context
stringlengths 1.27k
4.69k
| word
stringlengths 4
13
| claim
stringlengths 55
64
| label
int64 0
11
|
|---|---|---|---|
, for it contains sorrow that breaks my very heart at the
thought of it. Yes, a whole century in tears could I spend because of
the wicked people who have wrecked my life!
But dusk is coming on, and I must set to work again. Much else should I
have liked to write to you, but time is lacking, and I must hasten. Of
course, to write this letter is a pleasure enough, and could never be
wearisome; but why do you not come to see me in person? Why do you not,
Makar Alexievitch? You live so close to me, and at least SOME of your
time is your own. I pray you, come. I have just seen Theresa. She was
looking so ill, and I felt so sorry for her, that I gave her twenty
kopecks. I am almost falling asleep. Write to me in fullest detail, both
concerning your mode of life, and concerning the people who live with
you, and concerning how you fare with them. I should so like to know!
Yes, you must write again. Tonight I have purposely looped the curtain
up. Go to bed early, for, last night, I saw your candle burning until
nearly midnight. Goodbye! I am now feeling sad and weary. Ah that
I should have to spend such days as this one has been. Again
good-bye.--Your friend,
BARBARA DOBROSELOVA.
April 8th
MY DEAREST BARBARA ALEXIEVNA,--To think that a day like this should have
fallen to my miserable lot! Surely you are making fun of an old man?...
However, it was my own fault--my own fault entirely. One ought not to
grow old holding a lock of Cupid's hair in one's hand. Naturally one is
misunderstood.... Yet man is sometimes a very strange being. By all the
Saints, he will talk of doing things, yet leave them undone, and remain
looking the kind of fool from whom may the Lord preserve us!... Nay, I
am not angry, my beloved; I am only vexed to think that I should have
written to you in such stupid, flowery phraseology. Today I went hopping
and skipping to the office, for my heart was under your influence, and
my soul was keeping holiday, as it were. Yes, everything seemed to
be going well with me. Then I betook myself to my work. But with what
result? I gazed around at the old familiar objects, at the old familiar
grey and gloomy objects. They looked just the same as before. Yet
WERE those the same inkstains, the same tables and chairs, that I had
hitherto known? Yes, they WERE the same, exactly the same; so why should
I have gone off riding on Pegasus' back? Whence had that mood arisen?
It had arisen from the fact that a certain sun had beamed upon me, and
turned the sky to blue. But why so? Why is it, sometimes, that sweet
odours seem to be blowing through a courtyard where nothing of the sort
can be? They must be born of my foolish fancy, for a man may stray so
far into sentiment as to forget his immediate surroundings, and to give
way to the superfluity of fond ardour with which his heart is charged.
On the other hand, as I walked home from the office at nightfall my feet
seemed to lag, and my head to be aching. Also, a cold wind seemed to be
blowing down my back (enraptured with the spring, I had gone out clad
only in a thin overcoat). Yet you have misunderstood my sentiments,
dearest. They are altogether different to what you suppose. It is a
purely paternal feeling that I have for you. I stand towards you in
the position of a relative who is bound to watch over your lonely
orphanhood. This I say in all sincerity, and with a single purpose,
as any kinsman might do. For, after all, I AM a distant kinsman of
yours--the seventh drop of water in the pudding, as the proverb has
it--yet still a kinsman, and at the present time your nearest relative
and protector, seeing that where you had the right to look for help and
protection, you found only treachery and insult. As for poetry, I may
say that I consider it unbecoming for a man of my years to devote his
facult
|
should
|
How many times does the word 'should' appear in the text?
| 5
|
how he looks when you speak of me, won't you, Fritz? See, here's the
letter."
Taking it from her bosom, she kissed it before she gave it to me. Then
she added a thousand cautions, how I was to carry her letter, how I was
to go and how return, and how I was to run no danger, because my wife
Helga loved me as well as she would have loved her husband had Heaven
been kinder. "At least, almost as I should, Fritz," she said, now
between smiles and tears. She would not believe that any woman could
love as she loved.
I left the queen and went to prepare for my journey. I used to take only
one servant with me, and I had chosen a different man each year. None
of them had known that I met Mr. Rassendyll, but supposed that I was
engaged on the private business which I made my pretext for obtaining
leave of absence from the king. This time I had determined to take with
me a Swiss youth who had entered my service only a few weeks before.
His name was Bauer; he seemed a stolid, somewhat stupid fellow, but as
honest as the day and very obliging.
He had come to me well recommended, and I had not hesitated to engage
him. I chose him for my companion now, chiefly because he was a
foreigner and therefore less likely to gossip with the other servants
when we returned. I do not pretend to much cleverness, but I confess
that it vexes me to remember how that stout, guileless-looking youth
made a fool of me. For Rupert knew that I had met Mr. Rassendyll the
year before at Dresden; Rupert was keeping a watchful eye on all that
passed in Strelsau; Rupert had procured the fellow his fine testimonials
and sent him to me, in the hope that he would chance on something of
advantage to his employer. My resolve to take him to Wintenberg may
have been hoped for, but could scarcely have been counted on; it was the
added luck that waits so often on the plans of a clever schemer.
Going to take leave of the king, I found him huddled over the fire.
The day was not cold, but the damp chill of his dungeon seemed to have
penetrated to the very core of his bones. He was annoyed at my going,
and questioned me peevishly about the business that occasioned my
journey. I parried his curiosity as I best could, but did not succeed
in appeasing his ill-humor. Half ashamed of his recent outburst,
half-anxious to justify it to himself, he cried fretfully:
"Business! Yes, any business is a good enough excuse for leaving me! By
Heaven, I wonder if a king was ever served so badly as I am! Why did you
trouble to get me out of Zenda? Nobody wants me, nobody cares whether I
live or die."
To reason with such a mood was impossible. I could only assure him that
I would hasten my return by all possible means.
"Yes, pray do," said he. "I want somebody to look after me. Who knows
what that villain Rupert may attempt against me? And I can't defend
myself can I? I'm not Rudolf Rassendyll, am I?"
Thus, with a mixture of plaintiveness and malice, he scolded me. At last
I stood silent, waiting till he should be pleased to dismiss me. At any
rate I was thankful that he entertained no suspicion as to my errand.
Had I spoken a word of Mr. Rassendyll he would not have let me go. He
had fallen foul of me before on learning that I was in communication
with Rudolf; so completely had jealousy destroyed gratitude in his
breast. If he had known what I carried, I do not think that he could
have hated his preserver more. Very likely some such feeling was natural
enough; it was none the less painful to perceive.
On leaving the king's presence, I sought out the Constable of Zenda. He
knew my errand; and, sitting down beside him, I told him of the letter
I carried, and arranged how to apprise him of my fortune surely and
quickly. He was not in a good humor that day: the king had ruffled him
also, and Colonel Sapt had no great reserve of
|
rupert
|
How many times does the word 'rupert' appear in the text?
| 3
|
"Yes, he's the youngest of our children, sir. He and
Jennie--that's home, and 'most as tall as meself--are all that's left.
The other two went to heaven when they was little ones."
"Can't the little fellow's leg be straightened?" asked Babcock, in a
tone which plainly showed his sympathy for the boy's suffering.
"No, not now; so Dr. Mason says. There was a time when it might have
been, but I couldn't take him. I had him over to Quarantine again two
years ago, but it was too late; it'd growed fast, they said. When he
was four years old he would be under the horses' heels all the time, and
a-climbin' over them in the stable, and one day the Big Gray fetched
him a crack, and broke his hip. He didn't mean it, for he's as dacint
a horse as I've got; but the boys had been a-worritin' him, and he let
drive, thinkin', most likely, it was them. He's been a-hoistin' all the
mornin'." Then, catching sight of Cully leading the horse back to work,
she rose to her feet, all the fire and energy renewed in her face.
"Shake the men up, Cully! I can't give 'em but half an hour to-day.
We're behind time now. And tell the cap'n to pull them macaronis out
of the hold, and start two of 'em to trimmin' some of that stone to
starboard. She was a-listin' when we knocked off for dinner. Come,
lively!"
II. A BOARD FENCE LOSES A PLANK
The work on the sea-wall progressed. The coffer-dam which had been built
by driving into the mud of the bottom a double row of heavy tongued and
grooved planking in two parallel rows, and bulkheading each end with
heavy boards, had been filled with concrete to low-water mark, consuming
not only the contents of the delayed scow, but two subsequent cargoes,
both of which had been unloaded by Tom Grogan.
To keep out the leakage, steam-pumps were kept going night and day.
By dint of hard work the upper masonry of the wall had been laid to the
top course, ready for the coping, and there was now every prospect that
the last stone would be lowered into place before the winter storms set
in.
The shanty--a temporary structure, good only for the life of the
work--rested on a set of stringers laid on extra piles driven outside of
the working-platform. When the submarine work lies miles from shore, a
shanty is the only shelter for the men, its interior being arranged
with sleeping-bunks, with one end partitioned off for a kitchen and
a storage-room. This last is filled with perishable property, extra
blocks, Manila rope, portable forges, tools, shovels, and barrows.
For this present sea-wall--an amphibious sort of structure, with one
foot on land and the other in the water--the shanty was of light pine
boards, roofed over, and made water-tight by tarred paper. The bunks had
been omitted, for most of the men boarded in the village. In this way
increased space for the storage of tools was gained, besides room for
a desk containing the government working drawings and specifications,
pay-rolls, etc. In addition to its door, fastened at night with a
padlock, and its one glass window, secured by a ten-penny nail, the
shanty had a flap-window, hinged at the bottom. When this was propped
up with a barrel stave it made a counter from which to pay the men, the
paymaster standing inside.
Babcock was sitting on a keg of dock spikes inside this working
shanty some days after he had discovered Tom's identity, watching his
bookkeeper preparing the pay-roll, when a face was thrust through the
square of the window. It was not a prepossessing face, rather pudgy and
sleek, with uncertain, drooping mouth, and eyes that always looked over
one's head when he talked. It was the property of Mr. Peter Lathers, the
|
laid
|
How many times does the word 'laid' appear in the text?
| 1
|
NECESSARY PRACTICE
VII. HARD IT IS TO CLIMB
VIII. A BOY AND A GIRL
IX. THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME
X. A BRAVE RESCUE AND A ROUGH RIDE
XI. TOM DESERVES HIS SUPPER
XII. A MAN JUSTLY POPULAR
XIII. MASTER HUCKABACK COMES IN
XIV. A MOTION WHICH ENDS IN A MULL
XV. QUO WARRANTO?
XVI. LORNA GROWS FORMIDABLE
XVII. JOHN IS BEWITCHED
XVIII. WITCHERY LEADS TO WITCHCRAFT
XIX. ANOTHER DANGEROUS INTERVIEW
XX. LORNA BEGINS HER STORY
XXI. LORNA ENDS HER STORY
XXII. A LONG SPRING MONTH
XXIII. A ROYAL INVITATION
XXIV. A SAFE PASS FOR KING'S MESSENGER
XXV. A GREAT MAN ATTENDS TO BUSINESS
XXVI. JOHN IS DRAINED AND CAST ASIDE
XXVII. HOME AGAIN AT LAST
XXVIII. JOHN HAS HOPE OF LORNA
XXIX. REAPING LEADS TO REVELLING
XXX. ANNIE GETS THE BEST OF IT
XXXI. JOHN FRY'S ERRAND
XXXII. FEEDING OF THE PIGS
XXXIII. AN EARLY MORNING CALLING
XXXIV. TWO NEGATIVES MAKE AN AFFIRMATIVE
XXXV. RUTH IS NOT LIKE LORNA
XXXVI. JOHN RETURNS TO BUSINESS
XXXVII. A VERY DESPERATE VENTURE
XXXVIII. A GOOD TURN FOR JEREMY
XXXIX. A TROUBLED STATE AND A FOOLISH JOKE
XL. TWO FOOLS TOGETHER
XLI. COLD COMFORT
XLII. THE GREAT WINTER
XLIII. NOT TOO SOON
XLIV. BROUGHT HOME AT LAST
XLV. A CHANGE LONG NEEDED
XLVI. SQUIRE FAGGUS MAKES SOME LUCKY HITS
XLVII. JEREMY IN DANGER
XLVIII. EVERY MAN MUST DEFEND HIMSELF
XLIX. MAIDEN SENTINELS ARE BEST
L. A MERRY MEETING A SAD ONE
LI. A VISIT FROM THE COUNSELLOR
LII. THE WAY TO MAKE THE CREAM RISE
LIII. JEREMY FINDS OUT SOMETHING
LIV. MUTUAL DISCOMFITURE
LV. GETTING INTO CHANCERY
LVI. JOHN BECOMES TOO POPULAR
LVII.
|
jeremy
|
How many times does the word 'jeremy' appear in the text?
| 2
|
in the blackness, a man, FRED, is sitting on a bed smoking a
cigarette. we see his back, but with each glow of the
cigarette ash, we see his face reflected in a mirror on the
wall across from him. In the darkness, there starts the
sound of a motor which draws curtains back across a large
picture window just off screen. As the curtain moves, hard-edged
light begins crawling across the room, and we see
everything clearly. Fred is wearing a robe and pajamas, it's
early morning.
CLOSE UP ON FRED'S FACE IN THE MIRROR - Blank expression -
face somewhat obscured or distorted by smoke from the
cigarette.
CLOSE UP 0N FRED'S ACTUAL FACE - Unshaven, haggard look, eyes
seem empty, glazed over. Fred is 32 years old, with dark
hair.
THE DOORBELL RINGS. Fred looks up, startled by the noise.
He looks at the digital clock: 5:30 a.m.
FRED STANDS, goes to an INTERCOM on the wall next to the
mirror. He pushes a button.
A VOICE comes over the intercom.
<b> VOICE OVER
</b><b> INTERCOM
</b> Dick Laurent is dead.
Fred leaves the bedroom and goes through the house. He is on
the upstairs level. He looks through a narrow slot window,
but can't see the front door below. He goes further in the
house to a picture window that overlooks the street below.
There is NOBODY there.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE MADISON HOUSE - DAY
</b>
We can see Fred standing at the picture window, looking out.
<b> FADE OUT:
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>INT. THE MADISON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Fred is dressed to go out: Black sport coat and slacks,
buttoned up white shirt. He picks up a music case. A woman
comes into the room. This is Fred's wife, RENEE, 30 years
old, dark hair, dressed smartly, a drink in her hand.
<b> RENEE
</b> You don't mind that I'm not coming
tonight?
<b> FRED
</b> What are you going to do?
<b> RENEE
</b> I thought I'd stay home and read.
Fred looks her over, she's sexy without trying.
<b> FRED
</b> Read?... Read what, Renee?
Renee sits down on a couch and sips her drink. Fred comes
over to her, kisses her on the neck, which makes her laugh.
<b> FRED
</b> It's nice to know I can still make you
laugh.
<b> RENEE
</b> I like to laugh, Fred.
<b> FRED
</b> That's why I married you.
<b> RENEE
</b> Wake me up when you get home.
Fred brushes her cheek with his fingers, allowing them to
linger for a moment on her face.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
</b>
A blue neon sign reads: LUNA LOUNGE.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. LUNA LOUNGE - NIGHT
</b>
Fred is on the bandstand. He takes a solo on his saxophone.
|
window
|
How many times does the word 'window' appear in the text?
| 3
|
and brooding, too, this night and he barely listened
to Dennerman's complaints about not being able to get good phone
service or his wife's comments on the disgusting variety of television
commercials they had these days.
Burckhardt was well on the way to setting an all-time record for
continuous abstraction when, around midnight, with a suddenness that
surprised him--he was strangely _aware_ of it happening--he turned
over in his bed and, quickly and completely, fell asleep.
II
On the morning of June 15th, Burckhardt woke up screaming.
[Illustration]
It was more real than any dream he had ever had in his life. He could
still hear the explosion, feel the blast that crushed him against a
wall. It did not seem right that he should be sitting bolt upright in
bed in an undisturbed room.
His wife came pattering up the stairs. "Darling!" she cried. "What's
the matter?"
He mumbled, "Nothing. Bad dream."
She relaxed, hand on heart. In an angry tone, she started to say: "You
gave me such a shock--"
But a noise from outside interrupted her. There was a wail of sirens
and a clang of bells; it was loud and shocking.
The Burckhardts stared at each other for a heartbeat, then hurried
fearfully to the window.
There were no rumbling fire engines in the street, only a small panel
truck, cruising slowly along. Flaring loudspeaker horns crowned its
top. From them issued the screaming sound of sirens, growing in
intensity, mixed with the rumble of heavy-duty engines and the sound
of bells. It was a perfect record of fire engines arriving at a
four-alarm blaze.
Burckhardt said in amazement, "Mary, that's against the law! Do you
know what they're doing? They're playing records of a fire. What are
they up to?"
"Maybe it's a practical joke," his wife offered.
"Joke? Waking up the whole neighborhood at six o'clock in the
morning?" He shook his head. "The police will be here in ten minutes,"
he predicted. "Wait and see."
But the police weren't--not in ten minutes, or at all. Whoever the
pranksters in the car were, they apparently had a police permit for
their games.
The car took a position in the middle of the block and stood silent
for a few minutes. Then there was a crackle from the speaker, and a
giant voice chanted:
"Feckle Freezers!
Feckle Freezers!
Gotta have a
Feckle Freezer!
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle--"
It went on and on. Every house on the block had faces staring out of
windows by then. The voice was not merely loud; it was nearly
deafening.
Burckhardt shouted to his wife, over the uproar, "What the hell is a
Feckle Freezer?"
"Some kind of a freezer, I guess, dear," she shrieked back
unhelpfully.
* * * * *
Abruptly the noise stopped and the truck stood silent. It was still
misty morning; the Sun's rays came horizontally across the rooftops.
It was impossible to believe that, a moment ago, the silent block had
been bellowing the name of a freezer.
"A crazy advertising trick," Burckhardt said bitterly. He yawned and
turned away from the window. "Might as well get dressed. I guess
that's the end of--"
The bellow caught him from behind; it was almost like a hard slap on
the ears. A harsh, sneering voice, louder than the arch-angel's
trumpet, howled:
"Have you got a freezer? _It stinks!_ If it isn't a Feckle Freezer,
_it stinks_! If it's a last year's Feckle Freezer, _it stinks_! Only
this year's Feckle Freezer is any
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 5
|
he got a job of surveying to do, and now and
then a merchant got him to straighten out his books. With Scotch patience
and pluck he resolved to live down his reputation and work his way into
the legal field yet. Poor fellow, he could foresee that it was going to
take him such a weary long time to do it.
He had a rich abundance of idle time, but it never hung heavy on his
hands, for he interested himself in every new thing that was born into
the universe of ideas, and studied it, and experimented upon it at his
house. One of his pet fads was palmistry. To another one he gave no
name, neither would he explain to anybody what its purpose was, but
merely said it was an amusement. In fact, he had found that his fads
added to his reputation as a pudd'nhead; there, he was growing chary of
being too communicative about them. The fad without a name was one which
dealt with people's finger marks. He carried in his coat pocket a
shallow box with grooves in it, and in the grooves strips of glass five
inches long and three inches wide. Along the lower edge of each strip
was pasted a slip of white paper. He asked people to pass their hands
through their hair (thus collecting upon them a thin coating of the
natural oil) and then making a thumb-mark on a glass strip, following it
with the mark of the ball of each finger in succession. Under this row
of faint grease prints he would write a record on the strip of white
paper--thus:
JOHN SMITH, right hand--
and add the day of the month and the year, then take Smith's left hand on
another glass strip, and add name and date and the words "left hand." The
strips were now returned to the grooved box, and took their place among
what Wilson called his "records."
He often studied his records, examining and poring over them with
absorbing interest until far into the night; but what he found there--if
he found anything--he revealed to no one. Sometimes he copied on paper
the involved and delicate pattern left by the ball of the finger, and
then vastly enlarged it with a pantograph so that he could examine its
web of curving lines with ease and convenience.
One sweltering afternoon--it was the first day of July, 1830--he was at
work over a set of tangled account books in his workroom, which looked
westward over a stretch of vacant lots, when a conversation outside
disturbed him. It was carried on in yells, which showed that the people
engaged in it were not close together.
"Say, Roxy, how does yo' baby come on?" This from the distant voice.
"Fust-rate. How does _you_ come on, Jasper?" This yell was from close
by.
"Oh, I's middlin'; hain't got noth'n' to complain of, I's gwine to come
a-court'n you bimeby, Roxy."
"_You_ is, you black mud cat! Yah--yah--yah! I got somep'n' better to
do den 'sociat'n' wid niggers as black as you is. Is ole Miss Cooper's
Nancy done give you de mitten?" Roxy followed this sally with another
discharge of carefree laughter.
"You's jealous, Roxy, dat's what's de matter wid you, you
hussy--yah--yah--yah! Dat's de time I got you!"
"Oh, yes, _you_ got me, hain't you. 'Clah to goodness if dat conceit o'
yo'n strikes in, Jasper, it gwine to kill you sho'. If you b'longed to
me, I'd sell you down de river 'fo' you git too fur gone. Fust time I
runs acrost yo' marster, I's gwine to tell him so."
This idle and aimless jabber went on and on, both parties enjoying the
friendly duel and each well satisfied with his own share of the wit
exchanged--for wit they considered it.
Wilson stepped to the window to observe the combatants; he could not work
while their chatter continued. Over in the vacant lots was Jasper,
young, coal black, and of magnificent build, sitting on a wheelbar
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 4
|
the most famous documents in the
history of the world - the official
record of the trial of Joan of Arc.
The Bibliothèque Nationale's original record of the trial of
Joan of Arc is shown on the screen. An invisible hand turns
over the manuscript pages.
... If you turn over the pages,
yellow with age, which contain the
account of her martyrdom ...
Page after page is shown of this unique document with its
lines as straight as arrows, its marginal annotations, and
the naïve miniature drawings for which the notaries have
found time and space.
... you will find Joan herself ...
not the military genius who
inflicted on the enemy defeat after
defeat, but a simple and natural
young girl ... who died for her
country.
The last pages are turned. Then the picture disappears and
gives way to the first scene of the film, which shows
1 The prison, where Joan is sitting, praying. The flagstones,
the floor in Joan's cell. We see two straws and a hand,
Joan's hand, which lays the straws on the floor in the form
of a cross.
2 Scenes from the church are shown: the chalice is brought out.
3 In the prison we see Joan kneeling before her straw cross -
this most fragile and exalted of crosses. She prays in
ecstatic joy, at one moment bending right forward so that her
forehead touches the flagstones, the next moment kneeling
with her hands folded and her eyes raised to heaven as if she
saw beings visible only to her. From time to time she mutters
a short prayer.
<b>4 THE CHURCH
</b>
A young monk makes his way through rows of kneeling priests.
He is the Usher Massieu, who is on his way to summon Joan and
conduct her to her first examination.
<b>5 THE PRISON
</b>
Joan in front of her little cross. Suddenly the two straws
spin round in a mysterious gust of wind. What is it?
<b> 2.
</b>
Joan sits for a moment, overcome with astonishment, then puts
the straws back in the form of a cross. Again a hostile power
attacks this cross and scatters it over the flagstones. Joan
doesn't know what to believe. Can it be one of her voices? A
divine intervention? Once again she replaces the cross. Then
there is a roar of laughter from the door behind her. Joan
turns and sees three soldiers, who have been standing in the
half-open door, blowing at her straw cross through a long
tube.
Enter the soldiers. They are tormentors and bullies of the
worst kind. They continue to jeer at her.
6 Now the jailer appears, an elderly man, followed by a
|
straws
|
How many times does the word 'straws' appear in the text?
| 3
|
is there are thousands and thousands of us. A mexican wave
erupts success, celebration, with so many involved it's
impossible to pick out anyone individually. Critical mass
cyclists, easter crowds at st. Peter's basilica, nyc
marathon, 4,000 flash mobbers doing the silent disco at
london's victoria station, india's kumbh mela, macy's
thanksgiving day parade, raves, subway parties, the daytona
500. . . . Gradually the screen splits into 2, and then 3,
though at times there appears to be no division at all.
<b> EXT. FREEWAY. NIGHT.
</b>
An overhead shot of a crammed freeway gives way to a single
vehicle, a 98 Toyota Tacoma, red and white with a topper.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. ARON'S TRUCK. NIGHT.
</b>
Cut inside as Aron Ralston, 27 cuts off the freeway.
<b> TRIPTYCH.
</b>
<b> OPENING TITLES ARE A SERIES OF TRIPTYCHS FEATURING ALL THE
</b><b> TITLE CARDS EXCEPT THE MAIN ONE. THEY BLEND, OVERLAP AND ARE
</b><b> INTERCUT WITH ADVERTS SOME FROM THE BILLBOARDS ARON'S VAN
</b><b> PASSES, SOME FROM TELEVISION AND SOME FROM THE RADIO. AND,
</b><b> OF COURSE, ALL THESE INTERCUT WITH ARON AND HIS TRUCK. AND
</b><b> THE LANDSCAPE.
</b>
<b> A TITLE CARD READS:
</b> 'Utah. The Canyonlands. The slickrock desert. The red dust
and the burnt cliffs and the lonely sky-all that which lies
beyond the end of the roads.'
Edward Abbey. Desert Solitaire.
<b>
|
lonely
|
How many times does the word 'lonely' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b> A huge clock marks 7:55 p.m. (The clock belongs to some landmark
building, to be determined). Immediately following, the building goes
dark.
Establishing shot of the Eiffel Tower, lit. Suddenly, all the lights
go out.
The same thing happens with the Granada's Alhambra, Seville's Giralda
Tower, the Guggenheim at Bilbao, the Gate of Alcala. All these well-
known architectonic wonders turn dark, abruptly. (Beauty that
disappears suddenly, beauty that's extinguished and envelops us in
darkness.)
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 1. HARRY CAINE'S HOME. INT. NIGHT.
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b> Harry (fifty years old) sits, as if he were waiting, without hurry,
immobile and patient in his study next to his desk, as if it were the
thing keeping him company. He isn't doing anything. He lets time
take its course. His silence is broken by the sound of footsteps that
come and go. At first we can't see who the footsteps belong to, until
they stop.
In the living room, a few meters from Harry, Judit stops. She, too,
is shrouded in darkness. She looks at her wristwatch, the second hand
moves from left to right on the watch face. Judit (forty-eight, looks
younger) breathes, impatient. (She is dressed soberly, in a dignified
and practical manner).
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b> She approaches a window that looks out onto the street. Everything
outside is also in darkness. The building in front is just a dark
mass. She looks to the end of the street. Almost all the buildings
visible from the window are dark, the Gate of Alcala in the background
is also not lit. Without turning, she says to Harry:
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> JUDIT
</b> The Door of Alcala has also darkened.
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b> Harry is still sitting, inert
|
suddenly
|
How many times does the word 'suddenly' appear in the text?
| 1
|
THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS
</b><b> AND SOME "OMITTED" SLUGS. THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS
</b><b> SOFT COPY.
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
All we can see is black filling the screen... Black on
black...
<b> INT. A JEEP, LEBANON - DAY
</b>
And we're in a speeding SOVIET JEEP... Two men in front,
shouldering assault rifles. HEZBOLLAH SOLDIERS... And there
are three MEN in the back. A middle-aged Man wearing a tired
suit and tinted sunglasses trying to hold on. And on either
side of him, two Men, blindfolded. The man on one side is in
his forties, hands pressed in the pockets of a well-travelled
black-leather jacket... A stocky man, with the edge of a
J.D. Salinger character, he's seen everything at least once.
But even he has lost some of his self-confidence, here,
turning his head, sensing the wind, a blast of Arabic music
that disappears behind him... He's LOWELL BERGMAN. On the
other side of the man in the tired suit is a lanky Man with a
voltmeter around his neck, NORMAN.
<b> EXT. THE BEQA'A VALLEY, BAALBEK, LEBANON - DAY
</b>
The Jeep races up narrow winding streets of a Lebanese
village. It's shadowed by a Jeep in front, and in back, each
carrying personnel armed with AK's and a few RPG's... And in
the third Jeep are two blindfolded, not very threatening
Lebanese soldiers. And as the speeding convoy passes a
captured Israeli Armored Personnel Carrier covered with
Arabic graffiti, looking down on them from huge murals are
the stern visages of the Ayatollah Khomeini, and a Hezbollah
religious leader, the Sheikh Fadlallah... And, suddenly the
convoy skids to a stop... And blindfolded Lowell and Norman
are roughly taken out, and pushed, stumbling, through the
cloud of dust without sight... The lanky cameraman is
stopped, told to wait, while Lowell is pushed past armed men
guarding a small stone house, and inside...
<b> INT. A HOUSE IN LEBANON - DAY
</b>
A round-faced Man in his mid-forties, with large-framed
glasses, black hair and a grey-black beard, wearing a
dullbend, a turban, sits informally at a kitchen table...
It's the Sheikh Fadlallah whose face stares out at us from
walls. A Gunman cradling an AK-47 sits in an incongruous
purple armchair in a corner. A torn poster of the Seychelles
is on one wall. Another Gunman stands by a window. Lowell
is sat down in a chair at the kitchen table...
<b> THE SHEIKH
</b> Coffee?
<b> LOWELL
</b> Yeah... Thank you.
<
|
disappears
|
How many times does the word 'disappears' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Robert Ludlum
<b> PARIS DRAFT 9/20/00
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> DARKNESS. THE SOUND OF WIND AND SPRAY.
</b>
<b> MUSIC. TITLES.
</b>
<b> EXT. OCEAN -- NIGHT
</b>
The darkness is actually water. A SEARCHLIGHT arcs across
heavy ocean swells. Half-a-dozen flashlights -- weaker beams --
racing along what we can see is the deck of an aging FISHING
<b> TRAWLER.
</b>
FISHERMEN struggling with a gaff -- something in the water --
<b> A HUMAN CORPSE.
</b>
<b> EXT. FISHING BOAT DECK -- NIGHT
</b>
THE BODY sprawled there. The Sailors all talking at once --
three languages going -- brave chatter to mask the presence
of death --
<b> SAILOR #1
</b> -- Jesus, look at him --
<b> SAILOR #2
</b> -- what? -- you never saw a dead man
before? --
<b> SAILOR #3
</b> -- look, look he was shot --
(nudging the body --)
<b> SAILOR #1
</b> -- don't, don't do that --
<b> SAILOR #2
</b> -- he's dead, you think he cares? --
<b>
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 1
|
November 1, 1987
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 TITLES
</b>
The screen is composed of large, straight-edge areas of black
and white that rest against each other in a manner that suggests
some kind of pattern, without making a final sense; it is as if
we are too close to something that, could we see it from a
distance, would be clear to us.
These areas shift and change - both their own shape and their
relationship to their neighbors. New patterns are being made,
new solutions found - but they are just beyond our comprehension.
The effect should be aesthetically pleasing but simultaneously
frustrating and, perhaps, a little unsettling.
Shortly into this sequence, and subsequently inter-cut
throughout, we begin to see, in FLASHBACK, the story of
HELLRAISER. Arriving first as very short shock-images, these
brief sections eventually convey to the audience all the
necessary emotional and narrative information they will need to
understand the background to HELLBOUND.
Meanwhile, the black and white shapes are still moving, the
unseen patterns still shifting.
Over this constantly mobile background, the TITLES begin to
appear.
As the TITLES unroll, another change comes over the puzzle pieces
behind them. Where before they moved and related only in two
dimensions, gradually we see that they are now claiming depth as
well. The puzzle we are looking at is now a three-dimensional
one. The pieces are now solid blocks of various geometric
shapes, locking together, moving apart, finding their final
position.
Finally, as the TITLES come to their conclusion, the camera pulls
back until we can see clearly what we have been looking at. As
the final piece clicks into positions we see it is THE LAMENT
CONFIGURATION from HELLRAISER.
The closed box rests before our eyes a moment and then the circle
in the centre of the side that faces us gives way to an image
of a dusty street with a market. Simultaneous to this, the camera
TRACKS into this image until it fills the screen
<b>2 EXT A STREET BAZAAR DAY
</b>
The TRACK continues up through the market and then turns through
the stalls to find a store behind them. As we TRACK through the
store's doorway, we pass through a beaded curtain that
momentarily reminds us of the TORTURE ROOM in HELLRAISER.
<b>3 INT. STORE DAY
</b>
Once we are in the store itself, though, this impression disappears.
It is an ordinary, slightly seedy, junk shop.
The stall seems to sell an odd mixture of items; native trinkets
share space with second-hand items from European colonists. These
second-hand goods give us some sense of period. They suggest the
late 'twenties/early 'thirties. This is reinforced by the
sounds coming from one of them, an old-fashioned mahogany-cased
wireless. A foreign voice speaks from it in a language we don't
understand, though perhaps the words "BBC world service" are
discerned in the middle, and then a dance-hall tune of the period
begins to play. (Depending on availability, it would be nice to
have something relevant - 'I'll follow my Secret Heart', perhaps,
or 'Dancing in the Dark'.)
Into shot comes an ENGLISH OFFICER. His uniform, too, suggests
the 'twenties, the last days of Empire. He is tall, thin, and
dark-haired, but at no stage do we see his face clearly. He
stands in front of the stall.
The TRADER suddenly stands behind the counter. He has been
crouched beneath it, as if checking or preparing something. He
is a big, impressive-looking black man. His face is totally
impassive as he stares at his customer.
Neither of the men speak. Obviously, a deal has already been
struck and today is the pay-off.
The OFFICER, a little arrog
|
behind
|
How many times does the word 'behind' appear in the text?
| 2
|
even by the tenants
themselves, for the rules followed had ever been the rules on
the Allington estate; imperious to their wives and children, but
imperious within bounds, so that no Mrs. Dale had fled from her
lord's roof, and no loud scandals had existed between father and
sons; exacting in their ideas as to money, expecting that they were
to receive much and to give little, and yet not thought to be mean,
for they paid their way, and gave money in parish charity and in
county charity. They had ever been steady supporters of the Church,
graciously receiving into their parish such new vicars as, from time
to time, were sent to them from King's College, Cambridge, to which
establishment the gift of the living belonged;--but, nevertheless,
the Dales had ever carried on some unpronounced warfare against the
clergyman, so that the intercourse between the lay family and the
clerical had seldom been in all respects pleasant.
Such had been the Dales of Allington, time out of mind, and such in
all respects would have been the Christopher Dale of our time, had he
not suffered two accidents in his youth. He had fallen in love with
a lady who obstinately refused his hand, and on her account he had
remained single; that was his first accident. The second had fallen
upon him with reference to his father's assumed wealth. He had
supposed himself to be richer than other Dales of Allington when
coming in upon his property, and had consequently entertained an
idea of sitting in Parliament for his county. In order that he might
attain this honour he had allowed himself to be talked by the men
of Hamersham and Guestwick out of his old family politics, and had
declared himself a Liberal. He had never gone to the poll, and,
indeed, had never actually stood for the seat. But he had come
forward as a liberal politician, and had failed; and, although it
was well known to all around that Christopher Dale was in heart as
thoroughly conservative as any of his forefathers, this accident had
made him sour and silent on the subject of politics, and had somewhat
estranged him from his brother squires.
In other respects our Christopher Dale was, if anything, superior to
the average of the family. Those whom he did love he loved dearly.
Those whom he hated he did not ill-use beyond the limits of justice.
He was close in small matters of money, and yet in certain family
arrangements he was, as we shall see, capable of much liberality. He
endeavoured to do his duty in accordance with his lights, and had
succeeded in weaning himself from personal indulgences, to which
during the early days of his high hopes he had become accustomed. And
in that matter of his unrequited love he had been true throughout.
In his hard, dry, unpleasant way he had loved the woman; and when at
last he learned to know that she would not have his love, he had been
unable to transfer his heart to another. This had happened just at
the period of his father's death, and he had endeavoured to console
himself with politics, with what fate we have already seen. A
constant, upright, and by no means insincere man was our Christopher
Dale,--thin and meagre in his mental attributes, by no means even
understanding the fulness of a full man, with power of eye-sight very
limited in seeing aught which was above him, but yet worthy of regard
in that he had realized a path of duty and did endeavour to walk
therein. And, moreover, our Mr. Christopher Dale was a gentleman.
Such in character was the squire of Allington, the only regular
inhabitant of the Great House. In person, he was a plain, dry man,
with short grizzled hair and thick grizzled eyebrows. Of beard, he
had very little, carrying the smallest possible gray whiskers, which
hardly fell below the points of his ears. His eyes were sharp and
expressive, and his nose was straight and well formed,--as was also
his chin. But the nobility of his face was destroyed by a mean mouth
with thin lips; and his forehead, which was high and narrow, though
it forbad you to take Mr. Dale for a fool, forbad you also to take
him for a man of great parts, or of a
|
heart
|
How many times does the word 'heart' appear in the text?
| 1
|
rich
Final Draft
December 1, 1953
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> INT. JEFFERIES' APARTMENT - DAY - LONG SHOT
</b>
Although we do not see the foreground window frame, we see
the whole background of a Greenwich Village street.
We can see the rear of a number of assorted houses and small
apartment buildings whose fronts face on the next cross-town
street, sharply etched by the morning sun.
Some are two stories high; others three; some have peaked
roofs, others are flat. There is a mixture of brick and wood
and wrought iron in the construction.
The apartment buildings have fire escapes, the others do
not.
The neighborhood is not a prosperous one, but neither is it
poor. It is a practical, conventional dwelling place for
people living on marginal incomes, luck -- or hope and careful
planning.
The summer air is motionless and heavy with humid heat.
It has opened windows wide, pushed back curtains, lifted
blinds and generally brought the neighborhood life into a
sweltering intimacy. Yet, people born and bred to life within
earshot and eye glance of a score of neighbors have learned
to preserve their own private worlds by uniformly ignoring
each other, except on direct invitation.
THE CAMERA PULLS BACK until a large sleeping profile of a
man fills the screen. It is so large that we do not see any
features, but merely the temple and side of the cheek down
which a stream of sweat is running.
THE CAMERA PANS OFF this to the right hand side of the window,
and MOVES TO a thermometer which is hanging on the wall just
outside the window. It registers 84.
THE CAMERA MOVES ON into the open, and brings nearer to us a
room with a large studio window. We are able to see inside
|
camera
|
How many times does the word 'camera' appear in the text?
| 2
|
was fiction. The legend of the
Blair Witch is, apparently, true,
however--
CUT TO:
DIANE SAWYER on "Good Morning America."
DIANE SAWYER
--the brass tacks of the matter
is, love it or hate it, "Blair
Witch" has escalated from being
merely another cinema success
story to a genuine nationwide
phenomenon--if not obsession.
Profits from merchandising tie-
ins going through the roof--
CUT AWAY TO:
Montage of Blair Witch paraphernalia:
--t-shirts and other apparel
--keychains
--posters
--the books-The Blair Witch Project: A Dossier; Heather's Journal
--the CD "Josh's Blair Witch Mix"
DIANE SAWYER (V.O.)
--the official "Blair Witch" web-
site now having received 75
million "hits" to date--
--shot of computer screen, on-line: The Blair Witch Store
DIANE SAWYER (V.O.)
--with that web-site, in just a
matter of a few weeks, begatting
dozens more web-sites, with chat
rooms so packed with fans and foes
you're lucky to get a cyber-word
in edge-wise--
CUT TO:
Computer Screen showing a Chat Room in progress--exchanges flying
back and forth like lightning:
<b>GIRLGENIUS:</b> if story true, then how come end credits
list "written by"???
<b>WARLOX:</b> all docs are written by--somebody has to put
all the pieces together like a story
<b>K-RATIONAL:</b> that's EDITING, idiot--they made whole
|
witch
|
How many times does the word 'witch' appear in the text?
| 6
|
suffering to increase throughout that hapless place. 45
They had committed a dire sin against God: on that
account dire punishment befell them. They asserted,
in fierce mood, that they wished to seize the kingdom
and could easily do so: but this presumption mocked
them when their Lord, the high King of heaven, lifted 50
up his almighty hand against the throng. The mad
rebels, accursed ones, could not make head against God,
but the Highest troubled their spirits and humbled their
pride, for he was incensed; he stripped the sinners of 55
victory and might, of dominion and honor, and further
took from his foes happiness, peace, and all joys, as well
as bright glory, and finally, with his own exceeding power,
wreaked his wrath on his adversaries in mighty ruin. 60
He was stern in mood, grimly embittered, and seized
upon his foes with resistless grasp and broke them in
his grip, enraged at heart, and deprived his opponents of
their native seat,[4] their bright abodes on high. For 65
our Creator dismissed and banished from heaven the
overweening band of angels: the Lord sent away on a
long journey the faithless multitude, the hateful host,
the miserable spirits; their pride was broken, their threat 70
overthrown, their glory shattered, and their beauty
dimmed; thenceforth they abode in desolation, because
of their dark exile. They did not dare to laugh aloud,
but lived wearied by the torments of hell and became
familiar with woes, bitterness, and sorrow; covered with 75
darkness, they bore their pain,--a heavy sentence,
because they had begun to battle against God.
Then, as formerly, true peace existed in heaven, fair
amity: for the Lord was dear to all, the Sovereign to his 80
servants; and the majesty of the joyful angelic hosts
increased, through the favor of the Almighty.
II.
So those who inhabited the sky, home of glory, were
at peace; hatred was gone, as well as sorrow and strife
among angels, ever since the rebellious hosts, bereft of the 85
light, had relinquished heaven. Behind them stood in
grandeur their seats rich in glorious workmanship, teeming
with blessings in God's kingdom, bright and perennially
bountiful,--but all devoid of occupants, ever since the 90
miserable spirits had gone to their place of punishment,
their vile prison. Then our Lord bethought him, in
meditative mood, how he might people again, and with
a better race, his high creation, the noble seats and glory- 95
crowned abodes which the haughty rebels had left
vacant, high in heaven. Therefore Holy God willed by
his plenteous power that under the circle of the firma-
ment the earth should be established, with sky above and 100
wide water, a world-creation in place of the foes whom
in their apostasy he hurled from bliss.
As yet there was nothing at all created here, except
shadows, but this broad earth stood deep and dim, idle 105
and useless, alien even to God himself; on it the King
whose purpose never falters turned his eyes and beheld
the place void of joy; he saw dark clouds, black under
the firmament, throng in the eternal night, dun and 110
waste, until this world-creation came to pass through
the word of the King of Glory. First the everlasting
Lord, protector of all things, created heaven and earth;
|
heaven
|
How many times does the word 'heaven' appear in the text?
| 5
|
SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b> JULY 22, 1947
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. OPEN COUNTRY - DAY
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
The sky is pure blue, exquisitely blemished by huge cumulus
clouds, floating lazily. A single bird sails past. From the
sky the CAMERA MOVES TO earth. Here, too, all is tranquil.
The trees, bright green in the sunlight, move only to the
slight but constant breeze. Now the CAMERA MOVES DOWN,
revealing a wagon to which is hitched a team of horses beside
the road. The wagon is at an awkward angle, but upright. It
is wedged between two rocks where the horses have pulled it
as they tried to reach some forage. Its seat is empty. In
the bed of the wagon several sacks lie, bearing the legend:
From: Argus Mine - Rock Pass
To: U.S. Assay Office
San Francisco
The sacks are empty and slashed as by a knife. The ropes
that bound them are cleanly severed. The disorder in the
wagon indicates haste. Two horses are hitched to it, munching
grass or the high leaves of a tree overhead. All that is odd
or unnatural is that the reins have fallen askew and trail
the ground.
Now the CAMERA MOVES AWAY and ALONG tracks made by the wagon
when it left the road. ON THE ROAD two horses stand. These
are saddled, but riderless. The rifle holsters are empty.
CAMERA MOVES TO the ground. There on the road lies the rifle.
The dust is slightly blowing across it, moved by the
persistent summery little breeze. From the rifle, the CAMERA
MOVES ON A LITTLE and STOPS ABRUPTLY ON the sprawled dead
figure of a soldier, then another, face down in the road.
CLOSE SHOT of the dead soldiers, as the CAMERA HOLDS ON them.
|
cumulus
|
How many times does the word 'cumulus' appear in the text?
| 0
|
b>
The snow covered Alps stand out clearly in the light of a full
moon. A fortress-like CHATEAU is situated in a flat saddle of
forest partway up the mountain, next to a frozen lake. The
property is surrounded by high stone walls, and the stately
grounds are bathed in floodlights and patrolled by armed guards
with dogs.
<b> 2 EXT. CHATEAU - NIGHT
</b>
The driveway and motorcourt are filled with cars. A formal-
dress party is in progress... a private reception for a middle-
eastern dignitary. Tuxedoes men escort their diamond-encrusted
ladies through the huge front doors, where they doff their
overcoats and are politely scanned with hand-held metal
detectors by white gloved security staffers.
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming
a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway
or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the
grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The
bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter.
With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall
along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down
along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a
glow pulsing under the ice.
<b>
</b><b> 3 EXT. BENEATH THE ICE, UNDERWATER - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> Camera moving toward: A FIGURE in diving gear working at the
metal bars with an oxygen arc cutting torch. One bar has
already been cut out. Two quick cuts and a second bar falls to
the muddy bottom. Lit now only from the floodlights filtering
down through the ice, the figure slips through the bars and
swims powerfully along the stone canal wall.
Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against
the rippled-glass of the ice above.
<b> 4 EXT. CANAL AND BOATHOUSE - NIGHT
</b>
A dock extends into the frozen canal, just behind a large
boathouse. There is a faint chipping sound. The ice breaks
quietly, and the pieces are slid back. A head appears, in a
rubber drysuit hood. The DIVER slips the regulator out of his
mouth and turns slowly, scanning... revealing:
HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above
the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a
footpath nearby.
After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and
|
along
|
How many times does the word 'along' appear in the text?
| 3
|
><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> SECOND DRAFT
</b><b>
</b> February 18, 1982
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> FADE IN:
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. JUNGLE - DAY
</b><b>
</b> A machete slashes INTO FRAME. An American in battered
fedora and leather jacket, accompanied by two gunbearers,
hacks his way through dense bush. We see him from the back
only. He hacks an opening, bats fly out AT CAMERA and the
bushes part, revealing huge overgrown stone letters -- the
Mayan ruin look -- that spell "AIRPLANE II."
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. GANTRY - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> The Jupiter shuttle stands ready to fly.
<b>
</b><b> SUPER: HOUSTON, 2002
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. MISSION CONTROL ROOM - STOCK FOOTAGE
</b><b>
</b> of Houston Control with appropriate jargon V.O.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> INT. TERMINAL - WIDE ANGLE STOCK SHOT
</b><b>
</b> of a crowded modern terminal.
<b>
</b><b> P.A.
</b> All lunar departures, please proceed to
concourse lounge 'B.'
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. TERMINAL - STOCK FOOTAGE - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b>
|
stock
|
How many times does the word 'stock' appear in the text?
| 2
|
give you
the printing of the Lady Mary's commentary of Plautus for that key,'
he said.
The printer murmured 'Eat,' and set a great pewter salt-cellar, carved
like a Flemish pikeman, a foot high, heavily upon the cloth.
Udal had the appetite of a wolf. He pulled off his cap the better to
let his jaws work.
'Here's a letter from the Doctor Wernken of Augsburg,' he said. 'You
may see how the Lutherans fare in Germany.'
The printer took the letter and read it, standing, frowning and heavy.
Magister Udal ate; the old man fingered his furs and, leaning far back
in his mended chair, gazed at nothing.
'Let me have the maid in wedlock,' Udal grunted between two bites.
'Better women have looked favourably upon me. I had a pupil in the
North----'
'She was a Howard, and the Howards are all whores,' the printer said,
over the letter. 'Your Doctor Wernken writes like an Anabaptist.'
'They are even as the rest of womenkind,' Udal laughed, 'but far
quicker with their learning.'
A boy rising twenty, in a grey cloak that showed only his bright red
stockings and broad-toed red shoes, rattled the back door and slammed
it to. He pulled off his cap and shook it.
'It snows,' he said buoyantly, and then knelt before his grandfather.
The old man touched his grandson's cropped fair head.
'_Benedicite_, grandson Hal Poins,' he muttered, and relapsed into his
gaze at the fire.
The young man bent his knee to his uncle and bowed low to the
magister. Being about the court, he had for Udal's learning and office
a reverence that neither the printer nor his grandfather could share.
He unfastened his grey cloak at the neck and cast it into a corner
after his hat. His figure flashed out, lithe, young, a blaze of
scarlet with a crowned rose embroidered upon a chest rendered enormous
by much wadding. He was serving his apprenticeship as ensign in the
gentlemen of the King's guard, and because his dead father had been
beloved by the Duke of Norfolk it was said that his full ensigncy was
near. He begged his grandfather's leave to come near the fire, and
stood with his legs apart.
'The new Queen's come to Rochester,' he said; 'I am here with the
guard to take the heralds to Greenwich Palace.'
The printer looked at him unfavourably from the corner of his dark and
gloomy eyes.
'You come to suck up more money,' he said moodily. 'There is none in
this house.'
'As Mary is my protectress!' the boy laughed, 'there is!' He stuck his
hands into his breeches pocket and pulled out a big fistful of crowns
that he had won over-night at dice, and a long and thin Flemish chain
of gold. 'I have enow to last me till the thaw,' he said. 'I came to
beg my grandfather's blessing on the first day of the year.'
'Dicing ... Wenching ...' the printer muttered.
'If I ask thee for no blessing,' the young man said, 'it's because,
uncle, thou'rt a Lutheran that can convey none. Where's Margot? This
chain's for her.'
'The fair Margot's locked in her chamber,' Udal snickered.
'Why-som-ever then? Hath she stolen a tart?'
'Nay, but I would have her in wedlock.'
'Thou--you--your magistership?' the boy laughed incredulously. The
printer caught in his tone his courtier's contempt for the artificer's
home, and his courtier's reverence for the magister's learning.
'Keep thy sister from beneath this fox's tooth,' he said. 'The likes
of him mate not with the like of us.'
'The like of thee, uncle?' the boy retorted, with a good-humoured
insolence. 'My father was a gentleman.'
'Who married my sister for her small money, and died leaving thee and
|
wadding
|
How many times does the word 'wadding' appear in the text?
| 0
|
June 19th 1996
<b> NOTE: THE HARD COPY OF THIS SCRIPT CONTAINED SCENE NUMBERS.
</b><b> THEY HAVE BEEN REMOVED FOR THIS SOFT COPY.
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> THE SCREEN
</b>
Stygean darkness.
Wet CLICKING SOUNDS. A BEAM of purplish ULTRA-VIOLET LIGHT
reveals a mosaic of moving forms... COCKROACHES. They skitter
restlessly under the beam's intensity. SERIES OF SHOTS -- the
UV Beam passing over various parts of the space. Pipe webs,
walls, girders -- all covered with the insects. Thousands of
them.
<b> PULL BACK TO REVEAL
</b>
<b> INT. SEWER SYSTEM
</b>
Innards of steel. A vast maze of tunnels.
A GROUP OF FIGURES advances through the tunnels with handheld
UV lamps.
The figures are dressed in gray air-tight NEOPRENE SUITS,
their faces hidden by skin tight MASKS and bug-like NIGHT
VISION GOGGLES. In the dense silence, respirator valves HISS-
CLICK at the corner of their lips in mechanical rhythm.
The scene has a dream-like, choreographed quality.
<b> NIGHT-VISION POV
</b>
Eerie, aquatic green. The horde of insects appear to be some
kind of sea-life, crawling over the floor of a dead ocean.
<b> THE TEAM OF FIGURES
</b>
From their midst appears another FIGURE, its neoprene suit a
flat WHITE. Female, clearly the TEAM LEADER.
She carries a stainless steel CONTAINER filled with twenty
small compartments, each bearing a large, heavy-shelled roach
with a different BARCODE on their back.
<b> JUDAS ROACHES.
</b>
She kneels and opens the
<b> CASE
</b>
TCHK!! A dozen of the Judas roaches are released. They slide
through into the area.
<b> THE NEARBY ROACHES
</b>
react instantaneously. In a rustle of tiny legs, they begin
to stream toward the Judases.
Jostle and fight each other for position to mate with them.
They even crawl over the Team Leader in an effort to reach
the Judases. The Team Leader makes no effort to brush them
off. Patient, almost godlike, she watches the MATING.
<b> LATER
</b>
A MANHOLE has been opened above. CHAINS are dropped down and
attached by a Team Member to A 100-GALLON DISPOSAL DRUM.
REVEAL the floor of the tunnel, carpeted with the still forms
of the roaches, now all DEAD.
The Team Members quietly shovel the tiny corpses into other
disposal drums.
|
leader
|
How many times does the word 'leader' appear in the text?
| 2
|
; "yet mortals may easily transform fairies into anything they
wish."
"If that is so, why have we never heard of this power before?" asked
Seseley.
"Because fairies, as a rule, are content with their lot, and do not
wish to appear in any form but their own. And, knowing that evil or
mischievous mortals can transform them at will, the fairies take great
care to remain invisible, so they can not be interfered with. Have you
ever," she asked, suddenly, "seen a fairy before?"
"Never," replied Seseley.
"Nor would you have seen me to-day, had I not known you were kind and
pure-hearted, or had I not resolved to ask you to exercise your powers
upon me."
"I must say," remarked Helda, boldly, "that you are foolish to wish to
become anything different from what you are."
"For you are very beautiful NOW," added Berna, admiringly.
"Beautiful!" retorted the fairy, with a little frown; "what does beauty
amount to, if one is to remain invisible?"
"Not much, that is true," agreed Berna, smoothing her own dark locks.
"And as for being foolish," continued the fairy, "I ought to be allowed
to act foolishly if I want to. For centuries past I have not had a
chance to do a single foolish thing."
"Poor dear!" said Helda, softly.
Seseley had listened silently to this conversation. Now she inquired:
"What do you wish to become?"
"A mortal!" answered the fairy, promptly.
"A girl, like ourselves?" questioned the baron's daughter.
"Perhaps," said the fairy, as if undecided.
"Then you would be likely to endure many privations," said Seseley,
gently. "For you would have neither father nor mother to befriend you,
nor any house to live in."
"And if you hired your services to some baron, you would be obliged to
wash dishes all day, or mend clothing, or herd cattle," said Berna.
"But I should travel all over the island," said the fairy, brightly,
"and that is what I long to do. I do not care to work."
"I fear a girl would not be allowed to travel alone," Seseley remarked,
after some further thought. "At least," she added, "I have never heard
of such a thing."
"No," said the fairy, rather bitterly, "your men are the ones that roam
abroad and have adventures of all kinds. Your women are poor, weak
creatures, I remember."
There was no denying this, so the three girls sat silent until Seseley
asked:
"Why do you wish to become a mortal?"
"To gain exciting experiences," answered the fairy. "I'm tired of
being a humdrum fairy year in and year out. Of course, I do not wish
to become a mortal for all time, for that would get monotonous, too;
but to live a short while as the earth people do would amuse me very
much."
"If you want variety, you should become a boy," said Helda, with a
laugh, "The life of a boy is one round of excitement."
"Then make me a boy!" exclaimed the fairy eagerly.
"A boy!" they all cried in consternation. And Seseley added:
"Why--you're a GIRL fairy, aren't you?"
"Well--yes; I suppose I am," answered the beautiful creature, smiling;
"but as you are going to change me anyway, I may as well become a boy
as a girl."
"Better!" declared Helda, clapping her hands; "for then you can do as
you please."
"But would it be right?" asked Seseley, with hesitation.
"Why not?" retorted the fairy. "I can see nothing wrong in being a
boy. Make me a tall, slender youth, with waving brown hair and dark
eyes. Then I shall be as unlike my own self as possible, and the
adventure will be all the more interesting. Yes; I like the idea of
being a boy very much indeed."
|
answered
|
How many times does the word 'answered' appear in the text?
| 2
|
FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EXT. ALBUQUERQUE - DAY 1
</b>
ROSE LORKOWSKI, 30, drives through Albuquerque. She passes
small adobe houses, the Air force base, parched earth
playgrounds, University cafes and other distinctive sights.
On the highway she passes under the freeway interchange, a
tangle of rust and turquoise ramps. The Sandia mountains rise
in the distance as Rose heads up to the nicer neighborhoods
of the foothills.
<b>2 EXT. SEVEN FIGURE HOUSE - DAY 2
</b>
Rose pulls up to an expensive looking Spanish style house and
parks. She gets out of the car, pops the hatch and pulls out
a vacuum cleaner and assorted cleaning supplies.
<b>3 INT. SEVEN FIGURE HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY 3
</b>
Rose drags a vacuum cleaner into a room where expensive decor
collides with the debris of a recent party.
She collects beer bottles from end tables, book shelves and
house plants. Cigarette butts float in cocktail glasses.
Rose plugs in the vacuum cord and glances out the sliding
glass doors. A group of twenty somethings frolic in the pool.
A lanky trust funder slides open the door and drips water
onto the carpet as he makes his way to retrieve a cold beer.
He brushes past Rose on his way back out. Rose turns on the
vacuum and wonders if he even saw her.
<b>4 INT. FAIR N SQUARE MARKET - DAY 4
</b>
The space is packed with every kind of snack imaginable. JOE
LORKOWSKI, 53, talks as the OWNER stocks shelves.
<b> OWNER
</b> I've got the five stores here and
then two in Rio Rancho.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> GREEN REVISION 3/5/07 2.
</b><b>4 CONTINUED: 4
</b>
<b> JOE
</b> That's fantastic. See, if we're
talking that kind of volume I
|
house
|
How many times does the word 'house' appear in the text?
| 3
|
most violent emphasis to the listening Destinies:
"I didn't--oh, I _didn_'t mean a _real_ husband. It isn't that I yearn
to be married to some good man, like an old maid or a Duchess novel.
I--I just want all the lovely things Eva has, or any girl that _marries_
them, without any trouble but taking care of a man. One man _couldn't_
but be easier than a whole roomful of library babies. I want to be
looked after, and have time to keep pretty, and a chance to make
friends, and lovely frocks with lots of lace on them, and just months
and months and months when I never had to do anything by a
clock--and--and a rose-garden!"
This last idea was dangerous. It isn't a good thing, if you want to be
contented with your lot, to think of rose-gardens in a stuffy city
library o' Saturdays; especially when where you were brought up
rose-gardens were one of the common necessities of life; and more
especially when you are tired almost to the crying-point, and have all
the week's big sisters back of it dragging on you, and all its little
sisters to come worrying at you, and--time not up till six.
But the Liberry Teacher went blindly on straightening shelves nearly as
fast as the children could muss them up, and thinking about that
rose-garden she wanted, with files of masseuses and manicures and French
maids and messenger-boys with boxes banked soothingly behind every bush.
And the thought became too beautiful to dally with.
"I'd marry _anything_ that would give me a rose-garden!" reiterated the
Liberry Teacher passionately to the Destinies, who are rather catty
ladies, and apt to catch up unguarded remarks you make. "_Anything_--so
long as it was a gentleman--and he didn't scold me--and--and--I didn't
have to associate with him!" her New England maidenliness added in
haste.
Then, for the librarian who cannot laugh, like the one who reads, is
supposed in library circles to be lost, Phyllis shook herself and
laughed at herself a little, bravely. Then she collected the most
uproarious of her flock around her and began telling them stories out of
the "Merry Adventures of Robin Hood." It would keep the children quiet,
and her thoughts, too. She put rose-gardens, not to say manicurists and
husbands, severely out of her head. But you can't play fast and loose
with the Destinies that way.
"Done!" they had replied quietly to her last schedule of requirements.
"We'll send our messenger over right away." It was not their fault that
the Liberry Teacher could not hear them.
II
He was gray-haired, pink-cheeked, curvingly side-whiskered and
immaculately gray-clad; and he did not look in the least like a
messenger of Fate.
The Liberry Teacher was at a highly keyed part of her narrative, and
even the most fidgety children were tense and open-mouthed.
"'And where art thou now?' cried the Stranger to Robin Hood. And Robin
roared with laughter. 'Oh, in the flood, and floating down the stream
with all the little fishes,' said he--" she was relating breathlessly.
"_Tea_-cher!" hissed Isaac Rabinowitz, snapping his fingers at her at
this exciting point. "Teacher! There's a guy wants to speak to you!"
"Aw, shut-_tup_!" chorused his indignant little schoolmates. "Can't you
see that Teacher's tellin' a story? Go chase yerself! Go do a tango
roun' de block!"
Isaac, a small Polish Jew with tragic, dark eyes and one suspender,
received these and several more such suggestions with all the calm
impenetrability of his race.
"Here's de guy," was all he vouchsafed before he went back to the
unsocial nook where, afternoon by faithful afternoon, he read away at a
fat three-volume life of Alexander Hamilton.
The Liberry Teacher looked up without stopping her story,
|
tellin
|
How many times does the word 'tellin' appear in the text?
| 0
|
a man in his 70s, narrates nostalgically OVER a MONTAGE
of related news photos.
<b> MANETTA (V.O.)
</b> 1957 was a big year. The Russians
put that Sputnik into outer space,
the Dodgers played their last game
at Ebbets Field, 'that guy' shot
Frank Costello in the head, and
missed, and the Gallo brothers
whacked Albert Anastasia in that
barber shop in the Park Sheraton
Hotel. It was total chaos. With
Anastasia gone, Vito Genovese
figures he's king shit, but Carlo
Gambino and 'Joe Bananas' both
want to be boss of all bosses. So
they call a meeting -- a big
meeting.
<b>2 EXT. UPSTATE NEW YORK - DAY 2
</b>
CREDITS CONTINUE. In FADED 16mm documentary-style, we
see a country road winding through rolling hills. At the
top of the hill, a black '57 Cadillac appears and sweeps
through the peaceful landscape.
<b> MANETTA (V.O.)
</b> It was the first time the whole
commission was ever gonna meet
face to face. Bosses and wiseguys
were comin' in from all over the
country, and all the New York
families, too -- maybe sixty
bosses, the whole wiseguy world --
all headin' toward this little
town upstate to figure out what's
what.
<b>3 EXT. ROADSIDE - DAY 3
</b>
A sign reads, "Entering Apalachin - pop. 342." The black
Cadillac speeds past the sign, then another black Caddy,
then a black Lincoln, then another Caddy, a Lincoln, etc.
<b> MANETTA (V.O.)
</b> Your father and me, we were goin'
up with Tommy D., Fat Tommy.
<b>
|
bosses
|
How many times does the word 'bosses' appear in the text?
| 2
|
that man had somehow induced a corresponding state in myself. It was
very quietly that I remarked:
"You must be a good swimmer."
"Yes. I've been in the water practically since nine o'clock. The
question for me now is whether I am to let go this ladder and go on
swimming till I sink from exhaustion, or--to come on board here."
I felt this was no mere formula of desperate speech, but a real
alternative in the view of a strong soul. I should have gathered from
this that he was young; indeed, it is only the young who are ever
confronted by such clear issues. But at the time it was pure intuition
on my part. A mysterious communication was established already between
us two--in the face of that silent, darkened tropical sea. I was
young, too; young enough to make no comment. The man in the water began
suddenly to climb up the ladder, and I hastened away from the rail to
fetch some clothes.
Before entering the cabin I stood still, listening in the lobby at the
foot of the stairs. A faint snore came through the closed door of the
chief mate's room. The second mate's door was on the hook, but the
darkness in there was absolutely soundless. He, too, was young and could
sleep like a stone. Remained the steward, but he was not likely to
wake up before he was called. I got a sleeping suit out of my room and,
coming back on deck, saw the naked man from the sea sitting on the main
hatch, glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body in a
sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one I was wearing
and followed me like my double on the poop. Together we moved right aft,
barefooted, silent.
"What is it?" I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp out
of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.
"An ugly business."
He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under somewhat
heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth on his
cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped, round chin. His
expression was concentrated, meditative, under the inspecting light of
the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking hard in solitude
might wear. My sleeping suit was just right for his size. A well-knit
young fellow of twenty-five at most. He caught his lower lip with the
edge of white, even teeth.
"Yes," I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle. The warm, heavy
tropical night closed upon his head again.
"There's a ship over there," he murmured.
"Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?"
"Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her--" He paused and
corrected himself. "I should say I _was_."
"Aha! Something wrong?"
"Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man."
"What do you mean? Just now?"
"No, on the passage. Weeks ago. Thirty-nine south. When I say a man--"
"Fit of temper," I suggested, confidently.
The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the
ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had
been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense
mirror.
"A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy," murmured my
double, distinctly.
"You're a Conway boy?"
"I am," he said, as if startled. Then, slowly... "Perhaps you too--"
It was so; but being a couple of years older I had left before he
joined. After a quick interchange of dates a silence fell; and I thought
suddenly of my absurd mate with his terrific whiskers and the "Bless my
soul--you don't say so" type of intellect. My double gave me an inkling
of his thoughts by saying: "My father's a parson in Norfolk. Do you see
me before a judge and jury on that charge? For myself I
|
young
|
How many times does the word 'young' appear in the text?
| 5
|
iles embark as passengers on
these rafts of flowers; and the brilliant colony, unfolding to the wind
its golden sails, glides along slumberingly till it arrives at some
retired creek in the river.
The two shores of the Mississippi present the most extraordinary
picture. On the western border vast savannahs spread away farther than
the eye can reach, and their waves of verdure, as they recede, appear
to rise gradually into the azure sky, where they fade away. In these
limitless meadows herds of three or four thousand wild buffaloes wander
at random. Sometimes, cleaving the waters as it swims, a bison, laden
with years, comes to repose among the high grass on an island of the
Mississippi, its forehead ornamented with two crescents, and its ancient
and slimy beard giving it the appearance of a god of the river throwing
an eye of satisfaction upon the grandeur of its waters, and the wild
abundance of its shores.
[Illustration: 013]
Such is the scene upon the western border; but it changes on the
opposite side, which forms an admirable contrast with the other shore.
Suspended along the course of the waters, grouped upon the rocks and
upon the mountains, and dispersed in the valleys, trees of every
form, of every color, and of every perfume, throng and grow together,
stretching up into the air to heights that weary the eye to follow. Wild
vines, bignonias, coloquintidas, intertwine each other at the feet of
these trees, escalade their trunks, and creep along to the extremity of
their branches, stretching from the maple to the tulip-tree, from the
tulip-tree to the holly-hock, and thus forming thousands of grottoes,
arches and porticoes. Often, in their wanderings from tree to tree,
these creepers cross the arm of a river, over which they throw a bridge
of flowers. Out of the midst of these masses, the magnolia, raising
its motionless cone, surmounted by large white buds, commands all the
forest, where it has no other rival than the palm-tree, which gently
waves, close by, its fans of verdure.
A multitude of animals, placed in these retreats by the hand of the
Creator, spread about life and enchantment. From the extremities of the
avenues may be seen bears, intoxicated with the grape, staggering
upon the branches of the elm-trees; cariboos bathe in the lake;
black-squirrels play among the thick foliage; mocking-birds, and
Virginian pigeons not bigger than sparrows, fly down upon the turf,
reddened with strawberries; green parrots with yellow heads, purple
woodpeckers, cardinals red as fire, clamber up to the very tops of the
cypress-trees; humming-birds sparkle upon the jessamine of the Floridas;
and bird-catching serpents hiss while suspended to the domes of the
woods, where they swing about like the creepers themselves.
If all is silence and repose in the savannahs on the other side of the
river, all here, on the contrary, is sound and motion; peckings against
the trunks of the oaks, frictions of animals walking along as they
nibble or crush between their teeth the stones of fruits, the roaring of
the waves, plaintive cries, dull bellowings and mild cooings, fill these
deserts with a tender yet wild harmony. But when a breeze happens to
animate these solitudes, to swing these floating bodies, to confound
these masses of white, blue, green, and pink, to mix all the colors and
to combine all the murmurs, there issue such sounds from the depths of
the forests, and such things pass before the eyes, that I should in
vain endeavor to describe them to those who have never visited these
primitive fields of Nature.
After the discovery of the Mississippi by Father Marquette and the
unfortunate La Salle, the first Frenchmen who established themselves at
Biloxi and at New Orleans entered into an alliance with the Natchez, an
Indian nation whose power was redoubtable in those countries. Quarrels
and jealousies subsequently ensanguined the land of hospitality. Amongst
these savages
|
waters
|
How many times does the word 'waters' appear in the text?
| 2
|
well in his movements as in his port, his eye, and the general
expression of his face. He greeted me with brevity, and, in the moment
of shaking hands, scanned me from head to foot; he took his seat in the
morocco covered arm-chair, and motioned me to another seat.
"'I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the Close,'
said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent, probably
habitual to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern tone, which
sounded harsh in my ears, accustomed to the silvery utterance of the
South.
"'The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed me here,'
said I. 'I doubted at first the accuracy of his information, not being
aware that you had such a residence as this.'
"'Oh, it is all right!' he replied, 'only I was kept half an hour behind
time, waiting for you--that is all. I thought you must be coming by the
eight o'clock coach.'
"I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer, but
stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience; then he
scanned me again.
"I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first moment of
meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I had saluted this
man with a quiet and steady phlegm.
"'Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?' he asked hastily.
"'I do not think I shall have any further communication with them; my
refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a barrier against
all future intercourse.'
"'Why,' said he, 'I may as well remind you at the very outset of our
connection, that "no man can serve two masters." Acquaintance with Lord
Tynedale will be incompatible with assistance from me.' There was a kind
of gratuitous menace in his eye as he looked at me in finishing this
observation.
"Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with an
inward speculation on the differences which exist in the constitution
of men's minds. I do not know what inference Mr. Crimsworth drew from
my silence--whether he considered it a symptom of contumacity or an
evidence of my being cowed by his peremptory manner. After a long and
hard stare at me, he rose sharply from his seat.
"'To-morrow,' said he, 'I shall call your attention to some other
points; but now it is supper time, and Mrs. Crimsworth is probably
waiting; will you come?'
"He strode from the room, and I followed. In crossing the hall, I
wondered what Mrs. Crimsworth might be. 'Is she,' thought I, 'as alien
to what I like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses Seacombe--as the
affectionate relative now striding before me? or is she better than
these? Shall I, in conversing with her, feel free to show something of
my real nature; or--' Further conjectures were arrested by my entrance
into the dining-room.
"A lamp, burning under a shade of ground-glass, showed a handsome
apartment, wainscoted with oak; supper was laid on the table; by the
fire-place, standing as if waiting our entrance, appeared a lady;
she was young, tall, and well shaped; her dress was handsome and
fashionable: so much my first glance sufficed to ascertain. A gay
salutation passed between her and Mr. Crimsworth; she chid him, half
playfully, half poutingly, for being late; her voice (I always take
voices into the account in judging of character) was lively--it
indicated, I thought, good animal spirits. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked
her animated scolding with a kiss--a kiss that still told of the
bridegroom (they had not yet been married a year); she took her seat
at the supper-table in first-rate spirits. Perceiving me, she begged
my pardon for not noticing me before, and then shook hands with me, as
ladies do when a flow of good-humour disposes them to be cheerful to
all, even the most indifferent
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 11
|
<b> OPEN ON:
</b>
<b> MONTAGE OF VARIOUS SHOTS OF SAN FRANCISCO - DUSK
</b>
Over this we hear a recording of Jack Kerouac's poem, San
Francisco which is accompanied by a BE-BOP trio. Kerouac's
poetry coincides with the various shots of San Francisco. We
come to a sign for Jack Kerouac Street. We PAN OVER to "THE
CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE" and continue along to the ALLEYWAY
where there is a large high-contrast black and white sign
depicting Jack Kerouac in his famous "I'm looking into the
distance, having a brilliant thought" pose...
CHARLIE MACKENZIE, in his late twenties, wearing a flannel
shirt and torn jeans, walks INTO THE FRAME, right in front
of the picture of Jack Kerouac and inadvertently strikes the
exact same pose. We PULL BACK to reveal that Charlie has a
bag of garbage in his right hand, which he deposits in the
alleyway. We FOLLOW Charlie into...
<b> INT. CITY LIGHTS BOOKSTORE
</b>
We FOLLOW him through the store. By day he is the Assistant
Manager, by night he is a poet.
A MAN in his fifties, wearing a beret and a goatee is reading,
Charles Bukowski's, Playing The Piano Like a Percussive
Instrument, Until Your Fingers Begin To Bleed A Bit.
Charlie takes his place behind the cash register and resumes
writing in his handsome leather-bound poetry journal.
<b> CHARLIE
</b> (sotto)
<b> O' SCOTLAND
</b><b> YOUR SUCKLED TEET OF SHAME
</b>
CUSTOMER approaches.
<b> CUSTOMER
</b> Do you have the book On The Road by
|
brilliant
|
How many times does the word 'brilliant' appear in the text?
| 0
|
COPYRIGHT © 1998, 1999
</b><b> BY DAVID MAMET
</b>
<b>ROSENSTONE/WENDER AGENCY
</b>
3 E. 48th St. N.Y.C.
<b>
</b><b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>EXT RAILROAD OVERPASS DAY.
</b>
<b>A LOW FLYING PLANE, MAKING ITS FINAL APPROACH.
</b>
<b>ANGLE CU.
</b>
<b>A WELL-BUILT MAN IN HIS FORTIES, JOE MOORE, IN HORN RIMMED GLASSES
</b><b>AND MOUSTACHE, LOOKS UP, AT THE PLANE.
</b>
<b>CAMERA TAKES HIM TO AN OLD STONE OVERPASS OVER A RAILROAD TRACK.
</b>
<b>HE CARRIES A FOLDED MAP. HE LOOKS AROUND, AS IF LOST.
</b>
<b>ANGLE.
</b>
<b>MOORE, STANDING AT THE SIDE OF A TWO LANE SEMI-SUBURBAN ROAD. HE
</b><b>LOOKS DOWN AT HIS MAP.
</b>
<b>SOUND OF A TRAIN APPROACHING.
</b>
<b>ANGLE
</b>
<b>ON MOORE, OVER HIM AS A TRAIN STREAMS BY BENEATH THE OVERPASS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE.
</b>
<b>ON MOORE, AS HE NODS, AND STARTS BACK TOWARD A PARKED STATIONWAGON.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INS.
</b>
<b>WE SEE THE FOLDED MAP CONTAINS A YELLOW LEGAL PAD. MOORE GLANCES
</b><b>AT HIS WATCH, AND MAKES A NOTATION IN THE PAD. HE FLIPS BACK
</b><b>PAGES ON THE PAD TO SHOW IT IS FULL OF NOTATIONS. WE SEE A SKETCH
</b><b>OF THE RAILWAY OVERPASS.
</b>
<b>ANGLE
</b>
<b>ON MOORE, AS HE STARTS TO GET INTO THE STATIONWAGON. HE LOOKS
</b><b>AROUND ONE LAST TIME, SHRUGS, AS IF TO SAY "SO BE IT," AND GETS
</b><b>INTO THE CAR.
</b>
<b>ANGLE INT THE CAR.
</b>
<b>MOORE, SITTING. A POLICE CAR, SIREN AND LIGHTS ON. ROARS PAST
</b><b>OUTSIDE. MOORE NODS, LOOKS AT HIS WATCH.
</b>
<b>HE STARTS THE CAR. PUTS THE PAD DOWN NEXT TO HIM, IS ABOUT TO
</b><b>DRIVE OFF, WHEN HE GETS ANOTHER THOUGHT, AND OPENS THE PAD AGAIN.
</b>
<b>MOORE LOOKS AROUND. SIGHS, SHRUGS, AND PUTS THE CAR IN GEAR.
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. COMMERCIAL STREET. A METAL CANE ON THE SIDEWALK, A PAIR OF
</b><b>MAN'S LEGS. THE SUNLIGHT GLINTS OFF THE CANE.
</b>
<b>PAN UP, PAST THE CANE, TO REVEAL.
</b><b>
</b><b>
|
street
|
How many times does the word 'street' appear in the text?
| 0
|
only dear old Doctor Gilman," Eleanor continued, "I
could sink back into a comfortable indifference. But every Sunday this
new man stirs me up, not by what he says, but by what he is. I hoped
we'd get a rector with modern ideas, who would be able to tell me what
to teach my children. Little Phil and Harriet come back from Sunday
school with all sorts of questions, and I feel like a hypocrite. At
any rate, if Mr. Hodder hasn't done anything else, he's made me want to
know."
"What do you mean by a man of modern ideas, Eleanor?" inquired Mr.
Bridges, with evident relish.
Eleanor put down her coffee cup, looked at him helplessly, and smiled.
"Somebody who will present Christianity to me in such a manner that it
will appeal to my reason, and enable me to assimilate it into my life."
"Good for you, Nell," said her husband, approvingly. "Come now,
professor, you sit up in the University' Club all Sunday morning and
discuss recondite philosophy with other learned agnostics, tell us what
is the matter with Mr. Hodder's theology. That is, if it will not shock
grandmother too much."
"I'm afraid I've got used to being shocked, Phil," said Mrs. Waring,
with her quiet smile.
"It's unfair," Mr. Bridges protested, "to ask a prejudiced pagan like me
to pronounce judgment on an honest parson who is labouring according to
his lights."
"Go on, George. You shan't get out of it that way."
"Well," said George, "the trouble is, from the theological point of
view, that your parson is preaching what Auguste Sabatier would call a
diminished and mitigated orthodoxy."
"Great heavens!" cried Phil. "What's that?"
"It's neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, nor good red herring," the
professor declared. "If Mr. Hodder were cornered he couldn't maintain
that he, as a priest, has full power to forgive sins, and yet he won't
assert that he hasn't. The mediaeval conception of the Church, before
Luther's day, was consistent, at any rate, if you once grant the
premises on which it was based."
"What premises?"
"That the Almighty had given it a charter, like an insurance company, of
a monopoly of salvation on this portion of the Universe, and agreed
to keep his hands off. Under this conception, the sale of
indulgences, masses for the soul, and temporal power are perfectly
logical--inevitable. Kings and princes derive their governments from the
Church. But if we once begin to doubt the validity of this charter, as
the Reformers did, the whole system flies to pieces, like sticking a pin
into a soap bubble.
"That is the reason why--to change the figure--the so-called Protestant
world has been gradually sliding down hill ever since the Reformation.
The great majority of men are not willing to turn good, to renounce the
material and sensual rewards under their hands without some definite and
concrete guaranty that, if they do so, they are going, to be rewarded
hereafter. They demand some sort of infallibility. And when we let go
of the infallibility of the Church, we began to slide toward what looked
like a bottomless pit, and we clutched at the infallibility of the
Bible. And now that has begun to roll.
"What I mean by a mitigated orthodoxy is this: I am far from accusing
Mr. Hodder of insincerity, but he preaches as if every word of the Bible
were literally true, and had been dictated by God to the men who held
the pen, as if he, as a priest, held some supernatural power that could
definitely be traced, through what is known as the Apostolic Succession,
back to Peter."
"Do you mean to say, George," asked Mrs. Waring, with a note of pain
in her voice, "that the Apostolic Succession cannot be historically
proved?"
"My dear mother," said George, "I hope you will hold me innocent of
beginning this discussion. As a harmless professor of history in our
renowned University (of which we think so much that we
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 3
|
four aves for the better
fortifying of his soul against impending death."
There was a buzz and murmur among the white-frocked brethren at this
grave charge; but the Abbot held up his long quivering hand. "What
then?" said he.
"Item, that between nones and vespers on the feast of James the Less the
said brother John was observed upon the Brockenhurst road, near the spot
which is known as Hatchett's Pond in converse with a person of the other
sex, being a maiden of the name of Mary Sowley, the daughter of the
King's verderer. Item, that after sundry japes and jokes the said
brother John did lift up the said Mary Sowley and did take, carry, and
convey her across a stream, to the infinite relish of the devil and the
exceeding detriment of his own soul, which scandalous and wilful falling
away was witnessed by three members of our order."
A dead silence throughout the room, with a rolling of heads and
upturning of eyes, bespoke the pious horror of the community.
The Abbot drew his gray brows low over his fiercely questioning eyes.
"Who can vouch for this thing?" he asked.
"That can I," answered the accuser. "So too can brother Porphyry, who
was with me, and brother Mark of the Spicarium, who hath been so much
stirred and inwardly troubled by the sight that he now lies in a fever
through it."
"And the woman?" asked the Abbot. "Did she not break into lamentation
and woe that a brother should so demean himself?"
"Nay, she smiled sweetly upon him and thanked him. I can vouch it and so
can brother Porphyry."
"Canst thou?" cried the Abbot, in a high, tempestuous tone. "Canst thou
so? Hast forgotten that the five-and-thirtieth rule of the order is that
in the presence of a woman the face should be ever averted and the eyes
cast down? Hast forgot it, I say? If your eyes were upon your sandals,
how came ye to see this smile of which ye prate? A week in your cells,
false brethren, a week of rye-bread and lentils, with double lauds and
double matins, may help ye to remembrance of the laws under which ye
live."
At this sudden outflame of wrath the two witnesses sank their faces on
to their chests, and sat as men crushed. The Abbot turned his angry eyes
away from them and bent them upon the accused, who met his searching
gaze with a firm and composed face.
"What hast thou to say, brother John, upon these weighty things which
are urged against you?"
"Little enough, good father, little enough," said the novice, speaking
English with a broad West Saxon drawl. The brothers, who were English
to a man, pricked up their ears at the sound of the homely and yet
unfamiliar speech; but the Abbot flushed red with anger, and struck his
hand upon the oaken arm of his chair.
"What talk is this?" he cried. "Is this a tongue to be used within the
walls of an old and well-famed monastery? But grace and learning have
ever gone hand in hand, and when one is lost it is needless to look for
the other."
"I know not about that," said brother John. "I know only that the words
come kindly to my mouth, for it was the speech of my fathers before me.
Under your favor, I shall either use it now or hold my peace."
The Abbot patted his foot and nodded his head, as one who passes a point
but does not forget it.
"For the matter of the ale," continued brother John, "I had come in hot
from the fields and had scarce got the taste of the thing before
mine eye lit upon the bottom of the pot. It may be, too, that I spoke
somewhat shortly concerning the bran and the beans, the same being poor
provender and unfitted for a man of my inches. It is true also that I
did lay my hands upon this jack-fool of a brother Ambrose, though, as
you can see, I did him little scathe. As regards the maid, too,
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 10
|
either case art fit for the
hangman's rope!"
"This way, my masters! this way!" came in loud, stentorian cries from a
neighbouring booth; "this way for Peter the juggler, the greatest
conjurer the world has ever seen!"
"This way! I pray you, worthy sirs!" this from yet another place of
entertainment, "this way for John the tumbler!"
"Peter the juggler will swallow a cross-bow of steel before your very
eyes!" shouted one crier.
"John the tumbler will climb Saint Ethelburga's steeple without help of
rope or ladder," called the other.
"Peter will show you how to shoe a turkey, how to put salt on a
swallow's tail, and how to have your cake and eat it!"
"John will sit on two stools without coming to the ground!"
"Marry! and ye both lie faster than my mule can trot!" came in hilarious
accents from one of the crowd.
"And Peter the juggler will show thee how to make thy mule trot faster
than thou canst lie, friend," responded Peter's crier unabashed, "and a
mighty difficult task 'twill be, I'll warrant."
Laughing, joking, ogling like some fickle jade, the crowd passed from
booth to booth: now dropping a few coins in Peter the juggler's hat, now
watching the antics of John the tumbler; anon looking on amazed, half
terrified at the evolutions of a gigantic brown bear, led by the nose by
a vigorous knave in leather jerkin and cross-gartered hose, and
accompanied by a youngster who was blowing on a mighty sackbut until his
cheeks looked nigh to bursting.
But adsheart! who shall tell of all the attractions which were set forth
on that memorable day before the loyal subjects of good Queene Marye?
There were the trestles where one could play at ball and knuckle-bone,
or chance and mumchance; another, where evens and odds and backgammon
proved tempting. He who willed could tilt at Weekie, play quoits or
lansquenet, at ball or at the billiards, or risk his coppers on such
games as one-and-thirty, or at the pass ten; he might try his skill,
too, at throwing the dart, or his strength at putting the stone.
There were mountebanks and quacksalvers, lapidaries at work, and
astrologers in their tents. For twopence one could have a bout with the
back-sword or the Spanish tuck, could watch the situations and
conjunctions of the fixed stars and the planets, could play a game of
tennis or pelitrigone, or be combed and curled, perfumed and trimmed so
as to please a dainty mistress's eye.
And through it all the loud bang! bang! bang! of the big drums, the
criers proclaiming the qualities of their wares, the jarring notes of
the sackbut and the allman flute, the screechy viol and the strident
nine-hole pipe, all playing against one another, each striving to drown
the other, and mingling with the laughter of the crowd, the yells of the
'prentices, the babble of the women, formed a huge volume of
ear-splitting cacophony which must have been heard from one end of the
country to the other.
All was noise, merriment, and laughter, save in one spot--an
out-of-the-way, half-hidden corner of the fair, where the sister
streams, the Ember and the Mole, join hands for a space, meet but to
part again, and whence the distant towers and cupolas of Hampton Court
appeared like those of a fairy palace floating in mid-ether, perched
high aloft in the shimmering haze of this hot late summer's afternoon.
CHAPTER II
THE WITCH'S TENT
There are many accounts still extant of the various doings at East
Molesey Fair on this 2nd of October in the year of our Lord 1553, and
several chroniclers--Renard is conspicuous among the latter--make
mention of the events which very nearly turned the gay and varying
|
john
|
How many times does the word 'john' appear in the text?
| 3
|
1998
</b>
<b> SHOOTING DRAFT
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. TYRE, LEBANON - DAY
</b>
A coast road. Date palms. Burnt-out hulks that once were
Russian T-54 TANKS have long ago been left to rust in the
sun. A 4-door MERCEDES hurtles down the ancient road.
<b> DEVEREAUX (V.O.)
</b> We're online for exactly two minutes.
<b> A SATELLITE VIEW
</b>
Of the same scene. A grainy IMAGE of the car, and some
distance away, a moving cluster of animals. They are:
<b> HERD OF SHEEP
</b>
As seen at ground level. Two SHEPHERDS goad them forward. In
the distance, the MERCEDES approaches.
<b> FLASH CUT -- NEWS FOOTAGE (STOCK)
</b>
U.S. Army medics and rescue workers frantically sift through
the rubble of a collapsed barracks.
<b> CNN REPORTS (V.O.)
</b> "...the single worst casualty in the
history of American military --"
<b> BACK TO -- THE COAST ROAD
</b>
The Mercedes barrels down the road, doing at least 80 mph.
<b> THE SATELLITE VIEW
</b>
Shows that the car is fast approaching the point where the
herd of sheep are about to cross the road.
<b> FLASH CUT -- NEWS FOOTAGE (STOCK)
</b>
Amidst the rubble, the dead are zipped into body bags.
<b> CNN REPORTS (V.O.)
</b>
|
road
|
How many times does the word 'road' appear in the text?
| 4
|
only dear old Doctor Gilman," Eleanor continued, "I
could sink back into a comfortable indifference. But every Sunday this
new man stirs me up, not by what he says, but by what he is. I hoped
we'd get a rector with modern ideas, who would be able to tell me what
to teach my children. Little Phil and Harriet come back from Sunday
school with all sorts of questions, and I feel like a hypocrite. At
any rate, if Mr. Hodder hasn't done anything else, he's made me want to
know."
"What do you mean by a man of modern ideas, Eleanor?" inquired Mr.
Bridges, with evident relish.
Eleanor put down her coffee cup, looked at him helplessly, and smiled.
"Somebody who will present Christianity to me in such a manner that it
will appeal to my reason, and enable me to assimilate it into my life."
"Good for you, Nell," said her husband, approvingly. "Come now,
professor, you sit up in the University' Club all Sunday morning and
discuss recondite philosophy with other learned agnostics, tell us what
is the matter with Mr. Hodder's theology. That is, if it will not shock
grandmother too much."
"I'm afraid I've got used to being shocked, Phil," said Mrs. Waring,
with her quiet smile.
"It's unfair," Mr. Bridges protested, "to ask a prejudiced pagan like me
to pronounce judgment on an honest parson who is labouring according to
his lights."
"Go on, George. You shan't get out of it that way."
"Well," said George, "the trouble is, from the theological point of
view, that your parson is preaching what Auguste Sabatier would call a
diminished and mitigated orthodoxy."
"Great heavens!" cried Phil. "What's that?"
"It's neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, nor good red herring," the
professor declared. "If Mr. Hodder were cornered he couldn't maintain
that he, as a priest, has full power to forgive sins, and yet he won't
assert that he hasn't. The mediaeval conception of the Church, before
Luther's day, was consistent, at any rate, if you once grant the
premises on which it was based."
"What premises?"
"That the Almighty had given it a charter, like an insurance company, of
a monopoly of salvation on this portion of the Universe, and agreed
to keep his hands off. Under this conception, the sale of
indulgences, masses for the soul, and temporal power are perfectly
logical--inevitable. Kings and princes derive their governments from the
Church. But if we once begin to doubt the validity of this charter, as
the Reformers did, the whole system flies to pieces, like sticking a pin
into a soap bubble.
"That is the reason why--to change the figure--the so-called Protestant
world has been gradually sliding down hill ever since the Reformation.
The great majority of men are not willing to turn good, to renounce the
material and sensual rewards under their hands without some definite and
concrete guaranty that, if they do so, they are going, to be rewarded
hereafter. They demand some sort of infallibility. And when we let go
of the infallibility of the Church, we began to slide toward what looked
like a bottomless pit, and we clutched at the infallibility of the
Bible. And now that has begun to roll.
"What I mean by a mitigated orthodoxy is this: I am far from accusing
Mr. Hodder of insincerity, but he preaches as if every word of the Bible
were literally true, and had been dictated by God to the men who held
the pen, as if he, as a priest, held some supernatural power that could
definitely be traced, through what is known as the Apostolic Succession,
back to Peter."
"Do you mean to say, George," asked Mrs. Waring, with a note of pain
in her voice, "that the Apostolic Succession cannot be historically
proved?"
"My dear mother," said George, "I hope you will hold me innocent of
beginning this discussion. As a harmless professor of history in our
renowned University (of which we think so much that we
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 4
|
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
|
than
|
How many times does the word 'than' appear in the text?
| 1
|
b>
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. AIRFIELD -- DAY
</b>
We are moving through a small airfield full of parked light
planes. There are no people around. We move through the
cluster of planes toward a hangar on the edge of the field.
<b> INT. HANGAR -- DAY
</b>
We are still moving through light planes, but now we are
inside the hangar. Some of the planes have their engine covers
open, parts strewn around. Others are partially covered with
tarps or have sections missing. There is even a sleek
executive jet parked in one corner.
As we float past the planes we notice a woman leaning against
the wing of a Piper Cub, her chest against the wing's trailing
edge, her arms spread out to each side, as though flying
herself. As we get closer we see that her jacket is pulled
open to expose one of her breasts, which rests on the metal
of the wing.
CU breast on metal. CU hard nipple and rivets.
CU woman -- Catherine. Early thirties, dark, short hair,
stylish executive clothes. Her eyes are wide open but
unfocussed. A hand grips her shoulder from behind. We follow
the hand down behind Catherine and discover a man crouched
behind her, kissing her back.
Catherine is standing on a low mechanic's platform and her
skirt has been raised and hooked over the wing's flap. She
wears garters and stockings but no panties.
The man, handsome, cruel-looking, rises up behind her, enters
her, kisses her neck. Catherine half closes her eyes. She
rotates her pelvis gently against the thrusting.
<b> EXT. FILM STUDIO -- DAY
</b>
We are floating toward the modest gates of a small film
studio; the sign above the gates says 'CineTerra' in Art
Deco script.
<b> INT. FILM STUDIO -- DAY
</b>
We now float through a film set on which a commercial for a
|
open
|
How many times does the word 'open' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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
|
this
|
How many times does the word 'this' appear in the text?
| 3
|
many and the power of many
becomes the power of one?
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 EXT. SOUTH AFRICAN FARM - DAY (1939) 1
</b>
A white car sits in the yard of the farmhouse. On the
door, a decal: "CAPETOWN SANITORIUM." Two men dressed
in the white uniforms of the sanitorium exit the farm-
house; one gently guiding a rather frail, troubled
woman toward the car; the other totes her suitcase.
The V.O. of a young man narrates:
<b> YOUNG MAN (V.O.)
</b> There comes a time in everyone's
life when they discover that the
only person you can truly depend
on is yourself. That the only
real power anyone has to get
anything done is the power of one.
With any luck you can make it
through a lot of years before you
ever have to face the reality of
that fact.
(beat)
It was a luxury I never had. I
discovered it the year my mother
had her nervous breakdown.
One attendant holds the rear door of the car open for
the woman. Before entering, she turns one last time
toward the farmhouse.
<b>2 HER POV 2
</b>
A young BOY looking one part scared, one part sad, and
one part lost stares back at her, his hand held by a
large, amiable black woman with tears rolling down her
round cheeks.
<b> YOUNG MAN (V.O.)
</b> I was all of six.
<b>
</b><b> 3.
</b><b>3 BACK TO SCENE 3
</b>
The woman enters the car. The car drives off down the
road. The Boy watches it disappear behind a plume of
swirling dust.
<b>
|
back
|
How many times does the word 'back' appear in the text?
| 1
|
he might have used them
well--he was always doubtful whether it was eight sevens or nine
eights that was sixty-three--(he knew no method for settling the
difficulty) and he thought the merit of a drawing consisted in the
care with which it was "lined in." "Lining in" bored him beyond
measure.
But the _indigestions_ of mind and body that were to play so large a
part in his subsequent career were still only beginning. His liver and
his gastric juice, his wonder and imagination kept up a fight against
the things that threatened to overwhelm soul and body together.
Outside the regions devastated by the school curriculum he was still
intensely curious. He had cheerful phases of enterprise, and about
thirteen he suddenly discovered reading and its joys. He began to read
stories voraciously, and books of travel, provided they were also
adventurous. He got these chiefly from the local institute, and he
also "took in," irregularly but thoroughly, one of those inspiring
weeklies that dull people used to call "penny dreadfuls," admirable
weeklies crammed with imagination that the cheap boys' "comics" of
to-day have replaced. At fourteen, when he emerged from the valley of
the shadow of education, there survived something, indeed it survived
still, obscured and thwarted, at five and thirty, that pointed--not
with a visible and prevailing finger like the finger of that beautiful
woman in the picture, but pointed nevertheless--to the idea that there
was interest and happiness in the world. Deep in the being of Mr.
Polly, deep in that darkness, like a creature which has been beaten
about the head and left for dead but still lives, crawled a persuasion
that over and above the things that are jolly and "bits of all right,"
there was beauty, there was delight, that somewhere--magically
inaccessible perhaps, but still somewhere, were pure and easy and
joyous states of body and mind.
He would sneak out on moonless winter nights and stare up at the
stars, and afterwards find it difficult to tell his father where he
had been.
He would read tales about hunters and explorers, and imagine himself
riding mustangs as fleet as the wind across the prairies of Western
America, or coming as a conquering and adored white man into the
swarming villages of Central Africa. He shot bears with a revolver--a
cigarette in the other hand--and made a necklace of their teeth and
claws for the chief's beautiful young daughter. Also he killed a lion
with a pointed stake, stabbing through the beast's heart as it stood
over him.
He thought it would be splendid to be a diver and go down into the
dark green mysteries of the sea.
He led stormers against well-nigh impregnable forts, and died on the
ramparts at the moment of victory. (His grave was watered by a
nation's tears.)
He rammed and torpedoed ships, one against ten.
He was beloved by queens in barbaric lands, and reconciled whole
nations to the Christian faith.
He was martyred, and took it very calmly and beautifully--but only
once or twice after the Revivalist week. It did not become a habit
with him.
He explored the Amazon, and found, newly exposed by the fall of a
great tree, a rock of gold.
Engaged in these pursuits he would neglect the work immediately in
hand, sitting somewhat slackly on the form and projecting himself in a
manner tempting to a schoolmaster with a cane.... And twice he had
books confiscated.
Recalled to the realities of life, he would rub himself or sigh deeply
as the occasion required, and resume his attempts to write as good as
copperplate. He hated writing; the ink always crept up his fingers and
the smell of ink offended him. And he was filled with unexpressed
doubts. _Why_ should writing slope down from right to left? _Why_
should downstrokes be thick and upstrokes thin? _Why_ should the
handle of one's pen point over one's right shoulder?
His copy books towards the end foreshadowed his destiny and took the
form of commercial documents. "_Dear Sir_," they ran, "_Referring to
your esteemed order of the 26th ult., we beg to inform you_," and so
on.
The compression of Mr. Polly's mind and soul
|
heart
|
How many times does the word 'heart' appear in the text?
| 0
|
FROM THE BLACK WE HEAR--
</b>
<b> MARK (V.O.)
</b> Did you know there are more people with
genius IQ's living in China than there
are people of any kind living in the
United States?
<b> ERICA (V.O. )
</b> That can't be true.
<b> MARK (V.O.)
</b> it is true.
<b> ERICA (V.O.)
</b> What would account for that?
<b> MARK (V.0.)
</b> Well first of all, a lot of people live
in China. But here's my question:
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> INT. CAMPUS BAR - NIGHT
</b>
MARK ZUCKERBERG is a sweet looking 19 year old whose lack of
any physically intimidating attributes masks a very
complicated and dangerous anger. He has trouble making eye
contact- and sometimes it's hard to tell if he's talking to you
or to himself.
ERICA, also 19, is Mark's date. She has a girl-next-door face
that makes her easy to fall for. At this point in the
conversation she already knows that she'd rather not be there
and her politeness is about to be tested.
The scene is stark and simple.
<b> MARK
</b> How do you distinguish yourself in a
population of people who all got 1600 on
their SAT's?
<b> ERICA
</b> I didn't know they take SAT's in China.
<b> MARK
</b> I wasn't talking about China anymore, I
was talking about here.
<b> ERICA
</b> You got 1600?
<b> MARK
</b> You can sing in an a Capella group.
|
china
|
How many times does the word 'china' appear in the text?
| 3
|
the reviews, many of these
books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to
their composition; to some even has been given the anxious
labour of a lifetime. The moral I draw is that the writer
should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in
release from the burden of his thought; and, indifferent to aught
else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.
Now the war has come, bringing with it a new attitude.
Youth has turned to gods we of an earlier day knew not, and it
is possible to see already the direction in which those who come
after us will move. The younger generation, conscious of
strength and tumultuous, have done with knocking at the door;
they have burst in and seated themselves in our seats.
The air is noisy with their shouts. Of their elders some, by
imitating the antics of youth, strive to persuade themselves
that their day is not yet over; they shout with the lustiest,
but the war cry sounds hollow in their mouth; they are like
poor wantons attempting with pencil, paint and powder, with
shrill gaiety, to recover the illusion of their spring.
The wiser go their way with a decent grace. In their chastened
smile is an indulgent mockery. They remember that they too
trod down a sated generation, with just such clamor and with
just such scorn, and they foresee that these brave torch-bearers
will presently yield their place also. There is no last word.
The new evangel was old when Nineveh reared her greatness
to the sky. These gallant words which seem so novel to those
that speak them were said in accents scarcely changed a hundred
times before. The pendulum swings backwards and forwards.
The circle is ever travelled anew.
Sometimes a man survives a considerable time from an era in
which he had his place into one which is strange to him, and
then the curious are offered one of the most singular
spectacles in the human comedy. Who now, for example, thinks
of George Crabbe? He was a famous poet in his day, and the
world recognised his genius with a unanimity which the greater
complexity of modern life has rendered infrequent. He had
learnt his craft at the school of Alexander Pope, and he wrote
moral stories in rhymed couplets. Then came the French
Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, and the poets sang new songs.
Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets.
I think he must have read the verse of these young
men who were making so great a stir in the world, and I fancy
he found it poor stuff. Of course, much of it was. But the
odes of Keats and of Wordsworth, a poem or two by Coleridge, a
few more by Shelley, discovered vast realms of the spirit that
none had explored before. Mr. Crabbe was as dead as mutton,
but Mr. Crabbe continued to write moral stories in rhymed couplets.
I have read desultorily the writings of the younger generation.
It may be that among them a more fervid Keats, a more
ethereal Shelley, has already published numbers the world
will willingly remember. I cannot tell. I admire their
polish -- their youth is already so accomplished that it seems
absurd to speak of promise -- I marvel at the felicity of
their style; but with all their copiousness (their vocabulary
suggests that they fingered Roget's <i Thesaurus> in their
cradles) they say nothing to me: to my mind they know too
much and feel too obviously; I cannot stomach the heartiness
with which they slap me on the back or the emotion with which
they hurl themselves on my bosom; their passion seems to me a
little anaemic and their dreams a trifle dull. I do not like them.
I am on the shelf. I will continue to write moral stories in
rhymed couplets. But I should be thrice a fool if I did it for
aught but my own entertainment.
Chapter III
But all this is by the way.
I was very young when I wrote my first book. By a lucky chance
it excited attention, and various persons sought my acquaintance.
It is not without melancholy that I wander among my
recollections of the world of letters in
|
moral
|
How many times does the word 'moral' appear in the text?
| 4
|
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. TWO-LANE HIGHWAY - SUNRISE
</b>
A dishevelled WOMAN in a business suit (27) runs down a lonely
highway in Texas hill country, moving desperately through
the thick morning fog. She's carrying a VHS cassette. The
sounds of her breathing and SHOES HITTING the PAVEMENT ECHO
into the mist.
She runs, and runs.
She slows, out-of-strength, looks up and down the highway.
Both in front and behind, it leads straight into the mist, a
tunnel of fog. She stumbles on, a final effort.
She runs. Sees something. Stops cold.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> WHITE
</b>
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> INT. OFFICE OF "DEATHWATCH AUSTIN" - SUNRISE
</b>
A clock on the wall: 6:11.
Beneath the clock a simple banner reads "DeathWatch Austin."
<b> YOUNG MAN (O.S.)
</b> It's probably been about seven
minutes...
The office is small, cheaply furnished. One wall is filled
with neat rows of 8x10's of death row inmates.
About 30 percent have red crosses over their faces.
Five people wait in tense silence. A SKINNY COLLEGE GUY with
a mullet and pinch of Skoal in his mouth looks at a computer
screen. A co-ed cuddles a Styrofoam cup of coffee, sobs
quietly. A matronly woman sits quietly at a desk holding a
phone to one ear.
The clock's minute hand changes from :11
|
runs
|
How many times does the word 'runs' appear in the text?
| 3
|
of Swift at this time, bustling about a crowded
ante-chamber, and informing the company that the best poet in England
was Mr. Pope (a Papist) who had begun a translation of Homer for which
they must all subscribe, "for," says he, "the author shall not begin to
print till I have a thousand guineas for him." The work was to be in six
volumes, each costing a guinea. Pope obtained 575 subscribers, many of
whom took more than one set. Lintot, the publisher, gave Pope £1200 for
the work and agreed to supply the subscription copies free of charge. As
a result Pope made something between £5000 and £6000, a sum absolutely
unprecedented in the history of English literature, and amply sufficient
to make him independent for life.
But the sum was honestly earned by hard and wearisome work. Pope was no
Greek scholar; it is said, indeed, that he was just able to make out the
sense of the original with a translation. And in addition to the fifteen
thousand lines of the 'Iliad', he had engaged to furnish an introduction
and notes. At first the magnitude of the undertaking frightened him.
"What terrible moments," he said to Spence, "does one feel after one has
engaged for a large work. In the beginning of my translating the
'Iliad', I wished anybody would hang me a hundred times. It sat so
heavily on my mind at first that I often used to dream of it and do
sometimes still." In spite of his discouragement, however, and of the
ill health which so constantly beset him, Pope fell gallantly upon his
task, and as time went on came almost to enjoy it. He used to translate
thirty or forty verses in the morning before rising and, in his own
characteristic phrase, "piddled over them for the rest of the day." He
used every assistance possible, drew freely upon the scholarship of
friends, corrected and recorrected with a view to obtaining clearness
and point, and finally succeeded in producing a version which not only
satisfied his own critical judgment, but was at once accepted by the
English-speaking world as the standard translation of Homer.
The first volume came out in June, 1715, and to Pope's dismay and wrath
a rival translation appeared almost simultaneously. Tickell, one of
Addison's "little senate," had also begun a translation of the 'Iliad',
and although he announced in the preface that he intended to withdraw in
favor of Pope and take up a translation of the 'Odyssey', the poet's
suspicions were at once aroused. And they were quickly fanned into a
flame by the gossip of the town which reported that Addison, the
recognized authority in literary criticism, pronounced Tickell's version
"the best that ever was in any language." Rumor went so far, in fact, as
to hint pretty broadly that Addison himself was the author, in part, at
least, of Tickell's book; and Pope, who had been encouraged by Addison
to begin his long task, felt at once that he had been betrayed. His
resentment was all the more bitter since he fancied that Addison, now at
the height of his power and prosperity in the world of letters and of
politics, had attempted to ruin an enterprise on which the younger man
had set all his hopes of success and independence, for no better reason
than literary jealousy and political estrangement. We know now that Pope
was mistaken, but there was beyond question some reason at the time for
his thinking as he did, and it is to the bitterness which this incident
caused in his mind that we owe the famous satiric portrait of Addison as
Atticus.
The last volume of the 'Iliad' appeared in the spring of 1720, and in it
Pope gave a renewed proof of his independence by dedicating the whole
work, not to some lord who would have rewarded him with a handsome
present, but to his old acquaintance, Congreve, the last survivor of the
brilliant comic dramatists of Dryden's day. And now resting for a time
from his long labors, Pope turned to the adornment and cultivation of
the little house and garden that he had leased at Twickenham.
Pope's father had died in 1717, and the poet, rejecting politely but
firmly the suggestion
|
once
|
How many times does the word 'once' appear in the text?
| 2
|
FADE IN
</b>
<b> EXT. QUARRY OUTSKIRTS - DAY 1
</b>
A narrow dirt road totally surrounded by thick vegetation.
Here and there we see a huge block of stone blocking the
road. The sun is shining but it has a hard time making it
through the foliage. In the distance we see four guys
walking TOWARD the CAMERA. There is a swagger to their
walk. MII� is singing. The others are humming along. The
melody of the song of "0 Bury Me Not On the Lone Prairie"
but it's a loose version.
<b> MIME
</b>
<b> AND WHEN I DIE...WON'T YOU BURY ME
</b>
<b> ON THE"PARKING LOT OF THE A AND P
</b>
<b> BLOW OUT THE CANDLES AND BLOW OUT TIE LAMPS
</b>
<b> AND LIGHT MY PYRE WITH MY TRADING STAMPS
</b>
<b> I HAD TWO BOOKS BUT I NEEDED THREE R
</b>
<b> TO DELIVER ME FROM THE A AND P.
</b>
<b> I HAD THREE BOOKS BUT I NEEDED FOUR
</b>
<b> TO GO TO HEAVEN AND REDEEM MY SOUL.
</b> By this time the four are in front of the CAMERA. Mike is
handsome and well built. CYRIL is tall and skinny. MOOCHER
is very short. DAVE, hanging back a little, is carrying a
large trophy.
<b> DAVE
</b> Bravo, Mike! Bravo! Bellisimot
<b> CYRIL
</b> Did you really make all that up?
They pass.
<b> ANOTHER ANGLE
</b> The presence of the quarry is felt much stronger now. More
and more blocks of cut stone appear. The guys are dwarfed
by them. They have to climb over some.
<b> MIKE
</b> I sent away for this stuff from
Wyoming. It'll tell you everything.
Since you don't believe me maybe
you'll believe it when you see it.
<b> CYRIL
</b> And we'd work on the same ranch
and sleep in the
|
over
|
How many times does the word 'over' appear in the text?
| 0
|
in the blackness, a man, FRED, is sitting on a bed smoking a
cigarette. we see his back, but with each glow of the
cigarette ash, we see his face reflected in a mirror on the
wall across from him. In the darkness, there starts the
sound of a motor which draws curtains back across a large
picture window just off screen. As the curtain moves, hard-edged
light begins crawling across the room, and we see
everything clearly. Fred is wearing a robe and pajamas, it's
early morning.
CLOSE UP ON FRED'S FACE IN THE MIRROR - Blank expression -
face somewhat obscured or distorted by smoke from the
cigarette.
CLOSE UP 0N FRED'S ACTUAL FACE - Unshaven, haggard look, eyes
seem empty, glazed over. Fred is 32 years old, with dark
hair.
THE DOORBELL RINGS. Fred looks up, startled by the noise.
He looks at the digital clock: 5:30 a.m.
FRED STANDS, goes to an INTERCOM on the wall next to the
mirror. He pushes a button.
A VOICE comes over the intercom.
<b> VOICE OVER
</b><b> INTERCOM
</b> Dick Laurent is dead.
Fred leaves the bedroom and goes through the house. He is on
the upstairs level. He looks through a narrow slot window,
but can't see the front door below. He goes further in the
house to a picture window that overlooks the street below.
There is NOBODY there.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. THE MADISON HOUSE - DAY
</b>
We can see Fred standing at the picture window, looking out.
<b> FADE OUT:
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>INT. THE MADISON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
Fred is dressed to go out: Black sport coat and slacks,
buttoned up white shirt. He picks up a music case. A woman
comes into the room. This is Fred's wife, RENEE, 30 years
old, dark hair, dressed smartly, a drink in her hand.
<b> RENEE
</b> You don't mind that I'm not coming
tonight?
<b> FRED
</b> What are you going to do?
<b> RENEE
</b> I thought I'd stay home and read.
Fred looks her over, she's sexy without trying.
<b> FRED
</b> Read?... Read what, Renee?
Renee sits down on a couch and sips her drink. Fred comes
over to her, kisses her on the neck, which makes her laugh.
<b> FRED
</b> It's nice to know I can still make you
laugh.
<b> RENEE
</b> I like to laugh, Fred.
<b> FRED
</b> That's why I married you.
<b> RENEE
</b> Wake me up when you get home.
Fred brushes her cheek with his fingers, allowing them to
linger for a moment on her face.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
</b>
A blue neon sign reads: LUNA LOUNGE.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. LUNA LOUNGE - NIGHT
</b>
Fred is on the bandstand. He takes a solo on his saxophone.
|
linger
|
How many times does the word 'linger' appear in the text?
| 0
|
CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. ALEX'S BEDROOM - NIGHT - CLOSE - BED
</b>
An airline ticket is tossed INTO FRAME beside a suitcase; "EURO-AIR. FLIGHT #180. New York City (JFK) - Paris, Charles de Gaulle (CDG.) Departure: Thursday 13May. 16H25 - Arrival: Friday 14May. 05H40."
"And When I Die" Continues throughout the MAIN TITLES:
<b>AN OLD TABLE FAN
</b>
swivels beside and open window. Outside, a humid spring THUNDER STORM drops warm, ominous rain. The figure of a seventeen year old boy, ALEX BROWNING, packing for a trip, passing the fan...
<b>THE BED
</b>
A Paris guidebook is tossed atop the plane ticket. CAMERA PUSHES IN ON THE BOOK as the fan's breezes flip through the pages.
<b>THE TABLE FAN
</b>
turns, head swiveling away from the bed.
<b>TIGHTER - THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
stop flipping, REVEALING A GULLOTINE from the Reign of Terror.
As an American passport is dropped beside the guidebook...
<b>THE TABLE FAN
</b>
swivels, returning towards the guidebook on the bed.
<b>THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
FLIP. FLIP. FLIP. Alex's faint shadow continues moving about the room. The fan head swivels away, allowing the pages to settle... upon a Louvre masterpiece, Francisco de Zurbarans Lying-in-the State of St. Bonaventura.
CAMERA CREEPS IN, teasingly on the dark faced corpse. The pages begin to turn once again.
<b>TIGHTER, OMINOUS ANGLE - THE DESK FAN
</b>
There is more of a hint of conincidence as the blades whirl and head swivels. The boy's figure passes, blocking the breeze.
<b>THE GUIDEBOOK PAGES
</b>
stop dead on... Jim Morrison's decorated tomb in the Cemetiere du Pere Lachaise. A pilgrim has spray painted "This is the End." Which in fact, it is... of the MAIN TITLE.
<b> BARBARA
</b> Alex...
CAMERA ADJUSTS, to fully reveal Alex Browning as he turns toward the bedroom door. Alex is an average kid; handsome. A high school "everyman."
One the wall amongst Yankee and Knicks posters, hangs a pennant;
"Mt. Abraham High School, New York. The Fighting Colonials!"
Alex's mother, BARBARA, 45, walks in, excited and a bit anxious.
BARABRA (Cont'd)
Tod and George's dad just called,
he's picking you up at 10 in the
morning. Bus leaves the high school
for JFK at noon.
Barbara moves towards the suitcase to help him pack. Alex's father, KEN BROWNING, 48 appears, leaning against the door threshold, smiling enviously at his son.
<b> KEN
</b> My suitcase workin' out for ya?
Alex nods and buckles it. Barbara reaches in to tear off an airline baggage I.D. ticket attached from the previous flight.
<b> ALEX
</b>
|
pages
|
How many times does the word 'pages' appear in the text?
| 5
|
), undersized and feral, trudges home, bookbag
strapped to his back. Black-haired and pale-skinned, the boy
looks as if he hasn't had a good meal in a long time.
Before we hear anything the boy turns, watching the bend in
the road behind him. After a moment we hear the thrum of a
hard-charging engine.
An Oldsmobile Super 88 rounds the bend, accelerating as it
hits the straightaway. The boy steps away from the road but
the car comes straight at him.
The boy closes his eyes. The Oldsmobile's brakes clamp down
on the wheels and the car shivers to a halt with inches to
spare. Laughter spills from the car's open windows.
Four HIGH SCHOOL LETTERMEN pile out of the car, wearing their
leather-sleeved football jackets. GILMAN, the largest of the
four, shakes his head and laughs.
<b> GILMAN
</b> Kid didn't even move. You see that?
Where's your survival instincts,
boy?
The boy says nothing. He readjusts his bookbag and resumes
his long walk northward.
GILMAN (cont'd)
Hey!
Gilman grabs the boy's shoulder and spins him around-
GILMAN (cont'd)
The hell you going? You hear me
talking to you?
One of the other football players, MASON, walks over and
inspects the boy's face.
<b> MASON
</b> This is the kid whose old man
robbed the truck stop last year.
Gilman curls his meaty hand around the back of the boy's neck
and pulls him closer, scrutinizing him. The four lettermen
tower over the small boy.
I C_ONTTNTT f 1
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b>
</b>
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> CONTINUED:
</b>
<b> GILMAN
</b> You the one with the convict daddy?
The boy stares back at Gilman, unblinking.
<b> MASON
</b> That's him.
<b> GILMAN
</b> What's the matter, you about to
piss your pants? Answer me.
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
tree
|
How many times does the word 'tree' appear in the text?
| 7
|
room
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. A SAVANNAH STREET - DAY (1981)
</b>
A feather floats through the air. The falling feather.
A city, Savannah, is revealed in the background. The feather
floats down toward the city below. The feather drops down
toward the street below, as people walk past and cars drive
by, and nearly lands on a man's shoulder.
He walks across the street, causing the feather to be whisked
back on its journey. The feather floats above a stopped car.
The car drives off right as the feather floats down toward
the street.
The feather floats under a passing car, then is sent flying
back up in the air. A MAN sits on a bus bench. The feather
floats above the ground and finally lands on the man's
mudsoaked shoe.
The man reached down and picks up the feather. His name is
FORREST GUMP. He looks at the feather oddly, moves aside a
box of chocolates from an old suitcase, then opens the case.
Inside the old suitcase are an assortment of clothes, a
pingpong paddle, toothpaste and other personal items.
Forrest pulls out a book titled "Curious George," then places
the feather inside the book. Forrest closes the suitcase.
Something in his eyes reveals that Forrest may not be all
there.
Forrest looks right as the sound of an arriving bus is heard.
A bus pulls up. Forrest remains on the bus bench as the bus
continues on.
A BLACK WOMAN in a nurse's outfit steps up and sits down at
the bus bench next to Forrest. The nurse begins to read a
magazine as Forrest looks at her.
<b> FORREST
</b> Hello. My name's Forrest Gump.
He opens a box of chocolates and holds it out for the nurse.
<b> FORREST
</b>
|
forrest
|
How many times does the word 'forrest' appear in the text?
| 10
|
had eaten bread to
which she had no positive claim; but if ever woman earned the morsel
which she required, Margaret Mackenzie had earned her morsel during
her untiring attendance upon her brother. Now she was left to her
own resources, and as she went silently about the house during those
sad hours which intervened between the death of her brother and
his burial, she was altogether in ignorance whether any means of
subsistence had been left to her. It was known that Walter Mackenzie
had more than once altered his will--that he had, indeed, made many
wills--according as he was at such moments on terms of more or less
friendship with his brother; but he had never told to any one what
was the nature of any bequest that he had made. Thomas Mackenzie had
thought of both his brother and sister as poor creatures, and had
been thought of by them as being but a poor creature himself. He had
become a shopkeeper, so they declared, and it must be admitted that
Margaret had shared the feeling which regarded her brother Tom's
trade as being disgraceful. They, of Arundel Street, had been idle,
reckless, useless beings--so Tom had often declared to his wife--and
only by fits and starts had there existed any friendship between
him and either of them. But the firm of Rubb and Mackenzie was not
growing richer in those days, and both Thomas and his wife had felt
themselves forced into a certain amount of conciliatory demeanour by
the claims of their seven surviving children. Walter, however, said
no word to any one of his money; and when he was followed to his
grave by his brother and nephews, and by Harry Handcock, no one knew
of what nature would be the provision made for his sister.
"He was a great sufferer," Harry Handcock had said, at the only
interview which took place between him and Margaret after the death
of her brother and before the reading of the will.
"Yes indeed, poor fellow," said Margaret, sitting in the darkened
dining-room, in all the gloom of her new mourning.
"And you yourself, Margaret, have had but a sorry time of it." He
still called her Margaret from old acquaintance, and had always done
so.
"I have had the blessing of good health," she said, "and have been
very thankful. It has been a dull life, though, for the last ten
years."
"Women generally lead dull lives, I think." Then he had paused for
a while, as though something were on his mind which he wished to
consider before he spoke again. Mr Handcock, at this time, was bald
and very stout. He was a strong healthy man, but had about him, to
the outward eye, none of the aptitudes of a lover. He was fond of
eating and drinking, as no one knew better than Margaret Mackenzie;
and had altogether dropped the poetries of life, if at any time any
of such poetries had belonged to him. He was, in fact, ten years
older than Margaret Mackenzie; but he now looked to be almost twenty
years her senior. She was a woman who at thirty-five had more of the
graces of womanhood than had belonged to her at twenty. He was a man
who at forty-five had lost all that youth does for a man. But still I
think that she would have fallen back upon her former love, and found
that to be sufficient, had he asked her to do so even now. She would
have felt herself bound by her faith to do so, had he said that such
was his wish, before the reading of her brother's will. But he did no
such thing. "I hope he will have made you comfortable," he said.
"I hope he will have left me above want," Margaret had replied--and
that had then been all. She had, perhaps, half-expected something
more from him, remembering that the obstacle which had separated them
was now removed. But nothing more came, and it would hardly be true
to say that she was disappointed. She had no strong desire to marry
Harry Handcock whom no one now called Harry any longer; but yet, for
the sake of human nature, she bestowed a sigh upon his coldness, when
he carried his tenderness no further than a wish that she might be
comfortable.
There had of necessity been much of secrecy in the life of Margaret
Mack
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 6
|
...The Rose...
Gradually a building is revealed, The Rose Theatre, three-
tiered, open to the elements and empty. On the floor,
roughly printed, a poster--torn, soiled, out of date. It
says:
<b> SEPT. 7TH & 8TH AT NOON
</b>
<b> MR. EDWARD ALLEYN AND THE ADMIRAL'S MEN AT THE ROSE
</b><b> THEATRE, BANKSIDE
</b>
<b> THE LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIE OF THE MONEYLENDER REVENG'D
</b>
OVER THIS the screams of a man under torture. The screams
are coming from the curtained stage.
<b> VOICE (O.S.)
</b> You Mongrel! Why do you howl When it
is I who am bitten?
<b> INT. THE ROSE THEATRE. STAGE. DAY.
</b>
The theatre owner, PHILLIP HENSLOWE, is the man
screaming. HENSLOWE'S boots are on fire. He is pinioned
in a chair, with his feet stuck out over the hot colas of
a fire burning in a brazier. He is being held in that
position by LAMBERT, who is a thug employed by FENNYMAN,
who is the owner of the VOICE. The fourth man, FREES, is
FENNYMAN'S bookkeeper.
<b> FENNYMAN
</b> What am I, Mr. Lambert?
<b> LAMBERT
</b> Bitten, Mr. Fennyman.
<b> FENNYMAN
</b> How badly bitten, Mr. Frees?
<b> FREES
</b> Twelve pounds, one shilling and four
pence, Mr. Fennyman, including
interest.
<b> HENSLOWE
</b> Aaagh! I can pay you!
<b> FENNYMAN
</b> When?
<b> HENSLOWE
</b>
|
henslowe
|
How many times does the word 'henslowe' appear in the text?
| 3
|
additional title: - Part Two -
<b>INT. DON CORLEONE'S OLD OFFICE - CLOSE VIEW ON MICHAEL
</b><b>CORLEONE - DAY
</b>
standing impassively, like a young Prince, recently crowned
King.
CLOSE VIEW ON Michael's hand. ROCCO LAMPONE kisses his hand.
Then it is taken away. We can SEE only the empty desk and
chair of Michael's father, Vito Corleone. We HEAR, over
this, very faintly a funeral dirge played in the distance,
as THE VIEW MOVES SLOWLY CLOSER to the empty desk and chair.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. A SICILIAN LANDSCAPE - FULL VIEW - DAY
</b>
We can barely make out the funeral procession passing over
the burnt-brown of a dry river bed. The figures move
slowly, seemingly from out of hundreds of years of the past.
The MUSICIANS walking unsteadily on the rocky bed, their
instruments harsh and blaring.
They are followed by six young peasant men, carrying the
crude wooden coffin on their shoulders. Then the widow, a
strong large woman, dressed in black, and not accepting the
arms of those walking with her.
Behind her, not more than twenty relatives, few children and
paisani continue alone behind the coffin.
Suddenly, we HEAR the shots of the lupara, and the musicians
stop their playing. The entire procession scatters in odd
directions along the rocky river bed.
The young men struggle with the burden of the heavy coffin,
throwing it out of balance and nearly crashing to the ground.
We hear a woman SCREAMING:
<b> WOMAN
</b> (Sicilian)
They've killed young Paolo! They've
killed the boy Paolo!
<b>EXT. SICILIAN LANDSCAPE - MED. VIEW - DAY
</b>
across the slain body of a fourteen year old boy, lying on
the parched ground. In the distance we see four or five of
the mourning women, the wind blowing their black dresses and
veils, running up to the body of the boy. They begin to
wail, and cry out in anguished Sicilian, as the widow, the
mother of the murdered boy, holds her child in her arms, his
fresh blood wetting her strong hands.
<b>EXT. BARONIAL ESTATE - TIGHT MOVING VIEW - DAY
</b>
A boy, eight or nine, with wide, frightened eyes, being
pulled quickly by the hand. This is VITO ANDOLINI, who is
to become The Godfather.
The VIEW ALTERS revealing that he is being pulled along by
his Mother, the Widow, across a field leading to the
ornamental gates of a Baronial Estate of some forgotten Noble.
At various positions near the gates are men with shotguns,
or lupara. The gates are opened; and the Widow and her boy
are shown before DON FRANCESCO, a man in his sixties. He
wears his trousers with suspenders, and an open white shirt
sloppily tucked in over his enormous belly. He wears a hat
to protect him from the white-hot sun, and proudly displays
a gold watch and chain over his vest.
He sits in a chair, near a group of his men in the garden,
listening to the Widow, who stands before him with her only
son.
<b> WIDOW
</b> (Sicilian)
Don Francesco. You murdered my
husband, because he would not bend.
And his oldest son Paolo, because
he swore revenge. But Vitone is
only nine, and dumb-witted. He
never speaks.
<b> DON FRANCESCO
</b> (Sicilian)
I'm not afraid of his words.
<b> WIDOW
</b>
|
lupara
|
How many times does the word 'lupara' appear in the text?
| 1
|
its sophistries, to compare the statements of different
witnesses with severity, to discover truth and separate it from error. Our
fellow-men are well aware of this; and probably they act upon this
knowledge more generally, and with a more profound repose, than we are in
the habit of considering. The influence, too, of the legal profession upon
the community is unquestionably great; conversant, as it daily is, with
all classes and grades of men, in their domestic and social relations, and
in all the affairs of life, from the cradle to the grave. This influence
we are constantly exerting for good or ill; and hence, to refuse to
acquaint ourselves with the evidences of the Christian religion, or to act
as though, having fully examined, we lightly esteemed them, is to assume
an appalling amount of responsibility.
The things related by the Evangelists are certainly of the most momentous
character, affecting the principles of our conduct here, and our happiness
for ever. The religion of Jesus Christ aims at nothing less than the utter
overthrow of all other systems of religion in the world; denouncing them
as inadequate to the wants of man, false in their foundations, and
dangerous in their tendency. It not only solicits the grave attention of
all, to whom its doctrines are presented, but it demands their cordial
belief, as a matter of vital concernment. These are no ordinary claims;
and it seems hardly possible for a rational being to regard them with even
a subdued interest; much less to treat them with mere indifference and
contempt. If not true, they are little else than the pretensions of a bold
imposture, which, not satisfied with having already enslaved millions of
the human race, seeks to continue its encroachments upon human liberty,
until all nations shall be subjugated under its iron rule. But if they are
well founded and just, they can be no less than the high requirements of
Heaven, addressed by the voice of God to the reason and understanding of
man, concerning things deeply affecting his relations to his sovereign,
and essential to the formation of his character and of course to his
destiny, both for this life and for the life to come. Such was the
estimate taken of religion, even the religion of pagan Rome, by one of the
greatest lawyers of antiquity, when he argued that it was either nothing
at all, or was everything. _Aut undique religionem tolle, aut usquequaque
conserva._(1)
With this view of the importance of the subject, and in the hope that the
present work may in some degree aid or at least incite others to a more
successful pursuit of this interesting study, it is submitted to your kind
regard, by
Your obedient servant,
SIMON GREENLEAF.
HARVARD UNIVERSITY,
DANE HALL, _May 1, 1846_.
CONTENTS AND SYNOPSIS OF THE HARMONY.
_The figures in the first column refer to the corresponding Sections in_
NEWCOMEâS HARMONY. _Those in the second column to the Sections in this
Work._
Sect. Sect. Contents. Matt. Mark Luke John
Part I.
EVENTS CONNECTED
WITH THE BIRTH
AND CHILDHOOD OF
OUR LORD.
TIME: _About
thirteen and a
half years._
1 1 Preface to Lukeâs 1, 1-4
Gospel.
3 2
|
religion
|
How many times does the word 'religion' appear in the text?
| 4
|
rev 1st draft
July 30, 1986
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> EXT. FERRY LANDING - NEW ENGLAND SHORE - DAY
</b> The sparkling waters. The chirping spring day. We are on an isolated
stretch of country shore , and a quiet, sheltered island is visible
distantly across the Sound. There is asense of anticipation,
excitement. VOICES can be heard. THE CAMERA is the POV of a VIDEO
CAMERA, and a group of college kids wait just o.s. On-screen, however,
for the moment, a proper, sweet-faced young COED faces the camera and
-- reluctantly, under the urging of her friend behind the video lens -
- sets the scene.
<b> SWEET COED
</b><b> (SHYLY)
</b> Hi... My name is Mary O'Reilly O'Toole O'Shea and...over there is the
island my friend Muffy owns... It's spring break... and she's invited
us over for the weekend, and we're waiting for the ferry now to take
us there...
(blushing, mortified to cameraman)
I don't know what else to say!
<b> CAMERAMAN (CHAZ'S VOICE)
</b> Tell us something about yourself.
<b> SWEET COED
</b> Something about myself? Oh, Gee...
(composing herself, earnestly)
Well, I want to work with handicapped children... My parents are my
best Friends... Next semester I start convent school, and I... fuck on
the first date.
O.S. her friends explode with LAUGHTER. Brassy former deb NIKKI
BRASHEARS gives us a big, wet wink, dropping the act.
|
behind
|
How many times does the word 'behind' appear in the text?
| 0
|
could offer to her. The slight
marks of illness in her face, the inevitable changes in the grace and
roundness of its outline, were rendered hardly noticeable by the
marvelous preservation of her complexion in all the light and delicacy
of its first girlish beauty. There lay her face on the pillow--tenderly
framed in by the rich lace of her cap, softly crowned by her shining
brown hair--to all outward appearance, the face of a beautiful woman
recovering from a slight illness, or reposing after unusual fatigue.
Even Sarah Leeson, who had watched her all through her malady, could
hardly believe, as she looked at her mistress, that the Gates of Life
had closed behind her, and that the beckoning hand of Death was
signing to her already from the Gates of the Grave.
Some dog's-eared books in paper covers lay on the counterpane of the
bed. As soon as the curtain was drawn aside Mrs. Treverton ordered her
attendant by a gesture to remove them. They were plays, underscored in
certain places by ink lines, and marked with marginal annotations
referring to entrances, exits, and places on the stage. The servants,
talking down stairs of their mistress's occupation before her
marriage, had not been misled by false reports. Their master, after he
had passed the prime of life, had, in very truth, taken his wife from
the obscure stage of a country theatre, when little more than two
years had elapsed since her first appearance in public. The
dog's-eared old plays had been once her treasured dramatic library;
she had always retained a fondness for them from old associations;
and, during the latter part of her illness, they had remained on her
bed for days and days together.
Having put away the plays, Sarah went back to her mistress; and, with
more of dread and bewilderment in her face than grief, opened her lips
to speak. Mrs. Treverton held up her hand, as a sign that she had
another order to give.
"Bolt the door," she said, in the same enfeebled voice, but with the
same accent of resolution which had so strikingly marked her first
request to have more light in the room. "Bolt the door. Let no one in,
till I give you leave."
"No one?" repeated Sarah, faintly. "Not the doctor? not even my
master?"
"Not the doctor--not even your master," said Mrs. Treverton, and
pointed to the door. The hand was weak; but even in that momentary
action of it there was no mistaking the gesture of command.
Sarah bolted the door, returned irresolutely to the bedside, fixed her
large, eager, startled eyes inquiringly on her mistress's face, and,
suddenly bending over her, said in a whisper:
"Have you told my master?"
"No," was the answer. "I sent for him, to tell him--I tried hard to
speak the words--it shook me to my very soul, only to think how I
should best break it to him--I am so fond of him! I love him so
dearly! But I should have spoken in spite of that, if he had not
talked of the child. Sarah! he did nothing but talk of the child--and
that silenced me."
Sarah, with a forgetfulness of her station which might have appeared
extraordinary even in the eyes of the most lenient of mistresses,
flung herself back in a chair when the first word of Mrs. Treverton's
reply was uttered, clasped her trembling hands over her face, and
groaned to herself, "Oh, what will happen! what will happen now!"
Mrs. Treverton's eyes had softened and moistened when she spoke of her
love for her husband. She lay silent for a few minutes; the working of
some strong emotion in her being expressed by her quick, hard, labored
breathing, and by the painful contraction of her eyebrows. Ere long,
she turned her head uneasily toward the chair in which her attendant
was sitting, and spoke again--this time in a voice which had sunk to a
whisper.
"Look for my medicine," said she; "I want it."
Sarah started up, and with the quick instinct of obedience brushed
away the tears that were rolling fast over her cheeks.
|
appearance
|
How many times does the word 'appearance' appear in the text?
| 1
|
, president of Princeton College, New Jersey. His maternal
grandmother was Esther, the second daughter of the Rev. Solomon
Stoddard, and sister to the paternal grandmother of Elizabeth Whitman,
the wife of Rev. Samuel Whitman before mentioned. A Mr. Burt has by some
been identified with this "Sanford," the rival of "Boyer," yet without
the least pretension in history to authenticity. Nor can we place much
reliance upon the letters here introduced as his in point of
originality, as there is sufficient reason for believing that these are,
for the most part, of the author's invention, founded upon the current
reputation of his after years. And we may be happy in so considering
them, since they would betray a character, even in earliest manhood, too
depraved and debased for honorable mention, although his errors were no
doubt altogether beyond the palliation of a woman's pen. Yet we would
fain look at him, in youth at least, as undebauched and uncorrupt,
however stained may be the record of his manhood.
Between him and Elizabeth Whitman there was, notwithstanding, over all
and under all, a close affinity of spirit; and there is no question,
aside from the frailties and objections which the writer of the romance
has introduced, that there was a marriage of the soul, superseding all
after ties which worldliness and depravity might have consummated, that
overshadows sin, and may not pass into our reckoning. Not only such a
marriage, but one, though secret, actually sanctioned by the laws of the
land, she is known to have declared a fact previous to her death.
Question this who may, that deep down under the impulses of surging
passion there existed a purer and holier affection for her, is in
history sufficiently clear. They had been set in family connection,
intimate by kin, intimate in earliest life by every outward tie, and
especially intimate by the subtile affinities of their spiritual
natures. Yet he who can, under any circumstances, entreat the love of
woman, and then take advantage of her weakness or her confidence, is an
anomaly in nature, and should have a special, judiciary here and in
heaven.
Since so much of the romance here following is truth, veritable truth,
it is to be regretted that any error of historical character was
suffered to assume importance in the narrative. Yet this is so often the
case in works of this kind, that it is not remarkable here. More
surprising is it that truth was so carefully and conscientiously guarded
and preserved.
In conflicting statements, it is difficult to determine the precise year
of the marriage of Mr. Edwards, whether before or after the death of
"Eliza Wharton," although it may have been long before, even as one of
his biographers has it, and that recklessness and extravagance may have
lifted him to a too fearful height from the calm Eden of love and
honor, till he at length compromised the influence of both to baser
avarice.
That he married Frances Ogden, of Elizabeth-town, New Jersey, for his
first wife, is the fact, and the date given is 1769. Yet the ciphers may
be questioned, I think, as it would make him but nineteen years of age
at the time of the event, besides other considerations which make it
appear more doubtful still.
He was, however, as has been already stated, the eleventh and youngest
child of Rev. Jonathan Edwards, and was born in Northampton,
Massachusetts, _Sabbath_. His biographer has been particularly faithful
in thus recording it, as if the hallowed influences of the Sabbath upon
birth have a bearing on subsequent life, and were in his case either
strikingly marked or missed. He was born, then, Sabbath, April 8, 1750,
and was cousin, in good or evil, to the notorious Aaron Burr. He was
also brother to Rev. Jonathan Edwards, president of Union College.
His mother, Sarah Pierrepont, was of aristocratic origin, and the
daughter of Rev. James Pierrepont, and granddaughter of John Pierrepont,
of Roxbury, from whom descended Rev. John Pierpont, the celebrated poet
and divine of our own time. The Pierrepont family was a branch of the
family of the Duke of Kingston, (Pierrepont being the family name;
|
here
|
How many times does the word 'here' 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>
|
bickering
|
How many times does the word 'bickering' appear in the text?
| 2
|
, which Maria was
eager to relate with all the persuasive eloquence of grief.
It is so cheering to see a human face, even if little of the divinity
of virtue beam in it, that Maria anxiously expected the return of
the attendant, as of a gleam of light to break the gloom of idleness.
Indulged sorrow, she perceived, must blunt or sharpen the faculties to
the two opposite extremes; producing stupidity, the moping melancholy of
indolence; or the restless activity of a disturbed imagination. She
sunk into one state, after being fatigued by the other: till the want
of occupation became even more painful than the actual pressure or
apprehension of sorrow; and the confinement that froze her into a
nook of existence, with an unvaried prospect before her, the most
insupportable of evils. The lamp of life seemed to be spending itself
to chase the vapours of a dungeon which no art could dissipate.--And
to what purpose did she rally all her energy?--Was not the world a vast
prison, and women born slaves?
Though she failed immediately to rouse a lively sense of injustice
in the mind of her guard, because it had been sophisticated into
misanthropy, she touched her heart. Jemima (she had only a claim to a
Christian name, which had not procured her any Christian privileges)
could patiently hear of Maria's confinement on false pretences; she had
felt the crushing hand of power, hardened by the exercise of injustice,
and ceased to wonder at the perversions of the understanding, which
systematize oppression; but, when told that her child, only four
months old, had been torn from her, even while she was discharging the
tenderest maternal office, the woman awoke in a bosom long estranged
from feminine emotions, and Jemima determined to alleviate all in her
power, without hazarding the loss of her place, the sufferings of a
wretched mother, apparently injured, and certainly unhappy. A sense of
right seems to result from the simplest act of reason, and to preside
over the faculties of the mind, like the master-sense of feeling, to
rectify the rest; but (for the comparison may be carried still farther)
how often is the exquisite sensibility of both weakened or destroyed by
the vulgar occupations, and ignoble pleasures of life?
The preserving her situation was, indeed, an important object to Jemima,
who had been hunted from hole to hole, as if she had been a beast of
prey, or infected with a moral plague. The wages she received, the
greater part of which she hoarded, as her only chance for independence,
were much more considerable than she could reckon on obtaining any
where else, were it possible that she, an outcast from society, could
be permitted to earn a subsistence in a reputable family. Hearing Maria
perpetually complain of listlessness, and the not being able to beguile
grief by resuming her customary pursuits, she was easily prevailed on,
by compassion, and that involuntary respect for abilities, which those
who possess them can never eradicate, to bring her some books and
implements for writing. Maria's conversation had amused and interested
her, and the natural consequence was a desire, scarcely observed
by herself, of obtaining the esteem of a person she admired. The
remembrance of better days was rendered more lively; and the sentiments
then acquired appearing less romantic than they had for a long period, a
spark of hope roused her mind to new activity.
How grateful was her attention to Maria! Oppressed by a dead weight of
existence, or preyed on by the gnawing worm of discontent, with what
eagerness did she endeavour to shorten the long days, which left no
traces behind! She seemed to be sailing on the vast ocean of life,
without seeing any land-mark to indicate the progress of time; to find
employment was then to find variety, the animating principle of nature.
CHAPTER 2
EARNESTLY as Maria endeavoured to soothe, by reading, the anguish of her
wounded mind, her thoughts would often wander from the subject she was
led to discuss, and tears of maternal tenderness obscured the reasoning
page. She descanted on "the ills which flesh is heir to," with
bitterness, when the recollection of her babe was revived by a tale
of fictitious woe, that bore any resemblance to her own; and
|
maria
|
How many times does the word 'maria' appear in the text?
| 6
|
to
whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen, no one
knowing how or where. As became a real ghost, he made no noise in
walking. People began by laughing and making fun of this specter
dressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend
soon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet. All
the girls pretended to have met this supernatural being more or less
often. And those who laughed the loudest were not the most at ease.
When he did not show himself, he betrayed his presence or his passing
by accident, comic or serious, for which the general superstition held
him responsible. Had any one met with a fall, or suffered a practical
joke at the hands of one of the other girls, or lost a powderpuff, it
was at once the fault of the ghost, of the Opera ghost.
After all, who had seen him? You meet so many men in dress-clothes at
the Opera who are not ghosts. But this dress-suit had a peculiarity of
its own. It covered a skeleton. At least, so the ballet-girls said.
And, of course, it had a death's head.
Was all this serious? The truth is that the idea of the skeleton came
from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief
scene-shifter, who had really seen the ghost. He had run up against
the ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to
"the cellars." He had seen him for a second--for the ghost had
fled--and to any one who cared to listen to him he said:
"He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton
frame. His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils.
You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull. His skin,
which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but
a nasty yellow. His nose is so little worth talking about that you
can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible
thing TO LOOK AT. All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks
on his forehead and behind his ears."
This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at
imagining things. His words were received with interest and amazement;
and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in
dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders. Sensible men who
had wind of the story began by saying that Joseph Buquet had been the
victim of a joke played by one of his assistants. And then, one after
the other, there came a series of incidents so curious and so
inexplicable that the very shrewdest people began to feel uneasy.
For instance, a fireman is a brave fellow! He fears nothing, least of
all fire! Well, the fireman in question, who had gone to make a round
of inspection in the cellars and who, it seems, had ventured a little
farther than usual, suddenly reappeared on the stage, pale, scared,
trembling, with his eyes starting out of his head, and practically
fainted in the arms of the proud mother of little Jammes.[1] And why?
Because he had seen coming toward him, AT THE LEVEL OF HIS HEAD, BUT
WITHOUT A BODY ATTACHED TO IT, A HEAD OF FIRE! And, as I said, a
fireman is not afraid of fire.
The fireman's name was Pampin.
The corps de ballet was flung into consternation. At first sight, this
fiery head in no way corresponded with Joseph Buquet's description of
the ghost. But the young ladies soon persuaded themselves that the
ghost had several heads, which he changed about as he pleased. And, of
course, they at once imagined that they were in the greatest danger.
Once a fireman did not hesitate to faint, leaders and front-row and
back-row girls alike had plenty of excuses for the fright that made
them quicken their pace when passing some dark corner or ill-lighted
corridor. Sorelli herself, on the day after the adventure of the
fireman, placed
|
gone
|
How many times does the word 'gone' appear in the text?
| 0
|
he got a job of surveying to do, and now and
then a merchant got him to straighten out his books. With Scotch patience
and pluck he resolved to live down his reputation and work his way into
the legal field yet. Poor fellow, he could foresee that it was going to
take him such a weary long time to do it.
He had a rich abundance of idle time, but it never hung heavy on his
hands, for he interested himself in every new thing that was born into
the universe of ideas, and studied it, and experimented upon it at his
house. One of his pet fads was palmistry. To another one he gave no
name, neither would he explain to anybody what its purpose was, but
merely said it was an amusement. In fact, he had found that his fads
added to his reputation as a pudd'nhead; there, he was growing chary of
being too communicative about them. The fad without a name was one which
dealt with people's finger marks. He carried in his coat pocket a
shallow box with grooves in it, and in the grooves strips of glass five
inches long and three inches wide. Along the lower edge of each strip
was pasted a slip of white paper. He asked people to pass their hands
through their hair (thus collecting upon them a thin coating of the
natural oil) and then making a thumb-mark on a glass strip, following it
with the mark of the ball of each finger in succession. Under this row
of faint grease prints he would write a record on the strip of white
paper--thus:
JOHN SMITH, right hand--
and add the day of the month and the year, then take Smith's left hand on
another glass strip, and add name and date and the words "left hand." The
strips were now returned to the grooved box, and took their place among
what Wilson called his "records."
He often studied his records, examining and poring over them with
absorbing interest until far into the night; but what he found there--if
he found anything--he revealed to no one. Sometimes he copied on paper
the involved and delicate pattern left by the ball of the finger, and
then vastly enlarged it with a pantograph so that he could examine its
web of curving lines with ease and convenience.
One sweltering afternoon--it was the first day of July, 1830--he was at
work over a set of tangled account books in his workroom, which looked
westward over a stretch of vacant lots, when a conversation outside
disturbed him. It was carried on in yells, which showed that the people
engaged in it were not close together.
"Say, Roxy, how does yo' baby come on?" This from the distant voice.
"Fust-rate. How does _you_ come on, Jasper?" This yell was from close
by.
"Oh, I's middlin'; hain't got noth'n' to complain of, I's gwine to come
a-court'n you bimeby, Roxy."
"_You_ is, you black mud cat! Yah--yah--yah! I got somep'n' better to
do den 'sociat'n' wid niggers as black as you is. Is ole Miss Cooper's
Nancy done give you de mitten?" Roxy followed this sally with another
discharge of carefree laughter.
"You's jealous, Roxy, dat's what's de matter wid you, you
hussy--yah--yah--yah! Dat's de time I got you!"
"Oh, yes, _you_ got me, hain't you. 'Clah to goodness if dat conceit o'
yo'n strikes in, Jasper, it gwine to kill you sho'. If you b'longed to
me, I'd sell you down de river 'fo' you git too fur gone. Fust time I
runs acrost yo' marster, I's gwine to tell him so."
This idle and aimless jabber went on and on, both parties enjoying the
friendly duel and each well satisfied with his own share of the wit
exchanged--for wit they considered it.
Wilson stepped to the window to observe the combatants; he could not work
while their chatter continued. Over in the vacant lots was Jasper,
young, coal black, and of magnificent build, sitting on a wheelbar
|
down
|
How many times does the word 'down' appear in the text?
| 1
|
>
</b> 2ND PHOTO: A boy of 11, wearing conductor's tails
and holding a raised baton in his right hand as if
about to gesture a downbeat:
<b>
</b> "Herbert Kreutzer Dupea"
<b>
</b> 3RD PHOTO: Another boy of approximately 9, in the
act of playing the violin:
<b>
</b> "Carl Fidelio Dupea"
<b>
</b> 4TH PHOTO: The two boys are now poised behind the
piano. Seated on its bench is a girl of 6, her
hands resting on the keyboard. Written beneath:
<b>
</b> "Elizabeth Partita Dupea"
<b>
</b> 5TH PHOTO: The above family group, seated on the
porch of the Dupea home. All eyes but Isabelle's
are faced toward the camera. She beams upon a 3
year-old asleep in her arms, his head resting
against her bosom. His figure is encircled by the
pen's marking and preceding his name is the
configuration of a small heart:
<b>
</b> "Robert Eroica Dupea"
<b>
</b><b> INT. MUSIC ROOM - DUPEA HOME - DAY
</b><b>
</b><b> BACH-VIVALDI OVER:
</b><b>
</b> A 7-year-old BOBBY sits in a chair, his feet
dangling in absent-minded rhythm to a chamber piece
played by his father, his two brothers and his
sister.
<b>
</b> CLOSE ON a metronome, marking a slow etude rhythm.
<b>
</b> The CAMERA MOVES from it to Bobby, on the piano
bench beside his mother. As she patiently
demonstrates the etude for him, he places a thumb
in his mouth and leans against her arm.
<b>
</b> ON THE METRONOME at an andante rhythm. CARL and
TITA, now in their teens, are seated side by side
on the piano bench, playing four-hands with
dazzling virtuosity.
<b>
</b> The CAMERA MOVES from them to a framed newspaper
article on the music-room wall. Below a photograph
of a 20-year-old young man are the words: "Herbert
Kreutzer Dupea - Seattle's Youngest Guest
Conductor."
<b>
</b><b> INT. RECITAL HALL GREEN ROOM - NIGHT
</b><b>
</b><b> BACH-VIVALDI OVER:
</b><b>
</b> Bobby, at 10, wearing a dress suit. His mother
combs his hair with maternal concentration.
<b>
</b> CLOSE-UP of a program announcing a Dupea family
recital. The CAMERA SCANS down the bill, over:
<b>
</b> Sonata in C Major for Two Violins - Bach - Played
by Nicholas and Carl Dupea.
<b>
</b> Like As a Lovelorn Turtle - Hendel - Sung by
Isabelle Dupea.
<b>
</b> Rondo Alla Turca - Mozart - Played by Elizabeth
Dupea.
<b>
</b> Piano Sonata, Opus 110 - Beethoven - Played by
Herbart Dupea.
<b>
</b> The CAMERA COMES to rest on:
<b>
</b>
|
camera
|
How many times does the word 'camera' appear in the text?
| 4
|
EXT. SANTA MONICA PIER - NIGHT
</b>
The sultry dampness of a blistering summer hangs in the night
air. People stroll the boardwalk looking for a cool breeze.
The soft rhythms of a jazz concert float from the band shell.
<b> CLOSE SHOT - A PAIR OF SEXY HIGH HEELS
</b>
and a woman's shapely legs, walking along the wooden pier.
<b> OPENING TITLES & CREDITS OVER.
</b>
After several steps, a discarded piece of gum sticks to one
of her shoes, stretching out stickily. Two steps later, a
piece of paper sticks to the gum, flopping awkwardly with
each step.
The MOVING CAMERA PANS UP her gorgeous legs and sensuous
body. She wears a loose summer dress that floats like gossamer
around her soft curves. Her hair is long and blond.
<b> NED (V.O.)
</b> To some guys, women are like a cheap
puzzle... with pieces that just don't
fit. They think the soul of a woman
is darker than a back alley... more
tangled than a telephone cord... and
colder than a Klondike Bar in Canada.
But those guys don't even have a
clue.
She stops at the railing. We see an incredibly beautiful
face and cool, alluring eyes. This is LOLA CAIN. The term
"femme fatale" was coined for her. She's on display... and
knows it.
<b> NED (V.O.)
</b> When you know women the way I do,
you understand exactly what what
makes them tick... what makes them
|
guys
|
How many times does the word 'guys' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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
|
stevens
|
How many times does the word 'stevens' appear in the text?
| 1
|
ELLOW...as we realise...It's FIRE...
A SOUND. Something SHATTERING...
Then. A DISEMBODIED VOICE. Muted. We can't quite make out
What it's saying. As it gets LOUDER. And LOUDER. When we
finally. Understand...
<b> DISEMBODIED VOICE
</b> You are in danger...
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>2 INT. SPOONER'S APARTMENT - CLOSE ON 2
</b>
DEL SPOONER'S FACE. His eyes, snapping open. His face,
covered in sweat.
PULL BACK to REVEAL him lying in bed. Sheets, tangled around
his legs. Alarm clock, playing something relentlessly
cheerful.
Spooner slaps it off. Sits up. Wincing. Bends his RIGHT
ARM. Stiff. He reaches for a BOTTLE OF PILLS. Shakes out a
couple and swallows them. Trying to forget. That dream.
You are in danger...
He rubs his hands over his face. Gets out of bed. His
apartment, basic. Unremarkable. Bearing the signs of
someone who lives alone. Shades drawn. A little messy.
<b>3 INT. SHOWER - MORNING 3
</b>
Spooner turns his face into the jet of water.
<b>4 INT. BATHROOM - MORNING 4
</b>
Shaves with a razor. Using his left hand. Knicks the cleft
of his chin. Shit.
<b>5 INT. KITCHEN - MORNING 5
</b>
Stares down at the single egg in a saucepan. Waiting for it
to boil.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>6 INT. HALLWAY - MORNING 6
</b>
Heads down the hallway. Looping a knotted tie around his
neck. Kicks some neglected mail from the door and reaches
for the handle. Takes a deep breath and...
<b>7 EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - MORNING 7
</b>
|
sheets
|
How many times does the word 'sheets' appear in the text?
| 0
|
</b>
<b> EXT. SOUTH BOSTON ST. PATRICK'S DAY PARADE -- DAY
</b>
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. L STREET BAR & GRILLE, SOUTH BOSTON -- EVENING
</b>
The bar is dirty, more than a little run down. If there is
ever a cook on duty, he's not here now. As we pan across
several empty tables, we can almost smell the odor of last
nights beer and crushed pretzels on the floor.
<b> CHUCKIE
</b> Oh my God, I got the most fucked up
thing I been meanin' to tell you.
As the camera rises, we find FOUR YOUNG MEN seated around a
table near the back of the bar.
<b> ALL
</b> Oh Jesus. Here we go.
The guy holding court is CHUCKIE SULLIVAN, 20, and the largest
of the bunch. He is loud, boisterous, a born entertainer.
Next to him is WILL HUNTING, 20, handsome and confident, a
softspoken leader. On Will's right sits BILLY MCBRIDE, 22,
heavy, quiet, someone you definitely wouldn't want to tangle
with.
Finally there is MORGAN O'MALLY, 19, smaller than the other
guys. Wiry and anxious, Morgan listens to Chuckie's horror
stories with eager disgust.
All four boys speak with thick Boston accents. This is a
rough, working class Irish neighborhood and these boys are
its product.
<b> CHUCKIE
</b> You guys know my cousin Mikey
Sullivan?
<b>
|
want
|
How many times does the word 'want' appear in the text?
| 0
|
BOY watching the jets, exclaiming excitedly in Hungarian.
<b>2 EXT. BUDAPEST STREET - DAY 2
</b>
LATERALLY TRACKING down a bustling street, as the jets
scream by overhead. Pedestrians look up. All except one man
who continues walking. This is JIM PRIDEAUX.
ACROSS THE STREET: More pedestrians. We're not sure who
we're supposed to be looking at - the short stocky man? The
girl in the mini skirt? The man in the checked jacket?
A car driving beside Prideaux accelerates out of the frame.
Across the street the girl in the mini-skirt peels off into
a shop. The stocky man turns and waves to us. But it isn't
Prideaux he's greeting but another passerby, who walks
over, shakes hands.
Now we're left with Prideaux and the Magyar in the checked
shirt, neither paying any attention to each other.
Just as we are wondering if there is any connection, the
two reach a corner and the Magyar, pausing to cross the
road, collides with another passerby. He looks over and
sees Prideaux has caught the moment of slight clumsiness
and gives the smallest of rueful smiles. A tiny moment of
contact between the two. Then both men walk on around the
corner, just two strangers headed in the same direction...
<b>3 EXT. SUBWAY EXIT - DAY 3
</b>
Shooting up the steps of the exit to the imposing GALERIA
building on the corner ahead. Prideaux and the Magyar walk
up the steps, still paying no attention to each other, and
head towards...
<b>4 INT. BUDAPEST - GALERIA - DAY 4
</b>
A formerly grand arcade. Many of the shops are now closed,
the one's that are open don't have much to sell. A CAFE
occupies the middle space under the high vaulted ceiling. A
JAZZ ROCK band rehearses in one of the nearby disused
shops, incongruous in the window, music muffled by the
glass. Customers sit around tables playing chess, drinking
coffee, a mother breast-feeding, the hum of chatter. The
ordinary world.
<b> 2.
</b>
We find Prideaux and the Magyar sitting at one of the
tables.
<b> MAGYAR
</b> (Hungarian, subtitled)
And porkolts. You know porkolts?
<b> JIM PRIDEAUX
</b> (Hungarian, subtitled)
Yes, I've had it.
<b>
|
street
|
How many times does the word 'street' appear in the text?
| 3
|
gridlocked -- mostly
with stretch limousines.
<b>INT. LAX - (INCLUDE NEWS REPORT MONTAGE) - DAY
</b>
Inside, the airport is done up with festive posters, streamers
and banners: Welcome - Pacific Partners Summit
A planeload of cheerful CHINESE DELEGATES come into the
crowded terminal. Some sport red T-shirts with a picture of
Mao wearing Mickey Mouse ears.
They get onto the people mover, passing by a TV REPORTER:
<b> REPORTER
</b> (to TV CAMERA)
Eager to mend its tarnished image,
Los Angeles has really put out the
welcome mat for tomorrow's summit.
The city promises quite a party as
leaders from Japan, China, South
Korea, Australia, the U.S. and
others begin talks for the largest
free-trade treaty in history.
The SCENE changes to TAPE of DELEGATES from other countries
arriving.
Then, we see massive SECURITY PREPARATIONS all around the city.
<b> REPORTER (VO)
</b> (continuing)
The one sour note is North Korea,
the only Pacific Rim country not
participating. There are rumors of
secret meetings with North Korean
representatives, but U.S. officials
insist the North must first hold
democratic elections, and halt its
nuclear weapons program -- as they
claimed to have done back in 1995.
We CUT TO a heated debate in the UN SECURITY COUNCIL.
Then ARTILLERY FIRE over the Korean DMZ.
The SCENE returns to LAX.
<b> REPORTER (VO)
</b> (continuing)
Tensions remain high since last
year's skirmishes between North Korea
and the U.S. So any chance of the
communist North joining the Pacific
Partners seems highly unlikely.
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. FREMONT PLACE - DAY
</b>
An exclusive, walled-off section of Hancock Park. There's only
one route in and out, past a manned guardhouse on Wilshire.
<b>EXT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE - DAY
</b>
A Colonial-style mansion, surrounded by an imposing, wrought-
iron fence. There is a bronze plaque, in English and Korean,
next to the entranceway:
<b>
</b> Consulate
of the
Democratic People's Republic of Korea
The driveway gate opens and a long, black Mercedes with tinted
windows and diplomatic license plates glides out.
<b>INT. NORTH KOREAN CONSULATE - SURVEILLANCE ROOM - DAY
</b>
An alert North Korean CORPORAL watches the perimeter MONITORS.
He pushes a switch to close the gate behind the Mercedes.
<b>EXT. UTILITY POLE - OLYMPIC BLVD - DAY
</b>
From atop a pole outside the south wall, a man with binoculars
overlooks the private streets of Fremont Place.
<b>HIS POV - THROUGH BINOCULARS
</b>
as the Mercedes cruises through the quiet neighborhood.
<b>BACK TO SCENE
</b>
The man, PAUL JAVAL, is thirtyish, nervous; with short, sandy
hair. He takes the binoculars away from his face and we see
his eyes -- they're a strange, unnaturally light gray.
Javal takes an ORANGE PILL from an unlabeled prescription
bottle and pops it into his mouth. He climbs down the pole to
a van with a phone company logo on it.
<b>EXT. WILSHIRE BLVD - DAY
</b>
The Mercedes comes out of the Fremont Place gate,
|
north
|
How many times does the word 'north' appear in the text?
| 7
|
duty. Our privilege is to trace the strict succession of the
Crippses, the deeds of the Carrier now on the throne and his second
best brother, the baker, with a little side-peep at the man on the
farm, and a shy desire to be very delicate to the last unmarried
"female."
The present head of the family, Zacchary Cripps, the Beckley carrier,
under the laws of time (which are even stricter than the Cripps'
code), was crossing the ridge of manhood towards the western side of
forty, without providing the due successor to the ancestral
driving-board. Public opinion was already beginning to exclaim at him;
and the man who kept the chandler's shop, with a large small family to
maintain, was threatening to make the most of this, and set up his own
eldest son on the road; though "dot and carry one" was all he knew
about the business. Zacchary was not a likely man to be at all upset
by this; but rather one of a tarrying order, as his name might
indicate.
Truly intelligent families living round about the city of Oxford had,
and even to this day have, a habit of naming their male babies after
the books of the Bible, in their just canonical sequence; while
infants of the better sex are baptized into the Apocrypha, or even the
Epistles. So that Zacchary should have been "Genesis," only his father
had suffered such pangs of mind at being cut down, by the
ever-strengthening curtness of British diction, into "Jenny Cripps,"
that he laid his thumb to the New Testament when his first man-child
was born to him, and finding a father in like case, quite relieved of
responsibility, took it for a good sign, and applied his name
triumphantly.
But though the eldest born was thus transferred into the New
Testament, the second son reverted to the proper dispensation; and the
one who went into the baker's shop was Exodus, as he ought to be. The
children of the former Exodus were turned out testamentarily, save
those who were needed to carry the bread out till their cousin's boys
should be big enough.
All of these doings were right enough, and everybody approved of them.
Leviticus Cripps was the lord of the swine, and Numbers bore the
cleaver, while Deuteronomy stuck to his last, when the public-house
could spare him. There was only one more brother of the dominant
generation, whose name was "Pentachook," for thus they pronounced the
collective eponym, and he had been compendiously kicked abroad, to
seek his own fortune, right early.
But as for the daughters (who took their names from the best women of
the Apocrypha, and sat up successively under the tilt until they were
disposed of), for the moment it is enough to say that all except one
were now forth and settled. Some married farmers, some married
tradesmen, one took a miller's eldest son, one had a gentleman more or
less, but all with expectations. Only the youngest was still in the
tilt, a very pretty girl called Esther.
All Beckley declared that Esther's heart had been touched by a College
lad, who came some five years since to lodge with Zacchary for the
long vacation, and was waited on by this young girl, supposed to be
then unripe for dreaming of the tender sentiment. That a girl of only
fifteen summers should allow her thoughts to stray, contrary to all
common sense and her duty to her betters, for no other reason (to
anybody's knowledge) than that a young man ate and drank with less
noise than the Crippses, and went on about the moonlight and the
stars, and the rubbishy things in the hedges--that a child like that
should know no better than to mix what a gentleman said with his inner
meaning--put it right or left, it showed that something was amiss with
her. However, the women would say no more until it was pulled out of
them. To mix or meddle with the Crippses was like putting one's
fingers into a steel trap.
With female opinion in this condition, and eager to catch at anything,
Mrs. Exodus Cripps, in Oxford, was confined rather suddenly. She had
kne
|
zacchary
|
How many times does the word 'zacchary' appear in the text?
| 3
|
among a portion of the gentry in
Cumberland and Westmoreland,--did not go with her. She had married
without due care. Some men said,--and many women repeated the
story,--that she had known of the existence of the former wife, when
she had married the Earl. She had run into debt, and then repudiated
her debts. She was now residing in the house of a low radical tailor,
who had assaulted the man she called her husband; and she was living
under her maiden name. Tales were told of her which were utterly
false,--as when it was said that she drank. Others were reported
which had in them some grains of truth,--as that she was violent,
stiff-necked, and vindictive. Had they said of her that it had
become her one religion to assert her daughter's right,--per fas aut
nefas,--to assert it by right or wrong; to do justice to her child
let what injustice might be done to herself or others,--then the
truth would have been spoken.
The case dragged itself on slowly, and little Anna Murray was a child
of nine years old when at last the Earl was acquitted of the criminal
charge which had been brought against him. During all this time he
had been absent. Even had there been a wish to bring him personally
into court, the law would have been powerless to reach him. But there
was no such wish. It had been found impossible to prove the former
marriage, which had taken place in Sicily;--or if not impossible, at
least no adequate proof was forthcoming. There was no real desire
that there should be such proof. The Earl's lawyers abstained, as
far as they could abstain, from taking any steps in the matter. They
spent what money was necessary, and the Attorney-General of the day
defended him. In doing so, the Attorney-General declared that he had
nothing to do with the Earl's treatment of the lady who now called
herself Mrs. Murray. He knew nothing of the circumstances of that
connection, and would not travel beyond his brief. He was there to
defend Earl Lovel on a charge of bigamy. This he did successfully,
and the Earl was acquitted. Then, in court, the counsel for the wife
declared that his client would again call herself Lady Lovel.
But it was not so easy to induce other people to call her Lady Lovel.
And now not only was she much hampered by money difficulties, but so
also was the tailor. But Thomas Thwaite never for a moment slackened
in his labours to make good the position of the woman whom he had
determined to succour; and for another and a longer period of eight
years the battle went on. It went on very slowly, as is the wont with
such battles; and very little way was made. The world, as a rule, did
not believe that she who now again called herself the Countess Lovel
was entitled to that name. The Murrays, her own people,--as far as
they were her own people,--had been taught to doubt her claim. If
she were a countess why had she thrown herself into the arms of an
old tailor? Why did she let her daughter play with the tailor's
child,--if, in truth, that daughter was the Lady Anna? Why, above
all things, was the name of the Lady Anna allowed to be mentioned,
as it was mentioned, in connection with that of Daniel Thwaite, the
tailor's son?
During these eight weary years Lady Lovel,--for so she shall be
called,--lived in a small cottage about a mile from Keswick, on the
road to Grassmere and Ambleside, which she rented from quarter to
quarter. She still obtained a certain amount of alimony, which,
however, was dribbled out to her through various sieves, and which
reached her with protestations as to the impossibility of obtaining
anything like the moderate sum which had been awarded to her. And
it came at last to be the case that she hardly knew what she was
struggling to obtain. It was, of course, her object that all the
world should acknowledge her to be the Countess Lovel, and her
daughter to be the Lady Anna. But all the world could not be made to
do this by course of law. Nor could the law make her lord come home
and live with her, even such a cat
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 7
|
in its every arrangement and a sense of uncertainty in things struck
home to her. She seemed to see a woman, a woman like herself--only very,
very much cleverer--flitting about the room and making it. And then this
woman had vanished--nowhither. Leaving this gentleman--sadly left--in
the care of Mrs. Rabbit.
"And she is dead?" she said with a softness in her dark eyes and a fall
in her voice that was quite natural and very pretty.
"She died," said Mr. Brumley, "three years and a half ago." He
reflected. "Almost exactly."
He paused and she filled the pause with feeling.
He became suddenly very brave and brisk and businesslike. He led the way
back into the hall and made explanations. "It is not so much a hall as a
hall living-room. We use that end, except when we go out upon the
verandah beyond, as our dining-room. The door to the right is the
kitchen."
The lady's attention was caught again by the bright long eventful
pictures that had already pleased her. "They are copies of two of
Carpaccio's St. George series in Venice," he said. "We bought them
together there. But no doubt you've seen the originals. In a little old
place with a custodian and rather dark. One of those corners--so full of
that delightful out-of-the-wayishness which is so characteristic, I
think, of Venice. I don't know if you found that in Venice?"
"I've never been abroad," said the lady. "Never. I should love to go. I
suppose you and your wife went--ever so much."
He had a transitory wonder that so fine a lady should be untravelled,
but his eagerness to display his backgrounds prevented him thinking that
out at the time. "Two or three times," he said, "before our little boy
came to us. And always returning with something for this place. Look!"
he went on, stepped across an exquisite little brick court to a lawn of
soft emerald and turning back upon the house. "That Dellia Robbia
placque we lugged all the way back from Florence with us, and that stone
bird-bath is from Siena."
"How bright it is!" murmured the lady after a brief still appreciation.
"Delightfully bright. As though it would shine even if the sun didn't."
And she abandoned herself to the rapture of seeing a house and garden
that were for once better even than the agent's superlatives. And within
her grasp if she chose--within her grasp.
She made the garden melodious with soft appreciative sounds. She had a
small voice for her size but quite a charming one, a little live bird of
a voice, bright and sweet. It was a clear unruffled afternoon; even the
unseen wheel-barrow had very sensibly ceased to creak and seemed to be
somewhere listening....
Only one trivial matter marred their easy explorations;--his boots
remained unlaced. No propitious moment came when he could stoop and lace
them. He was not a dexterous man with eyelets, and stooping made him
grunt and his head swim. He hoped these trailing imperfections went
unmarked. He tried subtly to lead this charming lady about and at the
same time walk a little behind her. She on her part could not determine
whether he would be displeased or not if she noticed this slight
embarrassment and asked him to set it right. They were quite long
leather laces and they flew about with a sturdy negligence of anything
but their own offensive contentment, like a gross man who whistles a
vulgar tune as he goes round some ancient church; flick, flock, they
went, and flip, flap, enjoying themselves, and sometimes he trod on one
and halted in his steps, and sometimes for a moment she felt her foot
tether him. But man is the adaptable animal and presently they both
became more used to these inconveniences and more mechanical in their
efforts to avoid them. They treated those laces then exactly as nice
people would treat that gross man; a minimum of polite attention and all
the rest pointedly directed away from him....
The garden was full of things that people dream about doing in their
gardens and
|
arrangement
|
How many times does the word 'arrangement' appear in the text?
| 0
|
to reveal the
source of this kaleidoscopic backdrop: A SINGLE, STRIPED
TULIP, planted in a long row of other tulips. A HAND reaches
in and pulls the tulip from the ground. We then cut to:
1A A BASKET of tulips, carried by hand to a truck, where it 1A
is loaded with hundreds of other baskets. The door of the
truck is SHUT and we cut to:
1B The door of the truck OPENING to reveal that the tulips 1B
are now boxed and crated. A forklift moves the crates onto a
wagon, which is driven by a MANNED CART across the biggest
warehouse on the planet, the Bloenen Markt (CHECK THIS--
steven) in Amsterdam, Netherlands. The cart and wagons we
were following disappear into a maze of synchronized
activity.
1C The cart arrives in the AUCTION ROOM, which is 1C
constructed like an ampitheater: the buyers sit in a steeply
raked semi-circle, facing two giant, clock-shaped scoreboards
that display the bids on the flowers being viewed. The
striped tulips fetch a very high price.
1D The carts of striped tulips are delivered to an automated 1D
sorting apparatus of enormous size and complexity. They end
up on a truck heading for the airport.
1E The tulips are loaded onto a plane. During the transatlantic
flight, they sit nestled in the cargo hold.
1F The tulips are unloaded from the plane, driven across an 1F
airport tarmac and loaded onto another plane.
1G The tulips are unloaded from the plane and loaded onto a 1G
truck. The truck drives through a small town and pulls into
the back of a
<b>2 EXT./INT. FLOWER SHOP -- DAY 2
</b>
A YOUNG MAN takes delivery of the flowers and carries them
through the rear of the store to the display area up front.
We stay on the tulips as we hear the following conversation:
<b> CUSTOMER
</b> Wow. How do they do that?
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OWNER
</b> It's an accident. It means the
flower developed a virus early
|
tulips
|
How many times does the word 'tulips' appear in the text?
| 8
|
of THIS identity. One could only go
by probabilities, but there was the advantage that the most general of
the probabilities were virtual certainties. Possessed of our friend's
nationality, to start with, there was a general probability in his
narrower localism; which, for that matter, one had really but to keep
under the lens for an hour to see it give up its secrets. He would
have issued, our rueful worthy, from the very heart of New England--at
the heels of which matter of course a perfect train of secrets tumbled
for me into the light. They had to be sifted and sorted, and I shall
not reproduce the detail of that process; but unmistakeably they were
all there, and it was but a question, auspiciously, of picking among
them. What the "position" would infallibly be, and why, on his hands,
it had turned "false"--these inductive steps could only be as rapid as
they were distinct. I accounted for everything--and "everything" had
by this time become the most promising quantity--by the view that he
had come to Paris in some state of mind which was literally undergoing,
as a result of new and unexpected assaults and infusions, a change
almost from hour to hour. He had come with a view that might have been
figured by a clear green liquid, say, in a neat glass phial; and the
liquid, once poured into the open cup of APPLICATION, once exposed to
the action of another air, had begun to turn from green to red, or
whatever, and might, for all he knew, be on its way to purple, to
black, to yellow. At the still wilder extremes represented perhaps,
for all he could say to the contrary, by a variability so violent, he
would at first, naturally, but have gazed in surprise and alarm;
whereby the SITUATION clearly would spring from the play of wildness
and the development of extremes. I saw in a moment that, should this
development proceed both with force and logic, my "story" would leave
nothing to be desired. There is always, of course, for the
story-teller, the irresistible determinant and the incalculable
advantage of his interest in the story AS SUCH; it is ever, obviously,
overwhelmingly, the prime and precious thing (as other than this I have
never been able to see it); as to which what makes for it, with
whatever headlong energy, may be said to pale before the energy with
which it simply makes for itself. It rejoices, none the less, at its
best, to seem to offer itself in a light, to seem to know, and with the
very last knowledge, what it's about--liable as it yet is at moments to
be caught by us with its tongue in its cheek and absolutely no warrant
but its splendid impudence. Let us grant then that the impudence is
always there--there, so to speak, for grace and effect and ALLURE;
there, above all, because the Story is just the spoiled child of art,
and because, as we are always disappointed when the pampered don't
"play up," we like it, to that extent, to look all its character. It
probably does so, in truth, even when we most flatter ourselves that we
negotiate with it by treaty.
All of which, again, is but to say that the STEPS, for my fable, placed
themselves with a prompt and, as it were, functional assurance--an air
quite as of readiness to have dispensed with logic had I been in fact
too stupid for my clue. Never, positively, none the less, as the links
multiplied, had I felt less stupid than for the determination of poor
Strether's errand and for the apprehension of his issue. These things
continued to fall together, as by the neat action of their own weight
and form, even while their commentator scratched his head about them;
he easily sees now that they were always well in advance of him. As
the case completed itself he had in fact, from a good way behind, to
catch up with them, breathless and a little flurried, as he best could.
THE false position, for our belated man of the world--belated because
he had endeavoured so long to escape being one, and now at last had
really to face
|
negotiate
|
How many times does the word 'negotiate' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Company
<b>1 EXT. LATE 1942. THE SAHARA DESERT. DAY.
</b>
SILENCE. THE DESERT seen from the air. An ocean of dunes for mile
after mile. The late sun turns the sand every color from crimson to
black.
An old AEROPLANE is flying over the Sahara. Its shadow swims over the
contours of sand.
A woman's voice begins to sing unaccompanied on the track. Szerelem,
szerelem, she cries, in a haunting lament for her loved one.
INSIDE the aeroplane are two figures. One, A WOMAN, seems to be
asleep. Her pale head rests against the side of the cockpit. THE
PILOT, a man, wears goggles and a leather helmet. He is singing, too,
but we can't hear him or the plane or anything save the singer's
plaintive voice.
The plane shudders over a ridge. Beneath it A SUDDEN CLUSTER OF MEN
AND MACHINES, camouflage nets draped over the sprawl of gasoline tanks
and armored vehicles. An OFFICER, GERMAN, focuses his field glasses.
The glasses pick out the MARKINGS on the plane. They are English. An
ANTI-AIRCRAFT GUN swivels furiously.
Shocking bursts of GUNFIRE. Explosions rock the plane, which lurches
violently. THE WOMAN SLUMPS FORWARD, slamming her head against the
instruments. The pilot grabs her, pulls her back, but she's not
conscious. The fuel tank above their heads is punctured. It sprays
them both, then EXPLODES.
THE MAN FALLS OUT OF THE SKY, clinging to his dead lover. The are both
ON FIRE. She is wrapped in a parachute silk and it burns fiercely. He
looks up to see the flames licking at his own parachute as it carries
them slowly to earth. Even his helmet is on fire, but the man makes no
sound as the flames erase all that matters - his name, his past, his
face, his lover...
<b>2 EXT. THE DESERT. 1942. DAY.
</b>
THE PILOT HAS BEEN RESCUED BY BEDOUIN TRIBESMEN. Behind them the
wreckage of the plane, still smoking, the Arabs picking over it. A
SILVER THIMBLE glints in the sun, is retrieved. Another man comes
across A LARGE LEATHER-BOUND BOOK and takes it over to the Pilot. The
Pilot is charred. His helmet has melted into his head. He's oblivious
to this, cares only about the woman who crashed with him. He twists
frantically to find her. Two men pick him up and carry him across to a
litter where they carefully wrap him in blankets.
<b>3 EXT. THE DESERT. DUSK.
</b>
The Pilot is being carried across the desert. A mask covers his face.
His view of the world is through the slats of reed. He glimpses
camels, fierce low sun, the men who carry him.
<b>4 EXT. AN OASIS. DUSK.
</b>
The Pilot sees a man squat down beside him, takes a date from a sack
and begin to chew it. Carefully, the Bedouin eases the mask from the
Pilot's face, leaving bandages of cloth and oil, but revealing a mouth.
He stops chewing and passes the pulped date into the Pilot's mouth.
Mouth to mouth.
4a*. EXT. DESERT. DAWN.
THE CARAVANSERAI CROSSES THE DESERT, silhouetted against the dunes.
<b>5 EXT. AN OASIS. NIGHT.
|
plane
|
How many times does the word 'plane' appear in the text?
| 4
|
urance and physical prowess, did not even care to be seen walking
with me. Was it wonderful that I was misanthropic and sullen? Was it
wonderful that I brooded and worked alone, and had no friends--at least,
only one? I was set apart by Nature to live alone, and draw comfort
from her breast, and hers only. Women hated the sight of me. Only a week
before I had heard one call me a "monster" when she thought I was out
of hearing, and say that I had converted her to the monkey theory. Once,
indeed, a woman pretended to care for me, and I lavished all the pent-up
affection of my nature upon her. Then money that was to have come to me
went elsewhere, and she discarded me. I pleaded with her as I have never
pleaded with any living creature before or since, for I was caught by
her sweet face, and loved her; and in the end by way of answer she took
me to the glass, and stood side by side with me, and looked into it.
"Now," she said, "if I am Beauty, who are you?" That was when I was only
twenty.
And so I stood and stared, and felt a sort of grim satisfaction in the
sense of my own loneliness; for I had neither father, nor mother, nor
brother; and as I did so there came a knock at my door.
I listened before I went to open it, for it was nearly twelve o'clock at
night, and I was in no mood to admit any stranger. I had but one friend
in the College, or, indeed, in the world--perhaps it was he.
Just then the person outside the door coughed, and I hastened to open
it, for I knew the cough.
A tall man of about thirty, with the remains of great personal beauty,
came hurrying in, staggering beneath the weight of a massive iron box
which he carried by a handle with his right hand. He placed the box upon
the table, and then fell into an awful fit of coughing. He coughed and
coughed till his face became quite purple, and at last he sank into
a chair and began to spit up blood. I poured out some whisky into a
tumbler, and gave it to him. He drank it, and seemed better; though his
better was very bad indeed.
"Why did you keep me standing there in the cold?" he asked pettishly.
"You know the draughts are death to me."
"I did not know who it was," I answered. "You are a late visitor."
"Yes; and I verily believe it is my last visit," he answered, with a
ghastly attempt at a smile. "I am done for, Holly. I am done for. I do
not believe that I shall see to-morrow."
"Nonsense!" I said. "Let me go for a doctor."
He waved me back imperiously with his hand. "It is sober sense; but I
want no doctors. I have studied medicine and I know all about it. No
doctors can help me. My last hour has come! For a year past I have
only lived by a miracle. Now listen to me as you have never listened to
anybody before; for you will not have the opportunity of getting me to
repeat my words. We have been friends for two years; now tell me how
much do you know about me?"
"I know that you are rich, and have had a fancy to come to College long
after the age that most men leave it. I know that you have been married,
and that your wife died; and that you have been the best, indeed almost
the only friend I ever had."
"Did you know that I have a son?"
"No."
"I have. He is five years old. He cost me his mother's life, and I have
never been able to bear to look upon his face in consequence. Holly,
if you will accept the trust, I am going to leave you that boy's sole
guardian."
I sprang almost out of my chair. "_Me!_" I said.
"Yes, you. I have not studied you for two years for nothing. I have
known for some time that I could not last, and since I realised the fact
I have been searching for some one to whom I could conf
|
never
|
How many times does the word 'never' appear in the text?
| 2
|
."
"And what became of Julia?" asked Dr. Price.
Such relations, the doctor knew very well, had been all too common in
the old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into the
new era. Sins, like snakes, die hard. The habits and customs of a people
were not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. As family
physician, and father confessor by brevet, Dr. Price had looked upon
more than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had better
opportunities than old Jane for learning the undercurrents in the lives
of the old families.
"Well," resumed Jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', dat
Julia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. But
she didn'. She tried ter make a livin' sewin', but Mis' Polly wouldn'
let de bes' w'ite folks hire her. Den she tuck up washin', but didn' do
no better at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied a
shif'less yaller man, an' died er consumption soon after,--an' wuz
'bout ez well off, fer dis man couldn' hardly feed her nohow."
"And the child?"
"One er de No'the'n w'ite lady teachers at de mission school tuck a
likin' ter little Janet, an' put her thoo school, an' den sent her off
ter de No'th fer ter study ter be a school teacher. W'en she come back,
'stead er teachin' she ma'ied ole Adam Miller's son."
"The rich stevedore's son, Dr. Miller?"
"Yas, suh, dat's de man,--you knows 'im. Dis yer boy wuz jes' gwine
'way fer ter study ter be a doctuh, an' he ma'ied dis Janet, an' tuck
her 'way wid 'im. Dey went off ter Europe, er Irope, er Orope, er
somewhere er 'nother, 'way off yander, an' come back here las' year an'
sta'ted dis yer horspital an' school fer ter train de black gals fer
nusses."
"He's a very good doctor, Jane, and is doing a useful work. Your
chapter of family history is quite interesting,--I knew part of it
before, in a general way; but you haven't yet told me what brought on
Mrs. Carteret's trouble."
"I'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh,--w'at I be'n tellin' you is
all a part of it. Dis yer Janet, w'at's Mis' 'Livy's half-sister, is ez
much like her ez ef dey wuz twins. Folks sometimes takes 'em fer one
ernudder,--I s'pose it tickles Janet mos' ter death, but it do make Mis'
'Livy rippin'. An' den 'way back yander jes' after de wah, w'en de ole
Carteret mansion had ter be sol', Adam Miller bought it, an' dis yer
Janet an' her husban' is be'n livin' in it ever sence ole Adam died,
'bout a year ago; an' dat makes de majah mad, 'ca'se he don' wanter see
cullud folks livin' in de ole fam'ly mansion w'at he wuz bawn in. An'
mo'over, an' dat's de wust of all, w'iles Mis' 'Livy ain' had no
child'en befo', dis yer sister er her'n is got a fine-lookin' little
yaller boy, w'at favors de fam'ly so dat ef Mis' 'Livy'd see de chile
anywhere, it'd mos' break her heart fer ter think 'bout her not havin'
no child'en herse'f. So ter-day, w'en Mis' 'Livy wuz out ridin' an' met
|
like
|
How many times does the word 'like' appear in the text?
| 1
|
would not listen. And it seemed as if Una had no
friend left, or, at least, no friend that could help her. For the little
white donkey trotted after her, afraid of nothing except to be left alone
without his mistress.
The darkness fell, and the stars that came out looked down like weeping
eyes on Una's sorrow and helplessness.
Sansloy stopped his horse at last and lifted Una down. When she shrank
from him in fear, he was so rough that she screamed for help until the
woods rang and echoed her screams.
Now in the woods there lived wild people, some of whom were more like
beasts than men and women. They were dancing merrily in the starlight when
they heard Una's cries, and they stopped their dance and ran to see what
was wrong.
When Sansloy saw them, with their rough long hair and hairy legs and arms
and strange wild faces, he was so frightened that he jumped on his horse
and galloped away.
But the wild people of the woods were more gentle than the cowardly
knight. When they saw Una, so beautiful and so frightened and so sad, they
smiled at her to show her that they meant to be kind. Then they knelt
before her to show her that they would obey her, and gently kissed her
feet.
So Una was no longer afraid, and when the wild people saw that she trusted
them, they were so glad that they jumped and danced and sang for joy. They
broke off green branches and strewed them before her as she walked, and
they crowned her with leaves to show that she was their queen. And so they
led her home to their chief, and he and the beautiful nymphs of the wood
all welcomed her with gladness.
For a long time Una lived with them and was their queen, but at last a
brave knight came that way. His father had been a wild man of the woods,
but his mother was a gentle lady. He was brave and bold as his father had
been. When he was a little boy and lived with the wild people, he used to
steal the baby lions from their mothers just for fun, and drive panthers,
and antelopes, and wild boars, and tigers and wolves with bits and
bridles, as if they were playing at horses. But he was gentle like his
mother, although he was so fearless. And when Una told him the story of
the Red Cross Knight and the lion, and of all her adventures, his heart
was filled with pity. He vowed to help her to escape, and to try to find
the Red Cross Knight. So one day he and she ran away, and by night had got
far out of reach of the wild men of the woods.
When the wicked magician knew of Una's escape, he dressed himself up like
a pilgrim and came to meet her and the brave knight of the forest.
'Have you seen, or have you heard anything about my true knight, who bears
a red cross on his breast?' asked Una of the old man.
'Ah yes,' said the magician, 'I have seen him both living and dead. To-day
I saw a terrible fight between him and another knight, and the other
knight killed him.'
When Una heard this cruel lie she fell down in a faint. The brave young
knight lifted her up and gently tried to comfort her.
'Where is this man who has slain the Red Cross Knight, and taken from us
all our joy?' he asked of the false pilgrim.
'He is near here now,' said the magician. 'I left him at a fountain,
washing his wounds.'
Off hurried the knight, so fast that Una could not keep up with him, and
sure enough, at a fountain they found a knight sitting. It was the wicked
Sansloy who had killed Una's lion and carried her away.
The brave knight rushed up to him with his drawn sword.
'You have slain the Red Cross Knight,' he said; 'come and fight and be
punished for your evil deed.'
'I never slew the Red Cross Knight,' said Sansloy, in a great rage. 'Your
enemies have sent you to me to be killed.'
Then, like two wild beasts, they fought, only resting sometimes for a
moment that they might rush at each other again with the more strength
|
afraid
|
How many times does the word 'afraid' appear in the text?
| 1
|
godfather to her, and
have brought her up. One of these days I would have given her a young
fellow to win bread for her in wedlock. What is this to you? Take you
some king's daughter or some count's. Moreover, what were you profited,
think you, had you made her your concubine, or taken her to live with
you? Mighty little had you got by that, seeing that your soul would be
in Hell for ever and ever, for to Paradise you would never win!"
"Paradise? What have I to do there? I seek not to win Paradise, so I
have Nicolette my sweet friend whom I love so well. For none go to
Paradise but I'll tell you who. Your old priests and your old cripples,
and the halt and maimed, who are down on their knees day and night,
before altars and in old crypts; these also that wear mangy old cloaks,
or go in rags and tatters, shivering and shoeless and showing their
sores, and who die of hunger and want and cold and misery. Such are they
who go to Paradise; and what have I to do with them? Hell is the place
for me. For to Hell go the fine churchmen, and the fine knights, killed
in the tourney or in some grand war, the brave soldiers and the gallant
gentlemen. With them will I go. There go also the fair gracious ladies
who have lovers two or three beside their lord. There go the gold and
the silver, the sables and ermines. There go the harpers and the
minstrels and the kings of the earth. With them will I go, so I have
Nicolette my most sweet friend with me."
"I' faith," said the Viscount, "'tis but vain to speak of it; you will
see her no more. Aye, were you to get speech of her and it came to your
father's ears, he would burn both her and me in a fire; and for yourself
too you might fear the worst."
"This is sore news to me," said Aucassin. And he departed from the
Viscount, sorrowful.
_Here they sing_.
Aucassin has turned once more
In wanhope and sorrow sore
For his love-friend bright of face.
None can help his evil case,
None a word of counsel say.
To the palace went his way;
Step by step he climbed the stair;
Entered in a chamber there.
Then he 'gan to weep alone,
And most dismally to groan,
And his lady to bemoan.
"Nicolette, ah, gracious air!
Coming, going, ever fair!
In thy talk and in thy toying,
In thy jest and in thy joying,
In thy kissing, in thy coying.
I am sore distressed for thee.
Such a woe has come on me
That I trow not to win free,
Sweet sister friend!"
_Here they speak and tell the story_.
At the same time that Aucassin was in the chamber, bemoaning Nicolette
his friend, Bulgarius Count of Valence, who had his war to maintain,
forgat it not; but he had summoned his men, foot and horse, and advanced
to assault the castle. And the cry went up and the noise; and the
knights and men-at-arms girt on their armour, and hastened to the gates
and walls to defend the castle; while the townsfolk mounted the parapets
and hurled bolts and sharpened stakes. At the time when the assault was
fast and furious, Warren Count of Beaucaire came into the chamber where
Aucassin was weeping and bemoaning Nicolette his most sweet friend whom
he loved so well.
"Ah, my son!" said he. "Wretch that thou art and unhappy, to see assault
made on this thy castle--none better nor more strong! Know, moreover,
that if thou lose it thou losest thine inheritance! Come now, my son,
take thine arms and to horse! Fight for thy land, and succour thy
liegemen, and get thee to the field! Though thou strike never a man nor
|
there
|
How many times does the word 'there' appear in the text?
| 4
|
.
There were no jewels, but one or two sheets of something that looked
like paper. It was not paper, however, but some vegetable product
which was used for the same purpose. The surface was smooth, but the
color was dingy, and the lines of the vegetable fibres were plainly
discernible. These sheets were covered with writing.
"Halloa!" cried Melick. "Why, this is English!"
At this the others crowded around to look on, and Featherstone in his
excitement forgot that he had lost his bet. There were three sheets,
all covered with writing--one in English, another in French, and a
third in German. It was the same message, written in these three
different languages. But at that moment they scarcely noticed this.
All that they saw was the message itself, with its mysterious meaning.
It was as follows:
"To the finder of this:
"Sir,--I am an Englishman, and have been carried by a series of
incredible events to a land from which escape is as impossible as from
the grave. I have written this and committed it to the sea, in the
hope that the ocean currents may bear it within the reach of civilized
man. Oh, unknown friend! whoever you are. I entreat you to let this
message be made known in some way to my father, Henry More, Keswick,
Cumberland, England, so that he may learn the fate of his son. The MS.
accompanying this contains an account of my adventures, which I should
like to have forwarded to him. Do this for the sake of that mercy
which you may one day wish to have shown to yourself.
"ADAM MORE."
"By Jove!" cried Featherstone, as he read the above, "this is really
getting to be something tremendous."
"This other package must be the manuscript," said Oxenden, "and it'll
tell all about it."
"Such a manuscript'll be better than meat," said the doctor,
sententiously.
Melick said nothing, but, opening his knife, he cut the cords and
unfolded the wrapper. He saw a great collection of leaves, just like
those of the letter, of some vegetable substance, smooth as paper, and
covered with writing.
"It looks like Egyptian papyrus," said the doctor. "That was the
common paper of antiquity."
"Never mind the Egyptian papyrus," said Featherstone, in feverish
curiosity. "Let's have the contents of the manuscript. You, Melick,
read; you're the most energetic of the lot, and when you're tired the
rest of us will take turns."
"Read? Why, it'll take a month to read all this," said Melick.
"All the better," said Featherstone; "this calm will probably last a
month, and we shall have nothing to interest us."
Melick made no further objection. He was as excited as the rest, and
so he began the reading of the manuscript.
CHAPTER II
ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEAN
My name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary, Keswick,
Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet, master), which
was chartered by the British Government to convey convicts to Van
Dieman's Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage without any
casualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then set forth on
our return home. It was the 17th of December when we left. From the
first adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make any progress we
were obliged to keep well to the south. At length, on the 6th of
January, we sighted Desolation Island. We found it, indeed, a desolate
spot. In its vicinity we saw a multitude of smaller islands, perhaps a
thousand in number, which made navigation difficult, and forced us to
hurry away as fast as possible. But the aspect of this dreary spot was
of itself enough to repel us. There were no trees, and the multitude
of islands seemed like moss-covered rocks; while the temperature,
though in the middle of the antarctic summer, was from 38 to 58
degrees Fahr.
In order to get rid of these dangerous islands we stood south and
west
|
said
|
How many times does the word 'said' appear in the text?
| 6
|
>
Behind the main title and the credits:
<b> EXT. PLAINS COUNTRY - CLOSE SHOT - MOVING JUST ABOVE GROUND
</b><b> LEVEL - A STUDY OF HOOFPRINTS - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
The hoofprints are deeply etched in the ground, picking their
way through scrubby desert growth. An occasional tumbleweed
drifts with the light breeze across the pattern of prints;
and lightly-blown soil and sand begin the work of erasing
them. The CAMERA FOLLOWING the hoofprints
<b> RAISES SLOWLY TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. PLAINS COUNTRY - LONG SHOT - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
We see the rider now. BACK TO CAMERA, jogging slowly along --
heading down a long valley toward a still-distant ranch house
with its outlying barn and corrals.
<b> EXT. PLAINS COUNTRY - MED. SHOT - MOVING - LATE AFTERNOON
</b>
The CAMERA FRAMES and MOVES with the lone horseman. He is
ETHAN EDWARDS, a man as hard as the country he is crossing.
Ethan is in his forties, with a three-day stubble of beard.
Dust is caked in the lines of his face and powders his
clothing. He wears a long Confederate overcoat, torn at one
pocket, patched and clumsily stitched at the elbows.
His trousers are a faded blue with an off-color stripe down
the legs where once there had been the yellow stripes of the
Yankee cavalry. His saddle is Mexican and across it he carries
a folded serape in place of the Texas poncho...
Rider and horse have come a long way. The CAMERA HOLDS and
PANS the rider past and we see another detail; strapped onto
his saddle roll is a sabre and scabbard with a gray silk
sash wrapped around it... Horse and rider pass, moving closer
to the ranch as a little girl and a small dog come tearing
around the corner of the house.
<b> EXT. THE YARD OF THE EDWARDS RANCH - MED. SHOT - DEBBIE -
</b><b> LATE AFTERNOON
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 5
|
FINAL DRAFT
</b>
Based on the stage play "Juicy and Delicious" by Lucy Alibar
<b> EXT. HUSHPUPPY'S HOUSE - DAWN
</b>
An abandoned looking trailer sits on top of two 15-foot-tall
oil drums. Distant thunder trembles through the peeling
metal panels. The structure is in such disrepair, that
surely no one lives here.
But then, a light goes on.
<b> INT. HUSHPUPPY'S HOUSE - MORNING
</b>
A tiny hand sculpts the mud on top of a crawfish hole placed
on the floor. We pan up to reveal a little girl examining a
baby chicken that appears to be dead. This is HUSHPUPPY, an
unkempt and seemingly uncared for six-year-old with a gaze of
unmistakable wisdom.
Hushpuppy places the chick on the crawfish hole, like a queen
on her throne and the chick twitches to life, cheeps twice.
Hushpuppy's esoteric science experiment is interrupted by
DISTANT THUNDER. Her eyes stand to attention.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. SHACKO IN THE BACKO - DAY
</b>
An eerie, harsh wind whips hay and dust through over a giant
slumbering pot-belly pig.
Hushpuppy, donned in boys' underpants and a child-sized wife-
beater, tip-toes behind the epic creature. She studies it,
wonderful, is this the source of the thunder?
|
hushpuppy
|
How many times does the word 'hushpuppy' appear in the text?
| 5
|
November 1, 1987
<b>FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 TITLES
</b>
The screen is composed of large, straight-edge areas of black
and white that rest against each other in a manner that suggests
some kind of pattern, without making a final sense; it is as if
we are too close to something that, could we see it from a
distance, would be clear to us.
These areas shift and change - both their own shape and their
relationship to their neighbors. New patterns are being made,
new solutions found - but they are just beyond our comprehension.
The effect should be aesthetically pleasing but simultaneously
frustrating and, perhaps, a little unsettling.
Shortly into this sequence, and subsequently inter-cut
throughout, we begin to see, in FLASHBACK, the story of
HELLRAISER. Arriving first as very short shock-images, these
brief sections eventually convey to the audience all the
necessary emotional and narrative information they will need to
understand the background to HELLBOUND.
Meanwhile, the black and white shapes are still moving, the
unseen patterns still shifting.
Over this constantly mobile background, the TITLES begin to
appear.
As the TITLES unroll, another change comes over the puzzle pieces
behind them. Where before they moved and related only in two
dimensions, gradually we see that they are now claiming depth as
well. The puzzle we are looking at is now a three-dimensional
one. The pieces are now solid blocks of various geometric
shapes, locking together, moving apart, finding their final
position.
Finally, as the TITLES come to their conclusion, the camera pulls
back until we can see clearly what we have been looking at. As
the final piece clicks into positions we see it is THE LAMENT
CONFIGURATION from HELLRAISER.
The closed box rests before our eyes a moment and then the circle
in the centre of the side that faces us gives way to an image
of a dusty street with a market. Simultaneous to this, the camera
TRACKS into this image until it fills the screen
<b>2 EXT A STREET BAZAAR DAY
</b>
The TRACK continues up through the market and then turns through
the stalls to find a store behind them. As we TRACK through the
store's doorway, we pass through a beaded curtain that
momentarily reminds us of the TORTURE ROOM in HELLRAISER.
<b>3 INT. STORE DAY
</b>
Once we are in the store itself, though, this impression disappears.
It is an ordinary, slightly seedy, junk shop.
The stall seems to sell an odd mixture of items; native trinkets
share space with second-hand items from European colonists. These
second-hand goods give us some sense of period. They suggest the
late 'twenties/early 'thirties. This is reinforced by the
sounds coming from one of them, an old-fashioned mahogany-cased
wireless. A foreign voice speaks from it in a language we don't
understand, though perhaps the words "BBC world service" are
discerned in the middle, and then a dance-hall tune of the period
begins to play. (Depending on availability, it would be nice to
have something relevant - 'I'll follow my Secret Heart', perhaps,
or 'Dancing in the Dark'.)
Into shot comes an ENGLISH OFFICER. His uniform, too, suggests
the 'twenties, the last days of Empire. He is tall, thin, and
dark-haired, but at no stage do we see his face clearly. He
stands in front of the stall.
The TRADER suddenly stands behind the counter. He has been
crouched beneath it, as if checking or preparing something. He
is a big, impressive-looking black man. His face is totally
impassive as he stares at his customer.
Neither of the men speak. Obviously, a deal has already been
struck and today is the pay-off.
The OFFICER, a little arrog
|
they
|
How many times does the word 'they' appear in the text?
| 4
|
<b> KARAOKE ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> Let's give a hand to Rodney!
Scattered APPLAUSE and LAUGHTER.
<b> KARAOKE ANNOUNCER (V.O.)
</b> Next up, we've got a little lady
named...KATE!
Joyful APPLAUSE.
<b> BAR VOICES (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, Kate!
<b> THE OPENING MUZAK STRAINS OF A "KARAOKE SONG TO BE
</b><b> DETERMINED"
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b>1 INT. KARAOKE BAR - NIGHT 1
</b>
CLOSE ON: KATE HANNAH -- late-20s, pretty and wholesome and, *
oh yeah, piss drunk. She stands on a tiny
<b> KARAOKE STAGE
</b>
in the far corner of a half-empty dive bar.
Kate holds a MICROPHONE and dances as she SINGS a bad karaoke
version of "SONG TO BE DETERMINED." What Kate lacks in talent
she more than makes up for with charm and enthusiasm.
At a table near the stage is --
-- CHARLIE HANNAH: Kate's husband, late-20's, scruffy but *
handsome, also pretty damn drunk. He enthusiastically claps
and points to Kate, making up a cheering section along with --
-- OWEN HANNAH -- Charlie's younger brother, early-20's -- *
who sings along with --
-- the small but energetic CROWD.
Kate begins to ramble between verses -- and gleefully points
to Charlie and Owen. For the moment, this drunk girl is the
Queen of Karaoke.
<b> LATER
</b><b> 2.
</b>
Kate finishes the song and drunkenly tumbles off the stage to
join Charlie and Owen.
<b> CHARLIE
</b> That was so good, baby!
<b> KATE
</b> Bullshit.
<b> CHARLIE
</b> I'm serious. You sing like an angel
-- a drunk angel.
Owen and Kate LAUGH.
<b>
|
drunk
|
How many times does the word 'drunk' appear in the text?
| 3
|
weakly constitution, which would not
have been half so dangerous to him if his mind also had been weakly.
But his mind (or at any rate that rudiment thereof which appears in the
shape of self-will even before the teeth appear) was a piece of muscular
contortion, tough as oak and hard as iron. "Pet" was his name with his
mother and his aunt; and his enemies (being the rest of mankind) said
that pet was his name and his nature.
For this dear child could brook no denial, no slow submission to his
wishes; whatever he wanted must come in a moment, punctual as an
echo. In him re-appeared not the stubbornness only, but also the keen
ingenuity of Yordas in finding out the very thing that never should be
done, and then the unerring perception of the way in which it could be
done most noxiously. Yet any one looking at his eyes would think how
tender and bright must his nature be! "He favoreth his forebears; how
can he help it?" kind people exclaimed, when they knew him. And the
servants of the house excused themselves when condemned for putting up
with him, "Yo know not what 'a is, yo that talk so. He maun get 's own
gait, lestwise yo wud chok' un."
Being too valuable to be choked, he got his own way always.
CHAPTER III
A DISAPPOINTING APPOINTMENT
For the sake of Pet Carnaby and of themselves, the ladies of the house
were disquieted now, in the first summer weather of a wet cold year, the
year of our Lord 1801. And their trouble arose as follows:
There had long been a question between the sisters and Sir Walter
Carnaby, brother of the late colonel, about an exchange of outlying
land, which would have to be ratified by "Pet" hereafter. Terms
being settled and agreement signed, the lawyers fell to at the linked
sweetness of deducing title. The abstract of the Yordas title was nearly
as big as the parish Bible, so in and out had their dealings been, and
so intricate their pugnacity.
Among the many other of the Yordas freaks was a fatuous and generally
fatal one. For the slightest miscarriage they discharged their lawyer,
and leaped into the office of a new one. Has any man moved in the
affairs of men, with a grain of common-sense or half a pennyweight of
experience, without being taught that an old tenter-hook sits easier to
him than a new one? And not only that, but in shifting his quarters he
may leave some truly fundamental thing behind.
Old Mr. Jellicorse, of Middleton in Teesdale, had won golden opinions
every where. He was an uncommonly honest lawyer, highly incapable of
almost any trick, and lofty in his view of things, when his side of them
was the legal one. He had a large collection of those interesting boxes
which are to a lawyer and his family better than caskets of silver
and gold; and especially were his shelves furnished with what might be
called the library of the Scargate title-deeds. He had been proud to
take charge of these nearly thirty years ago, and had married on the
strength of them, though warned by the rival from whom they were wrested
that he must not hope to keep them long. However, through the peaceful
incumbency of ladies, they remained in his office all those years.
This was the gentleman who had drawn and legally sped to its purport the
will of the lamented Squire Philip, who refused very clearly to leave
it, and took horse to flourish it at his rebellious son. Mr. Jellicorse
had done the utmost, as behooved him, against that rancorous testament;
but meeting with silence more savage than words, and a bow to depart,
he had yielded; and the squire stamped about the room until his job was
finished.
A fact accomplished, whether good or bad, improves in character with
every revolution of this little world around the sun, that heavenly
example of subservience. And now Mr. Jellicorse was well convinced, as
nothing had occurred to disturb that will, and the life of the testator
had been sacrificed to it, and the devisees under it were his own good
clients, and
|
done
|
How many times does the word 'done' appear in the text?
| 2
|
."
"And what became of Julia?" asked Dr. Price.
Such relations, the doctor knew very well, had been all too common in
the old slavery days, and not a few of them had been projected into the
new era. Sins, like snakes, die hard. The habits and customs of a people
were not to be changed in a day, nor by the stroke of a pen. As family
physician, and father confessor by brevet, Dr. Price had looked upon
more than one hidden skeleton; and no one in town had had better
opportunities than old Jane for learning the undercurrents in the lives
of the old families.
"Well," resumed Jane, "eve'ybody s'posed, after w'at had happen', dat
Julia'd keep on livin' easy, fer she wuz young an' good-lookin'. But
she didn'. She tried ter make a livin' sewin', but Mis' Polly wouldn'
let de bes' w'ite folks hire her. Den she tuck up washin', but didn' do
no better at dat; an' bimeby she got so discourage' dat she ma'ied a
shif'less yaller man, an' died er consumption soon after,--an' wuz
'bout ez well off, fer dis man couldn' hardly feed her nohow."
"And the child?"
"One er de No'the'n w'ite lady teachers at de mission school tuck a
likin' ter little Janet, an' put her thoo school, an' den sent her off
ter de No'th fer ter study ter be a school teacher. W'en she come back,
'stead er teachin' she ma'ied ole Adam Miller's son."
"The rich stevedore's son, Dr. Miller?"
"Yas, suh, dat's de man,--you knows 'im. Dis yer boy wuz jes' gwine
'way fer ter study ter be a doctuh, an' he ma'ied dis Janet, an' tuck
her 'way wid 'im. Dey went off ter Europe, er Irope, er Orope, er
somewhere er 'nother, 'way off yander, an' come back here las' year an'
sta'ted dis yer horspital an' school fer ter train de black gals fer
nusses."
"He's a very good doctor, Jane, and is doing a useful work. Your
chapter of family history is quite interesting,--I knew part of it
before, in a general way; but you haven't yet told me what brought on
Mrs. Carteret's trouble."
"I'm jes' comin' ter dat dis minute, suh,--w'at I be'n tellin' you is
all a part of it. Dis yer Janet, w'at's Mis' 'Livy's half-sister, is ez
much like her ez ef dey wuz twins. Folks sometimes takes 'em fer one
ernudder,--I s'pose it tickles Janet mos' ter death, but it do make Mis'
'Livy rippin'. An' den 'way back yander jes' after de wah, w'en de ole
Carteret mansion had ter be sol', Adam Miller bought it, an' dis yer
Janet an' her husban' is be'n livin' in it ever sence ole Adam died,
'bout a year ago; an' dat makes de majah mad, 'ca'se he don' wanter see
cullud folks livin' in de ole fam'ly mansion w'at he wuz bawn in. An'
mo'over, an' dat's de wust of all, w'iles Mis' 'Livy ain' had no
child'en befo', dis yer sister er her'n is got a fine-lookin' little
yaller boy, w'at favors de fam'ly so dat ef Mis' 'Livy'd see de chile
anywhere, it'd mos' break her heart fer ter think 'bout her not havin'
no child'en herse'f. So ter-day, w'en Mis' 'Livy wuz out ridin' an' met
|
carteret
|
How many times does the word 'carteret' appear in the text?
| 1
|
([email protected])
<b>-------------------------------------------------------------------
</b>
(1) Black Screen
SOUND under: MUSIC building in INTENSITY
as--
<b> PRINCE
</b> (over)
Dearly belov`ed,
We are gathered here today
To get through this thing
called life.
Electric word life,
It means forever and that's a
mighty long time.
But I'm here to tell you that
there's something else -- The
afterworld.
Then huge CU of EYES opening, gazing
into mirror, HAND applying makeup,
sudden BLACKNESS, then--
<b> PRINCE
</b> (con't)
That's right...a world of
never-ending happiness,
You can always see the sun --
Day or night.
<b> BURN IN MAIN TITLE: PURPLE RAIN
</b>
<b> PRINCE
</b> (con't)
So when you call up that
shrink in Beverly Hills,
You know the one -- Doctor
Everything'll Be Alright--
Instead of asking him how much
of your mind is left,
Ask him how much of your time,
`Cause in this life,
Things are much harder than in
the afterworld,
In this life, You're on your
own.
Now, pulsating COLOR -- FLASHES of hot,
white LIGHT...
<b> PRINCE
</b>
|
right
|
How many times does the word 'right' appear in the text?
| 0
|
(CONTINUED)
</b> Goldenrod (7/19/2012) 2.
<b>1 CONTINUED: 1
</b>
<b>2 INT. OSCAR'S APARTMENT- BEDROOOM- NIGHT 2
</b>
We open on an expensive looking flip cellphone sitting on a
dresser. Next to it, a large zip lock bag of marijuana. We
stay here.
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> What's your resolution?
<b> SOPHINA (O.S.)
</b> I'm gonna cut carbs.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Green (7/5/2012) 2A.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> OSCAR (O.S.)
</b> You trippin. You look fine. Plus
you Mexican. You cut carbs and you
can't eat nothin yo grandma cooks.
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b> Goldenrod (7/19/2012) 3.
<b>2 CONTINUED: 2
</b>
<b> SOPHINA (O.S)
</b> FUCK YOU...You
|
carbs
|
How many times does the word 'carbs' appear in the text?
| 1
|
. DAY.
</b>
A college counselor stands at the Podium lecturing the high
school seniors about their future.
<b> COLLEGE COUNSELOR
</b> ... For those of you going on to college
next year, the chance of finding a good
job will actually decrease by the time
you graduate. Entry level jobs will drop
from thirty-one to twenty-six percent,
and the median income for those jobs
will go down as well ...
There is some rustling in the audience.
<b> COLLEGE COUNSELOR (CONT)
</b> Obviously, my friends, it's a
competitive world and good grades are
your only ticket through. By the year
Two Thousand ...
<b> INT. HIGH SCHOOL. HEALTH CLASS.
</b>
A different teacher lectures a different class of students.
<b> HEALTH TEACHER
</b> ... The chance of contracting HIV from a
promiscuous lifestyle will climb to one
in one hundred and fifty. The odds of
dying in an auto accident are only one
in twenty-five hundred.
(beat)
Now this marks a drastic increase ...
<b> INT. HIGH SCHOOL. SCIENCE CLASS.
</b>
Same angle. Different teacher.
<b> SCIENCE TEACHER
</b> ... From just four years ago when ozone
depletion was at ten percent of its
current level. By the time you are
twenty years old, average global
temperature will have risen two and a
half degrees. Even a shift of one
degree can cause such catastrophic
consequences as typhoons, floods,
widespread drought and famine.
<b> REVERSE ANGLE. STUDENTS.
</b>
They stare back in stunned silence. One of them, DAVID
WAGNER, sits in the front row with a pencil in his mouth.
Nobody moves ...
<b> SCIENCE TEACHER
</b> (chipper classroom tone)
Okay. Who can tell me what famine is?
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> 1958.
</b>
Birds are chirping. The sun is shining. All the hedges are
neatly pruned and the lawns are perfectly manicured. A sweet
stillness hangs over the SUBURBAN STREET, which is bathed in
beautiful BLACK AND WHITE.
<b> MAN'S VOICE (OS)
</b> Honey, I'm home.
<b> SUBURBAN HOME.
</b>
GEORGE PARKER enters the front door and hangs his hat on the
coatrack. He sets his briefcase down and moves into the foyer
with a huge smile on his face. It's a frozen smile that
doesn't seem to be affected by too much in particular--like a
tour guide at Disneyland.
<b> WOMAN'S VOICE (OS)
</b> Hello darling.
<b> WIDER.
</b>
MRS. GEORGE PARKER (BETTY) enters, untying the back of her
apron. She is a vision of '50s beauty with a thin figure and
concrete hair. Betty crosses to her husband and hands him a
fresh martini. She kisses him on the cheek.
<b> BETTY
</b> How was your day?
<b> GEORGE
</b> Oh, swell. You know, Mr. Connel said
that if things keep going the way they
are, I might be seeing that promotion
sooner than I thought.
<b> BETTY
</b
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 2
|
the Benedictine,
and I willingly make you the medium of apology to many, who have
honoured me more than I deserve.
I admit that my retrenchments have been numerous, and leave gaps in the
story, which, in your original manuscript, would have run well-nigh to
a fourth volume, as my printer assures me. I am sensible, besides, that,
in consequence of the liberty of curtailment you have allowed me, some
parts of the story have been huddled up without the necessary details.
But, after all, it is better that the travellers should have to step
over a ditch, than to wade through a morass--that the reader should have
to suppose what may easily be inferred, than be obliged to creep through
pages of dull explanation. I have struck out, for example, the whole
machinery of the White Lady, and the poetry by which it is so ably
supported, in the original manuscript. But you must allow that
the public taste gives little encouragement to those legendary
superstitions, which formed alternately the delight and the terror of
our predecessors. In like manner, much is omitted illustrative of
the impulse of enthusiasm in favour of the ancient religion in Mother
Magdalen and the Abbot. But we do not feel deep sympathy at this period
with what was once the most powerful and animating principle in
Europe, with the exception of that of the Reformation, by which it was
successfully opposed.
You rightly observe, that these retrenchments have rendered the title
no longer applicable to the subject, and that some other would have been
more suitable to the Work, in its present state, than that of THE ABBOT,
who made so much greater figure in the original, and for whom your
friend, the Benedictine, seems to have inspired you with a sympathetic
respect. I must plead guilty to this accusation, observing, at the same
time, in manner of extenuation, that though the objection might have
been easily removed, by giving a new title to the Work, yet, in doing
so, I should have destroyed the necessary cohesion between the present
history, and its predecessor THE MONASTERY, which I was unwilling to do,
as the period, and several of the personages, were the same.
After all, my good friend, it is of little consequence what the work
is called, or on what interest it turns, provided it catches the public
attention; for the quality of the wine (could we but insure it) may,
according to the old proverb, render the bush unnecessary, or of little
consequence.
I congratulate you upon your having found it consistent with prudence
to establish your Tilbury, and approve of the colour, and of your
boy's livery, (subdued green and pink.)--As you talk of completing
your descriptive poem on the âRuins of Kennaquhair, with notes by an
Antiquary,â I hope you have procured a steady horse.--I remain, with
compliments to all friends, dear Captain, very much
Yours, &c. &c. &c.
THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY.
THE ABBOT.
Chapter the First.
_Domum mansit--lanam fecit._
Ancient Roman Epitaph.
She keepit close the hous, and birlit at the quhele.
GAWAIN DOUGLAS.
The time which passes over our heads so imperceptibly, makes the
same gradual change in habits, manners, and character, as in personal
appearance. At the revolution of every five years we find ourselves
another, and yet the same--there is a change of views, and no less of
the light in which we regard them; a change of motives as well as
of actions. Nearly twice that space had glided away over the head of
Halbert Glendinning and his lady, betwixt the period of our former
narrative, in which they played a distinguished part, and the date at
which our present tale commences.
Two circumstances only had imbittered their union, which was otherwise
as happy as mutual affection could render it. The first of these was
|
those
|
How many times does the word 'those' appear in the text?
| 0
|
are the facts? Thirteen years ago I fell in love with a handsome
public singer, and married her. My father was angry with me; and I had
to go and live with her abroad. It didn't matter, abroad. My father
forgave me on his death-bed, and I had to bring her home again. It does
matter, at home. I find myself, with a great career opening before me,
tied to a woman whose relations are (as you well know) the lowest of
the low. A woman without the slightest distinction of manner, or the
slightest aspiration beyond her nursery and her kitchen, her piano
and her books. Is _that_ a wife who can help me to make my place in
society?--who can smooth my way through social obstacles and political
obstacles, to the House of Lords? By Jupiter! if ever there was a woman
to be 'buried' (as you call it), that woman is my wife. And, what's
more, if you want the truth, it's because I _can't_ bury her here that
I'm going to leave this house. She has got a cursed knack of making
acquaintances wherever she goes. She'll have a circle of friends
about her if I leave her in this neighborhood much longer. Friends
who remember her as the famous opera-singer. Friends who will see her
swindling scoundrel of a father (when my back is turned) coming drunk to
the door to borrow money of her! I tell you, my marriage has wrecked
my prospects. It's no use talking to me of my wife's virtues. She is a
millstone round my neck, with all her virtues. If I had not been a born
idiot I should have waited, and married a woman who would have been of
some use to me; a woman with high connections--"
Mr. Kendrew touched his host's arm, and suddenly interrupted him.
"To come to the point," he said--"a woman like Lady Jane Parnell."
Mr. Vanborough started. His eyes fell, for the first time, before the
eyes of his friend.
"What do you know about Lady Jane?" he asked.
"Nothing. I don't move in Lady Jane's world--but I do go sometimes to
the opera. I saw you with her last night in her box; and I heard what
was said in the stalls near me. You were openly spoken of as the favored
man who was singled out from the rest by Lady Jane. Imagine what would
happen if your wife heard that! You are wrong, Vanborough--you are in
every way wrong. You alarm, you distress, you disappoint me. I never
sought this explanation--but now it has come, I won't shrink from it.
Reconsider your conduct; reconsider what you have said to me--or you
count me no longer among your friends. No! I want no farther talk about
it now. We are both getting hot--we may end in saying what had better
have been left unsaid. Once more, let us change the subject. You wrote
me word that you wanted me here to-day, because you needed my advice on
a matter of some importance. What is it?"
Silence followed that question. Mr. Vanborough's face betrayed signs of
embarrassment. He poured himself out another glass of wine, and drank it
at a draught before he replied.
"It's not so easy to tell you what I want," he said, "after the tone you
have taken with me about my wife."
Mr. Kendrew looked surprised.
"Is Mrs. Vanborough concerned in the matter?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Does she know about it?"
"No."
"Have you kept the thing a secret out of regard for _her?_"
"Yes."
"Have I any right to advise on it?"
"You have the right of an old friend."
"Then, why not tell me frankly what it is?"
There was another moment of embarrassment on Mr. Vanborough's part.
"It will come better," he answered, "from a third person, whom I expect
here every minute. He is in possession of all the facts--and he is
better able to state them than I am."
"Who is the person?"
"My friend, Delamayn."
"Your lawyer?"
|
woman
|
How many times does the word 'woman' appear in the text?
| 6
|
December 2, 1996
Story by:
Ronald Bass
and Michael Herzberg
<b> EXT. HANCOCK TOWER, CHICAGO - LATE NIGHT
</b>
Lake Shore Drive. Four o'clock in the morning. Minimal traffic,
minimal life. As MAIN TITLES BEGIN, we PAN UP the face of...
...Hancock Tower. Up, up, forty floors, sixty, eighty, very dark
up here, street sounds fading fast, and as CREDITS CONTINUE we can
just make out...
...a dark FIGURE. Like a spider. Inching its way up the steel
surface of the 98th floor, and we CLOSE to see...
The THIEF. All in black, nearly invisible, with a sleek visored
helmet that conceals the face. Two long, oblong backpacks, climb-
ing ropes and harness across back and shoulders, tools at the belt.
Moving STRAIGHT UP the face of the skyscraper. How is it possible?
CLOSER still to see...
...the piton-like BOLTS are electromagnetic, CLANKING to the steel
to support weight. A button releases the magnetic charge when the
bolt is pulled up by cords to a higher position. The Thief is
remarkably strong and agile, scaling the wall with fluid precision,
until...
...our summit. A softly-lit, glass-walled PENTHOUSE on the
100th floor. Subtle spots which bathe paintings, sculptures,
in a cavernous coldly-decorated space.
Swiftly, deftly, the Thief rigs a suction-mounted HARNESS to the
steel casing above a massive window. Pulleys, metal caribiner
clips, yellow Kevlar ropes. So superbly practiced, the rigging is
placed in seconds, huge SUCTION CUPS pressed to the surface of the
glass. The Thief reaches to a metal rectangle at the top of the
rigging, touches a button, a motor WHINES, the ropes TIGHTEN and
the window...
...POPS FREE, hangs SUSPENDED by the Kevlar ropes which amazingly
sustain its awesome weight. The huge pane shudders in the wind,
and the Thief slips...
...INTO the Penthouse. Nearby, an ALARM BOX softly BEEPS its
60-second warning to the pulsing of a green light, and the Thief
attaches a small computerized DEVICE which runs a series of
possible CODES at dazzling speed on its display panel, until...
...the right one STOPS. Illuminated in red. The beeping, the
green light, go OFF. The device is removed.
Back to the window, air rushing in, attach a similar suction-
mounted harness from the inside, all exquisitely engineered to rig
in seconds, press new suction cups to the inside of the dangling
window pane. A small remote control clicker...
|
which
|
How many times does the word 'which' appear in the text?
| 2
|
at
a fellow-member who has had the impudence to enter the smoking-room, and
her two little charges are pulling her away from the post-office. When
I look out at the window again she is gone, but I shall ring for her
to-morrow at two sharp.
She must have passed the window many times before I noticed her. I know
not where she lives, though I suppose it to be hard by. She is taking
the little boy and girl, who bully her, to the St. James's Park, as
their hoops tell me, and she ought to look crushed and faded. No doubt
her mistress overworks her. It must enrage the other servants to see her
deporting herself as if she were quite the lady.
I noticed that she had sometimes other letters to post, but that
the posting of the one only was a process. They shot down the slit,
plebeians all, but it followed pompously like royalty. I have even seen
her blow a kiss after it.
Then there was her ring, of which she was as conscious as if it rather
than she was what came gaily down the street. She felt it through her
glove to make sure that it was still there. She took off the glove and
raised the ring to her lips, though I doubt not it was the cheapest
trinket. She viewed it from afar by stretching out her hand; she stooped
to see how it looked near the ground; she considered its effect on the
right of her and on the left of her and through one eye at a time. Even
when you saw that she had made up her mind to think hard of something
else, the little silly would take another look.
I give anyone three chances to guess why Mary was so happy.
No and no and no. The reason was simply this, that a lout of a young man
loved her. And so, instead of crying because she was the merest nobody,
she must, forsooth, sail jauntily down Pall Mall, very trim as to her
tackle and ticketed with the insufferable air of an engaged woman. At
first her complacency disturbed me, but gradually it became part of my
life at two o'clock with the coffee, the cigarette, and the liqueur. Now
comes the tragedy.
Thursday is her great day. She has from two to three every Thursday for
her very own; just think of it: this girl, who is probably paid several
pounds a year, gets a whole hour to herself once a week. And what does
she with it? Attend classes for making her a more accomplished person?
Not she. This is what she does: sets sail for Pall Mall, wearing all her
pretty things, including the blue feathers, and with such a sparkle
of expectation on her face that I stir my coffee quite fiercely. On
ordinary days she at least tries to look demure, but on a Thursday she
has had the assurance to use the glass door of the club as a mirror in
which to see how she likes her engaging trifle of a figure to-day.
In the meantime a long-legged oaf is waiting for her outside the
post-office, where they meet every Thursday, a fellow who always wears
the same suit of clothes, but has a face that must ever make him free of
the company of gentlemen. He is one of your lean, clean Englishmen,
who strip so well, and I fear me he is handsome; I say fear, for your
handsome men have always annoyed me, and had I lived in the duelling
days I swear I would have called every one of them out. He seems to be
quite unaware that he is a pretty fellow, but Lord, how obviously Mary
knows it. I conclude that he belongs to the artistic classes, he is
so easily elated and depressed; and because he carries his left thumb
curiously, as if it were feeling for the hole of a palette, I have
entered his name among the painters. I find pleasure in deciding that
they are shocking bad pictures, for obviously no one buys them. I feel
sure Mary says they are splendid, she is that sort of woman. Hence the
rapture with which he greets her. Her first effect upon him is to make
him shout with laughter. He laughs suddenly haw from an eager exulting
face, then haw again, and then, when you are thanking heaven that it is
at last over, comes a final haw, louder than the
|
have
|
How many times does the word 'have' appear in the text?
| 4
|
yâstanding institutions, mighty forces in our social
and intellectual life, all have helped to swell the number of our
nineteenth century Conferences and Congresses. It is an age of
Peace Movements and Peace Societies, of peace-loving monarchs and
peace-seeking diplomats. This is not to say that we are preparing
for the millennium. Men are working together, there is a newborn
solidarity of interest, but rivalries between nation and nation, the
bitternesses and hatreds inseparable from competition are not less
keen; prejudice and misunderstanding not less frequent; subordinate
conflicting interests are not fewer, are perhaps, in view of changing
political conditions and an ever-growing international commerce,
multiplying with every year. The talisman is, perhaps, self-interest,
but, none the less, the spirit of union is there; it is impossible to
ignore a clearly marked tendency towards international federation,
towards political peace. This slow movement was not born with Peace
Societies; its consummation lies perhaps far off in the ages to come.
History at best moves slowly. But something of its past progress
we shall do well to know. No political idea seems to have so great
a future before it as this idea of a federation of the world. It
is bound to realise itself some day; let us consider what are the
chances that this day come quickly, what that it be long delayed.
What obstacles lie in the way, and how may they be removed? What
historical grounds have we for hoping that they may ever be removed?
What, in a word, is the origin and history of the idea of a perpetual
peace between nations, and what would be the advantage, what is the
prospect of realising it?
The international relations of states find their expression, we are
told, in war and peace. What has been the part played by these great
counteracting forces in the history of nations? What has it been in
prehistoric times, in the life of man in what is called the âstate
of natureâ? âIt is no easy enterprise,â says Rousseau, in more than
usually careful language, âto disentangle that which is original from
that which is artificial in the actual state of man, and to make
ourselves well acquainted with a state which no longer exists, which
perhaps never has existed and which probably never will exist in the
future.â (Preface to the _Discourse on the Causes of Inequality_,
1753, publ. 1754.) This is a difficulty which Rousseau surmounts only
too easily. A knowledge of history, a scientific spirit may fail him:
an imagination ever ready to pour forth detail never does. Man lived,
says he, âwithout industry, without speech, without habitation,
without war, without connection of any kind, without any need of
his fellows or without any desire to harm them ... sufficing to
himself.â[2] (_Discourse on the Sciences and Arts_, 1750.) Nothing,
we are now certain, is less probable. We cannot paint the life of
man at this stage of his development with any definiteness, but the
conclusion is forced upon us that our race had no golden age,[3] no
peaceful beginning, that this early state was indeed, as Hobbes
held, a state of war, of incessant war between individuals, families
and, finally, tribes.
[2] For the inconsistency between the views expressed by Rousseau
on this subject in the _Discourses_ and in the _Contrat Social_
(Cf. I. Chs. VI., VIII.) see Ritchieâs _Natural Right_, Ch.
III., pp. 48, 49; Cairdâs essay on Rousseau in his _Essays on
Literature and Philosophy_, Vol. I.; and Morleyâs _Rousseau_,
Vol. I., Ch. V.; Vol. II., Ch. XII.
[3] The theory that the golden age was identical with the
state of nature, Professor D. G. Ritchie ascribes to Locke
(see _Natural Right_, Ch. II., p. 42). Locke, he says, â
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 8
|
at my expense."
"A good bit of generalship, that, Frank," an old military man broke in.
"Esterton opened the breach and you at once galloped in. That 's the
highest art of war."
Claire was looking at her companion. Had he meant the approval of the
women, or was it one woman that he cared for? Had the speech had a
hidden meaning for her? She could never tell. She could not understand
this man who had been so much to her for so long, and yet did not seem
to know it; who was full of romance and fire and passion, and yet looked
at her beauty with the eyes of a mere comrade. She sighed as she rose
with the rest of the women to leave the table.
The men lingered over their cigars. The wine was old and the stories
new. What more could they ask? There was a strong glow in Francis
Oakley's face, and his laugh was frequent and ringing. Some discussion
came up which sent him running up to his room for a bit of evidence.
When he came down it was not to come directly to the dining-room. He
paused in the hall and despatched a servant to bring his brother to him.
Maurice found him standing weakly against the railing of the stairs.
Something in his air impressed his brother strangely.
"What is it, Francis?" he questioned, hurrying to him.
"I have just discovered a considerable loss," was the reply in a grieved
voice.
"If it is no worse than loss, I am glad; but what is it?"
"Every cent of money that I had to secure my letter of credit is gone
from my bureau."
"What? When did it disappear?"
"I went to my bureau to-night for something and found the money gone;
then I remembered that when I opened it two days ago I must have left
the key in the lock, as I found it to-night."
"It 's a bad business, but don't let 's talk of it now. Come, let 's go
back to our guests. Don't look so cut up about it, Frank, old man. It is
n't as bad as it might be, and you must n't show a gloomy face
to-night."
The younger man pulled himself together, and re-entered the room with
his brother. In a few minutes his gaiety had apparently returned.
When they rejoined the ladies, even their quick eyes could detect in his
demeanour no trace of the annoying thing that had occurred. His face did
not change until, with a wealth of fervent congratulations, he had bade
the last guest good-bye.
Then he turned to his brother. "When Leslie is in bed, come into the
library. I will wait for you there," he said, and walked sadly away.
"Poor, foolish Frank," mused his brother, "as if the loss could matter
to him."
III
THE THEFT
Frank was very pale when his brother finally came to him at the
appointed place. He sat limply in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the
floor.
"Come, brace up now, Frank, and tell me about it."
At the sound of his brother's voice he started and looked up as though
he had been dreaming.
"I don't know what you 'll think of me, Maurice," he said; "I have never
before been guilty of such criminal carelessness."
"Don't stop to accuse yourself. Our only hope in this matter lies in
prompt action. Where was the money?"
"In the oak cabinet and lying in the bureau drawer. Such a thing as a
theft seemed so foreign to this place that I was never very particular
about the box. But I did not know until I went to it to-night that the
last time I had opened it I had forgotten to take the key out. It all
flashed over me in a second when I saw it shining there. Even then I did
n't suspect anything. You don't know how I felt to open that cabinet and
find all my money gone. It 's awful."
"Don't worry. How much was there in all?"
"Nine hundred and eighty-six dollars, most of which, I am ashamed to
say, I had accepted from you."
"You have no right to
|
last
|
How many times does the word 'last' appear in the text?
| 1
|
asure!"
Chapter Two
Finishing the Submarine
"What's the matter?" cried Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper, hurrying in
from the kitchen, where she was washing the dishes. "Have you seen some
of those scoundrels who robbed you, Mr. Swift? If you have, the police
down here ought to--"
"No, it's nothing like that," explained Mr. Swift. "Tom has merely
discovered in the paper an account of a sunken treasure ship, and he
wants us to go after it, down under the ocean."
"Oh, dear! Some more of Captain Kidd's hidden hoard, I suppose?"
ventured the housekeeper. "Don't you bother with it, Mr. Swift. I had a
cousin once, and he got set in the notion that he knew where that
pirate's treasure was. He spent all the money he had and all he could
borrow digging for it, and he never found a penny. Don't waste your
time on such foolishness. It's bad enough to be building airships and
submarines without going after treasure." Mrs. Baggert spoke with the
freedom of an old friend rather than a hired housekeeper, but she had
been in the family ever since Tom's mother died, when he was a baby,
and she had many privileges.
"Oh, this isn't any of Kidd's treasure," Tom assured her. "If we get
it, Mrs. Baggert, I'll buy you a diamond ring."
"Humph!" she exclaimed, as Tom began to hug her in boyish fashion. "I
guess I'll have to buy all the diamond rings I want, if I have to
depend on your treasure for them," and she went back to the kitchen.
"Well," went on Mr. Swift after a pause, "if we are going into the
treasure-hunting business, Tom, we'll have to get right to work. In the
first place, we must find out more about this ship, and just where it
was sunk."
"I can do that part," said Mr. Sharp. "I know some sea captains, and
they can put me on the track of locating the exact spot. In fact, it
might not be a bad idea to take an expert navigator with us. I can
manage in the air all right, but I confess that working out a location
under water is beyond me."
"Yes, an old sea captain wouldn't be a bad idea, by any means,"
conceded Mr. Swift. "Well, if you'll attend to that detail, Mr. Sharp,
Tom, Mr. Jackson and I will finish the submarine. Most of the work is
done, however, and it only remains to install the engine and motors.
Now, in regard to the negative and positive electric plates, I'd like
your opinion, Tom."
For Tom Swift was an inventor, second in ability only to his father,
and his advice was often sought by his parent on matters of electrical
construction, for the lad had made a specialty of that branch of
science.
While father and son were deep in a discussion of the apparatus of the
submarine, there will be an opportunity to make the reader a little
better acquainted with them. Those of you who have read the previous
volumes of this series do not need to be told who Tom Swift is. Others,
however, may be glad to have a proper introduction to him.
Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, in the village of
Shopton, New York. The Swift home was on the outskirts of the town, and
the large house was surrounded by a number of machine shops, in which
father and son, aided by Garret Jackson, the engineer, did their
experimental and constructive work. Their house was not far from Lake
Carlopa, a fairly large body of water, on which Tom often speeded his
motor-boat.
In the first volume of this series, entitled "Tom Swift and His
Motor-Cycle," it was told how he became acquainted with Mr. Wakefield
Damon, who suffered an accident while riding one of the speedy
machines. The accident disgusted Mr. Damon with motor-cycles, and Tom
secured it for a low price. He had many adventures on it, chief among
which was being knocked senseless and robbed of a valuable patent model
belonging to his father, which he
|
swift
|
How many times does the word 'swift' appear in the text?
| 10
|
And in the dumps."
"Our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit."
"So what we need is--a change."
"There it goes!" said the Major ruefully. "I knew very well any idea
of John Merrick's would cause us misery. But understand this, you
miserable home-wrecker, sir, my daughter Patsy steps not one foot out
of New York this winter."
"Why not?" mildly inquired Uncle John.
"Because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived
her only parent of her society. First you gallivanted off to Europe,
and then to Millville, and next to Elmhurst; so now, egad, I'm going
to keep the girl with me if I have to throttle every idea in your
wicked old head!"
"But I'm planning to take you along, this time. Major," observed Uncle
John reflectively.
"Oh. Hum! Well, I can't go. There's too much business to be attended
to--looking after your horrible money."
"Take a vacation. You know I don't care anything about the business.
It can't go very wrong, anyhow. What does it matter if my income isn't
invested properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? Drat the
money!"
"That's what I say," added Patsy eagerly. "Be a man, Major Doyle, and
put the business out of your mind. Let's go somewhere and have a good
romp. It will cheer us up."
The Major stared first at one and then at the other.
"What's the programme, John?" he asked stiffly.
"It's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his
head up and down slowly.
"It is!" cried Patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "I can feel it in
my bones."
"So we're going," said Uncle John, impressively, "to California--where
they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles."
"Hurray!" shouted Patsy. "I've always wanted to go to California."
"California!" said the Major, amazed; "why, it's farther away than
Europe. It takes a month to get there."
"Nonsense." retorted Uncle John. "It's only four days from coast to
coast. I have a time-table, somewhere," and he began searching in his
pockets.
There was a silence, oppressive on the Major's part, ecstatic as far
as Patsy was concerned. Uncle John found the railway folder, put on
his spectacles, and began to examine it.
"At my time of life," remarked Major Doyle, who was hale and hearty as
a boy, "such a trip is a great undertaking."
"Twenty-four hours to Chicago," muttered Uncle John; "and then three
days to Los Angeles or San Francisco. That's all there is to it."
"Four days and four nights of dreary riding. We'd be dead by that
time," prophesied the Major.
Uncle John looked thoughtful. Then he lay back in his chair and spread
his handkerchief over his face again.
"No, no!" cried the Major, in alarm. "For mercy's sake, John, don't
go to sleep and catch any more of those terrible ideas. No one knows
where the next one might carry us--to Timbuktu or Yucatan, probably.
Let's stick to California and settle the question before your hothouse
brain grows any more weeds."
"Yucatan," remarked Mr. Merrick, composedly, his voice muffled by the
handkerchief, "isn't a bad suggestion."
"I knew it!" wailed the Major. "How would Ethiopia or Hindustan strike
you?"
Patsy laughed at him. She knew something good was in store for her
and like all girls was enraptured at the thought of visiting new and
interesting scenes.
"Don't bother Uncle John, Daddy," she said. "You know very well he
will carry out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the
plan, which you usually do."
"He's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived,"
announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handker
|
winter
|
How many times does the word 'winter' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Grissom One,
Request final descent vector.
<b>REVERSE ANGLE
</b>
<b>EXT.-MARS
</b>
A row of giant red mountains and beneath, on the planet's surface, the
spires of A MINING BASE. Illuminated landing crosshairs alight a
landing pad, beckoning the ship.
<b> CONTROLLER (OVER)
</b>
Roger, Grissom One, this is Mars
Mining, You are cleared to land. Hope
you got some Partagas in that rust
bucket, Sal.
<b>EXT.-EDGE OF SPACE
</b>
THE CARGO SHIP changes attitude, landing thrusters FIRING as the
vessel begins to penetrate the atmosphere.
<b> PILOT
</b>
I brought you the most amazing...
Amazing, what, we'll never know. The CARGO SHIP begins to EXPLODE, the
bubble bridge BLOWING out into space in a ball of fire.
<b>EXT.- MARS
</b>
LOW ANGLE from the planet's surface-. Two shapes BLAST through FRAME,
BUBBLE FIGHTERS, single pilot, transparent globes, racing up towards
the sudden star of the cargo ship at impossible speed.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
POV of the burning Cargo Ship, coming towards us incredibly fast.
Speed, trajectory and tactical readouts flash.
<b>EXT.-CARGO SHIP
</b>
The pulse lasers are still hammering the ravaged hull.
<b>WIDER
</b>
Two sinister ATTACK SHIPS, their lasers locked onto the Cargo Ship,
FIRE away as they BLAST overhead. The nuclear core of the Cargo Ship
overloads, the craft finally EXPLODING in a storm of fire.
A BUBBLE FIGHTER ROARS through the hurling world of flame. PUSH IN.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
A lone FIGURE stands in a gyroscopic harness, working a heads-up
holographic display, command controls spinning 360 degrees with the
pilot's Comas the fighter SCREAMS after the fleeing raider.
The harness spins, the pilot coming clearly into view. Handsome,
intense, reckless eyes. MAJOR DON WEST.
<b> WEST
</b>
Sino-Jordanian Raiders. They're
claiming the cargo ship violated
their air-space.
<b>INT.-SECOND BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
Another pilot (JEB WALKER) commands an identical craft, ROCKETING
towards the assault craft just below West's.
<b> JEB
</b>
This cold war's heating up. Where did
they come from?
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
Hell. And we're going to send them
back screaming.
West activates his targeting computer.
<b> WEST
</b>
Last one to kill a bad guy buys the
|
blast
|
How many times does the word 'blast' appear in the text?
| 1
|
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,
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 1
|
us a clever and powerful piece
of acting, illustrative of how he felt in the night.
George _fancies_ he is ill; but thereâs never anything really the matter
with him, you know.
At this point, Mrs. Poppets knocked at the door to know if we were ready
for supper. We smiled sadly at one another, and said we supposed we had
better try to swallow a bit. Harris said a little something in oneâs
stomach often kept the disease in check; and Mrs. Poppets brought the
tray in, and we drew up to the table, and toyed with a little steak and
onions, and some rhubarb tart.
I must have been very weak at the time; because I know, after the first
half-hour or so, I seemed to take no interest whatever in my foodâan
unusual thing for meâand I didnât want any cheese.
This duty done, we refilled our glasses, lit our pipes, and resumed the
discussion upon our state of health. What it was that was actually the
matter with us, we none of us could be sure of; but the unanimous opinion
was that itâwhatever it wasâhad been brought on by overwork.
âWhat we want is rest,â said Harris.
âRest and a complete change,â said George. âThe overstrain upon our
brains has produced a general depression throughout the system. Change
of scene, and absence of the necessity for thought, will restore the
mental equilibrium.â
George has a cousin, who is usually described in the charge-sheet as a
medical student, so that he naturally has a somewhat family-physicianary
way of putting things.
I agreed with George, and suggested that we should seek out some retired
and old-world spot, far from the madding crowd, and dream away a sunny
week among its drowsy lanesâsome half-forgotten nook, hidden away by the
fairies, out of reach of the noisy worldâsome quaint-perched eyrie on the
cliffs of Time, from whence the surging waves of the nineteenth century
would sound far-off and faint.
Harris said he thought it would be humpy. He said he knew the sort of
place I meant; where everybody went to bed at eight oâclock, and you
couldnât get a _Referee_ for love or money, and had to walk ten miles to
get your baccy.
âNo,â said Harris, âif you want rest and change, you canât beat a sea
trip.â
I objected to the sea trip strongly. A sea trip does you good when you
are going to have a couple of months of it, but, for a week, it is
wicked.
You start on Monday with the idea implanted in your bosom that you are
going to enjoy yourself. You wave an airy adieu to the boys on shore,
light your biggest pipe, and swagger about the deck as if you were
Captain Cook, Sir Francis Drake, and Christopher Columbus all rolled into
one. On Tuesday, you wish you hadnât come. On Wednesday, Thursday, and
Friday, you wish you were dead. On Saturday, you are able to swallow a
little beef tea, and to sit up on deck, and answer with a wan, sweet
smile when kind-hearted people ask you how you feel now. On Sunday, you
begin to walk about again, and take solid food. And on Monday morning,
as, with your bag and umbrella in your hand, you stand by the gunwale,
waiting to step ashore, you begin to thoroughly like it.
I remember my brother-in-law going for a short sea trip once, for the
benefit of his health. He took a return berth from London to Liverpool;
and when he got to Liverpool, the only thing he was anxious about was to
sell that return ticket
|
your
|
How many times does the word 'your' appear in the text?
| 4
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.