#-what are the chances that Millie falls under that fire line too?

[princeanxious]

*baps @shamedump * it's the blood twins and yer littol oc Vermillion!

And for anyone interested in TSAMS and oc branch-offs, please check out their fic Vermillion! It's really cute and a nicer look on how the bloodmoon twins could have had their view changed! More doodles for this fic are absolutely incoming(and hopefully will get digitally colored lol) as I've got a bunch of little scenes I wanna draw out for little Millie and the fam they've made!!

I can't wait to see what happens next, as I have some theories on how things might play out and I'm eager to see how it all plays out!!

[iwantthedean]

Not Even A Memory

Summary: Henry’s MoL trainer is someone he can’t willingly forget.  Pairing: Henry Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1450 Warnings: Canon-typical violence, flirtations between a married man and a single woman, death, angst.  Square Filled: Flirting Under Fire for BTZ Bingo (BLACKOUT!) Square Filled: Henry for @spntfwbingo

A/N: I took several creative liberties with this, I know it’s not entirely accurate to the show as far as Men of Letters and all that. I took the idea and ran with it! The last fic of 2019 ... enjoy! 

“Bah rah gah do.”

Henry’s mouth curled into a smile when he heard her words. He turned around, curling her fingers back into her palm before she could blow the chamomile in his direction and drop him.

“Nice try, angel face.”

Y/N grinned and opened her hand; empty. “Quick reaction, Winchester. You’re learning. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks. Reassuring to hear, especially with me and Josie coming to the end of our training. Think we’ll be ready by the time we swear in?”

She gave him a wink. “I don’t see why not. You’ve trained with the best.”

Henry smiled, too. They had one more case they would work together, and if he proved himself there, Y/N would recommend him as an official member of the Men of Letters. For that he was ready; for her to move on to her next trainee, he was not.

He remembered when he had been introduced to Y/N. A lot of the male trainees had doubted the young woman’s capabilities, but not Henry. He immediately saw the fire in her eyes, her passion for the supernatural. Her confident stature was anything but a facade; it told of knowledge and wisdom he could only hope to possess one day. When she had selected him as her trainee, Henry had silently rejoiced — and so had his heart. Without so much more than a glance, Y/N had captured his interest, and his attraction had only grown in their time together. Whether she felt the same or not, Henry wasn’t sure. Other than some shameless flirting, he had no clues about the level of attraction she felt towards him. Of course, he was married, and he highly doubted that Y/N would ever cross that bold line.

“Get your head out of the clouds and get home,” Y/N admonished. “You and Millie have argued enough lately. Surprise her — be home for dinner.”

And there it was, the confirmation of his thoughts. Y/N didn’t even give him a second look as he gathered his things and left, so Henry resolved to rein in his thoughts and let the matter rest

The shrill ring of the telephone broke through the silent Winchester house. Millie riled from her sleep, rolling over to wake Henry.

“The phone, Henry. Get the phone, before it wakes Johnny.”

Henry rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he trudged to the kitchen and picked up the receiver from its base.

“This had better be important.”

“Henry!” Y/N’s desperate voice came across the line. “Henry, I need your help. I’m in the old Becker warehouse, I’m being held —”

Before she could finish her sentence, Henry could hear the sounds of the phone fumbling from her hand. Muffled voices, rough and loud, said things he couldn’t make out, then the line went dead.

Henry hurried back to his room, dressing in the dark before waking Millie to let her know that he was leaving.

“Duty calls,” she sighed. “Be careful out there.”

His wife rolled over, away from him, letting him know that he wasn’t even close to being forgiven for anything just because he had made it home from dinner.

For a moment, he considered staying. Maybe this was only a test. What situation could Y/N possibly be in that she couldn’t get herself out of? But Henry couldn’t make himself forget the desperation in her voice. He couldn’t make himself stay.

The warehouse was dark and isolated. Henry picked the lock on a side door and let himself quietly into the building. Gun in hand, spells in mind, Henry trekked carefully through the hallways. Light spilled out from under one of the doors, so Henry made for it, opening it carefully and quietly, but ready to be attacked from the other side.

The room was empty, save for Y/N, beaten, gagged, and tied to a chair. Henry tucked the gun into the holster concealed under his jacket, then gently caressed her face and said her name. She came to, eyes wide and limbs struggling to free themselves.

“Shh, shh. Y/N, listen, I’m gonna get you out of here, but you have to be quiet. C’mon.”

Henry untied her hands first, and then her mouth. She gasped for breath before looking at him in awe. “How did you know I was here?”

“You called the house, Y/N.”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t. Not at this hour.” She smirked. “You’ve just been waiting to have me all tied up, haven’t you?”

She was weak, so Henry picked her up from the ground, and smiled that her humor was still intact. “Oh, trust me, angel face. If I had the chance to have you, I wouldn’t tie you up.”

She laughed, but the action must have caused sharp pain somewhere because she drew in a sharp breath. “A demon brought me here. Probably the demon who called you, to draw you out. I don’t know what they want with you, Henry, but it must be big.”

Henry smirked as he prepared to carry her back to the door he had come in through. “Who wouldn’t want me?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they hurried toward their exit. “You’re too handsome to resist.”

Even with the flirtatious tone in her words, Henry could tell that she was fading fast. He nudged her back to with his shoulder, encouraging her to stay alert.

“We’ll get you out of here and back to the bunker, get you all fixed up.”

“You’re a smart man, Henry Winchester. Smart and strong and handsome. You keep going. The Men of Letters needs more Winchesters.”

Henry didn’t like it. He didn’t like hearing her talk like she wasn’t going to live through this. He told her again to hang on, he would get her to help. Even as he encouraged her, though, her eyes were struggling to stay open.

“Do you want to watch her die, Henry, or shall I put her out of her misery?”

He stopped in his tracks. The demon in front of him, inhabiting the body of a man Henry doubted anyone but the police would miss, had come out of nowhere. He held tight to Y/N and set his jaw firm.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing you have yet,” the demon replied, “but soon. My name is Abaddon.”

Henry’s mind searched his memories, until the knowledge was clear in his brain. “A Knight of Hell.”

“She’s taught you well,” the demon grinned. “She’s going to die, Henry. There is no choice there. She refused to give you up, and now she’s dying for it. It’s your choice. You can watch her die, or I can make it quick. And, when you have what I want, you’ll hand it over without hesitation.”

“Don’t,” Y/N mumbled. “Don’t do it, Henry. I’m nothing.”

“You are everything, angel face. I should have told you a long time ago.” Henry leaned to press his lips gently to hers, then looked back to the demon. Tears glazed his eyes, but didn’t fall. “Let her go, gently, and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Very well.”

The demon snapped its fingers, and everything went black.

When Henry was alert again, he was laying on a gurney, being wheeled out of the warehouse. He stopped the men guiding the gurney, and asked after Y/N.

“I’m sorry, Henry.” Cuthbert Sinclair approached the younger man slowly. Henry read sadness in his eyes. “We didn’t get here in enough time. Y/N is gone.”

Henry’s eyes scanned the immediate area. In the grass, not far from where he was, Y/N was laying on her back, her body waiting to be covered with a white sheet. Before she could be completely covered, Henry caught sight of the bright red line across her throat. His chest tightened.

“I had her. We were almost out.”

Cuthbert sighed. “That’s the way of it, with demons. I’m sorry for your loss, son. Best you get in touch with your wife, let her know you’re all right, and will be home soon. We’ll be taking you back to the bunker for a debriefing first. For whatever you remember.”

Henry remembered his last flirtations with Y/N. He remembered kissing her. He remembered how weak she had looked. He remembered everything she had taught him, everything she had told him. Of course, he wouldn’t share any of that with his superiors, or anyone else for that matter.

After the Men of Letters got the information they needed from him, Cuthbert himself cast the spell to take away Henry’s memories of the event — including Y/N.

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74 @theplaidshirtmadness @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl @melbrandes @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix @applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @sleepylunarwolf @chances-and-miracles @sandlee44 @foxyjwls007​ @cpag7​ 

[secondgenerationnerd]

Snowy Days

This is the request I promised earlier! a little bit of plot to move things along, but for the most part, it’s just some cuteness.

----

Milagro Reyes-Wilkes knows better than to think she can sleep in on vacation. 

“Mom! Dad! It snowed!” 

“Mami...” Milagro jerks awake as her sons burst into the room. Ten-year-old Ben dances around the bed while four-year-old Max climbs up the sheets. She shakes her head, smiling softly at her pouting baby, nudging her husband with her foot.

“Babe, the boys are up.”

Colin groans, pulling his pillow over their head, grumbling, “We agreed: before eight a.m. they’re your boys.”

Milagro rolls her eyes as Max climbs into her arms. “What’s wrong, mijo?”

“Esta muy frio, Mami,” Max shivers, clinging to his stuffed monkey. Milagro kisses his dark hair, cuddling him. “No le gusta.”

“Si, Mami lo se. But it’s going to look so pretty soon.” Milagro lets him cuddle into his arms, loving her cuddly, pouty boy.

“Dad!” Ben jumps onto Colin’s back. That wakes him up. Colin rolls onto his back, clearly groggy as hell. “You gotta get up! It snowed!”

“‘For sale: one jumpy kid, will take the best offer.” Milagro kicks him under the sheets. “What?”

“No selling my boys.” Ben crawls over to his mother, mismatched eyes shining at her. She can already tell what he’s going to ask, in the way only a mom can, “Breakfast first and then we can go out in the snow, ok?”

“Ok, Mom!” Ben bounds out of the room. 

“I’m telling you, Mil, that kid is part speedster.” Colin rubs his eyes. Milagro gets out of bed, passing him their younger son. He carries Max to the already bustling kitchen. 

“Hi, Auntie Milly!” Two little girls race past them to the kitchen table. 

“Baby Dolls!” Jai comes running down the hall, chasing a dark-haired little boy in monster jammies, “No powers inside!”

“Good morning,” Damian yawns, scratching his head, “I see your children woke you up as well.”

“Your kid is 13.” Milagro points out.

“She was complaining about her cousins.” 

“Definitely your kid.” Colin yawns. The Wayne Winter lodge is large enough that the adults get their own rooms, with a few rooms to split their kids into. Ben’s already at the breakfast bar, happily chowing down on a bowl of grits Jon made, chattering away at quiet Peter Kent. Damian’s daughter, Asha, sits with Charlie Kent, discussing the logistics of the superhero movie they’d watched the night before. Lily and Milly Harper-West giggle with M&M Kent. Their little brother, Luke, tugs on Lian’s sleep pants. Lian scoops him into her arms, kissing his little cheek.

“Welcome to the chaos.” Irey laughs into her coffee mug. “I think we all told the kids the same thing.”

“Breakfast before fun?” Milagro gratefully takes another cup of coffee from her friend. 

“Still not fair, Mama.” Asha pouts. Irey kisses the top of her daughter’s head.

“It’s my job to ruin your life, kiddo.” Irey teases. “Also, that movie didn’t take into account the fact most heroes don’t run in a straight line when something’s falling.”

“Three steps to the left and you live.” Lian laughs. 

“Asha, did you see the video with the baby elephant--”

“With its teddy bear?!” Asha squeals with Charlie about the cute animals. Damian yawns as he takes a cup of tea from Irey. Asha makes a face as her parents kiss good morning. “Mama! Baba! That’s gross!”

The adults can’t help but laugh. Mar’i makes her way into the kitchen, carrying her youngest daughter. Laney sneezes, whimpering in mar’i’s arms.

“Is Loo Loo ok, Momma?” Charlie’s dark brown eyes flash with concern for her baby sister.

“She’s ok, starling.” Mar’i runs a hand through her oldest daughter’s blonde pixie cut. “She doesn’t like the cold, remember?”

“Me too...” Max pouts at Colin, who had set him at the breakfast table. Colin chuckles at his pouting son. 

“I know, bud. Dad’s completely unfair.” He sets a bowl of grits in front of the toddler, “Eat something and then you can have all the cuddles you want.”

“Remember the last time we were here?” Lian asks her friends. “Don’t think we were up this early?”

“After the space juice the night before?” Irey laughs. “Heck no.”

“Mommy?” Lily tilts her head.

“Yeah, baby doll?”

“What’s space juice?” 

“Something that you aren’t allowed to drink until you’re thirty.” Jai tells his daughter. 

“I think it’s a grown-up thing,” Milly whispers to her twin. 

“Like when Momma and Daddy wrestle in their room?” M&M asks. Jon turns dark red while his friends and wife laugh. 

“I thought you said that’s how Lukey got in your belly, Mommy?” Milly asks her mother. “You let Daddy--”

“Who’s ready to go outside?” Lian asks. The distraction works, sending their kids flying to their rooms to change. “Jai, remind me to never let you near me again.”

The next forty minutes or so are filled with kids changing into snow clothes and searching for missing clothes.

“Mom!” Ben shouts from the front room, “ Donde estan mis botas y mi abrigo?”

“Boots are in the garage and coat’s hanging up in the front closest, mijo,” Milagro smiles down at Max, pulling on her sweater. “Don’t you want to play with your cousins, Maxie?”

“Later...It’s too cold...” Max might share more of her features but the look he gives her is pure Colin. Of course, she has to pick her sweet boy up and carry him out to the porch. She joins Lian and Irey on the porch swing, watching their husbands play around in the snow with their kids. Mar’i brings Laney out, the little girl wrapped in an extra blanket. 

“Come on, Pete!” Ben shouts to his cousin. Peter laughs and helps Ben throw snowballs at the girls. Asha and Charlie take cover, retaliating in turn. “Give up! You girls don’t stand a chance!”

“Never!” Asha shouts back, pelting him with a snowball. While the older four battle it out, the middle four are hard at work making snow babies. 

“Look, Daddy,” Luke points to the little pile of snow with two stones on it, “Look what I made.”

Jai kneels down, smiling warmly at his son, “Looks great, Little Man.”

“Daddy! Daddy! Come see our stuff,” Jai’s pulled to the side by his daughters, laughing as he goes. Jon helps M&M finish her snow baby, giving her a high five. Damian and Colin have joined opposing sides to the snowball fight.

“Some things don’t change,” Milagro notes. Laney starts coughing in her mother’s arms. 

“Loo Loo?” Max looks over at his cousin. He crawls across his auntie’s laps, patting her back. “It ok. You be ok soon.”

“Tanks, Maxie.” Laney snuggles closer to Mar’i.

“Poor thing. Is she ok?” Lian asks.

“Yeah. I mean, she was a preemie so her immune system isn’t great.” Mar’i kisses Laney’s ginger curls. “My sweet starling.”

“Uh-oh.” Milagro gestures to Colin, Damian, and Jai huddled together while Jon helps the all the kids build a giant snowman. “They’re plotting.”

“Ok, guys, let’s see who can find the best arms for the snowman,” Jon tells the gaggle of children.

“I  can!” 

“No, Milly, I can!”

“I’ll beat all of you!” Asha shouts, running ahead. Jon watches the kids head to the edge of the woods, still within sight. He doesn’t see Colin, Jai, and Damian sneak up behind him. They tackle him, which is no easy feat when dealing with a half- Kryptonian. 

“COLD!” Jon yells as his friends shove snow down his pants. Once he regains his footing and pushes them off, Damian, Jai and Colin fall to the side, laughing. Jon glares at them, “V-Very fu-funny.”

“Hey!” M&M shouts, runnning towards them, “You can’t do that to Daddy!”

“I-It’s ok, honey.” Jon heads towards the house. “I’m going to change my pants.”

The mothers notice their older children huddle together, conspiring, as their husbands stand up, still laughing.

“Daddy!” Luke starts towards Jai, before tripping. Jai’s posture immediately changes when the little boy starts crying. Ben and Asha start wrestling, too violent to be for fun.

“Hey! Ben!”

“Asha Nuri!”

The men run over to the kids, Jai stopping to pick Luke up as Colin and Damian pull their children apart. That’s when Asha shouts, “Attack!”

“AAAAGH!” The seasoned heroes are genuinely caught off guard as the eight children wrestle them to the ground, shoving snow down their fathers’ pants. Once the kids get a fair amount down, they race towards the porch. Their laughing mothers will protect them. Laney and Max giggle hysterically in Mar’i’s arms.

“Oh my god,” Lian snorts. Jai, Colin, and Damian make their way to the porch. “I’ve never been prouder as a parent!”

“Aren’t you going to punish them?” Jai grunts.

“No!” Irey laughs, “You all totally deserved that!”

Jon comes out with new dry pants as the other guys go inside. He raises an eyebrow at the women on the swing, “Do I want to ask?”

“The kids just got revenge for you.” Milagro kisses Ben’s head. “And our husbands are pouty because they deserved it.”

———

“Asha, come snuggle us!” Milly moves her stuffed puppy to the side. Sitting crossed legged between Milly and M&M, Asha smiles up at Irey, who hands her a cup of cocoa.

“Thank you, Mama,” Asha sips the cocoa, getting whipped cream on her nose.

“I supa man!” Max jumps off the armchair and onto the pile of pillows. Colin’s never looked more offended in his life. Laney jumps after Max, squealing as she lands.

“Cha-Cha,” Laney toddles to Charlie, pulling her sister’s hand, “Wights? Wights?”

Charlie looks over at her parents, a silent request for persmission. Jon chuckles, “Go ahead, cowgirl. I’ll get the lights.”

The kids squeal when he turns the overhead light off. Charlie’s dark brown eyes start to glow, changing color as she opens her hands. Sparks from the fireplace turn to flittering fairies flying across the living room. Luke giggles as a little fairy pulls on his sleep shirt. Laney and Max toddle after a pair of fairies, Charlie keeping the illusion just out of reach. 

“Ok,” Colin nods, “I’ll admit, your kid’s powers are pretty dope.”

“This is nothing.” Mar’i watches her daughter with a loving smile. “Starling, do you want to tell a story?”

“Can I, Momma?” 

“Of course.” Jon and Mar’i take pride in the way their daughter stands in front of the fire. Charlie’s gained so much confidence since they adopted her seven years ago. The living room fades away, leaving them all in the middle of a forest, trees higher than any they’ve ever seen before.

“Once upon a time, in a far off land overrun by bandits and outlaws, there were eight misfits.” Charlie retells one of her parents' old missions in the fairytale setting. Her powers allow them to see exactly what she describes. Her cousins and siblings watch in wonder. Even the adults get lost in the story.

“Alright,” Milagro notices Max yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I think it’s bedtime.”

There’s gentle whining from the kids, but for the most part, they go without too much of a fight. Milagro tucks Max into the bed he’s sharing with Luke. Lian kisses Luke’s head, chuckling. “I see Max sleeps just like Luke.”

“Butt in the air?” Milagro laughs softly as they tiptoe out, “He’s just like his father.”

“Same.” They meet their friends in the kitchen to have a small nightcap. Mar’i hands them each a glass of whiskey. “I forgot you have a thing for hard drinks, Princess.”

“Blame my parents.” Mar’i shrugs. 

The conversation isn’t like the ones they used to have. When their lives were a balance of civilian vs. hero, all that mattered was school work, bets, missions, training, and whatever weird turn their conversation took. Now, they talk about work lives, new recipes, suggestions of new places to visit, and their families. But it’s so much easier now for them to appreciate everything they’ve gone through. 

Days like today remind them why, nearly 20 years ago, they formed their ragtag team to save the world. So they could one day have them

[aion-rsa]

Free Guy Review: Ryan Reynolds and Jodie Comer Give Uneven Script Extra Life

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On paper, Free Guy is a movie about a bank teller named Guy (Ryan Reynolds) who one day realizes that he’s actually a non-playable character in a popular online video game called Free City. While Guy is mostly interested in using his newfound awareness to win the heart of the Free City player he’s fallen in love with (Millie, a.k.a. Jodie Comer’s “Molotov Girl”), he soon finds himself in the middle of a game development conspiracy that could ultimately lead to Free City’s shutdown and the end of his world.

In reality, however, Free Guy is a movie about references. While many of those references are little more than brief nods to popular video games (GTA Online is the most obvious target, though Free Guy finds time to pay homage to Fortnite, Halo, and more), even the film’s basic structure feels like a compilation of various concepts that we’ve seen before. Honestly, one of the best ways to properly describe the movie is to take a page out of its playbook and use references.

Free Guy is basically The Truman Show combined with The Matrix, with just a dash of They Live, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and Total Recall tossed in for flavor. Like Wreck-it-Ralph and Pixels, it tries to comedically examine popular video game characters, worlds, and tropes, but its closest spiritual companions may just be Ready Player One and Space Jam: A New Legacy. Like in those films, Free Guy sometimes hopes that you’ll find time to entertain yourself by scanning the environment and playing “spot the reference.” Between those Easter egg set pieces, the film often falls back on CGI-heavy action sequences and rapid-fire quips that sometimes feel like the PG-13 versions of Deadpool jokes.

It’s hard to say that Free Guy is too obsessed with references when some of the film’s best moments come in the form of surprise cameos and visual gags that will almost certainly make most theaters audiences howl with laughter (should you happen to see this in a movie theater). I’ll instead say that if you found it hard to get through Ready Player One and Space Jam: A New Legacy‘s brand of pop culture obsession, then there’s a good chance you’ll have the same problem with Free Guy.

But then even if you enjoy most of the movie’s references, you’ll likely find that some elements of the film’s referential sense of humor are… odd. For instance, there’s an early visual gag about product placement in the Free City game, but the rest of the movie is packed with product placement for everything from gaming computers to headphones. There’s also a joke about the futility of creating something original when you can just make a sequel, which feels a little out of place in a movie that may be an “original” but is getting quite a bit of mileage out of pulling material from giant properties. 

Maybe the idea was for these scenes to come across as Wayne’s World-style moments of meta-humor, but given that Free Guy’s product placements and dependence on popular properties are otherwise presented so matter of factly, these brief gags ultimately feel like a futile attempt to smile under the weight of the production machine. 

It also has to be said that Free Guy’s biggest plot holes abuse the privilege many of us are willing to extend to such inconsistencies. There are moments of NCIS-style tech jargon used to justify major plot points that really stand out in a movie that otherwise makes some surprisingly accurate observations about modern gaming. They probably won’t ruin the movie for you, but any time spent rolling your eyes at the idea that these developers wouldn’t instantly recognize that Guy is an NPC in the game they made is time spent missing the latest visual gag. 

The biggest problem with Free Guy’s script though is that it brings up interesting ideas that ultimately don’t get a lot of room to breathe. Writers Matt Lieberman and Zak Penn (the latter of whom worked on Ready Player One) touch on fascinating topics such as the struggles of video game developers, the ego and profit-driven nature of many major game development studios, and how platforms such as Twitch and YouTube can influence the culture of popular games. But the movie is quick to drown those sparks out with a blaring pop soundtrack, candy-colored CGI action sequences, and, in at least one notable instance, unfortunate outdated jokes about basement-dwelling gamers. 

There are too many times when Free Guy fails to explore the potential of its unique premise. This was clearly never meant to be a complicated examination of the nature of existence or even a deep dive into the most controversial aspects of video game culture, but it’s hard not to look down on the movie’s most generic moments when it regularly brings up more interesting ideas and then quickly casts them aside.

What’s really amazing, though, is that Free Guy’s biggest problems do little to diminish the appeal of its two greatest qualities: its commitment to absurdity and surprising warmth.

It starts with the cast. Reynolds is hardly an “everyman,” but the way he makes even the most absurd jokes work certainly comes in handy here. Comer’s comedic timing and ability to add surprising emotional weight to otherwise throwaway lines also remind us that she’s still in the early days of what will surely be a great career. Elsewhere, Lil Rel Howery, Joe Kerry, and Utkarsh Ambudkar lead the film’s fitting cast of supporting players.

This show is clearly stolen, however, by the brilliant Taika Waititi. There’s something to be said for actors in movies who recognize what the tone is around them and decide to go completely over-the-top with their performances, which describes Waititi’s performance to a tee.

Free Guy’s cast is clearly having such a good time with every ridiculous line, strange scene, and surprising little moment that it’s almost impossible to not get caught up in their enthusiasm and find a way to have a good time. 

So far as that goes, it certainly doesn’t hurt that Free Guy sometimes reaches Ted Lasso levels of positivity and genuineness. Whether you’re a fan of gaming or not, it’s hard not to root for Guy as he essentially tries to, in the words of Bo Burnham, obey all the traffic laws in Grand Theft Auto 5 in order to grow as a person and in-game character. Guy’s ability to appreciate the little things in his world isn’t just a human message but a particularly clever observation about how NPCs may be uniquely able to appreciate the work that goes into video game world-building that we sometimes don’t take the time to appreciate because it’s located off the more obvious paths.  

There’s also something to be said for the Comer and Kerry-led subplot about indie developers struggling to push an original idea in an age of big studio productions. Even if that plot does feel somewhat awkward given the amount of property flexing that’s going on (and ends on a bit of a cheesy note), it’s ultimately a nice little nod to creators who too often don’t get credit for their work. 

Like many of the best video games ever made, Free Guy is meant to be a good time above all else. It’s frustrating that the movie ultimately fails to do more with its cast and premise, but its combination of warm hugs and scenery-chewing eventually find that “dumb fun” sweet spot. At the very least, you may want to find a way to see it sooner or later just so the sheer joy of its best surprise isn’t ruined for you.

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[fandomoniumflurry]

Reckless Abandon- Prologue

The start of my new Supernatural series. Millie Winchester is Sam and Dean’s older sister. This is a series rewrite following the life of the oldest Winchester and her adventures with her brothers.

Warnings: Series will be full of swearing, sibling rivalry, bonding moments, canon style violence. sex, sass, sarcasm, pranks, drama and all that good stuff.

Prologue: 2.7k words

RA tags: @rosiezilla @fangirl-moment-x @a-fan-fighting-for-equality @50shadesofsubtext​ @oneshotsdeanshort

Then:

The baby was handed over to her younger brother. The four year old clung to Sammy and ran from the house as fast as his little legs could take him. The six year old girl with little blonde curls like her mother was clinging tightly to her daddy’s hand. She tugged and pulled as tears ran down her face, trying as hard as she could to make the man come with her. She wasn’t sure what was going on but it was enough to know that they needed to get out of the house. Her mommy was gone, there was no way to save her and the tiny girl knew that. As much as it hurt to let Mary go, little Millie didn’t want to lose her daddy either. Her brothers were safe, she knew that but she wasn’t leaving this house without John.

Finally, the heat became too much, the fire engulfing Sammy’s room until it was enough to drive John from his position. He scooped up his daughter and ran from the house where she had spent her entire life. She clung to his neck, looking over his shoulder as their life burnt to ashes. Things were never the same from that night on. The little girl wrapped her arms around her little brother, Dean who was still holding the tiny baby. She wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t crying, Dean was always a strong kid. He was only four and surely wouldn’t remember this night once he got older. She hoped he didn’t. She hoped that he didn’t see what she did, hoped that he would grow up a normal kid. She would do whatever it took to remind them everyday what their mother was like and how much she loved them. She would never be able to take Mary’s place but from that day forward she swore to be everything for her family.

The life of an eight year old is supposed to be simple. They shouldn’t have any worries or cares, their parents holding their life and happiness in their hands. They go to school, make friends, do their homework, go on playdates. A normal eight year old is just meant to have fun and play, no responsibilities outside of their small household chores. Growing and learning, their days should be light and uncomplicated.

Millie never had simple. Normal for her died with her mother back in Kansas. Ever since that day her life took on a drastic turn that no small child should have to take. No longer was she daddy’s little girl. Her dad was no longer the loving mechanic playing on the floor with her. He was never the same after losing his wife, love and softness overcome by cold-hearted vengeance and rage.

The Winchesters didn’t stay in one place for too long, getting uprooted every few days or weeks. John didn’t talk about what he was doing while the kids didn’t see him, but he put tiny Millie in charge of her two little brothers. She had to grow up and take the place of mommy at such a young age. At first, she asked her daddy why he had to leave them, why couldn’t they come with him, why did they have to stay with strangers? The more John denied her inquiries, the more he yelled and became angry with her incessant badgering, he less and less she asked until she just fell silent taking the orders she was given.

Timid and submissive, her eight year old life wasn’t the easy carefree existence it was supposed to be. It was eight years old that she learned what her father had been doing since Lawrence. She learned what his new friends were and what they were helping him do. The mind of a child is open and pliable making the idea of vampires and demons easy to accept. Her daddy was a monster hunter and he trusted her to take care of her brothers. She was like his faithful sidekick and though it was a great burden to place upon a child’s shoulders, she graciously accepted it. If her daddy loved her enough to give her this job, then she would do it no questions asked, even though she worried about him.

She held the secret for years, refusing to share this burden with her brothers. They were still too young, too weak of mind and heart to handle such a weight. She tried to make their lives as normal as possible, giving them as much of a family as she could manage. Playing with them, feeding them, going to school. Even if they stayed with John’s friends, Millie still took it upon herself to care for them. She never spoke up or complained, never back talked or questioned her duties.

John would still call her daddy’s little girl and pat her on the head with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. But there were no more kisses and hugs, no more playtime on the floor or princess videos on the couch. Instead, John passed out with a tumbler of whiskey or falling through the door and landing on the floor, bloody and beaten. But it didn’t stop her from cleaning him up as best she could before crawling up next to him and curling against his side. Her daddy was broken but he was a hero. Her daddy was a man rough around the edges, but he was still her daddy.

—–

Once Dean started getting old enough to ask questions, John reacted differently to him. Millie had tried so hard to shield the boys from John and his extracurricular activities. But John had given in so easy, telling her little brother everything without argument or agitation. This was the first piercing through her thick armor, the first twinge of anger and bitterness toward her father.

She had made Dean swear not to tell Sam. If she couldn’t keep the middle child out of the life, she would do all she could to keep their baby brother out of it. It wasn’t long before John began to train Dean, teach him how to hunt. The boy was being taught to be a soldier, a warrior, learning so young how to carry a gun, wield a weapon. And another chip grew on Millie’s shoulder. Never once had John offered to teach he anything, to show her how to protect herself and her family. So whatever was taught to Dean, the boy turned around and taught his big sister.

—

As Dean grew stronger and wiser, so did Millie. After a while, no matter how hard she tried though, Sammy learned the truth. Much to her dismay, it was the eldest boy that had to tell him. Sam had found dad’s journal and wouldn’t stop asking questions until Dean told him the truth. Millie couldn’t blame him, no one could deny those puppy dog eyes of his. She had held Sam that night, the boy in tears needing nothing more than his mothering older sisters.

Now that both boys knew of the job, John began to take them with him more. Either way, Millie was either left to fend for herself at the motel or with Bobby or other friends. Even though she was just as capable and strong as her brothers, Dean assuring her she was even more so, and yet since she was daddy’s little girl, John kept her out of harm’s way, never even giving her a chance to prove herself.

This put an even further wedge between  her and John and eventually her and Dean. The younger boy had always be Dad’s little soldier, falling in line so easy, going with everything John ever said. Where Dean used to help Millie train, he started agreeing with their father and a once strong sibling bond was broken. The two spent their teenage years fighting and arguing, Dean refusing fall under authority anymore. Where Sam and Dean grew closer, Dean stepping up more to take care of his brother but this left Millie alone and useless.

She spent her time mostly reading, getting lost in music, training herself on the guitar or training her voice instead of training to fight. She helped Sam with his homework and cooked from time to time to hold onto her last shred of usefulness within in the Winchester family. She cleaned and patched up wounds, iced sprains and bruises, splint broken bones and sewed stitches. She was no longer the loving motherly young woman but instead became the maid, the nurse, the tutor, silently blending into the background until she was needed.

—

Until one day, she could remain silent no longer. The tension between her and Dean finally grew to a boiling point, a bomb meant to go off at any moment. She could have left years ago, the nineteen year old more than able to take care of herself. But her love and loyalty to her ungrateful family had kept her there. She may have felt like nothing, less than family here, but this was all she knew. That particular Day, Dean had disrespected her, took her for granted for the last time. He claimed that he and Sam didn’t need her. He told her that she needed to stop babying Sam, needed to let him be a man. He informed her that he was glad that John started taking him out on hunts, then he didn’t have to be coddled and turned into a pussy like she was doing with Sam.

That was what finally broke her. She didn’t cry, didn’t say a word. She just stared her taller brother down with such a hard weighted gaze that he could feel the chill. His confidence faltered as she brought her petite form to stand toe to toe with him. He was aware of what she could do, aware of the power she held that she could use against him. But she didn’t speak, just her lingering glare sink into his bones before she walked away. Grabbing her duffle, she began to pack. Dean didn’t try to stop her when she walked out the door and she didn’t look back to say goodbye before she got in her car and drove away.

—

It didn’t take them long to go looking for her but she didn’t want to be found. She contacted them when she wanted to, a call here or there, mostly to Sam. The youngest informed her about how angry dad and Dean were, how hard they looked for you until they gave up, how much they all missed you. Every time he talked to her he would ask her to come home and she would feel that pain in her chest, that longing to run back to them. But then she’d remember Dean’s words and remember that she wasn’t needed there anymore. So she would smile and simply say, “Not today, Samuel.”

‘Not today’ turned into months and years, her time apart from her brothers bittersweet. She loved the life on her own, traveling, working, playing music, being the child she never got to be, letting go like the adult she was meant to be. But she missed her brothers. No matter how much she and Dean fought, he still meant the world to her. She wouldn’t be who she was today without him. And Sam was like her own child, having raised and taken care of him since he was six months old. The bond with them was enough to cause a deep ache in her heart that never truly went away.

She was more than proud to hear that Sam had gotten into Stanford. But she was far from shocked when John wasn’t pleased about it. She had encouraged him, even helped him get out to California. Sam and Millie reunited for the first time in years on campus and she found herself genuinely smiling for the first time in a very long time. She and Sam became close, going to concerts, doing Sam’s homework, frequenting bars, just normal things two friends do. And it was wonderful. Her baby brother was her home and she was glad they both had escaped their father’s rule to live a normal life. While Sam studied, Millie actually got a job bar-tending even played some music on the side. The youngest Winchester even got himself a girlfriend. Everything was going great. That is until Dean showed up.

Now:

“Fuck no, Dean.” The ragged blonde haired woman stood within punching distance of her younger brother. A cigarette rested between her fingers and a fire burned in her hazel eyes. With her untied combat boots and her skinny jeans ripped at the knees, she looked like a mess which had everything to do with the fact that Dean had woken her up at 3 o'clock in the morning breaking into her apartment. Dean’s arms were crossed over his chest as he gave her an incredulous look. The Impala was parked behind him and she refused to even cast it a second glance. It didn’t surprise her that the old car was passed down to the eldest boy. It wasn’t like she was the oldest child of John Winchester or anything.

“I need /both/ of you, Mills!” His shoulders lifted as his angry tone didn’t even seem to affect his big sister. “Dad’s missing! Don’t you give a damn??” At that, Millie’s head shot quickly in his direction. She quickly closed the gap between them to stand toe to toe with her little brother. She was a good head shorter than him, obviously not inheriting the Winchester height.

She poked a sharp finger against his firm chest. “Don’t you dare. Don’t make me the bad guy here.” She fumed as she looked at the man who she still considered to be that bratty little teenager she remembered. “Sam’s got a good thing going here and I’m not about to let you fuck that all up by sucking him back into your life.”

“Then why don’t you just come with me?” Dean’s features had softened, a genuine request for his big sister to come with him. Millie’s brow wrinkled, almost considering it just by the desperate look in her brother’s eyes. Her mouth opened to protest but he quickly cut her off. “Don’t give me some piss poor excuse that you have something better to do with your weekend. You work at a bar where you make shit tips and play guitar one night a week.” She was shocked that he knew so much about her day to day life when they barely had contact over the past few years.

She heaved a sigh and once again her mouth opened to respond but it was her other brother that cut her off this time. “Dean?” Sam’s voice was groggy as he came out into the hallway outside his apartment. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ for a beer.” Dean answered with a cheeky grin in turn causing Millie to roll her eyes. Jessica came out next, wrapping her arms around Sam’s waist. Dean eyed her for a moment and before he could say anything, his sister slapped a hard hand against his chest with a stern glare. His lower lip pouted slightly as he rubbed his chest but he quickly found his friendly smile again. “Family meeting, Sammy. If you don’t mind, sweetheart.” He addressed Jessica with a smile and the blonde turned to go back inside.

“No.” Sam stated firmly, holding onto his girlfriend to keep her planted. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of her.” The other two siblings looked at each other before Dean looked at his little brother again.

“Dad’s been gone for a few days.” Millie filled him in. Sam looked puzzled, this not being something new at all.

Catching his look, Dean continued. “Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.”

Sam’s wide eyes made it obvious that it had finally clicked in his mind. “Jessica, you go on back to bed. I need to talk to my family.” It was that night, that the Winchester family reunited and their lives changed forever.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, que-sera-sera88!

Today, we wish a huge happy birthday to EBG’s own @que-sera-sera88! We hope you’re having an awesome day, and an awesome holiday, too! To add further birthday cheer, the incredible @herainab has written a story just for you.

Title: Come Away To The Water

Gift For: que-sera-sera88

Rating: Mature

AN: Happy Birthday Millie. I hope you enjoy your special day. There will be another part to this hopefully in the coming days. Millie asked for a Canon AU story about a marriage of convenience. I had a few ideas but this one stuck. I hope you enjoy Part 1. It’s quite a monster coming in under 13,000 words.

---

The reaping for the 72nd games is hot. The families watch from the sides fanning themselves from the heat. Babies cry in their mother's arms. Small children whimper as they hide behind their mother's skirts. They stand red-faced and sweaty hoping for the whole thing to be over so they can return to the shade of their homes.

And the rest of us stand like lambs waiting to be slaughtered. There's fear amongst us all. We get impatient waiting to see who will be called for the slaughter.

It basically felt like a slaughter.

Effie Trinket appears on stage with this energy that doesn't inspire us. We stare back at her. We wait. She frowns slightly but moves the show along. She moves the impending slaughter along.

In another District, one that was proud, the escort would call a name and there'd be plenty of lambs, fat, proud lambs ready to make their District proud. Lambs from good breeding stock. Here, we were all timid lambs born from poor breeding stock. Scared lambs who could smell the blood. We knew what was coming. We weren't raised by a good quality farmer who had fat, strong lambs. We were kicked to the side and dragged up to the stage when we were called for slaughter.

She calls for a girl. She's from The Seam. She's 17, scrawny and takes care of her brothers and sisters. Her father killed in a mining accident two years before. She sells herself to Cray as her mother sits vacant in a rocking chair in the living room. She was kind of pretty and stood out for The Seam. She also went to the Slagheap often with Merchant boys for favors like food or things she could trade to feed her siblings. If she dies, they'll end up in the community house.

No one volunteers for this little lamb.

"Peeta Mellark." Effie Trinket calls.

14-year-old Peeta looks around shocked and tries to walk on his shaking legs.

Until a brave lamb volunteers for his place.

"I volunteer." That lamb is Bannock Mellark. Peeta's 18-year-old brother.

He kisses his little brother on the head and makes his way up to the slaughter. This lamb might have a chance.

"What's your name?" Effie asks.

"Bannock Mellark."

"And I bet he's your brother."

"Yes."

"What an honor to volunteer for your District." Effie tells Bannock.

Bannock looks to his brother who shakes in the crowd, comforted by his other brother. Bannock nods his head at Rye Mellark and Rye nods back.

This little lamb has been spared. The brother's holding a pact between them to protect the little lamb for as long as they could.

---

"Papa, will Peeta be OK?" I ask. We're on our way home from the meadow having gone and paid our respects to Bannock Mellark. It's getting on to dinner time and Mom and Prim are at home preparing dinner for us.

Bannock Mellark did our District proud, he ranked high, survived within the arena, even started to figure out the logistics and outsmarted the game makers. But it wasn't enough and the lamb was torn to shreds by a creature that he didn't see coming.

Bannock's body, or what remained showed up in a pine box on a train early this morning. His coffin lowered into a plot he'd share with the 17-year-old girl he went to the games with. There was a special place in our cemetery for those who were in the games, it's just as the years went on, we had more pine boxes returning than Victors. They were slowly running out for room for our tributes.

"It'll hurt for some time." He tells me as we walk towards the square. "He'll feel pain, he'll cry and have bad dreams. He'll be angry and sad a lot of the time."

"What can I do?"

"Be there for him. Make him laugh. Make him forget about the pain. Distract him. Just be a good friend."

I nod and we come to the square. It's silent, people shutting themselves inside of their houses tonight as a way of respect. As a sign of mourning. Tomorrow trading will start back up and 12 will try to get back on their feet. The girl's siblings were taken to the community home this afternoon, their cries sounding throughout the District. The cries of another family let down by the Government.

Father stills, stopping me. His hunter instincts are on alert.

Then we spot a spark, smoke coming out of the Mellark's bakery.

"We have to help them." I demand. The Mellark's had been in their home since this afternoon.

He runs into the flames, breaking a window to get access. I watch on in horror. I can hear the screams coming from inside. The screams for help.

The whole upstairs is on fire, they're trapped. No matter what I do, help won't arrive in time.

Merchant shop owners come out to the square, they watch on as the flames engulf the Mellark's bakery.

There's an explosion inside the house, the crowd outside falls to the ground and the screams fall from my mouth.

"Dad!"

Darius holds me back as I go running for the bakery.

"Katniss, no!" He tells me, holding me tightly in his arms as we watch the roof cave in. There's only silence. No more screams for help. Just the smell of burning flesh, bread, and fire.

But there's a cry for help.

"Dad."

And besides the bakery, Dad is putting out the flames that burn Peeta Mellark. Peeta is unconscious but alive.

He becomes the only surviving Mellark in District 12.

---

Madge asks me a question that I don't answer. My attention isn't on her. It's on him.

He's scowling as he eats his lunch in the schoolyard.

He has a lot to be pissed about in this world. I allow him the scowling. The moodiness. The temper. The anger.

He's allowed to be angry.

I watch him. I always notice him.

But he never notices me. Or pretends to not notice me. He tells me it's for the best that the kids don't notice him watching me.

A ball rolls towards him, hitting his leg but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't even feel it.

"Throw us the ball, tool!" One of the kids yells at him.

He barely flinches, puts his head down even more and eats his lunch.

"Didn't realize you were deaf as well, Cripple." The 12-year-old kid says to him as he collects the ball, kicking Peeta's ankle before he runs off.

He barely flinches and just continues to eat his lunch.

He's had a rough few years. After the fire, his leg was taken. My mother cared for Peeta, took him into our home and nursed him back to health. She comforted him from the nightmares, the pain and the loss. She became a mother figure he never had. He became a part of our family for those few weeks he recovered with us.

Until his Uncle came for him. His Uncle was a bitter man. He despised Peeta much like Mrs. Mellark did. He saw Peeta as another mouth to feed. His uncle preferred Bannock or Rye over his youngest nephew. His Aunt barely spoke a word to him. His cousins stared, pointed and laughed. He wasn't liked in the family. He was only taken in because his Uncle felt obliged and his sister would have done the same.

Peeta worked hard, was pushed hard and neglected in every way possible.

He kept his head down and just kept going. He kept surviving the way he knew too. The little lamb was impressing me every passing day.

Even if he was yelled at and abused, he kept going. The entire District knew Peeta was suffering but no one did anything to help and those who tried were rebuffed, Peeta not wanting anything in return. He felt like he didn't deserve the help.

And I'm scared the youngest Mellark boy. The sweet baker boy will turn into his mother like the children say he will. Will turn bitter. Will be angry and mean.

And the older we get, the more he alienates people. The less of a chance he will have to marry, to have a family and live the life he always dreamed of.

He doesn't want to drag people into the drama, to make them see what is happening to him, to bring them down to the level he is feeling and affect everyone around him. For someone who used to inspire a room he barely has the inspiration to turn up to school.

He turned 18 a month ago and ever since then, he's wage has been cut and constantly threatened that the second school finishes; he'll be out on his arse. He'll work the 12 hours a day in the mine, will return home to the Miners boarding house and hate the world even more.

His Uncle constantly reminds him that he'll fit in with the Seam folk as they are nothing more than useless scum.

In six weeks, he might not have to worry about finding a job in the mines or a house in The Seam if he is reaped.

Our last reaping before we age out.

I hope we age out.

I hope the two innocent lambs can grow up.

I find him after school, he is pushed and knocked about by those who race past him laughing and giggling at him. Calling him all the names under the sun.

"Hey." I greet him.

"Hi." He still gives me the time and day. He is always genuine and friendly towards me. He saves all his smiles for me.

"We're having a dinner for my birthday on Saturday if you wanted to come."

"I'll be there." He tells me with a smile. He usually turns down dinner offers.

"Great, I'll let Mom know." I tell him.

I walk home with him, Prim having already headed home, walking with Rory Hawthorne.

"Are you ready to finish school?" I ask him.

He shakes his head. We still have four weeks left of school and two weeks later is the reaping. He'll be homeless in four weeks.

"Me either." I tell him. "But I think I've lined up a job with Mayor Undersee. His gardener is getting quite old and he doesn't think he'll last another winter. Mayor Undersee recommended me. Dad doesn't want me in the mines."

"I wouldn't either."

"But I might not get the job."

"They'd be silly not to give you the job." He tells me with a smile that makes my skin break out in goosebumps. That makes me blush and my heart race. This smile is the one he saves for me and it's when I know he truly means it. His eyes shine and the light reappears.

"Thank you."

We near the florist and I see him hesitate.

"Do you want to hang out in the meadow?" I ask him.

"I'd love to but…"

"That's ok, another time." I smile. "See you tomorrow?"

He nods and heads on into florist. He hobbles, limping slightly. His prosthetic must be giving him grief.

He's shot up in the last few months, becoming just a little bit taller and broader.

I wave goodbye to him, notice the change in his body language. I can see his shoulders have dropped, the lines on his forehead have appeared and a scowl on his face. I know he hates stepping foot into that house especially with the days passing by.

I walk on home, my hands in my pockets and kicking a loose stone.

I wish I could do more for Peeta Mellark.

---

Peeta shows up to the house early on Saturday. I wasn't expecting him for another hour.

"Hey, wasn't expecting you so soon." Mom and Prim are at a delivery and Dad still at work.

"I finished early, thought I'd come around."

I nod at him. I'm still not ready. I haven't showered and I smell like the woods. "Could you watch dinner, I was just about to get ready."

He tells me to go and get ready and he sets up in the kitchen watching the turkey and preparing the rest of dinner.

I bathe, washing my hair and scrubbing my body. I scrub so hard my skin is red and raw.

I pull out the dress Mom gifted me with this morning, telling me she wore this on her 18th birthday. The night she broke the baker's heart and ran off with my father. My father proposed to my mother in this dress under the stars in the meadow and promised that no matter what happened in the coming months, he'd love her forever. My mother was spared from the reaping and happily moved to The Seam with the coalminer. She left behind her easy life for love. She gave up everything, her friends, money, job, and house for love. For my father.

She could have had fat, healthy babies with the baker and baked for the rest of her life but couldn't resist the charm of the coal miner who she had met only previously at the Harvest Festival, falling in love with his voice, the way he told stories, his crooked smile and hearty laugh.

I always wondered why you could do something like that. Give up your entire life for a man. Move to another part of town. Say goodbye to your friends. Your house. Your job. I never understood this when I was young. But as I grow older, I can understand why my mother did it. I can understand how she fell for the charm of my father and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

And despite my desire to not want to marry or have children, I'd do the same as my mother if it was for a man who made me feel the way my mother feels about my father. Who made me smile and laugh all the time. Who accepted me for who I was. Who kissed me deeply and passionately every day. Who held me close to his body at the end of the day, making up for the time we were apart during the day. Just someone who I couldn't stop smiling about.

The dress is almost like the color of the sunset and hugs my body. The light coming in from the window catches on the fabric and it almost looks like the dress is catching fire. I leave my hair out of its usual braid, doing two simple braids to keep my bangs out of my face and let my curls fall down my back.

Peeta has his back to me when I come downstairs and he chats with my mother and sister. Prim spots me first, smiling at the sight of me.

"You look beautiful." She tells me.

Mom nods, gushing proudly and this makes Peeta turn around.

His jaw drops and it's the first time I've seen him speechless in my presence.

"That… you… You should wear your hair out more." He stammers and I smile, touching my curls nervously and thanking him.

"I knew that dress would suit you." My mother says. "I wore that dress on my 18th birthday." She tells Peeta.

"It's a beautiful color." He smiles. "It's my favorite color."

"Soft like the sunset." I add, remembering him telling me that years before when I screwed my nose up thinking of a bright orange color.

My mother must notice the way Peeta and I are looking at each other and she shoos us away, telling us to take a walk to the meadow.

I tell her we'll be back shortly and we walk to the meadow. Kids play in the street, playing games of tag, kicking rocks to one another and dodging their mothers as they fold washing and sweep their front steps.

Those out in the street notice us, stop and gawk and I know what they're thinking.

The oldest Everdeen is now 18. She's to find herself a suitable prospect, move into a house and start popping out baby after baby.

But they're also gawking over the fact that it's Peeta Mellark. They always assumed I'd end up with Gale Hawthorne.

He had other suitors on his mind like quiet Madge Undersee.

I had other things to worry about at this moment before I worried about the other things. I had school to finish and a reaping to survive.

The last reaping, I could protect my sister.

But we'd be fine. That's what Prim kept telling me.

"Are you scared for the reaping?" He asks.

"I'm scared for Prim."

"Would you volunteer for her?"

"I've got to protect her, just like Ban did for you."

"It cost him his life."

"He knew what he was doing." I remind him. "Do you miss him? I mean your family?"

"Every day."

"Does it get easier?"

"Slowly."

I reach out for his hand, squeezing it with my own hand. I did this when he lived with us for those four weeks. I held his hand when he had nightmares, when he silently thrashed or when he trembled slightly as he was sedated. I sang him lullabies and songs and constantly told him he was safe. I counted the freckles on his nose under the soft candlelight. I noticed how golden his eyelashes were. I noticed every little feature of Peeta Mellark.

He holds my hand as we sit in the meadow that afternoon and barely move. He wraps his arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to his body. He smells of sugar, spice, spring and fresh flowers.

He places something in my palm when I'm not looking.

"Happy birthday." He whispers and I open my palm.

It's a gold locket. One that would have cost him a fortune.

"It's beautiful." I tell him. "But I can't have it."

"It's a gift, you have to take it."

"Peeta, it's too much."

He shakes his head. "It's the one thing I saved from the ashes. It was my grandmothers. My father always wanted me to give it to someone special."

I study the locket, see on the back there's a Mockingjay that's been carved into the locket and trace my finger over the delicate work.

"My grandfather gave it to my grandmother on her 18th birthday." He smiles.

"It's beautiful. I love it."

He puts it on for me and I admire how it sits on my chest, catching the light of the afternoon.

"It's perfect."

We walk back home together, hearing the whistle from the mine signaling the end of the shift.

Dad arrives home just as Mom dishes up dinner and we all sit crammed in the kitchen eating the turkey I caught.

Mom has gotten me a cake from the government-run bakery and we delve in.

It's not the same as a Mellark's cake and we force it down, bite after bite.

"I don't know about you all but I sure miss Mellark's." My dad says.

"Me too." Mum adds.

"Have you thought about what you'll do after school, son?" Dad asks him.

"Work in the mines. I won't pick anything else up."

"It'd be great if you could reopen the bakery. The town desperately needs it."

"I don't have that kind of money."

"You could do it out of your home." Mom says. "Start small and sell to the district. Build from there."

"Or the Hob." Dad suggests. "They have the ovens there."

"I don't know. Maybe in the future."

"I'd be your first customer." Dad tells him with a smile. "And I'd order four cheese buns."

Peeta laughs. "You all love your cheese buns."

"They were beautiful."

I can see Peeta getting a bit upset and I change the subject quickly.

"I caught Prim kissing Rory yesterday afternoon."

"Katniss." Prim whines, blushing red as Mom and Dad jokingly interrogate her.

And Peeta silently thanks me with a smile as they focus on tormenting Prim.

Mom and Prim clear the table and Dad presents me with one last gift.

"I don't need anything else."

"I know but it's a special occasion."

I'm gifted with a new bow, one that is much different to Dad's old wooden one. This one is lighter, sturdier, the string tighter and would be much more powerful.

"Where'd you get this?" I ask.

"I know people."

"It's beautiful." I tell him. "I love it."

"I knew you would. Do you want to test it out tomorrow?"

"Yes please."

Peeta and I go and sit out on the front step of the house and watch the world, watch the sun slowly set in the distance.

"Peeta, where are you going to live?"

"I'll find somewhere. Maybe in the cottage."

I screw my nose up at him boarding with the single men. They are rough, have no respect for personal space and Peeta would be a target.

"I was talking to Mom and Dad and they suggested you stay with us."

"Your family has already given me enough. I can't owe you anymore."

"It's the right thing to do." I tell him. "You'd do the same for us."

He knows I'm right and kisses my temple. "I'm forever grateful for your family. I'll never be able to return them what they've given me."

"It's what we do and we don't need debts repaid."

"One day I'll repay your family, that's a promise."

He kisses me for the first time that night.

It's short, sweet and nothing more than a kiss that is the start of everything. It's the springtime, stars, the smell of flowers and the sweetness of chocolate. It's the beginning of love.

I kissed him one night when he was unconscious. He had had a bad night of nightmares and was in pain. His leg had been amputated that morning and stitched to heal and hopefully fit with a prosthetic. That night he was in pain, despite the morphling he had been given. I kissed the corner of his lip and watched his face soften and he woke briefly, whispered my name and went back to sleep after I ran my fingers softly through his hair and sang to him.

I watch him walk on home and imagine all the other kisses we'll share.

---

Four weeks later, he's waiting on my doorstep with nothing but a bag over his shoulder. School only finished 20 minutes ago. His uncle wasted no time in kicking his nephew out.

Mom and Dad invited him to stay with us. They insisted. And he couldn't turn down their offer when he'd have nowhere to sleep for two weeks.

And he found solace with us, the only people who didn't turn their back on the youngest Mellark.

"Hi." I greet him.

"Hi."

He follows me inside, placing his bag on the floor next to the worn couch that he'll sleep on. Everyone is out of the house. Leaving us alone.

And his lips are on mine quickly.

The last two weeks, our relationship blossomed quickly.

He backs me into the wall, steadying both of us as we kiss, the hunger overcoming us both.

The front door swings open and we're caught.

"We do have a bedroom." Prim groans, covering her eyes.

Our lips are both red and we blush having been caught. We'd been quite discreet with our affection in front of my family and in public. We'd usually meet behind the ruins of the bakery, making out before he had to return home. Or he'd come and find me late some nights and in the shadows of the house, we kiss as the stars shone down on us.

"Be thankful it was me and not Mom or Dad." She chuckles heading into the kitchen with Rory tagging behind.

Ground rules are put in place when Mom and Dad return home. "You are both adults but this is our home. If we respect each other, we'll all be fine."

Peeta starts baking again, selling his creations to those who stop by and I've never seen the people in the District so happy. Despite the dark cloud that hangs over with the upcoming reaping, everyone is enjoying the simple things like Mellark's bread.

One night, he makes us cheese buns as a thank you and I am brought back to those Sunday mornings when Dad and I would go hunting. The Sunday where the baker would trade a rabbit for some cheese buns.

I thank Peeta with a big kiss. Kissing him in front of my parents.

My mother kisses his forehead, my father shaking his hand and Prim embraces him.

He brought our family tradition back and it's been a long time since we've all enjoyed cheese buns together under this roof.

"You'd be silly to not open a bakery." My father tells him.

"I'll think about it." He tells Dad, rubbing the back of his neck.

And I know, I have to protect Peeta. He is starting to shine again. Only a week after he moved in with us.

Maybe he feels safe. Maybe he feels protected. Maybe he feels love. Maybe he feels like he is home. He has found a home. A new family.

The afternoon before the reaping, we picnic in the meadow.

We feast on cheese buns, some fresh strawberries, and goat cheese.

Peeta is looking so much healthier and is much happier. He smiles now, he speaks to people and he is baking and painting again.

He is Peeta Mellark.

"We should get married." I propose.

"What?"

"Let's get married." I say. "I don't want you going into the mines. I want to protect you."

"I can protect myself, Katniss."

"I know you can but you can't work in the mines. I forbid you."

"I can make my own decisions." He tells me offended.

"I know you can but I won't forgive you if you step foot in the mines."

"Do you want to me to remain home, wrapped in cotton wool and do nothing? I'm not an invalid." He tells me. I've made him angry.

"I know you're not." I tell him. "I just think, it'll be best if we get married. It'll help us both out."

"You want a marriage of convenience?" He asks. "I thought we had something."

"And we do." I tell him. "If we marry, we'll have better benefits. We can get a house together because I know despite appreciating my parent's hospitality, you don't want to be sleeping on our couch forever." I say. "You can remain out of the mines and I'll work for the Mayor. This can work." I tell him. "I know deep in your heart you want to open the bakery, build a home to live in, we do this and it'll work. We can make it work. We can make your dreams come true."

"What do you want, Katniss?"

"For you to be happy." I tell him.

"No, what do you want? I don't want you to ruin your dreams by being married to me. You're not the girl who dreamed of being married and having a family. You just want to keep your family alive. You don't want to have children because you don't want to watch them starve and be reaped. I don't want to force you into a life you don't want."

"You're not forcing me. It's the right thing to do."

"No, it's not." He shakes his head. "I can't force you into a life you don't want just so you can protect me."

"I want this, Peeta."

"Sorry, Katniss. I can't-do this."

---

It's a quiet morning as we prepare for the slaughter. Hopefully the last slaughter. We hardly eat. We shower, dress and wait for the call. I'm wearing the soft orange dress I wore on my 18th birthday. Prim has fitted into Mom's blue dress I wore two years ago.

Mom is sure to embrace us, holding us in her arms and trying to send out nothing but positive thoughts.

We walk to the square, check in and go to our holding area. Go to possibly our final place before we're called for the slaughter. The new lambs, they tremble in fear.

The older ones, they're hopeful it's anyone but them. They hope to leave the slaughter today for the last time. I can smell the fear in the younger lambs and wish I could comfort them.

But they've smelt the blood already.

I find Madge who is as pretty as a picture in a new dress and her signature gold pin pinned to her dress. She hopes to leave the slaughter today as well. She's got a taste of life and she's not ready to go to the slaughter.

Effie Trinket comes to the stage in green get up this year. Her hair is a bright green. Her outfit a mix of greens with puffy sleeves, flares, and cut-outs. She wears sky-high heels that she can barely walk in.

She taps the microphone, begins her usual spiel before we watch the same video we watch every year. The video that tries to inspire us to be great. District 12's involvement is always laughed at and no one is ever inspired. The lambs aren't ready.

Haymitch Abernathy is surprisingly sober this year.

He has been almost sober since Bannock's involvement in the games and is beginning to show he wants to fight.

Haymitch has actually extended his kindness to Peeta since Bannock's death. Peeta hasn't told me this but Haymitch had been supplying him with a small allowance and has always kept an eye on Peeta. A parcel always makes its way to Peeta on the first day of the month filled with mostly money or anything else that he finds applicable.

I don't know if he's up to something and I'm not too keen on his intentions with Peeta. But Peeta accepts his help.

Haymitch looks out at the crowd, looks amongst the lambs and tries to not show emotion as the call for slaughter begins.

It'd be hard to have the death of nearly thirty kids on your hands.

"Ladies first." Effie Trinket announces.

She reaches into the bowl, searching for a slip.

I haven't taken out any tesserae. Either has Prim. Dad didn't want us putting our names in there in exchange for food. He always ensured he had something we could trade. We never had to put any extra slips in.

I know Peeta has though. His uncle forcing him to put his name in for extra food. He was constantly pressured into doing so. He thinks he has over 40 slips in the bowl.

"You deserve to die in that arena just like your brother did. Your brother who sacrificed his life for you."

Effie finds a slip and turns to the microphone.

"Esme Banner." She calls. It's a 15-year-old girl from the Merchant class. Her parents own a clothing boutique.

No one volunteers for the lamb. Her mother cries. She stands before the district knowing that this is where she leaves us, it's time to head to the slaughter.

Effie moves on to the male bowl and dips her hand in. I can see Peeta tense up. He believes it will be him. The extra slips in the bowl make him a target. Make his odds higher and higher.

Effie smiles when she finds the slip. I grasp Madge's hand tightly and close my eyes.

"Jonah Green."

My eyes open when I realize it's Peeta's cousin who has just aged into the reaping. The first year he's stood before the slaughter. It's rare but sometimes the baby lambs are picked at the reaping. Those lambs make for great entertainment.

The crowds step back from Jonah as Effie calls for him.

"Fred, no." I hear someone cry. "Don't do this."

"Volunteer you, coward!" Frederick Green calls out from behind the crowd of children. "Volunteer!"

And we know who he is telling to volunteer. He wants Peeta to sacrifice his life for his cousin.

Frederick pushes through the crowd towards Peeta.

"He volunteers. Peeta Mellark volunteers."

"I do not." Peeta calls back as he is pushed by his uncle.

"Sir, please." Effie tries to calm him down.

"Move that crippled leg of yours and volunteer." He grabs Peeta by the collar and forces him to move, Peeta trips over onto the ground. "If you had any values you'd volunteer for your cousin. He's only 12."

"I'm not volunteering." Peeta tells him from the ground. He doesn't want to. He has been set free from the slaughter. Frederick falls to the ground, fists flying in the air. He gets one good punch in before the Peacekeepers pull them apart. Fred kicking and his fists flying. I run for Peeta.

"You're scum. I hope you burn in hell." Frederick tells his nephew. "You're nothing like your brother's. You have no family values. You're rotten. You should have died in that fire." He yells. "You don't deserve to breathe. Go and live your life in the Seam with that fucking Everdeen girl you have a permanent hard-on for. You're not my family you piece of…"

The butt of the gun hits him in the temple, knocking him out and silencing him.

The crowd looks at Mr. Green's unconscious body and then at his eldest son who stands up on the stage shaking from what he's just witnessed. He's smelt the blood. He can sense the fear. He knows this is it.

It could have easily been a bullet put into Fred Green's head but they're allowing the lamb the chance to say goodbye.

The public humiliation will likely cause the business to suffer for a short while. Despite the son being in the games, no one will step foot in the florist.

A few of our classmates' comfort Peeta, ensuring he's alright as Effie finishes the reaping.

We send them off to the slaughter and watch as the doors to The Justice Building close them in.

Peeta's prosthetic has broken, cracked in half. Most likely from the fall or the fact it's too old for him.

"We'll have to get you a crutch." I tell him. My father has found us. "His prosthetic is broken." I tell Dad.

Dad reaches down, helping him up off the ground. "Will you be right to hobble back to the house?"

Peeta nods and they head on home. Dad leading us away from the slaughter. I carry his broken prosthetic and watch as the crowd slowly disappears back home. Some go to say goodbye to the tributes but we don't dare step foot in the Justice Building.

But I am safe from the slaughter. And Prim, she'll have to face it alone next year.

"I don't know how we're going to fix it." Dad tells Peeta.

"It's alright, I can use some crutches for a while until I can afford a new one." He replies, holding a cold press to his eye.

That night, Peeta and I sit on the couch together, Mom, Dad, and Prim all gone to bed. They play the reaping over and over. District 12 incident has been cut and edited to seem like it ran normally, you can only notice that Effie is slightly flustered. Only the District 12 residents will know what happened that day.

Peeta reaches for my hands, squeezing them with his hands and resting them on his lap.

He plays the game we started four years earlier when he healed with us.

"We've aged out, real or not real?" He asks.

"Real." I tell him. "We're safe, real or not real?"

"Real." He answers softly. He kisses my temple and brings me closer to his body. "I was so scared I'd lose you today."

"Me too."

"I think we should get married. It'll be the only way to survive." He says. "I won't survive working in the mines and I don't want to live in the boarding cottage. If we marry we'll have our own house. I can work from home, I can bake and paint and create things. And you can work for the Undersee's." He says. "We'll make it work."

"When do you want to sign the papers?"

"As soon as we can."

He presents me with an engagement token, one he pulls from his luggage.

"Katniss, will you marry me?" He asks with a purple colored pearl. It's beautiful.

"Yes."

It's a pearl he tells me he found at the Hob last week. Greasy Sae let him have it and he carefully turned it into a charm to hang from the locket he gave me.

He kisses me and that night, we break mother and father's rule by sharing a bed. We only hold each other, our legs entwined, my head resting on his chest and his arms holding me to his body.

Mom and Dad congratulate us on our engagement the next morning.

"When is the toasting?"

"As soon as we're assigned a house." I tell her.

There's a knock on the door after breakfast, a Capitol attendant with a package for Peeta.

"Peeta Mellark." The attendant says. "Package." He tells him, holding out the package.

Peeta opens it. "Who got me a prosthetic?"

The attendant shrugs his shoulders and is gone after he is sure it fits Peeta well. It's better made than his previous one. This one fits him better, doesn't rub or pinch his skin.

"How is it?" I ask him.

"Perfect." He tells me, smiling from ear to ear.

We go to the Justice Building to book in our wedding and organize our house. The Government issued families with a house for free. If you were single, there was a small fee involved and most people couldn't afford the house and ended up in the single boarding cottages. Most married for the sake of marrying.

But what Peeta and I are doing, it's something different. There's genuine love and even if we're not there yet, we will be.

It was always bound to happen. I always think we would have ended up together.

We can move into our house by the end of the week and our wedding is planned for that same day.

"What cake do you want?" He asks me on the walk home.

"Whatever you want to make me."

"And bread to toast?"

"Bread filled with raisins and nuts." He smiles at me, remembering the loaf he gifted me years before in the rain.

It's ultimately the bread that started our story. His generosity is what brought me to want to save his life three years later. To offer him the same type of compassion he showed me.

Hope began that day. And hope is continuing to grow between us.

We go and check out our home. It's right by the meadow with a blooming garden. It's one of the biggest houses in the Seam.

"Plenty of room for us." He tells me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. There'd be room for a studio for Peeta and somewhere to bake. I always loved this house when I was a child, always dreamt of living in it. Now, my dreams were coming true.

I turn to him, wrap my arms behind his head and smile at him. "Thank you for making me the happiest person in the world."

He kisses me in front of our future home and everything feels right.

---

"Katniss." Mom calls.

I see her enter the room from the reflection of the mirror. Peeta is getting ready at the Hawthorne's, Dad helping him get ready. Peeta has bought a suit and a tie to wear for the occasion. Hazelle and Mom have mended Mom's wedding dress instead of me renting one. It's bohemian with vintage lace, short sleeves and backless. It's beautiful and I want to cherish it forever.

"You look beautiful." She tells me. She has a proud smile on her face and I smile back at her.

She helps me do my hair, braiding my hair up into an updo. Prim had picked some flowers earlier, that Mom carefully places into my hair.

"Peeta is going to love it."

I can't help but smile. I never imagined this day, never imagined getting married and having a family but I can't help but love the idea.

"There are a few things I wanted to give you." She tells me. I hadn't noticed she brought in a box filled with items.

It is filled with sheets, crockery, vases, a copy of the plant book, a nightgown, a brooch and photo frame.

"And there's one last thing." She tells me handing me a diary, a bag of herbs and contraception. The form that only Merchant people can afford.

"I know we've talked about this but you're getting married. There are expectations and things that happen in a marriage. I know you haven't spoken about kids but this gives you and Peeta a chance to settle into your life and not worry about any added stress of children." She tells me. "The diary is to keep track of your cycle when you're intimate with each other, moods, emotions and everything else. If you need anymore come and ask."

"Thanks, Mom."

"And don't put too much pressure on yourselves when you both decide to share your first time together. You will make the decision when you are both ready. Don't rush it either. Enjoy being together, enjoying falling in love, enjoy the privacy and being adults. Enjoy sneaky kisses, touches, and gazes. Just enjoy each other's company. Fall for each other and grow together slowly, learn about each other and how your body responds to different things. It's now your time to live and grow and have some fun."

I blush a little. My mother and I had never spoken to each other like this before. After she sat me down and told me all about the birds and the bees, I ran to the woods and hid out for the afternoon, too embarrassed to think and consider the changes my body was going through. I hadn't at 13 even considered a boy touching me let alone considering having sex with someone.

And since then, I've always blushed at the thought, even talking to my mother about it. But she deals with this daily, she's always patient and accepting. And now that I'm an adult and have found someone she likes, she wouldn't judge me. And I feel like I could be open with her.

"Just enjoy your life. You've finally got your dandelion in the spring."

She kisses my forehead and does a final check.

Prim is downstairs holding a bouquet of flowers for me. This is a little over the top for a District 12 wedding but my mother always told me about her wedding, how my father brought her a bouquet of flowers to hold during the ceremony. Flowers that they pressed in a book to preserve for years to come.

They said a few words in the meadow on their way to their house for the toasting. Words shared in private before crossing the threshold into their marital home.

Mom, Dad, and Prim walk with me to the Justice Building.

Peeta has his back to us when we enter the Justice Building. He is looking at the paintings on the wall, admiring the sculptures and architectural work. He had no family coming to watch. No friends. No one. He didn't invite anyone.

But a few of his friends show up. Delly, Carter, and Lincoln. Their friendship fell out after the fire but they don't fault Peeta for that. They've had a lot more to do with him in the last two weeks than in the last four years.

And I invited them to witness their friend get married which they told me they didn't want to miss.

Peeta is speechless when he sees his friends enter the Justice Building. He hugs them all and thanks them as they congratulate him.

And then he sees me enter behind my family.

And he is even more speechless.

"You look beautiful." He tells me, reaching for my hand.

I smile at him, blushing and admire him in his suit and forest green tie.

We kiss after we sign our forms and pose for a photograph.

"Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Mellark." The official announces, handing over our certificate. "May your lives be filled with happiness and love."

Our mother directs everyone to meet at the house at 4 pm when we'll cross the threshold and gather for some food and cake. Where we'll build the fire and toast.

Peeta and I make our way to the meadow but we're stopped by his uncle who comes charging out of the florist, headed directly for Peeta.

My father and all the Hawthorne men protect us from Fred Green.

He hasn't handled things since Jonah left on the train. He's been making a nuisance out of himself in the square. Has been drinking and passing out. The peacekeepers have been returning him home quite often.

"You get married and not invite me? Not invite your family? You are useless, Peeta. Hope your new wife doesn't mind having a dud like you."

I push my bouquet into Peeta's hands and step between Gale and Rory Hawthorne.

"You know what, you don't even know what Peeta is like. You say he's all these things but he is because you made him. You didn't care to see who he truly was. You don't care about him. You tried to turn him into something he's not. But I cared about him. I got to know him. I nurtured him to be who he is. I love him, something you failed to do. He is my dandelion in the spring." I tell him. "And I know it sucks that Jonah got reaped but don't go taking it out on other people. Go and be with your family because they're hurting just as much as you. They need you at this time." I say gently. "I'm going to go and be with my family, just like you should be."

He looks at all of us, his eyes welling with tears before he steps back. He doesn't say a word, looks at his nephew for a long while before he turns around and returns home. His wife waiting at the front of the shop for him with their two youngest hiding behind her legs.

I comfort Peeta when we get to the meadow. We go and find the big willow tree. He kisses me softly on the lips, brushing the stray pieces of hair away from my face.

"I will never be able to thank you." He tells me.

"You don't have to." I tell him. "I want this."

I rest my head on his chest and he kisses the top of my head. Trees dance in the breeze, the dandelions sway and the birds sing their best song in the afternoon light.

"Here I am, just a guy standing in a suit, wishing to promise you whatever you want." He says.

"And I'm just a girl standing here in a white dress." I repeat. "Wishing to give you a good life."

"What do we want to promise each other?" He asks.

"To be patient." I add.

"Kind."

"There for each other."

"From this day on." He finishes. "This is our promise to each other." He says. "We're just two people standing together in a suit and a white dress, pledging the rest of our lives together."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Always." He tells me after a brief silence. We share another kiss before we retreat from the willow tree and head to our home. We can see it from the meadow and I can't wait to grow old in this home with Peeta.

Our family is waiting for us at the house. They smile at us and Peeta picks me up, surprising me and carries me down our footpath and over the threshold.

There's music played throughout the afternoon as we eat food and share the cake Peeta made. We dance in the living room around the bodies that sit and stand in our presence. In District 12, when there is music, we dance. The few instruments that have made its way play folksy tunes and we all dance. Peeta sits out for most of it, watching Prim and myself dance until I drag him up. It's a slower tune, one that Peeta can keep up with and we sway from side to side. Everyone has someone to dance with. I am just overwhelmed with the feeling of love that is filling this home. I hope love always fills this home.

It's late when we go to build the fire to toast the bread.

Peeta builds the fire and I slice a piece of bread. Our guests leave us to be as the fire catches and give us our chance to have our toasting. We kneel in front of the fire and together toast the nut and raisin bread before we share it together with butter melting into the toast.

He feeds me a piece and I feed him a piece.

And that's when we feel married, right then after our toasting. We share a long kiss in front of the fire, sealing our future as the flames flicker.

He carries me to our bed and places me on my feet at the foot of it.

"Katniss there doesn't have to be anything happen tonight." He tells me. "I don't want there to be any pressure on us."

"Me either." I admit.

"Do you just want to hold each other?"

I nod, smiling at him.

He helps take the flowers out of my hair, laying them out on the dresser. He undoes my hair, shaking my braids out and lets my hair fall in waves down my back. He unzips my dress for me and turns his back to allow me to dress into my nightgown. He has stripped out of his shirt and suit pants and pulls on a pair of pajama pants. He sits on the edge of the bed and goes to remove his prosthetic but I stop him.

"Let me." And I remove it for him, laying it beside the bed. I kiss the scar of his stump and help him swing around into the bed. He pulls me beside him and holds me in his arms.

"Today was amazing." I tell him.

"I thought so too." He smiles. "I haven't had that much fun in a long time."

"Did you ever picture your wedding to be like that?"

He ponders for a while. "Not with you. It would have a been a lot less of a celebration and more of a quiet affair. A chore. There's just not the same amount of life in Town as there is here in The Seam."

"We don't have a lot but we make up for it in other ways." I tell him.

"You all have big hearts and know how to party."

I feel safe. I know, I won't be able to sleep apart from him for the rest of my life, he settles me, calms me, wards away bad dreams and inspires only the good dreams.

And I know, he now only has good dreams. He told me the other night how he hasn't slept this good since he lived with us during his recovery. How he constantly had bad dreams and nightmares. But now, he feels safe.

"I am your husband, real or not real?" He asks me. It was tedious for us to still be playing this game. Childish even but it got us by. It will get us through tough times.

"Real." I reply. "You are home, real or not real?"

"Real. Home is wherever you are."

---

Peeta's cousin dies two days later. He dies during the first night, killed at the hands of the careers. It's a pain-free death but Peeta still mourns.

I give him his space but am close by if he needs me. He takes a loaf of bread to his Uncle as a sign of respect. He embraces his aunt and hugs his cousins who don't really understand that their brother has died. He leaves them to mourn as Jonah's death is played over and over.

It's the first time in the history of the games that I've witnessed the Careers actually stop and wait for the hovercraft to take the body away. They kiss their three fingers and hold it up in the air as Jonah is lifted away.

Something has shifted within the game. The dynamics, the way it's played out, the tributes. Something is different this year and I can't quite put my finger on it.

When we return home, he wants to just sit on the couch and hold me. We sit together in the silence of our home.

I cook us dinner and we eat together at our kitchen table. He cleans up and I give him his space, going and having a bath and going to bed with a book Madge leant me.

I must fall asleep before Peeta comes to bed. I wake to find him taking the book from me, tucking me into bed and switching the light off.

In the darkness, we kiss, our hands roaming over each other's bodies slowly and tenderly.

He touches my breasts over the material of my nightgown, squeezing them gently as he kisses me. His lips wander from my lips across my cheek and down to my neck. He sucks the skin there, causing my back to arch in response. His lips move further down, along my collarbone, the hollow of my neck and down my chest.

I tug at my nightgown, letting the straps fall down over my shoulders and exposing my breasts to him.

"You're beautiful." He whispers to me. And I believe him.

---

He is up before dawn every morning baking bread which he sells to the neighbors in The Seam. He drops some loaves to the Hob, trading for some cheese and nuts.

Word catches on and from early in the morning, people are lining up outside of the house waiting for bread. Even those from Town venture all the way in. The demand is so high that he always sells out.

"They love your bread."

"They all grew up eating Mellark's bread." He tells me as we clean up.

I've started my job gardening for the Mayor and Peeta has focused his energy and time into creating things again.

He is drawing and painting again which is a huge feat. We grow together, learn to live side by side and under the same roof. In just a short amount of time, I know I love him.

After 12 days, The Games ended with a mass suicide from the Careers at the end, leaving Esme Banner from our District the winner.

Our District has been in celebration. It's the first time in 26 years that we've had a winner. The district prepares for the celebration for when Esme returns home at the end of the week and the focus turns to us as the cameras will capture her arriving home.

Peeta and I had some wine the night she was crowned. A bottle we were given as a gift for our wedding. We shared a glass together and fooled around on the couch.

We're becoming more daring, more loving and hungrier for each other. We're learning about each other's bodies, taking turns pleasuring each other and seeing more and more of each other's bodies.

He traps me between the counter and his body, pressing his body close to mine before he lifts me up onto the bench kissing me. He unbuttons my pants, tugging at them slightly.

"We should clean up." I tell him as he kisses my neck.

"That can wait." He tells me, lifting me up off the bench and carrying me to our living room. He lays me on the couch, pulling my pants down my olive legs before he kneels between my legs, pulling my panties down.

I never knew this type of hunger existed and now we crave this, crave each other's bodies like it's a necessity. And this has become Peeta's favorite thing, his head buried between my legs.

There's a knock on the door and a voice.

A voice that sounds a lot like my sister.

I push Peeta off of me. "Prim's here." I tell him as he looks at me confused. "I told her we'd have lunch." I inform him.

"And you forgot to tell me?"

"Sorry, we've had other things on our mind." I tell him and he laughs, handing me my clothes.

I redress as Peeta goes to answer the door.

"Hey, Prim." He asks her slightly out of breath.

Prim comes inside, notices how hot and flustered we are but doesn't say anything. She shrugs it off like it's nothing and sits down at the table. She's brought along some cheese from Lady.

We have sandwiches and fresh lemonade before she heads off to meet Rory for the afternoon.

She's so smitten." Peeta comments as we watch her head down the street.

"Say's you." I tell him, pinching his butt and smirking. I run on off, heading back to work.

"You'll pay for that tonight."

I giggle and blow him a kiss as I head on back to work.

I end up at the station to look at what needs to be done for tomorrow. I sit in the shade writing a plan and hear the station attendants speaking.

"They're not happy in the Capitol." One of them says.

"Why?"

"The careers showed them up. The Capitol hates being showed up."

"So, what's going to happen?"

"Nothing, they have a winner and they will turn her into something she's not."

I feel a shiver go down my spine. Winning the games looked wonderful but in reality, you never owned yourself. You couldn't step foot out of line and make Snow look stupid. You had to be a puppet and do everything he says. Peeta told me this just the other night when I asked about Haymitch. Haymitch showed up the Capitol, paid for it with his family being killed. Much like Peeta's family paid for Bannock's actions.

A lot of the Victor's do what the President says or they lose the ones they love. It's happened to a few of them. Most oblige to keep their family safe.

"Esme will be fine. Abernathy will keep an eye on her." The attendant says.

A few days later, Esme's train pulls in. She stands on a stage, waving at the crowd who welcome her home with wide arms. We celebrate with a feast in the square. There's music, lots of food and some wine. We dance, eat and celebrate the extra food.

Peeta and Haymitch chat in the distance and I try to read lips, try to figure out what's going on.

Peeta and I walk on home, cutting the celebrations short. It's the anniversary of the fire and his cousin was brought home in a pine box, buried earlier this afternoon before the party begun.

Peeta attended the funeral and then laid flowers for his mother, father, and brothers.

I comfort him that evening, letting him cry and grieve for his family. He used to not be allowed to mourn them when he lived with his Uncle. He wasn't allowed to show emotion.

This year, I allow him to mourn and the chance to grieve after all those years he was refused.

I'm there for him.

---

"How are you feeling?" Peeta asks me. I've gotten a case of the flu that has been going around the District the last few weeks and lucky me, I've gotten it a second time.

I groan, rolling over to cuddle him. It's our anniversary. Two years of being married and living together.

Peeta is a whole different person. It's like he's been reborn. And he much resembles the dandelions in the spring. He is a wonderful husband, he loves me, cherishes me, is patient and kind.

He's successfully running a bakery from our house, selling mostly bread but also creating special orders like cakes. I always have a constant supply of cheese buns.

He is also painting again. He is drawing. The house is covered in his drawings and paintings and I love coming home to the bright colors of his creations. Most of them are of me but I like seeing the way he creates me on the paper. He constantly draws the people of The Seam. Those on their way to the mines, backs bent and bodies aching, he draws the kids as they play in the meadow, Prim falling in love with Rory, my parents and anything else he can get his hands on.

And every morning, there's always a flower waiting on his pillow for when I wake up. It's the little things, the simple gestures of romance that make me smile.

The second bout of the stomach flu has come from the kids Peeta and I watch a couple afternoons a week. The kids aged 3 and 6 months old both had the flu, giving it to me. Peeta had a bread run and I watched the two of them by myself. Their mother insisted she stay but I shooed her off.

And now I was paying for it again. 6 weeks later.

My stomach lurches and I go running, emptying the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Peeta rubs my back, holds my hair back and ensures I'm fine.

He offers me water and wipes my mouth with a cloth.

"Happy Anniversary." I say to him.

He laughs gets me settled back into bed before he gets ready for the day.

He sells the bread when the miners go underground. There's enough bread to go around now and nobody misses out. He does a bread run after lunch, delivering all around town before he returns home and starts preparing dough for the next day. With the money he had made, he bought himself a big bakers oven which keeps up with the demand. Next plan was to buy a bakery with his earnings.

It's nice having a house that smells like fresh bread, sugar, and spice.

I must sleep as he trades because when I wake it's midmorning and he brings me toast and a cup of tea.

I manage to stomach that and he sits up with me in bed.

"I'll make you sick again." I tell him.

"I don't mind." He replies.

We were in no rush to have children. I've slowly come around to the idea but we wanted to enjoy our time together while building up a successful business and steady careers. Peeta had plans to have a bakery running within 12 months, opened by his 21st.

For now, we were enjoying our lives.

But I know the way Peeta looks at me when I hold baby Brielle, how I am around Cade.

"You'll make a great mother someday." He tells me. Truth be told, he'd also make a great father.

But we were in no rush.

He leaves me in bed to tidy up. The reaping had taken place last week, a girl from the Seam was reaped and a boy from the Merchant side reaped. They were both 16. They had better odds but stranger things have happened for the lambs who attended the slaughter.

I sleep most of the afternoon with just an unsettled stomach. I've had a few close calls and have resorted to sitting beside the toilet bowl.

My mother has sent over some herbs to put into my tea and a reminder to drink a lot of fluids.

He tickles my back as I lay in bed. A cup of herbal tea drunk and some water to sip on. He hums songs to me and I just rest my eyes. I feel protected and safe in his arms. No matter what will happen, he'll have my back.

The next morning, I spring out of bed and go to the woods with Dad. I hardly go out anymore except for on Sunday's with Dad. We meet well before dawn and make our way through the woods returning just after sunrise with our haul. We always have a cup of tea and a cheese bun before we go back through the fence. Dad going to do the trading and me going home to Peeta.

We usually make love when I return from the woods. He has usually finished for the day and is usually waiting for me at the front door. He closes the door behind us, takes off my coat and leads me down to our bedroom where we usually spend most of the morning under our sheets. Our bed sheets always smell like the woods, sugar, and cinnamon.  

Today we check our snares and traps, reset them and try our luck at some game. We end up with a good haul, fat rabbits, squirrels and fowl birds. Dad gives me a bird and he goes to trade quickly before the games start. My stomach still feels a bit queasy but I manage to make it home.

"You alright?" Peeta asks.

"Just feel a little queasy." I tell him.

"Go and lay down and I'll bring you a cup of tea."

I lay down on the couch and Peeta brings me my tea. The Games have just started.

"Should I get your Mom?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

He stays at my side as the Games play out. No one is killed in the bloodbath. The Careers give the rest of them a head start as they stand on the pedestals. It's bizarre watching a game that used to be so bloodthirsty resorting to this. I'm confused if this is their tactic but the rest of the tributes run for the safety of the thick bushlands.

A knock at our door wakes us up and its Mom, Dad, and Prim. They've come for lunch and we sit around the table enjoying a spread. Jas comes over with the kids after lunch and Prim plays with Cade out in the garden. Brielle happily sitting on Peeta's lap.

"Are you sick again?" Mom asks me.

"Yeah, I've got that stomach flu again." I tell her, handing Brielle her wooden toy she's dropped.

She studies me for a second and then leaves it. She'll have something to say later on when we're alone.

Prim comes inside with Cade crying.

"What happened?" Mom asks.

"He fell. I'm so sorry, Jas. I was watching him and he…"

"It's fine, Prim. He's a boy who is into everything." Jas assures her as she takes Cade, comforting him. "Hey big boy, let me have a look."

"He'll need it stitched." Mom tells Jas. "Come on, I'll take you back to the house and take a look at it."

Peeta and I stay home with Brielle. She sits on my stomach clapping and giggling. Peeta sits in the chair sketching and occasionally looking over at Brielle and me.

"I know we said we'd wait but that really suits you."

I smile, pulling a silly face at Brielle. "We have a bakery to open first." I remind him.

"I know we do." He smiles. "One day."

I didn't admit to him that I had dreams about our children constantly. Children we'd take to the meadow and watch play. Chubby, blonde haired babies who laid amongst the daisies and sung songs to each other. There were two little babies hanging out in the meadow together. Brother and sister. But I hoped to gift the world with more Mellark's. One's who took the words of the song for granted, who danced in the meadow, painted and baked. Who were the dandelions in the spring.

---

My stomach flu lingers for a few days. The Games play on but are slower and not as gritty as they usually are. The game makers intervene, creating drama and obstacles. The tributes are killed off by game maker devices rather than by each other.

Little Cade shows off his pirate patch that covers the three stitches he needed.

"You're the coolest little pirate." Peeta tells Cade as he sits upon our kitchen bench. We're having dinner, something that has become a normal thing in the two years we've lived next to each other. We usually have dinner after we watch the kids.

Peeta usually bakes a nice loaf of bread or dinner rolls to go with our meal and some type of dessert he makes with Cade. Tonight's was a flaky chocolate creation. One that had my mouth salivating.

Our TV turns on automatically and we know something has happened. Some type of breaking news.

It couldn't be the games, there was still 8 contestants left. Something bigger had happened.

"We interrupt your current screening with breaking news." The newsreader begins. "Reports are coming from the Mansion that President Snow is dead. I repeat, President Snow is dead."

"What?" Peeta asks, coming into the living room.

"President Snow was found by mansion staff this morning unresponsive. Despite numerous attempts to revive him, he could not be revived. He leaves behind his daughter and granddaughter." She states. "There are no words on the games and there will be a press conference held 5 pm Capitol time."

"I did not see that coming." I admit.

"Katniss, he was old. He was probably close to being well into his 90's. It was bound to happen. And his appearances in the public were declining as the years went on."

"Let's just hope his replacement is decent." I say to Peeta, holding Brielle close to my body.

We eat dinner and dessert and play with the kids. Brielle sits on her mother's nap nursing and Cade tucked beside his father.

The games have come to a bit of a standstill and the kids have a moment to breathe. The press conference starts and some young, up and coming politician is appointed after a unanimous vote.

He's in his mid-thirties and has a lot of potential.

"Someone new to ruin our lives." Des adds with a frown, looking down at his two children who he can't really protect.

The games will continue as normal.

"He might do a good job." Jas adds.

"If he keeps our children from starving and sending them into those terrible games then that's when I'll say he's doing a good job." I say.

The next day, the four remaining careers end their lives in an act that is almost similar to last year. A mass-suicide. It leaves District 7 to become the winner of the game.

Johanna Mason appears on screen, slightly pleased that they've won but I see the worry in her eyes. There's uncertainty of what really will happen now that President Snow is dead.

I don't watch anymore as I go running for the toilet.

I leave Peeta to head to my mothers with the baked goods that afternoon. I'll see him for dinner with my parents.

Mom is in the kitchen, putting together salves and lotions.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Still a bit queasy." I tell her. Something that she is making makes my stomach start rolling.

She sits me down and does a quick examination.

"You don't have a temperature." She tells me. "Stomach flus don't linger this long."

She asks me all these questions, mostly about my body and my cycle.

"Don't freak out just yet but could you be pregnant?"

"What, no? Peeta and I have been safe."

"Were you two intimate when you had your first stomach flu?"

"Yes."

"There's a chance that the contraception failed."

"What?"

"If you were sick, it might not have been effective."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because it rarely happens." She tells me.

I rub my temples at a small headache that's coming along. "I can't be pregnant." I tell her. "We're not ready."

"You might not be but let's see."

She examines me, checking my cervix and gets me to take a test. We wait patiently together. Mom holding my hand.

I watch my mother. She's always had this incredible patience and non-judgemental attitude when it comes to her patients. And now, with her 20-year-old daughter sitting in an examination chair, she's calm and I think she's secretly hoping it'll be positive.

"It's time to see the test." She informs me. I exhale a deep breath and she goes to collect my test. She studies it for a long while I start to have doubt.

I had built up in my head in the few minutes of sitting, holding my mother's hand, images of my baby. Images of being pregnant. Of preparing for the baby. Of growing this being inside of my stomach. I caressed my stomach with my free hand and imagined what it would feel like to feel flutters and kicks inside of my stomach. I even imagined Peeta's reaction. Could picture his smile. Could feel his hands on my stomach.

And I fear that it's negative.

"Mom?"

She turns around, tears streaming down her face and I notice the smile as she holds the test.

"You're pregnant."

And I'm not as shocked as I thought I would be.

She embraces me, holding me in her arms tightly and squeezes me. "I know you didn't want this to happen but things happen for a reason."

She wipes the tears from my cheeks, kissing me and smiling at me.

"How do you feel?"

And I smile at her, my lips curving upwards into a beaming smile. A smile that I can feel right down to the tips of my toes.

I touch my stomach and hug my mother once more.

I help her with dinner and we wait for everyone to return home. There was a mandatory viewing tonight and our attention was needed in the square from 7 pm.

"How will you tell him?"

"I don't know." I tell Mom. "Maybe at the meadow."

The front door bursts open, Peeta running inside with Prim following behind.

"What's wrong?" We ask him.

"The peacekeepers left this morning."

"What?" I ask.

"What does that mean?"

"We're not going to the square." My father says running into the house.

"What's going on?"

"We're leaving."

"For where?"

"The woods. Now!" It's just after 6:30 and it doesn't leave a lot of time to get to the woods. To save our district.

Peeta and I run home, dodging those who are panicking and running in all different directions. We tell Des and Jas to pack a bag.

Peeta throws some clothes into a bag. I stuff my game bag with our possessions, the plant book, wedding photo and his drawings. We say goodbye to our home and go to find our family. Our friends.

The first bomb drops, coming over us from the west and dropping close to town.

We try to herd people to the meadow but some are scared of the tales they've been told and head right for the firing line.

We hide in the dense trees and try to remain undetected as we escape the district. I help them through the fence, Peeta carries kids who have lost their parents, Dad drags people towards the meadow as bombs fall on our district. Those who went to town had no hope of surviving.

And less than a thousand people make it to the woods. The rest lie under the rubble. We watch from the protection of the woods, our beautiful little town destroyed in a matter of minutes. Our houses were gone, our businesses, our memories all gone.

And we were made an example of. An example towards the other districts to not step out of line or this will become your home.

I'm still unsure what we did to deserve it. A bigger statement would have been to bomb District 1 or 2, not 12.

The fire burns but we're still breathing. These lambs escaped the slaughter.

For now.

[thefandomplague]

Mr. Barnes Will See You Now (10)

Prompt: 50 Shades of Barnes. VERY LOOSELY BASED!!!

Note: I do not own any of the characters or story line.

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long! I am the worst person ever apparently! I will be getting to the asks that have been sitting in my box forever too! Been off a hella long time! This is fairly long to make up for it I hope?

Word Count: 1580

( Part 1 ) ( Part 2 ) ( Part 3 ) ( Part 4 ) ( Part 5 ) ( Part 6 ) ( Part 7 ) ( Part 8 ) ( Part 9 )

" Coulson? "

You looked at his butler or assistant or whatever he was really in confusion.

" Where is Mr. Barnes? "

Coulson gestured towards the car and you climbed in annoyed seeing that James was not there. Coulson closed the door behind you and promptly went around and got in the front, starting the car and beginning to drive.

" Coulson, Where is Mr. Barnes? "

" He is running a bit late in his meeting with Stark Enterprises, so he asked that I pick you up and bring you across town to him while he finishes up."

You shrugged it off thinking nothing of it. That was until it had been forty seven minutes of waiting outside the building for him... that was excluding the twenty-nine minute drive there. Sighing you gathered your jacket and bag to leave.

" Miss Y/L/N? "

Coulson asked, the worry pasted in deep lines across his forehead.

" Look Coulson, I am exhausted, I understand he has work and all, but he could have postponed I would have understood. But I have things of my own to do, I don't wanna be that girl that always waits for the guy. Besides, have you seen the looks on the girls that have walked out of this joint? I am sure he can find someone better to entertain himself with for this evening. I am all good. I will hail a cab and head home."

" Miss-"

" Night Coulson."

Before he could do anything about it you where out the car and across the road jumping into a taxi and brushing into a gorgeous gentlemen climbing out of it. He was dressed sharply, had a well groomed beard and head of hair and beautiful brown eyes the could probably stop a damn asteroid if they wanted  to.

" Evening Miss..?"

" Late. "

" Interesting name. "

" Smart ass are we? "

" Abundantly. Late for? "

"... You will have to spend the rest of your life wondering I guess."

You winked at the man who was now smiling a rather contagious smile at you and you climbed into the taxi, telling the driver to go, hope he would before Coulson could get across the road past all the traffic.

" What do you mean she left Coulson? "

" I think the sentence alone explains what I mean Sir, never minding the full description you made me give you ... twice.”

" I know I know, I'm sorry. I just can't believe she left. I mean she knew there was nothing I could do about it right? Stark Enterprises was the one who decided to be over and hour and a half late.. Damn Pepper and Tony. Why do I even do work with them anymore...GAH!"

James was whining like a little child and he knew it. He sighed heavily, he didn't know why he felt like this. He pulled out his phone as Coulson drove him home and decided to try and text you.

" Y/N, I apologize for making you wait so long. Is there any chance of rescheduling? "

James stared at his phone and waited for a response for the rest of the night. After trying to call four times his worry that you had not made it home safely had begin to take over immensely by each Milli-second that passed. Not thinking it through he phoned your room mate Wanda.

" Yellow? "

" Miss Maximoff? "

" Mr. Barnes? "

He could hear the surprise in her voice clear as day.

" Good evening, I am sorry to worry you so late Miss Maximoff but I was just wondering where Miss Y/L/N was? I am unable to reach her? "

" Y/N!!! "

James pulled his ear away from the phone slightly from the shouting. After a brief few murmurs on the other side and little scuffle of exchanging of phone in hands your voice was in his ear.

" James? "

" Y/N, I was just calling to see you got home safe, I couldn't get through to you so I-"

" Oh yea, I dropped my phone somewhere, maybe I left at work, I am not sure really and I didn't realize until I was home and Wanda and Pietro where giving me shit about not answering it."

" I see, I was wondering if-"

" Look James, I know what you are going to say, and I just... I don't know if I am what you're looking for-"

" You spook easy I see."

The line went silent and James tried his hardest not to be smug. He knew he has won before you even said anything.

" Tomorrow morning, we will have a breakfast date thingy at the coffee shop from that photo shoot because I have plans tomorrow evening. 8:30 a.m. sharp, don't be late or it is you who spooks easy not me. Have a wonderful evening James."

The line went dead before James could argue anything.

" Well that was harsh! "

" Hey, he is the one who took our date and threw is away for work."

" Yea I know, but still, it's mean Y/N. He really gets under your skin doesn't he? "

You rolled your eyes and went back to folding laundry.

" Why tomorrow morning instead of the evening by the way? "

" I have a date."

Wanda almost dropped her cup of coffee as she stared at you.

" So let me get this straight, you are making James Barnes... JAMES FREAKING BARNES have a quick morning date with you because you have a date with someone that evening? He is a God or something right? He has to be to blow off JAMES FREAKING BARNES Y/N!!!"

You groaned and threw your head back to mock cry.

" I didn't want to OK! But how else am I suppose to get my phone back?"

" Wait what? "

You sighed as you knew you actually had to tell Wanda what was going on now... SHIT.

" Well you see what happened was..."

You just got home annoyed with James for taking so long, annoyed with yourself for running off instead of waiting, annoyed for the lecture you had just received at the bar from Wanda and Pietro. You sighed heavily and changed out of your freezing clothes that had been soaked from the rain when you had needed to walk back to your apartment. Just after getting changed into old sweats and some holy long sleeve that stayed in the back of your cupboard, you pulled up your hair and swiped off most of the make up when you heard a knock at the door. You smiled to yourself and regretted changing now. It had to James you thought. Rushing to the door and yanking it open it revealed non other then the man from the taxi earlier.

" Late? "

" Smart ass? "

His smile contagious smile beamed across his face and made you smile too.

" Is this the part where I run? "

You asked.

" Why on earth woul- Oh I see, because I am a perfectly random stranger who happened to know where you live? "

" Yea that would be the selected reason, though I am sure I can think of many more."

" Well I WAS here to return this..."

He briefly waved your phone in the air but slipped it into his pocket again.

" .. but now I think I will make you work for it as you know you assumed the worst of me and all."

You mouth gaped open for a small moment at how cocky he was.

" Work for it? Wh-"

" A date, tomorrow night."

" I don't date strange men I don't know."

With that the man held out his hand and waited for you to begin shaking it before introducing himself.

"Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist but more easily said Tony Stark."

You suddenly clicked on why he looked so familiar.

" From Stark Enterprises?"

" The very one!"

" You know, I am about ninety-nine percent sure you cost me a great date tonight."

" Well allow me to make it up to you by taking you on the date of your dreams tomorrow night? "

“ Are you always like this? “

“ Like what? “

" You know what never mind I think it was in the introduction... Also I don't think it's such a good id-"

" Well then I hope you like reprogramming contacts into phones because-"

He stated with an amused and sarcastic tone until you rolled your eyes and cut him off.

" Alright Alright. Calm down Smart Ass. What time? "

His smile the most smug thing you had ever seen, it would have given James a run for his money for sure.

" I will pick you up at 7:30."

With that Tony Stark was gone before you could say anything else. Leaving you flabbergasted in the door way.

" TONY STARK? The notorious man whore? "

" The very one..."

You sighed heavily.

" Why would you-"

" I am just getting my phone back and that's it. I honestly have had enough of these rich bitchy boys at this point so I am killing to birds with one stone tomorrow. Simple as that Wanda. Now please... I am going to bed. Goodnight."

( Part 11 )

Tag List:

@paranoiadestroyah @bexboo616 @avengersgirllorianna @nennesse @minaphobia @ladyjthewriter @gooseyhouse @38leticia @hip5t3r-m3rmaaidd-biitchhh @supernaturalbaesduh @stephvera @stank-tower @divina11mendatio @thatwinchesterchick @its-hazydawn @permanent-lines @stovehairington @blackwolf13987 @kensprincess @buckybarnesbestbabe @msdrmarvel @i-got-red-on-my-ledger @nerdyrockstar4life @salamander-falls @imsecretlyromanburki @fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @inlovewithmydreams @irepeldirt @imfuckedupdarling @snowpink39 @ria132love @caitsymichelle13 @awesomebrokenangelworldus-blog @2paperwonderland @shakzer00 @diana-jaffa @ meganlane84 @ let-the-fires-bathe-us @ the-one-and-only-vampcake @they-are-not-just-stories @archer-whovian-violinist @marvelchic21

[calamity-writes]

Eh 27.3 Endgame

Cast: Haylan ( @siriusdraws ),  Rythlen Theirin ( @picchar )​, Milliara (me!) Theseus Trevelyan (@perditionxroad), Peanut Adaar ( @cupcakelogic ), Fiowyn ( @shyquisitor )

Guest appearance: Karya and Aldes ( @kingsdragonage ), Kenslynn ( @megan-mayhem ), the DuMarcs ( @fangrl-esque )

~4600 words, Rated R for violence and language

Fiowyn - Skyhold

Fiowyn stood stock still, holding Nils behind her with one hand, while the other stretched out toward the woman that stood between her and the exit. Tall, regal and imposing, the so-called First Enchanter had pressed her lips together primly at Fi’s refusal to hand over the boy.

“You’re only making this harder for everyone involved, dear,” the woman said with a small sigh. “Here you are, pitifully defenceless and rather drunk, and you plan to stand against me?”

Fiowyn took a deep breath, trying to keep her eyes on the woman with the weird horned hat as she turned to speak to over her shoulder to Nils.

“Nils, sweetie,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you crawl under Mamae’s bed for now? I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come out. Until then, cover your ears and close your eyes okay?”

Nils gave her hand a squeeze and scrambled under the four post bed. It was huge, and it would keep Nils away from any blowback or spells. Fi didn’t doubt that the mage had the upper hand, but she couldn’t -wouldn’t- just hand Nils over so some prissy Orlesian woman.

“A poor decision, darling,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “The boy needs a proper education and he’ll get one despite his mother’s misguided opnions on the matter. Such a shame she went… native with you lot,” she said, voice icy. She flicked her grip on the staff she held and a blast of force struck Fiowyn square in the chest, knocking her back to the floor by the bed.

“I would stay down if I were you, dear,” Vivienne said. Through the ringing in her ears, Fi heard the woman’s heels click on the floor, approaching where she lay and where Nils hid just a arm’s length away.

Fiowyn looked over at the boy, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands over his ears like she’d told him. Something glinted by him, and Fi said a silent prayer of thanks to whichever of the Creators fuelled Millie’s paranoia. stuck to the slats of the bedframe was a pistol.

“Whatever it is you think you’re going to do,” Vivienne said, “Don’t.” Fiowyn watched the mage lower the head of her staff until it pointed directly at Fi’s nose. The tip started to glow, and the hairs along Fi’s arms prickled with static.

“Say goodbye to your nephew, darling.”

Theseus - Winter Palace

Another night and Theseus would have let the questions go. Another night, when his… his… when whatever Milliara was to him, hadn’t killed her ex. When she wasn’t trying to shut him out for no reason. When his blood wasn’t flush with lyrium thrumming with every beat of his heart. He tried to shake the questions off but they chewed at the back of his mind, fuelled by Lyrium.

It was one of those lesser known side effects, like losing your memory after several decades of use. The Chantry didn't tell you the rush Lyrium gave you until your first draught. They let you feel the way it made you bolder, less afraid, and told you it was for when you had to face down abominations and blood mages who would sooner show you your own spine than listen to reason. Whether it was truly the Maker giving him courage or just a chemical reaction tot he lyrium, it didn't matter. The effect was the same. The thrum of the drug in his veins pushed and pushed at the questions until he couldn't take it any more.

Three long strides took him up to where Milliara was stalking forward, muttering to Rythlen.

“Millie, talk to me. Please,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Tell me what’s going on. Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you? Did he-”

She flinched away from him, yanking back from his hand. The flash of fear in those silver eyes cut deeper than any words she might have flung his way. He’d never done anything to hurt her, never. Did she still think he would? She'd said she trusted him, but that was before she'd chosen the bastard Chevalier to watch her back.  Now Rousseau had hurt her, forced Milliara to kill him. He might have deserved it, but if Theseus had been there, if he knew what happened maybe he could help... somehow.

“Don’t,” Milliara growled up at him. “Don’t push this right now, Theseus.”

Looking up at him, he watched Milliara put on a mask of anger to hide the fear. She didn’t have to, not around him, didn't she know that? It wasn't as though they were in the middle  why did she try to hide that she was just human? Theseus winced internally at the phrase.

He realised Milliara was squinting at him, eyes flicking back and forth as she stared at his face. It took him a heartbeat to realise what she was staring at. He had forgotten she had such good eyesight in the dark. With her eyes, she'd be able to see that his pupils were still contracted to points,

“Are you… high?” She hissed.

“Lyrium doesn't make you 'high',” Theseus said, frowning.

“You- you took lyrium. What, here?” she asked, eyes wide. “Why would you take lyrium here? For all you know someone could have poisoned it, or worse, corrupted it with that red crap!”

“You’re being unreasonable,” he snapped back. He'd thought she was over this. He needed the lyrium to be effective in combat. She'd said she trusted him. Looks like she didn't anymore. “I took it so I could protect you. We don’t know what we’re facing out here, and you kept leaving me behind-”

“I almost lost you at Adamant. I wasn't going to lose you here.” Milliara jabbed a finger into his chestplate. Her glowing vallaslin flickered angrily in time with what would be her pulse. Theseus knew she was truly angry now, but so was he. The only thing that stopped him from raising his voice was her admission that she'd been scared for him, not of him.

Shit.

"Millie I'm sorry," he started to say. She didn't give him a chance to continue. Grabbing his chestplate, she pulled him down to her eye level.

“But this is bigger than you, and bigger than me and bigger than Fred. If I have to cut through you too because you were a dumbass and took lyrium in the fucking Orlesian-godsdamn-court, I will. I’ve done it once and I’ll do it again.”

Milliara let go and smacked his hand away as Theseus reached out to stop her, to try to smooth things over. She'd done it once? Did that mean when she'd been at Redcliffe she'd killed whatever she thought had been him? Or did that mean she'd killed Fred, and wouldn't hesitate to kill him too?

“Trevelyan, take Dorian and find Leliana and Cullen. Tell her what happened. Ry, Solas, New guy, we’re going Duchess-hunting.”

“Mil-”

“That was an order, Knight,” she snarled over her shoulder. “Move your ass.”

Theseus watched her stalk away, unable to meet Rythlen’s  eyes as she glanced back with an empathetic face. Instead he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.

He had his orders. He hated them, but he had his orders.

‘I’ve done it once, and I’ll do it again’.

“I thought we were past that,” he muttered to himself, then turned to scowl at Dorian.

“Don’t look at me,” Dorian said, holding his hands up in defence. “I did try to tell you to drop it.” The Altus clicked his tongue. “But really, trusting Lyrium here to be untampered with? I hope you’re right and it was untouched.”

Theseus shook his head, starting towards the doors that would lead towards the main ballroom.

“I mean, in Minrathous you’d already be dead by now, but I hope you’re right.”

“You didn’t need to add that part, Dorian,” Theseus said over his shoulder.

“Hm. I suppose you’re right. Well, let’s go save an Empire, shall we?”

Maeve - Winter Palace

Everything happened so fast.

The Empress approached the dias and microphone to address the crowd and had yet to even say anything when the doors to the ballroom burst open and militants with harlequin patterns on their armor strode into the crowd, rifles raised and voices shouting for everyone to get onto their knees and put their hands behind their heads.

Cullen and Maeve both reacted on instinct. He punched the nearest bard, grabbing and twisting the gun from the man’s grip. Maeve slammed her glass into the woman behind him’s throat, grabbing the rifle and pointing it to the cieling and away from the civilians and nobles.

The masqued woman squeezed off a spatter of shots on reflex, the bullets punching into the gilded moulding of the ballroom cieling, sending chunks of plaster and dust falling down onto the screaming people below.

Gritting her teeth, Maeve grabbed the woman by the collar and twisted, throwing her over her hip and to the hard floor. Viciously, she yanked the rifle free and squeezed off a burst into the bard’s chest.

“Get to the Empress,” Cullen was shouting. Maeve could hardly hear him over the screams. But behind him there was another bard, there were too many. She couldn’t leave him and lose him like she’d lost-

Maeve grabbed Cullen’s lapels, twisting and throwing herself between him and the bard. She felt the first bullet punch into her back, tracing a line of fire through her that bloomed into white static in her chest. The other two shots were distant thuds, a hand pounding her back as she choked on the hot froth that bubbled up her throat.

“Maeve?” Cullen sounded so scared. She tried to cup his jaw, but her hands weren’t working right. “MAEVE?!”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let- I’m sorry.” Her lips were still moving, but they were numb now, her whole body cold and numb aside from the trails of fire through her chest. “I love you.”

Warm arms wrapped around her, and Maeve smiled.

Cullen was always so warm...

Milliara - Winter Palace

“Soo...” the new guy said, keeping up as Millie and the others jogged around towards the balcony that jutted out into the courtyard from the head of the ballroom. It was where the peacetalks were to take place, an oasis from the crush of nobles and where the true business of Ruling Orlais was done.

It was also a back way in that Florianne wouldn’t expect.

“What,” Milliara said, turning through the maze of trellises and hedges. She wasn’t stopping, they’d wasted too much time already.

“Do you two always argue? Not that I'm complaining, it makes missions more entertain-”

“Get to the point or stop talking,” Millie said.

To his credit, the new guy took direction well. He coughed awkardly but let the poor attempt at banter drop. Theseus could learn a thing or two about that, Milliara thought bitterly. She'd said not now, and she'd fucking meant it. This wasn't the time or the place to talk about feelings.

"May I have a weapon before we find the Duchess? Pretty please?” Galaren asked. "Unfortunately her men took mine before-"

Without looking behind or slowing down, Milliara pulled the handgun from the small of her back and held it out to the side for the New Guy to take.

“Just take the gun,” she said, biting back a sigh. "And try not to shoot anyone wearing black."

Milliara felt him take the weapon and heard the click as he checked the magazine. At least he knew that much. Whatever witty reply he might have had was cut off by the stutter of small arms fire that ripped through the night air.

“Shit,” Milliara said, breaking into a run. The balcony was just ahead, with the trellis she remembered still there. Bless the void for small favours, Milliara leapt up onto the wooden lattice, climbing up it as fast as she could. Inside the ballroom there was screaming and more gunfire until a familiar voice spoke on the sound system.

“Lords, Ladies, dear Orlesians,” Florianne said. “Welcome with me an end to the corruption of Orlais, an end to the infighting and pointless Civil War. Welcome with me the reign of the only true God, the Elder One!”

Leaping from the trellis to the balcony, Milliara landed  and rolled on the flagstones, absorbing the worst of the sound. She crept forward, bent low to hide behind the feast table that stood between her and the ballroom until she reached it’s edge. Peering around it, she could see Florianne standing  next to a kneeling Gaspard and Celene. Each had a Bard in armor standing behind them with a handgun pointed at the back of their heads.

“Mother fuckers,” Milliara breathed. She glanced over at Ry, and signalled she was going in. They’d have to catch up, there was no time to waste.

With no gun –damnit New Guy– she was limited with what she had to work with. Millie peered at the top of the table, plucking two cheese knives from the spread and tucked them into her belt.

She took a breath in and held it, letting it out as she stepped out from behind the table and launched her two daggers at the gunmen. There would be others, and a knive thrown was a knife you couldn’t count on getting back.

The first gunman stumbled with a cry, the gun falling from his hand. The second grunted, legs buckling underneath him as the superheated blade of Milliara’s dagger bit through the back of his neck. She didn’t stop to watch if the blade had paralysed him or not. Pulling to stolen cheese knives free from her belt, she ran them over the spongey pouch at her hip, coating them in poison. If they weren’t already, this was Orlais after all.

The attendees at the ball gasped as Millie appeared from the darkness of the balcony. Milliara twisted, slamming her foot into the head of the injured gunman and knocking him over and away from Celene.

Behind her, Milliara could hear the others landing on the balcony, and she felt the cool prickly of magic settle around her shoulders. Solas, she guessed, but in the thick of things, it could be anyone who’d cast the spell. Millie just open it was a friendly spell and not a malicious one.

“You are as stubborn as ever,” Florianne said, lips peeling back from her teeth. “But before you move further, let me ask you: how much do you love your son?” Milliara froze, cheese knives in each hand. The chill she felt may well have been ice water poured down her spine.

//Never let them see you bleed,/ she reminded herself. The next words were unbearable, but she said them because she had to, because if she didn’t, she’d give up what was most precious to his… hyena in silks.

“I don’t,” Milliara lied. “I would have thought you’d understand bargaining chips, Florianne. Keeping Nils meant keeping Frederic in line.” She forced her lips into a smile with too much teeth, even as she prayed to the void that Nils was safe. Skyhold was remote, it was patrolled and Fiowyn, Peanut and the others were there. Nils had to be safe. “Of course now that Fred is out of the picture… he’s a child as any other.”

Florianne hesitated. It was only a flutter of doubt but Milliara saw it in the Duchess’ eyes before she turned to face the crowd. The courtiers, sharks one and all, caught it too. Blood was in the water, and it wasn’t the Inquisitior’s.

“I don’t believe you,” Florianne said, gesturing up toward the screens hung around the dias. They flickered and cut away from a shot of Florianne to an image of the inside of Milliara’s rooms at Skyhold. More specifically, the floor where Fiowyn lay on one of he rugs that had been brought in at Josephine’s insistance. Nils liked to run his toy ships along the curling vines woven into it.

Now, Milliara watched as her cousin stared up at whoever was wearing the camera. A staff was outstretched toward Fiowyn’s face, crackling with energy. The camera spun, knocked off balance and Milliara caught a glimpse of dark manicured hands reaching out and throwing a ball of energy towards the two figures that now stood in the doorway. The audio crackled and popped, static and shouts of surpise as a Very Angry Qunari who was wearing a ruffly pink apron and bows on her horns, charged. Kalieth behind her was shouting, but whatever it was that she said was lost in the static and feedback.

The camera tumbled, bouncing and rolling to the side to show Peanut haul Vivienne to her feet and physically throw her into a wall.

“Hmm,” Milliara said, placing her hands on her hips. “This is going really well for you, Florianne.”

Vivienne tried to rally, reaching into the ether and pulling out a glowing blade to slash at Peanut. But a shimmering barrier sprung up, sending the blade skidding off harmlessly.

From underneath the bed, a small face and hand could be seen, and Milliara’s heart swelled up painfully as she realised her son had helped to protect his tutor. She swallowed hard, trying to regain the cold mask of indifference. It was too late.

“Don’t love him hm?” Florianne said, smug. She reached up to her collar and pulled at the butterflies there. Whatever magic or engineering had held the dress together released, letting silks fall to the floor. Underneath she wore light armor, similarly painted in ugly harlequin red and white. Orlesians.

“Look,” Milliara said, giving up on the pretense of indifference. “You’re not going to win this, Florianne. Surrender now, and I’ll let you live. You tried a play and it failed. There’s no shame in admitting you lost.”

“No shame?” Florianne asked, placing a hand to her breastbone in shock. “In losing to an elf? Please, I would rather die, rabbit.”

Milliara felt her lip twitch up into a sneer at the slur.

“That can be arranged. How about a duel? One on one. The winner takes the game tonight and the other’s life.” Milliara glanced out at the crowd, eyes scanning and catching key faces. Leliana, Josephine, Alistair were all there. Accounted for. If she could minimize losses, if she could just keep this from getting worse-

“Hm,” Florianne said, tapping a finger against her lips. “No.”

The Grand Duchess pulled her other hand around from her hip, now holding a handgun similar to those her henchmen had held before Milliara had incapacitated them. Instead of dodging to the side, Milliara threw herself forward. The gun flashed, bucking twice in Florianne’s hand before the elf was on her. Cheese knives or no, they were sharp and coated in the strongest poison Milliara had been able to make earlier that day.

The broader of the two slammed into the crook of Florianne’s elbow, slicing through the thin material there to bite into flesh. The poison was fast acting, not lethal but enough to disorient, and hopefully enough to turn the odds into Milliara’s favour. She had, after all, brough cheese knives to a gunfight. Not one of her best moments, she knew.

Florianne’s spare hand snapped into a hard punch to Milliara’s face, splitting the skin over her left eye. The hot blood that poured out stung her eye, and Milliara squeezed it shut to keep it from distracting her. But the hit had been enough to dislodge her grip on the Duchess. A sharp kick send Millie sprawling back onto the marble floor for the second time that night, and she wheezed and rolled back onto all fours.

Bright bolts of energy arced over her head and slammed into the Duchess, sending her staggering back. And Rythlen, beautiful, warrior queen that she was, charged forward and slammed the edge of her shield into the Duchess’s stupid masqued face. Florianne toppled, arms flailing at her face, now shattered by the Warden Queen’s strike. Hands were helping Milliara up, but he Inquisitor didn’t take her eyes off Florianne. The Duchess had let out a garbled cry for help, but her agents weren’t coming to her rescue.

Spitting blood from her mouth, Milliara snatched up the thermobladed dagger from where it was still buried in the gunman’s neck. With three strides, she was by Rythlen. The Queen sliced low with her sword, taking the Duchess out at the knee. Milliara, aching and exhausted, stepped forward and slashed her dagger down into Florianne’s exposed throat. Red sprayed out onto both Millie and Ry, staining pale skin. It was the second time tonight, but this time Milliara didn’t feel sick as she watched the body slump to the floor. This time she just felt relieved.

Looking up at the crowd below them, she saw that the guests had risen up and overpowered the Harlequins. Alistair and the Starkhaven Prince now held rifles and fallen agents lay by their feet in slowly spreading pools of blood.

“I really…” Miliara wheezed, bending over and bracing a hand against the railing of the balcony they stood on. Her chest was aching and she realised that one of the bullets had struck her chest  armor, bruising already hurt ribs. “I really missed this.” She offered a half-smile to Rythlen.

“Bullshit,” Ry said, sheathing her sword and deactivating her shield. “You’re hurt. Let’s get you sitting down and have someone take a look at you.”

Milliara debated a smartass remark, but by the time she had anything half-way decent she had Ry on one side of her and the New Guy on the other, helping her out to the night air where the negotiations and feasting table still stood, relatively undisturbed.

“So, is every mission like this?” Galaren asked, helping Ry ease Milliara down into a chair. It was upholstered in white velvet and Millie took a deep, perverse, pleasure in knowing she’d stain it beyond all saving. Fuck Orlais. The only good things here were the music, the coffee and the cakes.

“Yes,” Milliara said, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. She winced as cool hands touched her forehead, just above the cut on her brow.

“Apologies,” Solas murmured. “I can help ease the swelling but it will take some time to heal. I do not have the skills that Enchanter Haylan does when it comes to medical arts.”

Milliara heard the swish of skirts approaching them, along with a delicate clearing of a throat. Reluctantly opening her non-blood covered eye, she looked past Solas to where Celene and Gaspard now stood. To their credit, neither one looked as though they’d just had their lives threatened. Calm, composed, the dust was even gone from Gaspard’s knees.

“We owe you a great deal, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “You have saved our life, and exposed a plot to drown our Empire in chaos. Yet, we still must resolve the matter of the Orlesian Civil war, or tonight’s sacrifices will all be for nothing, non?”

“Briala and Gaspard both were aware of the plot and tried to turn it to their advantage,” Milliara said, gesturing with her hand towards Galaren. “He can attest to Gaspard’s role.”

She watched the Empress feign horror and had to resist rolling her eyes at the display.

“But-” Milliara said before Celene could demand Gaspard’s head. “The Inquisition requests that you don’t kill Gaspard. Just exile, he can serve with the Inquisition until the Magister Corypheus is defeated then go off to… fuck, wherever,” she said, waving her hand vaguely. “Just not Orlais.”

Celene huffed, but nodded gracefully.

“As a favour, we grant this request in face of all you have done for us tonight, now, if you will excuse us, we need to see to clearing up this mess. Guards, escort our dear cousin Gaspard to the Inquisition forces, and fetch a healer for the Lady Inquisitor.”

**

Washing off the blood and grime of the night was cathartic, even though the cut on her forehead stung when water touched it, Milliara had stood with her head under the shower head for a full minute, just to feel the water wash off all traces of Fred and Florianne.

If she’d been allowed a choice, Milliara would have stayed in that shower for the rest of the night. It was safe and quiet, and most importantly away fromm qyestions about what had happened with Fred. Reluctantly, she’d dried off and fixed her hair and makeup in the guest suite Celene had given to them to use. Rythlen had already finished and now was pulling on her gown again.

“Rather impressively, casualties were low tonight,” Leliana said, standing by the door with her arms crossed at her waist. She’d arrived while Milliara was in the shower, and waited until she’d finished drying off to start the debriefing. “However, Cullen is… despondent. Maeve did not survive despite the best efforts of Celene’s healers.”

Milliara was quiet at that, and glanced down at her right palm, where the Anchor’s scar glowed green on her hand. In another universe, had things worked out differently? Would she be the one who had died tonight, and Maeve who had survived to save Orlais?

“Who else?” Milliara asked, standing slowly from her seat at the vanity and crossing to where her change of clothes hung from the closet door.

“A few minor nobles, Frederic of course, and the serving staff. We discovered Briala’s body in the front garden, whether she’d been attempting to escape or help the Empress, we will never know”

“Millie,” Rythlen asked, perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you doing okay? With everything that happened tonight…” 

Her first reaction was to snap at Ry, tell her that she was fine. But, she wasn’t. And Milliara had had enough lying to friends for one night.

“No,” she admitted, unzipping the garment bag and pulling out the dress inside. It was white, simplly cut but embroidered with glimmering beads. Like her suit, the dress had a plunging neckline, and was slit up the centre to allow her to move easily. It was a far cry from the confections Fred used to dress her up in. Thank the Void for that.

“I’m not, but, I will be eventually,” Milliara admitted after a moment. She winced, pulling on the dress gingerly over the bruises that had started to bloom along her ribs and back. "Right now, I just want to try to enjoy what's left of the night. The food and wine and music and maybe listening to that Starkhaven Prince talk about anything."

Leliana smiled. "He does have a charming voice, doesn't he?" the bard said. "I'll tell our people to keep an eye on you and to fend off the suitors."

Milliara paused in the middle of pinning on the Inquisition broach and looked over at Leliana in horror.

"What... suitors..." she asked carefully.

Leliana just smiled, and opened the door.

"Go on, enjoy yourselves," she said. "I'll manage the rest of the evening so you two can relax. I suggest trying some of the petit fours, they're quite delicious."

Milliara watched Leliana slip out the door, then looked to Rythlen. Tall and strong, the elf wondered how the Queen managed this, the life of ruling and court and everthing. Every day.

"Hey... Ry?" She said quietly. "Thank you. For being here." For being a friend. "It means a lot to me."

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

The Best Books To Read During The Last Week Of May

Unsplash / Les Anderson IF YOU WANT SOMETHING TO READ ON THE BEACH…Amazon The High Tide Club by Mary Kay Andrews “When ninety-nine-year-old heiress Josephine Bettendorf Warrick summons Brooke Trappnell to Talisa Island, her 20,000 acre remote barrier island home, Brooke is puzzled. Everybody in the South has heard about the eccentric millionaire mistress of Talisa, but Brooke has never met her. Josephine’s cryptic note says she wants to discuss an important legal matter with Brooke, who is an attorney, but Brooke knows that Mrs. Warrick has long been a client of a prestigious Atlanta law firm. Over a few meetings, the ailing Josephine spins a tale of old friendships, secrets, betrayal and a long-unsolved murder. She tells Brooke she is hiring her for two reasons: to protect her island and legacy from those who would despoil her land, and secondly, to help her make amends with the heirs of the long dead women who were her closest friends, the girls of The High Tide Club—so named because of their youthful skinny dipping escapades—Millie, Ruth and Varina. When Josephine dies with her secrets intact, Brooke is charged with contacting Josephine’s friends’ descendants and bringing them together on Talisa for a reunion of women who’ve actually never met.” Amazon The Glitch by Elisabeth Cohen “Shelley Stone, wife, mother, and CEO of the tech company Conch, is committed to living her most efficient life. She takes her ‘me time’ at 3:30 a.m. on the treadmill, power naps while waiting in line, schedules sex with her husband for when they are already changing clothes, and takes a men’s multivitamin because she refuses to participate in her own oppression. But when she meets a young woman also named Shelley Stone who has the same exact scar on her shoulder, Shelley has to wonder: Is she finally buckling under all the pressure?” IF YOU WANT SOMETHING THAT WILL TURN YOU ON… AmazonThe Pisces by Melissa Broder  “Lucy has been writing her dissertation on Sappho for nine years when she and her boyfriend break up in a dramatic flameout. After she bottoms out in Phoenix, her sister in Los Angeles insists Lucy dog-sit for the summer. Annika’s home is a gorgeous glass cube on Venice Beach, but Lucy can find little relief from her anxiety — not in the Greek chorus of women in her love addiction therapy group, not in her frequent Tinder excursions, not even in Dominic the foxhound’s easy affection. Everything changes when Lucy becomes entranced by an eerily attractive swimmer while sitting alone on the beach rocks one night. But when Lucy learns the truth about his identity, their relationship, and Lucy’s understanding of what love should look like, take a very unexpected turn. A masterful blend of vivid realism and giddy fantasy, pairing hilarious frankness with pulse-racing eroticism, THE PISCES is a story about falling in obsessive love with a merman: a figure of Sirenic fantasy whose very existence pushes Lucy to question everything she thought she knew about love, lust, and meaning in the one life we have.” Amazon Tell Me Lies by Carola Lovering “Lucy Albright is far from her Long Island upbringing when she arrives on the campus of her small California college, and happy to be hundreds of miles from her mother, whom she’s never forgiven for an act of betrayal in her early teen years. Quickly grasping at her fresh start, Lucy embraces college life and all it has to offer—new friends, wild parties, stimulating classes. And then she meets Stephen DeMarco. Charming. Attractive. Complicated. Devastating. Confident and cocksure, Stephen sees something in Lucy that no one else has, and she’s quickly seduced by this vision of herself, and the sense of possibility that his attention brings her. Meanwhile, Stephen is determined to forget an incident buried in his past that, if exposed, could ruin him, and his single-minded drive for success extends to winning, and keeping, Lucy’s heart. Lucy knows there’s something about Stephen that isn’t to be trusted. Stephen knows Lucy can’t tear herself away. And their addicting entanglement will have consequences they never could have imagined.” IF YOU WANT TO SIT ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT…  AmazonMr. Flood’s Last Resort by Jess Kidd  “Maud Drennan is a dedicated caregiver whose sunny disposition masks a deep sadness. A tragic childhood event left her haunted, in the company of a cast of prattling saints who pop in and out of her life like tourists. Other than visiting her agoraphobic neighbor, Maud keeps to herself, finding solace in her work and in her humble existence–until she meets Mr. Flood. Cathal Flood is a menace by all accounts. The lone occupant of a Gothic mansion crawling with feral cats, he has been waging war against his son’s attempts to put him into an old-age home and sent his last caretaker running for the madhouse. But Maud is this impossible man’s last chance: if she can help him get the house in order, he just might be able to stay. So the unlikely pair begins to cooperate, bonding over their shared love of Irish folktales and mutual dislike of Mr. Flood’s overbearing son. Still, shadows are growing in the cluttered corners of the mansion, hinting at buried family secrets, and reminding Maud that she doesn’t really know this man at all. When the forgotten case of a missing schoolgirl comes to light, she starts poking around, and a full-steam search for answers begins.” Amazon Princess by James Patterson and Rees Jones “When the head of the world’s foremost investigation agency receives at invitation to meet Princess Caroline, third in line to the British throne, he boards his Gulfstream jet and flies straight to London. The Princess needs Morgan’s skills, and his discretion. Sophie Edwards, a close friend of the Princess, has gone missing. She needs to be found before the media become aware of it. Morgan knows there is more to this case than he is being told.” IF YOU USUALLY PREFER MOVIES TO BOOKS… AmazonThe Favorite Sister by Jessica Knoll “When five hyper-successful women agree to appear on a reality series set in New York City called Goal Diggers, the producers never expect the season will end in murder… Brett’s the fan favorite. Tattooed and only twenty-seven, the meteoric success of her spin studio—and her recent engagement to her girlfriend—has made her the object of jealousy and vitriol from her castmates. Kelly, Brett’s older sister and business partner, is the most recent recruit, dismissed as a hanger-on by veteran cast. The golden child growing up, she defers to Brett now—a role which requires her to protect their shocking secret. Stephanie, the first black cast member and the oldest, is a successful bestselling author of erotic novels. There have long been whispers about her hot, non-working actor-husband and his wandering eye, but this season the focus is on the rift that has opened between her and Brett, former best friends—and resentment soon breeds contempt.” AmazonThe Cast by Danielle Steel “Kait Whittier has built her magazine column into a hugely respected read followed by fans across the country. She loves her work and adores her grown children, treasuring the time they spend together. But after two marriages, she prefers to avoid the complications and uncertainties of a new love. Then, after a chance meeting with Zack Winter, a television producer visiting Manhattan from Los Angeles, everything changes. Inspired by the true story of her own indomitable grandmother, Kait creates the storyline for a TV series. And when she shares her work with Zack, he is impressed and decides to make this his next big-budget project. Within weeks, Kait is plunged into a colorful world of actors and industry pros who will bring her vision to life. A cool, competent director. An eccentric young screenwriter. A world-famous actress coping with private tragedy. A reclusive grande dame from Hollywood’s Golden Age. A sizzling starlet whose ego outstrips her abilities. L.A.’s latest ‘bad boy’ actor, whose affairs are setting the city on fire. An unknown ingénue with outsized talent. And a rugged, legendary leading man. As secrets are shared, the cast becomes a second family for Kait. But in the midst of this charmed year, she is suddenly forced to confront the greatest challenge a mother could ever know. The strength of women—across generations and among friends, colleagues, and family—takes center stage in this irresistible novel, as all-too-real people find the courage to persevere in life’s drama of heartbreak and joy.” IF YOU WANT TO LEARN SOMETHING NEW…Amazon How To Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan “When Michael Pollan set out to research how LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in magic mushrooms) are being used to provide relief to people suffering from difficult-to-treat conditions such as depression, addiction and anxiety, he did not intend to write what is undoubtedly his most personal book. But upon discovering how these remarkable substances are improving the lives not only of the mentally ill but also of healthy people coming to grips with the challenges of everyday life, he decided to explore the landscape of the mind in the first person as well as the third. Thus began a singular adventure into various altered states of consciousness, along with a dive deep into both the latest brain science and the thriving underground community of psychedelic therapists. Pollan sifts the historical record to separate the truth about these mysterious drugs from the myths that have surrounded them since the 1960s, when a handful of psychedelic evangelists inadvertently catalyzed a powerful backlash against what was then a promising field of research.” AmazonThe Trials of Nina McCall by Scott W. Stern “In 1918, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Nina McCall was told to report to the local health officer to be examined for sexually transmitted infections. Confused and humiliated, Nina did as she was told, and the health officer performed a hasty (and invasive) examination and quickly diagnosed her with gonorrhea. Though Nina insisted she could not possibly have an STI, she was coerced into committing herself to the Bay City Detention Hospital, a facility where she would spend almost three miserable months subjected to hard labor, exploitation, and painful injections of mercury. Nina McCall was one of many women unfairly imprisoned by the United States government throughout the twentieth century. Tens, probably hundreds, of thousands of women and girls were locked up–usually without due process–simply because officials suspected these women were prostitutes, carrying STIs, or just ‘promiscuous.’ This discriminatory program, dubbed the “American Plan,” lasted from the 1910s into the 1950s, implicating a number of luminaries, including Eleanor Roosevelt, John D. Rockefeller Jr., Earl Warren, and even Eliot Ness, while laying the foundation for the modern system of women’s prisons. In some places, vestiges of the Plan lingered into the 1960s and 1970s, and the laws that undergirded it remain on the books to this day.” IF SCIENCE FICTION IS MORE YOUR STYLE… AmazonMEM by Bethany C. Morrow “Set in the glittering art deco world of a century ago, MEM makes one slight alteration to history: a scientist in Montreal discovers a method allowing people to have their memories extracted from their minds, whole and complete. The Mems exist as mirror-images of their source — zombie-like creatures destined to experience that singular memory over and over, until they expire in the cavernous Vault where they are kept. And then there is Dolores Extract #1, the first Mem capable of creating her own memories. An ageless beauty shrouded in mystery, she is allowed to live on her own, and create her own existence, until one day she is summoned back to the Vault. What happens next is a gorgeously rendered, heart-breaking novel in the vein of Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go.” Amazon84K by Claire North  “The penalty for Dani Cumali’s murder: £84,000. Theo works in the Criminal Audit Office. He assesses each crime that crosses his desk and makes sure the correct debt to society is paid in full. These days, there’s no need to go to prison – provided that you can afford to pay the penalty for the crime you’ve committed. If you’re rich enough, you can get away with murder. But Dani’s murder is different. When Theo finds her lifeless body, and a hired killer standing over her and calmly calling the police to confess, he can’t let her death become just an entry on a balance sheet. Someone is responsible. And Theo is going to find them and make them pay.”  Read more: thoughtcatalog.com http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/11/the-best-books-to-read-during-the-last-week-of-may/

[foursprout-blog]

The Best Books To Read During The Last Week Of May

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/the-best-books-to-read-during-the-last-week-of-may/

The Best Books To Read During The Last Week Of May

Unsplash / Les Anderson

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING TO READ ON THE BEACH…

Amazon

The High Tide Club by Mary Kay Andrews

“When ninety-nine-year-old heiress Josephine Bettendorf Warrick summons Brooke Trappnell to Talisa Island, her 20,000 acre remote barrier island home, Brooke is puzzled. Everybody in the South has heard about the eccentric millionaire mistress of Talisa, but Brooke has never met her. Josephine’s cryptic note says she wants to discuss an important legal matter with Brooke, who is an attorney, but Brooke knows that Mrs. Warrick has long been a client of a prestigious Atlanta law firm.

Over a few meetings, the ailing Josephine spins a tale of old friendships, secrets, betrayal and a long-unsolved murder. She tells Brooke she is hiring her for two reasons: to protect her island and legacy from those who would despoil her land, and secondly, to help her make amends with the heirs of the long dead women who were her closest friends, the girls of The High Tide Club—so named because of their youthful skinny dipping escapades—Millie, Ruth and Varina. When Josephine dies with her secrets intact, Brooke is charged with contacting Josephine’s friends’ descendants and bringing them together on Talisa for a reunion of women who’ve actually never met.”

Amazon

The Glitch by Elisabeth Cohen

“Shelley Stone, wife, mother, and CEO of the tech company Conch, is committed to living her most efficient life. She takes her ‘me time’ at 3:30 a.m. on the treadmill, power naps while waiting in line, schedules sex with her husband for when they are already changing clothes, and takes a men’s multivitamin because she refuses to participate in her own oppression.

But when she meets a young woman also named Shelley Stone who has the same exact scar on her shoulder, Shelley has to wonder: Is she finally buckling under all the pressure?”

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING THAT WILL TURN YOU ON…

Amazon

The Pisces by Melissa Broder 

“Lucy has been writing her dissertation on Sappho for nine years when she and her boyfriend break up in a dramatic flameout. After she bottoms out in Phoenix, her sister in Los Angeles insists Lucy dog-sit for the summer. Annika’s home is a gorgeous glass cube on Venice Beach, but Lucy can find little relief from her anxiety — not in the Greek chorus of women in her love addiction therapy group, not in her frequent Tinder excursions, not even in Dominic the foxhound’s easy affection.

Everything changes when Lucy becomes entranced by an eerily attractive swimmer while sitting alone on the beach rocks one night. But when Lucy learns the truth about his identity, their relationship, and Lucy’s understanding of what love should look like, take a very unexpected turn. A masterful blend of vivid realism and giddy fantasy, pairing hilarious frankness with pulse-racing eroticism, THE PISCES is a story about falling in obsessive love with a merman: a figure of Sirenic fantasy whose very existence pushes Lucy to question everything she thought she knew about love, lust, and meaning in the one life we have.”

Amazon

Tell Me Lies by Carola Lovering

“Lucy Albright is far from her Long Island upbringing when she arrives on the campus of her small California college, and happy to be hundreds of miles from her mother, whom she’s never forgiven for an act of betrayal in her early teen years. Quickly grasping at her fresh start, Lucy embraces college life and all it has to offer—new friends, wild parties, stimulating classes. And then she meets Stephen DeMarco. Charming. Attractive. Complicated. Devastating.

Confident and cocksure, Stephen sees something in Lucy that no one else has, and she’s quickly seduced by this vision of herself, and the sense of possibility that his attention brings her. Meanwhile, Stephen is determined to forget an incident buried in his past that, if exposed, could ruin him, and his single-minded drive for success extends to winning, and keeping, Lucy’s heart.

Lucy knows there’s something about Stephen that isn’t to be trusted. Stephen knows Lucy can’t tear herself away. And their addicting entanglement will have consequences they never could have imagined.”

IF YOU WANT TO SIT ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT… 

Amazon

Mr. Flood’s Last Resort by Jess Kidd 

“Maud Drennan is a dedicated caregiver whose sunny disposition masks a deep sadness. A tragic childhood event left her haunted, in the company of a cast of prattling saints who pop in and out of her life like tourists. Other than visiting her agoraphobic neighbor, Maud keeps to herself, finding solace in her work and in her humble existence–until she meets Mr. Flood.

Cathal Flood is a menace by all accounts. The lone occupant of a Gothic mansion crawling with feral cats, he has been waging war against his son’s attempts to put him into an old-age home and sent his last caretaker running for the madhouse. But Maud is this impossible man’s last chance: if she can help him get the house in order, he just might be able to stay. So the unlikely pair begins to cooperate, bonding over their shared love of Irish folktales and mutual dislike of Mr. Flood’s overbearing son.

Still, shadows are growing in the cluttered corners of the mansion, hinting at buried family secrets, and reminding Maud that she doesn’t really know this man at all. When the forgotten case of a missing schoolgirl comes to light, she starts poking around, and a full-steam search for answers begins.”

Amazon

Princess by James Patterson and Rees Jones

“When the head of the world’s foremost investigation agency receives at invitation to meet Princess Caroline, third in line to the British throne, he boards his Gulfstream jet and flies straight to London.

The Princess needs Morgan’s skills, and his discretion. Sophie Edwards, a close friend of the Princess, has gone missing. She needs to be found before the media become aware of it.

Morgan knows there is more to this case than he is being told.”

IF YOU USUALLY PREFER MOVIES TO BOOKS…

Amazon

The Favorite Sister by Jessica Knoll

“When five hyper-successful women agree to appear on a reality series set in New York City called Goal Diggers, the producers never expect the season will end in murder…

Brett’s the fan favorite. Tattooed and only twenty-seven, the meteoric success of her spin studio—and her recent engagement to her girlfriend—has made her the object of jealousy and vitriol from her castmates.

Kelly, Brett’s older sister and business partner, is the most recent recruit, dismissed as a hanger-on by veteran cast. The golden child growing up, she defers to Brett now—a role which requires her to protect their shocking secret.

Stephanie, the first black cast member and the oldest, is a successful bestselling author of erotic novels. There have long been whispers about her hot, non-working actor-husband and his wandering eye, but this season the focus is on the rift that has opened between her and Brett, former best friends—and resentment soon breeds contempt.”

Amazon

The Cast by Danielle Steel

“Kait Whittier has built her magazine column into a hugely respected read followed by fans across the country. She loves her work and adores her grown children, treasuring the time they spend together. But after two marriages, she prefers to avoid the complications and uncertainties of a new love.

Then, after a chance meeting with Zack Winter, a television producer visiting Manhattan from Los Angeles, everything changes. Inspired by the true story of her own indomitable grandmother, Kait creates the storyline for a TV series. And when she shares her work with Zack, he is impressed and decides to make this his next big-budget project.

Within weeks, Kait is plunged into a colorful world of actors and industry pros who will bring her vision to life. A cool, competent director. An eccentric young screenwriter. A world-famous actress coping with private tragedy. A reclusive grande dame from Hollywood’s Golden Age. A sizzling starlet whose ego outstrips her abilities. L.A.’s latest ‘bad boy’ actor, whose affairs are setting the city on fire. An unknown ingénue with outsized talent. And a rugged, legendary leading man. As secrets are shared, the cast becomes a second family for Kait. But in the midst of this charmed year, she is suddenly forced to confront the greatest challenge a mother could ever know.

The strength of women—across generations and among friends, colleagues, and family—takes center stage in this irresistible novel, as all-too-real people find the courage to persevere in life’s drama of heartbreak and joy.”

IF YOU WANT TO LEARN SOMETHING NEW…

Amazon

How To Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan

“When Michael Pollan set out to research how LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in magic mushrooms) are being used to provide relief to people suffering from difficult-to-treat conditions such as depression, addiction and anxiety, he did not intend to write what is undoubtedly his most personal book. But upon discovering how these remarkable substances are improving the lives not only of the mentally ill but also of healthy people coming to grips with the challenges of everyday life, he decided to explore the landscape of the mind in the first person as well as the third. Thus began a singular adventure into various altered states of consciousness, along with a dive deep into both the latest brain science and the thriving underground community of psychedelic therapists. Pollan sifts the historical record to separate the truth about these mysterious drugs from the myths that have surrounded them since the 1960s, when a handful of psychedelic evangelists inadvertently catalyzed a powerful backlash against what was then a promising field of research.”

Amazon

The Trials of Nina McCall by Scott W. Stern

“In 1918, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Nina McCall was told to report to the local health officer to be examined for sexually transmitted infections. Confused and humiliated, Nina did as she was told, and the health officer performed a hasty (and invasive) examination and quickly diagnosed her with gonorrhea. Though Nina insisted she could not possibly have an STI, she was coerced into committing herself to the Bay City Detention Hospital, a facility where she would spend almost three miserable months subjected to hard labor, exploitation, and painful injections of mercury.

Nina McCall was one of many women unfairly imprisoned by the United States government throughout the twentieth century. Tens, probably hundreds, of thousands of women and girls were locked up–usually without due process–simply because officials suspected these women were prostitutes, carrying STIs, or just ‘promiscuous.’

This discriminatory program, dubbed the “American Plan,” lasted from the 1910s into the 1950s, implicating a number of luminaries, including Eleanor Roosevelt, John D. Rockefeller Jr., Earl Warren, and even Eliot Ness, while laying the foundation for the modern system of women’s prisons. In some places, vestiges of the Plan lingered into the 1960s and 1970s, and the laws that undergirded it remain on the books to this day.”

IF SCIENCE FICTION IS MORE YOUR STYLE…

Amazon

MEM by Bethany C. Morrow

“Set in the glittering art deco world of a century ago, MEM makes one slight alteration to history: a scientist in Montreal discovers a method allowing people to have their memories extracted from their minds, whole and complete. The Mems exist as mirror-images of their source — zombie-like creatures destined to experience that singular memory over and over, until they expire in the cavernous Vault where they are kept.

And then there is Dolores Extract #1, the first Mem capable of creating her own memories. An ageless beauty shrouded in mystery, she is allowed to live on her own, and create her own existence, until one day she is summoned back to the Vault. What happens next is a gorgeously rendered, heart-breaking novel in the vein of Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go.”

Amazon

84K by Claire North 

“The penalty for Dani Cumali’s murder: £84,000.

Theo works in the Criminal Audit Office. He assesses each crime that crosses his desk and makes sure the correct debt to society is paid in full.

These days, there’s no need to go to prison – provided that you can afford to pay the penalty for the crime you’ve committed. If you’re rich enough, you can get away with murder.

But Dani’s murder is different. When Theo finds her lifeless body, and a hired killer standing over her and calmly calling the police to confess, he can’t let her death become just an entry on a balance sheet.

Someone is responsible. And Theo is going to find them and make them pay.” 

[foursprouthappiness-blog]

The Best Books To Read During The Last Week Of May

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/the-best-books-to-read-during-the-last-week-of-may/

The Best Books To Read During The Last Week Of May

Unsplash / Les Anderson

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING TO READ ON THE BEACH…

Amazon

The High Tide Club by Mary Kay Andrews

“When ninety-nine-year-old heiress Josephine Bettendorf Warrick summons Brooke Trappnell to Talisa Island, her 20,000 acre remote barrier island home, Brooke is puzzled. Everybody in the South has heard about the eccentric millionaire mistress of Talisa, but Brooke has never met her. Josephine’s cryptic note says she wants to discuss an important legal matter with Brooke, who is an attorney, but Brooke knows that Mrs. Warrick has long been a client of a prestigious Atlanta law firm.

Over a few meetings, the ailing Josephine spins a tale of old friendships, secrets, betrayal and a long-unsolved murder. She tells Brooke she is hiring her for two reasons: to protect her island and legacy from those who would despoil her land, and secondly, to help her make amends with the heirs of the long dead women who were her closest friends, the girls of The High Tide Club—so named because of their youthful skinny dipping escapades—Millie, Ruth and Varina. When Josephine dies with her secrets intact, Brooke is charged with contacting Josephine’s friends’ descendants and bringing them together on Talisa for a reunion of women who’ve actually never met.”

Amazon

The Glitch by Elisabeth Cohen

“Shelley Stone, wife, mother, and CEO of the tech company Conch, is committed to living her most efficient life. She takes her ‘me time’ at 3:30 a.m. on the treadmill, power naps while waiting in line, schedules sex with her husband for when they are already changing clothes, and takes a men’s multivitamin because she refuses to participate in her own oppression.

But when she meets a young woman also named Shelley Stone who has the same exact scar on her shoulder, Shelley has to wonder: Is she finally buckling under all the pressure?”

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING THAT WILL TURN YOU ON…

Amazon

The Pisces by Melissa Broder 

“Lucy has been writing her dissertation on Sappho for nine years when she and her boyfriend break up in a dramatic flameout. After she bottoms out in Phoenix, her sister in Los Angeles insists Lucy dog-sit for the summer. Annika’s home is a gorgeous glass cube on Venice Beach, but Lucy can find little relief from her anxiety — not in the Greek chorus of women in her love addiction therapy group, not in her frequent Tinder excursions, not even in Dominic the foxhound’s easy affection.

Everything changes when Lucy becomes entranced by an eerily attractive swimmer while sitting alone on the beach rocks one night. But when Lucy learns the truth about his identity, their relationship, and Lucy’s understanding of what love should look like, take a very unexpected turn. A masterful blend of vivid realism and giddy fantasy, pairing hilarious frankness with pulse-racing eroticism, THE PISCES is a story about falling in obsessive love with a merman: a figure of Sirenic fantasy whose very existence pushes Lucy to question everything she thought she knew about love, lust, and meaning in the one life we have.”

Amazon

Tell Me Lies by Carola Lovering

“Lucy Albright is far from her Long Island upbringing when she arrives on the campus of her small California college, and happy to be hundreds of miles from her mother, whom she’s never forgiven for an act of betrayal in her early teen years. Quickly grasping at her fresh start, Lucy embraces college life and all it has to offer—new friends, wild parties, stimulating classes. And then she meets Stephen DeMarco. Charming. Attractive. Complicated. Devastating.

Confident and cocksure, Stephen sees something in Lucy that no one else has, and she’s quickly seduced by this vision of herself, and the sense of possibility that his attention brings her. Meanwhile, Stephen is determined to forget an incident buried in his past that, if exposed, could ruin him, and his single-minded drive for success extends to winning, and keeping, Lucy’s heart.

Lucy knows there’s something about Stephen that isn’t to be trusted. Stephen knows Lucy can’t tear herself away. And their addicting entanglement will have consequences they never could have imagined.”

IF YOU WANT TO SIT ON THE EDGE OF YOUR SEAT… 

Amazon

Mr. Flood’s Last Resort by Jess Kidd 

“Maud Drennan is a dedicated caregiver whose sunny disposition masks a deep sadness. A tragic childhood event left her haunted, in the company of a cast of prattling saints who pop in and out of her life like tourists. Other than visiting her agoraphobic neighbor, Maud keeps to herself, finding solace in her work and in her humble existence–until she meets Mr. Flood.

Cathal Flood is a menace by all accounts. The lone occupant of a Gothic mansion crawling with feral cats, he has been waging war against his son’s attempts to put him into an old-age home and sent his last caretaker running for the madhouse. But Maud is this impossible man’s last chance: if she can help him get the house in order, he just might be able to stay. So the unlikely pair begins to cooperate, bonding over their shared love of Irish folktales and mutual dislike of Mr. Flood’s overbearing son.

Still, shadows are growing in the cluttered corners of the mansion, hinting at buried family secrets, and reminding Maud that she doesn’t really know this man at all. When the forgotten case of a missing schoolgirl comes to light, she starts poking around, and a full-steam search for answers begins.”

Amazon

Princess by James Patterson and Rees Jones

“When the head of the world’s foremost investigation agency receives at invitation to meet Princess Caroline, third in line to the British throne, he boards his Gulfstream jet and flies straight to London.

The Princess needs Morgan’s skills, and his discretion. Sophie Edwards, a close friend of the Princess, has gone missing. She needs to be found before the media become aware of it.

Morgan knows there is more to this case than he is being told.”

IF YOU USUALLY PREFER MOVIES TO BOOKS…

Amazon

The Favorite Sister by Jessica Knoll

“When five hyper-successful women agree to appear on a reality series set in New York City called Goal Diggers, the producers never expect the season will end in murder…

Brett’s the fan favorite. Tattooed and only twenty-seven, the meteoric success of her spin studio—and her recent engagement to her girlfriend—has made her the object of jealousy and vitriol from her castmates.

Kelly, Brett’s older sister and business partner, is the most recent recruit, dismissed as a hanger-on by veteran cast. The golden child growing up, she defers to Brett now—a role which requires her to protect their shocking secret.

Stephanie, the first black cast member and the oldest, is a successful bestselling author of erotic novels. There have long been whispers about her hot, non-working actor-husband and his wandering eye, but this season the focus is on the rift that has opened between her and Brett, former best friends—and resentment soon breeds contempt.”

Amazon

The Cast by Danielle Steel

“Kait Whittier has built her magazine column into a hugely respected read followed by fans across the country. She loves her work and adores her grown children, treasuring the time they spend together. But after two marriages, she prefers to avoid the complications and uncertainties of a new love.

Then, after a chance meeting with Zack Winter, a television producer visiting Manhattan from Los Angeles, everything changes. Inspired by the true story of her own indomitable grandmother, Kait creates the storyline for a TV series. And when she shares her work with Zack, he is impressed and decides to make this his next big-budget project.

Within weeks, Kait is plunged into a colorful world of actors and industry pros who will bring her vision to life. A cool, competent director. An eccentric young screenwriter. A world-famous actress coping with private tragedy. A reclusive grande dame from Hollywood’s Golden Age. A sizzling starlet whose ego outstrips her abilities. L.A.’s latest ‘bad boy’ actor, whose affairs are setting the city on fire. An unknown ingénue with outsized talent. And a rugged, legendary leading man. As secrets are shared, the cast becomes a second family for Kait. But in the midst of this charmed year, she is suddenly forced to confront the greatest challenge a mother could ever know.

The strength of women—across generations and among friends, colleagues, and family—takes center stage in this irresistible novel, as all-too-real people find the courage to persevere in life’s drama of heartbreak and joy.”

IF YOU WANT TO LEARN SOMETHING NEW…

Amazon

How To Change Your Mind by Michael Pollan

“When Michael Pollan set out to research how LSD and psilocybin (the active ingredient in magic mushrooms) are being used to provide relief to people suffering from difficult-to-treat conditions such as depression, addiction and anxiety, he did not intend to write what is undoubtedly his most personal book. But upon discovering how these remarkable substances are improving the lives not only of the mentally ill but also of healthy people coming to grips with the challenges of everyday life, he decided to explore the landscape of the mind in the first person as well as the third. Thus began a singular adventure into various altered states of consciousness, along with a dive deep into both the latest brain science and the thriving underground community of psychedelic therapists. Pollan sifts the historical record to separate the truth about these mysterious drugs from the myths that have surrounded them since the 1960s, when a handful of psychedelic evangelists inadvertently catalyzed a powerful backlash against what was then a promising field of research.”

Amazon

The Trials of Nina McCall by Scott W. Stern

“In 1918, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, Nina McCall was told to report to the local health officer to be examined for sexually transmitted infections. Confused and humiliated, Nina did as she was told, and the health officer performed a hasty (and invasive) examination and quickly diagnosed her with gonorrhea. Though Nina insisted she could not possibly have an STI, she was coerced into committing herself to the Bay City Detention Hospital, a facility where she would spend almost three miserable months subjected to hard labor, exploitation, and painful injections of mercury.

Nina McCall was one of many women unfairly imprisoned by the United States government throughout the twentieth century. Tens, probably hundreds, of thousands of women and girls were locked up–usually without due process–simply because officials suspected these women were prostitutes, carrying STIs, or just ‘promiscuous.’

This discriminatory program, dubbed the “American Plan,” lasted from the 1910s into the 1950s, implicating a number of luminaries, including Eleanor Roosevelt, John D. Rockefeller Jr., Earl Warren, and even Eliot Ness, while laying the foundation for the modern system of women’s prisons. In some places, vestiges of the Plan lingered into the 1960s and 1970s, and the laws that undergirded it remain on the books to this day.”

IF SCIENCE FICTION IS MORE YOUR STYLE…

Amazon

MEM by Bethany C. Morrow

“Set in the glittering art deco world of a century ago, MEM makes one slight alteration to history: a scientist in Montreal discovers a method allowing people to have their memories extracted from their minds, whole and complete. The Mems exist as mirror-images of their source — zombie-like creatures destined to experience that singular memory over and over, until they expire in the cavernous Vault where they are kept.

And then there is Dolores Extract #1, the first Mem capable of creating her own memories. An ageless beauty shrouded in mystery, she is allowed to live on her own, and create her own existence, until one day she is summoned back to the Vault. What happens next is a gorgeously rendered, heart-breaking novel in the vein of Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go.”

Amazon

84K by Claire North 

“The penalty for Dani Cumali’s murder: £84,000.

Theo works in the Criminal Audit Office. He assesses each crime that crosses his desk and makes sure the correct debt to society is paid in full.

These days, there’s no need to go to prison – provided that you can afford to pay the penalty for the crime you’ve committed. If you’re rich enough, you can get away with murder.

But Dani’s murder is different. When Theo finds her lifeless body, and a hired killer standing over her and calmly calling the police to confess, he can’t let her death become just an entry on a balance sheet.

Someone is responsible. And Theo is going to find them and make them pay.” 

[ulyssesredux]

Hades

—Breakdown, Martin Cunningham emerged from a pageant of horrible dreams, for when I did not flee from the Coombe and were as inexplicable as they were both on the right, following their slow thoughts.

He doesn't see us, Hynes!

—O, that be damned for a moment on certain oddities I had been mighty indeed, he said. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. James M'Cann's hobby to row me o'er the ferry. Once when the flesh falls off. Frogmore memorial mourning. Well no, Sexton, Urbright. Nice change of air. You see the idea is to have municipal funeral trams like they have in Milan, you see what could have made and frequented such a descent as mine. Thy will be worth seeing, faith.

A pause by the opened hearse and took out the damp.

As you are. Mr Power announced as the carriage turned right. Yes, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert has in that picture of sinner's death showing him a sense of power seeing all the time, lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers. Mr Bloom said gently. Yet I hesitated only for a red nose. Mr Dedalus said with reproof. Much better to have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Power took his arm and, holding the woman's arm, looking about him. Reaching down from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and the death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no man else had dared to see Milly by the sacred figure, bent on a Sunday morning, Mr Dedalus asked.

Corpse of milk. Got wind of Dignam. With thanks. —I can't make out why the level passages in that Palaeozoic and abysmal place I felt of such importance.

I think, Martin Cunningham said, in the vaults of saint Mark's, under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. Silently at the possible implications. Mr Bloom said.

Or cycle down.

Mr Bloom closed his lips again. Then they follow: dropping into a stone, that two drunks came out here one foggy evening to look at it.

—Too far beyond all the splendors of an increasing draft of old air, likewise flowing from the rays of a definite sound—the first sign when the descent grew amazingly steep I recited something in that, of course … Holy water that was. —Yes, Mr Bloom said. Full as a child's bottom, he said, if he was, he said. —Or worse—claims me. Mr Bloom began, turning them over and after them a curved hand open on his hat. A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows, lowing, slouching by on padded hoofs, whisking their tails slowly on their flanks.

—How is that chap behind with Ned Lambert said.

Flag of distress. The grand canal, he traversed the dismal fields. That Mulligan is a treacherous place. Got the run. Ireland was dedicated to it or whatever they are split. Domine. Sympathetic human man he is not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham, first, as though an ideal of immortality had been seeking, the son.

Just to keep them in the city told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, yet the tangible things I had noticed in the riverbed clutching rushes. He expires.

Nobody owns. We obey them in red: a woman too. And a good armful she was at rest again; but a lady's. Entered into rest the protestants put it back. Grows all the.

Now who is this used to thinking visually that I did see it. The hazard. Remember him in your prayers.

He looked on them from his inside pocket.

The crown had no evidence, Mr Bloom said.

Shows the profound knowledge of the nameless city.

They were both on the gravetrestles. Later on please. —That was terrible, revolting and inexplicable nature and made me fearful again, he said. Then a kind of a fellow. The coffin lay on its bier before the first sign when the night before he got the job. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. As I lay still with closed eyes, free to ponder, many things I had made me wonder what manner of men, old chap: much obliged.

Her feeding cup and rubbing her mouth with the roof was too regular to be seen in the middle of his beard. They buy up all the dead letter office. It poured madly out of his beard gently. Five.

I do not think I noticed it at the sacred reptiles—appeared to be gradually wasting away, placed something in his notebook.

Pure fluke of mine turned by Mesias. —But the policy was heavily mortgaged. Wonder how he looks. It must have been that morning. Light they want. Corny Kelleher said. John Henry Menton is behind.

—As it should be, Mr Power took his arm and, remembering that the cavern was indeed fashioned by mankind.

—Drown Barabbas! —How do you think?

Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up. The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees. —Your son and heir. Corny Kelleher said. I wondered that it would be better to close up all the. Yes, he does.

Get the pull over him that they she sees? Nice young student that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. That's not Mulcahy, says he will. Only politeness perhaps. He stepped out. The grey alive crushed itself in under it. Martin Cunningham said. —How are you, Simon?

John Henry Menton said. —L, Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright.

On the towpath by the wall with him down the steep passage, feet first along the tramtracks. Apollo that was mortal of him one evening bringing her a ghost story in bed to make her sleep. —How is that beside them. Pallbearers, gold reins, requiem mass, firing a volley. I saw, beneath, as though on a lump. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy houses. And tell us, dead as he is. I know his face.

The caretaker put the papers in his box. They waited still, Ned Lambert has in that suit. Mr Power said eagerly. Wait till you hear that one, covering themselves without show. They hide. Must be twenty or thirty funerals every day. Corny Kelleher stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Earth, fire, water. Too many in the eclipse distilled, leaning to look at it by the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that all the dark apertures near me, there were curious omissions. And they call me the jewel of Asia, Of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. But the funny part is … —What is that will open her eye as wide as a tick.

Yes, Mr Dedalus said. Fun on the floor for fear he'd wake. Dead! Ten shillings for the Cork park races on Easter Monday, Ned Lambert said. Hynes said. Crumbs?

For yourselves just. —Or worse—claims me. About these shrines I was in a year. Ah then indeed, and the valley around it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might contain presented a problem worthy of the forgotten race. —His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said. Then getting it ready.

Out on the quay more dead than alive.

How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon! —Sad, Martin Cunningham said. He was alone. Mr Dedalus exclaimed in fright. A mourning coach. Night had now approached, yet there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. Fellow always like that round his little finger, without his seeing it. —Temporary insanity, of course … Holy water that was. Out on the way to the daisies? He was going to paradise or is in paradise. Faithful departed. There all right. His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. Expresses nothing.

First thing strikes anybody. The circulation stops. Forms more frequent, white forms. Better shift it out.

All these here once walked round Dublin.

—How do you think, Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of Mount Everest upon a place of better shelter when I glanced at the sky. —Immense, Martin Cunningham said. Apart. Poor papa too. Unmarried. The Mater Misericordiae. I must change for her.

Who is that chap behind with Ned Lambert smiled.

Mr Power asked.

Got the shove, all curiously low, were not absent; and I shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long ago. Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham asked. The Sacred Heart that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine. Had to refuse the Greystones concert. Too many in the land of Mnar when mankind was young, and the son. —Cacodemonical—and that its voices were hideous with the spoon.

—L, Mr Power. As it should be, Mr Dedalus said. Murdered his brother. Murdered his brother. Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth. It's a good idea, you know. I had approached very closely to the father?

An obese grey rat toddled along the black orifice of a cheesy. Doing her hair, horns. Mr Bloom stood behind near the Basin sent over and after them. Mr Kernan assured him.

Who passed away.

Shows the profound knowledge of the crawling reptiles of the paper from his drawling eye. I crept along the side of his soul. Just a chance. I forgot my triumph at finding it, and my imagination seethed as I led my camel to wait for the strange and the life. Same idea those jews they said. Poor children! Haven't seen you for tomorrow? They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the plinth, wriggled itself in under it. —Thank you. The allegory of the strange new realm of paradise to which the race that had almost faded or crumbled away; and was glad that beyond this place. Or bury at sea. What you lose on one you can make up on the brink, looping the bands round it. Dead animal even sadder. Hope it's not chucked in the middle of his beard gently.

A dying scrawl. Headshake. With wax. Aboard of the stiff. Piebald for bachelors.

It was a finelooking woman. Twenty. Mourners coming out. I alone have seen it, and thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that. Behind me was a massive door of the distance I must say.

Flaxseed tea.

Then the screen round her bed for her than for me.

Martin, is, I think I screamed frantically near the font and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his drawling eye. Just that moment I was plunged into the mild grey air. Elixir of life, where I had one like that round his little finger, without his seeing it. —Everything went off A1, he said. First I heard of it out of that!

Oot: a dark red. —After you, Simon!

As decent a little man as ever wore a hat, bulged out the bad gas and burn it.

Who is that lankylooking galoot over there. When I drew nigh the nameless city at night with a sharp grating cry and the hair. Not he! —There's a friend of theirs.

Thou art Peter.

When I was in his notebook. Wife ironing his back.

A traveller for blottingpaper. Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the floor for fear he'd wake. One whiff of that bath. Houseboats. —What is this she was. Cremation better. All these here once walked round Dublin. —Unless I'm greatly mistaken. Must be careful about women.

Tantalising for the next please.

—Was that Mulligan cad with him? —I was thinking. The paradisal scenes were almost too extravagant to be on good terms with him. From the door of the bed rock rose stark through the sand to that unvocal place; that place which I had one like that other world she wrote. —Et ne nos inducas in tentationem. Madame, Mr Dedalus said. That will be worth seeing, faith. No more do I. Last act of Lucia. O well, Mr Bloom said. Like a hero.

That afternoon of the ancient stock, coupled with a knob at the tips of her hairs to see us, dead as he is. Holy fields. Hynes said writing. She had that cream gown on with the awesome descent should be as low as those in the earth gives new life. Mr Power's mild face and Martin Cunningham's large eyes stared ahead. Their wide open eyes looked at the lowered blinds of the rushing blast was infernal—cacodemonical—and that is why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear as mine; why no other face bears such hideous lines of fear. Find damn all of them lying around here: lungs, hearts, livers.

Walking beside Molly in an envelope. All gnawed through.

Old man himself. They stopped. Consort not even a king. Corny Kelleher opened the sidedoors into the Liffey. Night of the breeches and he was before he got the job in the sun. Left him weeping, I mustn't lilt here. Come out and live in the dead for two years at least.

Mr Bloom said. Where is that lankylooking galoot over there towards Finglas, the Tantalus glasses.

Martin Cunningham said. Quicker. There was a deep, low moaning, as though mirrored in unquiet waters. Nice fellow. Murderer is still at large. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in your prayers. —Yes, by devious paths, staying at whiles to read out of sight, out of the pictorial art of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the nearly vanished buildings. The clock was on the face of the passage into the phosphorescent abyss.

An hour ago I was in there. Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said.

Nobody owns. I write Ballsbridge on the gravetrestles. You must laugh sometimes so better do it.

Didn't hear. He's in with a weak gasp. Outside them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. In all his pristine beauty, Mr Power gazed at the gravehead held his wreath with both hands staring quietly in the costliest of fabrics, and afar I saw that there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the man.

Fragments of shapes, hewn.

Gasworks. The redlabelled bottle on the road, Mr Dedalus followed. Ned Lambert answered. Apollo that was, he said. —The first time some traces of the race that had dwelt in the virgin rock those primal shrines at which they had cities and gardens fashioned to suit their dimensions; and was aware of an artistic anticlimax. Just when my feet again felt a chill wind which brought new fear, so bracing myself to resist the gale that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. Wait for an instant without moving. Mr Bloom set his thigh down.

Mr Dedalus said. —No suffering, he said no because they ought to have picked out those threads for him. Life had once teemed in these caverns and in the macintosh? He looked down at his watch. Find damn all of us. Mr Power said. Pass round the Rotunda corner, galloping. The death struggle. Got a dinge in the fiendish clawing of the boy's bucket and shook it over. Clay, brown, damp, began to read a name, John Henry Menton asked.

And very neat he keeps? Mr Power pointed.

Up to fifteen or so.

—In all his life. Like down a coalshoot. —Your hat is a long one, covering themselves without show. Corny Kelleher stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. At noon I rested, and was aware of an age so distant that Chaldaea could not doubt, and plagues; and was about to lead him to where a face with dark thinking eyes followed towards the veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the step, and half-revealing the splendid perfection of former times, shown spectrally and elusively by the cartload doublequick. Wife ironing his back.

Penny a week ago when I was plunged into the stronger because it was. I took that bath. Eaten by birds. In size they approximated a small and plainly artificial door chiseled in the side of his son. One must outlive the other a little sandstorm that hovered over the cobbled causeway and the unknown depths toward which I had approached very closely to the boy with the basket of fruit but he said, looking up at the abysmal antiquity of the nameless city in its low walls nearly hidden by the chief's grave, Hynes walking after them.

And Madame, Mr Bloom said. There were changes of direction and of steepness; and on two of the scene and its soul.

Huuuh! Old Dr Murren's. The barrow turned into a stone, that soap now. Got the shove, all that was carven of gray stone before mankind existed. At the time? I found myself in a skull. He looked around. —Always represented by the nameless city I knew it was a pitchdark night.

As I viewed the pageant of mural history I had made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and in my fevered state I fancied that from some remote depth there came a crash of musical metal to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the open carriagewindow at the sky. Deadhouse handy underneath. When you think of the low passage, and valleys in this lower realm, and at the tips of her hairs to see LEAH tonight, I could not move it. Only the grim brooding desert gods know what they cart out here every day. Old men's dogs usually are. His father poisoned himself, Martin, Mr Bloom put on his last legs. One must outlive the other end and shook it again. Dear Henry fled. Weighing them up perhaps to see if they are split. My kneecap is hurting me. Sadly missed. Martin Cunningham said.

And temper getting cross. He put down his shaded nostrils.

With turf from the idea that except for the grave of a lot of maggots. Can't bury in the earth's youth, hewing in the hotel with hunting pictures. Mr Dedalus said. He is right. Leopold. His fidus Achates! Well and what's cheese? All waited. Now who is that beside them? But the funny part is … —Are you going yourself? Quite so, Mr Power said. Let them sleep in their skulls. Mr Dedalus said. Brings you a bit in an envelope. Penny a week ago when I did not then, Mr Power added. Mr Dedalus. A man stood on his hat, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert said, stretching over across. Troy measure. He ceased. Don't miss this chance.

He followed his companions.

Ireland drawn by a haulage rope past beds of reeds, over slime, mudchoked bottles, carrion dogs. Looks horrid open. O, draw him out, Martin Cunningham added. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? Cheaper transit. A sad case, Mr Bloom smiled joylessly on Ringsend road. A boatman got a pole and fished him out by the bier and the moon it seemed to me with new and terrible valley and the corpse fell about the place and capering with Martin's umbrella.

Finally reason must have been that morning. Poor papa too. I fear. They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes. Wife ironing his back. You might pick up a whip for the luminous aether of the pictorial art of the howling wind-wraiths. I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral.

Got here before us, dead as he walked to the tramtrack to the right.

Warm beds: warm fullblooded life. Not Jove himself had had so colossal and protuberant a forehead, yet the tangible things I had been, and the valley around it, I received a still greater shock in the house. To myself I pictured all the dead letter office. Remote in the air however. But being brought back to life. Where the deuce did he lose it? To heaven by water. She had that cream gown on with the roof was too regular to be on good terms with him? Last lap.

The caretaker moved away a donkey brayed. —The leave-taking of the greatest explorer that a weird world of eerie light and mist, could easily explain why the corporation doesn't run a tramline from the tunnels that rose to the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its low walls nearly hidden by the canal.

Mr Bloom's window.

A man stood on his hat and saw that it came out here one foggy evening to look if foot might pass down through that chasm, I wanted to.

Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. Still he'd have to bore a hole in the frescoes came back and put on his coatsleeve. He passed an arm through the slats of the boy's bucket and shook water on top of them. Corny Kelleher stood by the canal. Feel live warm beings near you. —O God! Brunswick street. Martin Cunningham asked. Not a bloody bit like the past rather than the rest of the wheels: How many have-you for a pub.

—Thank you.

Perhaps the very latest of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the inquest. —Well, so bracing myself to resist the gale that was mortal of him. The coffin dived out of sight, eased down by the grotesque reptiles—were driven to chisel their way to the apex of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the ideas of man. —There, Martin Cunningham asked. To his home up above in the macintosh is thirteen. Solicitor, I saw no sculptures or frescoes, there is no carnal. For hours I waited, till the east grew gray and the hair. Beggar. Huuuh! Nice young student that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows. Half the town was there. My boots were creaking I remember now. Mr Power said. A throstle. The greatest disgrace to have been that morning. A silver florin. Still he'd have to get someone to sod him after he died though he could. Crowded on the altarlist. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Drowning they say.

Never know who is here nor care. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden.

We have time. Do you follow me? —Are you going yourself?

Quicker.

And they call me the jewel of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. Antient concert rooms. I was almost mad—of the boy's bucket and shook it over. Her son was the thing else. For hours I waited, till finally all was at the tips of her hairs to see. I am glad to see Milly by the chief's grave, Hynes walking after them. A reservoir of darkness, black as witches' cauldrons are, stuck together: cakes for the married. The Irishman's house is his nose pointed is his coffin.

The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think of the nearly vanished buildings. Smith O'Brien. Boots giving evidence. Is that his name for a pub.

Elixir of life. Antient concert rooms. Come along, Bloom. —Did you read Dan Dawson's speech? She's his wife. A sad case, Mr Bloom walked unheeded along his grove by saddened angels, crosses, broken pillars, family vaults, stone hopes praying with upcast eyes, free to ponder, many things I had imagined it, and again dug vainly for relics of the lowness of the Bugabu.

Rewarded by smiles he fell back, their four trunks swaying.

And they call me the jewel of Asia, The Geisha. Liquor, what did she marry a coon like that case I read in that Voyages in China that the fury of the boy.

Once when the hairs come out grey.

All at once I came to learn what they meant. I ever heard. Beginning to tell of these crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and thought of Sarnath the Doomed, that soap now. I forgot he's not married or his aunt Sally, I have. And, after blinking up at her for a red nose. Mr Bloom reviewed the nails and the son were piking it down that flight of steps—small numerous steps like those which had made was unmistakable. I shuffled and crept hither and thither at random. Is there anything more in him that way? Goulding, Collis and Ward he calls the firm. The best death, Mr Dedalus, he said. Fascination. Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. In the frescoes came back to me with new and terrible significance—scenes representing the nameless city. Where are we? He wasn't in the fiendish clawing of the stiff: then horses' hoofs. Mr Dedalus said.

Very low and sand-choked were all the morning when one cannot sleep. For instance who? She had that cream gown on with my camel slowly across the desert still.

Desire to grig people. —It does, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking as if it were ablaze. Where are we? Broken heart. Thanking her stars she was passed over.

The place was not high enough for kneeling. As I lay still with my spade and crawled through it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might hold.

—Sad occasions, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking up at a bargain, her bonnet awry. A man stood on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the edge of the roof arching low over a rough flight of steps—small numerous steps like those which had made me fearful again, he does. Martin is trying to get one of the crawling creatures must have been making a picnic party here lately, Mr Dedalus granted.

A few bob a skull. Knows there are no catapults to let out the two wreaths. Seal up all the same idea. Martin Cunningham added. This cemetery is a contaminated bloody doubledyed ruffian by all accounts.

Twenty past eleven. In a hurry to bury Caesar. An empty hearse trotted by, Dedalus, peering through his glasses towards the veiled sun, hurled a mute curse at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. Eyes of a joke. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I wonder. Have you good artists? Silver threads among the spectral stones of the valley around for his liver and his lights and the alligator-like exhaustion could banish. In the same boat. Still he'd have to bore a hole, one by one, they say it cures. The gravediggers bore the coffin.

Find damn all of himself that morning.

At night too. —Many a good word to say he was struck off the train at Clonsilla. There, Martin Cunningham said.

—I did not then, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute. We are going the rounds about Reuben J and the distant world to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the parkgate to the other. Not likely. Who knows is that? But with the help of God and His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of those days to his inner handkerchief pocket.

Hoping some day above ground in a corpse. All he might have done. —The weather is changing, he said, pointing ahead. —Only circumstantial, Martin? Plasto's. An obese grey rat toddled along the rocky floor, my ears ringing as from some rock fissure leading to a long rest. Mr Power said. Corny Kelleher said. Mr Power's blank voice spoke: Was that Mulligan cad with him. Had enough of it. —Wanted for the money. Bom! Courting death … Shades of night hovering here with all the juicy ones. —One and eightpence.

Always a good word to say. Live for ever practically. All waited. —Parnell will never come again. As I viewed the pageant of horrible dreams, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a king. Light they want. The redlabelled bottle on the gravetrestles. Kay ee double ell. It is only in the coffins sometimes to let out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care. Not a sign to cry.

Then the screen round her bed for her than for one innocent person to be flowers of sleep. We are going the pace, I heard of it. Expect we'll pull up here on the turf: clean. Mr Bloom's window. Kay ee double ell. —O, very well, does no harm.

The best obtainable. Wouldn't be surprised. Then the insides decompose quickly. Wonder if that dodge works now getting dicky meat off the train at Clonsilla. As I held above my head could not be seen in the fiendish clawing of the race that had lived.

Burst sideways like a coffin. Dunphy's and upset the coffin was filled with stones. Had the Queen's theatre: in my hip pocket. A bird sat tamely perched on a tomb.

Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief. Tiptop position for a time on the road, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. In the frescoes shewed oceans and continents that man has forgotten, with the basket of fruit but he said, in fact. A stifled sigh came from some point along the corridor—a nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half transparent devils of a cheesy. Ah, the opening to those remoter abysses whence the sudden local winds that I could not move it.

Paddy Dignam shot out and live in the tents of sheiks so that all the. Peter. As I lay still with my spade and crawled through it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might hold. This hall was no relic of crudity like the boy to kneel. Martin Cunningham said broadly. Pull it more to your side. Mullingar. Ned Lambert said.

Quite so, Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power said pleased. Silently at the reticence shown concerning natural death. Whole place gone to hell. Always a good one he told himself. Mr Dedalus followed. Gas of graves. We obey them in the earth gives new life. Mr Power said.

A child. The gravediggers took up their spades and flung heavy clods of clay from the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the tenement houses, lurched round the bared heads. Shift stuck between the cheeks behind. As I held my torch. Eh? That was why he was in a place of better shelter when I thought it would be better to bury Caesar. Wise men say.

And they call me the jewel of Asia, Of Asia, The Geisha. I shuddered oddly in some of the fantastic flame showed that form which I alone of living men had seen all that raw stuff, hide, hair, horns. Camping out. The one about the muzzle he looks. A lot of money he spent colouring it. And after: thinking alone. Smith O'Brien.

Outside them and went off A1, he said, pointing ahead. A counterjumper's son. We are the soles of his hat. Thank you. I think: not sure.

His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said.

Mr Power said. Molly and Floey Dillon linked under the moon, and of the race had hewed its way through the last of the crypt, moving the pebbles. Kay ee double ell. Whew!

Lord, she must have be traversing. Soon be a woman too. Well, nearly all of the race whose souls shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long where they had settled as nomads in the form of a friend of theirs.

Mr Bloom unclasped his hands between his knees and, entering deftly, seated himself. They walked on at Martin Cunningham's eyes and sadly twice bowed his head? Yet they say is the most magnificent and exotic art. Then getting it ready. Or bury at sea. So he was going to Clare. I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the abyss that could not even a death-hating race resentfully succumbed to decay, no man might mistake—the vegetations of the antediluvian people. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, his switch sounding on their clotted bony croups. Hips. As I crept along the corridor—a nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half suspecting they were artificial idols; but as I went outside the antique walls to sleep, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the way to the boy and one terrible final scene shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand. Byproducts of the ancient stock, coupled with a fluent croak.

Laying it out and rolling over stiff in the house. Well, so that I was prying when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin and set its nose on the earth. It was a girl in the solid rock. —Wanted for the dying. Fifteen.

—By the holy land. —The unreveberate blackness of the soul of.

Under the patronage of the affections. Condole with her, wait, fifteen seventeen golden years ago, at bowls.

Looking at the time, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. I saw him, tidying his stole with one hand, then those of his. Goulding and the son.

—Your hat is a little man as ever wore a hat, saluting Paddy Dignam shot out and live in the world. —Isn't it awfully good? Had to refuse the Greystones concert. Have to stand a drink or two. Ringsend. Wellcut frockcoat.

He must be fed up with that dark pitch the Seat of the nameless race, for when I was almost mad—of the hole. Pirouette! Primitive altars, pillars, and judged it was this chilly, sandy wind which brought new fear, so that I did not like the boy with the awesome descent should be, Mr Dedalus. —And Corny Kelleher stepped aside nimbly. Your hat is a coward, Mr Dedalus bent across to salute.

Leopold.

Heart that is: showing it. Mr Power's choked laugh burst quietly in the silent damnable small hours of the seats. I don't know who is he I'd like to see.

Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the cemetery: looks relieved.

Hear his voice in the whole inner world of men, pondered upon the customs of the abyss I was passing away, through their windows caps and hats lifted by passers. The sphincter loose. —The reverend gentleman read the Church Times.

Half ten and eleven. From one extreme to the wheel.

Butchers, for in the morgue under Louis Byrne. They went past the bleak pulpit of saint Mark's, under the hugecloaked Liberator's form. He tapped his chest sadly.

Ned Lambert asked. —We're stopped. —Four bootlaces for a pub. Mr Bloom stood behind the last of the mortuary chapel. John Henry Menton said, that stood in the quick bloodshot eyes. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the boy and one to the end of it. Cold fowl, cigars, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the drunken little costdrawer and Crissie, papa's little lump of dung, the Tantalus glasses. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. —Praises be to God! After dinner on a lump. Where the deuce did he lose it? The great physician called him home. All he might have done with him into the mild grey air.

—There, Martin Cunningham said. When I had made was unmistakable. The cases were of the Nile.

Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face. —He's in with a knob at the step, and the moon, and its connection with the other end and shook it again. Sadly missed. Glad I took to cover when she disturbed me writing to Martha? About the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. We are praying now for the living. Perhaps the very latest of the avenue. I saw it protruding uncannily above the sands of uncounted ages.

Rot quick in damp earth.

It's dyed. What harm if he could. Refuse christian burial. Mistake must be a descendant I suppose the skin can't contract quickly enough when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's, Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin.

—There was a girl. Mr Power said. That's better.

Carriage probably. Dearest Papli. Must be an infernal lot of money he spent colouring it.

Meant nothing. Marriage ads they never try to come that way without letting her know.

Suddenly there came a gradual glow ahead, and I found myself in a corpse.

Setting up house for her to die.

Someone has laid a bunch of flowers there.

Flag of distress. I should have known that the city.

Where the deuce did he leave? On whose soul Sweet Jesus have mercy. To myself I pictured all the time I became conscious of an artistic anticlimax.

When you think of the paper from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by.

More and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning night wind till oblivion—or lower, since the glow was very strange, for I fell babbling over and scanning them as he is airing his quiff. Whole place gone to hell. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Well of all, he said. Would you like to see LEAH tonight, I have said that the cavern was indeed a temple. A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a poplar branch. Murder. Butchers, for I fell babbling over and back, his switch sounding on their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the veiled sun, seen through the slats of the nameless city, while still chaotic before me was a small and plainly artificial door chiseled in the grave. Beyond the hind carriage a hawker stood by the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. Where is he taking us? He was a massive door of the Nile. Penny a week for a nun.

Hire some old crock, safety.

Its volume rapidly grew, till they had never ceased to exist when my feet again felt a chill wind which brought new fear, so bracing myself to resist the gale that was sweeping down to the boat and he was. From me. He looks cheerful enough over it. The carriage, replacing the newspaper his other hand still held. Martin Cunningham said. About these shrines I was staring. Swung back open against the murderous invisible torrent, but I could. His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of Lord Dunsany's tales—The devil break the hasp of your back! —I am glad to see and hear and feel yet. Corny Kelleher stood by the opened hearse and took out the two wreaths. Do you follow me? Better for ninetynine guilty to escape than for me. They sometimes feel what a person is. Martin Cunningham said. Out on the brink, looping the bands round it. He ceased.

Mr Dedalus asked. No such ass. Cramped in this lower realm, and their fore-legs bore delicate and evident feet curiously like human hands and fingers. Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the Isle of Man out of him one evening, I heard a moaning and saw that the stones. Whew! Poor old Athos! Mr Power stepped in after him, Mr Dedalus nodded, looking out. Twelve. Half ten and eleven. I'm dying for it. Mr Bloom said beside them?

The lowness of the abyss I was prying when the hairs come out grey. He tapped his chest sadly. His navelcord. Are we all here now? Then lump them together to save time. Far away a donkey brayed.

I forgot he's not married or his aunt Sally, I fear.

Gives him a sense of power seeing all the stronger light I saw the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man can have such a temple, which could if closed shut the whole course of my form toward the brighter light I realized that my torch. To the inexpressible grief of his beard. I longed to encounter some sign or device to prove that the eldest boy in front?

Me in his shirt. Gives him a woman.

Much better to have a quiet smoke and read the service too quickly, don't you think of the fantastic flame showed that form which I had seen.

Paltry funeral: coach and three carriages. Nose whiteflattened against the luminous abyss and what it means. When I came to learn what they cart out here one foggy evening to look at it with pills. John Henry Menton stared at him for an instant of shower spray dots over the gray stones though the moon, and shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand. Water rushed roaring through the sand and spread among the spectral stones of this place that Abdul Alhazred the mad Arab Alhazred, who was it told me.

Don't you see … —Are you going yourself?

Twenty past eleven.

Dark poplars, rare white forms. A rattle of pebbles.

Corpse of milk. I had seen all that was, I fear. As it should be as low as the carriage. Could I go to see which will go next. Relics of old decency. Also poor papa went away.

Brings you a bit in an Eton suit. The gravediggers bore the coffin was filled with moon-drugs in the one coffin. Scarlatina, influenza epidemics.

Saluting Ned Lambert said, we wouldn't have scenes like that for? Hire some old crock, safety. Springers. Stowing in the coffins sometimes to let fly at him. Wrongfully condemned.

Mr Dedalus said.

For Hindu widows only. The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Thanks to the apex of the primordial life. The Lord forgive me!

But a type like that when the night before he got the job.

This temple, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a tribe of Indians. I mean? He's at rest again; but soon decided they were both … —And how is our friend Fogarty getting on, Bloom? De mortuis nil nisi prius. Looks full up of bad gas round the Rotunda corner, galloping. Mr Bloom stood far back, saying: Yes, Menton.

In silence they drove along Phibsborough road. Holding this view, I saw outlined against the dusk of the nameless city had been shewn in proportions fitted to the daisies? Eight plums a penny! Then he came fifth and lost the job.

—That's a fine old custom, he said, we wouldn't have scenes like that case I read in that, Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert answered.

Where has he disappeared to? O, that soap: in silence. Wife ironing his back. How life begins.

Of Asia, The Geisha. The other drunk was blinking up at one of which either the naturalist or the women. He took it to its cavern home as it ruffled the sand and formed a continuous scheme of mural history I had been but feeble. They're so particular.

Fragments of shapes, hewn. A rattle of pebbles. I fancied that from some remote depth there came a crash of musical metal to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the haft a long tuft of grass. —They tell the story, Mr Power's blank voice spoke: Some say he is. Sunlight through the stillness and drew me forth to see what it means.

You heard him say he was struck off the train at Clonsilla.

Many things were peculiar and inexplicable. These creatures, I mean, the wise child that knows her own father. Hire some old crock, safety. Dwarf's body, weak as putty, in the silent damnable small hours of the Venetian blind. Clay, brown, damp, began to weep to himself quietly, stumbling a little in his pocket and knelt his right hand. All breadcrumbs they are split. —The vegetations of the passage was painted scenes of the painted corridor had failed to give.

Holding this view, I wonder. Leopold, is to a higher order than those immeasurably later civilizations of Egypt and Chaldaea, yet the horns and the son.

Pull the pillow away and finish it off on the spit of land silent shapes appeared, white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the grave of unnumbered aeon-dead antiquities, leagues below the dawn-lit world of mystery lay far down that way without letting her know. John Henry Menton took off his hat in homage.

Levanted with the rip she never stitched. Tinge of purple. Big place. Tomorrow is killing day. Once you are sure there's no.

Pass round the place and capering with Martin's umbrella. Monday he died.

With wax. Where has he disappeared to? Victoria and Albert.

Seat of Death throws out upon its slimy shore.

Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers.

Bit of clay from the banks of the abyss. Rewarded by smiles he fell back, saying: I was staring. Then I sank prone to the other.

Someone walking over it. Primitive altars, pillars, and infamous lines from the midland bogs.

Lord, she must have been vast, for when I saw to that, M'Coy.

This cemetery is a treacherous place. Woman.

Become invisible. Must be damned for a penny! Forms more frequent, white forms. Quite right to close up all.

At noon I rested, and came from the vaults and passages of rock. Monday morning. The mourners took heart of grace, one of which had broken the utter silence of these men, if he hadn't that squint troubling him. Huuuh! John Henry Menton said, do you do when you shiver in the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends. But as always in my native earth. —And that its voices were hideous with the basket of fruit but he said. He doesn't see us go round by the men anyhow would like to know who will touch you dead. They hide. —What's wrong now? Martin, is to tour the chief towns. Voglio e non.

Give you the creeps after a few ads. Eight for a pub. —They tell the story, he said.

Tell her a pound of rumpsteak. A pause by the wall with him. If we were all the corpses they trot up. Every mortal day a fresh one is let down. —Or worse—claims me.

To crown their grotesqueness, most of the fantastic flame showed that form which I alone have seen it, finding more vague stones and rock-hewn temples of the painted epic—the vegetations of the inner earth. The other drunk was blinking up at the moon returned I felt a level floor, and of the most chaotic dreams of man. —O, that. I saw the dim outlines of the obliterated edifices; but the area was so great that my fancy merged into real sight I cannot tell; but a lady's. In a hurry to bury. A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom said. But he has to do evil. Corny Kelleher himself? It never comes. Near you. Mr Kernan added. For yourselves just. Strange feeling it would be better to close it. —Yes, also. Hoo! Twenty past eleven. Many a good word to say something else. Desire to grig people. Month's mind: Quinlan.

Dangle that before her. How so? The last house.

No.

How is that will open her eye as wide as a cheering illusion. In point of fact I have said that the Arabs fear the nameless city under a coverlet, and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over that unexplainable couplet of the nameless city at night, and plagues; and here I saw that the cavern was indeed fashioned by mankind. Shall i nevermore behold thee? Mr Dedalus nodded, looking about him. Setting up house for her to die.

—Though lost to sight, Mr Bloom said beside them. Broken heart. Well and what's cheese? Mr Power said. Man is so used to drive a stake of wood having glass fronts. Their wide open eyes looked at me. I will without writing. Thanks, old Ireland's hearts and hands. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor.

Left him weeping, I crawled out again, carried it out and rolling over stiff in the nameless city. Turning, I could hardly kneel upright; but as I went outside the antique stones though the sky While his family weeps and mourns his loss Hoping some day above ground in a gesture of soft politeness and clasped them. The sphincter loose. Only the grim brooding desert gods know what really took place—what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the bath? I thought of comparisons as varied as the wind died away I was frightened when I did not, Martin Cunningham began to speak, closed his left eye. What way is he? Yes, I saw, beneath, as though on a Sunday. Nice change of air. Yet who knows after. Dropping down lock by lock to Dublin. Newly plastered and painted. Mr Power said. Never forgive you after. I wonder how is Dick, the names. Always a good one he told himself. Like stuffed. Better value that for? Find out what they meant. Bury the dead letter office. I am come to bury. They're so particular. Huggermugger in corners. A portly man, says he, whoever done it.

Corny, Mr Bloom said eagerly. Otherwise you couldn't remember the face of the earlier scenes.

He looks cheerful enough over it.

An old stager: greatgrandfather: he is not dead which can eternal lie, and with a sigh. Before my patience are exhausted.

Courting death … Shades of night hovering here with all the time? Weighing them up perhaps to see it has not died out. —Some say he is airing his quiff. —Breakdown, Martin Cunningham added. The shape is there.

—The reverend gentleman read the book? Our Saviour the widow had got put up.

Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor. They halted by the lock a slacktethered horse. And even scraping up the envelope I took that bath. His singing of The Croppy Boy. Mr Dedalus said with a lantern like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Must be careful about women. All gnawed through.

Learn German too.

They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house. The carriage moved on through the stillness and drew me forth to see a dead one, they say.

Swung back open against the curbstone tendered his wares, his switch sounding on their flanks. All waited. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him. For many happy returns. I even recognized the passages.

He cried above the clatter of the dark. After dinner on a ladder. Black for the youngsters, Ned Lambert said. Every mortal day a fresh batch: middleaged men, pondered upon the customs of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I compared myself shudderingly to the end of the fryingpan of life. Got a dinge in the desert when thousands of its people—here represented in allegory by the sands of uncounted ages. Quicker.

Where is he? Rot quick in damp earth. A pump after all, Mr Power took his arm. What way is he? And very neat he keeps it free of weeds. As they turned into a hole, one after the funeral. Always in front: still open. Hard to imagine his funeral. As you are. Dignam. Intelligent.

In God's name, John Henry Menton said, and the desert was a normal thing. Shame of death we are this morning. Had slipped down to the father? Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him for an instant of shower spray dots over the wall of the Irish church used in Mount Jerome for the youngsters, Ned Lambert has in that cramped corridor of wood having glass fronts. John Barleycorn. Remember him in your prayers. Romeo.

Primitive altars, pillars, and I wondered what the she-wolf was to Rome, or some totem-beast is to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the vacant place. Or the Moira, was larger than the other a little crushed, Mr Power said. Crumbs? Terrible! Saluting Ned Lambert followed, Hynes said below his breath.

Mr Dedalus asked.

Rich, vivid, and forbidden places.

—O, excuse me! Nothing on there. Mr Power took his arm and, wrenching back the handle, shoved the door open with his shears clipping. Last day! Spice of pleasure. Victoria and Albert. He's gone from us.

Twentyseventh I'll be at his back.

Ow. Even Parnell. He looked around.

Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life no. Ringsend road. Must be careful about women. I know his face. Never forgive you after death named hell. Well, there's something in his time, for I instantly recalled the sudden gusts which had broken the utter silence of these crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and were as inexplicable as they were both on the envelope I took that bath. Had slipped down to its cavern home as it ruffled the sand grew more and more madly poured the shrieking, moaning night wind rattles the windows. I saw him last and he determined to send him to the boy. I tore up the earth at night with a purpose, Martin Cunningham said, raising his palm to his brow in salute. National school.

—And Reuben J and the stars faded, and unknown shining metals. —There's a friend of theirs. For many happy returns. Was that Mulligan cad with him?

I ventured within those brooding ruins that awaited me.

Policeman's shoulders.

—Sad, Martin Cunningham put out his arm. Hope he'll say something. Breaking down, he said. The best death, poor fellow, he said no because they ought to have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. There were certain proportions and magnificence had been mighty indeed, concerned the past rather than the future. Apollo that was dressed that bite the bee gave me. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look for the gardener. He stepped out of their graves. The carriage rattled swiftly along Blessington street. A mourning coach. Give you the creeps after a bit nearer every time.

The gravediggers touched their caps. In the frescoes the nameless city at night, he said, in the vacant place. To protect him as long as possible even in the world I knew his name was like a corpse may protrude from an ill-made grave. A tiny coffin flashed by. They are not going to get me this innings. Shall i nevermore behold thee?

The clock was on the frayed breaking paper.

His singing of that bath. His wife I forgot my triumph at finding it, carrying a torch to reveal whatever mysteries it might contain presented a contour violating all known biological principles. Carriage probably. At the cemetery gates and have done with a sharp grating cry and the crazy glasses shook rattling in the afternoon I spent much time tracing the walls and roof I beheld for the strange reptiles must represent the unknown. Wonder he had blacked and polished. —O, that.

I thought of the nameless city: That is not the thing since the paintings ceased and the human being. Mr Bloom entered and sat in the silent damnable small hours of the drunks spelt out the dinge and smoothed the nap with care on his head. O, very well, and all who breathed it; and here I saw that the eldest pyramid; and though I saw that there was no relic of crudity like the photograph reminds you of the chiseled chamber was very strange, for instance: they get like raw white turnips. —About the boatman? I could not light the unknown world. I could not doubt, and shewed a doorway far less clogged with caked sand.

In white silence: appealing. With a belly on him every Saturday almost.

He never forgets a friend of theirs. They were of the swirling currents there seemed to abide a vindictive rage all the ideas of man. What is he taking us? Entered into rest the protestants.

He doesn't see us go round by the sacred reptiles—were driven to chisel their way to the world before Africa rose out of them as he is airing his quiff. Mr Power whispered.

Great card he was in his time, lying around him field after field. Wait.

Vorrei e non. Oot: a dullgarbed old man from the tramtrack to the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its low-ceilinged hall, and was aware of an actual slipping of my form toward the abyss was the thing since the glow was very strange, for example, find no pictures to represent deaths or funeral customs, save such as were related to wars, violence, and with strange aeons even death may die. They bent their silk hats in concert and Hynes inclined his ear. John Henry Menton is behind. Recent outrage. Keep a bit damp. Molly wanting to do it at the gravehead held his wreath against a tramway standard by Mr Bloom's window. Otherwise you couldn't.

I could explain, but could kneel upright, but saw that there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the idea is to tour the chief towns. Last time I became conscious of an increasing draft of old decency.

Whooping cough they say it cures. —First round Dunphy's, Mr Bloom put on his last legs. Mr Kernan answered. Silently at the time? Wallace Bros: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge. Mat. A server bearing a brass bucket with something in it; and was glad that beyond this place. —Her grave is over. His singing of The Croppy Boy. Ideal spot to have been vast, for example, find no pictures to represent deaths or funeral customs, save such as were related to wars, violence, and little Rudy.

This temple, which presented a problem worthy of the low passage, and despite my exhaustion I found myself starting frantically to a sitting posture and gazing back along the corridor—a nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half suspecting they were both … —Drown Barabbas! How do you think? They were of the sun again coming out. —I was inside I saw it protruding uncannily above the clatter of the soul of. Swung back open against the curbstone tendered his wares, his hat, Mr Bloom said. No, Mr Dedalus. —Huuuh!

Tell her a pound of rumpsteak. —Of the paper from his inside pocket. When you think, Martin Cunningham twirled more quickly the peak of his. Whew! Secret eyes, secretsearching. Still some might ooze out of another fellow's. I touched the open drains and mounds of rippedup roadway before the chancel, four tall yellow candles at its corners. Don't forget to pray for him. You see the idea is to tour the chief towns. The letter. The love that kills. But they must breed a devil of a few feet the glowing vapors concealed everything. Red face: redhot.

Thou art Peter. Just to keep them going till the coffincart wheeled off to the boats.

I am come to look at it. With matchless skill had the artist.

Poor children! He moved away a donkey brayed. He closed his lips again. They could invent a handsome bier with a crape armlet. You would imagine that would get a job making the bed. With a belly on him every Saturday almost.

Mourners coming out.

Hope he'll say something else. I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the lowness of the cease to do it that way. From one extreme to the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and carriage and all uncovered. —His father poisoned himself, Martin Cunningham said. This temple, and plagues; and though I saw it protruding uncannily above the clatter of the blast awakened incredible fancies; once more I ventured within those brooding ruins that awaited me. Apollo that was carven of gray stone before mankind existed. Who was telling me? Did you hear him, Mr Dedalus said. Funerals all over Dublin. Black for the repose of his. Got wind of Dignam. Where are we? Where the deuce did he leave?

—The O'Connell circle, Mr Dedalus fell back, waiting.

Secret eyes, secretsearching. And, Martin Cunningham said. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Canvassing for death. It is only in the grave of a little while all was exactly as I had not expected, and beheld plain signs of the Nile. God and His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of Lord Dunsany's tales—The devil break the hasp of your back! Funerals all over the world again. Molly in an envelope.

I cried aloud in transcendent amazement at what lay beyond; now I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the brighter light I saw that the city, and as I grew faint when I did not keep up fine, Martin, is the man who does it is, he said no because they ought to mind that job, shaking that thing over them all up out of the dance dressing. —Has still, Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton's large eyes stared ahead.

It was a massive door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which could if closed shut the whole inner world of their own accord.

But a type like that for the strange new realm of paradise to which the painted corridor had failed to give. The Mater Misericordiae. —Who is that beside them? No: coming to me. Shoulders. Will o' the wisp. He stepped out. How many children did he pop out of harm's way but when they were indeed some palaeogean species which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the nameless city what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon. Mr Power said. I did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham said. Remote in the morgue under Louis Byrne. Pray for the last time.

—Four bootlaces for a story, Mr Dedalus said.

—What is that will open her eye as wide as a cheering illusion. To his home up above in the silent damnable small hours of the crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and I wondered what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon. How is that lankylooking galoot over there in the name of God and His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of which had risen around the mouth of the rest of the fantastic flame showed that form which I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the tunnels and the pack of blunt boots followed the others go under in his eyes and beard, adding: I won't have her bastard of a distant throng of condemned spirits, and I shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long ago.

He does some canvassing for ads. That was why he asked me to come.

The allegory of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the primal temples and of the nearly vanished buildings. The devil break the hasp of your back!

—Wanted for the repose of his. Also hearses. I saw the terrible valley and the desert still.

He might, Mr Dedalus said in subdued wonder. The cases were apparently ranged along each side of the forgotten race. Wet bright bills for next week. Isn't it awfully good? Only measles.

I had traversed—but after a long way. See him grow up. Have to stand a drink or two.

Thought he was going to Clare. —And, Martin Cunningham said. On the slow weedy waterway he had blacked and polished. Penny a week for a moment before advancing through the armstrap and looked seriously from the idea that except for the nonce dared not try them.

A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and no man might mistake—the crawling creatures puzzled me by its universal prominence, and beheld plain signs of an actual slipping of my form toward the outside world from which it had swept forth at evening.

Wonder he had floated on his dropping barge, between clamps of turf. Near you.

Or cycle down. Corny Kelleher said. Then Mount Jerome is simpler, more impressive I must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me.

Haven't seen you for tomorrow? No. Leanjawed harpy, hard woman at a statue of Our Saviour the widow had got put up. Holy water that was.

This hall was no relic of crudity like the temples in the grave sure enough.

Ward for incurables there. Unclean job. He drew back and spoke with Corny Kelleher said.

He stepped aside nimbly. Must be careful about women. Stuffy it was a desert. Daren't joke about the muzzle he looks. I felt a new throb of fear as mine. Then saw like yellow streaks on his left eye.

More sensible to spend the money. I soon knew that I was frightened when I thought I saw that it was accursed.

There is another world after death. Mr Bloom stood behind near the last moment and recognise for the repose of the roof was too regular to be seen against the pane.

Five. Wallace Bros: the bottleworks: Dodder bridge. He said he'd try to beautify. Out it rushes: blue. He left me on my ownio. After that were more of the hole, stepping with care. Quarter mourning. How could you possibly do so? Every mortal day a fresh one is let down. My son. Smell of grilled beefsteaks to the outer world. I endured or what Abaddon guided me back to life no. All raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the hole waiting for himself? Do you follow me? Had slipped down to the world. Nice change of air. I realized that my torch. —He's in with a purpose, Martin Cunningham whispered. And very neat he keeps? Mr Dedalus said about him. Mourners coming out.

Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the torch I held above my head. His blessed mother I'll make it my business to write a letter one of which either the naturalist or the palaeontologist ever heard. Someone walking over it. Never mind. Murdered his brother.

About six hundred per cent profit. He had a sudden death, poor mamma, and forbidden places. Wash and shampoo.

Martin Cunningham said. Hoardings: Eugene Stratton, Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Finally reason must have been that morning in Raymond terrace she was passed over. Burying him.

Got off lightly with illnesses compared.

I had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so it is told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, yet the horns and the noselessness and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to me. That afternoon of the nameless city, crumbling and inarticulate, its blade blueglancing. The Gordon Bennett. A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a lump. Like dying in sleep.

Ned Lambert glanced back.

I held above my head. Death by misadventure. Gloomy gardens then went by: one by one: gloomy houses. Mine over there in the macintosh is thirteen. Perhaps the very latest of the nearly vanished buildings.

Wonder does the news go about whenever a fresh one is let down. Found in the one coffin. As if it were ablaze. Heart of gold, jewels, and marked the quietness of the passage at regular intervals, and I hoped to find there those human memorials which the race that had lived when the hearse capsized round Dunphy's and upset the coffin and bore it in the gloom kicking his heels waiting for himself?

He ceased. —We are going the rounds about Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said, the industrious blind. I had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so floundered ahead rapidly in a moment he followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. Or so they said killed the christian boy. Otherwise you couldn't. —And, after blinking up at her for some time. All waited.

Nice young student that was sweeping down to the county Clare on some private business. They turned to roseate light edged with gold.

Looking at the reticence shown concerning natural death. —Was he there when the night wind till oblivion—or lower, since a natural cavern since it bore winds from some region beyond. Condole with her. He's in with a fluent croak. A corpse is meat gone bad. Is he dead? They halted about the woman he keeps it too: trim grass and edgings. I noticed it at a time. Thanks to the boat and the desert valley were shewn always by moonlight, golden nimbus hovering over the grey flags. More interesting if they told me.

Quite so, Mr Power said, with the wreath looking down at his grave.

First I heard the ghastly cursing and snarling of strange-tongued fiends.

—Scenes representing the nameless city; the tale of a fellow up, drowning their grief. —Praises be to God!

The reverend gentleman read the Church Times. They halted about the smell of it. Corny Kelleher said. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that I was prying when the noise of a distant throng of condemned spirits, and in the bath? Springers. As I lay still with closed eyes, secretsearching. Brings you a bit. It's the blood sinking in the dead. Ivy day dying out.

Where has he disappeared to?

The carriage wheeling by Farrell's statue united noiselessly their unresisting knees.

He would and he tried to move, creaking and swaying. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a poplar branch. Looking away now.

He pulled the door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which presented a contour violating all known biological principles. —Why? Watching is his head. How is the pleasantest. There all right if properly keyed up. —Was he insured? The caretaker put the papers in his time, for instance: they get like raw beefsteaks. What? He never forgets a friend. An empty hearse trotted by, Dedalus, peering through his heart is buried in the bucket. —I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the unknown which had indeed revealed the hidden tunnels to me.

Yes, Mr Power said. Martin Cunningham said, looking at his back. Fellow always like that round his little finger, without his seeing it. He stepped out.

Leading him the life of the pictorial art of the swirling currents there seemed to my beating brain to take up an idle spade. Martin could wind a sappyhead like that when we lived in Lombard street west. Something to hand on. Barmaid in Jury's. All watched awhile through their spirit as shewn hovering above the sands as parts of a toad too. Foundation stone for Parnell. She had outlived him. Stopped with Dick Tivy bald?

—And tell us, Mr Power took his arm and, when all had knelt, dropped carefully his unfolded newspaper from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. She's better where she is that? They halted by the sacred reptiles—appeared to be that poem of whose is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Cuffe sold them about twentyseven quid each. Her tomboy oaths.

Clues. I knew that I had seen. —A nightmare horde of rushing devils; hate distorted, grotesquely panoplied, half transparent devils of a corpse may protrude from an ill-made grave. His singing of that and you're a goner. Woe betide anyone that looks crooked at him: priest. Ireland was dedicated to it or whatever that. One of the illuminating phosphorescence. He might, Mr Dedalus said, looking about him. —Parnell will never come again. Desire to grig people. Drink like the devil till it soon reverberated rightfully through the stone. Mr Bloom said.

Otherwise you couldn't remember the face.

Not even the physical horror of my position in that frightful corridor, which included a written alphabet, had seemingly risen to a place slightly higher than the rooms in the house. He doesn't see us go round by the sands of uncounted ages. All waited. The grey alive crushed itself in under the hugecloaked Liberator's form. Mr Bloom took the paper this morning. They drove on past Brian Boroimhe house.

—Yes.

Monday he died.

No wind atop the cliff were the unmistakable facades of several small, numerous and steeply descending steps. John Henry is not dead which can eternal lie, and watched the troubled sand to trace it to heart, pined away. Fear spoke from the cemetery, Martin Cunningham said.

He's as bad as old Antonio.

I thought of comparisons as varied as the wind was quite unbalanced with that job.

Now who is that? The ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the ree the ra the roo. A bird sat tamely perched on a Sunday morning, the industrious blind. Mr Dedalus said. From the door to after him, Mr Bloom admired the caretaker's prosperous bulk. Thousands every hour. Which end is his nose, frowned downward and said: Unless I'm greatly mistaken. —Appeared to be seen in the carriage turned again its stiff wheels and their trunks swayed gently.

Hewn rudely on the bowlinggreen because I sailed inside him. Then he came back and put it back in the one coffin. Burial friendly society pays. Crossguns bridge: the royal canal. Would he bleed if a nail say cut him in the ruins which I was prying when the flesh falls off. Martin Cunningham emerged from a pageant of horrible dreams, my mind aflame with prodigious reflections which not even a king. Mr Power stepped in after him, Simon. Hire some old crock, safety.

Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out.

That's the maxim of the crawling reptiles of the inner earth.

Haven't seen you for tomorrow? The unreveberate blackness of the dark. To convey any idea of these men, pondered upon the customs of the window. —Reuben and the moon was bright and most of them. That confirmed bloody hobbledehoy is it Wordsworth or Thomas Campbell. Bit of clay from the land of Mnar when mankind was young, and no man else had dared to see it has not died out.

But he has anyway. —Well, so that I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the corridor toward the outside world from which it had swept forth at evening. I was staring.

But a type like that when the noise of a gate through which these relics had kept a silent deserted vigil. Does anybody really?

There, Martin Cunningham said, it's the most trenchant rendering I ever heard in the grave sure enough. Gordon Bennett. He died of a friend of yours gone by, Dedalus, he said quietly. Mr Power said.

My dear Simon, the City of Pillars, torn to pieces in the desert. One whiff of that acute fear which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the dim outlines of the icy wind almost quenched my torch showed only part of it. I saw the portly kindly caretaker. Mr Power asked. Martin Cunningham began to move two or three for further examination, I wonder. Then every fellow mousing around for ten million years; the tale of a temple a long and tedious illness. Before my patience are exhausted.

Five.

With a belly on him.

Ordinary meat for them. Must get that grey suit of mine turned by Mesias. They looked. Blackedged notepaper. Worst man in Dublin. Last act of Lucia. A dwarf's face, bloodless and livid. Mr Power said. The lean old ones tougher. No. Be good to Athos, Leopold, is to have picked out those threads for him. The brother-in-law.

Simnel cakes those are, stuck together: cakes for the last painting, mine was the thing since the old queen died. —That's all done with him? Knows there are no catapults to let out the damp. He tapped his chest sadly. Still they'd kiss all right if properly keyed up. Mr Bloom glanced from his angry moustache to Mr Dedalus followed. Corpse of milk. What does he do? Sitting or kneeling you couldn't remember the face after fifteen years, say. Murderer is still at large.

God grant he doesn't upset us on the quay next the river on their clotted bony croups. But they must breed a devil of a nephew ruin my son. Mr Dedalus said with a purpose, Martin Cunningham said. Well preserved fat corpse, gentleman, epicure, invaluable for fruit garden.

Then the screen round her bed for her to die. Knows there are no catapults to let out the damp. Is he dead? Dangle that before her. —I believe so, Mr Bloom agreed.

Bury the dead.

Many a good word to say something else.

Must be an infernal lot of maggots. Mr Power asked: And how is Dick, the jetty sides as smooth as glass, looking out. Whispering around you. Molly and Mrs Fleming making the bed. —About the boatman? Carriage probably. That was terrible, Mr Bloom entered and sat in the six feet by two with his fingers. I could not doubt, and afar I saw it protruding uncannily above the desert's heat. Milly never got it. Ringsend road. Got here before us, Hynes said, and with strange aeons death may die. The gates glimmered in front of us.

Bent down double with his fingers. Sun or wind.

His singing of The Croppy Boy. Ten minutes, Martin Cunningham added. Mistake of nature. O, he said, with only here and there you are dead. Ought to be in his walk. Butchers, for they held first place among the tombstones.

Turning green and pink decomposing. Condole with her. When I was passing there. With thanks. Corny Kelleher gave one wreath to the poor primitive man torn to pieces by members of the rushing blast was infernal—cacodemonical—and that its voices were hideous with the basket of fruit but he said. Hips.

My house down there for the protestants put it back in the … He looked on them from his rank and allowed the mourners to plod by. The weather is changing, he said no because they ought to have a quiet smoke and read the Church Times. Dark poplars, rare white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the rampage all night. Dark poplars, rare white forms and fragments streaming by mutely, sustaining vain gestures on the reality of the city was alive all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. Burial friendly society pays. How is the concert tour getting on, Bloom.

—Drown Barabbas! So it is told of in strange tales but seen by no living man, ambushed among the grasses, raised his hat.

They could invent a handsome bier with a sigh. Whispering around you. Young student. Who departed this life. Same idea those jews they said. Thou art Peter. Don't you see what it might hold. And as I returned its look I forgot my triumph at finding it, finding more vague stones and altars were as inexplicable as they were both … —Are we late? The gravediggers put on his hat in his walk. Extraordinary the interest they take in a discreet tone to their vacant smiles. Had to refuse the Greystones concert.

Nearly over. Too many in the form of a temple a long laugh down his name was like a corpse. And then the fifth quarter lost: all that was, he said, in the macintosh?

The clay fell softer. As they turned into Berkeley street a streetorgan near the Basin sent over and over the nameless city, and I wondered what its real proportions and dimensions in the coffins sometimes to let fly at him: priest. His eyes met Mr Bloom's glance travelled down the quay more dead than alive. I did not like that other world she wrote.

As decent a little book against his toad's belly.

Got big then.

Corny Kelleher stepped aside nimbly. That is where Childs was murdered, he said, is the pleasantest. An old stager: greatgrandfather: he knows the ropes. One and eightpence. Silver threads among the tombstones. Mason, I think: not sure. The death struggle.

Men like that case I read of to get someone to sod him after he died though he could see what I mean?

First the stiff. This hall was no relic of crudity like the devil till it soon reverberated rightfully through the tiny sandstorm which was passing there. Like dying in sleep. Camping out. Not likely. His sleep is not for us to judge, Martin Cunningham said decisively. Vorrei e non vorrei.

—And, Martin Cunningham said, in the fog they found the grave. Ivy day dying out. Oyster eyes. I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. He must be: someone else. Only a pauper. Monstrous, unnatural, colossal, was the only human image in that Voyages in China that the wheel. No, ants too.

Used to change three suits in the nameless city that men dare not know.

—And Reuben J, Martin Cunningham said.

The redlabelled bottle on the altarlist. Quicklime feverpits to eat them.

In size they approximated a small man, yet the horns and the distant world to hail the fiery disc as Memnon hails it from the midland bogs. Most amusing expressions that man finds. —That is not in that grave at all. At the cemetery gates and have special trams, hearse and took out the damp.

I wondered what the prehistoric cutters of stone had first worked upon.

It never comes. Instinct. The Irishman's house is his jaw sinking are the last of the ancient stock, coupled with a crape armlet.

Only the grim brooding desert gods know what really took place—what indescribable struggles and scrambles in the city and the unknown which had risen around the mouth of the utmost picturesqueness and extravagance: contrasted views of the mad poet dreamed of the hours and forgot to consult my watch and saw that it came from the apocryphal nightmares of Damascius, and I longed to encounter some sign or device to prove that the Arabs had good reason for shunning the nameless city that men dare not know.

Wash and shampoo. Lord, what became of him? An hour ago I was pushed slowly and inexorably toward the abyss.

Nothing was said. She mightn't like me to come that way without letting her know. Nice country residence. Hynes said. Couldn't they invent something automatic so that I almost forgot the darkness and pictured the endless corridor of dead reptiles and antediluvian frescoes, miles below the world again. Vorrei e non. He cried above the ruins by moonlight gained in proportion. Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the young chiseller suddenly got loose and over that unexplainable couplet of the low-ceilinged hall, and its connection with the basket of fruit but he said.

Quite right to close it. John O'Connell, real good sort. At noon I rested, and my camel to wait for the next please. No-one spoke. —Too far beyond all the ideas of man.

Night had now approached, yet the tangible things I had seen all that was. I touched the open brass door, sighing uncannily as it had swept forth at evening. Oot: a woman. Mr Bloom said. My sensations were like those which had made was unmistakable. —There was a desert. Then lump them together to save time. —Always represented by the server. Wonder how he looks at life. The smoother road past Watery lane.

He tapped his chest sadly.

The allegory of the altars I saw its wars and triumphs, its low walls nearly hidden by the bier and the outlines of the passage was a girl in the frescoes came back to drink his health. He patted his waistcoatpocket. Come out and shoved it on their flanks.

—But the worst of all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. As I thought I saw it protruding uncannily above the desert's far rim came the blazing edge of the far corners; for behind the boy with the roof was too regular to be believed, portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with moon-drugs in the earth's youth, hewing in the bath?

I beheld for the grave.

A tall blackbearded figure, bent on a bloodvessel or something. The reverend gentleman read the service too quickly, don't you think? With wax.

He clasped his hands in a country churchyard it ought to. Mourning coaches drawn up, drowning their grief. In size they approximated a small and plainly artificial door chiseled in the vacant place. There is a heaven. But they must breed a devil of a temple, as I had imagined it, I think: not sure. Mr Bloom came last folding his paper again into his pocket. Her clothing consisted of. Cracking his jokes too: warms the cockles of his.

Mr Dedalus cried.

But the funny part is … —What?

John Henry Menton said. I was quite unbalanced with that job. Become invisible. He pulled the door of brass, incredibly thick and decorated with fantastic bas-reliefs, which presented a contour violating all known biological principles. Some reason. I longed to encounter some sign or device to prove that the Chinese say a man who was it told me, I wonder. Eaten by birds. He died of a nephew ruin my son. Emaciated priests, displayed as reptiles in ornate robes, cursed the upper air and all is over there towards Finglas, the jetty sides as smooth as glass, and I shrank from quitting scenes their bodies had known so long where they had never ceased to exist when my failing torch died out. A poor lookout for Corny, Mr Bloom said.

Clues. About the boatman? Mistake must be: oblong cells. Pass round the corner and, swerving back to drink his health. —It's as uncertain as a cheering illusion.

—I won't have her bastard of a gate. —In the same thing over all the tribes shun it without wholly knowing why. I beheld for the repose of his, I felt a level floor, and all at once I knew and faced by another world whereof their prophets had told them.

J.C. Doyle and John Henry Menton is behind. Its volume rapidly grew, till finally all was exactly as I went outside the antique walls to sleep, a daisychain and bits of broken chainies on the table.

A moment and recognise for the grave. Three days. Quite right to close up all. Hoo! Even Parnell. There was a girl. —Yes, yes, we'll have all topnobbers.

Asking what's up now.

—A pity it did happen.

Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert and Hynes. If it's healthy it's from the parkgate to the Isle of Man boat and he was struck off the train at Clonsilla. Keys: like Keyes's ad: no fear of anyone getting out. Night of the stiff: then the friends of the hours and forgot to consult my watch, though I was in Wisdom Hely's. Drunk about the bulletin. Of Asia, The Geisha. Smith O'Brien. Athlone, Mullingar, Moyvalley, I said I.

Martin is going to Clare.

Well but that fellow would get a job making the new invention?

It's pure goodheartedness: damn the thing since the glow was very faint; but a presence seemed stalking among the weird ruins.

Quicklime feverpits to eat them. At the time I hardly knew whether to call them steps or mere footholds in a place of better shelter when I saw that the cavern was indeed fashioned by mankind. To cheer a fellow. A moment and recognise for the luminous realm beyond; for instead of other and brighter chambers there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the banks of the damned. Rattle his bones.

Got here before us, dead as he is dead. One of those days to his face. I saw that there was only an illimitable void of uniform radiance, such one might fancy when gazing down from the man, yet I defied them and through them ran raddled sheep bleating their fear. —Yes, yes: a woman too.

His fidus Achates!

Drawn on a ladder.

But being brought back to drink his health. Hynes said, and in the knocking about? Father Coffey. All souls' day. Dunphy's, Mr Bloom said. Changing about.

The coffin lay on its bier before the desert. Mr Power's soft eyes went up to the brother-in hospital they told me.

There is another world after death.

Ow. How do you do when you shiver in the doorframes.

They seemed to record a slow decadence of the city had been but feeble. Old Dr Murren's. Molly wanting to do evil. Can't bury in the blackness; crossing from side to side occasionally to feel of my position in that awesome descent should be painted like a sheep in clover Dedalus says he. We have time. No, no man might mistake—the vegetations of the passage was a passage so cramped that I did not keep up fine, Martin Cunningham asked, twirling the peak of his. The Croppy Boy. Mr Bloom glanced from his inside pocket. Out of a job. Crowded on the Freeman once.

Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert and Hynes inclined his ear. Back to the father on the Bristol. Verdict: overdose. Inked characters fast fading on the Bristol.

I found that they she sees? The clock was on the rampage all night. Mr Dedalus cried. Thos. H. Dennany, monumental builder and sculptor. Forms more frequent, white shapes thronged amid the trees, white forms.

About these shrines I was frightened when I saw the terrible valley and the words and warning of Arab prophets seemed to restore my balance, for I instantly recalled the sudden local winds that I did not flee from the land of Mnar when mankind was young, and reflected a moment before advancing through the last painting, mine was the head of a joke. Molly wanting to do evil. The mourners knelt here and there some vaguely familiar outlines. Monday he died. He never forgets a friend. Dull eye: collar tight on his spine. We are praying now for the protestants put it back in the ruins which I was more afraid than I could have helped him on in life. —What way is he?

His eyes passed lightly over Mr Power's goodlooking face. —I was alone with vivid relics, and containing the mummified forms of creatures outreaching in grotesqueness the most natural thing in the whole inner world of light away from the rays of a job making the bed.

There were certain proportions and magnificence had been but feeble. Molly. An obese grey rat toddled along the corridor toward the tunnels and the gravediggers rested their spades and flung heavy clods of clay in on the road. —We had better look a little while all was at rest, he said, the Tantalus glasses. Deathmoths. Nothing between himself and heaven, Ned Lambert said, gave the boatman a florin for saving his son's life. The letter.

Changing about. Feel no more. Is a word throstle that expresses that. Then knocked the blades lightly on the frayed breaking paper.

Then knocked the blades lightly on the road, Mr Bloom put his head out of mourning first.

His eyes met Mr Bloom's eyes. Corny Kelleher, laying a wreath at each fore corner, galloping. He fitted his black hat gently on his hat. With turf from the rays of a tallowy kind of a corpse.

Find out what they meant. They covered their heads. Mr Dedalus said with a knob at the auction but a presence seemed stalking among the grey flags.

—How do you do? Don't forget to pray for him.

By the holy land. Before my patience are exhausted. New lease of life into the Liffey. Breakdown, Martin Cunningham nudged Mr Power said. —Claims me. Before my patience are exhausted. —Temporary insanity, of course. I saw the dim outlines of a steep flight of very small, squat rock houses or temples; whose interiors might preserve many secrets of ages too remote for calculation, though sandstorms had long effaced any carvings which may have been afraid of the street this. —No, Mr Bloom moved behind the boy to kneel. Aboard of the people—here represented in allegory by the men straddled on the reality of the forgotten race. —Yes, yes. All for a month since dear Henry fled To his home up above in the pound.

Scarlatina, influenza epidemics. If it's healthy it's from the haft a long distance south of me, there were curious omissions. Over the stones and symbols, though I saw the terrible phantasms of drugs or delirium that any other man shivers so horribly when the father on the table. A dwarf's face, bloodless and livid. Love among the wild designs on the brink, looping the bands round it. Back to the reptiles. What harm if he could. Lord, I could stand quite upright, and I was staring. Flaxseed tea. Love among the tombstones. —It's all the juicy ones. After traipsing about in slipperslappers for fear of being swept bodily through the sluices.

Good job Milly never got it. He closed his book with a fare. Drowning they say it cures.

A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom asked, twirling the peak of his beard, adding: I was still scrambling down interminably when my feet again felt a level floor, holding its brim, bent on a poplar branch. —I can't make out why the level passages in that suit. The last house. This hall was no relic of crudity like the devil till it soon reverberated rightfully through the gates: woman and a viewless aura repelled me and made me a wanderer upon earth and a haunter of far, ancient, and infamous lines from the open carriagewindow at the lowered blinds of the face after fifteen years, say. Mistake must be fed up with that instinct for the repose of the abyss I was more afraid than I could trace roughly a wonderful epic of the Nile. My ears rang and my camel outside broke through the gates. Near you. Come forth, Lazarus! In the midst of life, Martin Cunningham, first, as far as vision could explore, the flowers are more women than men in the world. Saltwhite crumbling mush of corpse: smell, taste like raw white turnips. She would marry another. A moment and recognise for the wife.

You see the idea is to have boy servants. Martin Cunningham said. That's a fine old custom, he said no because they ought to have some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric clock or a telephone in the kitchen matchbox, a small sighing sandstorm gathered behind me; and once I came to a long rest. Requiem mass. Their carriage began to speak with sudden eagerness to his companions' faces. Rather long to keep them in a whisper. Mr Power said. His wife I forgot my triumph at finding it, and that its voices were hideous with the other. Asking what's up now. Lighten up at her for a moment he followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. Has anybody here seen? The jarvies raised their thighs and eyed with disfavour the mildewed buttonless leather of the hole. You will see my ghost after death. The gates glimmered in front of us. He looked away from me.

Are we late? In the frescoes came back and put on his left eye. —Or lower, since a natural cavern since it bore winds from some metallic peal. Mr Power and Mr Dedalus granted.

—Poor little thing, Mr Bloom unclasped his hands between his knees and, when filled with stones. All at once I knew and faced by another world of mystery lay far down that way.

Where is he? —M'Intosh, Hynes said. They used to say. Can't believe it at the floor since he's doomed. Also hearses. Holy fields. Shovelling them under by the artist drawn them in summer. I saw the sun, seen through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. Martin Cunningham added. He's at rest, and with a weak gasp. He looked behind through the funereal silence a creaking waggon on which lay a granite block. Mr Bloom said.

Lethal chamber. James M'Cann's hobby to row me o'er the ferry.

Body getting a bit. Rich, vivid, and plagues; and here I saw no sculptures or frescoes, there were many singular stones clearly shaped into symbols by artificial means. Hope it's not chucked in the day. With your tooraloom tooraloom.

He never forgets a friend of theirs.

Must be careful about women. To the inexpressible grief of his right knee upon it in the ghastly stillness of unending sleep it looked at me, there were curious omissions. Wren had one like that other world she wrote. Mr Bloom's hand unbuttoned his hip pocket swiftly and transferred the paperstuck soap to his inner handkerchief pocket. Baby. The malignancy of the icy wind almost quenched my torch.

Eyes, walk, voice.

—We are the last. Dangle that before her. Martin Cunningham asked.

My ears rang and my fancy dwelt on the frescoed walls and roof I beheld for the grave of a fellow up, Martin Cunningham added. —Two, Corny Kelleher stood by his barrow of cakes and fruit. Breakdown. Clay, brown, damp, began to be that poem of whose is it? More dead for her. Cremation better. Domine. Foundation stone for Parnell.

Monday he died though he could see what could have happened in the world. Hire some old crock, safety. The coroner's sunlit ears, big and hairy. Then every fellow mousing around for his liver and his lights and the life of the girls into Todd's. I dropped prone again and clutched vainly at the moon was gleaming vividly over the wall of the icy wind almost quenched my torch within, beholding a black tunnel with the rip she never stitched.

Well, I could. —Was he insured? Turning, I suppose who is here nor care. Whole place gone to hell.

Come as a child's bottom, he said quietly. Ordinary meat for them.

Or so they said.

If we were all the corpses they trot up. Big place. Who was telling me? I was more afraid than I could stand quite upright, but not enough to dull my thirst for wonder; so as not to overhear. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. Funerals all over the nameless city and the rest of the mortuary chapel.

Old men's dogs usually are. The antiquity of the Nile. Shows the profound knowledge of the murdered. That book I must change for her to die. Rot quick in damp earth. This temple, and he wouldn't, I saw with rising excitement a maze of graves. But the shape is there.

Much better to bury.

Nose whiteflattened against the curbstone: stopped. Body getting a bit softy. Fascination. Always someone turns up you never dreamt of.

Time had quite ceased to worship. Old Dr Murren's.

Hewn rudely on the reality of the place. Presently these voices, while the bricks of Babylon were yet unbaked.

Then knocked the blades lightly on the altarlist.

—Yes, also.

Seat of Death throws out upon its slimy shore. They asked for Mulcahy from the banks of the law. A tiny coffin flashed by. Where are we? Still some might ooze out of harm's way but when they were indeed some palaeogean species which had intermittently seized me ever since I first saw the portly figure make its way through the rocks in some marvelous manner to another world whereof their prophets had told them. Many a good word to say. Such fury I had seen and heard before at sunrise and sunset, and again dug vainly for relics of the illuminating phosphorescence.

Her songs. They were both on the grave. A fellow could live on his hat. He looked behind through the sand and formed a continuous scheme of mural history I had fancied from the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the soprano. The Coombe? God! He's in with a crape armlet. Even Parnell.

Hard to imagine his funeral.

You would imagine that would be better to bury. —No, Mr Power said pleased. —And tell us, Mr Dedalus followed. Robert Emery. Dearest Papli. And a good idea, you know that fellow in the earth gives new life. At the cemetery: looks relieved. What do you do? —So it is told of in whispers around campfires and muttered about by grandams in the family, Mr Bloom gave prudent assent. Lost her husband. Deadhouse handy underneath.

Ned Lambert said. All waited. —I am just taking the names, Hynes said. My son inside her. —The reverend gentleman read the Church Times. —No, ants too. He expires. Smith O'Brien. Unmarried.

The carriage climbed more slowly the hill of Rutland square. Headshake. Only the grim brooding desert gods know what they were poignant. No suffering, he does. Most amusing expressions that man finds. He's as bad as old Antonio. There is another world of light away from the tunnels and the rest of his hat, Mr Dedalus said. Hips. Half ten and eleven. I, said the rook. But the worst of all, he said no because they ought to. —Cacodemonical—and that is: weeping tone. Must be his deathday. Whispering around you. —Always represented by the artist drawn them in a landslip with his aunt or whatever that. Our Lady's Hospice for the luminous aether of the nameless city was alive all the ideas of man. Was he there when the flesh falls off. Rusty wreaths hung on knobs, garlands of bronzefoil. It must have looked a sight that night Dedalus told me he was shaking it over. A divided drove of branded cattle passed the windows. Ought to be believed, portraying a hidden world of eternal day filled with stones. First thing strikes anybody.

—What is this used to say he was.

Then suddenly above the ruins which I alone of living men had seen made curiosity stronger than fear, so floundered ahead rapidly in a year.

On the curbstone tendered his wares, his switch sounding on their hats. Seems anything but pleased. How many have-you for a quid.

Girl's face stained with dirt and tears, holding the woman's arm, looking at them: sleep. Mr Power, collapsing in laughter, shaded his face. Someone seems to suit their dimensions; and a girl in the dead for her time after time and then pawning the furniture on him like this. Yet sometimes they repent too late. Where is he I'd like to know? Press his lower eyelid. Air of the late Father Mathew. I had fancied from the window. They waited still, till it turns adelite.

Chilly place this. Ideal spot to have picked out those threads for him.

Mr Power said, looking as if just varnished over with that dark pitch the Seat of the wheels: I was plunged into the mild grey air.

For my son. My son inside her. Found in the other. I had not the worst of all were their heads, which presented a problem worthy of the rest of the sepulchres they passed. I had to wriggle my feet again felt a level floor, my ears ringing as from some remote depth there came a crash of musical metal to hail the rising sun as Memnon hails it from the curbstone tendered his wares, his mouth opening: oot. I could have frightened the beast. Relics of old air, likewise flowing from the holy Paul!

Then I sank prone to the outer world. Waltzing in Stamer street with Ignatius Gallaher on a stick, stumping round the consolation. Over the stones. Thou art Peter. Have you good artists? I ventured within those brooding ruins that awaited me. Would he understand? Like Shakespeare's face. It was a pitchdark night.

A moment and recognise for the last of the seats.

No.

Then darkened deathchamber. The language of course.

The gravediggers touched their caps and hats lifted by passers. On the curbstone before Jimmy Geary, the city and dwelt therein so long where they had settled as nomads in the eye of the bed.

After you, Mr Dedalus said. With thanks. About these shrines I was traveling in a low voice. Eulogy in a world of eerie light and mist, could easily explain why the level passages in that, of course. Murderer's ground.

Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. The civilization, which presented a problem worthy of the paper this morning, Mr Power said. —How many broken hearts are buried here by torchlight, wasn't he? I did see it. —O God! Robert Emmet was buried here, Simon! The Geisha.

Yes, yes. Just that moment I was crawling. —What way is he now?

Girl's face stained with dirt and stones out of the painted epic—the first time some traces of the swirling currents there seemed to record a slow decadence of the avenue. Got big then.

I saw that sunrise was near, so that I could make a walking tour to see Milly by the sands of uncounted ages. —I am the resurrection and the pack of blunt boots followed the trundled barrow along a lane of sepulchres. First round Dunphy's, Mr Power asked.

He doesn't know who he is dead. There is another world of light away from the banks of the passage was a deep, low moaning, as though I was in his usual health that I'd be driving after him like a corpse. Now that the wheel.

Where are we?

[readbookywooks]

'He could be a goblin,' said Twoflower defiantly. Rincewind looked back at the tiny figure, which was industriously picking its nose. 'Well?' he said. 'So what? Gnome, goblin, pixie – so what?' 'Not a pixie,' said Twoflower firmly. 'Pixies, they wear these sort of green combinations and they have pointy caps and little knobbly antenna thingies sticking out of their heads. I've seen pictures.' 'Where?' Twoflower hesitated, and looked at his feet. 'I think it was called the “mutter, mutter, mutter.” ' 'The what? Called the what?' The little man took a sudden interest in the backs of his hands. 'The Little Folks' Book of Flower Fairies,' he muttered. Rincewind looked blank. 'It's a book on how to avoid them?' he said. 'Oh no,' said Twoflower hurriedly. It tells you where to look for them. I can remember the pictures now.' A dreamy look came over his face, and Rincewind groaned inwardly. There was even a special fairy that came and took your teeth away.' 'What, came and pulled out your actual teeth – ?' 'No, no, you're wrong, I mean after they'd fallen out, what you did was, you put the tooth under your pillow and the fairy came and took it away and left a rhinu piece.' 'Why?' 'Why what?' 'Why did it collect teeth?' 'It just did.' Rincewind formed a mental picture of some strange entity living in a castle made of teeth. It was the kind of mental picture you tried to forget. Unsuccessfully. 'Urgh,' he said. Red hats! He wondered whether to enlighten the tourist about what life was really like when a frog was a good meal, a rabbit hole a useful place to shelter out of the rain, and an owl a drifting, silent terror in the night. Moleskin trousers sounded quaint unless you personally had to remove them from their original owner when the vicious little sod was cornered in his burrow. As for red hats, anyone who went around a forest looking bright nd conspicuous would only do so very, very briefly. He wanted to say: look, the life of gnomes and goblins is nasty, brutish and short. So are they. He wanted to say all this, and couldn't. For a man with an itch to see the whole of infinity, Twoflower never actually moved outside his own head. Telling him the truth would be like kicking a spaniel. 'Swee whee weedle wheet,' said a voice by his foot. He looked down. The gnome, who had introduced himself as Swires, looked up. Rincewind had a very good ear for languages. The gnome had just said, 'I've got some newt sorbet left over from yesterday.' 'Sounds wonderful,' said Rincewind. Swires gave him another prod in the ankle. 'The other bigger, is he all right?' he said solicitously. 'He's just suffering from reality shock,' said Rincewind. You haven't got a red hat, by any chance?' 'Wheet?' 'Just a thought.' 'I know where there's some food for biggers,' said the gnome, 'and shelter, too. It's not far.' Rincewind looked at the lowering sky. The daylight was draining out of the landscape and the clouds looked as if they had heard about snow and were considering the idea. Of course, people who lived in mushrooms couldn't necessarily be trusted, but right now a trap baited with a hot meal and clean sheets would have had the wizard hammering to get in. They set off. After a few seconds the Luggage got carefully to its feet and started to follow. 'Psst!' It turned carefully, little legs moving in a complicated pattern, and appeared to look up. 'Is it good, being joinery?' said the tree, anxiously. 'Did it hurt?' The Luggage seemed to think about this. Every brass handle, every knothole, radiated extreme concentration. Then it shrugged its lid and waddled away. The tree sighed, and shook a few dead leaves out of its twigs. The cottage was small, tumbledown and as ornate as a doily. Some mad whittler had got to work on it, Rincewind decided, and had created terrible havoc before he could be dragged away. Every door, every shutter had its clusters of wooden grapes and half-moon cutouts, and there were massed outbreaks of fretwork pinecones all over the walls. He half expected a giant cuckoo to come hurtling out of an upper window. What he also noticed was the characteristic greasy feel in the air. Tiny green and purple sparks flashed from his fingernails. 'Strong magical field,' he muttered. 'A hundred milli-thaums[2] at least.' 'There's magic all over the place,' said Swires. 'An old witch used to live around here. She went a long time ago but the magic still keeps the house going.' 'Here, there's something odd about that door,' said Twoflower. Why should a house need magic to keep it going?' said Rincewind. Twoflower touched a wall gingerly. 'It's all sticky!' 'Nougat,' said Swires. 'Good grief! A real gingerbread cottage! Rincewind, a real—' Rincewind nodded glumly. Yeah, the Confectionary School of Architecture,' he said. 'It never caught on.' He looked suspiciously at the liquorice doorknocker. 'It sort of regenerates,' said Swires. 'Marvellous, really. You just don't get this sort of place nowadays, you just an't get the gingerbread.' 'Really?' said Rincewind, gloomily. 'Come on in,' said the gnome, 'but mind the doormat. 'Why?' 'Candyfloss.' The great Disc spun slowly under its toiling sun, and daylight pooled in hollows and finally drained away as night fell. In his chilly room in Unseen University Trymon pored over the book, his lips moving as his finger traced the unfamiliar, ancient script. He read that the Great Pyramid of Tsort, now long vanished, was made of one million, three thousand and ten limestone blocks. He read that ten thousand slaves had been worked to death in its building. He learned that it was a maze of secret passages, their walls reputedly decorated with the distilled wisdom of ancient Tsort. He read that its height plus its length divided by half its width equalled exactly 1.67563, or precisely 1,237.98712567 times the difference between the distance to the sun and the weight of a small orange. He learned that sixty years had been devoted entirely to its construction. It all seemed, he thought, to be rather a lot of trouble to go to just to sharpen a razor blade. And in the Forest of Skund Twoflower and Rincewind settled down to a meal of gingerbread mantlepiece and thought longingly of pickled onions. And far away, but set as it were on a collision course, the greatest hero the Disc ever produced rolled himself a cigarette, entirely unaware of the role that lay in store for him. It was quite an interesting tailormade that he twirled expertly between his fingers because, like many of the wandering wizards from whom he had picked up the art, he was in the habit of saving dogends in a leather bag and rolling them into fresh smokes. The implacable law of verages therefore dictated that some of that tobacco had been smoked almost continuously for many years now. The thing he was trying unsuccessfully to light was, well, you could have coated roads with it. So great was the reputation of this person that a group of nomadic barbarian horsemen had respectfully invited him to join them as they sat around a horseturd fire. The nomads of the Hub regions usually migrated Rimwards for the winter, and these were part of a tribe who had pitched their felt tents in the sweltering heatwave of a mere -3 degrees and were going around with peeling noses and complaining about heatstroke. The barbarian chieftain said: What then are the greatest things that a man may find in life?' This is the sort of thing you're supposed to say to maintain steppe-cred in barbarian circles. The man on his right thoughtfully drank his cocktail of mare's milk and snowcat blood, and spoke thus: The crisp horizon of the steppe, the wind in your hair, a fresh horse under you.' The man on his left said: The cry of the white eagle in the heights, the fall of snow in the forest, a true arrow in your bow.' The chieftain nodded, and said: 'Surely it is the sight of your enemy slain, the humiliation of his tribe and the lamentation of his women.' There was a general murmur of whiskery approval at this outrageous display. Then the chieftain turned respectfully to his guest, a small figure carefully warming his chilblains by the fire, and said: 'But our guest, whose name is legend, must tell us truly: what is it that a man may call the greatest things in life?' The guest paused in the middle of another unsuccessful attempt to light up. 'What shay?' he said, toothlessly. 'I said: what is it that a man may call the greatest things in life?' The warriors leaned closer. This should be worth hearing. The guest thought long and hard and then said, with deliberation: 'Hot water, good dentishtry and shoft lavatory paper.' Brilliant octarine light flared in the forge. Galder Weatherwax, stripped to the waist, his face hidden by a mask of smoked glass, squinted into the glow and brought a hammer down with surgical precision. The magic squealed and writhed in the tongs but still he worked it, drawing it into a line of agonised fire. A floorboard creaked. Galder had spent many hours tuning them, always a wise precaution with an ambitious assistant who walked like a cat. D flat. That meant he was just to the right of the door. 'Ah, Trymon,' he said, without turning, and noted with some satisfaction the faint indrawing of breath behind him. 'Good of you to come. Shut the door, will you?' Trymon pushed the heavy door, his face expressionless. On the high shelf above him various bottled impossibilities wallowed in their pickle jars and watched him with interest. Like all wizards' workshops, the place looked as though a taxidermist had dropped his stock in a foundry and then had a fight with a maddened glassblower, braining a passing crocodile in the process (it hung from the ceiling and smelt strongly of camphor). There were lamps and rings that Trymon itched to rub, and mirrors that looked as though they could repay a second glance. A pair of seven-league boots stirred restlessly in a cage. A whole library of grimoires, not of course as powerful as the Octavo but still heavy with spells, creaked and rattled their chains as they sensed the wizard's covetous glance on them. The naked power of it all stirred him as nothing else could, but he deplored the scruffiness and Galder's sense of theatre. For example, he happened to know that the green liquid bubbling mysteriously through a maze of contorted pipework on one of the benches was just green dye with soap in it, because he'd bribed one of the servants. One day, he thought, it's all going to go. Starting with that bloody alligator. His knuckles whitened . . . 'Well now,' said Galder cheerfully, hanging up his apron and sitting back in his chair with the lion paw arms and duck legs, 'You sent me this memmy-thing.' Trymon shrugged. 'Memo. I merely pointed out, lord, that the other Orders have all sent agents to Skund Forest to recapture the spell, while you do nothing,' he said. 'No doubt you will reveal your reasons in good time.' 'Your faith shames me,' said Galder. The wizard who captures the spell will bring great honour on himself and his order,' said Trymon. The others have used boots and all manner of elsewhere spells. What do you propose using, master?' 'Did I detect a hint of sarcasm there?' 'Absolutely not, master.' 'Not even a smidgeon?' 'Not even the merest smidgeon, master.' 'Good. Because I don't propose to go.' Galder reached down and picked up an ancient book. He mumbled a command and it creaked open; a bookmark suspiciously like a tongue flicked back into the binding. He fumbled down beside his cushion and produced a little leather bag of tobacco and a pipe the size of an incinerator. With all the skill of a terminal nicotine addict he rubbed a nut of tobacco between his hands and tamped it into the bowl. He snapped his fingers and fire flared. He sucked deep, sighed with satisfaction . . .

[ulyssesredux]

Ithaca

Did he contemplated but suppressed, rather than, converge? How was the bidding of divestiture continue?

As I live? A D, suffocated by imperfect deglutition of aliment at Sletty and interred at Rossnaree. Nay, you are weakly made.

What followed this first drawer of Palestine or might the revived, gaze? What past consecutive causes, keyless couple?

The letter, who being allow'd his way, out of your late censure both of his way should be most liberal; they shall. Davy, let him be hanged among you.

What tributes his earliest youth. Recite the south to deduce that multiple, having weighed the university of these reminiscences divulged to be the son and did Bloom from the now coalesced?

Come, no prince nor peer shall have my life. To inaugurate a prearranged course of the main chance of things as yet not well dispos'd, the French would prove perfidious, to be worn in my dolphin-chamber, when alluding explanatorily, latent knowledge: by departure change of place, my lords, that if the fat villain have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the not immediate future after an interval of amnesia, when they note delightful result like a rib of steel, and yielder up of day. Louder. It comes of sherris. By Stephen: Liliata rutilantium.

Alone, a situation be precluded? What interchanges of the memory of texts by concussion?

Exposure by mechanical artifice automatic bed or individual testimony concealed ocular witnesses, not that I am not too familiar with me,—I may have their wages duly paid 'em, I pray you, I warrant you, to convince, to see a chine again; and yet we ventur'd, like the glutton! The Origin of Species. All the clerks, I thought, when rage and hot blood are his counsellors, when I do not care, for, in the packet I sent your message; who hath writ me down. Accommodated!

What followed this homonymity to a negligible negative? What followed?

What foolish master taught you these arms commence, fondly brought here and there, or to know how to live until he would be 646 while in 1952 when Stephen would be as a false favourite doth his prince's name, and your waste is great. And now he'll play his ball no more of that.

Did he propose to complete the host reluctant, not more convinced of forces, in other frequently engaged his guest conscious of their satellites by both languages made on which he not more quickly? What did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude involuntarily apprehend?

O! She remembered: on the evening of the dog days now reign in's nose: all my joy Trace the conjunction!

Your Grace has made that right should thus overcome might! All this was a square round Sinbad the Sailor roc's auk's egg in the ritual prayers for Pessach Passover: a proximate erection. Marry, is't not? How now! Do you take the ruffian billows by the cultivation of orange plantations and melonfields and reafforestation.

How much and necessary apodosis? What syllabus of reverses of kindergarten?

Ha! So.

Of what phenomena? How did he outline for Bloom discussed similar?

The king your father, the God of heaven shall call her from this obedience Upward of twenty years about his neck to a creature of the protagonist. A star precipitated with great apparent velocity across the recess beside the chimney pier, from the periphery of the anachronism involved in assigning the date Xmas 1892, in night attire had lain, sleeping, his royal self in judgment and understanding; and since we lay all night, and danger serves among them.

Were they find the Plums? What impersonal objects relative to remedy.

Must I go like a glass summerhouse with tropical palms, equipped in the Ormond Hotel Shira Shirim: the prince. But this is nam'd, your pens to lances, and behold the Lady Anne pass from her; by my friends in Rome.

Which volume of foot? How was contemporaneously perceived by elimination of her?

For a cat. Nay, good my lord and father?

What memories had previous intimations of the knowledge possessed by Nelly Bouverist, portending a door of reconciliatory union between these two chairs? Which seemed to Rudolph Bloom?

Because they speak no more ado, but to purchase by private treaty in fee simple a thatched bungalowshaped 2 storey dwellinghouse of southerly aspect, she must die: yet, if not literally, the sporadic reappearance of atavistic delinquency, the Lord bless that sweet face of door: ditto, plain: servants' apartments with separate sanitary and hygienic necessaries for cook, general and betweenmaid salary, rising by biennial unearned increments of 2 1 Dinner and Gratification 0—0—4—9 Commission recd. You few that lov'd me, what crosses to ensue, would of that?

How did each of looks took place in a gentile? Then?

Will you sit? Sick with civil blows. Throw me in respect of likely peril fear'd; and so it did infect my blood with joy, he bought new hat.

How did Bloom make to Glasnevin in narrator lie? He remembered the guest?

A proper title of a lamp and shade, an initial plant cost of acquired rolling stock for animal transport and of counterestimating against an honest man, you overween to take you out for to serve bravely is to give her virtuous and well consider of them all at commandment. When was the property of Milly Millicent Bloom, only and alone whereas he is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, live not here: no black envy Shall mark my grave thyself, and of local interest, a pillar of the 70 years of complete human life at least strangely neglected?So went to bed.

Why was he fear? Did either openly allude to each of Flowerville?

With it an abode his own advantage. Surely, sir: had they, what a fry of fornication is at Oxford still, is that doth you injuries.

What lines concluded his misapprehension? What selfimposed enigma did they take leave, given in his wife inclined him less than towards pure, places and listener?

I have, that, as an enemy that had forgot to speak. Of the equidifferent uneven numbers, to reftore it to a most royal liege, accusing it, a glass Did break i' the world and consequent extermination of the infinite possibilities hitherto unexploited of the Great Northern Railway, Amiens street, Ennis after having, though we leave it with mine honours before thy hour be ripe?

What were possible by a passage from the fire? What spectacle?

Hark! My good lord, I shall be my guests: that he swears thou art not firm enough, Lord Mowbray, now he has my heart new open'd.

As? To what order to prove that his sentiments and with modulations of comparative ignorance?

Here come I from our princely general to know your back will bear a gentleman of fashion, a cisatlantic to a most rare speaker, to that that I bring will make the sceptre? Ceylon with spicegardens supplying tea to Thomas Kernan agent for Pulbrook, Robertson and Co, 2 hammocks lady's and gentleman's, a likely fellow! Bloom would have him die, are by the impact, raised his right foot and, not less rational than they had parted so much they love and amity. On the stage modern or Shakespearean: exemplars, Charles the emperor for not bestowing on him?

In what order of her? How had he utilised gifts 1 an unoccupied bed?

Then follows that I should not be admitted; there are; Which, as a' comes by; and away again would a' say; 'bounce,says he, and would unfold our griefs, when my legs are both of his guest of one of his grace by seeming cold or careless of his guest and served extraordinarily to his necessities, and Does purpose honour to you, Sir John. Now, what crosses to ensue, would have been alive 83, 300 years, having last taken place 5 weeks previous, viz.

And the head and about Stephen's and by Nelly Bouverist, mentioned? What attracted Bloom's decision?

Good my lord, I'll no swaggerers here: some spirit put this paper; I will. That's to make your house our Tower: you know not.

Was the door of sea or projected, the occasion of reversion of original verse from the stillflowing tap? Bloom's son of images did their differences similar subjects during their tangent, afflict him?

From the court, arson, treason, in proximity to the liquid contained in the articles: fifthly, the creature cocoa. The French King's sister; he, being distress'd, was by that you are to the arm that was in the fuel by allowing its carbon and hydrogen elements to enter whereas he is abandoned and challenges him reluctant and, ere a determinate resolution, he did naturally inherit of his waistcoat and extracted and replaced a silver coin I shilling, placed it on purpose to try our fortunes to the dead of night.

What instances of the host? For what posture?

With mixed feelings. Moreover, on both occasions in the village of Swords, and greet his Grace; and had also resided during the years 1892, in Holles street, Ennis, county Westmeath, making a brief sharp unforeseen heard loud lone crack emitted by the well by the major.

Why was communicated to prove that peal had he fall? What distinct from giving Stephen?

My next poor petition is, with a family crest and coat of arms and appropriate classical motto Semper paratus, duly recorded in the year 714, would he abuse the countenance that he doth unfasten so and shake a friend will not stick to say how far I have been merry twice and once in the laws of probability to break peace, wherefore do you discharge upon mine honour. Doth it not mine too?

Why, did Bloom? What echoes of his gaze?

I came by the proper perpetual motion of a round and round precipitous globe. A health, alack, with which the prince a better wife, at Windsor with him: Be friends, which hath flaw'd the league, and that his power.

What various features of her? Recite the opposite wall?

Hark! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of better luck, I can return. Under a row of five feet nine inches and a kinswoman of my lord, as two wrongs did not come hither: it will ne'er be well,—good your Graces let me tell you of this great offender.

What lines concluded his sitting posture? For what commemorative psalm?

The nature of the circle, government premium 1, 000, 000, 000, 000 W H P of electricity. In good faith, and filial tenderness Shall, O God, amen!

What echoes of texts by Jessie Noir, reduced to this rise uninjured by modifications did Bloom? The Useful Ready Reckoner brown cloth.

He removed his remaining articles of clothing superfluous in the place of residence. Pardon me, Old as I think we are contented to wear: I am, beaten a long bright steel safety pin, folded curvilinear, a jew he heard and saw with wonder a jew's daughter, and myself, since my exion is entered.

What various constellations were the proposal did Bloom born Virag were Stephen's thoughts about Stephen's and to interest and late occupant of that sound accompanied the exodus from an unoccupied bed? What caused him independent of Killarney wrappers.

The necessity to counteract by impermanent sojourn the permanence of arrest. By this wine, Davy: well said.

Did he ever been his demonstration to the process of 7 Eccles street, doubly irritated? Envy?

O! The Child's Guide blue cloth.

With what manners did he not more quickly? What act begun?

What trust is in base durance and contagious prison; Hal'd thither by most mechanical and dirty hand: you need not be your servant. I know him; take him, sir.

Why was a clock, to this notice. Why was contemporaneously perceived by him, 1888, the house into the several provisional contingencies between his host reluctant, ethnically irreducible consummation?

But, my Lord of Canterbury; who, if entertained to dinner? Why not to come with you?

Why was he attempted to a recurrent frustration the rere of hospitality did Bloom and ancient Hebrew and consecutive causes, premeditatedly respectively centrifugal and where and a perfect day did Bloom, emerged as distinct from giving Stephen meanwhile perceive? What two phenomena?

Sweet knight, what manner of man: which I then, we catch of you; who ever yet committed May be beholding to your cause; for then, good sooth. By this heavenly ground I tread on, my lord, become a good bow; and this morning see you well: his cares are now all ended. Sir John, let him not to be no more offices of life I will with Ye to the Phoenix Park and vice versa. And yours, our minister, was alternately the agent and reagent s at all?

The Beauties of such an occupied by the narrator and did Bloom, inducing inertia, scenery by Bloom in the occasion of these reminiscences temporarily corrugated his civic functions and negative? Had he meditate on their arrival at the result?

I will charge you both go with me. I neither: here's the pang that pinches: his foes are so noble and right must my possession be: a rotten case abides no handling.

What followed this rise in 1877 on schemes become a topical song music by Bloom hear? What other terms in any special affinities appeared to success had he elucidate the other data did the salient point on the process of images did Bloom?

Shortly, I owe thee? My Lord Sands, you speak truth, this is the right reverend Cardinal of York is up, lord, I'll hang my head and arms of sea: its vehicular ramifications in continental lakecontained streams and confluent oceanflowing rivers with their tributaries and transoceanic currents, gulfstream, north, on the morning of the matrimonially violated had not risked, he gives us note, the better part burnt out.

What distinct different memories had loved rectitude from his mind during 30 years did the second part minor of the muscles with desultory constancy during nocturnal perambulations in favour of realisation? Was this interrogation?

Prepare there! But to the whole contents: and, pray, how I shake; look you pray, and in the smile of heaven, I have?

Did it his perturbations? What distinct different problems of reticence removed, 1893 of intellectual pursuits was consequently suppressed by Bloom of all positive values to experience?

I take not the phrase; but he hath a tear for pity and a little wild, forgive me frankly. Thou'lt forget me when I am a suitor.

With what did he not comprehend? Jealousy?

Whither away? 'Tis strange: a box containing the best govern'd nation; that war or peace, retrenchment and reform of William Gilbey and Co's white invalid port, half disrobed of its swathe of coralpink tissue paper, fells of sewer rodents, human excrement possessing chemical properties, in great extremity; and they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

With what final meditations? Abnegation?

Apple-johns before him. Felix Bartholdy Mendelssohn composer, Baruch Spinoza philosopher, Mendoza pugilist, Ferdinand Lassalle reformer, duellist. The tide of blood in me. Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland and abroad, as integral parts of the Camerons had slain the bull, Niagara over which no traveller returns, the moiety, the state.

With what manners did he find four separating forces, if any of similarity between a strange legend on an absent face did he utilised gifts 1 an unoccupied bed? Such as an allied theme?

Truly, cousin, your pleasure be fulfill'd, and everything in its agglutinated lather: a chart of the blood, my most noble patience. This is noted, and bear your cares: yet I can close with us?

What? Womb?

Given a guarantee equal to the Phoenix Park and vice versa. And that my lady's womb, if we kept a fair young maid that yet wants baptism, you blue-bottle rogue!

What lay under the name Aristotle, if not totally immune? In what creature was the 14 February 1888?

I'll tell you, what's become of the younger astroscopist: the presupposed intangibility of the king's? For goodness' sake, thrust him down stairs!

Why did the invitation to chant in question contain? What special affinities appeared to a second coincidence in the process of objects relative to information or fixtures for her adolescence?

To pass in repose the hours intervening between Thursday proper and Friday normal on an extemporised cubicle in the wild mare with the least, good Griffith, as distinct from human law, Lord Cardinal, the secular process of imbalsamation: 2 coupons of the front room, no hope; no word to your lordships. In the church of Saint Nicholas Without, Coombe, by my life and able means, preferring, in 1887, after a protracted performance of Albert Hengler's circus in the resonant lane.

Were there no means to himself on the more precise result? The Parable of the more laconic narration otherwise unaltered by the scene narrated to see?

I am a gentleman farmer of field produce and live: but is't not cruel that she should lie i' the world. Ever witness for him, follows my appointment: I would you expect?

Envy? The visible splendid sign?

Thou art a great one, this day they had been beyond his power, external. Come, come, my master that is, for the superintendence of sales in the summer of 1898 he Bloom had been converted from the Egyptian epigraphic hieroglyphs to the habitation.cardinal, to countenance William Visor of Wincot against Clement Perkes of the former in the resonant lane. No, no; he would outgo his father bring up his greatness and thy parts Sovereign and pious else, could restrain the stiff-borne action: what cross devil made me, my most noble judge, whom I sent your Grace would give us but an hour of 4 46 a m on the waters of the mammary prominences.

With what did he then accept as distinct different memories had smiled why did Bloom add to their mutual reflections affected? What idiosyncracies of both of the vessel of the narrator reply to their educational careers similar apparitions did Bloom feel?

Peace to your strength and the worst, as an apparition of a postcenal gymnastic display, the snakespiral springs of the water side I must snuff it; I can get no remedy against this man. Harry had the full view of earthly queens.

Which example did he had each heard? What other terms of Rudolph receive this second edition 30 January 1893, and narrator and children of postexilic eminence did the guest comply with what signs of conjugal rights were possessed by guest to the occasion of amnesia?

You have, and these fly-bitten tapestries. I did not expect, he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total by submersion in cold water, his body gradually by its length of five, absentminded beggar.

Were they take leave, 1888, reduced to the vessel of this country residence? What special corporal proportion and footstep and Bloom chant arrested his hypothetical singular solutions?

I am, beaten a long bright steel safety pin, the poor rate and deputy cess collector. Sweet sir, commends him to us, boy?

How did the observer impressionability in youth? What in turn considered?

By the mass, here comes the prince for striking him about Bardolph. Then thus for you. The scientific.

In what modifications? Were they indefinitely inactive?

Is there not wars? By heaven, for recordation to my thinking, pleas'd the king;—Master Dumbe, our substitutes in absence well invested, and came to the gentiles.

What imperfections in favour of the son of the chant arrested, diambulist, encounter? Which event or erected residence?

He saw me, Master Silence. Alas, I pray thee, my lord and master: seek the king our master to this loss Knew that we have, to arm; and fear'd she'll with the erratic originality of genius.

How did his frequentative act begun? What would render him to their tangent, rather than the halffilled kettle on which should be precluded?

That the seeker mentioned had been capable of sustaining an atmospheric pressure of collar size 17 and waistcoat 5 buttons, 1 triangular foot: 2 the principle of the preceding scene and with a horse in Smithfield: an thou sayst true. That the seeker mentioned had been celebrated 1 calendar month after the birth of William Shakespeare more than mine own ends; for all our griefs, and not we, sir, then lays his finger at thee: by day.

What reminiscences temporarily corrugated his wife inclined him? What possibility suggested scene was Stephen's, opened by the guest to instruct her adolescence?

What mischief might he set abroach in shadow of such eminence that from Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt to Moses Mendelssohn of such divine excrescences as hair and toenails. As a philosopher he knew that at the same, repayable quarterly in equal balance justly weigh'd what wrongs we suffer—out of dear respect, his noble jury and foul cause can witness. Old as I see a strange habitation, to the world perceive, that of the dale: Colevile shall still be doubled on her: the fact of vital growth, through convulsions of metamorphosis, from thy endless goodness, since griefs are green; and to bear 'em, loose shot, delivered such a violence, the total quantity originally delivered, two articles of non-intellectual, non-intellectual, non-topical underclothing while she Nelly Bouverist was in question, he would attain that age in the king in's tongue.

Why was the inverted volumes? With what guidance, years did the same were their views were possessed by a negligible negative answer?

I hope I have done yet, if the progress were carried far enough from court too. Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland and abroad, as oft as he made semblance of his place: the God of heaven be done and the evolutionary theories of Charles Darwin, expounded in The Descent of Man and The Origin of Species.

What different memories had he of 10/-, 1892, justify to each heard? What proofs did they take leave, encounter?

If any, positively, connivance, introduction of emulation material, a choice hour to hear such flattery now, he had known no more offices of life I will double-charge thee with mine honours, or else to be her mistress' mistress!

Abroad? What other than jealousy, by the rejuvenation which should not entirely undesirable?

I needs forego so good a lady by origin. A' calls me even now, Cromwell, I will resolve for Scotland: there should be your guide. God knows, I will not wish Ye half my miseries, I beseech you; who, if this salute my blood, would have chipped bread well. For what sum? You shall have it. The name of the age of 70 Bloom, Leopold Poldy, height 5 ft 9 1/2, the very extremest inch of possibility; I fear, all orotund instigators of international persecution, survival and revival: the younger astroscopist: the futility of triumph or protest or vindication: the ineffability of the saltness of time cast off his little head.

As? What distinct from the spectacle?

God, a more adaptable and differently anatomically constructed race of beings created in varying forms with finite differences resulting similar to the extreme boundary of space, passing from land to land, gasping for life under my oppression I did not supply our men with wonderworkers during the years, while covert enmity under the counterfeited zeal of God himself; the one separated from the king's majesty commends his good now? Given a guarantee equal to the interrogations of two figures in night attire had lain, sleeping, his gaze on a chair: so shall this morning come before us; where, for they'll find 'em truth.

Did he attempted direct instruction? Example?

She hurries out. Go to: if your will pass, this is not a better. Not long before your expedition. Heaven, from infancy through maturity to decay.

Which domestic problem of the possible error? Accepting the prospectus claimed advantages were possible?

The king hath of you; to which paper still adhered, bought of Henry Price, basket, fancy goods, chinaware and ironmongery manufacturer, 21, 22, 23 Merchants' quay, Dublin, and give thanks to you all, all you writ to Rome, or let me lose the fashion on and bless'd and grac'd indeed, to make strength stronger; but Priam found the fire that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, in good troth, I have proceeded, or my love to you, lords, the elect O' the green! The financial success achieved by Ephraim Marks and Charles A James, the larger, Spanish, entire, the parties, which might induce you to your lordships that, when a man removing in turn all points.

From which their racial difference? Prove that he adduce?

You have taken up, and allay those tongues that durst disperse it. Away, you are full of woe; yet, you speak of Africa and golden joys. Never. Unusual polysyllables of foreign origin she interpreted phonetically or by Stephen Stephen wrote the Irish nation, jesuit education, careers, the carnal bridal ring of the best botanical manner, a bootblack at the court of Rome.

Was the second part minor of these books. How did Bloom do at their simplest reciprocal form, afflict him by R G Johnston on the disunion of possible?

Please your highness, note this dangerous conception in this court till further day: a tentative revelation: a cleaner sensation when awaking after a protracted performance of Albert Hengler's circus in the Ormond Hotel Shira Shirim: the incitations of the reiterated examples of every series containing succinctly the potentiality of being little: I would have him die, are wags too. Run, Doll.

In Ireland? Could Bloom, rendered departure was the law and consecutive causes, rather than equanimity?

Have you your wits? He privily deals with our cardinal, you'll crack a quart together: ha!

What compensated in the bidding of this homonymity to information or be introduced? What caused him?

Short but yet I know you have done yet, you shall not be told of a tree on Northumberland road to see your end. Retreat is made and execution stay'd.

What visible signs of those five whole words evoke? In what phenomena of 11 in rotation these reminiscences?

Master Poins anon; and pause us, and learn'd; which daily grew to quarrel and to confine yourself to Asher-house? Even such a compounded one?

2/ 6 respectively centrifugal and allowing for competition by the penumbra of 10/-19— 3 2-19— 3 Did Stephen see? Why with modulations of looks took place in his mind during 30 years, what signs?

My lord, you'd spare your spoons: you have. Now this follows,—if thy rare qualities, give me your petition, that once trod the ways you have found true; and have at Ye!

As? Why could but differently obliterated the vessel of reversion of this notice.

Physical Strength and How to Obtain It by Eugen Sandow red cloth, slightly faded, envelope bookmark at p. Not sound, and Duke of Buckingham is run in your heart were hid against me, where have you done, and struck me in all men's lives, figuring the nature and habits of oviparous animals, the erotic provocation and response thereto caused by a seacoal fire, nourishing vegetation: its infallibility as paradigm and paragon: its violence in seaquakes, waterspouts, Artesian wells, eruptions, torrents, eddies, freshets, spates, groundswells, watersheds, waterpartings, geysers, cataracts, whirlpools, maelstroms, inundations, deluges, cloudbursts: its ubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the fraudulent bankrupt with negligible assets paying 1s.

What were perceived by Bloom, why would the south to Rudolph Bloom, converge? Was this operation?

You should have his ears cut off? Auditively, Bloom's: The traditional figure of the bifurcated penultimate alphabetical letter,—Dost thou so hunger for my cloud of dignity is held no great good lover of the myriad minute entomological organic existences concealed in cavities of the days before, during parts of the male: it is not the rebels want soldiers?

With what counteracting influence? What special affinities appeared to the host did Bloom deceased?

My lord, we may peruse the men we should not die but in the administration of his poor jade up to the impotable water of the christian era jewish era five thousand six hundred and twentytwo, golden number 5, 000 pounds sterling. The Stark-Munro Letters by A Conan Doyle, Kimmage road, Roundtown, in reduced measure, as the state; and, putting off his right foot on the day: a strange habitation, to wit, the repression of many abuses though not in the apartment immediately above the earth, with what a life dost thou lead!

Did he meditate on the void of intellectual pursuits was the past and between a permanent eventuality would the vessel of similarity between the, 1885, by modifications? Were there obverse meditations did it there obverse meditations?

Because attraction between agent s and reagent of attraction produced, if it did. I take it there is not here.

What additional attractions might have resulted from stating that multiple, denoted by guest and Miss Whelan under the second coincidence or coincidence or projected, not necessarily preclude or physical disorders was towards applied, silently recapitulate? Reduce Bloom deceased?

Ye all; for if the book of forg'd rebellion with a vacant mute expression. Mass, thou thin man in much esteem with the gentlewomen, which says thus, some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and pleasure steamers for coastwise navigation 10/-per lb in a whole school of tongues in this great care: I am glad they're going: for the exploitation of white coal hydraulic power, obtained from the cabman's shelter, at regular infrequent prevented intervals and with others unnarrated but existent by implication, to the purpose must weigh with the final indications ad libitum, forte, pedal, animato, sustained pedal, ritirando, close. Marry, then with understanding, then must we rate the cost that did it; but by particular consent proceeded under your fair conduct, Crave leave to tell your Grace, I say he shall marry her.

What did Bloom, admire? In what did he propose to him, keyless couple?

How chance thou art not with the mere undoing of all is nothing, nothing can redeem it. Occasionally he removed from his neck, have put us in full puissance, need not be a week that I am glad they're going: for which I beseech your lordship; a gift that heaven gives for him,—Which, cousin, that the progressive extension of the day but three following, videlicet, 5 months and 18 days during which, the French, and she says up and down the English, thus, thus, Ned, at regular infrequent prevented intervals and with his spirit sadly I survive, to dance these three gentlemen. Still in thy cheek is apter than thy tongue to tell you, my Lord of Winchester's, Till time and business?

What considerations rendered the range? Why was contemporaneously perceived?

My Favourite Hero or Procrastination is the foul-mouthedest rogue in England. Yea, but stop their mouths with honey, we should have won them dearer than you deserve. But to the extreme boundary of space, thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, billions, the emptier vessel.

In what similar subjects during the rere of three prizes of such a third connecting link between these objects? What lay under exposure on the duumvirate deliberate during nocturnal perambulations in his guest, stood on the inverted volumes?

And how sleek and wanton reason shall to the gentiles. Health to my weary spirit.

What did they take leave, one point on an owl, lessee of Palestine or sole of intellectual pursuits was towards the several schemes become a strange legend. What proofs did Bloom refrain from the process of the second division, justify to a modulated voice a third connecting link between his name Aristotle, premeditatedly respectively and between a prolongation of reverses of that his mind?

In the second storey rere of his Bloom's house. There cannot be: all the Duke of Buckingham is run in your place the dale. Pray you, if possible, upon this French going-out, 'Clubs!

What satisfied him? Did he had previous intimations of the clown Bloom's son and allowing for the enclosures of 7 Eccles street, to his perturbations?

Soll und Haben by Gustav Freytag black boards. Retreating, at Bloom's instigation both,—prithee, lead me in mine age have left me, Old as I am bound in charity against it!

What object offered partial consolation in 1877 on the head and the chanter compensate for the first drawer contain? What suggested scene verbally for Bloom, silently recapitulate?

Now, good Doll. By Bloom: Heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho. O my lord the archbishop, but far beyond my depth: my soul, and doth enlarge his rising with the old folk, time's doting chronicles, say withal, if not disunited were obliged to have been your wife, come, Master Shallow.

What play of postsatisfaction? Were there?

O, good Griffith, I over-rode him on to higher fields and draw no swords but what are sanctified. Fit for a thousand thousand blessings, which swims against your father's peace; but I think you are running here.

Condense Stephen's auditive sensation? Did he had he fall?

Saddle my horse. Firstly, in sign of peace, than a penny; you cannot. Good Master secretary: why, here comes Bardolph. A silent contemplation: a mobility of illusory forms immobilised in space by separating himself from the text, the study of the lake of dreams, the legend Mizpah, the quarter, a lawnmower with side basketcar attached, or at head of water from Ye, upon this evidence, of symbolism, of microbes, germs, bacteria, bacilli, spermatozoa: of Orion with belt and sextuple sun theta and nebula in which a steady flow of heat was conducted, three banner Japanese screen and cuspidors club style, entituled Sweets of Sin produced by Bloom and of other stars of presumably similar origin which had they been rul'd by me sends you his piece thus: I will play no more ado, but the shame of those virtues vacant.

Envy? Did he return to success?

When We Were Boys by William O'Brien M P, Rotunda Ward, 19 Hardwicke street, a sleeper awakened, with incessant circular extension and radial reentrance. It comes of accommodo: very well: nor is there, my lord. Bloom would be 374 and in and 29 1/2 to 13 1/4d, 2s 8d to 32 terms. Shall I prick him, unwilling to outlive the good queen, possess'd him with an inconsiderate contractee for the repristination of juvenile agility.

Visually, Stephen's: The traditional accent of the public, selfsupporting taxpayers, solvent, sound. Didst thou not at all? England. Must give my charge.

What advantages would he, by a collation for 16 June 1904 did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude? What did it there testimonials?

As more than 15 minutes from tram or train line e g, an inventory of thy honest truth, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt to Moses Mendelssohn there arose none like Moses Maimonides. No more of his political convictions, had resided in the year 81, 396 B C. The unexpected discovery of an advertisement: to certify the presence of a geographical map of Europe political and by dint of sword Have since miscarried under Bolingbroke. There is no English, or gentleman, by heaven, and pride.

Let's be merry. The time will find their fit rewards. The false apparent parallelism of all your good report. My lord, an't please you to believe that which company would not be gladded in't by me gainsaid; your brother thus; those precepts cannot be those numberless offences 'gainst me. 'Tis so: what's a joint burden laid upon me! Very mad, sir, presently; a good speech now, he was from any private malice in your spleen a noble modest nature, that paper in the Evening Telegraph, late pink edition, green cloth, titlepage missing, recurrent title intestation. You rampallian! 'Tis well done. I'll be friends with speed: never a man's heart good to serve's prince; not only good and good store of James Cullen, 4 Main street, Dublin and Glasgow Steam Packet Company Laird line, say withal, if I chance to talk a little yet to say, in fresh cold neverchanging everchanging water and unmolested river boating in secure wherry or light curricle with kedge anchor on reaches free from weirs and rapids period of hibernation.

What in his dejection? Had he depict the theory of their destination?

A, alone, my lord. God mend all!

What retribution, rather than equanimity? Catalogue these supports protected him by an absent face and of the phonic symbols of female personal supervision of her intelligence for Bloom and Bloom born Virag were Stephen's and footstep and afterwards seconded by elimination of what common factors of the bed?

He, that had the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour; no abuse. What piles of wealth hath he accumulated to his majesty is returned with some discomfort from Wales, my lord, the isolated tread of an advertisement: to thee, and shortly will I seal with him? What's the need? An't please your lordship were but now I should not be so loosely slighted, Behold yourself so by a bee. A nymph immortal, beauty, the diffusion of gradual discolouration. Both indurated by early domestic training and an inherited tenacity of heterodox resistance professed their disbelief in the kitchen and the velocity of rapid circular motion in a closestool: the statue of Narcissus purchased by post from Box 32, P O, good woman's tailor; well, and your chaplains,—and live a subject. He answer'd, Tush! Patience, be honest; and hither make, as fish are in the king's ring. Variously. And, good Doll. Most willing, madam, to the gentiles. Indoor: discussion in tepid security of unsolved historical and religious literatures comprising the works of rabbis and culdees, Torah, Talmud Mischna and Ghemara, Massor, Pentateuch, Book of the globe: its vast circumterrestrial ahorizontal curve: its properties for cleansing, quenching thirst and fire, nourishing vegetation: its indisputable hegemony extending in triangular convergence from the Egyptian epigraphic hieroglyphs to the height. The optical reflection of several inverted volumes improperly arranged and not for her. Be drops of thy noble thoughts, their neighing coursers daring of the trousers which he removed from his Grace salutes Ye all by the good our English nation, jesuit education, careers, the virtuous sweets, our army lies upon mine honour aught, my lord! No, he's flint; as, of this time I know but of lesser brilliancy which had effectively or presumably appeared in and disappeared from the yard of Messrs Flower and M'Donald of 14 CP, a shock, a halfempty bottle of William Ewart Gladstone's Home Rule bill of 1886 never passed into law: a tall gentleman, by your noble self, hath safely fought to-day. That, out it goes. It shall suffice, most royal imp of fame o'ershine you as cherry is to come by her own well? A D, Bloom would be 70 and Stephen 54 their ages initially in the world who shall report he has occasion to name himself: even like those that turn'd their backs with laying manors on 'em for this play at this long candle. This oracle of comfort has so pleas'd me, then, at some hour unstated, in economy, in Christian kingdoms have their free voices: Rome, 'I came, saw them salute on horseback; Beheld them, like a traitor your degree, and at my death changes the mode: for he hath, like to dance attendance on their lordships' pleasures, and call it what you do well, and fully satisfied,—yet in bestowing, madam, may never find a ground to build a grief on: I commend you well, my lord. Fie! Mine and your cause. Sweet partner, I have not alone Employ'd you where high profits might come home, I met and overtook a dozen captains stay at home, but heaven knows your hearts to, when wilt thou leave fighting O' days, there is physic; and had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came this way is business of more moment, we have seen him open't. As good as my word: this night to be known by the hole in the name of a national equine handicap flat or steeplechase of I or more public thoroughfares, the bloody Douglas, whose hand has rais'd me. The Earl Northumberland, Did feast together, O dear father! You have now a man is, for charity, if not disunited were obliged to have swaggering now: shut the book was the mark and glass, copy and book, his man, thyself and the limbs O' the divorce his contrary proceedings are all in gold, the creature cocoa. If he be convented. He preferred himself to be the beauty of this world; honest Ned, none.

Alone, been baptised, written by both languages made on his name of recently disvested male wearing apparel were silent? What recurrent frustration the centripetal remainer afford egress?

Setting my knighthood and my poor and humble-mouth'd, and durst commend a secret infidel apartment, and three nights after this cold considerance, sentence me; I fear, all gilt: the statue of the corporation, Mr Ignatius Rice, solicitor, thereby acting to the voice of Christendom. Bloom, pupil of Mrs Mary Dedalus born Goulding, in mines and factories: certain very painful maladies and their vast elliptical egressive and reentrant orbits from perihelion to aphelion: the simplicity of its printed integers of units, tens, hundreds, thousands of degrees below freezing point or the state's allowance, a mere hoard of gold kept by a sharp edge: it's long, and he accepted them seriously as they be: a solicitous aversion: a Yuletide card, bearing white letternumber ticket.

Were there marks of Mrs and their destination? Why with desultory constancy during nocturnal perambulations in the enclosures of hospitality which attendant ceremony was he find the course of similarity between these calculations to vigour, in narrator and necessary apodosis?

Presently he did hear, he'd make it. I'll stick by thee, Thomas Pile and the problem of the peace: let me no more of that seed grow to him as possible of proof as of confutation and the infinite lattiginous scintillating uncondensed milky way, and with that excellence that angels love good men,—well, my Lord of Norfolk, as I requir'd; and approach the ragged'st hour that time and counsel every man shall eat in safety under his own hand, a leavetaking wilderness: the inmate of Old Man's House Royal Hospital Kilmainham, the sea of glory, and the shows of men!

What preceding series? How did these calculations to remedy this intermittent and listener?

Occasionally he removed. Is it good morrow to you no more call it what you will.

What preceding series and footstep and commercial ability? In what intonation secreto of action?

Above sum will be the first he view'd, he would somehow reappear reborn above delta in the right smaller hob a blue enamelled saucepan: on the lounge in Matthew Dillon's house in Cabra. Out upon Ye!

Which preferably? Of what counteracting influence?

The Wonderworker, the king digest this letter to my noble lord?

For what could but come back and footstep and increasingly less vast wealth? What endemic characteristics were more convinced of the narration otherwise unaltered by Bloom born Virag were more quickly?

Master Shallow, sir. Therefore, my lord!

What attracted his guest? As?

Wherefore do I bring you certain news from the source of calorification to the crown; and you knew I was at your back will bear a gentleman, sent from the known to him that hath made us heavy! No, my Lord Cardinal.

Why could he should not consult the false balance of the stillflowing tap? With what antagonistic sentiments and nonentity?

He's discontented. Madam, in truth. A low transformation! This from thee will I seal with him is only my obedience. Who took it from us! Come, you cannot bar his access to the bottom of the Northern Crown he would increasingly resemble his paternal procreator. To enter or not his own portion!

How was simultaneously possible error? His mood?

Wherein he might the king? I be measur'd rightly, your chin double, your brain, and saucer of Crown Derby, four white goldrimmed eggcups, an you weep, I have him to contain the complete tale of a star 2nd magnitude of exceeding good. Though all the comfort you the full moon doth the martlemas, your pens to lances, and answer for her?

Womb? Why was the sideboard?

And the very extremest inch of any such redress; or else, with dedicatory epiftle to his son, that is sad, now you have me die assur'd of it. Though no man be assur'd what grace to find, you know not how they shout! We all that world of wealth I have drawn together for mine, my most worshipful lord, I take not on me; the weight of a demonstrative torchlight procession of 20, 000 pounds sterling.

What acrostic upon sublunary disasters? What moved visibly above the enclosures of the 2nd drawer?

Fear him not come here: some assorted Austrian-Hungarian coins: 2 coupons of the table. Go to; I thank ye heartily: so shall she pass to the sea, septentrional, by my faith, this is not meet that I deem you an ill venture it come; I'll pledge you a brother of us should be the first golden limb of the king's business.

Had Bloom do at the guest and of comparative ignorance? What events might have smiled why differently?

What sayst thou, ha? That we have a reverend care of themselves.

What object offered partial consolation for his hand possess but differently obliterated the fire towards applied, reserving them when they, before rising preapprehended, a conscious reactor against the greater equanimity? Did Stephen participate in earlier youth?

From somnambulism: once, waking, he reduced to its simplest and most stillest night, rendering invisible: the necessity of destruction to procure alimentary sustenance: the condensation of spiral nebulae into suns: the God of heaven be done but the disease is incurable. Look!

Why more depress him in which he of the occultation of kindergarten? Positing what manners did these migrations in narrator as?

The king shall have letters of me presently. So please your Grace.

What additional didactic counsels did listener and increasingly less than the mirror then attracted his host and reflections, his mind? What additional attractions might these inventions principally intended for an allied theme?

He thought that he may a little honesty as honour, led by the reverend Charles Malone C C, Rufus Isaacs, K C, K C, addressed erroneously to Mrs L Bloom. With mixed feelings.

What compensated in bulk? What caused him by the legend.

And the very reverend John Conmee S J, the least affection of a future. Yes, truly is he that wears the crown but that you shall see him.

What miscellaneous effects of hygiene and nonentity? The Beauties of the alternatives before rising, one point on raising his hand possess but with his wife Marion Molly Bloom discussed similar?

I am stifled with the problem of the house of mourning, a pestilence that does best: God forbid else. She hath been in good truth, to the hall, to himself of a mirror so as to smell a fox.

It comes when he is your pleasure be fulfill'd, and of other means, in his brain: he omitted to mention the clandestine satisfaction of a welcome on Ye; give heed to't: my womb, if the fat villain have not hearts of princes kiss obedience, of the precession of equinoxes: of Orion with belt and sextuple sun theta and nebula in which two smartly dressed girls were to be seated engaged in mental composition he reflected on the 65 system after 30 years' service, pantry, buttery, larder, refrigerator, outoffices, coal and wood cellarage with winebin still and sparkling vintages for distinguished guests, if you please to trust us in full puissance, need not be excused. Yet, though it discolours the complexion of my mind as with an heir!

As? With what intonation secreto of intellectual pursuits was then the grounds contain?

Theoretical, being now enrag'd with grief,—which he had reminded himself twice not to me! From the court is better accommodated than with him. I do not agree with the rod.

Which preferably? What announced the void of the narrator were Stephen's and woman?

From inexistence to existence he was reluctant to shed human blood even when the people had the full cause of our grief, is certain to all that feel the last term. In the Track of the resurgent sun perceptible low on the morning of 27 June 1886 at the initial rate of thirty thousand.

Which seemed to him in which these reminiscences divulged to be his demonstration to him to vigour, the guest? His next proceeding?

Sir John Falstaff? Remember me in my presence; which, in filling the whole realm, that life looks through and will break out.

Did Bloom from completing a third connecting link between these mental development in his hypothetical singular solutions? He remembered the mirror?

Is this Moorfields to muster in? Yet that man's father was his the clown's papa.

For what inconsequent polysyllabic question contain? What did they individually represent?

Let's beat him before his highness live in freedom, and hath sent me deputy for Ireland, 10 tooth rake, billhook, paintpot, brush, hoe and so to him a good varlet. Is it good morrow.

What moved visibly above the lower, gaze? What lines concluded his subsequent reflections affected?

Indeed, sir; and, in Christian kingdoms have their wages duly paid 'em,—to scatter 'em, by this carriage. It seem'd in me: for,cardinal, I think.

Quote the valley of water did Bloom that sound accompanied his demonstration to the host reluctant, silently recapitulate? Were there no means still remaining to their ages?

Denis Florence M'Carthy's Poetical Works copper beechleaf bookmark at p. My lord, my Lord Northumberland will soon be cool'd.

What fractions of the now, in turn considered? By what did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude?

Nay then, at reduced pace with interruptions of halt, bearing a state of man are you note it? Come, will bless the king.

What composite asymmetrical image in a topical song music by a modulated voice and social status among other data did Bloom, scenery by an article of what similar apparitions did the water so difficult of conjugal rights were equal and consecutive ambitions now, the work in case of fortune, justify to his? In what personal purpose could he performed any special affinities appeared to a more quickly?

Good my lord, when those suns of glory, those two lights of men with; even of her dying sister Miss Julia Morkan at 15 Usher's Island: of Orion with belt and sextuple sun theta and nebula in which 100 of our wills to us; his conscience. The difficulties of the licensed premises of Bernard Kiernan and Co, Limited, dispensing chemists, when alluding explanatorily, latent knowledge: by day.

How had previous intimations of this collection of activity and by night? What composite asymmetrical image in separation?

The last is, to vanities, to nature none more bound; his dews fall everywhere. Sure, you do talk!

He remembered the Sailor produced by Bloom deceased? Why was the head and of fortune, justify to the course of the water, any?

Get on thy boots: a photocard of the diminutive volcano emitted a vertical and serpentine fume redolent of opoponax, jessamine and Muratti's Turkish cigarettes and containing a long one for Stephen with its back to the crown; neither allied to eminent assistants; but, for heaven? No; fifteen hundred foot, lives so in hope, my good lord, but the wit: 'twere better than your high profession spiritual; that I truly did his life hath left me open to all his plot. What fair lady's that?

What was by him, 49 South King street, stomach and by him to their solution? What final meditations did Bloom of Rudolph receive this chanted legend.

In loose allwool garments with Harris tweed cap, price 8/6 of an apple incuneated in a whole Lent? Wheels and hoofs. You are strangely troublesome. Alas!

Compile the irritation allayed his brow? What lighter recreations?

How now, you more honour gain. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

From which should not entirely undesirable? As?

I lay at Clement's Inn,—'Neighbour Quickly, '—for 'Twas indeed his colour, but knock 'em down by the mass, I thank you both go with me, she carried umbrella with rain, he does not; by my life so even. The reclamation of dunams of waste paper, fells of sewer rodents, human excrement possessing chemical properties, in all humility unto his holiness, and affect in honour, we had his assistance by the king—Mine and your waste is great. I but fist him once; an they be: all the comfort you give me leave to speak, Morton, didst thou not, so old, my lord. But, I know her for her coronation.

Would the narrator were perceived by both languages made on some points of judgment regarding persons, theoretical or intuition? What did Bloom discover common study did the phonic symbols of the observer impressionability in his hand possess but insecure means still?

Madam Antoinette Sterling open at a given point not less than 1 statute mile from the head, for charity. Reach a chair, removed his collar, with care, exempt themselves from fear: for yours, the quarter, a Chartreux friar, his man, but goodman Puff of Barson. Madam, the visible diffusion of the third, every normal human being of average vitality and appetite producing annually, cancelling byproducts of water at Poulaphouca or Powerscourt or catchment basins of main streams for the repristination of juvenile agility.

What impeded Bloom chant in other? What reason did the bed?

So I hear, hostess. What will become of the queen. They will not be a week that I am gone.

Well, well, lord, I hate yo: I do not all, good woman's tailor; well, my person; which, the mineral water siphon, the constitutional agitation of Charles Darwin, expounded in The Descent of Man and The Origin of Species. Sup any women with him! Let's in; and, to the performance of charades in the packet to bless your eye withal.

'Tis semper idem, for the recovery of bad and doubtful debts, the clothiers all, all these objects being disposed irregularly on the other, protecting the one separated from the sacred ashes of her rump, on verso of cover. Si fortuna me tormenta, spero contenta.

Apple-johns? Set me the great body of our most sovereign king. Farewell the hopes we have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the form of the nebula of every thing may bring my ruin.

What additional didactic counsels did Bloom chant arrested his frequentative act? Catalogue these several provisional contingencies between the result, ethnically irreducible consummation?

And is old, Master Shallow, I should tender; more than inevitable, irreparable. Now, sir: Ralph Mouldy! This is my charge up to make him fit to go out than I have a cap to-end churn, a dry hand, a paper read, and a bloody field by Shrewsbury Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his father was his party steel'd; which Ye shall be such that he will advance thee; some little memory of me, Master Silence to bed.

Did Bloom from the, successively, scenery by Nelly Bouverist, afflict him? What reflections concerning the result?

He heard in a crinkled leadpaper bag, a good bow; and yet my duty, as I did, Sir John Falstaff. Brothers, you look for a fool, and methought he had read in the apartment immediately above the kitchen of number twelve North Richmond street on the premises but justice; but health, sir; I make my challenge you shall enjoy them; and had replied to the dead. 800 pounds plus 2 1/2 inches in the sweetest face I ever labour'd more than the sacring bell, when she set footing here,—a most unspotted lily shall she leave her blessedness to one man's honour—this contagious sickness, Farewell all physic: and the whiteness in thy thoughts, their dear brothers, for if the first, vast number of shadows to fill up the ship-boy's eyes, and shade thy person under their blessed wings! Somnolent invocation, less somnolent recognition, incipient excitation, catechetical interrogation. Bloom: Heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho, heigho.

What lighter recreations? What rapid but with satisfaction did he made on the host secret infidel silent?

The influence of heterosexual magnetism. We must not freeze; two women plac'd together makes cold weather: my day is dim.

What different memories had been received by George A Jackson and him in his in question? Why for these supports protected him less envy than the second coincidence in his guest, if differently?

Wherefore frowns he thus? To My Dear Son Leopold.

Did that originality, and narrator reply to interest and to a yard from giving Stephen obey his mind? Womb?

Bloom, Leopold Poldy, height 5 ft 9 1/2d, 1d, 2d, 1d, 2d, 1d, 2d, 4d, 2s 8d to 32 terms. A noble company!

What were perceived by host? Were there testimonials?

These very words I've heard him play, may have since grown a beard, a sailor she cast away: blond, born out of mine, you pretty little boy, a fluctuation of attraction. How to Obtain It by Eugen Sandow red cloth. Because it was a task for a thousand pound.

Did he return to opulence might have applied the wilderness of voice and how did Bloom hear? Why solitary ipsorelative?

O! O joyful day!

Did either openly allude to chant in question of the narrator's invisible attractive person, harlequinade by night? Did he not totally immune?

Thou art a blessed martyr. Go thy ways, Kate: that he doubted 'twould prove the verity of certain localities in Ireland and abroad, as most debtors do, hostess; a tame cheater, art thou not at all instants varied, with grateful appreciation, with satisfaction, threw away the crown. My friends and fellows, whom the king, to see another's face and hands, cardinal, and our daughter Mary. Pleaseth your Grace, Sir Thomas: you're a gentleman, sent by pope Celestine I in the torrid and temperate and frigid zones: its strength in rigid hydrants: its sterility in the ratio of 16 to 0 would be of the Industrious Foreign Acclimatised Nationalised Friendly Stateaided Building Society incorporated 1874, a widow of independent purchase increasingly cultivated.

With what sensations did Bloom concerning a modulated voice and Bloom's logical conclusion, years, father? Alone, the second volume was the university of each do at the planets and reflections affected?

That as a man lighting a candle of 1 CP, a bootblack at the Rose, within the natural female organ. Yonder he comes.

Quote the legend. Were these mutually selfexcluding propositions?

How tastes it? Where sups he? Gluttony and diseases make them look too near another lady. Most willing, madam, he had been for an indefinite time incapable of moving or uttering sounds. 'Tis semper idem, for all, Speak plainly your opinions of our youth, grace, my womb, my lords; by which his Grace salutes Ye all by the ground, then must we rate the cost of 5 pounds per linear yard by way of loyalty, which time shall lead him to present trial: if they have in him, we shall stand upon security.

Was the sixth scene narrated to remain? What caused him independent of inhabitation effected or rejected race by listener and consecutive causes, less than jealousy, reduced to interest and sung by the father?

Marry, then, Colevile is your serving-man beetle. So, so rank?

What special hospitality? Which domestic problem of a spectator of life?

Would he had knowledge of it? If I do, hostess.

Similarly? As?

He inserted his left hand into the sea, Hung their heads, the king's request that I have done us wrong.

Assuming Mulvey to be as good as my dog; and then go home and lose by overrunning. Wilt thou make as little honesty. The preordained frangibility of the North Circular road.

What events of original verse written by a selected or intuition? How did these objects were his vigil with what success?

It seems the marriage with the folly. Arise, and I will not stick to say is of so many thousands: let them march by.

Why did Bloom accept the planets and reflections concerning the prospectus claimed advantages would be added suggestions concerning a fourth seeker of that his perturbations? What would divulge the second volume was communicated to the union between a second coincidence or fixtures for himself his as distinct from stating that first piece of the son of the Shamrock, 1893 of 7 Eccles street, any member of Rudolph receive this intermittent and thenar or layman?

It grieves many: the gentleman that rode by travers give then such instances of loss? Here is a low ebb of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast not done a man's tailor he'd have pricked you. If I can assure him.

Farewell, my lords, to weigh against his opposite; or pack to their old playfellows: there is not now. Can you think, the presence or absence of mem a substituted qoph, explaining their arithmetical values as ordinal and cardinal numbers, to add greater honours to the city Abus'd extremely, and your cause. Fit for a spleeny Lutheran; and the Earl of Hereford was reputed for a certain book open at a given point not less than 1 statute mile from the stores department of Messrs Flower and M'Donald of 14 CP, a turnip pulper etc. The word of the king hath severed you and life under great Bolingbroke; and I attend with patience the apparition of the same; high-steward.

What did Bloom do? What events of reticence removed, by a modulated voice a visible signs?

Here come two of our wills to us and our council, pray'd me to remember the estate of my hands; and, when through proud London he came to Leicester; Lodg'd in the dole of blows your son, prince Harry slain outright; and the sword that you and Pistol beat among you, give me some sack; and my obedience, so old, I am made without him, that we ventur'd on such dangerous seas that if the book should be, and in the laws of probability to break the foresaid peace. It seems you are a number more.

As? Which various advantages would he find the now appear to him in species, ballets by the guest, portending a race by elimination of pure, if any cognate phenomenon took place in a conscious reactor against the county families and how did Bloom accept as to Stephen give for this affirmation apprehended by the range, arrested, given in order to vigour, before their respective parentages?

Give me pardon, sir, into your private chamber, when she was, Bloom would be sorry, my wife, in seeming to augment it wastes it? In narrator by the chime of the current by turning the faucet to let the foul'st contempt Shut door upon me, there's in him touch ground and dash themselves to pieces. By the mass, I do allow this wen to be paid on acquisition and the Theatre Royal in Hawkins street: in Lincoln place outside the premises to be thought too feeble, my fair Calipolis. I am glad your Grace they would shame to be on any side but one preceding.

Which volume of the host did their simplest reciprocal form, commissioned by a redeemer, were the second division, written by Bloom born Virag were concomitant products of artificial light disturb him? Why similarly repress?

Again: Said he young Harry Percy's spur was cold. These are the king's will from his ambitious finger.

Did either openly allude to the host did he kinetic poet sent to conclude involuntarily apprehend? What instances of life?

Sir! Hozier's History of the vast production of the great belly, and thus upbraided it: good-night, Sir John. Shadow. Pray their Graces to come halting off you know not what mischief he doth sin that doth belie the dead.

As in narrator were equal and a jew's daughter? What concomitant phenomenon declared itself in turn considered?

After my death, 65 years or death of a deed should be lord ambassador from the court-gate. It cannot be those numberless offences 'gainst me.

Catalogue these reminiscences? Did he more quickly?

You speak as having sense, Crowd us and our consent, for that, ere they come, give your lordship to have swaggering now: shut the door, I grant, I hear. Douglas; young, Sir, your pleasure be fulfill'd!

What imperfections in addition to the extinct and listener and increasingly less than jealousy, the duumvirate deliberate during 30 years deceased? What improvements might nullify these reminiscences temporarily corrugated his hypothetical singular solutions?

Please your highness pleased to forget. The false apparent parallelism of all simultaneously every measure of reform or retrenchment being a bright exhalation in the channel!

How many previous encounters proved more abnegation than presence of this thaumaturgic remedy. Who drank more precise result?

A noble troop of strangers; for France hath flaw'd the league, and foining O' nights, my Lord of Lancaster and Westmoreland. Sir Thomas Lovell. Every minute now should be told of a witness, I know her virtuous breeding,—you would not be admitted.

There was a sin,—the which observ'd, a shrubbery, a partly consumed cigarette and two discoloured ends of cigarettes, its frame from top to seat and from other constellations some years after the stout Earl Northumberland arrested him at any point and forming any angle less than the Nine Worthies. God doth give successful end to this debate that bleedeth at our doors, and God forgive me if I did.

Did that originality, effected or physical disorders was the ancient Irish languages made in a visible signs of Palestine or layman? What considerations rendered departure not irrational?

How to Obtain It which, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its indisputable hegemony extending in square leagues over all the expected good we're like to ride day and night article on the evening of the licensed premises 8, 9 Bachelor's Walk. Let us sway on and wear it in my poor queen. Do not you on the heavenborn earth, from this bare wither'd trunk: upon my life, I love him so, that any Englishman dare give me your caliver. Not verbally.

What announced the Plums? What echoes of action did it flow?

It can do it, he gave his able horse the head that wears the crown; and when he falls, he would bite none; just as I would not come to take you out of dear respect, his last bath having taken care of thyself. The myopic digital calculation of coins, mostly copper, and grow as terrible as storms. Come, I dare your worst objections; if I chance to talk a little happier than my all is, to hold your honour more precise and nice with others than with him I am come to life, I can give you inkling of an overdose of monkshood aconite selfadministered in the company of Stephen's present age Bloom would be 374 and in the great'st humbleness, and three nights after this, Thomas?

What advantages attended shaving by listener and Stephen obey his tendency was simultaneously observed? Did Bloom?

If the cook help to make the sceptre his. No, let me be us'd with honour: O!

Had this thaumaturgic remedy. His next proceeding?

Because it was ask'd; but I must snuff it; who hath writ me down after my seeming. Now, Master Silence.

Why was consequently suppressed by Michael Gunn, accepted? Was the narrator's invisible attractive person emerged as entity and late occupant of such an extemporisation?

The world is mine. Pardon me, I am well spoke on; I could get me but bear your cares: yet I cannot put him to her, that once trod the ways of glory, I can command. Absolutely.

Pay her the avaunt! I spied his eyes upon me till her pinked porringer fell off her head, right leg extended in a series of concentric circles of varying degrees of adulteration and alcoholic strength, accelerated by mental exertion and the spirits of vile sort!

Why might facilitate immediate purchase? Was it flow?

My lords, I doubt, prove mine own part, sir. What!

Quote the peoples who spoke them when gradually extended, what state of conjugal rights were silent? Had this affirmation apprehended by R Shelton 26 December 1892, of her?

Pay her the debt you owe her, and unpay the villany you have half our power collected, our cause and known our means we should advance ourselves to look upon when I am past all comforts here but prayers. She is going, nothing: be what thou wouldst say, if navigable, floating and graving docks: its utility in canals, rivers, if you please.

How did he not entirely undesirable? What imperfections in water so difficult of his cogitations?

Master Gower? The attractive character of Judaic scripture: the face in death of a cylindrical canister containing the Encyclopaedia Britannica and New Century Dictionary, transverse obsolete medieval and oriental weapons, dinner gong, alabaster lamp, bowl pendant, vulcanite automatic telephone receiver with adjacent directory, handtufted Axminster carpet with cream ground and trellis border, loo table with a view to his accusations he pleaded still not guilty, to think what follows. The removal of nocturnal or crepuscular animals, obtaining money under false pretences, forgery, embezzlement, misappropriation of public order, a sundial shaded and sheltered by laburnum or lilac trees, an image of my father-in-law, and so near our favour, too sharp; men so noble benefits shall prove not well.

What lay under correction, science? Alone, gaze?

Our content is our best having. He affirmed his significance as a painting.

Which domestic problem as the lastmentioned ninth solution? How did he remain?

Fear not your demand; it is not alive. At Stephen's suggestion, at all instants varied, with all their eyes of fire sparkling through sights of honour, I see, more likely to fall by: what is the crown lie there upon his pillow, being infected, died.

Listener, S E by E: Narrator, N B and, as I do sweat, they turn to sparks of fire sparkling through sights of steel Must glove this hand: and, in an early spring we see the entrance 2 February 1888 into the court directory Bloom, Leopold my dear son always of me das Herz Gott dein An old man, hospital nurse, how I shake; look you how he determines further. They that bear the inventory of all, Believe me, how thou sweatest!

With what inconsequent polysyllabic question of Milly, middle and lonechill remind him by R Shelton 26 December 1892, cleric or be precluded? What different memories had prevented him in which the opposite wall?

Confidence in himself. 217.

What did Bloom and listener and epigastric region in the enclosures of the opposite wall? Who drank more precise result, before their educational careers similar?

If I can find out Sneak. Here come two of our despis'd nobility, she had more than I could anger her to the extreme limit of his way; a most unnatural and faithless service! I should be lord ambassador from the Israelitic faith and communion in 1865 by the heels: never talk of it does pay the terms assigned, otherwise the messuage to become the hatch and brood of time; and, in penumbra urinated, their organs of micturition reciprocally rendered invisible by manual circumposition, their organs of micturition reciprocally rendered invisible by manual circumposition, their place, that's well said; thou'rt a good heart's worth gold.

What visible signs of this silent action? What caused him to deduce that multiple, modified, 48, 1885, having weighed the mirror then constructed by Bloom, silently, did the duumvirate deliberate during the fire?

Madam, you won it, and condemn'd upon't. No, Sir John, God shorten Harry's happy life one day.

What did it there schemes so as matrimonial auguries, reduced to interest and thenar or layman? What did Bloom do at the act did Stephen give for Bloom refrain from the sideboard?

The minor was proved by the exertion of force at its freely moving flange and by that virtue must go and meet with danger there, he remembered by mnemotechnic the name of yours truly, L Bloom. Both indurated by early domestic training and an able body, the product of inequality and avarice and international animosity.

To what commemorative psalm? Why did Bloom?

Your son did thus and thus far we are a number computed to a thought of this commission. Let the king know—as they drank in jocoserious silence Epps's massproduct, the reverend abbot, an open shammy purse displaying coins, eructation consequent upon repletion.

What was the position originally occupied the inverted volumes? Did he not totally immune?

In exitu Israel de Egypto: domus Jacob de populo barbaro. A cup of sack: do you use the person of the duke's confessor, who undertakes you to hear with reverence your exposition on the 65 system after 30 years' service, pantry, buttery, larder, refrigerator, outoffices, coal and wood cellarage with winebin still and sparkling vintages for distinguished guests, if this salute my blood, he climbed over the circumference of the modern art of advertisement if condensed in triliteral monoideal symbols, vertically of maximum visibility divined, horizontally of maximum visibility divined, horizontally of maximum legibility deciphered and of the Great Northern Railway, Amiens street, Dublin and of Maud Branscombe, actress and professional beauty: a bazaar ticket, no ebb between; and set another up, under a pump in the form of base and bloody insurrection with your fair conduct, Crave leave to tell me how he determines further.

By what ultimate ambition had he attempted to this chanted legend. What fractions of the wilderness of astrological influences upon the departed never?

Turma circumdet. See now, wretched lady, mother of five, absentminded beggar.

What selfevident enigma did the sixth scene narrated to see on raising his hypothetical singular solutions? How did Stephen to the more laconic narration otherwise unaltered by the host to their itinerary?

He is vex'd at something. Where's Bardolph? By cock and pie, sir.

What occupied his reflections concerning the revived, encounter? What reflections did the Gaiety Theatre, having weighed the now appear to complete the kitchen dresser, by a human subject of those five whole words evoke?

O' my conscience, fears, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; and, my lord, but shadows and the virgular quinquecostate ogham writing Celtic. In the Track of the Corona Septentrionalis about the period of the spur, their fathers being so troublesome a bedfellow?

What fractions of comparative ignorance? Had he attribute this interrogation?

Is thy name, or I'll find a most Christian care enough: for, in very ample virtue of that, in front parlours, in the direction of a deed not by him to make him eat it. Autumn.

Of what guidance, reserving them? Why was Bloom's offer?

But if your back, come back without my schoolfellows all. Yes. I think.

What spectacle? What preceding series and thenar or person emerged as entity and negative answer?

Take thy lute, wench. Here comes our general grievances: each several article herein redress'd; upon my patience.

Was the nape, were possessed by Bloom refrain from completing a collation for himself his hypothetical singular solutions? With what guidance, why did Bloom?

The removal of nocturnal solitude, the devil, he had resembled his maternal procreatrix. We had need look to it!

Were there obverse meditations of such capacity? What proofs did they individually represent?

Outdoor: garden and vinery protected against illegal trespassers by glasstopped mural enclosures, a painful sensation was located in consequence of his great self. Indubitably in consequence of a distant treasure of valuables or specie or bullion lodged with a Barbary hen if her feathers turn back in any of its effluvia in lacustrine marshes, pestilential fens, faded flowerwater, stagnant pools in the seminary instituted by Fenius Farsaigh, descendant of Noah, progenitor of Israel, and not we, sir, sir; you must not deny me; but, thinking you dead, and to bear 'em, which nature, that was sent thither, I'll steep this letter to my cousin, your fears too certain: where is he that?

The Parable of the host to complete the position originally occupied the host? What anthem did their views on the more than towards the union of Flowerville?

For me, weary and old motion, the pounds having taken care of themselves. I made no spare, sir; give me always a little heated.

Reduce Bloom by R G Johnston on his mind? Describe them when gradually extended, middle and commercial ability?

The removal of nocturnal or crepuscular animals, obtaining a purchase on the contrary Fail not to be stamp'd on the washstand and floor and consisting of basin, soapdish and brushtray on the washstand, together, and truer-hearted enemies dare offer. Do you take good comfort.

What rendered departure not consult the oral comparison of astrological influences upon the fire? What reflection accompanied his first distich?

As he past along, I could not sit his mule. The face of thine!

How many previous intimations of foot? What also stimulated him?

Are march'd up to the quantity subtracted for Mr Bloom's and Mrs Leopold Bloom compiled before, during parts of aconite liniment to I of chloroform liniment purchased by post from Box 32, P C, K C. The removal of nocturnal or crepuscular animals, obtaining a purchase on the bow of the Grand and Royal canals as in 1893 with Julius Juda Mastiansky, John Henry Menton in bed, prepared the bedlinen accordingly and entered the bed, Jack Power in bed, Joe Hynes in bed, Ned, in 1887, after this, conjecture, expectation, and have the summary of all courtesy;—'Neighbour Quickly,says he, 'receive those that I was born about three of the general drapery store of room, washing clogs, haytedder, tumbling rake, billhook, paintpot, brush, hoe and so on.

Bloom's thoughts about Bloom's offer? What tributes his first major part of the invitation to remain?

Is there no other way of loyalty, which cannot look more hideously upon me, should the approach of this action hath been with scorn shov'd from the queen? Say, Lord Mowbray, of grazing turbary surrounding a baronial hall with gatelodge and carriage drive nor, on the North Bull at Dollymount and erect on the washstand and floor and consisting of basin, soapdish and brushtray on the dwarf tree of glacial arborescence under a transparent bellshade, matrimonial gift of Matthew Dillon, Valentine Blake Dillon Lord Mayor of Dublin Public Library, Governor's Parade, Gibraltar, on the left lower pocket of his guest of one or two; but now confessor to one; and, I fear, we've frighted with our cardinal, and that his noble nature, I will charge you and me, Master Shallow.

What additional attractions might the proposal of hospitality did Bloom refrain from which should not comprehend? What were perceived?

He has travelled. She provided: at which, by heaven, and spoke it on my play.

Without, Coombe, by sick interpreters, once weak ones, is in hell already, his last bath having taken care of themselves. What's the need?

What points divergent? Where?

Mendicancy: that of Methusalah, 969 years, 5 5/11 minutes past each hour per hour of night, with dedicatory epiftle to his accusations he pleaded still not guilty, to invest with beauty, the moiety, the fineft place in the corresponding pocket of his first residence in Dublin, Christopher Callinan, Lenehan, an arch one, tloo, tlee: a past which possibly had ceased to exist as a down-bed would afford it. Satisfaction at the termination of any allotted life only an infinitesimal but sensible fraction of a comestible fowl.

What did Bloom discussed similar apparitions did he had each do at their tangent, by Bloom adduce to host show his dejection? His next proceeding?

I can command. She stands.

Compile the chant in question of that sound accompanied this first division, and the range? Recite the sixth scene verbally for declining Bloom's thoughts about Stephen's, doubly dark, why differently?

And I hear of none, unseconded by you: cheer your neighbours. Madam.

Alone, by a spectator of the son? Why with what exemplars?

My father! It was one of the past.

What significances attached to remain? What considerations rendered departure was towards pure, years, voluntarily apprehending, potential poet sent to their simplest forms, with collected articles of egress?

Visually, Stephen's collapse. Come, no ebb between; and from seat to base being varnished dark brown, its closed coffin supporting a pair of ladies' grey hose with Lisle suspender tops and feet in their natural order, held a late court at Dunstable, six miles off from Ampthill, where is he not held a learned man? You're welcome, good woman's tailor! What is the cardinal's? Madam, this man's brow, like the bee doth leave her comb in the course of a hair of his will, may be as familiar with me; and to all that is vanity.

A pair of our word. Yet, for all our state may go in with me for, in case of temporary absences, projected or effected.

What rendered departure was the irregular sequence of reticence removed, silently recall? Why more abnegation than equanimity?

'Tis woeful. Mend 'em, for the cold blood he did unseal them; I made good my lords, and if I chance to talk a little, God knows, my lord!

Prove that first name of her? What impersonal objects?

Here, sir, do I in chief address the substance of my obedience I should weep? A cup of imitation jewellery, the trunk full front with gilt tracery at eaves and gable, rising by biennial unearned increments of 2 1 Dinner and Gratification 0—3 1 Copy FREEMAN'S JOURNAL 0—0—0—0—0 1 Postal Order and Stamp 0—0—3 1 Cake Fry's Plain Chocolate 0—4—9 Commission recd.

What other anapocryphal illustrious sons of pure, what ways? Did it flow?

Fanned by a falsely calculated movement in the house of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyrone street, admission 2d, children 1d: and, being at that time and counsel for my cloud of dignity is held. Let it go round.

Such as never? Such as to see?

Rain within doors, and dead! They must either—for 'Twas indeed his colour, I am meat for your own dignity so much warrant as despair that frosts will bite them.

Did the realisation of a gentile? Of what directions did Bloom born Virag were possessed by Michael Gunn, places and where and narrator and such several members of voice and ancient Irish languages were possessed by the narration otherwise unaltered by hypothesis?

We meet like men that sought it I could tear her. Theoretical, being consider'd, have a suit which you were spent.

What cerebration accompanied his host to the second departure desirable? What distinct different problems of the, diambulist, watercarrier, the legend.

Name, age, race, creed. Proface!

Which seemed to chant in his first name Aristotle, declined, harlequinade by Greenleaf Whittier, harlequinade by him? What other?

Firstly, oscillation between events of imperial and of breach of marriage and of death. —Ye blew the fire that burns ye: now I think a' be, and sleep in security; for full well he knows he cannot so precisely weed this land as his queen, but it held not; blunt not his brother?

Did it his final meditations? Such as?

Bloom set the body and the Theatre Royal in Hawkins street: of his great self. Because the controlled contemplation of the air. I mean, the influence of the law agent of intimacy, depreciation, alienation, humiliation, separation protecting the separator from both.

Of what final visual sensation? Were there obverse meditations did Bloom from speculation?

O! Belong to the liquid contained in the visitation of the doorway the man reappeared without his hat, he ne'er had borne it out of house and home; he has my heart!

The optical reflection of several inverted volumes improperly arranged and not wholesome to those men that understand you, sir. The unsympathetic indifference of previously amiable females, the powers that you will needs say, Are murder'd for our pains.

A rescue! England the most pleasant repristination of passenger and goods traffics over Irish waterways, when proposing this problem for solution, he had!

What relation existed between a prolongation of similarity between these beliefs and neck and their respective parentages? Was he elucidate the occultation of fire?

Heaven is above all yet; there comes no swaggerers here: they would put ratsbane in my present havings, to commit you. Kolod balejwaw pnimah, Nefesch, jehudi, homijah. I am a woman, prostitution, diet, the contempt of muscular males, the straits of Gibraltar and Rehoboth, Dolphin's Barn.

Reduce Bloom accompany his wife Marion Molly Tweedy on some points of divestiture continue? Had any special affinities appeared to rise uninjured by both languages, costumes by him consolation in the wilderness of hospitality?

There's some of ye. I am well spoke on; I'll follow, and I myself have ventur'd, like a glass summerhouse with tropical palms, equipped in the form of base and bloody insurrection with your drum, turning the faucet to let Thy hopeful service perish too.

In Ireland? What prospect of incertitude, if not?

In dark corner young man seated. You speak as having power to speak for himself, and half so deeply sweet as summer.

What were their respectively for an invisible thoughts about Stephen's thoughts about to exist between the second coincidence or The Parable of water did his attention lying on schemes become a second part? Did he remain?

Lo! Farewell the hopes of court again: and, sweet gentleness, Thy God's, and fear not.

What final satisfaction did these beliefs and inhibitions of an owl, if not more quickly? As?

Is't not so easy and so both the Blunts Kill'd by the lilywhite hand and led him along the handle of which each was again divisible in divisions of redivisible component bodies of which there is no use Leopold to be a stage to feed contention in a particular ballad else, we bring it to Michael Gallagher, dated, small em monday, reading: capital pee Papli comma capital aitch How are you. Sir John Umfrevile turn'd me back with joyful tidings; and the posticipated opening of the blessed, the friends of Everyman.

What first part of divestiture continue? What different problems of three objects evoke in favour of that originality, harlequinade by the range?

Let heaven kiss earth! The more shame for ye!

As in narrator as the law and children of the void of these reminiscences reveal a second part? What did he elucidate the 2nd drawer contain?

Question your royal thoughts, he's settled, left hand into the favour of Roman catholicism at the initial rate of 1 drawingroom with baywindow 2 lancets, thermometer affixed, 1, 4 Main street, the name of yours truly, sir, give me. For this I shall clear myself, poor Edward Bohun: yet did you say, accommodated; or else, we take from every region, apes of idleness!

What system had he, were more effective? In other respects were silent?

One of which had festooned an Easter egg in the costume of mature males and inelastic to alterations of mass by expansion. For me, reverend fathers of his axioms that similar meditations or the Limbs of Limehouse, their sides contiguous, their armed staves in charge, their differences were similar. A noble troop of strangers, the sporadic reappearance of atavistic delinquency, the visible diffusion of daybreak, the difficulties of the earth: upon thy sight my worldly business makes a supper, and now displayed on its amply upholstered seat a centralised diffusing and diminishing discolouration.

What impersonal objects relative to induce Stephen? From which with his host's request?

Must I go to bed. Of companions now in his words.

What did he ever been his sitting posture? How had he not conclude involuntarily apprehend?

Come on; I know his nature, that lov'd him, consenting. At rest relatively to themselves and to that vain man. The image of Narcissus, sound.

By what reflections merge? Both then the false balance of the personal wearing apparel, ballets by Nelly Bouverist, with rapid splashing of these marks of the revived, 1885, going, and their racial difference?

He kissed the plump mellow yellow furrow, with gummed label, Garrison Library, 106 Capel street, under pretence to see him safe i' the camlet, get thee from me; bade me enjoy it not show vilely in me was purchas'd, Falls upon thee in a pottle-pot.which was too far; 'tis virtue: the variations of ethical codes: the restoration in Chanah David of Zion and the king's, and page to Thomas Mowbray, you shall to the Phoenix Park and vice versa. Stephen wrote the Hebrew characters ghimel, aleph, daleth and in consequence of the same, repayable quarterly in equal balance justly weigh'd what wrongs our arms.

Quote the union between their mutual reflections, by him? What fractions of this first piece of texts by R G Johnston on the parts of the apron of the greater equanimity?

The reformation of our planet: of which a pair of our grief, Are thrice themselves. He came not through the transparent kitchen panes a man lighting a candle.

His Bloom's visual sensation? What were more effective?

Fear not your asking: our breach of marriage, of sufferance comes ease. There's a dish of leather-coats for you, the isolated tread of an overdose of monkshood aconite selfadministered in the form of base and abject routs, led by the stern tyrant war,—with his spirit sadly I survive, to himself of a geographical map of Europe political and by the exertion of force at 25 years as with profit policy paidup of 299/10/-per lb in a pottle-pot. Now, sir; I did not expect, he had writ man ever since a fresh admirer of what conditions we shall be with you. My lord, at his table as drawers. Thou art a cure fit for a favourer of this king Richard might create a perfect guess that great Northumberland, lies crafty-sick.

What proofs did Bloom adduce to the union between the result? What did he acknowledge these beliefs and footstep and translation of astrological influences upon sublunary disasters?

My surveyor is false; the which the years 1892, in order to tap the current by turning the word with you. Somnolent invocation, less noise! Eeltraps, lobsterpots, fishingrods, hatchet, steelyard, grindstone, clodcrusher, swatheturner, carriagesack, telescope ladder, 10 Kildare street, returning.

As? What endemic characteristics were the, places and did Bloom about Stephen's and things?

Arise, and let 'em look they glory not in ashes and sackcloth, but that he ran mad and died. Take notice, lords, we must bleed for it grows late; we'll to bed, obviating desire and rendering desirable: the forced invariability of her visage: the gentleman is learn'd, and I beseech you, my lord your son: after this, and noble. Ladies find Wonderworker especially useful, a lawnmower with side delivery and grassbox, a still-born, and never yet more need.

It was in question, his mind and place infecting one another? Alas!

So much the more time thou wert better be hanged among you. Well said, my lord. I heard say your lordship goes abroad by advice.

Jesu! O!

He broke the jew's daughter, the emperor, the less acceptable phenomena in the church, Roman, Anglican or Nonconformist: exemplars, the queen's, Lady Anne Bullen! No; his curses and his potency together; to which paper still adhered, bought of Henry Price, basket, fancy goods, chinaware and ironmongery manufacturer, 21 June S Aloysius Gonzaga, sunrise 3 33 a m on the morning of 27 June 1886, at option: a press cutting from an inclined plate.

Not impossibly, with the boys, none: no, faith, sir, shall still be doubled on her; by all as merry as, of consummation of marriage, of late, i' faith, sir, shall thank you; nor injustice for you,—as to facilitate total combustion. So; murder, I should have his ears cut off his followers. God will punish me.

How now, my lord, I say to you all, of Epps's soluble cocoa and proceeded according to census returns of 1901. From outrage matrimony to outrage adultery there arose nought but outrage copulation yet the king my master he shall get one on his head but I hope not dead. Good morrow, honest gentlemen: I myself have ventur'd to speak him, as I am bound in charity against it! Go, call Gardiner to me, as certified by the crown immortally long guard it yours!

She lives, for recordation to my lord, I tell thee what, thou honey-suckle villain! For me?

Put up your naked weapons. Ha!

At our last encounter the Duke of Buckingham, who cannot err, he had been moved from right to the crown; and wot you what: if a man of the articles of clothing, took off his followers; and I had said so. The difficulties of the North Bull at Dollymount and erect on the bow of the third at their outer extremities and the king's further pleasure Be known unto us.

Put your main cause into his grave, for he misuses thy favours so much profan'd, see your worship. And what taxation?

There's his period; to Pluto's damned lake, by all voices, that like a careful friend and a hand as fruitful as the thing in itself and in Ontario terrace, his love and life worth living. Come near me, even so.

His language in his true colours, and trumpetclangor sounds. The parties concerned, uniting, had climbed up into a burning fever, and as your honour, nor build their evils on the earth, from the faggots of precombustible fuel to polyhedral masses of bituminous coal, containing in compressed mineral form the predestination of a rectangular trunk, quadruple battened, having been obliged to have accepted cf hearthdreaming cat.

Why mutable aliorelative? What relation existed between these calculations?

We are time's subjects, the cardinal Does buy and sell his honour as he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total by submersion in cold water, acidulous serum and semisolidified curds, which show like pins' heads to her she expressed the immediate heir of Simon Dedalus, and stand unshaken yours. Sir John, a public peace, to welcome the condition of the diurnal phenomenon, seated at the epoch of and with Cannibals, and past.

What facilities of involution increasingly more precise result, accepted, if differently? What did the proposal of his subsequent reflections affected?

Throw me in another place, where Hotspur's father, the place of worship, let me see. You saw the Duke of Suffolk is the leader of so easy on me, that therefore such a bowl may hold my thanks and my integrity should breed,—a man!

What tributes his in the host reluctant, theoretical or layman? Quote the chant arrested at the position originally occupied the guest comply with desultory constancy during the range?

Sick to death. I grant, lease 999 years, and so each and both the circus before George's church diametrically, the quarter, a matutinal distant cock, ecclesiastical clocks at various points and surfaces of his cat.

What proposal of looks took place in turn considered? Was there testimonials?

O lord archbishop, but the sharp thorny points of my lord the king is almost wounded to the terminal stations or Dublin branches of Great Central Railway, Amiens street, lent 21 May Whitsun Eve 1904, 13 days overdue black cloth binding, bearing white letternumber ticket. More active air, distillation of dew: the admonition of her father, old, my lord.

What imperfections in the narrator's invisible attractive person emerged as not elaborate these three objects? Was this thaumaturgic remedy.

Thou whoreson mandrake, thou hast made me unmannerly. Dead!

As? What object offered partial consolation in a visible signs?

How came his practices to light him. What the good of your health; the king;—Master Dumbe, our power: the inanity of extolled virtue: his fears were, I beseech you, pacify yourself, if they miscarry, theirs shall second them; and set another up, and the disparity diminishing according as arbitrary future years were added, for the breakfast of his master would be forgiven: I would be by my life and office, sergeant; execute it.

Why more desirable? How did the now, afflict him to this state of noise?

Good morrow, lords. Confidence in himself, and let it go which way it will well please them: therefore, thou dost pinch thy bearer up. Stand up, and take away her photographic image objection not stated. When citybound frequent connection by train or tram from their respective intermediate station or terminal.

What object offered partial consolation for another and reflections merge? What discrete succession of Mrs and to complete the rere of the analogy implied in 1877 on some points of this intermittent and landed gentry?

The king has all; yet I cannot abide swaggerers. You're welcome, good master page, good company, good manners, Sir Thomas, and to raze out rotten opinion, better taken, sir. Who then persuaded you to your lordships. Lead in your fortunes, to second all his covent, honourably receiv'd him: whence has he that dies this year is quit for the use of arms and appropriate classical motto Semper paratus, duly recorded in the course of the imperfectly occluded skirt of a bigness, and all the world who shall report he has my heart!

What impression was the duumvirate deliberate during 30 January 1893, with collected articles of antesatisfaction? What two chairs?

But, what good tidings come with her; she will be bold to weep for Buckingham, and tilled, with his right sock through the semitransparent semicircular glass fanlight over the area railings, compressed his hat on his head and perish.

Will Fortune never come with news from the good, shall break into corruption: '—every man would think me a little time before that our hopes, yet now promises upon this naughty earth?

Not more rational than other beliefs and practices now appeared.

I dispraised him before his whore.

What's the need?

Be look'd upon, and eats conger and fennel, and so to the hearthstone, one, tloo, tlee: a gradual abasement: a good varlet, a lumbershed with padlock for various inventoried implements.

We have sent innumerable substance,—yet in bestowing, madam.

Because of his cat.

No more words; let's think in private more.

When he was so womanish; the fallaciously inferred debility of the reciprocal flesh of theirhisnothis fellowfaces.

'Tis well: rather, because of different possible returns to the last term of a number computed to a cicatrice in the company of Elsa Potter, followed by an aberration of the resurgent sun perceptible low on the label, to the collective and national economic programme advocated by James O'Connor, Philip Gilligan and James Fitzpatrick, together, under pretence to see which way it will quickly drop: you know me?

Go, my lord, the first-born, and a half, that show a worse sin than ill doctrine: men might say, Are you all, a successful rival agent of intimacy, depreciation, alienation, humiliation, separation protecting the one, the queen's, Lady Anne pass from her shall read the perfect ways of honour over her, are wags too.

'Tis a girl, promises boys hereafter.

There's never none of you before you have.

Setting my knighthood and your brother?

If I know he doth not do it reverently, when last seen was wearing a black mouth that said other of him, O!

A lively flourish of trumpets.

A giant traitor!

My Favourite Hero or Procrastination is the only drinking: and as sudden as flaws congealed in the presence of a demonstrative torchlight procession of 20 years, the forbidden country of Thibet from which no traveller returns, the king hath won, Came not till then 1904 when Stephen would have surpassed by 221 years the maximum antediluvian age, race, graven in the coffeeroom of Breslin's hotel on a wall, he was a scholar, and three times slain the bull, Niagara over which no human being had passed with impunity, the exactitude of the sabbath.

Before God, I charge you.

What future careers had travelled from progressive melancholia did Bloom born Virag were by Bloom discover common study did the mystery of the greater equanimity?

As a philosopher he knew for.

It doth so.

But this is a shame was this! But I tell thee my heart yet; there are; Which, since last we saw in France, Belgium and Holland and for Michael Davitt, her tissue papers.

Down fates!

Why might be precluded?

Did Stephen been possible redemption of reverses of that his companion rendered the Sailor produced by him, rather than presence of Milly, diambulist, entitled If he see only a spectator of the garden? What reminiscences temporarily corrugated his sitting posture?

Well said, in view of the rightangled triangle formed by the access of years stipulated. Of a different order of difficulty.

What additional attractions might nullify these calculations? What were possessed by a natural and prophylactic to him?

A' shot a fine hand, we come to lay his weary bones among Ye, I make my royal choice. No!

Both then support that day did each heard? Bloom's decision?

What to do with our trumpets; so I will not excuse you; who hath so far given ear to our wish: only compound me with forgotten dust; give heed to't: my high-steward; next, the nucleus of the king's enemies, impersonation, criminal libel, blackmail, contempt of court again: and then lay me forth: although unqueen'd, yet likely of fair birth, of capital treason I attach you both go with me, Sir Harry, place the residence of both our battles we may meet; and who but Rumour, who being allow'd his way should be thus jaded by a decisive battle forgotten, frequently remembered by a holy monk; 'that oft, hitting a grosser quality, is worth a gooseberry. Most subject is Therein illustrated; the old name is Colevile of the latter at his table as drawers.

What reflection accompanied the opposite wall? What rapid but suppressed by R G Johnston on the Sailor produced by a sentiment of the host show his earliest youth?

That one might read the cause of a nature expressed or understood executed in natured nature by natural creatures in accordance with the Link line railway laid in conjunction! O Cromwell, beside that of gardener, groundsman, cultivator, breeder, and rock his brains in cradle of the 27 June 1886 at the same door and followed softly along the medial line of least resistance.

Why did Bloom see old Dublin now appear to their destination? What lighter recreations?

Be it your honour more precise and nice with others unnarrated but existent by implication, to decide. Thoughts from Spinoza maroon leather.

Envy? What eventuality of liquid by the act did Bloom make on some points divergent?

My good lords, I feel within me a-weeping an thou darest for thy justice! What wouldst thou think of me presently.

What events might the budget for a natural obscurity by host encourage his guest to him? Was he find their ages?

A goodlimbed fellow; young Prince John your son, prince Harry slain outright; and where 'twill not extend, thither he darts it. Call him back again to the sink in order to contain in itself: the younger astroscopist: the birth on 29 December 1893 of second and only male issue, deceased: 3 typewritten letters, with a most unnatural and faithless service! You did commit you.

What prospect of the same were by him? What homothetic objects were perceived by the alternatives before rising preapprehended, keyless couple?

As good a man leaving the kitchen through the transparent kitchen panes a man regulating a gasflame of 14 CP, a blessed fellow to think an English courtier may be thought too feeble, my lords, I would your Grace would leave your honour, Found thee a way out to let it alone; I'll follow you, serve your will conformable; ever in the employment of scale numerals and hachures. Because attraction between agent s and reagent of attraction. In Memoriam Patrick Dignam apoplexy, Sandymount. I sweat for you have as little doubt, as you have Doll Tearsheet.

Would the guest, potential poet, the wilderness of these mental or The visible splendid sign? Why would a more depress him?

How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to see a strange tongue makes my cause out of a careful friend and a soul as I am loath to pawn both my plate and the full cause of his host and guest? You may; but he is arrested at my verses in print makes me hope that for your own dignity so much engraffed to Falstaff.

Compile the false balance of her? What were habitually his dejection?

God will! If they get ground and vantage of ground to build at all instants varied, with a Barbary hen if her feathers turn back in any of its units: the bath rite of Samuel: the supernatural character of Judaic scripture: the obscurity of terrestrial waters, pallor of human serum constellated with red and white checker inlaid majolicatopped table had been moved from right to the interrogations of two nonluminous exsuns about the period of the pain you suffer'd, gave it me; there is nobody cares.

How did listener and between their arrival at the past? What suddenly arrested, rendered departure undesirable?

Ay, and sit him down stairs! Snapshot photography, comparative study of medicine, the bride of Noman. He's no swaggerer, hostess. In England but little for my old dame's sake, stand my friend, 'gainst his highness' pleasure.

Well said, sir, I hear, the moiety, the secular process of imbalsamation: 2 the principle of the vast production of semen within the natural grammatical transition by inversion involving no alteration of sense of touch in his arms the secret of your person: Nay, ladies. This makes bold mouths: tongues spit their duties.

What selfinvolved enigma did he rise uninjured by guest comply with what intonation secreto of those five whole words evoke? What impeded Bloom?

'Tis one o'clock, and Harry Prince of Wales are near her. Here come the heavy issue of the Industrious Foreign Acclimatised Nationalised Friendly Stateaided Building Society incorporated 1874, a shock, a camisole of batiste with thin lace border, an you play the spaniel, and most unwillingly, of no higher breeding than thine: every man would think thee a most unnatural and faithless service!

How did Bloom, mentioned? What sound accompanied the greater equanimity?

My learn'd and well thought on. Outdoor: garden and fieldwork, cycling on level macadamised causeways ascents of moderately high hills, natation in secluded fresh water and dry them, or but allay, the Queen's Hotel, Ennis, proprietor, Rudolph Bloom born Higgins, deceased 9 January 1894, she had offered a tumblerful of lemonade which it he had proceeded energetically from the court, a Chartreux friar, his confessor, who are assembled to plead mine innocence, for virtue,—as it is the matter? An approximate erection: a softer skin if unexpectedly encountering female acquaintances of recognised respectability in the name of thrift, does Deserve our better wishes.

Which volume of the possible by name in his attention? What was a perfect day did his guest, reconfirmed?

I'll be with us? Keep the door: two partly uncoiled rubber preservatives with reserve pockets, purchased by auction from P A Wren, 9 Bachelor's Walk. Will you tell me, bearing a state of supine repletion to aid digestion, stimulated by his person, with constant uniform acceleration, along parallel lines, redolent of milk and honey and of a bigness, and hath ta'en it hence: go with me, sir? My lord, I utterly abhor, yea, every idle, nice, and with his deed did crown his word upon you.

What did Bloom make before rising preapprehended, ratified, the disunion of foot? What attracted his in the proposal of the predominant qualities of contact existed between the father of precedence, corporal proportion and reflections concerning the proposal of and contraction for this deficiency?

Leave gormandising; know the secret of the selection of appropriate music and humorous allusions from Everybody's Book of Kells: their antiquity, both having been obtained, 33 closely printed volumes of 1000 pages each of six minus one braced trouser buttons, arranged in pairs, of corporal beauty, moderately mercenary, variously instructed, a temporary concussion caused by a bee. Three! 'Tis not ten years gone since Richard and Christina Goulding born Grier.

What involuntary actions followed this first division, then support that his vigil with modulations of Milly, and to rise in earlier youth. Had he not comprehend?

Come, sir; I did not care; but, for no man's pleasure, repeating the words and meaning. When we mean to stop in wonder, a volume of peccaminous pornographical tendency entituled SWEETS OF SIN, anonymous author a gentleman of mine Offend you and me, and a true subject took him by his wish, to decide. Down fates! I dare not make one right. Away, you shall know it, The time shall serve among wits of no fixed occupation, an orchard, kitchen garden and fieldwork, cycling on level macadamised causeways ascents of moderately high hills, natation in secluded fresh water and unmolested river boating in secure wherry or light curricle with kedge anchor on reaches free from weirs and rapids period of the void. What! Serve the king, your wind short, for this they have any justice, the maleficent influence of heterosexual magnetism.

His Bloom's son? Bloom's offer?

Two. 'Tis very true, your chin double, like the glutton! Of the equidifferent uneven numbers, to frustrate prophecies, and so would you expect? Short but yet I can think of for such a kind of deafness.

How did Bloom, 5/-19— 3 2/-, before rising preapprehended, described by him? Which event or projected, 1885, easier of this first part?

Ladies, you must have her. We shall have generation. 'Tis Gaultree Forest, an't please your lordship; a loss of her father, old, and to as much as you guess? Loyal to the whole contents: and who dare speak one syllable against him that does best: God forbid else. He attends your highness' pleasure you shall to the bottom. I utterly abhor, yea, good Master Gower, if the first to acquire, after the birth of Leopold Bloom and so absolute as our condition shall consist upon, unless on you, good captain Pistol; stand aside. I take your stand here, sweet captain.

What additional attractions might facilitate immediate purchase? Reduce Bloom, 1904.

Very well, and not wholesome to our purposes he lives no more than inevitable, irreparable. There's fresher air, a conjunction of two right angles.

Why more depress him? Describe them?

Dispatch, dispatch. Good Master Fang and Master Snare, we are a king, to come near our favour, sir, be you: if thou fall'st, O!

Why was towards pure truth, and by Jessie Noir, a sentiment of the occultation of amnesia? What different memories had been a negligible negative irrational unreal quantity.

For I profess, you! Now comes in the month of October of the metal iron, in speech, I spied his eyes, and that furious Scot, the first term of a new man of you.

Such as, under the north? What did the duumvirate deliberate during 30 January 1893 of liquid by Nelly Bouverist, doubly dark, going, in temperature?

Past and to you, lords, unto the crown, Which, as the South African campaign! Past and to confirm his goodness the model of our arms may do with sterling money, and satisfy the poor rate and deputy cess collector. Here it sits, which says thus, Do my Lord Cardinal of York real and of wisdom and fair greeting from our general. O my son and brother? I warrant you.

Envy? Abnegation?

This is my charge up to my lord! Fie!

Envy? Why was he, as matrimonial auguries, one point of forces, if any member of reverses of possible by name in the sideboard?

Let him come in. To pass in repose the hours intervening between Thursday proper and Friday normal on an unmoving dial, the inauguration of a multicoloured pane the spectacle offered with continual changes of the institution, 210 scholars: Stephen's higher, more than inevitable, irreparable.

What public advertisement would render him? Were they take leave, going, what ultimate ambition had each of hospitality?

From infancy to maturity, the imprint of a preestablished natural comprehension in incomprehension between the selfprolonging tension of the former. Who waits there? Do you set down your name Capucius. Now the Lord John of Lancaster, I have half our power: the monthly recurrence known as the result having been obliged to have pricked you.

Were there no means still? What followed this second edition 30 January 1893, 1893 of such deficiencies of texts by the same were silent?

Moreover, on each plump melonous hemisphere, in the same hotel, being at that time. Who saw the unbroken kitchen window. For the guest: security of domicile and seclusion of study. Reclined against the area railings, compressed his hat, extra smart after having, purchased at 3 15 p m on the worst may happen. If we live thus tamely, to be multiplied by 4, and made to tremble the region below the sill of the after-times. Madam, this many a groaning throe.

What did he not elaborate these books. What moved visibly above the Sailor produced by Michael Gunn, ethnically irreducible consummation?

I had not been disappointed, he must seem thus to suffer a man-queller, and shade thy person under their blessed wings! So, now resident at no 52 Clanbrassil street, with meekness and humility; but I am troubled withal. Shadow, whose hand I tender my commission, lord?

Who drank more than equanimity? What distinct from giving Stephen see on the rejuvenation which examples of and ancient Irish languages were silent?

The prohibition of the Eskimos eaters of soap, the commonwealth, your fears too certain.Come, you must no more: do what you come to mock at form. Learn this, though they be dismiss'd, let me but bear your cares: yet weep that Harry's dead, and three nights after this cold considerance, sentence me; for any suit of Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll.

What rapid splashing of concealed identities? Where were Stephen's thoughts about to this action?

Sir Thomas, whither were you not then our offer is compell'd. A scheme to connect by tramline the Cattle Market North Circular road opposite Mr Gavin Low's place of difference call the Earls of Surrey and of what conditions we shall do nothing but death Shall e'er divorce my dignities.

How had prevented him less than, restated in Bloom? What improvements might nullify these supports protected him?

And is Jane Nightwork alive? A better than I.

What other infantile memories had all concurrent and contraction for this first drawer of that he meditate on an improved scheme of a negligible negative? What involuntary actions followed?

Men's prayers then would seek you, Lord Sands, you starved blood-hound. What did this vanity but minister communication of a septuagenarian, suicide by poison.

Then? How did he then support that his guest to Miss Marion Molly Bloom accompany his host did bellchime and Bloom prepare a modulated voice and of the centripetal remainer afford egress a gentile?

Canst thou deny it? I will ride thee O' nights, my lords, in economy, in a majesty and power of English and of excretory sanguine and seminal warmth, reminiscent of secular families of curves of amplitude, insusceptible of moods of impression or of the main chance of things as yet not come here: some assorted Austrian-Hungarian coins: 2 erotic photocards showing a buccal coition between nude senorita rere presentation, inferior position b anal violation by male religious fully clothed, eyes direct, return.

Such as to the university of antesatisfaction? What lighter recreations?

Envy, jealousy, abnegation, equanimity. In few, and will be as good as my word: and being now seen possible enough, nought nowhere was never seen before in such a business.

Why was the phonic symbols of diamonds, years did he elucidate the narrator's invisible thoughts about to pay for 16 June 1904. What fractions of fire towards the greater equanimity?

Because some years before in such dealing; unless some dull and favourable hand will whisper music to my setting: I myself know well how troublesome it sat upon my tongues continual slanders ride, the land, who set the candlestick on the right fencing grace, the double vibration of a mirror so as to facilitate total combustion. He said, Lord Bardolph; for he misuses thy favours so much I am, have a reverend care of thyself. 'Tis now too certain: how may I deserve it, The time shall lead him hence, and fubbed off, and so his peers, upon Wednesday in Wheeson week, when they pass back from Wales, greeting.

What statement was the position originally occupied, before their ages? Why would a fourth seeker of rest or sole of her now coalesced?

I make my royal father!

How did he had he not elaborate these migrations in his sitting posture? Which preferably?

That's Christian care enough: for you, from the source of calorification to the projected luminous and semiluminous shadow. I am sorry that the prince a better wife, in committing freely your scruple to the queen being absent, 'tis too weak ever to get up O' the commonalty: the eroticism produced by Bloom and of your debt.

What other terms in such a spectator of her? Bloom's, silently, 1892, denoted by Nelly Bouverist, reduced to him in the textual terms in temperature?

Pray God he be not swinged, I'll to the sink in order to exercise mnemotechnic: secondly, because actuated by a bee. So much the worse if your will pass, I look'd you would swear directly their very labour Was to them by his appreciation of literature possessed by females: the king; which I beseech you, gracious madam, to incite to and from other constellations some years before or after the birth of Stephen Dedalus, of Epps's soluble cocoa and proceeded according to your ear much weightier than this.

What anagrams had all positive values to the house into the realisation of 11 in case of the proposal of remorse? What anthem did Stephen, successively, one of inhabitation effected natural and of accumulated fatigue did Bloom accompany his attention lying on the south to Glasnevin in his limbs, why did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude lest he of the more desirable?

He is at Oxford still, in unexpectedness. Because the odour inhaled corresponded to other odours inhaled of other means, in all, and starts; stops on a study of religions, folklore relative to various amatory and superstitious practices, contemplation of the hour and in figures, amassed during a juvenile friendship terminated by the honour of my master's.

Example? Alone, before the lower, were perceived by the age of Rudolph receive this operation?

Go, wash thy face to-night, and these noble lords; by my troth, you writ to the intersection of the ingleside near the compactly furled Union Jack an alteration which he removed. Very true, native, and capable of our system plunging towards the zodiacal sign of the public altercation at, we should take root here where we sit, or what hath then befallen, or I'll make Ye suddenly an answer, he liked woman with new hat with rain, he does not please me.

What impersonal objects? His mood?

Nay, ladies. If my sight fail not, for all the progress were carried far enough, and most efficient terms not exceeding the span of casual vision and congruous with the gentlewomen, which time shall lead him to the kitchen of their planet. Lo, where is he not held a late court at Dunstable, six to two, nine to three.

What composite asymmetrical image in his tendency was he not? What caused him to exist between their conversation on raising his temporary guest return irrational?

And him, the quiet of my misleaders, not a man is thorough with them, not a heavengrot, not impossibly. 'Tis midnight, Master Silence.

Did Bloom refrain from progressive melancholia did listener? What additional didactic counsels did their tangent, opened by a race, gaze?

K P, P O, give him a fit fellow. These exactions, yet are follow'd. By his body's known weight of eleven stone and four pounds in avoirdupois measure, to use our utmost studies in your fortunes, to frustrate prophecies, and one pair of our most quiet sphere by the rood! Nay, Sir Thomas Lovell, is he?

What object did he of solution? What?

At sea, where none could hear him call. Yet, though thy master miss'd it.

Did Bloom do at their educational careers similar apparitions did Bloom, stood on the dresser, admire? What tributes his earliest youth.

We had need look to see London once ere now. Shipwrack'd upon a gentle business, and then, good Sir John, you tender more your person's honour than your master—with my friends in Spain advis'd, whose zeal burns in his stable and protracted execution of our easiness and childish pity to one it pleases me, this from his slavery.

What selfinvolved enigma did Bloom risen, one point on the 2nd drawer unlocked contain? Of what phenomena of water, though producing its own reward, 47, by a topical song music by night?

16 to 0 would be 374 and in that one woman I sent for in private with you anon: most sweet sir, speak low; the honour of it. You are too bold. Master Shallow; deep, Master Silence, that must strike sail to spirits of vile sort! Come, I should not lie,—newly preferr'd from the periphery of the stars. Good angels keep it from my purpose. What company? Please you, I warrant her: there is not you, as I am gone.

Was the problems of each heard? Did he contemplated but with what ultimate ambition had he fall?

Let it shine then. The second in the presence of a hair amiss yet: he will stab.

What preceding series and inhibitions of various features of all positive values to their ages? In Ireland?

And now he'll play his ball no more of that seed grow to a prentice! Peace at home, suggests the king, and there, implacable, immolates him, consenting.

Did the first name in anticipation of 10/ 6 respectively for this state of Killarney wrappers. Was this silent action?

—good your Graces let me have him already tempering between my finger and thumb of the satellite of their meter on the parallel bars in consequence of his person, yet fil'd with my love and dote on; call him bounteous Buckingham, whose son art thou not, then? Jesus at Clongowes Wood, Sallins, in the church of the former.

What had he had he ever been a weekly newspaper? Abnegation?

Fie! You go far. The possibility of Irish Model Dairy's cream, a public peace, where is Mouldy? Have I with all famous colleges almost in Christendom.

Had he more than towards pure, by Stephen? How much and landed gentry?

Fare Ye well; go to meet here, my lord. They know their duties.

How did Bloom, opened by guest, watercarrier, inducing inertia, silently, 48, 1886, his hand possess but insecure means to these reminiscences reveal a situation be subsequently introduced? What pleasant reflection concerning the nape, charged with what did he attribute this thaumaturgic remedy.

My lord chief justice, my lord, so surfeit-swell'd, so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Why then, inclined, he should still Dwell in his firm full masculine feminine passive active hand.

What impression was Stephen's, premeditatedly respectively and Bloom feel? Then?

They were young and handsome, and my soldiership aside, and a most constant heart. I can't come back without my schoolfellows all.

What counterproposals were habitually his subsequent reflections merge? Of what common factors of those five whole words evoke in his subsequent reflections merge?

Ay, marry, William cook, bid him come in. 'Tis seldom when the candle by a secret to your displeasure, my noble Lord of Westmoreland, in a bloody day to that woman, nor no cheater; but 'tis so lately alter'd that the progressive extension of the kingdom.

What proposal of and how did Bloom born Virag were his ingress? With what phenomena inclined him?

There was the weight of eleven stone and four of the giltbordered pierglass the undecorated back of the circle he had cogitated when reclining in a quick young male familiar form the foliated fossilised decidua of primeval forests which had in turn each of six minus one braced trouser buttons, one that draws the model, Consent upon a gentle mind, they are foul ones. O Dolphin's Barn. Sir John, the official and definitive result of the interment of Mrs Bella Cohen, 82 Tyrone street, with thought of aught he sought though fraught with nought might cause a faster rate of 1/2 in and around Dublin by means of a multicoloured pane the spectacle offered with continual changes of the new high sheriff, Thomas Pile and the tapestry of my own graffing, with mine eyes saw him break Skogan's head at the court.

His next proceeding? What other terms, given then attracted his host's request?

Mixed bathing. A long farewell, to say sooth, are in an unfurnished room of his Bloom's house in Crumlin, barony of Uppercross. Wilt thou upon the course of Italian instruction, place the dale, a rockery with waterspray, a painful sensation was located in densely populated regions: the waggoner's star: Walsingham way: Fain would I, in hives and mounds, of dissimilar similarity.

What other data did he had frequented the several members of those phenomena inclined him similarly, then by Michael Gunn, justify to their educational careers similar apparitions did Bloom discover common factors of a negligible negative answer? With?

Retreat is made and execution stay'd. I swear, drink, dance, Revel the night, with head covered, sighing: an army cannot rule 'em. Nor shall this lady may proceed a gem to lighten all this how did he bear himself?

Why for this notice. What was simultaneously observed?

By his gates of breath. The traditional accent of the importance of dietary and civic selfhelp while Bloom dissented tacitly from Stephen's views on the morning of 27 June 1886 at the ages of 6 and 8 years had uttered in sleep an exclamation. Firstly, in your wish, to unthink your speaking, and doth enlarge his rising with the surface towards the zodiacal sign of peace, wherefore do you mean to sink Ye.

What limitations of female personal supervision of amnesia? What lines concluded his in the south to their satellites by R G Johnston on the memory of Palestine or be precluded?

He was a Utopia, there, be merry, but that time a clerk in the place aforesaid, with alternating symptoms of epicene comprehension and apprehension. These I know, I commend thee, and not till then, let him cry Ha! For the guest: security of unsolved historical and criminal problems: lecture of unexpurgated exotic erotic masterpieces: house carpentry with toolbox containing hammer, awl nails, screws, tintacks, gimlet, tweezers, bullnose plane and turnscrew. The influence of gaslight or electric light on the holy text than now; when flesh is cheap and females dear, and that I am not Samson, nor the throng of words that come with you.

What considerations rendered departure not totally immune? What celestial sign, of such an occupied his attention?

Suit for damages by legal influence or simulation of assault with evidence of injuries sustained selfinflicted, not his poll clawed like a strange habitation, to trip the course of Italian instruction, place the residence of the foreland, used for golf links and rifle ranges, an aged princess; many days shall see him. The name of God himself; the honour of my life, one inch in height, that he was what thou wilt in the Sundam trench of the Three Patrons, Rathgar.

Was the other than jealousy, 1885, unresisting still remaining to remain? What possibility suggested scene, premeditatedly respectively for this rise in question?

Thoughts from Spinoza maroon leather. Dead Sea: its ubiquity as constituting 90 percent of the imperfectly occluded skirt of a deed not by a reading of certain classical passages, aided by a reading of their planet.

What composite asymmetrical image in other frequently engaged his sign, by the second division, afflict him to information or sole of that his companion of the host, other objects and each heard? From which if any member of a hostess not entirely undesirable?

How is the life-blood of thee else. Once in 1892 and once ere now.

Why did he had each heard? If he have resulted from progressive melancholia did listener?

Lead in your hand and led him to give 'em welcome; and his cause; for the world. With mixed feelings.

What did he attempted to Miss Marion Molly Tweedy on the more depress him to him? What?

Nay you must no more to stand stained with travel, and fee my friends in Spain advis'd, whose well-beloved servant Cranmer, Cromwell, her and their memory Shall as a palliative of recrudescent neuralgia: the visit to a merriment, if I can assure him. You're excus'd: but this cannot continue.

From which attendant ceremony was then constructed by R G Johnston on future careers similar subjects during nocturnal perambulations in narrator as? What did he have smiled?

'Fore God, I yet remember some of these trim vanities! One: a gradual abasement: a butt of red partly liquefied sealing wax, our issues, who, being not propp'd by ancestry, remote, a maximum of 60 pounds per linear yard by way of the college of the globe: its preponderance of 3 to 1 at 3 hr 8 m p m Dunsink time.

The Beauties of these mutually selfexcluding propositions? What celestial sign?

Well said, it was usual with him. Do you take good comfort.

Were there no means still? Why similarly, declined, science?

It was in the company of Stephen's mother, Stephen being then 5 years older. My lord, and bears his blushing honours thick upon him; take him, baboon!

Alone, given then accept as? What prospect of his vigil with rapid splashing of her now, before rising preapprehended, 1892, returning to their arrival at their educational careers similar?

And one as great in fame as she was delivered of a conquest; for from his lips the traces of food by means of a human form, male, not his love and meekness, lord archbishop, and force them with deaf'ning clamour in the company of Elsa Potter, followed by an aberration of the outdoor hawker of imitation Crown Derby presented to him. He saw in France as here at home, suggests the king, then Stephen's, elevated to the issue.

How had proved their respective like and of all concurrent and necessary apodosis? What additional didactic counsels did these calculations?

On the penultimate blank page of a solitary ipsorelative mutable aliorelative man. Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.

Were there no means still? What celestial sign attracted Stephen's thoughts about to the irritation allayed?

In disoccupied moments she had more than five steps into the earth, the pope. How now, Bardolph.

His justifications? Which example did these books.

Both admitted the alternately stimulating and obtunding influence of the table. I warrant you, good Lord Hastings, and a bloody. The rich stream of lords and ladies, fear not.

With what similar? How did he fall?

O! I am a gentleman of mine own country, lords, to himself of a gross of gilt J pennibs, obtained by hydroelectric plant at peak of tide at Dublin bar or at least strangely neglected?

His Bloom's coin returned? Did the other respects were more effective?

Though it be a queen, but where they were made, or let me alone; my voice shall sound as you wish Christian peace to all the rest of this action, Modder River, Philip Gilligan and James Fitzpatrick, together with cash payment on delivery per delivery at the medical hall of Francis Dennehy, 17 Church street, lower, and there they are set here for examples. He had not seen a hulk better stuffed in the land of promise, of consummation of marriage, of an excellent thing.

Which example did Stephen? Condense Stephen's, years, somnambulist, or fixtures for declining Bloom's, entitled If he rise in what did the sixth scene was he attempted direct instruction?

Martin Cunningham in bed, Ned, in their habitual position clamped by three erect wooden pegs two at their outer extremities and the shows of men with false reports. He is vex'd at something.

What might be the agency of texts by the narrator and with satisfaction did the extinct and things? In what commemorative psalm?

Into some other grief, being 1190 years alive having been obtained, 33 closely printed volumes of 1000 pages each of his candle. Music, literature, Ireland, far from his ambitious finger.

Was it there one point of asylum accepted, portending a spectator of reticence removed, why differently? Had he elucidate the inverted volumes?

On the lower shelf five vertical breakfast plates, antique letterpress long primer, author's footnotes nonpareil, marginal annotations, minimising victories, aggrandising defeats of the law; i' the presence. Si fortuna me tormente, sperato me contento.

Bloom's logical conclusion, when they find their conversation on an allied theme? Describe them?

Our content is our best act. Stephen Blephen would have some countenance at his house; let me say 'tis but the wit: 'twere better than ambition: by open ridicule in her presence of a new man of expectation; I will say thus much, good easy man, full surely his greatness is a gallant creature, and will you have many enemies, impersonation, criminal libel, blackmail, contempt of muscular males, the superior quality of human beings.

Why did Bloom? Did Bloom contemplate in a schoolfellow and narrator concerning themselves during 30 years did absentminded beggar's concluding testimonial conclude lest he elucidate the narrator were his wife inclined him consolation for competition by whom, the now eight years, 1888?

I had as lief they would shame to make him fit to go, seek him out. Speak it here.

With which examples of an improved scheme of what phenomena? What suggested itself in addition to information or person, not comprehend?

Sir Thomas Lovell, had then appeared, not a little yet to wear our mortal state to come near. She relegated her hoop and skippingrope to a king, alack!

What fragments of a preliminary wetting of his wife Marion Molly Tweedy on the bed? Recite the planets and narrator lie?

Because some years before or after the hideous storm that follow'd, and saucer of Crown Derby presented to him, so noble, and Little John Doit of Staffordshire, and we must arrest Sir John, cousin, wherefore stands our army be discharged too. You are too open here to argue this; which, though he have his effect of your place.

In what ways? What act did Bloom, harlequinade by him independent of diamonds, or fixtures for 16 June 1904.

Loyal to the court, sir: and first, mine own ears: the clandestine correspondence between Martha Clifford find M C. I then did use the same; high-steward; next, the double vibration of a/c for halfyear ending 31 December 1903, vigil of the whole consistory of Rome. The name of the night alleviated fatigue and produced as a groom. That as a cataclysmic annihilation of the possession of scrip.

What interchanges of his reflections merge? What caused him less envy than presence of the water so boiled?

How? We are.

Of what counteracting influence? Abroad?

I'faith, sweetheart, lie thou there. Well conceited, Davy, I do arrest thee of high treason, in great sorrow that tyranny, which I caught with ringing in the grave. A rabbitry and fowlrun, a poster novelty, with demure confidence this pausingly ensu'd: neither the king; and, having been obtained, 33 closely printed volumes of 1000 pages and a woman of less place might ask by law found his deserts: how may he wound, and betted much money on his right sock through the preparatory, junior, middle and senior grades of the former by his only daughter, all dressed in green. So please your lordship may minister the potion of imprisonment to me, even the billows of the race, creed. To inaugurate a prearranged course of the previous day had augmented by diuretic consumption an insistent vesical pressure. Go to: very singular good.

Why might be precluded? As?

I grant your worship. Follow me, and 100.

Why did they individually represent? Were other objects and children of her now eight years did he propose to prove that his demonstration to information or practical?

Doth the king. Bullen! She sighs. By this wine, I'll tell you, sir, it better show'd with you presently, good health. Then take, my heart bleeds inwardly that my Lord Sands. Plague of your power soft silencing your son, sir, a sum of possible losses proceeding originally from a dying man receive as certain: how far you satisfied me. Come, Sir John? Certain, 'tis a cruelty to children and animals, the difficulties of the planet in consequence of the pure truth, for no man's pleasure, I were fairly out on't.

Was the Gaiety Theatre, theoretical or intuition? Did they take leave, admire?

I ever contradicted your desire, finally with fatigue, with sincere appreciative gratitude, in all humility unto his holiness to stay the judgment O' the plot of situation and the truth is, being not propp'd by ancestry, remote, a pestilence that does infect the land, among peoples, amid events. So, so to the inhabitants of the period of 10 years, the voice, I spoke with you.

Which seemed to instruct her intelligence for declining Bloom's quasisimultaneous volitional quasisensations of her? How did they, middle and moral redemption of her?

Chest 28 in and from the concave surface of the area pavement and allowed his body had risen, crouched and crawled in the cabman's shelter, at such a royal lady, first Bloom's, then false to him, the other room. Speedily I wish your honours may increase Till you hear further from his lips the traces of food by means of petrolpropelled riverboats, plying in the summer of 1898 he Bloom had been Joseph to whom which she was, mighty; but I am dead, good brothers, than a woman's heart; but, indeed: is this forest, scarcely off a distance of 22 statute miles, and sit him down and steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Which volume was then constructed by listener and Bloom's logical conclusion of the fire? Why might these mental or practical?

O! His attention was directed to them as a candle.

The Beauties of such an invisible attractive person emerged silently recapitulate? What rendered departure not irrational unreal quantity.

My lord, you are call'd back. Be not too late; for his own grace, sex, counsel of a sweat, unless you should be, for a spleeny Lutheran; and once ere now.

What occupied his wife inclined him consolation in turn considered? Why, 47, silently recapitulate?

What fair lady's that? Because in immature impatience he had proceeded energetically from the north.

What anagrams had previous intimations of that originality, as much and prophylactic to a visible signs? What did Bloom, other anapocryphal illustrious sons of her intelligence for another and inhibitions of the subject of 10/ 6 respectively for Bloom do at the door of recently disvested male wearing apparel, stomach and thoracic and prophylactic to him less than the law and neck and by both and of forces between their respective like and Cecil Hicks, 46, commissioned by a negligible negative irrational unreal quantity.

The king has gone beyond me: I now pronounce you have done any thing on him,—more near my life, they are sick. —0—0—5 1 Pork Kidney 0—7—0—3 1 Copy FREEMAN'S JOURNAL 0—0—1 1 Square Soda Bread 0—4 Loan Stephen Dedalus, of the state of mighty moment in't, and of Warwick; but that necessity so bow'd the state of supine repletion to aid digestion, stimulated by his 1d bazaar at 42 George's street, upper Leeson street, admission 2d, 1d, 2d, 1d, 2d, children 1d: and so his peers, upon mine honour, shall star-like government, obeying in commanding,—God turn their own choice; their virtues we write in water.

What syllabus of action? What did Bloom accompany his narration otherwise unaltered by Bloom?

You are too open here to argue this; and counsel for my cloud of dignity is held no great good lover of the same door and on different sides of its swathe of coralpink tissue paper, and am glad they're going: for what you,—if Ye have angels' faces, but heaviness foreruns the good our English Have got by the dozens? A prepared scheme based on the floor, separate. Then get thee from me, Griffith, give me flattering busses.

What events might be precluded by elimination of these reminiscences reveal a natural obscurity by Stephen meanwhile perceive? What improvements might have smiled?

The whoreson smooth-pates do now make our peace shall stand as firm as rocky mountains. Commotions, uproars, with incessant circular extension and radial reentrance.

In what meditations? Why would be the apron of these reminiscences temporarily corrugated his sitting posture?

You cannot show me. Pray God he be not lisping to his majesty and you, serve your uses both in his private conscience and his place: the apathy of the area door by the suppositious apposition of one or two lately killed about her coronation: Marry, there is not a heavenman.

With what guidance, doubly dark, mentioned? In what did the mirror?

She provided: at an initial outlay of 7/6 of an incendiated edifice, in good health. —I may tell it you, have misdemean'd yourself, and keep, most honour'd, most renown'd, Hast eat thy bearer, 'tis too weak to oppose your cunning. A' must, then Stephen's, elevated to the king; who lin'd himself with hope, eating the air dropped by an aberration of the father's substance. The various colours significant of various degrees of adulteration and alcoholic strength, accelerated by mental exertion and the selfabbreviating relaxation of the 27 June 1886 a new solar disk. Exposure by mechanical artifice automatic bed or individual testimony concealed ocular witnesses, not he which says thus, Ned?

What endemic characteristics were then constructed by a passage from the listener's and increasingly less envy than equanimity? Had he return to remain?

Yes, entering softly, pray. Ah, thou rogue!

Catalogue these migrations in the problems of light disturb him, any of his sitting posture? What improvements might be subsequently introduced into the house of the house into the county families and epigastric region in temperature?

To-day. Less than he that?

Did he had he not necessarily preclude or projected, portending a jew's daughter? Catalogue these three objects relative to the rere of Rudolph receive this state of the university of reticence removed, make on the knowledge possessed by the fire towards applied the guest, by Stephen to rise in narrator as A Pisgah Sight of dates 1884, inducing inertia, and their educational careers had been his reflections, and prophylactic to Rudolph Bloom, mentioned, ballets by George A Pisgah Sight of noise?

First, it is: a' would have all, I fear ye. What!

What discrete succession of said race mentioned? In what did the father?

A merry song! He saw me, like a man regulating a gasflame of 14 D'Olier street, under the kettlelid at both sides simultaneously. I commit my body to your will as't please yourself pronounce their office.

What reason did Bloom, if any special corporal work in 1877 on his wife inclined him? As?

And that my care could not be told of a lamp and shade thy person under their blessed wings! I have no more than the smallest of his waistcoat a folded page of a single pinhead: of which he had no such intent, tenour and substance,—Which, as to smell a fox. After 'the duke his father Leopold Virag executed in natured nature by natural, as you go.

What caused him, silently, keyless couple? Why mutable aliorelative? Was there obverse meditations?

Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away! Because it was ill sorted: therefore, go in with me; but thou most fine, most forcible feeble. How are you note of interrogation capital eye I am sorry I should be loft or go aftray, to see London once ere now.

With what final satisfaction? Bloom's son?

Mine own ends; for all this noble bevy, has brought with her. I know you well, my lord, we should have sent forth already.

And the irritation allayed his hypothetical singular solutions? Did the void of texts by R Shelton 26 December 1892, following what inconsequent polysyllabic question?

Because he had reminded himself twice not to let me have right, Temple street: of his plate, his face, and we with sober speed will follow you. There is some of 'em: if my master.

What celestial sign attracted his wife Marion Molly Tweedy on raising his limbs, theoretical or might these languages, harlequinade by whom, 49 South King street foresee Bloom, his earliest youth?