HAWK" ABERNATHY
</b>
<b> EXT. THE BASTILLE - PARIS - NIGHT
</b>
A HEAVY NIGHT MIST swirls around the imposing stone walls of
the Bastille. PRISON GUARDS patrol outside with their pikes
as the SCREAMS OF PRISONERS echo out the barred windows.
<b> SUPER: PARIS, 1641
</b>
<b> INT. PRISON BLOCK - BASTILLE PRISON - NIGHT
</b>
A pair of huge PRISON GUARDS walk down a row of filthy prison
cells. Whimpering, starving PRISONERS appear and disappear in
the flickering light of the wall torches. A large rat nibbles
some stale bread in the corner, watching the guards.
Finally, the two guards reach a cell whose PRISONER is not at
all whimpering or starving. A huge Scotsman with a proud
defiance in his eyes, a RED SQUARE MEDALLION dangling around
his neck, glares through the bars. This is JAMES McCULLEN.
The guards unlock his cell door, MATCHLOCK MUSKETS at the
ready. McCullen stares at the muskets, unimpressed. He speaks
with a thick Scottish brogue.
<b> MCCULLEN
</b> Still using matchlocks, are ya? I
can get you a pair of flintlocks,
you let me sneak out of here.
Everyone else in this sequence speaks with a French accent.
<b> GUARD #1
</b>
<b> (TEMPTED)
</b> Good ones?
The other Guard glares at him. McCullen goes for the kill.
<b> MCCULLEN
</b> The best. From Spain. And perhaps a
couple of pretty young ladies to
teach you how to use them.
Guard #1 is even more tempted, but his partner is a Loyalist.
<b> GUARD #2
</b> On yer feet, you Scottish pig.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. FURNACE - BASTILLE PRISON - NIGHT
</b>
Huge, sweaty, bare-chested PRISON WORK
|
down
|
How many times does the word 'down' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Kroll (seriously, and in, a subdued voice). Because I did not want to
come here like a living reminder of the unhappy time that is past--and
of her who met her death in the mill-race.
Rosmer. It was a very kind thought on your part. You are always so
considerate. But it was altogether unnecessary to keep away from us on
that account. Come along, let us sit down on the sofa. (They sit down.)
I can assure you it is not in the least painful for me to think about
Beata. We talk about her every day. She seems to us to have a part in
the house still.
Kroll. Does she really?
Rebecca (lighting the lamp). Yes, it is really quite true.
Rosmer. She really does. We both think so affectionately of her. And
both Rebecca--both Miss West and I know in our hearts that we did all
that lay in our power for the poor afflicted creature. We have nothing
to reproach ourselves with. That is why I feel there is something sweet
and peaceful in the way we can think of Beata now.
Kroll. You dear good people! In future I am coming out to see you every
day.
Rebecca (sitting down in an arm-chair). Yes, let us see that you keep
your word.
Rosmer (with a slight hesitation). I assure you, my dear fellow, my
dearest wish would be that our intimacy should never suffer in any way.
You know, you have seemed to be my natural adviser as long as we have
known one another, even from my student days.
Kroll. I know, and I am very proud of the privilege. Is there by any
chance anything in particular just now--?
Rosmer. There are a great many things that I want very much to talk
over with you frankly--things that lie very near my heart.
Rebecca. I feel that is so, too, Mr. Rosmer. It seems to me it would be
such a good thing if you two old friends--
Kroll. Well, I can assure you I have even more to talk over with
you--because I have become an active politician, as I dare say you know.
Rosmer. Yes, I know you have. How did that come about?
Kroll. I had to, you see, whether I liked it or not. It became
impossible for me to remain an idle spectator any longer. Now that the
Radicals have become so distressingly powerful, it was high time. And
that is also why I have induced our little circle of friends in the
town to bind themselves more definitely together. It was high time, I
can tell you!
Rebecca (with a slight smile). As a matter of fact, isn't it really
rather late now?
Kroll. There is no denying it would have been more fortunate if we had
succeeded in checking the stream at an earlier point. But who could
really foresee what was coming? I am sure I could not. (Gets up and
walks up and down.) Anyway, my eyes are completely opened now; for the
spirit of revolt has spread even into my school.
Rosmer. Into the school? Surely not into your school?
Kroll. Indeed it has. Into my own school. What do you think of this? I
have got wind of the fact that the boys in the top class--or rather, a
part of the boys in it--have formed themselves into a secret society
and have been taking in Mortensgaard's paper!
Rebecca. Ah, the "Searchlight".
Kroll. Yes, don't you think that is a nice sort of intellectual pabulum
for future public servants? But the saddest part of it is that it is
all the most promising boys in the class that have conspired together
and hatched this plot against me. It is only the duffers and dunces
that have held aloof from it.
Rebecca. Do you take it so much to heart, Mr. Kroll?
Kroll. Do I take it to heart, to find myself so hampered and thwarted
in my life's work? (Speaking more gently.) I might find it in my heart
to say that I could even take that for what it is worth; but I have not
told you the worst of it yet. (Looks round the room.) I suppose
|
really
|
How many times does the word 'really' appear in the text?
| 4
|
the clouds, closer and closer, until we begin to see
large patches of snow covering the upper coastline. It's
winter. We continue to push in, until we arrive at one
small suburban neighborhood. Over the push-in, we hear
the following narration, delivered by Patrick Stewart.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> It has been said that magic vanished from
our world a long time ago. And that
humanity can no longer fulfill its
desires through the power of wishes.
To those who have lost the wondrous
vision of childhood eyes, submitted here
is the story of a little boy, and a
magical Christmas wish that changed his
life forever.
<b> EXT./ESTAB. A SUBURBAN NEIGHBORHOOD - MORNING
</b>
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> It began in 1985, in a town just outside
Boston.
We see a GROUP OF KIDS laughing and tossing snowballs at
each other in the street.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> It was Christmas Eve, and all the
children were in high spirits. That
special time of year when Boston children
gather together and beat up the Jewish
kids.
Another little kid walks out of his house with a sled,
and starts walking up the street. One of the snowball-
throwing kids points at the sled kid.
<b> KID #1
</b> Hey, Greenbaum!
<b> GREENBAUM
</b> Uh oh.
<b>
|
kids
|
How many times does the word 'kids' appear in the text?
| 2
|
David Lindsay-Abaire
Screening script 9/6/12
<b> SEQ. 125 - ALONE IN THE WORLD
</b>
<b> DARKNESS
</b>
<b> JACK (V.O.)
</b> Darkness. That's the first thing I
remember. It was dark, and it was
cold. And I was scared.
The silhouette of a body appears as it drifts into a ray of
light, refracted through water, which turns into...
<b> A MOON - SEEN IN REFLECTION ON A SHEET OF ICE
</b>
The moonlight intensifies almost magically, and the ice above
begins to spider-web and crack.
<b> EXT. FROZEN POND - NIGHT
</b>
Snow-covered trees in every direction. The ice in the pond
continues to crack, until finally a hole splinters open. A
young man floats out of the water, bathed in the intense
moonlight. This is JACK FROST - thin, pale, barefoot, his
tousled hair frosted white.
<b> JACK (V.O.)
</b> But then...then I saw the moon. It
was so big and it was so bright,
and it seemed to chase the darkness
away. And when it did...I wasn't
|
pond
|
How many times does the word 'pond' appear in the text?
| 1
|
uck 'em up." At the same moment his first assailant
rushed at him, and dealt him a blow over the eye which sent him
sprawling backward upon the stones.
SECTION 2.
When Hal came to himself again he was in darkness, and was conscious of
agony from head to toe. He was lying on a stone floor, and he rolled
over, but soon rolled back again, because there was no part of his back
which was not sore. Later on, when he was able to study himself, he
counted over a score of marks of the heavy boots of his assailants.
He lay for an hour or two, making up his mind that he was in a lock-up,
because he could see the starlight through iron bars. He could hear
somebody snoring, and he called half a dozen times, in a louder and
louder voice, until at last, hearing a growl, he inquired, "Can you give
me a drink of water?"
"I'll give you hell if you wake me up again," said the voice; after
which Hal lay in silence until morning.
A couple of hours after daylight, a man entered his cell. "Get up," said
he, and added a prod with his foot. Hal had thought he could not do it,
but he got up.
"No funny business now," said his jailer, and grasping him by the sleeve
of his coat, marched him out of the cell and down a little corridor into
a sort of office, where sat a red-faced personage with a silver shield
upon the lapel of his coat. Hal's two assailants of the night before
stood nearby.
"Well, kid?" said the personage in the chair. "Had a little time to
think it over?"
"Yes," said Hal, briefly.
"What's the charge?" inquired the personage, of the two watchmen.
"Trespassing and resisting arrest."
"How much money you got, young fellow?" was, the next question.
Hal hesitated.
"Speak up there!" said the man.
"Two dollars and sixty-seven cents," said Hal--"as well as I can
remember."
"Go on!" said the other. "What you givin' us?" And then, to the two
watchmen, "Search him."
"Take off your coat and pants," said Bill, promptly, "and your boots."
"Oh, I say!" protested Hal.
"Take 'em off!" said the man, and clenched his fists. Hal took 'em off,
and they proceeded to go through the pockets, producing a purse with the
amount stated, also a cheap watch, a strong pocket knife, the
tooth-brush, comb and mirror, and two white handkerchiefs, which they
looked at contemptuously and tossed to the spittle-drenched floor.
They unrolled the pack, and threw the clean clothing about. Then,
opening the pocket-knife, they proceeded to pry about the soles and
heels of the boots, and to cut open the lining of the clothing. So they
found the ten dollars in the belt, which they tossed onto the table with
the other belongings. Then the personage with the shield announced, "I
fine you twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents, and your watch and
knife." He added, with a grin, "You can keep your snot-rags."
"Now see here!" said Hal, angrily. "This is pretty raw!"
"You get your duds on, young fellow, and get out of here as quick as you
can, or you'll go in your shirt-tail."
But Hal was angry enough to have been willing to go in his skin. "You
tell me who you are, and your authority for this procedure?"
"I'm marshal of the camp," said the man.
"You mean you're an employé of the General Fuel Company? And you propose
to rob me--"
"Put him out, Bill," said the marshal. And Hal saw Bill's fists clench.
"All right," he said, swallowing his indignation. "Wait till I get my
clothes on." And he proceeded to dress as quickly as possible; he rolled
up his blanket and spare clothing, and started for the door.
"Remember," said the marshal, "straight down the canyon with
|
white
|
How many times does the word 'white' appear in the text?
| 0
|
mother, she had once seen, long before Curdie was born,
a certain mysterious light of the same description with one Irene spoke
of, calling it her grandmother's moon; and Curdie himself had seen this
same light, shining from above the castle, just as the king and princess
were taking their leave. Since that time neither had seen or heard
anything that could be supposed connected with her. Strangely enough,
however, nobody had seen her go away. If she was such an old lady, she
could hardly be supposed to have set out alone and on foot when all the
house was asleep. Still, away she must have gone, for of course, if she
was so powerful, she would always be about the princess to take care of
her.
But as Curdie grew older, he doubted more and more whether Irene had not
been talking of some dream she had taken for reality: he had heard it
said that children could not always distinguish betwixt dreams and
actual events. At the same time there was his mother's testimony: what
was he to do with that? His mother, through whom he had learned
everything, could hardly be imagined by her own dutiful son to have
mistaken a dream for a fact of the waking world. So he rather shrunk
from thinking about it, and the less he thought about it, the less he
was inclined to believe it when he did think about it, and therefore, of
course, the less inclined to talk about it to his father and mother; for
although his father was one of those men who for one word they say think
twenty thoughts, Curdie was well assured that he would rather doubt his
own eyes than his wife's testimony. There were no others to whom he
could have talked about it. The miners were a mingled company--some
good, some not so good, some rather bad--none of them so bad or so good
as they might have been; Curdie liked most of them, and was a favourite
with all; but they knew very little about the upper world, and what
might or might not take place there. They knew silver from copper ore;
they understood the underground ways of things, and they could look very
wise with their lanterns in their hands searching after this or that
sign of ore, or for some mark to guide their way in the hollows of the
earth; but as to great-great-grandmothers, they would have mocked him
all the rest of his life for the absurdity of not being absolutely
certain that the solemn belief of his father and mother was
nothing but ridiculous nonsense. Why, to them the very word
"great-great-grandmother" would have been a week's laughter! I am not
sure that they were able quite to believe there were such persons as
great-great-grandmothers; they had never seen one. They were not
companions to give the best of help towards progress, and as Curdie
grew, he grew at this time faster in body than in mind--with the usual
consequence, that he was getting rather stupid--one of the chief signs
of which was that he believed less and less of things he had never seen.
At the same time I do not think he was ever so stupid as to imagine that
this was a sign of superior faculty and strength of mind. Still, he was
becoming more and more a miner, and less and less a man of the upper
world where the wind blew. On his way to and from the mine he took less
and less notice of bees and butterflies, moths and dragon-flies, the
flowers and the brooks and the clouds. He was gradually changing into a
commonplace man. There is this difference between the growth of some
human beings and that of others: in the one case it is a continuous
dying, in the other a continuous resurrection. One of the latter sort
comes at length to know at once whether a thing is true the moment it
comes before him; one of the former class grows more and more afraid of
being taken in, so afraid of it that he takes himself in altogether, and
comes at length to believe in nothing but his dinner: to be sure of a
thing with him is to have it between his teeth. Curdie was not in a very
good way then at that time. His father and mother had, it is true, no
fault to find with him--and yet--and yet--neither of them was ready to
sing when the thought of him came up. There
|
brooks
|
How many times does the word 'brooks' appear in the text?
| 0
|
usâs desires, the
verbal encounter of Tranio and Grumio, of Trachalio and the fishermen--
characters, situations, and dialogues such as these should survive
because of their own excellence, not because of modern imitations and
parallels such as Harpagon and Parolles, the misadventures of the
brothers Antipholus and Julietâs difficulties with her nurse, the
remarks of Petruchio to the tailor, of Touchstone to William.
Though his best drawn characters can and should stand by themselves,
it is interesting to note how many favourite personages in the modern
drama and in modern fiction Plautus at least prefigures. Long though
the list is, it does not contain a large proportion of thoroughly
respectable names: Plautus rarely introduces us to people, male or
female, whom we should care to have long in the same house with us.
A real lady seldom appears in these comedies, and--to approach a
paradox--when she does she usually comes perilously close to being no
lady; the same is usually true of the real gentleman. The generalization
in the Epilogue of _The Captives_ may well be made particular: âPlautus
finds few plays such as this which make good men better.â Yet there is
little in his plays which makes men--to say nothing of good men--worse.
A bluff Shakespearean coarseness of thought and expression there often
is, together with a number of atrocious characters and scenes and
situations. But compared with the worst of a Congreve or a Wycherley,
compared with the worst of our own contemporary plays and musical
comedies, the worst of Plautus, now because of its being too revolting,
now because of its being too laughable, is innocuous. His moral land
is one of black and white, mostly black, without many of those really
dangerous half-lights and shadows in which too many of our present day
playwrights virtuously invite us to skulk and peer and speculate.
Comparatively harmless though they are, the translator has felt obliged
to dilute certain phrases and lines.
The text accompanying his version is that of Leo, published by
Weidmann, 1895-96. In the few cases where he has departed from this
text brief critical notes are given; a few changes in punctuation have
been accepted without comment. In view of the wish of the Editors of
the Library that the text pages be printed without unnecessary
defacements, it has seemed best to omit the lines that Leo brackets as
un-Plautine[16]: attention is called to the omission in each case and
the omitted lines are given in the note; the numbering, of course, is
kept unchanged. Leoâs daggers and asterisks indicating corruption and
lacunae are omitted, again with brief notes in each case.
The translator gladly acknowledges his indebtedness to several of the
English editors of the plays, notably to Lindsay, and to two or three
English translators, for a number of phrases much more happily turned
by them than by himself: the difficulty of rendering verse into prose--
if one is to remain as close as may be to the spirit and letter of the
verse, and at the same time not disregard entirely the contributions
made by the metre to gaiety and gravity of tone--is sufficient to make
him wish to mitigate his failure by whatever means. He is also much
indebted to Professors Charles Knapp, K.C.M. Sills, and F.E. Woodruff
for many valuable suggestions.
Brunswick, Me.,
September, 1913.
[Footnote 15: The _Asinaria_ was adapted from the á½Î½Î±Î³á½¸Ï of
Demophilus; the _Casina_ from the ÎληÏούμενοι, the _Rudens_ from
an unknown play, perhaps the Î á½µÏα, of Diphilus; the _Stichus_, in
part, from the á¼Î´ÎµÎ»
|
plays
|
How many times does the word 'plays' appear in the text?
| 3
|
>
This story takes place during a World Series between the
Mets and the A's. Canseco plays for Oakland, and Strawberry
is still with New York.
<b> DAY ONE:
</b>
<b> GAME THREE: LT WINS
</b>
<b> EXT: EARLY MORNING - LT'S HOME - QUEENS
</b>
This typical QUEENS HOUSE is sandwiched between other
neighboring, nearly identical HOUSES.
The MORNING SOUNDS Of FAMILY BICKERING, LAWN MOWERS, and
SHOUTED GOOD-BYES are heard coming from many HOUSES on this
close-knit block. A NEW BABY can be heard BAWLING inside
<b> LT'S HOUSE.
</b>
LT, hurried and harried, stumbles out his FRONT DOOR. He
heads for his CAR, parked askew in the DRIVEWAY.
LT is some 40 years old. His natural swagger makes up for
his lack of conventional good looks. He is obviously hung-
over.
LT squints, pained by the SUN. He fumbles with his SHADES,
puts them on.
LT's TWIN EIGHT YEAR-OLD SONS trundle out the FRONT DOOR of
the HOUSE, bickering as they run to catch up with their Daddy.
The hefty TWINS wear ill-fitting PAROCHIAL SCHOOL UNIFORMS.
Their oversize PAROCHIAL SCHOOL BRIEFCASES threaten to trip
them up.
LT's WIFE, BABE in arms, comes out to watch LT's lovely SEVEN
YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER head off toward her school on foot. Many
other members of LT's EXTENDED FAMILY hang out on the STOOP
and the LAWN.
As the TWINS cross the LAWN, the bickering turns physical.
They start whacking each other with the BRIEFCASES. The TWINS
pile into LT'S CAR.
<b>
|
briefcases
|
How many times does the word 'briefcases' 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
|
, voices echo in our head.
<b> VIOLET (V.O.)
</b> I had this image of you, inside of
me, like a part of me.
We move past a shelf filled with hatboxes and handbags. It
is a woman's closet.
<b> CORKY (V.O.)
</b> You planned this whole thing, didn't
you?
<b> CAESAR (V.O.)
</b> Where's the fucking money?
We glide over the tightly packed hangers, close enough to
feel the different fabrics and descend past the dresses to
the racks of high heels.
<b> VIOLET (V.O.)
</b> We make our own choices, we pay our
own prices.
<b> CAESAR (V.O.)
</b> All part of the business.
<b> VIOLET (V.O.)
</b> All part of the business.
<b> CORKY (V.O.)
</b> What choice?
We slide along the delicate taper of a stiletto heel and
reach the bottom of the closet, where we find a pair of black
Dr. Martens boots that are tied together with a white rope.
<b> VIOLET (V.O.)
</b> I want out
|
violet
|
How many times does the word 'violet' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Marc Rocco
<b>
</b> April 15, 2003
<b>
</b> A pure white screen. Idyllic stillness. All of it looking and
feeling like the heavens are supposed to.
<b>
</b> After some seconds of calm, water seems to mist the screen
and the slight shifts to the left and then the right suggest
this is a man's P.O.V. Then, suddenly, the white screen is
tugged and we see it was a sheet covering a presumably dead
man.
<b>
</b>
<b> WILLIAM STARKS (V.O.)
</b> I was 25 years old the first time I
died...
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. HOSPITAL, KUWAIT, DAY
</b>
<b>
</b> One more tug on the sheet and we see, and suddenly hear, from
William Starks' P.O.V. the CHAOS of the hospital around him
as DOCTORS and NURSES tend as best as they can to the injured
soldiers.
<b>
</b> Our glimpse of STARKS reveals a red stretcher -- soaked in blood --
and the severe head wound where a bullet's minced his skull.
<b>
</b> Then, slowly, steadily, a heartbeat is heard over the muffled
sounds of the hospital and, as his pulse quickens, so does
the pace of the world around him.
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. HOSPITAL, KUWAIT, DAY
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
|
hospital
|
How many times does the word 'hospital' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Marc Rocco
<b>
</b> April 15, 2003
<b>
</b> A pure white screen. Idyllic stillness. All of it looking and
feeling like the heavens are supposed to.
<b>
</b> After some seconds of calm, water seems to mist the screen
and the slight shifts to the left and then the right suggest
this is a man's P.O.V. Then, suddenly, the white screen is
tugged and we see it was a sheet covering a presumably dead
man.
<b>
</b>
<b> WILLIAM STARKS (V.O.)
</b> I was 25 years old the first time I
died...
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. HOSPITAL, KUWAIT, DAY
</b>
<b>
</b> One more tug on the sheet and we see, and suddenly hear, from
William Starks' P.O.V. the CHAOS of the hospital around him
as DOCTORS and NURSES tend as best as they can to the injured
soldiers.
<b>
</b> Our glimpse of STARKS reveals a red stretcher -- soaked in blood --
and the severe head wound where a bullet's minced his skull.
<b>
</b> Then, slowly, steadily, a heartbeat is heard over the muffled
sounds of the hospital and, as his pulse quickens, so does
the pace of the world around him.
<b>
</b>
<b> INT. HOSPITAL, KUWAIT, DAY
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
|
around
|
How many times does the word 'around' appear in the text?
| 1
|
. She watches
her husband unguarded in sleep. Her pretty face, alert,
she's barely breathing. Traces the just visible lines around
his eyes, and mouth. Brushes fingertips against his
eyelashes.
<b> TIGHT CLOSE - SALLY'S HAND PULLS THE BEDROOM SHADE.
</b>
It retracts with a loud WHACK, sun, sky, trees.
<b> STEVEN (O.S.)
</b> And breath...and chataronga...
<b> EXT. POOL AREA - DAY
</b>
We're in the middle of a yoga lesson. Joe and Sally stand on
their mats. Steven, their instructor, wanders around the
couple issuing soft-spoken instructions.
A large room with hard wood floors, dominated by a huge
fireplace. The dining room on one side, living room on the
other. Floor to ceiling windows overlook the back porch
garden pool... The house is classic Neutra. All GLASS and
<b> SMOOTH LINES.
</b>
The calm is broken by the telephone. Joe and Sally ignore it
until the answering machine picks up. They break their yoga
poses and listen.
The CAMERA hovers over the answering machine.
<b> LUCY (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine; sweet,
British, slightly desperate)
Joe, it's Lucy. Remember me? It's the
black sheep here. Bah...not funny.
Haven't heard from you, need you, call
me. Love you madly. Hi, Sally. Joe,
I'd love to talk to you before I go...
<b> JOE
</b> Go where?
<b> LUCY (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine)
It's a damn nuisance you aren't here, big
brother. Sorry I drone on. I miss you.
I lo--
The machine cuts her off.
<b> NEW ANGLE
</b>
Joe and Sally have resumed their positions. This wasn't the
call they were waiting for.
<b> WIDE SHOT
</b>
AMERICA, forty-one, and ROSA, fifty, struggle up the steps of
the back porch carrying grocery bags and packages, come
through the sliding glass door...
<b> THE CAMERA FOLLOWS THEM
</b>
Through the dining room and into the kitchen, watches the two
unpack groceries, flowers, etc., and start to dress the
dining room table. They speak quietly to each other in
Spanish.
<b> JOE
</b> America, could you just...
America closes the sliding doors between the kitchen and the
dining room, giving the couple their privacy.
<b> JOE (CONT'D)
</b> (calls out)
Thank you, America!
<b> STEVEN
</b> Okay, let's just take a deep breath, let
your ribs expand and relax. And reach up
and into downward dog.
Otis, the Bisenji/Sheperd mix, sleeping on his leopard
pillow, stirs, stretches and groans.
<b> JOE AND SALLY
</b> Good boy, Otis.
The phone RINGS again.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> (over answering machine)
Hello, I have Dr. Harmon calling for
Sally Therrian.
Sally jumps out of the down dog position and runs to the
phone, all angles.
<b> SALLY
</b> Hello, hi, hi...and? Thank God.
S
|
hello
|
How many times does the word 'hello' appear in the text?
| 1
|
?
OLD M. As a fish in water.* Does he write of my son? What means this
anxiety about my health? You have asked me that question twice.
[*This is equivalent to our English saying "As sound as a roach."]
FRANCIS. If you are unwell--or are the least apprehensive of being so--
permit me to defer--I will speak to you at a fitter season.--(Half
aside.) These are no tidings for a feeble frame.
OLD M. Gracious Heavens? what am I doomed to hear?
FRANCIS. First let me retire and shed a tear of compassion for my lost
brother. Would that my lips might be forever sealed--for he is your
son! Would that I could throw an eternal veil over his shame--for he is
my brother! But to obey you is my first, though painful, duty--forgive
me, therefore.
OLD M. Oh, Charles! Charles! Didst thou but know what thorns thou
plantest in thy father's bosom! That one gladdening report of thee would
add ten years to my life! yes, bring back my youth! whilst now, alas,
each fresh intelligence but hurries me a step nearer to the grave!
FRANCIS. Is it so, old man, then farewell! for even this very day we
might all have to tear our hair over your coffin.*
[* This idiom is very common in Germany, and is used to express
affliction.]
OLD M. Stay! There remains but one short step more--let him have his
will! (He sits down.) The sins of the father shall be visited unto the
third and fourth generation--let him fulfil the decree.
FRANCIS (takes the letter out of his pocket). You know our
correspondent! See! I would give a finger of my right hand might I
pronounce him a liar--a base and slanderous liar! Compose yourself!
Forgive me if I do not let you read the letter yourself. You cannot,
must not, yet know all.
OLD M. All, all, my son. You will but spare me crutches.*
[* _Du ersparst mir die Krucke_; meaning that the contents of the
letter can but shorten his declining years, and so spare him the
necessity of crutches.]
FRANCIS (reads). "Leipsic, May 1. Were I not bound by an inviolable
promise to conceal nothing from you, not even the smallest particular,
that I am able to collect, respecting your brother's career, never, my
dearest friend, should my guiltless pen become an instrument of torture
to you. I can gather from a hundred of your letters how tidings such as
these must pierce your fraternal heart. It seems to me as though I saw
thee, for the sake of this worthless, this detestable"--(OLD M. covers
his face). Oh! my father, I am only reading you the mildest passages--
"this detestable man, shedding a thousand tears." Alas! mine flowed--ay,
gushed in torrents over these pitying cheeks. "I already picture to
myself your aged pious father, pale as death." Good Heavens! and so you
are, before you have heard anything.
OLD M. Go on! Go on!
FRANCIS. "Pale as death, sinking down on his chair, and cursing the day
when his ear was first greeted with the lisping cry of 'Father!' I have
not yet been able to discover all, and of the little I do know I dare
tell you only a part. Your brother now seems to have filled up the
measure of his infamy. I, at least, can imagine nothing beyond what he
has already accomplished; but possibly his genius may soar above my
conceptions. After having contracted debts to the amount of forty
thousand ducats, "--a good round sum for pocket-money, father" and having
dishonored the daughter of a rich banker, whose affianced lover, a
gallant youth of rank, he mortally wounded in a duel, he yesterday, in
the dead of night, took the desperate resolution of absconding from the
arm of justice, with seven companions whom he had corrupted to his own
vicious courses." Father?
|
know
|
How many times does the word 'know' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. "I don't want boys. Go away!"
For a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was
always teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made
faces and sang and laughed.
"Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And marigolds all in a row."
He sang it until the other children heard and laughed, too; and the
crosser Mary got, the more they sang "Mistress Mary, quite contrary";
and after that as long as she stayed with them they called her
"Mistress Mary Quite Contrary" when they spoke of her to each other,
and often when they spoke to her.
"You are going to be sent home," Basil said to her, "at the end of the
week. And we're glad of it."
"I am glad of it, too," answered Mary. "Where is home?"
"She doesn't know where home is!" said Basil, with seven-year-old
scorn. "It's England, of course. Our grandmama lives there and our
sister Mabel was sent to her last year. You are not going to your
grandmama. You have none. You are going to your uncle. His name is
Mr. Archibald Craven."
"I don't know anything about him," snapped Mary.
"I know you don't," Basil answered. "You don't know anything. Girls
never do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He lives in a
great, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near him.
He's so cross he won't let them, and they wouldn't come if he would let
them. He's a hunchback, and he's horrid." "I don't believe you," said
Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears,
because she would not listen any more.
But she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford
told her that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few
days and go to her uncle, Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at
Misselthwaite Manor, she looked so stony and stubbornly uninterested
that they did not know what to think about her. They tried to be kind
to her, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. Crawford attempted
to kiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford patted her
shoulder.
"She is such a plain child," Mrs. Crawford said pityingly, afterward.
"And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very pretty
manner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ever saw in a
child. The children call her 'Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,' and
though it's naughty of them, one can't help understanding it."
"Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty
manners oftener into the nursery Mary might have learned some pretty
ways too. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to
remember that many people never even knew that she had a child at all."
"I believe she scarcely ever looked at her," sighed Mrs. Crawford.
"When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the
little thing. Think of the servants running away and leaving her all
alone in that deserted bungalow. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped
out of his skin when he opened the door and found her standing by
herself in the middle of the room."
Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer's
wife, who was taking her children to leave them in a boarding-school.
She was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was
rather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven
sent to meet her, in London. The woman was his housekeeper at
Misselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. Medlock. She was a stout
woman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She wore a very
|
mary
|
How many times does the word 'mary' appear in the text?
| 10
|
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
|
know
|
How many times does the word 'know' appear in the text?
| 3
|
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
|
looked
|
How many times does the word 'looked' appear in the text?
| 2
|
give the path a tunnel-like feeling.
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. OCEANLINER'S DECK - DAYBLACK & WHITE . . .
</b>
Pauline and Juliet running . . . this time they are happy, in holiday clothing, weaving around OTHER PASSENGERS as they race along the deck of an oceanliner.
<b>INTERCUT BETWEEN:
</b>
EXT. VICTORIA PARK/BUSHY TRACK - LATE AFTERNOON Pauline and Juliet desperately scrambling up the track.
<b>AND
</b>
<b>EXT. OCEANLINER S DECK - DAYBLACK & WHITE . . .
</b>
Pauline and Juliet happily bounding along the ships deck.
They push past a group of PASSENGERS. Juliet waves and calls out.
<b>JULIET
</b>Mummy!
The PACE of the INTERCUTTING between TRACK and SHIP, COLOUR and BLACK & WHITE, increases in rhythm.
Pauline and Juliet run up toward a MAN and WOMAN (HENRY and HILDA) on the deck.
<b>JULIET
</b>Mummy!
<b>PAULINE
</b>Mummy!
CAMERA RUSHES toward Hilda and Henry (not seen clearly) as they turn to greet the two girls:
<b>CRASH CUT:
</b>
EXT. VICTORIA PARK/TEAROOMS - DAYAGNES RITCHIE, proprietor of the tearooms at the top of Victoria Park, comes rushing down the steps toward CAMERA . . . her face alarmed.
<b>PAULINE
</b>(O.S.) (Panicked) It's Mummy!
Pauline and Juliet rush into CLOSE-UP . . . panting heavily. For the first time we realise their clothes, and Pauline's face, are splattered with blood.
<b>PAULINE
</b>(Panicked) She's terribly hurt . . .
<b>JULIET
</b>(Hysterical) Somebody's got to help us!
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
<b>SUPERTITLES ON BLACK:
</b>
During 1953 and 1954 Pauline Yvonne Parker kept diaries recording her friendship with Juliet Marion Hulme. This is their story. All diary entries are in Pauline's own words.
INT. CHRISTCHURCH GIRLS' HIGH - FOYER - MORNING MUSIC: "Just a Closer Walk With Thee," sung by a HUNDRED SCHOOLGIRLS.
The school crest "Sapienta et Veritas" embossed in the lino just inside the entrance.
Lisle-stockinged schoolgirl legs carefully walk around the crest . . . TRACK along with the schoolgirl legs.
<b>CUT TO:
</b>
EXT. SCHOOL BUILDING/CRANMER SQUARE - MORNING HYMN CONTINUES OVER:TRACKING . . . with a row of schoolgirl legs, marching in a crocodile line across Cranmer Square.
CRANE UP . . . to reveal CHRISTCHURCH GIRLS' HIGH.
SUPER: "Christchurch Girls' High, 1952"
CREDITS BEGIN . . . GROUPS OF GIRLS, in heavy, pleated, over-the-knee school uniforms, wearing hats, gloves and blazers, flock through the school grounds.
MISS STEWART, the headmistress, stands by the rear entrance, scanning girls' uniforms as they enter.
EXT. RIEPERS' HOUSE/BACK GARDEN - MORNINGCLOSE ON . . . Pauline Rieper's legs as she tries to hitch up her baggy stockings. She hops over a fence and hurries toward the school, which backs onto the Riepers' garden.
She carries a boy's-style school bag on her shoulder and walks with a slight limp.
EXT. CHRISTCHURCH STREETS - MORNINGTRACKING . . . LOW ANGLE with the Hulme car coming toward CAMERA.
INT. SCHOOL CORRIDOR - MORNINGTRACKING . . . with Pauline
|
juliet
|
How many times does the word 'juliet' appear in the text?
| 9
|
That cry which is of things most tragical,
The tragedy most poignant--sleeps and rests,
And flicks its little fingers, with closed eyes
Senses with visions of unopened leaves
This monstrous and external sphere, the world,
And what moves in it.
So she thinks of him,
And longs for his return, and as she longs
The rivers of her body run and ripple,
Refresh and quicken her. The morning's light
Flutters upon the ceiling, and she lies
And stretches drowsily in the breaking slumber
Of fluctuant emotion, calls to him
With spirit and flesh, until his very name
Seems like to form in sound, while lips are closed,
And tongue is motionless, beyond herself,
And in the middle spaces of the room
Calls back to her.
And Henry Murray caught,
In letters, which she sent him, all she felt,
Re-kindled it and sped it back to her.
Then came a lover's fancy in his brain:
He would return unlooked for--who, the god,
Inspired the fancy?--find her in what mood
She might be in his absence, where no blur
Of expectation of his coming changed
Her color, flame of spirit. And he bought
Some chablis and a cake, slipped noiselessly
Into the chamber where she lay asleep,
And had a light upon her face before
She woke and saw him.
How she cried her joy!
And put her arms around him, burned away
In one great moment from a goblet of fire,
Which over-flowed, whatever she had felt
Of shrinking or distaste, or loveless hands
At any time before, and burned it there
Till even the ashes sparkled, blew away
In incense and in light.
She rose and slipped
A robe on and her slippers; drew a stand
Between them for the chablis and the cake.
And drank and ate with him, and showed her teeth,
While laughing, shaking curls, and flinging back
Her head for rapture, and in little crows.
And thus the wine caught up the resting cells,
And flung them in the current, and their blood
Flows silently and swiftly, running deep;
And their two hearts beat like the rhythmic chimes
Of little bells of steel made blue by flame,
Because their lives are ready now, and life
Cries out to life for life to be. The fire,
Lit in the altar of their eyes, is blind
For mysteries that urge, the blood of them
In separate streams would mingle, hurried on
By energy from the heights of ancient mountains;
The God himself, and Life, the Gift of God.
And as result the hurrying microcosms
Out of their beings sweep, seek out, embrace,
Dance for the rapture of freedom, being loosed;
Unite, achieve their destiny, find the cradle
Of sleep and growth, take up the cryptic task
Of maturation and of fashioning;
Where no light is except the light of God
To light the human spirit, which emerges
From nothing that man knows; and where a face,
To be a woman's or a man's takes form:
Hands that shall gladden, lips that shall enthrall
With songs or kisses, hands and lips, perhaps,
To hurt and poison. All is with the fates,
And all beyond us.
Now the seed is sown,
The flower must grow and blossom. Something comes,
Perhaps, to whisper something in the ear
That will exert itself against the mass
That grows, prolifer
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 6
|
type, intellectual and
without ambition--the trick of going about with his mental inferiors.
There was a small resilient Jew named Moses Gould in the same
boarding-house, a man whose negro vitality and vulgarity amused
Michael so much that he went round with him from bar to bar,
like the owner of a performing monkey.
The colossal clearance which the wind had made of that cloudy sky grew
clearer and clearer; chamber within chamber seemed to open in heaven.
One felt one might at last find something lighter than light.
In the fullness of this silent effulgence all things collected their
colours again: the gray trunks turned silver, and the drab gravel gold.
One bird fluttered like a loosened leaf from one tree to another,
and his brown feathers were brushed with fire.
"Inglewood," said Michael Moon, with his blue eye on the bird,
"have you any friends?"
Dr. Warner mistook the person addressed, and turning a broad
beaming face, said,--
"Oh yes, I go out a great deal."
Michael Moon gave a tragic grin, and waited for his real informant,
who spoke a moment after in a voice curiously cool, fresh and young,
as coming out of that brown and even dusty interior.
"Really," answered Inglewood, "I'm afraid I've lost touch with
my old friends. The greatest friend I ever had was at school,
a fellow named Smith. It's odd you should mention it, because I
was thinking of him to-day, though I haven't seen him for seven
or eight years. He was on the science side with me at school--
a clever fellow though queer; and he went up to Oxford when I
went to Germany. The fact is, it's rather a sad story.
I often asked him to come and see me, and when I heard nothing I
made inquiries, you know. I was shocked to learn that poor Smith
had gone off his head. The accounts were a bit cloudy, of course,
some saying that he had recovered again; but they always say that.
About a year ago I got a telegram from him myself. The telegram,
I'm sorry to say, put the matter beyond a doubt."
"Quite so," assented Dr. Warner stolidly; "insanity is generally incurable."
"So is sanity," said the Irishman, and studied him with a dreary eye.
"Symptoms?" asked the doctor. "What was this telegram?"
"It's a shame to joke about such things," said Inglewood, in his honest,
embarrassed way; "the telegram was Smith's illness, not Smith. The actual
words were, `Man found alive with two legs.'"
"Alive with two legs," repeated Michael, frowning. "Perhaps a version
of alive and kicking? I don't know much about people out of their senses;
but I suppose they ought to be kicking."
"And people in their senses?" asked Warner, smiling.
"Oh, they ought to be kicked," said Michael with sudden heartiness.
"The message is clearly insane," continued the impenetrable Warner.
"The best test is a reference to the undeveloped normal type.
Even a baby does not expect to find a man with three legs."
"Three legs," said Michael Moon, "would be very convenient in this wind."
A fresh eruption of the atmosphere had indeed almost thrown them
off their balance and broken the blackened trees in the garden.
Beyond, all sorts of accidental objects could be seen scouring
the wind-scoured sky--straws, sticks, rags, papers, and, in the distance,
a disappearing hat. Its disappearance, however, was not final;
after an interval of minutes they saw it again, much larger and closer,
like a white panama, towering up into the heavens like a balloon,
staggering to and fro for an instant like a stricken kite,
and then settling in the centre of their own lawn as falteringly
as a fallen leaf.
"Somebody's lost a good hat," said Dr. Warner shortly.
Almost as he spoke, another object came over the garden wall,
flying after the fluttering panama. It was a big green umbrella.
After that came hurtling a huge yellow Gladstone bag,
and after that came a
|
warner
|
How many times does the word 'warner' appear in the text?
| 4
|
STREETS - NIGHT
</b>
A taxi careens down narrow roadways at breakneck speeds.
<b> INT. TAXI - NIGHT
</b>
In the back seat is WHITTLESLEY. Early 40's, the wreck of a once
handsome man. Unshaven. Sweat stained. Rail thin. Scratches on his
arms, a fresh scar on one cheek. As the taxi roars downhill towards
the harbor, Whittlesley leans over the front seat. (Italics indicate
Portuguese to be subtitled)
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Faster! We won't make it.</i>
<b> DRIVER
</b> <i>You want to die?</i>
Whittlesley pulls out A KNIFE, puts it to the driver's jugular vein.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Do you?</i>
Sweat pouring down his brow, the driver re-doubles his speed.
<b> EXT. BELEM STREETS - NIGHT
</b>
The taxi swerves around a corner, nearly crashing into a fruit cart,
flies out of sight.
<b> EXT. HARBOR - BELEM - NIGHT
</b>
Light rain obscures the bulky outlines of tethered freighters. We hear
faint laughter leavened with Portuguese phrases, distant Calypso music
from waterfront bars. One of the smaller boats, the SANTA LUCIA, is
loading as the TAXI fishtails to a halt.
Whittlesley gets out, sees the boat still at dock. His face floods
with relief.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> Thank God.
He tosses a handful of bills into the driver's lap, sprints up the
pier as the driver shouts curses after him in Portuguese. Whittlesley
shoves past the dock hands as the last load goes onto the Santa Lucia.
The boat's engines churn to life.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>I need to speak to the captain!
Where is he?</i>
The sailors hold Whittlesley back.
<b> WHITTLESLEY
</b> <i>Get your hands off me! I'm trying
to save your lives, you fools!</i>
Several crew members
|
night
|
How many times does the word 'night' appear in the text?
| 3
|
kakoff, had occupied Yarmouth. Simultaneously the Mad Mullah had
captured Portsmouth; while the Swiss navy had bombarded Lyme Regis, and
landed troops immediately to westward of the bathing-machines. At
precisely the same moment China, at last awakened, had swooped down
upon that picturesque little Welsh watering-place, Lllgxtplll, and,
despite desperate resistance on the part of an excursion of Evanses and
Joneses from Cardiff, had obtained a secure foothold. While these
things were happening in Wales, the army of Monaco had descended on
Auchtermuchty, on the Firth of Clyde. Within two minutes of this
disaster, by Greenwich time, a boisterous band of Young Turks had
seized Scarborough. And, at Brighton and Margate respectively, small
but determined armies, the one of Moroccan brigands, under Raisuli, the
other of dark-skinned warriors from the distant isle of Bollygolla, had
made good their footing.
This was a very serious state of things.
Correspondents of the _Daily Mail_ at the various points of attack
had wired such particulars as they were able. The preliminary parley at
Lllgxtplll between Prince Ping Pong Pang, the Chinese general, and
Llewellyn Evans, the leader of the Cardiff excursionists, seems to have
been impressive to a degree. The former had spoken throughout in pure
Chinese, the latter replying in rich Welsh, and the general effect,
wired the correspondent, was almost painfully exhilarating.
So sudden had been the attacks that in very few instances was there any
real resistance. The nearest approach to it appears to have been seen
at Margate.
At the time of the arrival of the black warriors which, like the other
onslaughts, took place between one and two o'clock on the afternoon of
August Bank Holiday, the sands were covered with happy revellers. When
the war canoes approached the beach, the excursionists seem to have
mistaken their occupants at first for a troupe of nigger minstrels on
an unusually magnificent scale; and it was freely noised abroad in the
crowd that they were being presented by Charles Frohmann, who was
endeavouring to revive the ancient glories of the Christy Minstrels.
Too soon, however, it was perceived that these were no harmless Moore
and Burgesses. Suspicion was aroused by the absence of banjoes and
tambourines; and when the foremost of the negroes dexterously scalped a
small boy, suspicion became certainty.
In this crisis the trippers of Margate behaved well. The Mounted
Infantry, on donkeys, headed by Uncle Bones, did much execution. The
Ladies' Tormentor Brigade harassed the enemy's flank, and a
hastily-formed band of sharp-shooters, armed with three-shies-a-penny
balls and milky cocos, undoubtedly troubled the advance guard
considerably. But superior force told. After half an hour's fighting
the excursionists fled, leaving the beach to the foe.
At Auchtermuchty and Portsmouth no obstacle, apparently, was offered to
the invaders. At Brighton the enemy were permitted to land unharmed.
Scarborough, taken utterly aback by the boyish vigour of the Young
Turks, was an easy prey; and at Yarmouth, though the Grand Duke
received a nasty slap in the face from a dexterously-thrown bloater,
the resistance appears to have been equally futile.
By tea-time on August the First, nine strongly-equipped forces were
firmly established on British soil.
Chapter 4
WHAT ENGLAND THOUGHT OF IT
Such a state of affairs, disturbing enough in itself, was rendered
still more disquieting by the fact that, except for the Boy Scouts,
England's military strength at this time was practically nil.
The abolition of the regular army had been the first step. Several
causes had contributed to this. In the first place, the Socialists had
condemned the army system as unsocial. Privates, they pointed out, were
forbidden to hob-nob with colonels, though the difference in their
positions was due to a mere accident of birth. They demanded that every
man in the army should be a general. Comrade Quelch, in
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
, and
he hesitated for some time; but after a final appeal to his courage
he went on with a firm step as far as the house, which he recognized
without difficulty.
There he stopped once more. Was the woman really what he fancied her?
Was he not on the verge of some false move?
At this juncture he remembered the Italian table d'hote, and at once
jumped at the middle course, which would serve the ends alike of his
curiosity and of his reputation. He went in to dine, and made his way
down the passage; at the bottom, after feeling about for some time,
he found a staircase with damp, slippery steps, such as to an Italian
nobleman could only seem a ladder.
Invited to the first floor by the glimmer of a lamp and a strong smell
of cooking, he pushed a door which stood ajar and saw a room dingy with
dirt and smoke, where a wench was busy laying a table for about twenty
customers. None of the guests had yet arrived.
After looking round the dimly lighted room where the paper was dropping
in rags from the walls, the gentleman seated himself by a stove which
was roaring and smoking in the corner.
Attracted by the noise the Count made in coming in and disposing of his
cloak, the major-domo presently appeared. Picture to yourself a lean,
dried-up cook, very tall, with a nose of extravagant dimensions, casting
about him from time to time, with feverish keenness, a glance that
he meant to be cautious. On seeing Andrea, whose attire bespoke
considerable affluence, Signor Giardini bowed respectfully.
The Count expressed his intention of taking his meals as a rule in
the society of some of his fellow-countrymen; he paid in advance for
a certain number of tickets, and ingenuously gave the conversation a
familiar bent to enable him to achieve his purpose quickly.
Hardly had he mentioned the woman he was seeking when Signor Giardini,
with a grotesque shrug, looked knowingly at his customer, a bland smile
on his lips.
"_Basta_!" he exclaimed. "_Capisco_. Your Excellency has come spurred by
two appetites. La Signora Gambara will not have wasted her time if she
has gained the interest of a gentleman so generous as you appear to be.
I can tell you in a few words all we know of the woman, who is really to
be pitied.
"The husband is, I believe, a native of Cremona and has just come here
from Germany. He was hoping to get the Tedeschi to try some new music
and some new instruments. Isn't it pitiable?" said Giardini, shrugging
his shoulders. "Signor Gambara, who thinks himself a great composer,
does not seem to me very clever in other ways. An excellent fellow with
some sense and wit, and sometimes very agreeable, especially when he
has had a few glasses of wine--which does not often happen, for he is
desperately poor; night and day he toils at imaginary symphonies and
operas instead of trying to earn an honest living. His poor wife is
reduced to working for all sorts of people--the women on the streets!
What is to be said? She loves her husband like a father, and takes care
of him like a child.
"Many a young man has dined here to pay his court to madame; but not one
has succeeded," said he, emphasizing the word. "La Signora Marianna is
an honest woman, monsieur, much too honest, worse luck for her! Men give
nothing for nothing nowadays. So the poor soul will die in harness.
"And do you suppose that her husband rewards her for her devotion? Pooh,
my lord never gives her a smile! And all their cooking is done at the
baker's; for not only does the wretched man never earn a sou; he spends
all his wife can make on instruments which he carves, and lengthens, and
shortens, and sets up and takes to pieces again till they produce sounds
that will scare a cat; then he is happy. And yet you will find him the
mildest, the gentlest of men. And, he is not idle; he is always at it.
What is to be said? He is crazy and does not know his business. I have
|
time
|
How many times does the word 'time' appear in the text?
| 4
|
sparkles to life in the distance. Gives rise to another...
and another... until we're looking at a whole galaxy of stars.
No, not stars. LIGHTS. NEON LIGHTS. A throbbing skyline of
neon. LAS VEGAS, NEVADA. As seen from a descending aerial
shot. We PLUNGE down into her shimmering embrace... DISSOLVING
<b> TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. LAS VEGAS STRIP - NIGHT
</b>
Cruising the Strip, taking in modern day Las Vegas. Sin City
gone theme park. Gigantic behemoths of pulsating neon: THE
MGM GRAND... EXCALIBUR... LUXOR... TREASURE ISLAND... passing
revamped faithfuls like CAESARS and THE DESERT INN...
...then heading DOWNTOWN to Fremont Street, where "old school"
Vegas makes its last stand. BINION'S HORSESHOE, THE FOUR
QUEENS, THE LAS VEGAS CLUB arid...
<b> THE SHANGRI-LA HOTEL AND CASINO
</b>
One thing's for sure. This place ain't no bastard child of
Epcott Center. At least, not yet. Sure there's some flash
going on, but it's more class than overkill.
This is where the pro's come to savor a time forgotten. A
joint where every dealer knows your name. Where part of the
allure is the smell of moldy paneling and the tactile whisper
of worn felt. Where "funny business" doesn't just get you
blacklisted... It gets you dead.
Lets us enter.
<b> INT. SHANGRI-LA HOTEL AND CASINO - NIGHT
</b>
<b> CREDITS SEQUENCE
</b>
TRACKING through the casino floor; highlighting SLOT MACHINE
PAY-OFFS and pockets of rowdy players winning at BLACKJACK,
CRAPS and ROULETTE. It's just one of those nights. The tables
are on fire.
A FLOOR MANAGER nods as a hefty bet is paid out to a shooter
at a craps table: He checks out his watch, anxious for the
|
vegas
|
How many times does the word 'vegas' appear in the text?
| 4
|
and silver. Small wonder that all had been eager to handle
it, the lad thought. He saw others in the room furtively observing the
gun, and he knew there were men not a hundred leagues away who would
have killed the owner to take it. He even bethought himself, having no
lack of conceit in such matters, that the man had done well to pick
Phil Marsham to keep it while he drank his ale.
The fellow had gone to the opposite corner of the room and had taken a
deep seat just beneath the three long shelves on which stood the three
rows of fine platters that were the pride of Moll Stevens's heart.
The platters caught the lad's eye and, raising the gun, he presented
it at the uppermost row. Supposing it were loaded and primed, he
thought, what a stir and clatter it would make to fire the charge! He
smiled, cocked the gun, and rested his finger on the trigger; but he
was over weak to hold the gun steady. As he let the muzzle fall, his
hand slipped. His throat tightened like a cramp. His hair, he verily
believed, rose on end. The gun--primed or no--went off.
He had so far lowered the muzzle that not a shot struck the topmost
row of platters, but of the second lower row, not one platter was
left standing. The splinters flew in a shower over the whole room,
and a dozen stray shots--for the gun was charged to shoot small
birds--peppered the fat man about the face and ear. Worst of all, by
far, to make good measure of the clatter and clamour, the great mass of
the charge, which by grace of God avoided the fat man's head although
the wind of it raised his hair, struck fairly a butt of Moll Stevens's
richest sack, which six men had raised on a frame to make easier the
labour of drawing from it, and shattered a stave so that the goodly
wine poured out as if a greater than Moses had smitten a rock with his
staff.
Of all in the room, mind you, none was more amazed than Philip Marsham,
and indeed for a moment his wits were quite numb. He sat with the gun
in his hands, which was still smoking to show who had done the wicked
deed, and stared at the splintered platters and at the countryman's
furious face, on which rivulets of blood were trickling down, and at
the gurgling flood of wine that was belching out on Moll Stevens's
dirty floor.
Then in rushed Moll herself with such a face that he hoped never to
see the like again. She swept the room at a single glance and bawling,
"As I live, 't is that tike, Philip Marsham! Paddock! Hound! Devil's
imp!"--at him she came, a billet of Flanders brick in her hand.
He was of no mind to try the quality of her scouring, for although she
knew not the meaning of a clean house, she was a brawny wench and her
hand and her brick were as rough as her tongue. Further, he perceived
that there were others to reckon with, for the countryman was on his
feet with a murderous look in his eye and there were six besides him
who had started up. Although Phil had little wish to play hare to their
hounds, since the fever had left him fit for neither fighting nor
running, there was urgent need that he act soon and to a purpose, for
Moll and her Flanders brick were upon him.
Warmed by the smell of the good wine run to waste, and marvellously
strengthened by the danger of bodily harm if once they laid hands on
him, he got out of the great chair as nimbly as if he had not spent
three weeks in bed, and, turning like a fox, slipped through the door.
God was good to Philip Marsham, for the gun, as he dropped it,
tripped Moll Stevens and sent her sprawling on the threshold; the fat
countryman, thinking more of his property than his injury, stooped for
the gun; and those two so filled the door that the six were stoppered
in the alehouse until with the whoo-bub ringing in his ears Phil had
got him out of sight. He had the craft, though they then
|
philip
|
How many times does the word 'philip' appear in the text?
| 2
|
The Cafe
['I' is reading a paper at a table in the cafe. The proprietor is cooking
eggs in a frying pan full of grease. She takes one out, inserts it between
two slices of bread and places it in front of an elderly woman who inspects
it doubtfully and bites into the sandwhich. Yolk runs out of the other
edge. 'I' turns his attention to his paper. The story is about a
transexual, the headline 'Love made up my mind, I had to become a woman'.
He looks around at the other customers.]
I [mentally]:
Thirteen million Londoners have to cope with this, and bake beans and
allbran and rape, and I'm sitting in this bloody shack and I can't
cope with Withnail. I must be out of my mind. I must go home at once
and discuss his problems in depth.
<b>---------------------------------------------------------------------------
</b>
The Flat
[I stumbles up the barely lit stairs looking unwell. Withnail emerges from
his room holding a bottle and glass and follows him.]
Withnail:
I have some extremely distressing news.
<b>I:
</b> I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear anything. Oh God, it's a
nightmare out there I tell you.
Withnail [pouring some wine]:
We've just run out of wine what are we going to do about it?
<b>I:
</b> I don't know. I don't know. I don't feel good. Look! My thumbs have
gone weird. I'm in the middle of a fucking overdose. My hearts beating
like a fucked clock. I feel dreadful, I feel fucking dreadful.
Withnail:
So do I. So does everyone. Look at my tongue. A grey yellow sock. Sit
down for Christ's sake, what's the matter with you? Eat some sugar.
[I goes into the kitchen which is by now full of steam and turns off the
kettle. Withnail follows him around reading from a newspaper.]
Withnail:
Listen to this. "Curse of the superman. I took drugs to win medals
said top athlete Geoff Woade."
<b>I:
</b> Where's the coffee?
Withnail [reading from the paper]:
"In a world exclusive interview 33 year old shot putter Geoff Woade
who weight 317 pounds, admitted taking massive doses of anabolic
steroids, drugs banned in sport. It used to get him bad tempered and
act down said his wife. He used to pick on me. But now he's stopped
his much better in our sex life and in our general life."
[I pours water from the kettle into a bowl and goes back into the living
room. Withnail follows him.]
Withnail:
My God, this huge, thatched head with its earlobes and cannonball is
now considered sane. "Geoff Woade is feeling better and is now
prepared to step back into society and start tossing his orb about."
Look at him. Look at Geoff Woade. His head must weight fifty pounds on
its own.
[Withnail stands infront of a mirror and brushes his long, greasy hair with
a comb. I sits on the settee and starts drinking the coffee from the bowl
using a spoon.]
Withnail:
Imagine the size of his balls. Imagine getting into a fight with the
fucker!
<b>I:
</b> Please! I don't feel good.
Withnail:
That's what you'd say but that wouldn't wash with Geoff. No! He'd like
a bit of pleading. Add spice to it. In fact, he'd probably tell you
what he was going to do before he did it. "I
|
look
|
How many times does the word 'look' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. That isn't quite the way to put it. [After some reflection]
I think it is even worse than that. But let us talk of something
else!--What was I saying?--Yes, you came here, and you enabled me to
see my art in its true light. Of course, for some time I had noticed my
growing lack of interest in painting, as it didn't seem to offer me the
proper medium for the expression of what I wanted to bring out. But when
you explained all this to me, and made it clear why painting must fail
as a timely outlet for the creative instinct, then I saw the light at
last--and I realised that hereafter it would not be possible for me to
express myself by means of colour only.
GUSTAV. Are you quite sure now that you cannot go on painting--that you
may not have a relapse?
ADOLPH. Perfectly sure! For I have tested myself. When I went to bed
that night after our talk, I rehearsed your argument point by point, and
I knew you had it right. But when I woke up from a good night's sleep
and my head was clear again, then it came over me in a flash that you
might be mistaken after all. And I jumped out of bed and got hold of
my brushes and paints--but it was no use! Every trace of illusion was
gone--it was nothing but smears of paint, and I quaked at the thought of
having believed, and having made others believe, that a painted canvas
could be anything but a painted canvas. The veil had fallen from my
eyes, and it was just as impossible for me to paint any more as it was
to become a child again.
GUSTAV. And then you saw that the realistic tendency of our day, its
craving for actuality and tangibility, could only find its proper form
in sculpture, which gives you body, extension in all three dimensions--
ADOLPH. [Vaguely] The three dimensions--oh yes, body, in a word!
GUSTAV. And then you became a sculptor yourself. Or rather, you have
been one all your life, but you had gone astray, and nothing was needed
but a guide to put you on the right road--Tell me, do you experience
supreme joy now when you are at work?
ADOLPH. Now I am living!
GUSTAV. May I see what you are doing?
ADOLPH. A female figure.
GUSTAV. Without a model? And so lifelike at that!
ADOLPH. [Apathetically] Yes, but it resembles somebody. It is remarkable
that this woman seems to have become a part of my body as I of hers.
GUSTAV. Well, that's not so very remarkable. Do you know what
transfusion is?
ADOLPH. Of blood? Yes.
GUSTAV. And you seem to have bled yourself a little too much. When
I look at the figure here I comprehend several things which I merely
guessed before. You have loved her tremendously!
ADOLPH. Yes, to such an extent that I couldn't tell whether she was I or
I she. When she is smiling, I smile also. When she is weeping, I weep.
And when she--can you imagine anything like it?--when she was giving
life to our child--I felt the birth pangs within myself.
GUSTAV. Do you know, my dear friend--I hate to speak of it, but you are
already showing the first symptoms of epilepsy.
ADOLPH. [Agitated] I! How can you tell?
GUSTAV. Because I have watched the symptoms in a younger brother of mine
who had been worshipping Venus a little too excessively.
ADOLPH. How--how did it show itself--that thing you spoke of?
[During the following passage GUSTAV speaks with great animation, and
ADOLPH listens so intently that, unconsciously, he imitates many of
GUSTAV'S gestures.]
GUSTAV. It was dreadful to witness, and if you don't feel strong enough
I won't inflict a description of it on you.
ADOLPH. [Nervously] Yes, go right on--just go on!
GUSTAV. Well, the boy happened to marry an innocent little creature with
curls,
|
painting
|
How many times does the word 'painting' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Clem's brutality went far towards redeeming her
character. The exquisite satisfaction with which she viewed Jane's
present misery, the broad joviality with which she gloated over the
prospect of cruelties shortly to be inflicted, put her at once on a par
with the noble savage running wild in woods. Civilisation could bring
no charge against this young woman; it and she had no common criterion.
Who knows but this lust of hers for sanguinary domination was the
natural enough issue of the brutalising serfdom of her predecessors in
the family line of the Peckovers? A thrall suddenly endowed with
authority will assuredly make bitter work for the luckless creature in
the next degree of thraldom.
A cloth was already spread across one end of the deal table, with such
other preparations for a meal as Clem deemed adequate. The
sausages--five in number--she had emptied from the frying-pan directly
on to her plate, and with them all the black rich juice that had exuded
in the process of cooking--particularly rich, owing to its having
several times caught fire and blazed triumphantly. On sitting down and
squaring her comely frame to work, the first thing Clem did was to take
a long draught out of the beer-jug; refreshed thus, she poured the
remaining liquor into a glass. Ready at hand was mustard, made in a
tea-cup; having taken a certain quantity of this condiment on to her
knife, she proceeded to spread each sausage with it from end to end,
patting them in a friendly way as she finished the operation. Next she
sprinkled them with pepper, and after that she constructed a little
pile of salt on the side of the plate, using her fingers to convey it
from the salt-cellar. It remained to cut a thick slice of bread--she
held the loaf pressed to her bosom whilst doing this--and to crush it
down well into the black grease beside the sausages; then Clem was
ready to begin.
For five minutes she fed heartily, showing really remarkable skill in
conveying pieces of sausage to her mouth by means of the knife alone.
Finding it necessary to breathe at last, she looked round at Jane. The
hand-maiden was on her knees near the fire, scrubbing very hard at the
pan with successive pieces of newspaper. It was a sight to increase the
gusto of Clem's meal, but of a sudden there came into the girl's mind a
yet more delightful thought. I have mentioned that in the back-kitchen
lay the body of a dead woman; it was already encoffined, and waited for
interment on the morrow, when Mrs. Peckover would arrive with a certain
female relative from St. Albans. Now the proximity of this corpse was a
ceaseless occasion of dread and misery to Jane Snowdon; the poor child
had each night to make up a bed for herself in this front-room,
dragging together a little heap of rags when mother and daughter were
gone up to their chamber, and since the old woman's death it was much
if Jane had enjoyed one hour of unbroken sleep. She endeavoured to hide
these feelings, but Clem, with her Red Indian scent, divined them
accurately enough. She hit upon a good idea.
'Go into the next room,' she commanded suddenly, 'and fetch the matches
off of the mantel-piece. I shall want to go upstairs presently, to see
if you've scrubbed the bed-room well.'
Jane was blanched; but she rose from her knees at once, and reached a
candlestick from above the fireplace.
'What's that for?' shouted Clem, with her mouth full. 'You've no need
of a light to find the mantel-piece. If you're not off--'
Jane hastened from the kitchen. Clem yelled to her to close the door,
and she had no choice but to obey. In the dark passage outside there
was darkness that might be felt. The child all but fainted with the
sickness of horror as she turned the handle of the other door and began
to grope her way. She knew exactly where the coffin was; she knew that
to avoid touching it in the diminutive room was all but impossible. And
touch it she did. Her anguish uttered itself, not in a mere sound of
terror, but in
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Dec. 13, 1994
Third draft
<b> 1 EXT. HOLLYWOOD - NIGHT 1
</b>
The soundtrack opens with Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the
Moon".
A HELICOPTER SHOT OF THE L.A. basin.
The pool of golden light disintegrates into the thousands of
points which constitute it as we rapidly draw closer to the
city.
We are just above the tops of the highest buildings as we
approach Hollywood Boulevard. Below is neon and the icy
thrust of search lights rotating on the corner of Hollywood
and Vine.
We continue west, then quickly north.
There is the momentary appearance of the moonlit HOLLYWOOD
sign as we pass the blinking red beacon of the Capital
Records building and drop into Franklin avenue and over the
<b> 101.
</b>
Architectural remnants of Hollywood's past whip up. We are
heading east at treetop level. A warm glow in the distance
quickly grows into a modest commercial strip which includes
cafes, bookstores, and a theater.
We drop to eye level as we spy through the plate glass
showcase window of the "Bourgeois Pig" coffeehouse, which
holds the translucent reflection of the full moon.
A cigarette wedged between knuckles smoulders. MIKE takes
the last drag with great effort, then crushes it out. He
sits in the window sprawled across a red velvet couch that
once perfectly complemented a faux spanish foyer.
<b> MATCH CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 2 EXT. "BOURGEOIS PIG" COFFEEHOUSE - COUCHES AND TABLE IN FRONT 2
</b><b> WINDOW - NIGHT
</b>
ROB sits down next to Mike, pouring himself some tea.
<b> MIKE
</b> And what if I don't want to give up on
her?
<b> ROB
</b> You don't call.
<b>
|
smoulders
|
How many times does the word 'smoulders' appear in the text?
| 0
|
matter over thoroughly
before anything decisive was said. I was generally ready enough for
business in those days, and selling always attracted me; but in the first
place it was not my bungalow, and even if I sold it to him at a good price
I might get inconvenienced in the delivery of goods if the current owner
got wind of the transaction, and in the second I was, well--undischarged.
It was clearly a business that required delicate handling. Moreover,
the possibility of his being in pursuit of some valuable invention also
interested me. It occurred to me that I would like to know more of this
research, not with any dishonest intention, but simply with an idea
that to know what it was would be a relief from play-writing. I threw
out feelers.
He was quite willing to supply information. Indeed, once he was fairly
under way the conversation became a monologue. He talked like a man long
pent up, who has had it over with himself again and again. He talked for
nearly an hour, and I must confess I found it a pretty stiff bit of
listening. But through it all there was the undertone of satisfaction one
feels when one is neglecting work one has set oneself. During that first
interview I gathered very little of the drift of his work. Half his words
were technicalities entirely strange to me, and he illustrated one or two
points with what he was pleased to call elementary mathematics, computing
on an envelope with a copying-ink pencil, in a manner that made it hard
even to seem to understand. "Yes," I said, "yes. Go on!" Nevertheless I
made out enough to convince me that he was no mere crank playing at
discoveries. In spite of his crank-like appearance there was a force about
him that made that impossible. Whatever it was, it was a thing with
mechanical possibilities. He told me of a work-shed he had, and of three
assistants--originally jobbing carpenters--whom he had trained. Now,
from the work-shed to the patent office is clearly only one step. He
invited me to see those things. I accepted readily, and took care, by a
remark or so, to underline that. The proposed transfer of the bungalow
remained very conveniently in suspense.
At last he rose to depart, with an apology for the length of his call.
Talking over his work was, he said, a pleasure enjoyed only too rarely. It
was not often he found such an intelligent listener as myself, he mingled
very little with professional scientific men.
"So much pettiness," he explained; "so much intrigue! And really, when one
has an idea--a novel, fertilising idea--I don't want to be uncharitable,
but--"
I am a man who believes in impulses. I made what was perhaps a rash
proposition. But you must remember, that I had been alone, play-writing in
Lympne, for fourteen days, and my compunction for his ruined walk still
hung about me. "Why not," said I, "make this your new habit? In the place
of the one I spoilt? At least, until we can settle about the bungalow.
What you want is to turn over your work in your mind. That you have always
done during your afternoon walk. Unfortunately that's over--you can't get
things back as they were. But why not come and talk about your work to me;
use me as a sort of wall against which you may throw your thoughts and
catch them again? It's certain I don't know enough to steal your ideas
myself--and I know no scientific men--"
I stopped. He was considering. Evidently the thing, attracted him. "But
I'm afraid I should bore you," he said.
"You think I'm too dull?"
"Oh, no; but technicalities--"
"Anyhow, you've interested me immensely this afternoon."
"Of course it would be a great help to me. Nothing clears up one's ideas
so much as explaining them. Hitherto--"
"My dear sir, say no more."
"But really can you spare the time?"
"There is no rest like change of occupation," I said, with profound
conviction.
The affair was over. On my verandah steps he turned. "I am already greatly
indebted to you
|
work
|
How many times does the word 'work' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 5
|
KALE (V.O.)
</b> (tense)
Do you think he sees us?
<b> JEFF (V.O.)
</b> No, he can't see us. But he feels
us watching.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> DEEP BLUE WATER FILLS THE FRAME.
</b>
And there... a few feet beneath the surface... something
SHIMMERS in the sunlight. As ripples dissipate, we make out
the shape of a bright yellow CRANKBAIT waiting patiently for
its prey on the end of a 10-pound line.
We hold on this for another silent beat... then -- a huge
BLACK BASS suddenly swoops into frame, circling the bait!
<b> ON KALE BRECHT (17) AND HIS DAD, JEFF BRECHT (45)
</b>
Both startle at the sight. Kale, a clean-cut all-American
kid, reflexively yanks back on his rod and reel.
<b> KALE
</b> Whoa, did you see that thing?
Kale anxiously winds the spool --
<b> JEFF
</b> Settle down, slow it down...
Jeff lightly puts his hand on Kale's, slowing the cranking
to a slight, steady pull as we WIDEN TO REVEAL them standing
near the stern of their 16-foot BASSMASTER. We are...
<b>1 EXT. BISHOP LAKE - DAY 1
</b>
The undisturbed beauty of nature serves as our backdrop as
we MOVE CLOSER to Kale and Jeff, taking note of their t-
shirts: Jeff's has a silkscreened cartoon rendition of a
Bass wearing aviator goggles with mounted missiles on its
fins. Beneath it, the slogan: "Weapons of Bass Destruction."
The fish on Kale's shirt wears a stock car uniform, a single
word across the bottom: BASSCAR.
As Jeff steadies Kale's hand and pulls away:
<b> JEFF
</b> You don't want to scare him off.
You've got his attention, now just
play with him. Tease him a little.
(CONTINUED) D.J. Caruso
<b>
</b><b>
|
bass
|
How many times does the word 'bass' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Cherry Pie..."
7. The Lonely Grave of Paula Schultz
8. The Cruel Tutelage Of Pai Mei
9. Elle and I
10. The Blood-Splattered Bride
<b>OVER BLACK
</b>We hear labored breathing.
<b>BLACK FRAME
</b><b>QUOTE APPEARS:
</b>
"Revenge is a dish
best served cold"
- Old Klingon Proverb -
<b>QUOTE FADES OUT
</b>
<b>WE STAY ON BLACK
</b>...breathing continues...
Then a MAN'S VOICE talks over the breathing;
<b> MAN'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Do you find me sadistic?
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
BLACK AND WHITE CU of a WOMAN
lying on the floor, looking up. The woman on the floor has
just taken a severe spaghetti-western-style gang beating. Her
face is bloody, beaten up, and torn. The high contrast B/W
turning the red blood into black blood.
A hand belonging to the off-screen Man's Voice ENTERS FRAME
holding a white handkerchief with the name "BILL" sewn in the
corner, and begins tenderly wiping away the blood from the
young woman's face. Little by little as the Male Voice
speaks, the beautiful face underneath is revealed to the
audience.
But what can't be wiped away, is the white hot hate that
shines in both eyes at the man who stands over her, the
"BILL" of the title.
In another age men who shook the world for their own purposes
were called conquerors. In our age, the men who shake the
planet for their own power and greed are called corrupters.
And of the world's corrupters Bill stands alone. For while he
<b>
</b>corrupts the world, inside himself he is pure.
<b> BILL'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> I bet I could fry an egg on your
head about now, if I wanted to.
He continues wiping away the blood.
<b> BILL'S VOICE (O.S.)
</b> No kiddo, I'd like to believe, even
now, you're aware enough to know
there isn't a trace of sadism in
my actions... Okay - Maybe towards
these other jokers - bot not your.
<b>OVERHEAD SHOT
</b>We see for a moment, A WIDE SHOT looking down at the woman on
the floor
|
bill
|
How many times does the word 'bill' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ILLAGE - THE PALEOLITHIC ERA - DAY
</b><b>
</b> A small caveman community made up of five large caves, all
facing out towards a crackling fire.
<b>
</b> Slack-jawed, yet strong and confident CAVEMEN stumble about,
dragging haunches of meat, pounding the dirt with sticks,
dragging the women.
<b>
</b> WE PAN OVER to a small cave. Not even really a cave at all,
but a crack in the rocks barely large enough to sleep in.
Stepping out of this "cave" is a small, weak, nerdy-looking
caveman.
<b>
</b> The chief caveman, set apart by the large mallet he wields,
steps towards the fire and grunts loudly to mark the
beginning of a caveman meeting.
<b>
</b> "Loser caveman" steps forward apprehensively, only to be met
with laughter from the other cavemen. "Loser caveman" sighs
and shrinks back into his sad, little cave, watching them
from the shadows.
<b>
</b><b> CHIEF CAVEMAN
</b> (grunting; subtitled)
Me see beast today. Beast scary.
Beast danger for caveman.
<b>
</b> The rest of the cavemen look nervous.
<b>
</b><b> CHIEF CAVEMAN
</b> If caveman kill beast? Caveman
safe. Caveman have food.
<b>
</b> The cavemen grunt in understanding.
<b>
</b><b> CHIEF CAVEMAN
</b> Who kill beast?
<b>
</b> The cavemen grunt amongst themselves. The toughest of the
bunch steps forward, pounds his chest and grunts.
<b>
</b><b> CHIEF CAVEMAN
</b>
|
small
|
How many times does the word 'small' appear in the text?
| 2
|
fancied it could be stayed by putting up the editor of The Saturday
Review (as Mr Harris then was) to declare that he considered Dorian
Grey a highly moral book, which it certainly is. When Harris foretold
him the truth, Wilde denounced him as a fainthearted friend who was
failing him in his hour of need, and left the room in anger. Harris's
idiosyncratic power of pity saved him from feeling or shewing the
smallest resentment; and events presently proved to Wilde how insanely
he had been advised in taking the action, and how accurately Harris
had gauged the situation.
The same capacity for pity governs Harris's study of Shakespear, whom,
as I have said, he pities too much; but that he is not insensible to
humor is shewn not only by his appreciation of Wilde, but by the fact
that the group of contributors who made his editorship of The Saturday
Review so remarkable, and of whom I speak none the less highly because
I happened to be one of them myself, were all, in their various ways,
humorists.
"Sidney's Sister: Pembroke's Mother"
And now to return to Shakespear. Though Mr Harris followed Tyler in
identifying Mary Fitton as the Dark Lady, and the Earl of Pembroke as
the addressee of the other sonnets and the man who made love
successfully to Shakespear's mistress, he very characteristically
refuses to follow Tyler on one point, though for the life of me I
cannot remember whether it was one of the surmises which Tyler
published, or only one which he submitted to me to see what I would
say about it, just as he used to submit difficult lines from the
sonnets.
This surmise was that "Sidney's sister: Pembroke's mother" set
Shakespear on to persuade Pembroke to marry, and that this was the
explanation of those earlier sonnets which so persistently and
unnaturally urged matrimony on Mr W. H. I take this to be one of the
brightest of Tyler's ideas, because the persuasions in the sonnets are
unaccountable and out of character unless they were offered to please
somebody whom Shakespear desired to please, and who took a motherly
interest in Pembroke. There is a further temptation in the theory for
me. The most charming of all Shakespear's old women, indeed the most
charming of all his women, young or old, is the Countess of Rousillon
in All's Well That Ends Well. It has a certain individuality among
them which suggests a portrait. Mr Harris will have it that all
Shakespear's nice old women are drawn from his beloved mother; but I
see no evidence whatever that Shakespear's mother was a particularly
nice woman or that he was particularly fond of her. That she was a
simple incarnation of extravagant maternal pride like the mother of
Coriolanus in Plutarch, as Mr Harris asserts, I cannot believe: she
is quite as likely to have borne her son a grudge for becoming "one of
these harlotry players" and disgracing the Ardens. Anyhow, as a
conjectural model for the Countess of Rousillon, I prefer that one of
whom Jonson wrote
Sidney's sister: Pembroke's mother:
Death: ere thou has slain another,
Learnd and fair and good as she,
Time shall throw a dart at thee.
But Frank will not have her at any price, because his ideal Shakespear
is rather like a sailor in a melodrama; and a sailor in a melodrama
must adore his mother. I do not at all belittle such sailors. They
are the emblems of human generosity; but Shakespear was not an emblem:
he was a man and the author of Hamlet, who had no illusions about his
mother. In weak moments one almost wishes he had.
Shakespear's Social Standing
On the vexed question of Shakespear's social standing Mr Harris says
that Shakespear "had not had the advantage of a middle-class
training." I suggest that Shakespear missed this questionable
advantage, not because he was socially
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 4
|
have created for us figures of fiction that are more alive to us than
the historic shadows of the past, whose dead bones historians do not
seem to be able to clothe with flesh and blood. Trollope hovers on the
border line between genius and great talent, or rather it would be more
fair to say that with regard to him opinions may justly differ. For
our own part we hold that his was not talent streaked with genius, but
rather a jog-trot genius alloyed with mediocrity. He lacked the supreme
unconsciousness of supreme genius, for of genius as of talent there are
degrees. There are characters in _The Three Clerks_ that live; those
who have read the tale must now and again when passing Norfolk Street,
Strand, regret that it would be waste of time to turn down that rebuilt
thoroughfare in search of 'The Pig and Whistle', which was 'one of these
small tranquil shrines of Bacchus in which the god is worshipped with as
constant a devotion, though with less noisy demonstration of zeal than
in his larger and more public temples'. Alas; lovers of Victorian
London must lament that such shrines grow fewer day by day; the great
thoroughfares know them no more; they hide nervously in old-world
corners, and in them you will meet old-world characters, who not seldom
seem to have lost themselves on their way to the pages of Charles
Dickens.
Despite the advent of electric tramways, Hampton would still be
recognized by the three clerks, 'the little village of Hampton, with its
old-fashioned country inn, and its bright, quiet, grassy river.' Hampton
is now as it then was, the 'well-loved resort of cockneydom'.
So let us alight from the tramcar at Hampton, and look about on the
outskirts of the village for 'a small old-fashioned brick house,
abutting on the road, but looking from its front windows on to a lawn
and garden, which stretched down to the river'. Surbiton Cottage it is
called. Let us peep in at that merry, happy family party; and laugh at
Captain Cuttwater, waking from his placid sleep, rubbing his eyes in
wonderment, and asking, 'What the devil is all the row about?' But it is
only with our mind's eye that we can see Surbiton Cottage--a cottage
in the air it is, but more substantial to some of us than many a real
jerry-built villa of red brick and stucco.
Old-fashioned seem to us the folk who once dwelt there, old-fashioned in
all save that their hearts were true and their outlook on life sane and
clean; they live still, though their clothes be of a quaint fashion and
their talk be of yesterday.
Who knows but that they will live long after we who love them shall be
dead and turned to dust?
W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE.
CONTENTS
I. THE WEIGHTS AND MEASURES
II. THE INTERNAL NAVIGATION
III. THE WOODWARDS
IV. CAPTAIN CUTTWATER
V. BUSHEY PARK
VI. SIR GREGORY HARDLINES
VII. MR. FIDUS NEVERBEND
VIII. THE HON. UNDECIMUS SCOTT
IX. MR. MANYLODES
X. WHEAL MARY JANE
XI. THE THREE KINGS
XII. CONSOLATION
XIII. A COMMUNICATION OF IMPORTANCE
XIV. VERY SAD
XV. NORMAN RETURNS TO TOWN
XVI. THE FIRST WEDDING
XVII. THE HONOURABLE MRS. VAL AND MISS GOLIGHTLY
XVIII. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES.--MORNING
XIX. A DAY WITH ONE OF THE NAVVIES.--AFTERNOON
XX.
|
hampton
|
How many times does the word 'hampton' appear in the text?
| 3
|
is a morbid, insecure man. His frustration with his life has tinged
his sense of humor with an acerbic bite. His early success, a few
publications of his poetry, has given him a professorship at the
University. He is well-read, intelligent, a bit pompous and
occasionally condescending. But mostly, these qualities are restrained
and his outward appearance is a little sorrowful. There is an
unquestionable charm about him, and its effect is evident in the people
around him.
He searches through the medicine cabinet, which
is full of women's items, and takes out a Cosco-sized bottle of
sleeping pills. He reads the back and takes two.
He hears something bang against the front door.
<b>INT. LIVING ROOM
</b>
He opens the front door and takes a step outside.
<b>EXT. PORCH - NIGHT
</b>
He looks down by his feet and finds the morning
paper, wrapped in blue plastic, lying on the doormat. He picks it up
and goes back inside.
<b>INT. LIVING ROOM
</b>
Ed stands helplessly in the empty living room.
Ed's desk sits on one side of the living room,
crammed into the corner. He searches quickly through the stuff on the
desk and finds a small address book. He finds a name in the book and
dials the number.
<b>SUSIE
</b>
(over phone)
Hello?
<b>ED
</b>
Susie. Hi, it's Ed. I'm sorry I woke you up.
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Is something wrong?
<b>ED
</b>
Eve isn't there, is she?
<b>SUSIE
</b>
No. She's not there?
<b>ED
</b>
No. She didn't come home after work.
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Oh, no. Didn't she call or anything?
<b>ED
</b>
No. She was supposed to be home around six. I cooked her dinner.
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Could she have gone anywhere else?
<b>ED
</b>
I don't think so. Do you?
<b>SUSIE
</b>
I don't know.
<b>ED
</b>
I'm a little worried.
<b>SUSIE
</b>
I bet. Did you call Harborview?
<b>ED
</b>
No. Do you think I should?
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Yeah. If she got into an accident of something, they would take her there.
<b>ED
</b>
You don't think that's overreacting?
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Don't be silly. Just call them. It can't hurt.
<b>ED
</b>
Alright. But if she comes home later and it turns out to be nothing, don't tell her I called the hospital, OK?
<b>SUSIE
</b>
Call me back.
<b>ED
</b>
Alright.
Ed finds the Yellow Pages and finds a page of
"non-emergency" numbers. His finger runs down the list: Trauma, Fire,
Disaster, etc. until he comes to Hospitals and then Harborview. He
dials the number.
<b>OPERATOR
</b>
Harborview.
<b>ED
</b>
Hello. I wanted to find out if someone had come in. In an emergency, maybe.
<b>OPERATOR
</b>
Hold on.
She transfers him and the phone rings again.
<b>NURSE
</b>
Emergency room.
<b>ED
</b>
I wanted to find out if someone had been brought in.
|
susie
|
How many times does the word 'susie' appear in the text?
| 10
|
"And there came a day, a day unlike any other, when Earth's
mightiest heroes and heroines found themselves united against a
common threat. On that day, the Avengers were born--to fight the
foes no single superhero could withstand! Through the years,
their roster has prospered, changing many times, but their glory
has never been denied! Heed the call, then--for now, the Avengers
Assemble!"
BURNING BLUE FLAMES. A smoky cube shape emerges - THE TESSERACT.
Filling the screen with BLACKNESS.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. THRONE ROOM, SPACE NIGHT
</b>
Kneeling behind a THRONE, a CLOTHED, ARMORED FIGURE known as THE
OTHER, bows.
<b> THE OTHER (V.O.)
</b> The Tesseract has awakened. It is on a
little world. A human world. They would
wield its power,...
<b> CUT TO:
</b> THE OTHER faces a HORNED SHAPED SHADOW. LOKI. Loki is handed the
CHITAURI SCEPTER, a long golden handle, fitted with a blue gem
encircled with silver blades.
<b> THE OTHER (V.O.)
</b> But our ally knows its workings as they
never will. He is ready to lead. And
our force, our Chitauri, will follow.
HIGH WIDE ON: TENS OF THOUSANDS of CHITAURI stand ready in a
seething mass of neat rows and columns....the ground simply
<b> QUAKES.
</b>
<b> THE OTHER (V.O.)
</b> The world will be his. The universe
yours. And the humans, what can they do
but burn?
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. S.H.I.E.L.D. PROJECT P.E.G.A.S.U.S FACILITY NIGHT
</b>
Out in the NEW MEXICO desert, a remote research facility is in a
state of panic. It's an evacuation. A SWOOPING helicopter flies
in.
CHAOS. Men in suits run around like in the typical `we have to
leave' fashion. Soldiers on foot jump onto Humvees, accelerating
the hell out of there. A VOICE bellows from
|
themselves
|
How many times does the word 'themselves' appear in the text?
| 0
|
This is HENRY.
He looks out at the horizon. It's starting to get light
out. There's snow on the ground.
He's neither asleep nor awake.
<b> INT. TOLL BOOTH - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
HENRY'S PLASTIC GLOVES unscrew a THERMOS, pour coffee
into a Styrofoam cup. There are only a few drops left.
<b> A CAR
</b> Approaches. Henry straightens, slides open his window.
But the CAR veers over to the automated EZ-PASS LANE...
Henry closes the window, watches the car disappear. He
downs the last of his coffee, looks back out at the
horizon again.
It's cloudy out there.
<b> A CLOCK
</b> flips to 6:00.
<b> INT. TOLL BOOTH - LATER
</b>
Henry packs up his thermos, puts on his coat and steps
out into the icy morning.
He walks toward his truck. The traffic is beginning to
build.
<b> EXT. BUFFALO STREET - MORNING
</b>
Henry's old FORD PICK-UP drives past the enormous,
abandoned CENTRAL TRAIN TERMINAL.
<b> EXT. BUFFALO STREET - MORNING
</b>
The pick-up turns down toward a neighborhood of modest
salt-box houses.
<b> EXT. HENRY'S HOUSE - MORNING
</b>
Henry's truck rolls into his driveway.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. HENRY'S HOUSE - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
Henry enters. Hangs up his down jacket on a row of hooks.
It's clean and ordinary in here.
His wife, DEBBIE, is in the kitchen. She's wearing a
|
into
|
How many times does the word 'into' appear in the text?
| 2
|
and
<b> MENNO MEYJES
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERT OF THE AMERICAN SOUTHWEST - DAY
</b>
A mountain peak dominates the landscape.
<b> TITLES BEGIN.
</b>
Riders on horseback cross the desert. From this distance they appear to be a
company of Army Cavalry Soldiers.
<b> CLOSER ANGLES ON THE RIDERS
</b>
reveal only details of saddles, hooves and uniforms. The riders are silhouetted
against the rising sun as they ride into an ancient CLIFF PUEBLO.
The OFFICER IN COMMAND raises his hand halting his troops.
<b> OFFICER
</b> Dis-mount!
RIDERS climb down from their mounts... and only now do we realize that
this is a TROOP OF BOY SCOUTS, all of them about thirteen years of age. The
"Commanding Officer" is only their SCOUTMASTER, Mr. Havelock.
One of the Scouts, a pudgy kid named HERMAN, steps away from his horse,
bends over and pukes. The other Scouts rag on him.
<b> FIRST SCOUT
</b> Herman's horsesick!
A BLOND SCOUT, however, befriends Herman. He has a thatch of straw-colored
hair and the no-nonsense expression common to kids whose curiosity and appetite
for knowledge exceed what they teach in school. Additionally, he has adorned his
uniform with an authentic HOPI INDIAN WOVEN BELT.
<b> SCOUTMASTER
</b> Chaps, don't anybody wander off.
Some of the passageways in here
can run for miles.
Two Boy Scouts climb up the rocky base of the cliff.
<b> INT. THE PASSAGEWAY - DAY
</b>
The two boys head down the passageway. It's dark, and the temperature drops
several degrees. Spiders have built huge webs that get caught in the boys' hair.
HERMAN appears very uncertain as to the wisdom of this enterprise, but he's
drawn on by his companion's adventurous curiosity.
<b>CONTINUED:
</b>
<b> HERMAN
</b> I don't think this is such a good
idea.
LAUGHTER is HEARD; the Blond Scout pulls Herman forward toward its source.
The VOICES GROW LOUDER now as the boys get closer to their source. The light
of kerosene lanterns dances on the tunnel walls ahead. The boys approach
cautiously, careful to stay hidden.
<b> HERMAN
</b> What is it?
This is what they see:
FOUR MEN digging with shovels and pick-axes. They have broken into one of the
pueblo's SECRET CHAMBERS... called "Kivas."
The men are ROUGH RIDER (his name describes his dress), ROSCOE (a Bowery
Boy bully of 14) and HALFBREED (with straight black hair that cascades over his
shoulders).
And the fourth man wears a LEATHER WAIST JACKET and BROWN FELT
FEDORA HAT. He has his back turned to us, but we would be willing to bet
anything that this is INDLANA JONES.
However, when the man turns, and his face is illuminated by the lantern's glow,
we are shocked to discover that it is someone else.
We'll call him FEDORA.
|
scoutmaster
|
How many times does the word 'scoutmaster' appear in the text?
| 1
|
he will do so. All
things considered, then, I say, I know not how to choose between you,
my sons; so let luck choose for me, and ye shall draw cuts for your
roads; and he that draweth longest shall go north, and the next longest
shall go east, and the third straw shall send the drawer west; but as
to him who draweth the shortest cut, he shall go no whither but back
again to my house, there to abide with me the chances and changes of
life; and it is most like that this one shall sit in my chair when I am
gone, and be called King of Upmeads.
"Now, my sons, doth this ordinance please you? For if so be it doth
not, then may ye all abide at home, and eat of my meat, and drink of my
cup, but little chided either for sloth or misdoing, even as it hath
been aforetime."
The young men looked at one another, and Blaise answered and said:
"Sir, as for me I say we will do after your commandment, to take what
road luck may show us, or to turn back home again." They all yeasaid
this one after the other; and then King Peter said: "Now before I draw
the cuts, I shall tell you that I have appointed the squires to go with
each one of you. Richard the Red shall go with Blaise; for though he
be somewhat stricken in years, and wise, yet is he a fierce carle and a
doughty, and knoweth well all feats of arms.
"Lancelot Longtongue shall be squire to Hugh; for he is good of seeming
and can compass all courtesy, and knoweth logic (though it be of the
law and not of the schools), yet is he a proper man of his hands; as
needs must he be who followeth Hugh; for where is Hugh, there is
trouble and debate.
"Clement the Black shall serve Gregory: for he is a careful carle, and
speaketh one word to every ten deeds that he doeth; whether they be
done with point and edge, or with the hammer in the smithy.
"Lastly, I have none left to follow thee, Ralph, save Nicholas
Longshanks; but though he hath more words than I have, yet hath he more
wisdom, and is a man lettered and far-travelled, and loveth our house
right well.
"How say ye, sons, is this to your liking?"
They all said "yea." Then quoth the king; "Nicholas, bring hither the
straws ready dight, and I will give them my sons to draw."
So each young man came up in turn and drew; and King Peter laid the
straws together and looked at them, and said:
"Thus it is, Hugh goeth north with Lancelot, Gregory westward with
Clement." He stayed a moment and then said: "Blaise fareth eastward
and Richard with him. As for thee, Ralph my dear son, thou shalt back
with me and abide in my house and I shall see thee day by day; and thou
shalt help me to live my last years happily in all honour; and thy love
shall be my hope, and thy valiancy my stay."
Therewith he arose and threw his arm about the young man's neck; but he
shrank away a little from his father, and his face grew troubled; and
King Peter noted that, and his countenance fell, and he said:
"Nay nay, my son; grudge not thy brethren the chances of the road, and
the ill-hap of the battle. Here at least for thee is the bounteous
board and the full cup, and the love of kindred and well-willers, and
the fellowship of the folk. O well is thee, my son, and happy shalt
thou be!"
But the young man knit his brows and said no word in answer.
Then came forward those three brethren who were to fare at all
adventure, and they stood before the old man saying nought. Then he
laughed and said: "O ho, my sons! Here in Upmeads have ye all ye need
without money, but when ye fare in the outlands ye need money;
|
take
|
How many times does the word 'take' appear in the text?
| 0
|
><b>
</b> Short story by
<b>
</b> Shane Acker
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SEQ. 05 - PROLOGUE
</b><b>
</b> The Focus Features logo appears on screen and we slide INTO
the "O" in Focus.
<b>
</b> Stock dissolves from 35mm to 16mm. BLACK & WHITE. GRAINY,
like OLD DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE.
<b>
</b><b> SCIENTIST'S VOICE
</b> Experiment 208, day 20...
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. SCIENTIST'S LAB - DAY
</b>
We see an early incarnation of a MACHINE (this will be the
inner brain of the FABRICATION MACHINE). We see the
scientist, in a white coat.
<b>
</b> We pull back to see the Scientist is playing a complicated
MULTI-LEVEL 3-D chess game on a MULTI-LEVEL GAME BOARD with
the MACHINE. The Scientist makes an elaborate multi-level
move. The Machine reaches an arm out into the chess game but
then malfunctions and strews the game everywhere.
<b>
</b> We pull back further to see the back and legs of the
DICTATOR, with black-uniformed soldiers flanking him. The
regime's emblem can be seen on the uniforms.
<b>
</b><b> DICTATOR
</b> Useless.
<b>
</b><b> SCIENTIST
</b>
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 1
|
FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY
</b>
The white sun beats down on the rocky terrain. There's not a
cloud in the blue sky and the wind is at a standstill.
Far in the distance, a MEDIUM SIZED FLAT-BED TRUCK makes its
way to the entrance of a large cavern opening. Two VULTURES
perched on a barren tree watch the intruders.
<b> EXT. DESERT -- DAY
</b>
The truck screeches to a dusty stop. Three men in matching
coveralls and hard hats jump from the cab: CHIEF (42, stocky,
weary), LANKY (32, withered) and COLLEGE BOY (23, clean cut
and naive).
Chief holds a map and glares into the howling black mouth
before them.
<b> CHIEF
</b> This is it.
<b> LANKY
</b> Why did it have to be these caves...
<b> COLLEGE BOY
</b> Is something wrong?
<b> LANKY
</b> (to College Boy)
Don't mind me, buddy. It's nothin'.
Chief grabs a flashlight and moves to the back of the truck.
The logo on the rear gate reads "WIGWAM WASTE MANAGEMENT."
<b> CHIEF
</b> Let's get that first barrel.
The gate drops revealing their full load of YELLOW BARRELS
bearing the familiar BIOHAZARD WASTE symbol.
<b> INT. CAVERN -- MOMENTS LATER
</b>
|
withered
|
How many times does the word 'withered' appear in the text?
| 0
|
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>
|
away
|
How many times does the word 'away' appear in the text?
| 1
|
A 5-year old girl wearing pajamas wanders alone down the
street.
<b> FRANKIE
</b><b> (BARELY AUDIBLE)
</b> Me-gan!
<b> INT. PERIERA HOME - PRESENT DAY
</b><b> 2 2
</b>
FRANKIE crawls through a dog door. She walks into the living
room where the TV is on loud.
DEAN PERIERA, 30 years old, hefty, sleeps in a lazyboy.
<b> FRANKIE
</b><b> (HUSHED)
</b> Daddydaddydaddy.
Frankie uses the footrest to crawl up onto her dad's belly.
<b> FRANKIE (CONT'D)
</b> Wake up Daddy.
<b> DEAN (WAKING)
</b> What time is it baby?
She sniffles. He notices.
<b> EXT. PERIERA HOME - BACK/FRONT YARDS - PRESENT DAY
</b>
The back door opens and Dean carries Frankie to the yard. The
first yellow rays of sunlight hit their faces.
He looks over the lawn, an empty bowl, water tin and a
doghouse posting the name MEGAN. He peeks inside the
doghouse. There's no one home. Dean moves to
|
frankie
|
How many times does the word 'frankie' appear in the text?
| 5
|
firstborn by a nearly equal
interval.
Some circumstance had apparently caused much grief to Charley just
previous to the entry of the choir, and he had absently taken down a
small looking-glass, holding it before his face to learn how the human
countenance appeared when engaged in crying, which survey led him to
pause at the various points in each wail that were more than ordinarily
striking, for a thorough appreciation of the general effect. Bessy was
leaning against a chair, and glancing under the plaits about the waist of
the plaid frock she wore, to notice the original unfaded pattern of the
material as there preserved, her face bearing an expression of regret
that the brightness had passed away from the visible portions. Mrs. Dewy
sat in a brown settle by the side of the glowing wood fire--so glowing
that with a heedful compression of the lips she would now and then rise
and put her hand upon the hams and flitches of bacon lining the chimney,
to reassure herself that they were not being broiled instead of smoked--a
misfortune that had been known to happen now and then at Christmas-time.
"Hullo, my sonnies, here you be, then!" said Reuben Dewy at length,
standing up and blowing forth a vehement gust of breath. "How the blood
do puff up in anybody's head, to be sure, a-stooping like that! I was
just going out to gate to hark for ye." He then carefully began to wind
a strip of brown paper round a brass tap he held in his hand. "This in
the cask here is a drop o' the right sort" (tapping the cask); "'tis a
real drop o' cordial from the best picked apples--Sansoms, Stubbards,
Five-corners, and such-like--you d'mind the sort, Michael?" (Michael
nodded.) "And there's a sprinkling of they that grow down by the orchard-
rails--streaked ones--rail apples we d'call 'em, as 'tis by the rails
they grow, and not knowing the right name. The water-cider from 'em is
as good as most people's best cider is."
"Ay, and of the same make too," said Bowman. "'It rained when we wrung
it out, and the water got into it,' folk will say. But 'tis on'y an
excuse. Watered cider is too common among us."
"Yes, yes; too common it is!" said Spinks with an inward sigh, whilst his
eyes seemed to be looking at the case in an abstract form rather than at
the scene before him. "Such poor liquor do make a man's throat feel very
melancholy--and is a disgrace to the name of stimmilent."
"Come in, come in, and draw up to the fire; never mind your shoes," said
Mrs. Dewy, seeing that all except Dick had paused to wipe them upon the
door-mat. "I am glad that you've stepped up-along at last; and, Susan,
you run down to Grammer Kaytes's and see if you can borrow some larger
candles than these fourteens. Tommy Leaf, don't ye be afeard! Come and
sit here in the settle."
This was addressed to the young man before mentioned, consisting chiefly
of a human skeleton and a smock-frock, who was very awkward in his
movements, apparently on account of having grown so very fast that before
he had had time to get used to his height he was higher.
"Hee--hee--ay!" replied Leaf, letting his mouth continue to smile for
some time after his mind had done smiling, so that his teeth remained in
view as the most conspicuous members of his body.
"Here, Mr. Penny," resumed Mrs. Dewy, "you sit in this chair. And how's
your daughter, Mrs. Brownjohn?"
"Well, I suppose I must say pretty fair." He adjusted his spectacles a
quarter of an inch to the right. "But she'll be worse before she's
better, 'a b'lieve."
"Indeed--poor soul! And how many will that make in all, four or five?"
"Five; they've buried three
|
before
|
How many times does the word 'before' appear in the text?
| 4
|
DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>3. EXT. CROSSWALK - SHADY STREET - DAY
</b>
A very clean uniformed, smiling POLICEMAN with arms outstretched allows
clean happy SCHOOL CHILDREN to cross the street safely.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>4. EXT. SHADY STREET - DAY
</b>
A bright red gorgeous fire engine is moving very slowly down the street.
We MOVE IN to see the happy face of a FIREMAN.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>5. EXT. FLOWER GARDEN - DAY
</b>
Yellow tulips sway in a warm afternoon breeze.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>6. EXT. BEAUMONTS' FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
The same white picket fence with roses in front of it.
PANNING SLOWLY now away from the roses down to the rich green lawn
and over to the sprinkler which goes around and around shooting water
droplets sparkling in the light.
This is slightly SLOW MOTION and DREAMY.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>7. EXT. BEAUMONTS' FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
CLOSER ON WATER DROPLETS. The water droplets are somewhat abstracted
as they dance in the light.
PAN DOWN now to the green grass, traveling along the grass.
The MUSIC becomes fainter as we MOVE SUDDENLY under the grass, now as
if in a dark forest.
<b>SLOWLY MOVING THROUGH.
</b>
The grass is like great timbers.
It is GETTING DARKER and ominous SOUNDS come up as we discover black
insects crawling and scratching in the darkness.
<b>FADE TO:
</b>
<b>8. EXT. BEAUMONT'S FRONT LAWN - DAY
</b>
MR. BEAUMONT is watering flowers and grass with the hose.
He is dressed in khaki trousers, canvas shoes, old white shirt, straw
hat and dark glasses.
<b>CLOSE - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>
watches his watering, then looks up.
The sky and the neighborhood are reflected in his dark glasses. He
moves his false teeth around a little in his mouth, jutting out his chin
in the process. He's thinking about who knows what.
He looks back down at his lawn.
<b>CLOSEUP - WATER ON GRASS
</b>
The water hits the grass and mats it down.
<b>WIDER - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>
moves the hose over a bush and gets a kink in it.
Water stops coming out of the nozzle and there is a LOUD HISSING NOISE
of water under pressure.
<b>CLOSEUP - KINK IN HOSE
</b>
Loud HISSING NOISE.
Mr. Beaumont goes around the bush and is undoing the kink when he is
suddenly hit with a tremendous seizure.
<b>CLOSEUP - MR. BEAUMONT
</b>He's doubling over and falls to the ground. He continues to grasp onto
the hose.
Water shoots crazily onto the driveway and his car.
Mr. Beaumont seems to be in tremendous pain.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>9. INT. BEAUMONTS' LIVING ROOM - DAY
</b>
Mrs. Beaumont is curled up on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching
T.V. It's a daytime soap.
<b>CLOSEUP - MRS. BEAUMONT
|
grass
|
How many times does the word 'grass' appear in the text?
| 6
|
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>
|
cont
|
How many times does the word 'cont' appear in the text?
| 2
|
fades in over black:
This is a true story. The events depicted in this film took place
in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the survivors, the names
have been changed. Out of respect for the dead, the rest has been
told exactly as it occured.
<b> FLARE TO WHITE
</b>
<b> FADE IN FROM WHITE
</b>
Slowly the white becomes a barely perceptible image: white
particles wave over a white background. A snowfall.
A car bursts through the curtain of snow.
The car is equipped with a hitch and is towing another car,
a brand-new light brown Cutlass Ciera with the pink sales
sticker showing in its rear window.
As the car roars past, leaving snow swirling in their dirft,
the title of the film fades in.
<b> FARGO
</b>
Green highway signs point the way to MOOREHEAD,
MINNESOTA/FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA. The roads for the two cities
diverge. A sign says WELCOME TO NORTH DAKOTA and another
just after says NOW ENTERING FARGO, ND, POP. 44,412.
The car pulls into a Rodeway Inn.
<b> HOTEL LOBBY
</b>
A man in his early forties, balding and starting to paunch,
goes to the reception desk. The clerk is an older woman.
<b> CLERK
</b> And how are you today, sir?
<b> MAN
</b> Real good now. I'm checking in
- Mr. Anderson.
The man prints "Jerry Lundega" onto a registration card,
then hastily crosses out the last name and starts to print
"Anderson."
As she types into a computer:
<b> CLERK
</b> Okay, Mr. Anderson, and you're
still planning on staying with
us just the night, then?
<b> ANDERSON
</b> You bet.
<b> HOTEL ROOM
</b>
The man turns on the TV, which shows the local evening news.
<b> NEWS ANCHOR
</b> - whether they will go to summer
camp at all. Katie Jensen has
more.
<b> KATIE
</b> It was supposed to be a project
funded by the city council; it
was supposed to benefit those
Fargo-Moorehead children who
would otherwise not be able to
afford to attend a lakeshore
summer camp. But nobody consulted
city controller Stu Jacobson...
<b> CHAIN RESTAURANT
</b>
Anderson sits alone at a table finishing dinner. Muzak
plays. A middle-aged waitress approaches holding a pot of
regular coffee in one hand and decaf in the other.
<b> WAITRESS
</b> Can I warm that up for ya there?
<b> ANDERSON
</b> You bet.
The man looks at his watch.
<b> THROUGH A WINDSHIELD
</b>
We are pulling into the snowswept parking lot of a one-story
brick building. Broken neon at the top of the building
identifies it as the Jolly Troll Tavern. A troll, also in
neon, holds a champagne glass aloft.
<b> INSIDE
</b>
The bar is downscale even for this town. Country music
plays on the jukebox.
Two men are seated in a booth at the back. One is short,
slight, youngish. The other man is somewhat older, and
dour. The table in front of them is littered with empty
long-neck beer
|
anderson
|
How many times does the word 'anderson' appear in the text?
| 5
|
temptations to sinful
extravagance which it led him into. He had begun to spend more than he
ought, not in intellectual--though that would have been wrong--but in
purely sensual things. His wines, his table, should be such as no
squire's purse or palate could command. His dinner-parties--small in
number, the viands rare and delicate in quality, and sent up to table by
an Italian cook--should be such as even the London stars should notice
with admiration. He would have Lettice dressed in the richest materials,
the most delicate lace; jewellery, he said, was beyond their means;
glancing with proud humility at the diamonds of the elder ladies, and the
alloyed gold of the younger. But he managed to spend as much on his
wife's lace as would have bought many a set of inferior jewellery.
Lettice well became it all. If as people said, her father had been
nothing but a French adventurer, she bore traces of her nature in her
grace, her delicacy, her fascinating and elegant ways of doing all
things. She was made for society; and yet she hated it. And one day she
went out of it altogether and for evermore. She had been well in the
morning when Edward went down to his office in Hamley. At noon he was
sent for by hurried trembling messengers. When he got home breathless
and uncomprehending, she was past speech. One glance from her lovely
loving black eyes showed that she recognised him with the passionate
yearning that had been one of the characteristics of her love through
life. There was no word passed between them. He could not speak, any
more than could she. He knelt down by her. She was dying; she was dead;
and he knelt on immovable. They brought him his eldest child, Ellinor,
in utter despair what to do in order to rouse him. They had no thought
as to the effect on her, hitherto shut up in the nursery during this busy
day of confusion and alarm. The child had no idea of death, and her
father, kneeling and tearless, was far less an object of surprise or
interest to her than her mother, lying still and white, and not turning
her head to smile at her darling.
"Mamma! mamma!" cried the child, in shapeless terror. But the mother
never stirred; and the father hid his face yet deeper in the bedclothes,
to stifle a cry as if a sharp knife had pierced his heart. The child
forced her impetuous way from her attendants, and rushed to the bed.
Undeterred by deadly cold or stony immobility, she kissed the lips and
stroked the glossy raven hair, murmuring sweet words of wild love, such
as had passed between the mother and child often and often when no
witnesses were by; and altogether seemed so nearly beside herself in an
agony of love and terror, that Edward arose, and softly taking her in his
arms, bore her away, lying back like one dead (so exhausted was she by
the terrible emotion they had forced on her childish heart), into his
study, a little room opening out of the grand library, where on happy
evenings, never to come again, he and his wife were wont to retire to
have coffee together, and then perhaps stroll out of the glass-door into
the open air, the shrubbery, the fields--never more to be trodden by
those dear feet. What passed between father and child in this seclusion
none could tell. Late in the evening Ellinor's supper was sent for, and
the servant who brought it in saw the child lying as one dead in her
father's arms, and before he left the room watched his master feeding
her, the girl of six years of age, with as tender care as if she had been
a baby of six months.
CHAPTER III.
From that time the tie between father and daughter grew very strong and
tender indeed. Ellinor, it is true, divided her affection between her
baby sister and her papa; but he, caring little for babies, had only a
theoretic regard for his younger child, while the elder absorbed all his
love. Every day that he dined at home Ellinor was placed opposite to him
while he ate his
|
well
|
How many times does the word 'well' appear in the text?
| 1
|
or. He could crouch and lie low, watch his prey a long
while, spring upon it, open his jaws, swallow a mass of louis, and
then rest tranquilly like a snake in process of digestion, impassible,
methodical, and cold. No one saw him pass without a feeling of
admiration mingled with respect and fear; had not every man in Saumur
felt the rending of those polished steel claws? For this one, Maitre
Cruchot had procured the money required for the purchase of a domain,
but at eleven per cent. For that one, Monsieur des Grassins discounted
bills of exchange, but at a frightful deduction of interest. Few days
ever passed that Monsieur Grandet's name was not mentioned either in the
markets or in social conversations at the evening gatherings. To some
the fortune of the old wine-grower was an object of patriotic pride.
More than one merchant, more than one innkeeper, said to strangers
with a certain complacency: "Monsieur, we have two or three millionaire
establishments; but as for Monsieur Grandet, he does not himself know
how much he is worth."
In 1816 the best reckoners in Saumur estimated the landed property of
the worthy man at nearly four millions; but as, on an average, he had
made yearly, from 1793 to 1817, a hundred thousand francs out of that
property, it was fair to presume that he possessed in actual money a sum
nearly equal to the value of his estate. So that when, after a game of
boston or an evening discussion on the matter of vines, the talk fell
upon Monsieur Grandet, knowing people said: "Le Pere Grandet? le Pere
Grandet must have at least five or six millions."
"You are cleverer than I am; I have never been able to find out the
amount," answered Monsieur Cruchot or Monsieur des Grassins, when either
chanced to overhear the remark.
If some Parisian mentioned Rothschild or Monsieur Lafitte, the people of
Saumur asked if he were as rich as Monsieur Grandet. When the Parisian,
with a smile, tossed them a disdainful affirmative, they looked at each
other and shook their heads with an incredulous air. So large a fortune
covered with a golden mantle all the actions of this man. If in early
days some peculiarities of his life gave occasion for laughter or
ridicule, laughter and ridicule had long since died away. His least
important actions had the authority of results repeatedly shown. His
speech, his clothing, his gestures, the blinking of his eyes, were law
to the country-side, where every one, after studying him as a naturalist
studies the result of instinct in the lower animals, had come to
understand the deep mute wisdom of his slightest actions.
"It will be a hard winter," said one; "Pere Grandet has put on his fur
gloves."
"Pere Grandet is buying quantities of staves; there will be plenty of
wine this year."
Monsieur Grandet never bought either bread or meat. His farmers supplied
him weekly with a sufficiency of capons, chickens, eggs, butter, and
his tithe of wheat. He owned a mill; and the tenant was bound, over and
above his rent, to take a certain quantity of grain and return him the
flour and bran. La Grande Nanon, his only servant, though she was no
longer young, baked the bread of the household herself every Saturday.
Monsieur Grandet arranged with kitchen-gardeners who were his tenants
to supply him with vegetables. As to fruits, he gathered such quantities
that he sold the greater part in the market. His fire-wood was cut from
his own hedgerows or taken from the half-rotten old sheds which he built
at the corners of his fields, and whose planks the farmers carted into
town for him, all cut up, and obligingly stacked in his wood-house,
receiving in return his thanks. His only known expenditures were for the
consecrated bread, the clothing of his wife and daughter, the hire of
their chairs in church, the wages of la Grand Nanon, the tinning of the
saucepans, lights, taxes, repairs on his buildings, and the costs of
his
|
monsieur
|
How many times does the word 'monsieur' appear in the text?
| 10
|
Revisions by
Edward Zwick & Marshall Herskovitz
<b>
</b><b> 1.
</b>Fade In:
<b>A BRIGHT BLUE TIGER
</b>
Surrounded by a pack of dogs, ten of them snarling and gnashing their teeth.
The TIGER'S, eyes burn with fury as he wheels in a circle, lunging at one
dog clawing at another, keeping them all at bay.
Suddenly, the TIGER leaps over the dogs and transforms into a WHITE
BIRD, soaring majestically into the sky.
<b>THE FACE OF A JAPANESE MAN
</b>
Sits up into frame, sweating, waking from a dream. He is KATSUMOTO.
We will come to know him later.
Fade to black. CREDITS OVER.
The faint SOUND of a BRASS BAND.
<b> WINCHESTER REP (V.O.)
</b> the leader in all forms of armament used by the
United States Army. When you need a friend,
Winchester is by your side. .
<b>THE FACE OF AN AMERICAN MAN
</b>
As he smokes a cigar, barely listening. CAPTAIN _NATHAN ALGREN,
U.S. Army, ret, 36 years old and looking every da y of it. His eyes are lined
and saddened. He takes a swig from a flask. He is BACKSTAGE at:
<b>INT. CONVENTION HALL SAN FRANCISCO DAY
</b>
Where a trade show is in progress. Scantily clad lovelies in red-white-and-
blue undies demonstrate the nation's most important new export: arms.
Every weapon imaginable is on display: rifles, pistols, even howitzers. Banners
declaim the virtues of Winchester and Springfield. Of Colt and Remington
and Smith & Wesson. Crowds mill around a stage. where:
<b> WINCHESTER REP
</b> Ladies and Gentlemen ... the Winchester
Corporation is proud to bring to you... a true
American hero. A patriot who has proven his
gallantry time and again on the field of battle.
LITTLE TIN SOLDIERS are all lined up. A mass of grey. Rebel troops
surrounding a band of blue Union cavalry. A large, metal diorama.
<b>
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 1
|
impatience. 'I showed my signet ring to the guard at the gate, and to
the one outside your door, and they admitted me unannounced, not knowing
me, but supposing me to be a secret courier from Ayodhya. Let us not now
waste time.
'You have received no word from the chief of the barbarians?'
'None save threats and curses, Devi. He is wary and suspicious. He deems
it a trap, and perhaps he is not to be blamed. The Kshatriyas have not
always kept their promises to the hill people.'
'He must be brought to terms!' broke in Yasmina, the knuckles of her
clenched hands showing white.
'I do not understand.' The governor shook his head. 'When I chanced to
capture these seven hill-men, I reported their capture to the _wazam_,
as is the custom, and then, before I could hang them, there came an
order to hold them and communicate with their chief. This I did, but the
man holds aloof, as I have said. These men are of the tribe of Afghulis,
but he is a foreigner from the west, and he is called Conan. I have
threatened to hang them tomorrow at dawn, if he does not come.'
'Good!' exclaimed the Devi. 'You have done well. And I will tell you why
I have given these orders. My brother--' she faltered, choking, and the
governor bowed his head, with the customary gesture of respect for a
departed sovereign.
'The king of Vendhya was destroyed by magic,' she said at last. 'I have
devoted my life to the destruction of his murderers. As he died he gave
me a clue, and I have followed it. I have read the _Book of Skelos_, and
talked with nameless hermits in the caves below Jhelai. I learned how,
and by whom, he was destroyed. His enemies were the Black Seers of Mount
Yimsha.'
'Asura!' whispered Chunder Shan, paling.
Her eyes knifed him through. 'Do you fear them?'
'Who does not, Your Majesty?' he replied. 'They are black devils,
haunting the uninhabited hills beyond the Zhaibar. But the sages say
that they seldom interfere in the lives of mortal men.'
'Why they slew my brother I do not know,' she answered. 'But I have
sworn on the altar of Asura to destroy them! And I need the aid of a man
beyond the border. A Kshatriya army, unaided, would never reach Yimsha.'
'Aye,' muttered Chunder Shan. 'You speak the truth there. It would be
fight every step of the way, with hairy hill-men hurling down boulders
from every height, and rushing us with their long knives in every
valley. The Turanians fought their way through the Himelians once, but
how many returned to Khurusun? Few of those who escaped the swords of
the Kshatriyas, after the king, your brother, defeated their host on the
Jhumda River, ever saw Secunderam again.'
'And so I must control men across the border,' she said, 'men who know
the way to Mount Yimsha--'
'But the tribes fear the Black Seers and shun the unholy mountain,'
broke in the governor.
'Does the chief, Conan, fear them?' she asked.
'Well, as to that,' muttered the governor, 'I doubt if there is anything
that devil fears.'
'So I have been told. Therefore he is the man I must deal with. He
wishes the release of his seven men. Very well; their ransom shall be
the heads of the Black Seers!' Her voice thrummed with hate as she
uttered the last words, and her hands clenched at her sides. She looked
an image of incarnate passion as she stood there with her head thrown
high and her bosom heaving.
Again the governor knelt, for part of his wisdom was the knowledge that
a woman in such an emotional tempest is as perilous as a blind cobra to
any about her.
'It shall be as you wish, Your Majesty.' Then as she presented a calmer
aspect, he rose
|
them
|
How many times does the word 'them' appear in the text?
| 5
|
<b>BENEATH IT, THE NEXT LINE FADES IN:
</b>
Because a dog is smarter than its tail.
<b>CROSS-FADE TO THE NEXT CARD, WHICH READS:
</b>
If the tail were smarter, the tail would wag the dog.
<b>DISSOLVE
</b>
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT THE WHITE HOUSE NIGHT
</b>
<b>A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE STOPS AT A SIDE ENTRANCE.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<b>AT THE SIDE, UTILITY ENTRANCE, WE SEE THE DISGORGING WORKING-CLASS MEN AND
</b><b>WOMEN, THEY PASS THROUGH SECURITY SCREENING IN THE B.G., THROUGH METAL
</b><b>DETECTORS, AND PAST SEVERAL GUARDS WHO CHECK THE PHOTO-I.D.'S AROUND THEIR
</b><b>NECKS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE WHITE HOUSE
</b>
<u>WILFRED AMES</u>, AND <u>AMY CAIN</u>, A BRIGHT YOUNG WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES, WALKING DOWN
<b>A CORRIDOR, LOOKING WORRIED.
</b>
<b>ANGLE AMES AND CAIN
</b><b>AMES AND CAIN HAVE STOPPED AT THE END OF THE HALL. BEYOND THEM WE SEE THE
</b><b>CLEANING PEOPLE COMING IN FROM THE VAN, AND BEING CLEARED THROUGH A METAL
</b><b>DETECTOR INTO A HOLDING AREA, AND HANDED CLEANING MATERIALS, MOPS, VACUUMS, ET
</b><b>CETERA, BY A TYPE HOLDING A CLIPBOARD. PART OF THE GROUP, A MAN IN HIS
</b><b>FORTIES, IN A RATTY JACKET, OPEN COLLARED SHIRT, PASSES THROUGH THE GROUP,
</b><b>AND IS STOPPED BY A SECRET SERVICEMAN WHO APPEARS NEXT TO AMES. IN THE B.G.
</b><b>WE SEE A TV IN AN ADJACENT ROOM, SHOWING A POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b> AMES
</b><b> (TO SECRET SERVICEMAN)
</b> ...That's him.
<b>AMES MOVES OUT OF THE SHOT. LEAVING US ON THE POLITICAL COMMERCIAL.
</b>
<b>WE SEE TWO BUSINESS PEOPLE ON THE PLANE, A MAN AND A WOMAN.
</b>
<b> BUSINESSMAN
</b> Well, all I know, you don't change horses in the middle
of the stream.
<b> BUSINESSWOMAN
</b> "Don't change Horses," well, there's a lot of truth in
that.
<b>THE IMAGE SHIFTS TO A PRESIDENT, DOING PRESIDENTIAL THINGS. AND THE VOICE-
</b><b>OVER.
</b>
<b> VOICE-OVER
</b> For Peace
|
tail
|
How many times does the word 'tail' appear in the text?
| 2
|
seize upon his goods:
Be thou lord bishop, and receive his rents,
And make him serve thee as thy chaplain:
I give him thee; here, use him as thou wilt.
_Gav._ He shall to prison, and there die in bolts.
_K. Edw._ Ay, to the Tower, the Fleet, or where thou wilt.
_Bish. of Cov._ For this offence be thou accurs'd of God!
_K. Edw._ Who's there? Convey this priest to the Tower.
_Bish. of Cov._ True, true.
_K. Edw._ But, in the meantime, Gaveston, away,
And take possession of his house and goods.
Come, follow me, and thou shalt have my guard
To see it done, and bring thee safe again.
_Gav._ What should a priest do with so fair a house?
A prison may beseem his holiness. [_Exeunt._
_Enter, on one side, the elder_ MORTIMER, _and the younger_
MORTIMER; _on the other,_ WARWICK, _and_ LANCASTER.
_War._ 'Tis true, the bishop is in the Tower,
And goods and body given to Gaveston.
_Lan._ What, will they tyrannise upon the church?
Ah, wicked King! accursed Gaveston!
This ground, which is corrupted with their steps,
Shall be their timeless sepulchre or mine.
_Y. Mor._ Well, let that peevish Frenchman guard him sure;
Unless his breast be sword-proof, he shall die.
_E. Mor._ How now! why droops the Earl of Lancaster?
_Y. Mor._ Wherefore is Guy of Warwick discontent?
_Lan._ That villain Gaveston is made an earl.
_E. Mor._ An earl!
_War._ Ay, and besides Lord-chamberlain of the realm,
And Secretary too, and Lord of Man.
_E. Mor._ We may not nor we will not suffer this.
_Y. Mor._ Why post we not from hence to levy men?
_Lan._ "My Lord of Cornwall" now at every word;
And happy is the man whom he vouchsafes,
For vailing of his bonnet, one good look.
Thus, arm in arm, the king and he doth march:
Nay, more, the guard upon his lordship waits,
And all the court begins to flatter him.
_War._ Thus leaning on the shoulder of the king,
He nods, and scorns, and smiles at those that pass.
_E. Mor._ Doth no man take exceptions at the slave?
_Lan._ All stomach him, but none dare speak a word.
_Y. Mor._ Ah, that bewrays their baseness, Lancaster!
Were all the earls and barons of my mind,
We'd hale him from the bosom of the king,
And at the court-gate hang the peasant up,
Who, swoln with venom of ambitious pride,
Will be the ruin of the realm and us.
_War._ Here comes my Lord of Canterbury's grace.
_Lan._ His countenance bewrays he is displeas'd.
_Enter the_ ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, _and an_
Attendant.
_Archb. of Cant._ First, were his sacred garments rent and torn;
Then laid they violent hands upon him; next,
Himself imprison'd, and his goods asseiz'd:
This certify the Pope: away, take horse. [_Exit Attendant._
_Lan._ My lord, will you take arms against the king?
_Archb. of Cant._ What need I? God himself is up in arms
When violence is offer
|
comes
|
How many times does the word 'comes' appear in the text?
| 0
|
.
Nor is this gentleman the only person begot and neglected by noble, or
rather ignoble parents; we have but too many now living, who owe their
birth to the best of our peerage, and yet know not where to eat. Hard
fate, when the child would be glad of the scraps which the servants
throw away! But Heaven generally rewards them accordingly, for many
noble families are become extinct, and large estates alienated into
other houses, while their own issue want bread.
And now, methinks, I hear some over-squeamish ladies cry, What would
this fellow be at? would not he set up a nursery for lewdness, and
encourage fornication? who would be afraid of sinning, if they can so
easily get rid of their bastards? we shall soon be overrun with
foundlings when there is such encouragement given to whoredom. To which
I answer, that I am as much against bastards being begot, as I am for
their being murdered; but when a child is once begot, it cannot be
unbegotten; and when once born, it must be kept; the fault, as I said
before, is in the parents, not the child; and we ought to show our
charity towards it as a fellow-creature and Christian, without any
regard to its legitimacy or otherwise.
The only way to put a stop to this growing evil, would be to oblige all
housekeepers not to admit a man and woman as lodgers till they were
certified of their being lawfully married; for now-a-days nothing is
more common than for a whoremonger and a strumpet to pretend marriage,
till they have left a child or two on the parish, and then shift to
another part of the town.
If there were no receivers, there would be no thieves; if there were no
bawdyhouses, there would be no whores; and though persons letting
lodgings be not actual procurers, yet, if they connive at the embraces
of a couple, whose marriage is doubtful, they are no better than bawds,
and their houses no more than brothels.
Now should anybody ask how shall this hospital be built? how endowed? to
which I answer, follow the steps of the Venetians, the Hamburghers, and
other foreign states, &c., who have for ages past prosecuted this
glorious design, and found their account therein. As for building a
house, I am utterly against it, especially in the infancy of the affair:
let a place convenient be hired. Why should such a considerable sum be
sunk in building as has in late public structures, which have swallowed
up part of the profits and dividend, if not the capital, of unwary
stockmongers?
To my great joy I find my project already anticipated, and a noble
subscription carrying on for this purpose; to promote which I exhort all
persons of compassion and generosity, and I shall think myself happy, if
what I have said on this head may anyways contribute to further the
same.
Having said all I think material on this subject, I beg pardon for
leaving my reader so abruptly, and crave leave to proceed to another
article, viz.:--
_A proposal to prevent the expensive importation of foreign musicians,
&c., by forming an academy of our own._
It will no doubt be asked what have I to do with music? to which I
answer, I have been a lover of the science from my infancy, and in my
younger days was accounted no despicable performer on the viol and lute,
then much in vogue. I esteem it the most innocent amusement in life; it
generally relaxes, after too great a hurry of spirits, and composes the
mind into a sedateness prone to everything that is generous and good;
and when the more necessary parts of education are finished, it is a
most genteel and commendable accomplishment; it saves a great deal of
drinking and debauchery in our sex, and helps the ladies off with many
an idle hour, which sometimes might probably be worse employed
otherwise.
Our quality, gentry, and better sort of traders must have diversions;
and if those that are commendable be denied, they will take to worse;
now what can be more commendable than music, one of the seven liberal
sciences, and no mean branch of the mathematics?
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 5
|
il. At
half-past five we saw him and his clerk and, before he was able to enter
his carriage, had an opportunity to ask him the following question:
"'Can you, Monsieur de Marquet, give us any information as to this
affair, without inconvenience to the course of your inquiry?'
"'It is impossible for us to do it,' replied Monsieur de Marquet. 'I can
only say that it is the strangest affair I have ever known. The more we
think we know something, the further we are from knowing anything!'
"We asked Monsieur de Marquet to be good enough to explain his last
words; and this is what he said,--the importance of which no one will
fail to recognise:
"'If nothing is added to the material facts so far established, I
fear that the mystery which surrounds the abominable crime of which
Mademoiselle Stangerson has been the victim will never be brought to
light; but it is to be hoped, for the sake of our human reason, that
the examination of the walls, and of the ceiling of The Yellow
Room--an examination which I shall to-morrow intrust to the builder who
constructed the pavilion four years ago--will afford us the proof that
may not discourage us. For the problem is this: we know by what way the
assassin gained admission,--he entered by the door and hid himself under
the bed, awaiting Mademoiselle Stangerson. But how did he leave? How did
he escape? If no trap, no secret door, no hiding place, no opening
of any sort is found; if the examination of the walls--even to the
demolition of the pavilion--does not reveal any passage practicable--not
only for a human being, but for any being whatsoever--if the ceiling
shows no crack, if the floor hides no underground passage, one must
really believe in the Devil, as Daddy Jacques says!'"
And the anonymous writer in the "Matin" added in this article--which I
have selected as the most interesting of all those that were published
on the subject of this affair--that the examining magistrate appeared
to place a peculiar significance to the last sentence: "One must really
believe in the Devil, as Jacques says."
The article concluded with these lines: "We wanted to know what Daddy
Jacques meant by the cry of the Bete Du Bon Dieu." The landlord of the
Donjon Inn explained to us that it is the particularly sinister cry
which is uttered sometimes at night by the cat of an old woman,--Mother
Angenoux, as she is called in the country. Mother Angenoux is a sort of
saint, who lives in a hut in the heart of the forest, not far from the
grotto of Sainte-Genevieve.
"The Yellow Room, the Bete Du Bon Dieu, Mother Angenoux, the Devil,
Sainte-Genevieve, Daddy Jacques,--here is a well entangled crime which
the stroke of a pickaxe in the wall may disentangle for us to-morrow.
Let us at least hope that, for the sake of our human reason, as the
examining magistrate says. Meanwhile, it is expected that Mademoiselle
Stangerson--who has not ceased to be delirious and only pronounces
one word distinctly, 'Murderer! Murderer!'--will not live through the
night."
In conclusion, and at a late hour, the same journal announced that the
Chief of the Surete had telegraphed to the famous detective, Frederic
Larsan, who had been sent to London for an affair of stolen securities,
to return immediately to Paris.
CHAPTER II. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears for the First Time
I remember as well as if it had occurred yesterday, the entry of young
Rouletabille into my bedroom that morning. It was about eight o'clock
and I was still in bed reading the article in the "Matin" relative to
the Glandier crime.
But, before going further, it is time that I present my friend to the
reader.
I first knew Joseph Rouletabille when he was a young reporter. At that
time I was a beginner at the Bar and often met him in the corridors of
examining magistrates, when I had gone to get a "permit to communicate"
for the prison of Maz
|
jacques
|
How many times does the word 'jacques' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Copyright, 1959 1988 & 1998
Leo Marks
The screen remains dark for a moment.
In the darkness WE HEAR the film's THEME MUSIC - a gentle
whirring purring noise. Nothing to be alarmed about. It
might be a small contented motor.
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. A DESERTED STREET - NIGHT
</b>
LONG SHOT of the solitary figure of a WOMAN standing
professionally alone at the end of the street.
It is a bright, still night. We can HEAR the Woman whistling
'Stardust' merrily to herself.
CAMERA TRACKS around her. A Man's footsteps are overlaid.
We HEAR the Man start to whistle 'Stardust' under his breath -
haltingly at first, then in time with the Woman.
As we approach, she glances at us over her shoulder - then
turns round for a better look.
Her whistling stops - so, at the same moment, does the
man's.
CLOSE SHOT of DORA - a plump, attractive brunette - still
young enough to need two glances at the customers.
She smiles at us - and is pleased with the reception. She
hesitates for a long moment, weighing us up carefully...
and then - half defiantly, half expecting to be laughed
at.
<b> DORA
</b> It'll be two quid...
Evidently we have two quid.
She beams with relief - throws her fur over her shoulders,
jerks her head towards the right - and sets off.
CAMERA TRACKS after her. Overlaid is the sound of the
man's footsteps.
Dora resumes her whistling. So, under his breath, does the
man who is following her.
<b> EXT. A DESERTED STREET - NIGHT
</b>
A wider street than the last - but just as empty.
|
street
|
How many times does the word 'street' appear in the text?
| 3
|
DARKNESS. SILENCE. The following words sear onto screen:
Whenever a new breed of evil
emerges, a new breed of solider
must fight it.
<b> -- GENERAL CLAYTON "HAWK" ABERNATHY
</b>
<b> EXT. THE BASTILLE - PARIS - NIGHT
</b>
A HEAVY NIGHT MIST swirls around the imposing stone walls of
the Bastille. PRISON GUARDS patrol outside with their pikes
as the SCREAMS OF PRISONERS echo out the barred windows.
<b> SUPER: PARIS, 1641
</b>
<b> INT. PRISON BLOCK - BASTILLE PRISON - NIGHT
</b>
A pair of huge PRISON GUARDS walk down a row of filthy prison
cells. Whimpering, starving PRISONERS appear and disappear in
the flickering light of the wall torches. A large rat nibbles
some stale bread in the corner, watching the guards.
Finally, the two guards reach a cell whose PRISONER is not at
all whimpering or starving. A huge Scotsman with a proud
defiance in his eyes, a RED SQUARE MEDALLION dangling around
his neck, glares through the bars. This is JAMES McCULLEN.
The guards unlock his cell door, MATCHLOCK MUSKETS at the
ready. McCullen stares at the muskets, unimpressed. He speaks
with a thick Scottish brogue.
<b> MCCULLEN
</b> Still using matchlocks, are ya? I
can get you a pair of flintlocks,
you let me sneak out of here.
Everyone else in this sequence speaks with a French accent.
<b> GUARD #1
</b>
<b> (TEMPTED)
</b> Good ones?
The other Guard glares at him. McCullen goes for the kill.
<b> MCCULLEN
</b> The best. From Spain. And perhaps a
couple of pretty young ladies to
teach you how to use them.
Guard #1 is even more tempted, but his partner is a Loyalist.
<b> GUARD #2
</b> On yer feet, you Scottish pig.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> INT. FURNACE - BASTILLE PRISON - NIGHT
</b>
Huge, sweaty, bare-chested PRISON WORK
|
guard
|
How many times does the word 'guard' appear in the text?
| 3
|
happiness and her own;
but that of being an indifferent mother was not among them. She had
worried her husband daily for years because he was not in Parliament,
she had worried him because he would not furnish the house in Portman
Square, she had worried him because he objected to have more people
every winter at Greshamsbury Park than the house would hold; but now
she changed her tune and worried him because Selina coughed, because
Helena was hectic, because poor Sophy's spine was weak, and Matilda's
appetite was gone.
Worrying from such causes was pardonable it will be said. So it was;
but the manner was hardly pardonable. Selina's cough was certainly
not fairly attributable to the old-fashioned furniture in Portman
Square; nor would Sophy's spine have been materially benefited by
her father having a seat in Parliament; and yet, to have heard Lady
Arabella discussing those matters in family conclave, one would have
thought that she would have expected such results.
As it was, her poor weak darlings were carried about from London to
Brighton, from Brighton to some German baths, from the German baths
back to Torquay, and thence--as regarded the four we have named--to
that bourne from whence no further journey could be made under the
Lady Arabella's directions.
The one son and heir to Greshamsbury was named as his father, Francis
Newbold Gresham. He would have been the hero of our tale had not that
place been pre-occupied by the village doctor. As it is, those who
please may so regard him. It is he who is to be our favourite young
man, to do the love scenes, to have his trials and his difficulties,
and to win through them or not, as the case may be. I am too old now
to be a hard-hearted author, and so it is probable that he may not
die of a broken heart. Those who don't approve of a middle-aged
bachelor country doctor as a hero, may take the heir to Greshamsbury
in his stead, and call the book, if it so please them, "The Loves and
Adventures of Francis Newbold Gresham the Younger."
And Master Frank Gresham was not ill adapted for playing the part
of a hero of this sort. He did not share his sisters' ill-health,
and though the only boy of the family, he excelled all his sisters
in personal appearance. The Greshams from time immemorial had been
handsome. They were broad browed, blue eyed, fair haired, born with
dimples in their chins, and that pleasant, aristocratic dangerous
curl of the upper lip which can equally express good humour or scorn.
Young Frank was every inch a Gresham, and was the darling of his
father's heart.
The de Courcys had never been plain. There was too much hauteur, too
much pride, we may perhaps even fairly say, too much nobility in
their gait and manners, and even in their faces, to allow of their
being considered plain; but they were not a race nurtured by Venus
or Apollo. They were tall and thin, with high cheek-bones, high
foreheads, and large, dignified, cold eyes. The de Courcy girls had
all good hair; and, as they also possessed easy manners and powers
of talking, they managed to pass in the world for beauties till they
were absorbed in the matrimonial market, and the world at large cared
no longer whether they were beauties or not. The Misses Gresham were
made in the de Courcy mould, and were not on this account the less
dear to their mother.
The two eldest, Augusta and Beatrice, lived, and were apparently
likely to live. The four next faded and died one after another--all
in the same sad year--and were laid in the neat, new cemetery at
Torquay. Then came a pair, born at one birth, weak, delicate, frail
little flowers, with dark hair and dark eyes, and thin, long, pale
faces, with long, bony hands, and long bony feet, whom men looked on
as fated to follow their sisters with quick steps. Hitherto, however,
they had not followed them, nor had they suffered as their sisters
had suffered; and some people at Gres
|
those
|
How many times does the word 'those' appear in the text?
| 2
|
's got a pouch for a racquet but no racquet in it.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> What color hair does he have?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Black hair. Paul Michael Glaser.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Making Hutch David Soul?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Right. The blond guy.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> OK. That's wrong.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Dignan, it's --
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Plus where's Huggie Bear?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> He's not there. Huggie Bear isn't
in every single episode.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I think you might of dreamed this
one, Anthony.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> No. It's a real episode. The killer
is leading him across the city by
calling different pay phones.
They climb over a high wooden fence.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD. DAY
</b>
They walk through somebody's backyard.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Why?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> As part of his plan. I don't know
why.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> See, that's what I'm saying. It has
the logic of a dream.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> The point is the killer always
goes, May I speak to Starsky? He
says his name.
<b> DIGN
|
dreamed
|
How many times does the word 'dreamed' appear in the text?
| 0
|
racts in a constant collision of water.
SLOW MOTION, the hallucinatory prisms, like liquid
diamonds taking flight, dreamlike...
<b>EXT. OCEAN - DUSK
</b>
Backlit against a flaming sun a solitary SURFER glides
across the green glassy peak. TIME IS STRETCHED until his
movements gain a grace and fluidity not of this world.
Total Zen concentration. Body weight centered, eyes
forward and on the next section.
<b>EXT. URBAN STREET - DUSK
</b>
SLOW MOTION ON a black sedan.
Creeping along store fronts. Past a Winchell's.
PEOPLE splash steps down rain-washed sidewalks in DREAM
MOTION. The sedan turns past the FIRST VIRGINIA BANK and
into an alley.
<b>INT. BLACK SEDAN
</b>
TWO MEN and ONE WOMAN in SUSPENDED TIME put on overcoats
and hats. Under their hats strips of Scotch tape stretch
taut from the base of their nose to their forehead,
hideously distorting their features. Makes them look like
human PIGS.
<b>EXT. OCEAN
</b>
SILVERY in this light, almost metallic, as if from some
future-scape. The lone surfer SHREDS a long, endless
right wall.
ACCELERATING INTO REAL TIME -- as he stares into the pit,
digs in, drops into the sweet spot on the wave, hunkers
down.
His moves becoming aggressive, frenzied--
<b>INT. BLACK SEDAN
</b>
An M-16 clip is SMACKED into place and cocked with a
CACHACK! Ammo clips are SNICK-SNICKED into handgun butts
and a long clip is SSSNICKED into an UZI.
Watches are checked. The PIG NOSE people nod to each
other.
<b>EXT. BANK
</b>
Pig Nose #1, steals into position near the glass doors,
slams his back to the wall, weapon to cheek, breath fast.
<b>EXT. OCEAN
</b>
FAST NOW -- the surfboard rips a brutal gash in the face
of the wave. The surfer TRIMS down the line, pivoting the
board and going straight down, CARVING the bottom. He
slashes viciously back toward the lip and--
In a radical INVERTED AIR ATTACK sails SIX feet above the
wave in an explosion of water--
<b>INT. BANK
</b>
<b>--BAAAAAAMMM!
</b>Glass doors explode OPEN and Pig Nose #1 SPINS inside. He
fires a burst into the ceiling. BRRAAMM!!
<b> PIG NOSE #1
</b> EVERYBODY on the floor!
PEOPLE drop.
<b>VERY FAST HERE--
</b>Two bandits handle BANK EMPLOYEES and customers--
Another PIG NOSE watches the door--
Pig Nose #1 moves behind counter, Uzi and canvas sack in
hand.
<b>INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN
</b>
Dark. Monitors SHOW SLOW SCANS of the bank INTERIOR.
Two MEN wear headphones and black windbreakers with FBI
stenciled on the back. One watches with binoculars.
<b> BINOCULARS
</b> Bingo. We're on. Let's go.
Where's the big college
quarterback?! Are you with us,
Utah?
<b>EXT. BANK WALL
</b>
A MAN in his twenties. His head
|
base
|
How many times does the word 'base' appear in the text?
| 0
|
9/20/2007
</b>
<b> INT. LEECH LAKE WOMEN'S CORRECTIONAL HOSPITAL - DAY
</b><b>
</b> ANITA "NEEDY" LESNICKI, 17, sits on her hospital bed in
pajamas. She's a plain-faced girl with a haunted
expression. As she stares out the window, she winds
colored yarn around a pair of Popsicle sticks to create a
"god's eye."
<b>
</b> Out a single window, we see an imposing nine-foot
<b> SECURITY FENCE.
</b><b>
</b> Next to Needy, we see a pile of unopened mail scattered
casually on the floor. There are letters, packages, even
creepy little gifts and totems sent by admiring "fans."
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY V.O.
</b> Every day, I get letters. I think
I get more letters than Santa
Claus, Zac Efron and Dr. Phil
combined. I'm kind of the shit.
<b>
</b> RAYMUNDO, a counselor raps on the door and sticks his
head in cautiously.
<b>
</b><b> RAYMUNDO
</b> Rec time in five minutes, Needy.
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY
</b> Grassy-ass, Raymundo.
<b>
</b> Needy stands up and begins changing into an institutional
gym uniform. As she slips off her pajamas, we can see a
series of puffy, slash-like SCARS on her body.
<b>
</b><b> NEEDY V.O.
</b> Sometimes the letters are from
people who say they're praying for
|
letters
|
How many times does the word 'letters' appear in the text?
| 3
|
of America, New York
Centre, on January 22 and 23, 1917,--the conversation between _Jonathan_
and _Jenny_. In Philadelphia, under the auspices of the Drama League
Centre, and in coöperation with the University of Pennsylvania, the
play, in its entirety, was presented on January 18, 1917, by the "Plays
and Players" organization. A revival was also given in Boston, produced
in the old manner, "and the first rows of seats were reserved for those
of the audience who appeared in the costume of the time."
The play in its first edition is rare, but, in 1887, it was reprinted by
the Dunlap Society. The general reader is given an opportunity of
judging how far _Jonathan_ is the typical Yankee, and how far Royall
Tyler cut the pattern which later was followed by other playwrights in a
long series of American dramas, in which the Yankee was the chief
attraction.[3]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The/Contrast,/a/Comedy;/In Five Acts:/Written By a/Citizen of the
United States;/Performed with Applause at the Theatres in
New-York,/Philadelphia, and Maryland;/and published (under an Assignment
of the Copy-Right) by/Thomas Wignell./_Primus ego in patriam/
Aonio--deduxi vertice Musas_./Virgil./(Imitated.)/ First on our shores I
try Thalia's powers,/And bid the _laughing, useful_ Maid be
ours./Philadelphia:/From the Press of Prichard & Hall, in Market
Street:/Between Second and Front Streets./M. DCC. XC. [See
Frontispiece.]
[2] For example, "The Duelists," a Farce in three acts; "The Georgia
Spec; or, Land in the Moon" (1797); "The Doctor in Spite of Himself," an
imitation of Molière; and "Baritaria; or, The Governor of a Day," being
adventures of Sancho Panza. He also wrote a libretto, "May-day in Town;
or, New York in an Uproar." (See Sonneck: "Early Opera in America.")
[3] The song which occurs in the play under the title, "Alknomook," had
great popularity in the eighteenth century. Its authorship was
attributed to Philip Freneau, in whose collected poems it does not
appear. It is also credited to a Mrs. Hunter, and is contained in her
volume of verse, published in 1806. It appears likewise in a Dublin play
of 1740, "New Spain; or, Love in Mexico." See also, the _American
Museum_, vol. I, page 77. The singing of "Yankee Doodle" is likewise to
be noted (See Sonneck's interesting essay on the origin of "Yankee
Doodle," General Bibliography), not the first time it appears in early
American Drama, as readers of Barton's "Disappointment" (1767) will
recognize.
[Illustration: AS A JUST ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE LIBERAL EXERTIONS BY
WHICH THE _STAGE_ HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM AN IGNOMINIOUS PROSCRIPTION,
THE CONTRAST,
(BEING THE FIRST ESSAY OF _AMERICAN_ GENIUS IN THE DRAMATIC ART)
IS MOST RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO
THE PRESIDENT AND MEMBERS OF THE
Dramatic Association,
BY
THEIR MOST OBLIGED
AND
MOST GRATEFUL SERVANT,
_THOMAS WIGNELL._
PHILADELPHIA, }
1 January, 1790. }
DEDICATION PAGE IN THE FIRST EDITION OF "THE CONTRAST"]
ADVERTISEMENT
The Subscribers (to whom the Editor thankfully professes his
obligations) may reasonably expect an apology for the delay which has
attended the appearance of "The Contrast;" but, as the true cause cannot
be declared without leading to a discussion, which the Editor wishes to
avoid, he hopes that the care and expence which have been bestowed upon
this work will be accepted, without further
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 6
|
American version
By William A. Drake
<b> SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> PROLOGUE
</b>
Berlin.
Season is March.
Action of the picture takes place in approximately 36 hours.
Picture commences at approximately 12:35 in the day.
Time: The Present.
<b>
</b>
<b> EXTERIOR REVOLVING DOOR
</b>
Show general natural action of people going in and people
coming out but in it is the definite inference of people
arriving and people leaving the big hotel.
MOVE INSIDE THROUGH THE REVOLVING DOOR -- very quickly. CAMERA
PAUSES ON THE THRESHOLD like a human being, seeing and
hearing.
<b> DISSOLVE OUT.
</b>
DISSOLVE INTO: Clock. It is twenty minutes to one -- and
then moves slowly into the crowd of busy mid-day business
jumble.
CAMERA pushes through crowd and passes by the foot of the
steps that lead up to the restaurant. In its journey, it
passes Kringelein looking up. He is not pointed.
THE CAMERA then saunters -- getting a slow profile movement
across -- near Senf's desk. Senf is very busy. THE CAMERA
now passes -- profile -- the desk of Senf. General action.
Senf stands before his background of slots and keys. WE
PROCEED until we are facing the elevator.
At that moment the elevator is opening. Among the people who
emerge is Suzette, who moves too quickly for us to distinguish
who she is.
THE CAMERA PANS quickly with her and in the distance we hear
her
|
people
|
How many times does the word 'people' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Production draft
<b> EXT. EDGE OF CORN FIELDS - DAY
</b>
A pocket watch. Open. Ticking. Swinging from a chain.
Held by a young man named JOE in a clearing beside a Kansas
corn field. Sky pregnant with rain.
Waiting. He checks the watch, removes his earbud headphones,
stands.
Without much ceremony a BLOODIED MAN in a suit appears from
thin air, kneeling before the young man. Hands and feet
tied. Burlap sack over his head. Muffled screams, gagged.
With no hesitation Joe raises a squat gun and blows the man
apart with a single cough of a shot.
<b> LATER
</b> Joe loads the corpse into the flatbed of his truck.
Cuts open the back of the body's jacket, revealing FOUR bars
of gold taped to the dead man's back. Joe takes them.
<b> EXT. INDUSTRIAL PLANT - DAY
</b>
Massive, in the middle of nowhere. Black smoke.
<b> JOE (V.O.)
</b> Time travel has not yet been
invented. But twenty five years
from now it will be. Once the
technology exists, it will be
relatively cheap and available to
the public at large. And so. It
will be instantly outlawed, used
only in secret by the largest
criminal organizations. And then
only for a very specific purpose.
Joe drives up and parks his truck, removes the wrapped corpse
from the flatbed.
<b> JOE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
</b> It's nearly impossible to dispose
of a body in the future. I'm told.
Tagging techniques, whatnot. So
when these future criminal
organizations in the future need
someone gone, they use specialized
assassins in our present, called
loopers.
<b> INT. INDUSTRIAL PLANT - DAY
</b>
Cavernous and empty. Joe carries the body to an iron hatch,
opens it, and dumps him in.
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
legs
|
How many times does the word 'legs' appear in the text?
| 2
|
ortunes that flow from engagements with them; on the
other hand she made her sensible, what tranquillity attends the life of
a virtuous woman, and what lustre modesty gives to a person who
possesses birth and beauty; at the same time she informed her, how
difficult it was to preserve this virtue, except by an extreme distrust
of one's self, and by a constant attachment to the only thing which
constitutes a woman's happiness, to love and to be loved by her husband.
This heiress was, at that time, one of the greatest matches in France,
and though she was very young several marriages had been proposed to
her mother; but Madam de Chartres being ambitious, hardly thought
anything worthy of her daughter, and when she was sixteen years of age
she brought her to Court. The Viscount of Chartres, who went to meet
her, was with reason surprised at the beauty of the young lady; her
fine hair and lovely complexion gave her a lustre that was peculiar to
herself; all her features were regular, and her whole person was full
of grace.
The day after her arrival, she went to choose some jewels at a famous
Italian's; this man came from Florence with the Queen, and had acquired
such immense riches by his trade, that his house seemed rather fit for
a Prince than a merchant; while she was there, the Prince of Cleves
came in, and was so touched with her beauty, that he could not
dissemble his surprise, nor could Mademoiselle de Chartres forbear
blushing upon observing the astonishment he was in; nevertheless, she
recollected herself, without taking any further notice of him than she
was obliged to do in civility to a person of his seeming rank; the
Prince of Cleves viewed her with admiration, and could not comprehend
who that fine lady was, whom he did not know. He found by her air, and
her retinue, that she was of the first quality; by her youth he should
have taken her to be a maid, but not seeing her mother, and hearing the
Italian call her madam, he did not know what to think; and all the
while he kept his eyes fixed upon her, he found that his behaviour
embarrassed her, unlike to most young ladies, who always behold with
pleasure the effect of their beauty; he found too, that he had made her
impatient to be going, and in truth she went away immediately: the
Prince of Cleves was not uneasy at himself on having lost the view of
her, in hopes of being informed who she was; but when he found she was
not known, he was under the utmost surprise; her beauty, and the modest
air he had observed in her actions, affected him so, that from that
moment he entertained a passion for her. In the evening he waited on
his Majesty's sister.
This Princess was in great consideration by reason of her interest with
the King her brother; and her authority was so great, that the King, on
concluding the peace, consented to restore Piemont, in order to marry
her with the Duke of Savoy. Though she had always had a disposition to
marry, yet would she never accept of anything beneath a sovereign, and
for this reason she refused the King of Navarre, when he was Duke of
Vendome, and always had a liking for the Duke of Savoy; which
inclination for him she had preserved ever since she saw him at Nice,
at the interview between Francis I, and Pope Paul III. As she had a
great deal of wit, and a fine taste of polite learning, men of
ingenuity were always about her, and at certain times the whole Court
resorted to her apartments.
The Prince of Cleves went there according to his custom; he was so
touched with the wit and beauty of Mademoiselle de Chartres, that he
could talk of nothing else; he related his adventure aloud, and was
never tired with the praises of this lady, whom he had seen, but did
not know; Madame told him, that there was nobody like her he described,
and that if there were, she would be known by the whole world. Madam
de Dampiere, one of the Princess's ladies of honour, and a friend of
Madam de Chartres, overhearing the conversation, came up to her
Highness, and whispered her in the ear, that it was certainly
Mad
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 9
|
Paul Thomas Anderson
<b>
</b>
<b>LOGO
</b>
Presentation cards with white, red, blue, blue-green
backgrounds, then:
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. WAREHOUSE - EARLY MORNING
</b>
CAMERA (STEADICAM) holds on a man in a suit, sitting behind
a desk, on the phone: BARRY EGAN (Adam Sandler)
<b> BARRY
</b> ...yes I'm still on hold...
<b> OPERATOR
</b> And what was this?
<b> BARRY
</b> I'm looking at your advertisement
for the airline promotion and
giveaway?
<b> OPERATOR
</b> This is "Fly With Us?"
<b> BARRY
</b> It's hard to understand because it
says in addition to but I can't
exactly understand in addition to
what because there's actually
nothing to add it too...
<b> OPERATOR
</b> I think that's a type-o then, that
would be a mistake.
<b> BARRY
</b> So, just to clarify, I'm sorry: Ten
purchases of any of your Healthy
Choice products equals five hundred
miles and then with the coupon the
same purchases would value one
thousand miles --
<b> OPERATOR
</b> That's it.
<b> BARRY
</b> Do you realize that the monetary
value of this promotion and the
prize is potentially worth more
than the purchases?
<b> OPERATOR
</b> I don't know...I mean: I don't know.
<b>OC DISTANT SOUND OF A CAR SKIDDING TO A STOP, SOME V
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 2
|
bad between the new-married
couple; for in the course of the day the lady deserted her quarters,
and returned to her father's house in Glasgow, after having been a
night on the road; stage-coaches and steam-boats having then no
existence in that quarter.
Though Baillie Orde had acquiesced in his wife's asseveration regarding
the likeness of their only daughter to her father, he never loved or
admired her greatly; therefore this behaviour nothing astounded him. He
questioned her strictly as to the grievous offence committed against
her, and could discover nothing that warranted a procedure so fraught
with disagreeable consequences. So, after mature deliberation, the
baillie addressed her as follows:
"Aye, aye, Raby! An' sae I find that Dalcastle has actually refused to
say prayers with you when you ordered him; an' has guidit you in a rude
indelicate manner, outstepping the respect due to my daughter--as my
daughter. But, wi' regard to what is due to his own wife, of that he's
a better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to
MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return
the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths
of his wife--an' let him lick at that."
"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.
"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for what
he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for
this."
So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a
mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage
only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" exclaimed he, "I
shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she
as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is
nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your
husband's impertinence!"
The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not
abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many
stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her
chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on
bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of
Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from
carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall make the
sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."
Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but
she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets;
for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a
perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts,
and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was
often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of
the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.
That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that
there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after some
sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had
passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite
of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the
laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would
neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and
kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he
converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of
religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every
assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by
drawing him into argument.
The laird kept
|
pray
|
How many times does the word 'pray' appear in the text?
| 1
|
who wished to give no occasion of offence to his mother's only
sister, was in the habit of taking his wife and sister down there every
spring for a short stay at one of the hotels, thus forming among
themselves a pleasant and independent little party, which was usually
joined by Colonel Fitzwilliam. This year Lady Catherine, having been
there for some weeks previously, had been collecting round her a circle
of acquaintances, some more and some less likely to be congenial to the
relatives whose visit was pending.
"Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy to his wife, as they stood together in Lady
Catherine's drawing-room at a large reception which she was giving in
their honour, two days after their arrival, "I think I see General
Tilney over there; and, unless my memory is failing me, surely this is
his daughter coming towards us, whom we made friends with last year."
"Why, so it is; what a delightful surprise!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Dear
Lady Portinscale, how glad I am to see you again! Do not say you have
forgotten me, or I shall find it hard to forgive you!"
"No, indeed, Mrs. Darcy, I was coming to introduce myself, in fear that
you might have forgotten me. How do you do, Mr. Darcy? Lady Catherine
told me that she was expecting the whole party from Pemberley this
week."
"Yes, we have come to put in our period of attendance, as you see," said
Elizabeth, "but I never dreamed of anything so pleasant as meeting you
again, after what you said last year."
"The truth is that my father has not been at all well, and as he felt
himself obliged to come here for a short time, he begged us to join him
for two or three weeks."
"Your husband is here this evening?"
"Yes, he is in the next room; I see him talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam."
"And are your brother and his pretty wife in Bath this spring? I
remember her so well."
"No, they are at home; but we have a brother of hers staying with
us--James Morland. He has a curacy in a very unhealthy part of the
Thames Valley, and he has been extremely ill with a low fever, so we
have brought him here for a fortnight in the hope that it will do him
good."
"How very kind of you to take care of him! He is fortunate to have such
friends."
"Oh, no, it is a very small thing; and he is such an excellent young
fellow--sensible and agreeable, and so hard-working! My husband has the
highest opinion of him; and were he less amiable, it would be a pleasure
to be of service to anyone connected with Catherine."
"You oblige me to repeat that anyone who has you for his or her advocate
is indeed fortunate, Lady Portinscale," answered Elizabeth, smiling;
"but now that you know your character, pray perform the same kind office
for some of the people here. They are nearly all strangers to me, and
if my husband were not listening, I should say that I wonder how my aunt
manages to pick them up."
"Lady Portinscale will soon gauge your character, Elizabeth, if you make
such terribly outspoken comments," said Darcy, smiling. "You must not
mind her, Lady Portinscale; my aunt's presence has a demoralizing effect
upon my wife. It is a very sad thing, but I have often remarked it."
"Not her presence in the ordinary way," said Elizabeth; "but to-day we
have been through such a stormy scene together, that I may be excused
for feeling that my aunt and I must go diametrically opposite ways for
the rest of our lives."
"Really?" said Eleanor Portinscale, with the faintest suspicion of
laughter in her eyes. "Poor Lady Catherine! I recollect last year that
you and your sister-in-law were continually brewing some kind of
rebellious mischief against her."
"That is just the cause of the trouble now," responded Elizabeth. "My
sister-in-law became engaged to Colonel Fitzwilliam last November; but I
saw that they were both so extremely unhappy in their engagement that I
was instrumental in breaking it off, and this happened only last week;
so that is why Robert Fitzwilliam is looking
|
said
|
How many times does the word 'said' appear in the text?
| 5
|
IES MAY BE
DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS
PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED
COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY
SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>>
SCENE II.
A lawn before the DUKE'S palace
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA
CELIA. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND. Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and
would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget
a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any
extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA. Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I
love thee. If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy
uncle, the Duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me,
I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst
thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd
as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND. Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to
rejoice in yours.
CELIA. You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to
have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what
he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee
again in affection. By mine honour, I will; and when I break that
oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear
Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND. From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports.
Let me see; what think you of falling in love?
CELIA. Marry, I prithee, do, to make sport withal; but love no man
in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety
of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
ROSALIND. What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA. Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her
wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily
misplaced; and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her
gifts to women.
CELIA. 'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes
honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very
ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND. Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's:
Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of
Nature.
Enter TOUCHSTONE
CELIA. No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by
Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to
flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off
the argument?
ROSALIND. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
CELIA. Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of
such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for
always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA. Were you made the messenger?
TOU
|
devise
|
How many times does the word 'devise' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved
<b>
</b>
<b>BLACK. THE SOUND OF CHANNELS BEING TURNED ON A TV. TITLE UP:
</b>
<b>"SOME TIME AGO".
</b>
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
It's hard for us here to believe
what we're reporting to you, but it
does seem to be a fact.
CLICK! In a corner of the BLACK SCREEN, A SMALL TV APPEARS.
On it, in BLACK & WHITE, A NEWSCASTER sits at an anchor desk.
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
Bodies of the recently dead are
returning to life and attacking the
living.
CLICK! With each CLICK, the TV disappears, then reappears in
a new position ON SCREEN. CREDITS ROLL in the surrounding
<b>
</b>
<b>BLACK.
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
Murder victims have shown signs of
having been partially devoured by
their murderers.
CLICK! ANOTHER NEWSCASTER is on the TV now, sitting in a more
modern studio. The broadcast remains in BLACK & WHITE.
<b> SECOND NEWSCASTER
</b>
Because of the obvious threat to
|
click
|
How many times does the word 'click' appear in the text?
| 3
|
in the first instance, go on a month's visit to the young lady.
If we both wished it at the end of the time, I was to stay, on terms
arranged to my perfect satisfaction. There was our treaty!
The next day I started for my visit by the railway.
My instructions directed me to travel to the town of Lewes in Sussex.
Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony-chaise of my young lady's
father--described on his card as Reverend Tertius Finch. The chaise was
to take me to the rectory-house in the village of Dimchurch. And the
village of Dimchurch was situated among the South Down Hills, three or
four miles from the coast.
When I stepped into the railway carriage, this was all I knew. After my
adventurous life--after the volcanic agitations of my republican career
in the Doctor's time--was I about to bury myself in a remote English
village, and live a life as monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill?
Ah, with all my experience, I had yet to learn that the narrowest human
limits are wide enough to contain the grandest human emotions. I had seen
the Drama of Life amid the turmoil of tropical revolutions. I was to see
it again, with all its palpitating interest, in the breezy solitudes of
the South Down Hills.
CHAPTER THE SECOND
Madame Pratolungo makes a Voyage on Land
A WELL-FED boy, with yellow Saxon hair; a little shabby green chaise; and
a rough brown pony--these objects confronted me at the Lewes Station. I
said to the boy, "Are you Reverend Finch's servant?" And the boy
answered, "I be he."
We drove through the town--a hilly town of desolate clean houses. No
living creatures visible behind the jealously-shut windows. No living
creatures entering or departing through the sad-colored closed doors. No
theater; no place of amusement except an empty town-hall, with a sad
policeman meditating on its spruce white steps. No customers in the
shops, and nobody to serve them behind the counter, even if they had
turned up. Here and there on the pavements, an inhabitant with a capacity
for staring, and (apparently) a capacity for nothing else. I said to
Reverend Finch's boy, "Is this a rich place?" Reverend Finch's boy
brightened and answered, "That it be!" Good. At any rate, they don't
enjoy themselves here--the infamous rich!
Leaving this town of unamused citizens immured in domestic tombs, we got
on a fine high road--still ascending--with a spacious open country on
either side of it.
A spacious open country is a country soon exhausted by a sight-seer's
eye. I have learnt from my poor Pratolungo the habit of searching for the
political convictions of my fellow-creatures, when I find myself in
contact with them in strange places. Having nothing else to do, I
searched Finch's boy. His political programme, I found to be:--As much
meat and beer as I can contain; and as little work to do for it as
possible. In return for this, to touch my hat when I meet the Squire, and
to be content with the station to which it has pleased God to call me.
Miserable Finch's boy!
We reached the highest point of the road. On our right hand, the ground
sloped away gently into a fertile valley--with a village and a church in
it; and beyond, an abominable privileged enclosure of grass and trees
torn from the community by a tyrant, and called a Park; with the palace
in which this enemy of mankind caroused and fattened, standing in the
midst. On our left hand, spread the open country--a magnificent prospect
of grand grassy hills, rolling away to the horizon; bounded only by the
sky. To my surprise, Finch's boy descended; took the pony by the head;
and deliberately led him off the high road, and on to the wilderness of
grassy hills, on which not so much as a footpath was discernible
anywhere, far or near. The chaise began to heave and roll like a ship on
the sea. It became necessary to hold with both hands to keep
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
ation stylisée du Lion de
Saint-Marc, avec ailes et auréole, regardant vers la gauche et la
patte avant droite posée sur un évangile ouvert.
Sur cette image, une inscription en lettres blanches :
Ce Film a obtenu
<b> LE LION DE ST-MARC
</b>
Puis, toujours en lettres blanches sur la même image :
Suprême récompense de
<b> LA
</b><b> BIENNALE DE VENISE
</b> avec la
Mention spéciale suivante :
<b> PUIS :
</b>
« Pour avoir su élever à une singulière
pureté lyrique et une exceptionnelle
force d'expression, l'innocence de
l'enfance au-dessus de la tragédie
et de la désolation de la guerre. »
<b> NOTE
</b> La scène suivante, présente dans la version originale du film, a
été coupée dans de nombreuses copies diffusées, de nos jours,
aussi bien au cinéma qu'à la télévision.
<b> ILOT BOISÉ - EXTÉRIEUR JOUR
</b>
C'est un paysage romantique, un peu irréel, semblant sortir d'un
conte de fées.
Une petite île, où sont plantés de nombreux arbres. Nous sommes
face à l'île, comme si la caméra était située sur
|
arbres
|
How many times does the word 'arbres' appear in the text?
| 0
|
of age, and since my
fifteenth birthday my occupations had been arms and the ladies--two arts
requiring constant use if one would remain expert in their practice.
I escaped, and ran along the wall to a deep breach which had been left
unrepaired. Over the sharp rocks I clambered, and at the risk of breaking
my neck I jumped off the wall into the moat, which was almost dry. Dawn
was breaking when I found a place to ascend from the moat, and I hastened
to the fields and forests, where all day and all night long I wandered
without food or drink. Two hours before sunrise next morning I reached
Craig's Ferry. The horse sent by Douglas awaited me, but the ferry-master
had been prohibited from carrying passengers across the firth, and I could
not take the horse in a small boat. In truth, I was in great alarm lest I
should be unable to cross, but I walked up the Tay a short distance, and
found a fisherman, who agreed to take me over in his frail craft. Hardly
had we started when another boat put out from shore in pursuit of us. We
made all sail, but our pursuers overtook us when we were within half a
furlong of the south bank, and as there were four men in the other boat,
all armed with fusils, I peaceably stepped into their craft and handed my
sword to their captain.
I seated myself on one of the thwarts well forward in the boat. By my side
was a heavy iron boat-hook. I had noticed that all the occupants of the
boat, except the fisherman who sailed her, wore armor; and when I saw the
boat-hook, a diabolical thought entered my mind and I immediately acted
upon its suggestion. Noiselessly I grasped the hook, and with its point
pried loose a board in the bottom of the boat, first having removed my
boots, cloak, and doublet. When the board was loosened I pressed my heel
against it with all the force I could muster, and through an opening six
inches broad and four feet long came a flood of water that swamped the
boat before one could utter twenty words. I heard a cry from one of the
men: "The dog has scuttled the boat. Shoot him!" At the same instant the
blaze and noise of two fusils broke the still blackness of the night, but
I was overboard and the powder and lead were wasted. The next moment the
boat sank in ten fathoms of water, and with it went the men in armor. I
hope the fisherman saved himself. I have often wondered if even the law of
self-preservation justified my act. It is an awful thing to inflict death,
but it is worse to endure it, and I feel sure that I am foolish to allow
my conscience to trouble me for the sake of those who would have led me
back to the scaffold.
I fear you will think that six dead men in less than as many pages make a
record of bloodshed giving promise of terrible things to come, but I am
glad I can reassure you on that point. Although there may be some good
fighting ahead of us, I believe the last man has been killed of whom I
shall chronicle--the last, that is, in fight or battle.
In truth, the history which you are about to read is not my own. It is the
story of a beautiful, wilful girl, who was madly in love with the one man
in all the world whom she should have avoided--as girls are wont to be.
This perverse tendency, philosophers tell us, is owing to the fact that
the unattainable is strangely alluring to womankind. I, being a man, shall
not, of course, dwell upon the foibles of my own sex. It were a foolish
candor.
As I said, there will be some good fighting ahead of us, for love and
battle usually go together. One must have warm, rich blood to do either
well; and, save religion, there is no source more fruitful of quarrels and
death than that passion which is the source of life.
You, of course, know without the telling, that I reached land safely after
I scuttled the boat, else I should not be writing this forty years
afterwards.
The sun had risen when I waded ashore. I was swordless, coatless, hatless,
and bootless; but I carried a well
|
well
|
How many times does the word 'well' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Call trans opt: received.
2-19-96 13:24:18 REC:Log>
<b> WOMAN (V.O.)
</b> I'm inside. Anything to report?
We listen to the phone conversation as though we were on
a third line. The man's name is CYPHER. The woman,
<b> TRINITY.
</b>
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Let's see. Target left work at
<b> 5:01 PM.
</b>
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace program: running.
The entire screen fills with racing columns of numbers.
Shimmering like green-electric rivets, they rush at a 10-
digit phone number in the top corner.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> He caught the northbound Howard
line. Got off at Sheridan.
Stopped at 7-11. Purchased six-
pack of beer and a box of Captain
Crunch. Returned home.
The area code is identified. The first three numbers
suddenly fixed, leaving only seven flowing columns.
We begin MOVING TOWARD the screen, CLOSING IN as each
digit is matched, one by one, snapping into place like
the wheels of a slot machine.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> All right, you're relieved. Use
the usual exit.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Do you know when we're going to
make contact?
<b> TRINITY
</b> Soon.
Only two thin digits left.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Just between you and me, you don't
believe it, do you? You don't
believe this guy is the one?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus believes he is.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> I know. But what about you?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus knows things that
I don't.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, but if he's wrong --
The final number pops into place --
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Did you hear that?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Hear what?
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace complete. Call origin:
<b> #312-555-0690
</b>
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Are you sure this line is clean?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, course I'm sure.
We MOVE STILL CLOSER, the ELECTRIC HUM of the green
numbers GROWING INTO an OMINOUS ROAR.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I better go.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah. Right. See you on the other side
|
screen
|
How many times does the word 'screen' appear in the text?
| 3
|
><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> First Draft
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SIMPLE BLACK ON WHITE CREDITS ROLL TO BIG STAR'S "I'M IN LOVE
</b> WITH A GIRL." When all is said and done, up comes a single
number in parenthesis, like so:
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> (478)
</b><b> EXT. PARK - DAY
</b><b>
</b> For a few seconds we watch A MAN (20s) and a WOMAN (20s) on a
park bench. Their names are TOM and SUMMER. Neither one says
a word.
<b>
</b><b>
</b> CLOSE ON her HAND, covering his. Notice the wedding ring. No
words are spoken. Tom looks at her the way every woman wants
to be looked at.
<b>
</b> A DISTINGUISHED VOICE begins to speak to us.
<b>
</b><b> NARRATOR
</b> This is a story of boy meets girl.
<b>
</b><b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> (1)
</b><b> INT CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
</b><b>
</b> The boy is TOM HANSEN. He sits at a very long rectangular
conference table. The walls are lined with framed blow-up
sized greeting cards. Tom, dark hair and blue eyes, wears a t-
shirt under his sports coat and Adidas tennis shoes to
balance out the corporate dress code. He looks pretty bored.
<b>
</b><b> NARRATOR
</b>
|
black
|
How many times does the word 'black' appear in the text?
| 0
|
'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
|
hand
|
How many times does the word 'hand' appear in the text?
| 2
|
--Miss Sybil Ross--was Madeleine Lee's sister. The keenest
psychologist could not have detected a single feature quality which they
had in common, and for that reason they were devoted friends. Madeleine
was thirty, Sybil twenty-four. Madeleine was indescribable; Sybil was
transparent. Madeleine was of medium height with a graceful figure,
a well-set head, and enough golden-brown hair to frame a face full of
varying expression. Her eyes were never for two consecutive hours of the
same shade, but were more often blue than grey. People who envied her
smile said that she cultivated a sense of humour in order to show her
teeth. Perhaps they were right; but there was no doubt that her habit
of talking with gesticulation would never have grown upon her unless
she had known that her hands were not only beautiful but expressive.
She dressed as skilfully as New York women do, but in growing older
she began to show symptoms of dangerous unconventionality. She had been
heard to express a low opinion of her countrywomen who blindly fell down
before the golden calf of Mr. Worth, and she had even fought a battle
of great severity, while it lasted, with one of her best-dressed
friends who had been invited--and had gone--to Mr. Worth's afternoon
tea-parties. The secret was that Mrs. Lee had artistic tendencies, and
unless they were checked in time, there was no knowing what might be
the consequence. But as yet they had done no harm; indeed, they rather
helped to give her that sort of atmosphere which belongs only to certain
women; as indescribable as the afterglow; as impalpable as an Indian
summer mist; and non-existent except to people who feel rather than
reason. Sybil had none of it. The imagination gave up all attempts
to soar where she came. A more straightforward, downright, gay,
sympathetic, shallow, warm-hearted, sternly practical young woman has
rarely touched this planet. Her mind had room for neither grave-stones
nor guide-books; she could not have lived in the past or the future if
she had spent her days in churches and her nights in tombs. "She was
not clever, like Madeleine, thank Heaven." Madeleine was not an orthodox
member of the church; sermons bored her, and clergymen never failed to
irritate every nerve in her excitable system. Sybil was a simple and
devout worshipper at the ritualistic altar; she bent humbly before the
Paulist fathers. When she went to a ball she always had the best partner
in the room, and took it as a matter of course; but then, she always
prayed for one; somehow it strengthened her faith. Her sister took care
never to laugh at her on this score, or to shock her religious opinions.
"Time enough," said she, "for her to forget religion when religion
fails her." As for regular attendance at church, Madeleine was able to
reconcile their habits without trouble. She herself had not entered a
church for years; she said it gave her unchristian feelings; but Sybil
had a voice of excellent quality, well trained and cultivated:
Madeleine insisted that she should sing in the choir, and by this
little manoeuvre, the divergence of their paths was made less evident.
Madeleine did not sing, and therefore could not go to church with Sybil.
This outrageous fallacy seemed perfectly to answer its purpose, and
Sybil accepted it, in good faith, as a fair working principle which
explained itself.
Madeleine was sober in her tastes. She wasted no money. She made no
display.
She walked rather than drove, and wore neither diamonds nor brocades.
But the general impression she made was nevertheless one of luxury. On
the other hand, her sister had her dresses from Paris, and wore them
and her ornaments according to all the formulas; she was good-naturedly
correct, and bent her round white shoulders to whatever burden the
Parisian autocrat chose to put upon them. Madeleine never interfered,
and always paid the bills.
Before they had been ten days in Washington, they fell gently into their
place and were carried along without an effort on the stream of social
life.
Society was kind; there was no reason for its being otherwise. Mrs.
|
madeleine
|
How many times does the word 'madeleine' appear in the text?
| 10
|
<b> CARD 1
</b><b> AT 600 KM ABOVE PLANET EARTH THE
</b><b> TEMPERATURE FLUCTUATES BETWEEN 120 AND
</b><b> -100 DEGREES CELSIUS.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 2
</b><b> THERE IS NOTHING TO CARRY SOUND, NO
</b><b> OXYGEN, AND NO AIR PRESSURE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 3
</b><b> LIFE HERE IS IMPOSSIBLE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> TITLE-
</b>
<b> GRAVITY
</b>
<b> BLACK-
</b>
<b> OUTER SPACE, 600 KILOMETERS ABOVE-
</b>
<b> PLANET EARTH.
</b>
Like all images of Earth seen from space, this image of our
planet is mythical and majestic.
|
earth
|
How many times does the word 'earth' appear in the text?
| 2
|
>
<b> GORDON (V.O)
</b> Harvey Dent was needed. He was
everything Gotham has been crying
out for. He was...a hero. Not the
hero we deserved - the hero we
needed. Nothing less than a knight,
shining...
The sound of cracking. Splintering. A shape appears, in ice.
The shape of a BAT. The ice disintegrates...
<b> EXT. GOTHAM STREET - DAY
</b>
Gordon stands before a massive picture of Harvey Dent.
<b> GORDON
</b> But I knew Harvey Dent. I was...his
friend. And it will be a very long
time before someone inspires us the
way he did.
Gordon, choked with emotion, gathers the papers of his
eulogy.
I believed in Harvey Dent.
And we FADE TO BLACK.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Racing along a cratered dirt road, and we are -
<b> INT. LAND CRUISER JOSTLING OVER UNEVEN TERRAIN - DAY
</b>
Three Hooded Men guarded by East European Militia. A third
Militia drives. Next to him is a nervous, bespectacled man.
<b> EXT. AIRSTRIP, EASTERN EUROPE - DAY
</b>
An airstrip overlooking a grey city rocked by artillery
fire. A bland CIA Operative, flanked by Special Forces Men,
stands in front of a commuter plane. CIA Man watches the
Land Cruiser pull up, hard. The Militia Men jump out of the
vehicle.
The Driver shoves the bespectacled man in front of the CIA
Man.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b>
|
gotham
|
How many times does the word 'gotham' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Nov. 2009
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> SUNRISE
</b>
Big and orange and full of hope, as sure as fate. A dawn as
promising as, well, this new day...
Sun is rising over...
A flat roof that stretches to the horizon. A vast expanse.
A plain of gravel-embedded tar, studded with...
HVAC units and power lines, the kind that service a huge
commercial building. In fact this kind of building...
A UNIMART store. A flagship of savings; a mother lode of
low, low prices. 100,000-and-then-some square feet of the
Consumer Economy...
<b> PARKING LOT
</b>
Empty thus far. A few EMPLOYEE autos arriving in their
assigned slots far from the entrance. One of those cars is a
old, not so vintage nor classic convertible...
KARMANN GHIA -- Belonging to...
LARRY CROWNE - A man as reliable (and predictable) as that
rising sun.
Actually, he's a Team Leader of this Unimart, dressed in his
un-sexy, un-fashionable, un-flattering khaki pants and
Company Polo.
Larry has had the ragtop down. He wrestles it up, locks the
cover into place.
He doesn't just walk to work, but s t r i d e s across the
asphalt field like a Sultan of Sales; a Viscount of Discount.
He cheers co-workers at the start of the day, shouting
encouragement, flashing thumbs up, knocking on car doors and
squeezing shoulders...
<b> DOROTHY GENKOS (PRE-LAP)
</b> A seven-speed Mix-o-Meter Food
Processor! $21.69!
<b>
|
larry
|
How many times does the word 'larry' appear in the text?
| 1
|
"Yes, he's the youngest of our children, sir. He and
Jennie--that's home, and 'most as tall as meself--are all that's left.
The other two went to heaven when they was little ones."
"Can't the little fellow's leg be straightened?" asked Babcock, in a
tone which plainly showed his sympathy for the boy's suffering.
"No, not now; so Dr. Mason says. There was a time when it might have
been, but I couldn't take him. I had him over to Quarantine again two
years ago, but it was too late; it'd growed fast, they said. When he
was four years old he would be under the horses' heels all the time, and
a-climbin' over them in the stable, and one day the Big Gray fetched
him a crack, and broke his hip. He didn't mean it, for he's as dacint
a horse as I've got; but the boys had been a-worritin' him, and he let
drive, thinkin', most likely, it was them. He's been a-hoistin' all the
mornin'." Then, catching sight of Cully leading the horse back to work,
she rose to her feet, all the fire and energy renewed in her face.
"Shake the men up, Cully! I can't give 'em but half an hour to-day.
We're behind time now. And tell the cap'n to pull them macaronis out
of the hold, and start two of 'em to trimmin' some of that stone to
starboard. She was a-listin' when we knocked off for dinner. Come,
lively!"
II. A BOARD FENCE LOSES A PLANK
The work on the sea-wall progressed. The coffer-dam which had been built
by driving into the mud of the bottom a double row of heavy tongued and
grooved planking in two parallel rows, and bulkheading each end with
heavy boards, had been filled with concrete to low-water mark, consuming
not only the contents of the delayed scow, but two subsequent cargoes,
both of which had been unloaded by Tom Grogan.
To keep out the leakage, steam-pumps were kept going night and day.
By dint of hard work the upper masonry of the wall had been laid to the
top course, ready for the coping, and there was now every prospect that
the last stone would be lowered into place before the winter storms set
in.
The shanty--a temporary structure, good only for the life of the
work--rested on a set of stringers laid on extra piles driven outside of
the working-platform. When the submarine work lies miles from shore, a
shanty is the only shelter for the men, its interior being arranged
with sleeping-bunks, with one end partitioned off for a kitchen and
a storage-room. This last is filled with perishable property, extra
blocks, Manila rope, portable forges, tools, shovels, and barrows.
For this present sea-wall--an amphibious sort of structure, with one
foot on land and the other in the water--the shanty was of light pine
boards, roofed over, and made water-tight by tarred paper. The bunks had
been omitted, for most of the men boarded in the village. In this way
increased space for the storage of tools was gained, besides room for
a desk containing the government working drawings and specifications,
pay-rolls, etc. In addition to its door, fastened at night with a
padlock, and its one glass window, secured by a ten-penny nail, the
shanty had a flap-window, hinged at the bottom. When this was propped
up with a barrel stave it made a counter from which to pay the men, the
paymaster standing inside.
Babcock was sitting on a keg of dock spikes inside this working
shanty some days after he had discovered Tom's identity, watching his
bookkeeper preparing the pay-roll, when a face was thrust through the
square of the window. It was not a prepossessing face, rather pudgy and
sleek, with uncertain, drooping mouth, and eyes that always looked over
one's head when he talked. It was the property of Mr. Peter Lathers, the
|
when
|
How many times does the word 'when' appear in the text?
| 7
|
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
|
might
|
How many times does the word 'might' appear in the text?
| 5
|
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
|
body, impetuous wishes, and powerful will.
He might have taken for his motto that of William of Orange in the 17th
century: "I can undertake and persevere even without hope of success."
Cyrus Harding was courage personified. He had been in all the battles of
that war. After having begun as a volunteer at Illinois, under Ulysses
Grant, he fought at Paducah, Belmont, Pittsburg Landing, at the siege of
Corinth, Port Gibson, Black River, Chattanooga, the Wilderness, on the
Potomac, everywhere and valiantly, a soldier worthy of the general who
said, "I never count my dead!" And hundreds of times Captain Harding had
almost been among those who were not counted by the terrible Grant; but
in these combats where he never spared himself, fortune favored him till
the moment when he was wounded and taken prisoner on the field of battle
near Richmond. At the same time and on the same day another important
personage fell into the hands of the Southerners. This was no other than
Gideon Spilett, a reporter for the New York Herald, who had been ordered
to follow the changes of the war in the midst of the Northern armies.
Gideon Spilett was one of that race of indomitable English or American
chroniclers, like Stanley and others, who stop at nothing to obtain
exact information, and transmit it to their journal in the shortest
possible time. The newspapers of the Union, such as the New York Herald,
are genuine powers, and their reporters are men to be reckoned with.
Gideon Spilett ranked among the first of those reporters: a man of great
merit, energetic, prompt and ready for anything, full of ideas, having
traveled over the whole world, soldier and artist, enthusiastic in
council, resolute in action, caring neither for trouble, fatigue, nor
danger, when in pursuit of information, for himself first, and then for
his journal, a perfect treasury of knowledge on all sorts of curious
subjects, of the unpublished, of the unknown, and of the impossible. He
was one of those intrepid observers who write under fire, "reporting"
among bullets, and to whom every danger is welcome.
He also had been in all the battles, in the first rank, revolver in one
hand, note-book in the other; grape-shot never made his pencil tremble.
He did not fatigue the wires with incessant telegrams, like those who
speak when they have nothing to say, but each of his notes, short,
decisive, and clear, threw light on some important point. Besides, he
was not wanting in humor. It was he who, after the affair of the Black
River, determined at any cost to keep his place at the wicket of the
telegraph office, and after having announced to his journal the result
of the battle, telegraphed for two hours the first chapters of the
Bible. It cost the New York Herald two thousand dollars, but the New
York Herald published the first intelligence.
Gideon Spilett was tall. He was rather more than forty years of age.
Light whiskers bordering on red surrounded his face. His eye was steady,
lively, rapid in its changes. It was the eye of a man accustomed to take
in at a glance all the details of a scene. Well built, he was inured to
all climates, like a bar of steel hardened in cold water.
For ten years Gideon Spilett had been the reporter of the New York
Herald, which he enriched by his letters and drawings, for he was as
skilful in the use of the pencil as of the pen. When he was captured,
he was in the act of making a description and sketch of the battle. The
last words in his note-book were these: "A Southern rifleman has just
taken aim at me, but--" The Southerner notwithstanding missed Gideon
Spilett, who, with his usual fortune, came out of this affair without a
scratch.
Cyrus Harding and Gideon Spilett, who did not know each other except
by reputation, had both been carried to Richmond. The engineer's
wounds rapidly healed, and it was during his convalescence that he made
acquaintance with the reporter. The two men then learned to appreciate
each other. Soon their common aim had but one object, that of escaping,
rejoining Grant's army, and fighting together in
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 5
|
and John Romano
<b> FIRST DRAFT
</b>
<b> 3/25/97
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> BEVERLY HILLS STREET - NIGHT
</b>
It is late night, and deserted. Engine noise approaches;
headlights appear; as the car draws closer we hear singing.
It is a Mercedes convertible and as it roars by, the singing --
a sloppy baritone and a giggling soprano -- whooshes by with
it.
We hold as another car approaches. This one is a conservative
sedan, whose occupant does not sing.
<b> INSIDE THE CONVERTIBLE
</b>
The middle-aged driver is in a tuxedo with a rumpled shirt
and cocked bow tie. He is flushed, a Rogue forelock bouncing
over his forehead, and he merrily sings "Casey Jones" along
with the passenger, a young woman in a party dress who
squeals, rocks with the motion of the car, and
enthusiastically pipes in on the chorus.
<b> ANOTHER EMPTY STREET
</b>
The convertible makes a hot turn onto the street and
approaches with its singing.
<b> REVERSE
</b>
The car enters and roars away. After a beat of quiet, the
conservative sedan enters and recedes.
<b> BEACH
</b>
We are at the Malibu Guest Quarters Motel. The singing,
squealing Mercedes screeches into the lot and rocks to a
halt.
The young woman staggers out still giggling, and holding a
half-empty bottle of champagne.
The man tosses her a key with a large plastic tag.
<b> MAN
</b>
|
street
|
How many times does the word 'street' appear in the text?
| 2
|
twiddles his thumbs very slowly in a circle. He crosses his
legs as if to get comfortable.
The camera moves to a CLOSE UP of his burning shoes. The
image of his feet begins to appear through his shoes; the
flames fade; the background changes as we
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. GIDEON'S BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Gideon's bare feet are resting on reddish dry earth. Gideon
is sitting in his backyard under a fruit tree with a Bible
resting in his hands.
His house is a small, neatly painted bungalow in South
Central Los Angeles. Corn, tomatoes, other vegetables grow in
the yard. Chickens scratch around.
He slowly awakens; his hands are trembling. He looks around
and sees the chickens. He looks up at the sky and sighs, with
some relief.
SUNNY, Gideon's grandson, five years old, has been watching
him from the back window of the house. He leaves the window.
<b>INT. HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
<b>DOLLY SHOT OF SUNNY
</b>
Sunny peeps in the workroom. Through the crack in the door, a
Woman waves to Sunny.
<b>INT. WORKROOM - DAY
</b>
The room is nearly filled with pregnant women and their
husbands. SUZIE, Gideon's wife, late 60's or early 70's, a
picture of health, is giving a last bit of instruction before
the class ends. Some of the people are already preparing to
leave.
<b> SUZIE
</b> Remember, especially you men, that
working together now will already
have formed a bond before the child
arrives. The woman is very
sensitive.
Somewhere in the room a Male Voice booms out.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> Tell me about it.
There is a bit of LAUGHTER as all start putting away their
things.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Gideon looks over at the chickens, scratching around in the
garden. He calls to them, but they don't respond. He puts his
shoes on and walks towards the back door of the house.
Entering the house, he stops and waits inside the door
peeping out. In a sort of devilish manner he talks to
himself.
<b> GIDEON
</b> Spoiling the little foxes that
spoil my vines.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD - DAY
</b>
Shot of the backyard. Nothing. Suddenly, with the grace and
suspicion of alley cats, kids jump over Gideon's back fence,
look around timidly, and start climbing up his fruit tree.
Gideon walks down the steps slowly while humming in a deep
voice. He turns the water on and walks over to the tree,
trapping the kids. Dangling legs, hanging from the tree, try
to scurry up the tree to safety. Gideon sprays the tree with
water. Wet kids fall out of the tree and in one motion leap
the fence. Gideon cuts the water off and slaps the dirt off
his hands. He is quite pleased with himself.
<b>EXT. ALLEYWAY - DAY
</b>
One of the wet kids is watching Gideon as he goes back inside
the house. The boy signals the others who slowly follow in
single file. They jump the fence and climb back up the tree.
They let their half-eaten fruit fall to the ground.
<b>INT. BEDROOM - DAY
</b>
Suzie opens a letter and a picture of a baby falls out. Suzie
looks at the picture before reading the letter.
She tries to find a place for it among the other baby
pictures that cover the entire mirror on the dresser. Gideon
comes in and starts to undress.
<b> GIDEON
</b> My mind plays tricks on me. Is it
okay if I take a bath now?
<b> SU
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 4
|
The hallway is a mess. A window opening onto a light well is
open.
The door to the apartment is suddenly broken open. A plain-
clothes detective, two uniformed police officers and several
firemen - also in uniform - enter and look around. They all
wear gloves and masks that cover their mouths and noses.
Behind them, the superintendent and his wife also push their
way in. They're both holding their noses. In his free hand,
the superintendent holds a pile of mail and promotional
flyers. Behind him, comes a female neighbor.
<b> PLAIN-CLOTHES DETECTIVE
</b> (to the superintendent and the
<b> NEIGHBOR)
</b> Wait Outside please.
He signals to a police officer who herds the curious
onlookers back out through the door.
<b> POLICE OFFICER
</b> (to the superintendent, pointing to
a pile of mail)
What's the date of the last letter?
<b> SUPERINTENDENT
</b><b> (VERIFYING)
</b> The 16th from what I can see...
Wait...
The plain-clothes detective has tried in vain to open the
door on the left. It has been sealed up with adhesive tape.
<b> PLAIN-CLOTHES DETECTIVE
</b> (to the fire officer)
Can you try?
While the firemen go to work on the door, the plain-clothes
detective goes into the adjoining dining room. He opens the
windows quickly and turns to go into the room to the left via
the double
|
vain
|
How many times does the word 'vain' appear in the text?
| 0
|
es in slow methodical rhythm. WHOOSH. WHOOSH. WE SEE
the South American Indian MEN clearly now. Their tar stained
teeth. Their gaunt faces riddled with crow's feet. Their
jaws chewing away on huge wads of coca leaves as they collect
the harvest.
<b> EXT. DIRT ROAD - COLOMBIA - DAY
</b>
Old rickety trucks carrying the huge green tractor-sized
bales speed along the narrow road.
<b> EXT. CLEARING - COLOMBIA - DAY
</b>
The bundles are undone and Columbian women separate out the
leaves. Tribes of underweight workers carry armload after
armload of the harvest and ritualistically dump them into a
gigantic cannibal pot which sits on top of a raging bonfire.
The leaves are being boiled down and a huge plume of smoke
streaks the sky. Wizened Indios brave the heat and shovel
ashes into the pot to cool the solution.
<b> INT. JUNGLE - COLOMBIA - DAY
</b>
A primitive but enormous makeshift lab contains all the
equipment. The machinery. The solutions. The over-sized
vats. Dark-skinned bandoleros smoke cigarettes and sport
automatic weapons at all the points of entry. The coca is
now a "basuco" paste and is being sent in for a wash.
<b> INT. LABORATORY - COLOMBIA - 1989 - DAY
</b>
A conveyor belt pours out brick after brick of pure cocaine
hydrochloride. The bricks are wrapped, tied up, weighed, and
stamped with a "P" before being thrown into duffel bags.
<b> EXT. JUNGLE AIRSTRIP - COLOMBIA - DAY
</b>
A small twin-engine Cessna is loaded with dozens of duffel
bags and the plane takes off.
<b> EXT. VERO BEACH AIRFIELD - NIGHT
</b>
The Cessna touches down.
<b> EXT. WORKSITE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY
</b>
The worksite is busy. George is amongst other workers,
working a summer job. As George is taking five, he looks
across the sight to Fred, who is sweeping up debris. A long
way from being the boss.
<b> INT. COLLEGE ADMISSIONS OFFICE - WEYMOUTH - 1966 - DAY
</b>
George stands in line to register for college, wearing his
Brooks Brothers suit, bowtie, and freshly Bryllcreamed hair.
The room is crowded and the line is long. Bob Dylan's
"Subterranean Homesick Blues" blares out of one of the kid's
transistor radios. George looks around the room. He is
uncomfortable. He catches his reflection in the shiny glass
partition and stops. He doesn't like what he sees.
Something is not right. He looks like everyone else. Same
cookie-cutter hair, same cookie-cutter clothes, same cookie
cutter faces. He's a carbon copy.
<b> REGISTRATION WOMAN
</b> Next.
It's George's turn but he doesn't hear it. "Twenty years of
schooling and they put you on a day shift." The words hit
him like a tone of bricks as he continues to stare at his own
reflection.
<b> GEORGE (V.O.)
</b> I was standing there, and it was like
the outside of me and the inside of me
didn't match, you know? And then I
looked around the room and it hit me. I
saw my whole life. Where I was gonna
live, what type of car I'd drive, who my
neighbors would be. I saw it all and I
didn't
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Copyright 2004 All Rights Reserved
<b>
</b>
<b>BLACK. THE SOUND OF CHANNELS BEING TURNED ON A TV. TITLE UP:
</b>
<b>"SOME TIME AGO".
</b>
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
It's hard for us here to believe
what we're reporting to you, but it
does seem to be a fact.
CLICK! In a corner of the BLACK SCREEN, A SMALL TV APPEARS.
On it, in BLACK & WHITE, A NEWSCASTER sits at an anchor desk.
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
Bodies of the recently dead are
returning to life and attacking the
living.
CLICK! With each CLICK, the TV disappears, then reappears in
a new position ON SCREEN. CREDITS ROLL in the surrounding
<b>
</b>
<b>BLACK.
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> NEWSCASTER (O.S.)
</b>
Murder victims have shown signs of
having been partially devoured by
their murderers.
CLICK! ANOTHER NEWSCASTER is on the TV now, sitting in a more
modern studio. The broadcast remains in BLACK & WHITE.
<b> SECOND NEWSCASTER
</b>
Because of the obvious threat to
|
sits
|
How many times does the word 'sits' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Which is here -- Notting Hill
-- not a bad place to be...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
It's a full fruit market day.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> There's the market on weekdays,
selling every fruit and vegetable
known to man...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
A man in denims exits the tattoo studio.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The tattoo parlour -- with a guy
outside who got drunk and now can't
remember why he chose 'I Love Ken'...
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> The racial hair-dressers where
everyone comes out looking like the
Cookie Monster, whether they like
it or not...
Sure enough, a girl exits with a huge threaded blue bouffant.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - SATURDAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> Then suddenly it's the weekend, and
from break of day, hundreds of stalls
appears out of nowhere, filling
Portobello Road right up to Notting
Hill Gate...
A frantic crowded Portobello market.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and thousands of people buy
millions of antiques, some genuine...
The camera finally settles on a stall selling beautiful stained
glass windows of various sizes, some featuring biblical scenes
and saints.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and some not so genuine.
<b> EXT. GOLBORNE ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> And what's great is that lots of
friends have ended up in this part of
London -- that's Tony, architect
turned chef, who recently invested
all the money he ever earned in a new
restaurant...
Shot of Tony proudly setting out a board outside his restaurant,
the sign still being painted. He receives and approves a huge
fresh salmon.
<b> EXT. PORTOBELLO ROAD - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> So this is where I spend my days
and years -- in this small village in
the middle of a city -- in a house
with a blue door that my wife and I
bought together... before she left
me for a man who looked like Harrison
Ford, only even handsomer...
We arrive outside his blue-doored house just off Portobello.
<b> WILLIAM (V.O.)
</b> ... and where I now lead a strange
half-life with a lodger called...
<b> INT. WILLIAM'S HOUSE - DAY
</b>
<b> WILLIAM
</b> Spike!
The house has far too many things in it. Definitely two-
bachelor flat.
Spike appears. An unusual looking fellow. He has unusual
hair, unusual facial hair and an unusual Welsh accent: very
white, as though his flesh has never seen the sun. He wears
only shorts.
<b> SPIKE
</b> Even
|
shot
|
How many times does the word 'shot' appear in the text?
| 0
|
notice whatever had been taken of
his first letter, and the second had been answered very sharply, in six
lines, by the niece. "Miss Bordereau requested her to say that she
could not imagine what he meant by troubling them. They had none of Mr.
Aspern's papers, and if they had should never think of showing them
to anyone on any account whatever. She didn't know what he was talking
about and begged he would let her alone." I certainly did not want to be
met that way.
"Well," said Mrs. Prest after a moment, provokingly, "perhaps after all
they haven't any of his things. If they deny it flat how are you sure?"
"John Cumnor is sure, and it would take me long to tell you how his
conviction, or his very strong presumption--strong enough to stand
against the old lady's not unnatural fib--has built itself up. Besides,
he makes much of the internal evidence of the niece's letter."
"The internal evidence?"
"Her calling him 'Mr. Aspern.'"
"I don't see what that proves."
"It proves familiarity, and familiarity implies the possession of
mementoes, or relics. I can't tell you how that 'Mr.' touches me--how it
bridges over the gulf of time and brings our hero near to me--nor what
an edge it gives to my desire to see Juliana. You don't say, 'Mr.'
Shakespeare."
"Would I, any more, if I had a box full of his letters?"
"Yes, if he had been your lover and someone wanted them!" And I added
that John Cumnor was so convinced, and so all the more convinced by
Miss Bordereau's tone, that he would have come himself to Venice on the
business were it not that for him there was the obstacle that it would
be difficult to disprove his identity with the person who had written
to them, which the old ladies would be sure to suspect in spite of
dissimulation and a change of name. If they were to ask him point-blank
if he were not their correspondent it would be too awkward for him to
lie; whereas I was fortunately not tied in that way. I was a fresh hand
and could say no without lying.
"But you will have to change your name," said Mrs. Prest. "Juliana lives
out of the world as much as it is possible to live, but none the less
she has probably heard of Mr. Aspern's editors; she perhaps possesses
what you have published."
"I have thought of that," I returned; and I drew out of my pocketbook a
visiting card, neatly engraved with a name that was not my own.
"You are very extravagant; you might have written it," said my
companion.
"This looks more genuine."
"Certainly, you are prepared to go far! But it will be awkward about
your letters; they won't come to you in that mask."
"My banker will take them in, and I will go every day to fetch them. It
will give me a little walk."
"Shall you only depend upon that?" asked Mrs. Prest. "Aren't you coming
to see me?"
"Oh, you will have left Venice, for the hot months, long before
there are any results. I am prepared to roast all summer--as well as
hereafter, perhaps you'll say! Meanwhile, John Cumnor will bombard me
with letters addressed, in my feigned name, to the care of the padrona."
"She will recognize his hand," my companion suggested.
"On the envelope he can disguise it."
"Well, you're a precious pair! Doesn't it occur to you that even if you
are able to say you are not Mr. Cumnor in person they may still suspect
you of being his emissary?"
"Certainly, and I see only one way to parry that."
"And what may that be?"
I hesitated a moment. "To make love to the niece."
"Ah," cried Mrs. Prest, "wait till you see her!"
II
"I must work the garden--I must work the garden," I said to myself, five
minutes later, as I waited, upstairs, in the long, dusky sala, where the
bare scagliola floor gleamed vaguely
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 5
|
as a recruit, the novelty of it all, the lively bustle of the
metropolis, left him little time for dreaming and only now and then, as
he lay in the calm dawn on his camp bed, a great longing came over him;
the homely mill gleamed through the darkness like a lost Paradise and
the clatter of the wheels sounded in his ears like heavenly music. But
as soon as he heard the trumpet call, the vision passed away.
Martin fared worse at the mill, where he was now quite alone, for he
could not reckon as companions the millhands, or old David, an
inheritance from his father. Friends he had never had either in the
village or elsewhere. Johannes sufficed him and took their place
entirely. He slunk about brooding in silence, his mind ever gloomier,
his thoughts ever darkened, and at last melancholy took such hold of
him that the vision of his victim began to haunt him. He was sensible
enough to know that he could not go on living like this, and forcibly
sought to distract his thoughts--went on Sundays to the village dance
and visited the neighboring hamlets under pretense of trade interests.
But as for the result of all this--well, one fine day at the
commencement of his second year of service, Johannes got a letter from
his brother. It ran as follows:
"My Dear Boy:
"I shall have to write it some time, even though you will be angry with
me. I could not bear my loneliness any longer and have made up my mind
to enter into the matrimonial state. Her name is Gertrude Berling, and
she is the daughter of a wind-miller in Lehnort, two miles from here.
She is very young and I love her very much. The wedding is to be in six
weeks. If you can, get leave of absence for it.
"Dear brother, I beg of you, do not be vexed with me. You know
you will always have a home at the mill whether there is a mistress
there or not. Our fatherly inheritance belongs to us both, in any
case. She sends you her kind regards. You once met each other at a
shooting-match, and she liked you very much, but you took no notice of
her, and she sends you word she was immensely offended with you.
"Farewell,
"Your faithful brother,
"Martin."
Johannes was a very spoiled creature. Martin's engagement appeared to
him as high treason against their brotherly love. He felt as if his
brother had deceived him and meanly deprived him of his due rights.
Henceforth a stranger was to rule where hitherto he alone had been
king, and his position at the mill was to depend on her favor and good
will. Even the friendly message from the wind-miller's daughter did not
calm or appease him. When the day of the wedding came, he took no
leave, but only sent his love and good wishes by his old schoolfellow
Franz Maas, who was just left off from military service.
Six months later he himself was at liberty.
How now, Johannes? We are so obstinate that on no account will we go
home, and prefer to seek our fortune in foreign parts; we roam about,
now to right, now to left, up hill and down hill and rub off our horns,
and when, four weeks later, we come to the conclusion that in spite of
the wind-miller's daughter there is no place in the world like the
Rockhammer mill, we went our way homewards most cheerfully.
One sunny day in May Johannes arrived in Marienfeld.
Franz Mass, who had set up the autumn before as a worthy baker, was
standing, with his legs apart, in front of his shop, looking up
contentedly at the tin "Bretzel" swinging over his door in the gentle
noon-day breeze, when he saw an Uhlan come swaggering down the village
street with his cap cocked to one side and clinking his spurs. His
brave ex-soldier's heart beat quicker under
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.