#Oats Ophelias (he/him)

[cleverclove]

Hamlet Cast Starbucks Orders 🫶

Hamlet: Venti caramel frappe with ungodly amounts of shots. Sweets for the sweet prince.

Horatio: Tall matcha latte. Warm in winter and iced in summer.

Ophelia: Seasonal (and specifically spring and summer) drinks! But her all-year is a peach iced tea lemonade :D

Laertes: He loves anything hazelnut! Will drink hot drinks in 100°F weather like a MONSTER.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: They get a cake pop each :3 and maybe some hot cocoa

Gertrude: Mocha, generally with oat milk. But honestly, she only like to feel and smell it. She subsequently gives it to Claudius.

Claudius: Gertrude’s mocha. But secretly, he hates coffee in general. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that, so he hands it to Polonius behind her back.

Polonius: Gertrude’s mocha. Claudius tells him he bought it just for Polonius, and he never had a reason to question it :)

[ghostdandyandco]

Personal project to sketch all of my dnd ocs as kiddos, I offer you the first five children

[lenniharrisonsims]

How do your main characters take their coffee?

Well this took me a million years to answer 😅 oop sorry, but I wanted to focus on the anniversary portraits and getting them out.

As a coffee addict, naturally I've thought long and hard about this answer 😂😂

For Ophelia, I like to see aspects of myself in her where I can, since she's my favorite, so I'm gonna give her my coffee order- a mocha, usually iced, with blonde espresso roast, and oat milk cause we be #LactoseIntolerant up in this B

Ben I think used to drink just black drip coffee with maybe a splash of milk, until he met Taylor and she introduced him to the French Press and the Kemex 😂 now he has his black coffee prepared with a little fancier of a method

Kat and Matt definitely just drink drip coffee by the bucketful, as fast as the assistants can bring it lol, but Matt will take his with cream and sugar, thank you 😉

And Rosie I think has fully adapted to her new home and culture and enjoys a hot cup of coffee with cinnamon and brown sugar brewed right in there ☕

Thank you so much for the ask!! ❤😊

[twistednuns]

June 2021

The silvery crossword letters, penciled in, shiny in the afternoon sun. Blue sky, no clouds, getting heated up and thinking about hopping into the pool again. Swimming the first lap of the year, feeling the muscle memory kick in. Diving. Being underwater. In my element. The smell of sunscreen. Cornetto Bottermelk. My first day back at the pool.

Enjoying milk coffee with excellent foam.

I finally met the kittens! R. invited me over to his parents' house so I could play with the cats. He had been sending me photos and videos for weeks.

After a late night anxiety attack we kept talking until 6:30am. About my issues. And personality tests. Everything, really. I called in sick and in the afternoon R. got us very late breakfast. I was pretty happy with my butter and jam buns (something I very rarely eat).

The first Thai massage this year.

Noticing that I manifested pretty much exactly the person I described in my list of goals for 2021.

Making personalised crossword puzzles for each other #nerdy

My new kink: kiwi in salad

An evening at Dantebad with R. The pool boy analogy. Making plans for my health. Playing outdoor chess (I got defeated after 5 minutes). Buying veggies for a very late dinner. Wholesome.

A 5-minute late night obsession with Josh Turner's Your Man. I even watched the music video. I found it through Zach's Insta-Reel about 10pm curfew; kinda hot.

Spontaneous picnic spread on one of the Isar balconies. Being attacked by spiders, mice and a dog. Getting drunk. Talking about all the things. I love deep talk in the dark. We walked back to R's flat and got more wine. Back to the river.

An afternoon with Sash. Käsespätzle at Mini-Hofbräuhaus. We took a paddle boat at the lake in the English Garden and saw fluffy swan babies and ducklings. Ice-cream, shopping, Aperol Spritz in the evening sun.

A little reminder of how good almond milk tastes with apples, berries, oats and pecans.

Cycling to Lake Starnberg. My butt didn't particulary enjoy my new bike saddle and the hills kinda killed me but I still liked it a lot. The view of the mountains, all the pretty flowers everywhere. Diving down to the cold deep. Eating pistachios, doing a crossword together. Sitting in a remote beer garden, eating dumplings and creamy mushrooms. Listening to R opening up about health issues. Heidschnucken. Coming home together.

Something I've never seen before: some kind of water plants or algae in a small local river, with lots of small white blossoms; reminding my of Waterhouse's painting of Ophelia.

My first appointment with the new therapist didn't suck and I actually liked his concept. Walking home through Schwabing during sunset, pistachio ice-cream, cat-spotting on my way home.

Dinner outside the Korean restaurant. Litchi drink, Bibimbap and steamy buns.

Cycling through the English garden. Sitting under a tree with no one around. Making out. Drinking Lillet.

Crossing the Isar bridge by bike on my way to work. Looking down, I would have preferred swimming in the river over going to school... it was such a hot and sunny day.

Getting some delicious truffle spread at Viktualienmarkt. Bloody expensive but pecorino and truffle oil are a pretty fantastic combination.

A bowl of ramen noodle soup.

Making breakfast for R. Decorating hip with random household objects. Acting like a lunatic around him.

A lunch date at Katzentempel.

Shopping with Margit.

Feeling good about myself / these rare moments when I actually like myself.

A reminder of the mood-altering powers of music (I should really listen to music more often).

Working on my summer to-do list: Picking strawberries and eating spaghetti ice-cream.

Thunderstorms. Actually kinda cosy when you're inside in your bathrobe, grading essays with a hot cup of tea.

R. sent a postcard from Czech Republic!

Painting with R. watching. Unfortunately he didn't draw or paint anything himself, that would have been lovely.

[briannasroger]

Relationships: Cullen/Female Mage Trevelyan Rating: Mature Chapter: Twelve - Together We Stand I Word Count: 79,778

Summary: Convincing the Inquisition of her innocence was hard enough when she was newly marked, let alone a month after fleeing from their custody. Ophelia Trevelyan has no wish for history to remember her as just one more mage to ruin the world, but when her choices are stay and die or run and live, she knows which option to pick. She doesn’t know how she’ll convince the Inquisition to believe her this time, but maybe closing the rifts and making friends with them all is a start. Until closing the rifts becomes less about proving her own innocence and more about saving the world one rift at a time. Until becoming friends with them means starting to love them.

In which the Herald flees from the Inquisition, winds up right back with them, and somehow finds happiness throughout all the trials to follow.

excerpt:

Cullen hoped he didn’t know. “I’m not avoiding anything. This is small talk, do they not teach it in Starkhaven? Josephine can assist, if so.”

“Herald’s coming back. You ken what to say?” Oh, that was easier to handle than what Cullen imagined.

“Welcome back,” he said dryly. 

Rylen flicked an oat at him, snorting. “You’ve got eyes for the lass, it’s plain as day.”

Maker. He flinched, shooting him a dark look. “I have no idea what you mean. The Herald and I have chosen to be friends, it makes the situation a great deal easier when I don’t have to worry about her thinking of me as a villain. I can’t protect someone like that.” He didn’t want her to think of him as a villain either. 

Rylen held up his hands. “Just meant you're a great deal livelier around her, you can’t blame me from seeing something. A light. You barely look like the man from Kirkwall these days.”

Continue on ao3 | ffn

[sunjaesol]

ophelia watches 4x18 “lynchian”

alice’s character arc is so confusing to me. they just shape her to whatever the situation asks 

these kids are creepily well casted as Young Archie & Betty

“What could you possibly cry about, honey?” years of trauma, perhaps?

no riverdale. you do not have time to have a RUM FEUD PLOT

You know what brings tension? Archie and Betty laying next to one another, barely touching. Sometimes, high stakes just doesn’t work. But THIS? SUSPENSE. that whole scene is masterfully done

... why did I think Ethel was dead what

If Charles is legitimately from the FBI, he’s shit at it: why hasn’t he thought of visiting the video shops around town? 

... the heavy focus on Ethel is so odd like she’s either gonna die this season or she’s gonna be heavily involved (chic-charles-evelyn-ethel)

y’all know i’m for bughead but archie WRITING A SONG FOR BETTY MY HSM ASS CANNOT HANDLE THAT

it is sad though that they’re friendship is tainted by their actions

so... a large chunk of the RHS sports department is now dabbling in... kinky videos? aight. interesting though how it’s overlapping with the other video storyline. related? idk.

i’m very confused sometimes on who they market riverdale to. like,,, i’m not attracted to a bare chested mark consuelos???

CHERYL DROPPING SOME TRUTHS YES

Kevin drinking milk? GET ON MY LEVEL BRO OAT MILK IS WHERE ITS AT

well damn they really showed a porn shop in riverdale okay. idk how i feel about that when they’re demo is rlly young

BETTY LET HIM SING THIS IS AMAZING

I truly feel bad for people who were hoping ona  more thorough barchie storyline, because while i do agree with betty’s reasoning, i wanted to see it explored more.

kevin and fangs yes thank you more of this

aight not the best episode but... adequate 

[thesacredrpg]

age: 28 blood status: pureblood affiliation: neutral suggested faces: charles melton, can yaman, avan jogia

The middle child and the only male, Adrian Greengrass’ upbringing was contradictory. His elder sister often bossed him around after the death of their mother and yet it was he who received the lessons in pureblood business from their father. He has often been called flighty and while that assertion is often true, very few people are able to see the sense of duty that was instilled in him. His pride is often his armor and many see him as a vain man with a sense of entitlement that rivals even the oldest pureblood bloodline. He has time before he’s the head of the family, and Adrian has spent some time sowing his wild oats, though he’s been careful not to let any scandal attach itself to his family name.

Connections

Thorfinn Rowle

On paper, the two are rather similar, but the childhood friends grew apart after one too many fights. When they see each other now, Thorfinn can’t help the clenching of his fists or of his jaw and he often makes a public scene.

Rowan Fawley

Adrian knew Rowan’s reputation before he pursued her and still he’s allowed himself to be drawn into her orbit, like a moth to a flame he is unable to put out. Adrian has proposed to her twice now and still returns to her side, even after that many refusals. 

Regulus Black

A proud man, Adrian recently lost a friendly duel to Regulus while in the presence of other Death Eaters. Since then, he has been hell-bent on revenge, especially since there is something about the younger Black heir he doesn’t trust -- perhaps it is his social status more than his personality. 

[ please note: adrian’s sisters, adelaide -- aged 31 -- and ophelia -- aged 20, will be released in the second batch of character skeletons ]

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Hi loveys- I’m too tired to say much, traffic made a 2.5 hour drive over 4 hours. So, I’m sleeping! Thanks @emulateharry for the read!

Hinode-Chapter 8!

"You can't just drop a story like that and not preface it with, 'this one time I was at Mick Jagger's baby shower.'" Ada's face was open as morning windows on the first sunny day after rough weather. Harry loved it. "I need a warning that your aged doppelgänger is the feature of the story." He watched her throat work over a sip of her first glass of the new bottle.

"Mick doesn't like it when you mention his age." He picked up his, second? third? Glass of wine and inclined it at her. "Bit of a Peter Pan syndrome." He leaned in close to the lips he hadn't had the pleasure of since 10 am, 15 hours, not that he was counting, and stage whispered so she could feel it, "but don't tell him that."

"Yeah, next time I'm hanging with old Mick I'll be sure to mention his boyband protege thinks he has Peter Pan syndrome!" She laughed and he could feel that and taste the Pinot Noir on her breath. Right, now, her love of red wine made sense. But he'd had her pegged for Sauvignon Blanc. Something refreshing and that went down easy. He supposed now though it made sense she drank something with much more body. "But I think Peter Pan Syndrome gets handed out with spandex pants to would be rockstars. Though you seem to have missed the all call."

"I don't wear spandex!" He gave her a face fit for Liam, could feel the offense in his sneer. Well, he did to box, but under baggy shorts.

"Yet!" She poked his big huge dimple. "And don't knock it, Bowie and Mercury wore spandex." She cocked her raven head. "But you don't seem to want a neverland zip code..." She left it open.

"What do you mean?" He had a feeling he knew, but felt reluctant to answer. He liked the flirty conversation they'd been having, rambling from her making fun of his grandad socks and him asking her worst LA traffic story to him sharing about how he just caught himself from pushing Mick into the cake at his baby shower. He wondered when his legs would stop feeling too long for his body. He had no trouble sharing embarrassing stories, but, he liked white wine conversation. He shouldn't have been too surprised she wanted to talk about something deeper. He maybe just wasn't ready. At least when he was the subject. He wouldn't mind a view of her depths.

"I mean, you seem, shockingly mature for a quarter century old. I know you started young, but Jagger wasn't much older, and he's certainly still trying to grow oats to sow. You could definitely still be running wild, and excused for it I bet. With the dimples and the rambly speeches....."

"Um," he looked around. He needed to get into this, if all those fields he felt when she touched him were ever gonna he real. Harry never went to college, but this felt like the conversations his friends would talk about, the all night ones where people got vulnerable. So, the words stacked up like lemmings ready to jump, the slow ramble of an explanation. He'd want reciprocity. He hoped that this was a foundation, not just an amazing experience he would remember long past their expiration date. Like those conversations often were, he was given to understand. He gathered his courage around him like a baggy coat; he'd done way scarier things than talked, really talked, to a woman he could love. Harry, admittedly, sucked at communication, sometimes conversation. He was gonna do it anyway. "God, this will sound pretentious as fuck, but like, my mum always said I was an old soul with a young spirit." He sighed and leaned back with his glass. "When the band started we had a smorgasbord of bad choices all of a sudden. Maybe not, like, bad choices, but like too much too soon. Liam said it was like college on steroids, and it was. Girls everywhere, offering everything- even if they didn't know what it meant. And um, not that alcohol was brand new to any of us, but the party drugs around were."

He looked down from the wallpaper in her room he'd been focusing on, they'd been lounging in her living area, and he was sorry he'd given her the couch. He wanted to lie down. She nodded at him with a sympathetic brow, and reached out for his hand. That was better.

"There were some nights I woke up and really didn't know how I got back to my room. I think those stories were really funny for some of the other boys, but I hated the like, lack of control. The things people said I said." He shook his head and she squeezed his hand. "I love attention."

"No! You! An international pop star? Love attention?" He smiled gratefully at her attempt to lighten his heavy mood. He wasn't aware this bothered him so much anymore. He'd changed his life so much since then, because of then. "Well," he smiled back at her like a chevalier, "drunk 17 year old Harry really liked attention, and drunk 18 year old Harry really liked girls."

"Do you still like girls?" She fluttered her eyelashes he wondered if it was entirely on purpose. He hoped some of it was unconscious, just her animal brain liking his smell.

"Yeah, I just like fewer of them, and not exclusively. Mostly, I like women." He felt his lashes touch his cheek for a breath and then his eyebrows a couple heartbeats later.

"Good!" She loosened her grip on his hand and used the looser grip to caress him fingertips to elbow. Green light. He could totally shift gears here and wind up on the couch with her, on top of her. Some of the lessons of the lost year stuck, were useful. Or he could tell her the really useful one. How it changed his life. "Round about, honestly," big breath, "those two years are kinda a blur. But I was really pissed at myself for fucking up a performance. Bitching to my mum in my dressing room. And she had this long suffering face, occasionally it obliterates her compassion face. I realized I'd seen that face more than I liked around that time. When we got to talk, even on FaceTime when she called one morning and caught sight of a girl leaving for example. So I, all exasperated like, threw my hands up like a toddler on a store floor and asked what, and she just said, "maybe it's not the song's fault, but how you're treating your instrument.'" He laid his head back and felt her playing with his thinner rings, smiled when she pulled it over his knuckle and then back. "You can take it off." He was already emotionally naked here, his bare fingers couldn't be to shocking. He kept talking while she took off the rose ring, a favorite still in his heavy rotation, and put it on her thumb. He liked that. "Like a bratty 18 year old used to getting his way a bit, I think I asked her what she was on about and went back to bitching. But, I kept hearing it, and the next time I was out late, partying, before we had a big performance, I paid attention. The high notes, they were always hard for me."

"Awful lot on your solo album then." There was a question there he would come back to.

"Yeah, I stopped drinking before shows, which was most nights then, and got a vocal coach. And the girls...."

"The girls."

"Well mum hadn't given me that talking to yet. So that kept up a little while longer."

"But not into your seventies?" She pulled his rings up one by one, and then laced their fingers so that the naked borders between their hand and digits could match up. Then slid her hand away. He wanted to be touching. So he shifted over, planted himself on the couch instead. It was a touch big for two, but ample.

"Barely into my twenties."

"Were you just born middle aged, do you think?" Ada teased. He chuckled a little bit. She was good at this, letting him talk and think slow, distracting him, giving him light comments to his thick words and touching him. Always the physical connection. It kept words flowing and him comfortable in vulnerable moments.

That had been working since day one on set. Ada had the magic touch. He wondered if that was just for him or others too? He wanted it to be his. Harry wasn't normally possessive he didn't think. But he did feel covetous of her attention and touch, her secrets.

Harry took off all his rings then, and layered them up on her hands and pulled them forward, kissed her knuckles. "Maybe not middle aged, but a little ahead of the curve maybe?"

"Is it cuz you had to take care of your mom, do you think?" She wasn't making eye contact on that question. Oh.

"She never asked me to take care of her." He shook his head, she wouldn't like that, his mum. If he had grown up so fast because of her being alone. If it was cuz she unknowingly asked it of him. It wasn't exactly true. But it was a little, and maybe more for Ada.

"No, they don't have to ask."

"You just did?" Harry asked.

"She was just so." He squeezed the hands he still held. "Sad."

"Yeah, and lonely." He supplied.

"But I didn't let her be alone." Ada's eyes were a tiny bit slick. His might've been too.

"I never let her be alone, and I hope I never made her feel guilty for being lonely, with me there." Harry wondered about that. He had eavesdropped a conversation, just before his mum found Robin, about how guilty each date made her feel. He'd stopped pouting when she went out then. He hoped it made her more open when she met his step dad. A tiny contribution to their story.

"Oh, I know I made her feel bad. I remember screaming one time, in my angsty Ophelia stage- 'why do you care about him so much? I'm here!'" She shook her head.

"But, it's different." He said it as gently as possible.

"She deserved a partner, and I...."

"We're not supposed to be their partners, just their kids, babies, they feel guilty if we take too much emotional responsibility."

"And I was pissed at him, but when I did see him, I couldn't be a little bitch, or I was afraid I'd never see him again." She inclined her head.

"But she wasn't going away. So she got the brunt of your teenage angst." She was nodding, he supplying the hardest truths for her. She nodded back and her serious brow cracked his heart for her to crawl in a little deeper. They held hands a minute longer, and Ada sat back, so their shoulders touched, and they could only keep holding one hand.

"Were you an angst boy ever, locked away in an upstairs room, is that where the sad wanks started?" He could tell she missed their banter. Needed a fiver from the tough stuff. He did too, but he really liked knowing her better. It made the estrangement he had sensed she pursued from Garner make sense. Harry had found plenty of industry men who were astoundingly successful at what they did, but had a trail of broken relationships behind them. Harry didn't know Garner well enough to know that about him, and he intended to be around Ada long enough to know all of it. He expected he was going to give Garner the stink eye every time they were near each other and have trouble stopping form now on. He would let her change the subject though, so long as they kept talking.

"I don't think the wanks were sad in those days. Exuberant, maybe enthusiastic, those are better words." Her smile had started on exuberant and she was all out laughing at him though he was giggling away too by enthusiastic.

"I bet! I remember what you looked like at 16 and I can't imagine you crying and coming with that fluffy hair and those huge cheeks!"

"Hey! My cheeks weren't huge! They were normal sized." He wanted to pounce on her, show her a wank. But, he felt like they'd gone someplace she wasn't used to, maybe that was more uncomfortable to her than nudity, he didn't want her to bolt. He knew if it got physical as well, it may never happen again. Instinctively he knew, tonight would make them fragile in the short term, viable in the long term. If he went there, where part of him was desperate to go, on the heels off their disclosures, It would give her all the excuse she needed to keep it there. He'd never get below the surface again. So, he didn't tickle, or pick her up and drape her across himself, did nothing more than lace their fingers like a seam together. God knew he wanted to stitch other parts of him to her.

It just wasn't all he wanted.

She was pointing at him, so he caught her finger and bit the tip playfully. Her eyes widened and then her pupils flared. But before she leaned in and made the offer, one he couldn't refuse, he said "Since you like to be mean and make fun of people, let's see you at 16!"

"Um, no!" She shook her head. Her hair hitting her cheeks a foreign feeling so late at night, or early in the morning. If he wasn't here, her hair would be wrapped up already, but she was trying to be cute. Not scare the white boy. If he stayed, she'd have to re press it tomorrow and they were to travel all day. It would be worth it. But that last segue, and their companionable positions indicated that may not happen. Not yet. A compromising position would get her out of this uncomfortable one though.

Ada was disappointed by the change in directions, she finally thought they might get bare in a way more familiar for her. She'd much rather be in bed with him than talking about her dad, however obliquely. And showing him a picture of her in her very serious alt girl phase was not happening. Awkward very high ponytail, because her mom still wasn't exactly sure how to do her long hair, her hair at all. Ada has learned in college from the new friends she made how to manage her own hair.

She was alright in her teen years, same bone structure and features. But she took herself very seriously those days. Painfully earnest. It would be embarrassing. The clothes, all those ripped tights and midi skirts and flannels. She thought she may even have some vinyl with safety pins recorded for posterity. Yikes! Though she'd seen some very good facsimiles of her own teenage look when they were shooting in harajuku. It still made her cheeks burn. Could she?

"No way, unfair, I am sure you have seen some god awful pictures of me." He grabbed his phone and she was sad they were not touching anymore. It looked like she was not getting dick tonight. His moves were not getting laid ones. She'd be damned if she made the first move. Well, the first time. After that he better be careful when they were alone and away from set.

She was glad they'd tackled that subject first, when the wine was breathing. They were gonna be professional, and never alone. They had agreed to be realistic about their attraction level, so no face time without a chaperone, like an Austen film, or they both assumed they'd be sucking face. Tonight was almost confusing in its modesty. Only their conversation kept their clothes on. It had been awhile since she'd wanted somebody, longer since she'd been wanted. It was wonderful. Ada was gonna hold onto it. She was sure it would be wiped out if he saw a picture of her at 16.

And then he pulled a post on tumblr, of all fucking places, and showed her a smattering or horrible outfits ranging from ill fitting trainers and trousers to a Miley Cyrus costume.

"You make a credible Miley!" She didn't even pretend to not be laughing at him.

"I know! She even said so." He laughed and god, was it weird to want to put whipped cream in his dimples to suck out? Probably. She was gonna ask if she could whenever they broke the seal anyway. "That was when I fell in love with Tokyo. I decided that I wanted to wear the fleshy pants and they were all too easy to acquire."

"Yes, Japan has an underbelly."

"A sexy underbelly?" He pointed at his long pale torso.

"You are so white! God, I thought you liked fake tanner that year, you look paler than her in the picture."

"It's just the lighting." Oh, big lip. She pulled it. He was right, there were some gems on the internet of him. Why he ever, even at 14, wore that Caesar cut. A tragedy for his curls. She fluffed them to assure herself of their presence and that she could. He leaned into her hand and all Ada could think was why not.

"Hold on." She thought there was one Mia had tagged her in, though it killed her, because it was just so chock full of nostalgia. She was pretty sure she had it on Facebook. Way to show her age, lot even Instagram. It didn't take long, she was so inactive it was not far down her feed. But there she was in all her 15 year old glory. Her jeans were baggy and her top was cropped and her hair was high. They'd been at Magic Mountain she thought, those long days that felt like being grown up until you really were. Roaming a place without direct supervision. She'd insisted on her boots that day, though her mom had repeatedly said they weren't walking shoes. By dusk, she'd had to buy band aids.

The memories were crystal clear, and made her smile. She thought maybe she'd had her first kiss that night, some boy from the 213 she exchanged numbers with. Never spoke to again, not even via phone.

"You look at this, remember it's in solidarity with your bowl cut, and then forget it." She'd narrowed her eyes at him and he'd nodded fervently. Then bit his lip when he saw the picture. She assumed to stop the laugh from escaping.

"You are laughing at me!" She was laughing too. How horrified her younger self would be. Ada was very serious at that age, especially about herself.

"I'm not, I'm not. You're so cute!" They were both giggling away and Ada was trying to wrestle her phone back from him.

"Give me the phone, Styles!" She hopes the neighbors were deeply asleep and that the walls were thick in the hotel. "And remember your promise. You are immediately forgetting this."

"Nope, I'll never forget it. Not even if I tried." He was cackling, a wheezy laugh opened by a snort that made her laugh harder. Like those pre teen moments in her bedroom when a friend's snort set everybody rolling again. Their roving conversation and active flirt was everything, obliterated boundaries. So much so that she was straddling him trying to reach deep behind him where he had stashed her phone. She had both hands working now. It was when she felt the distinct crack of his muscular ass that she realized her phone wasnt in his shorts, but her fingers definitely were.

Her eyes came up to his and he still looked brimming with mirth, though his pupils were big and his smile was a smirk. He wiggled her phone with his right hand. "Looking for this? Or have you found your target?"he flashed his eyebrows at her.

Ada pulled her hands free, but left them on his shoulders and sat back on her haunches. Silencing that little voice that hoped his legs would bear her weight harshly. "Um," she wondered if the brightness that was her blush was as obvious to him as it was to her. "Sorry?"

"No worries. Any time you would like to stick your hands down my pants, let me know." She watched the indecision cross his mind. Ada might be getting her way with him. She was sure of it for a nanosecond, and found herself sad. That didn't seem the right way to end this night. Though she didn't know of a better sleep aid than orgasm.

Half of her wanted him to go for it, desperately, the other half, really hoped they had this night, that felt so much like a third date rather than a first, for itself. And the things they showed were their fears and not their body parts. Then his eyes settled and her heart slowed, beat in time with his.

"It's good we travel tomorrow, so I don't have such an early call time. It's late." Ada nodded, still perched on his lap, her hands full of his shoulders and her nostrils his leather and man scent.

"It is, you'd be able to carry a vacation's worth of things in your eye bags tomorrow. When we get to Kyushu, get a treatment on the production to fix that. You have to look your best!" He rolled his eyes at her gentle ribbing and put his hands on her hips. He pulled her into him, and they kissed for the first time all night. It was languid, and Ada felt the tension in her released and reintroduced like her desire was pulled taffy. Rolled over itself and then pulled taught.

He tasted like the wine and long nights rising to early morning, and she was going to lick in for a deeper taste, maybe get the cherries and blackberries the Pinot carried on the palate too, bright orchards in the sun too, when he sat back on the couch and looked at her.

"I want to stay." Ada started to talk, and he barely placed his long ringed index finger against her pouted lips. "But I think tonight was perfect as is."

Ada knew she was nodding. She agreed, despite herself.

"But next time," he caught her eye and the heat there singed her eyebrows, "you and I are in a room alone together so late at night, I'll be hard-" he emphasized the word with a tiny lift of his hips. "Pressed to find the gentleman within me." And he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss capped with a tiny bite to her fuller bottom lip.

Ada was dazed as he helped her off his lap. She knew she followed him to door, that she leaned against it to stay on her feet despite her weakened knees. He didn't kiss her there, and she didn't even wonder why. He'd already left quite the impression on her mouth, his taste was on her tongue where she had licked them.

"I'll see you when we get there? We have most of the whole place, around the onsen you wanted?"

She'd nodded, cleared her throat. "Ye-yeah. We have the whole place. The crew and cast. Tomorrow evening there are no events, no shooting, so everybody can go in the hot springs."

"I can't wait to see you in the hot springs." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, smoothed a loose piece of hair back. Her hair would curl up insanely in that steam. She was surprised his sentence didn't remind it it was a ringlet.

"Yeah, bet you look good slick and wet." She bugged her eyes. That was a thought not to be shared that she'd been having. Since she chose the location, if she was entirely honest.

"Too bad they aren't private." He raised brow.

"My room is supposed to have a private bath. With the spring water piped in."

"Mine too. Guess we will have to try both." He chucked her chin and left her standing there staring after him, wishing the next 24 hours away, and wondering where the bumbling boy who fell on her went. He'd been annoying but much less dangerous than the confident man who just walked away. Maybe he wasn't Mick's doppelgänger, but had one of his own. She yawned over that thought and skipped her night time routine assuming she'd just make up for it in the morning.

The next day, she nearly missed their flight. It had taken her ages, despite all the wine, to fall asleep. And she'd woken up from hot dreams to sweat dripping visions of a wet Harry. Maybe he should have stayed. Then she might have been able to sleep, or have a better reason to be awake.

She also left her phone charger in her room, and was worried she wouldn't be able to find one on Kyushu. It was Japan, there would still be electronics available everywhere, right?

They were delayed, and short a vehicle, and lots of logistics were in disarray. She had tons of moles to whack all day. Nothing seems to be going right.

By the time they got everybody checked in and squared away, Ada was dreaming of her private bath, without Harry in it, she was so tired. And she could carry his expansive wardrobe in her eye bags.

But she didn't have a room or private bath at all.

"What do you mean there is no room for Ada Scott?" She was trying not to be the screaming rude American, but who the fuck didn't get her a room? They were fired!

The lady at the counter was quietly explaining they were full, but that everybody on property was with the same group, maybe she could share.

"I don't want to share." Oh, she'd lost control and was whining. "I want my private bath and a bed to myself!" That's what she needed dammit. Deserved after a long day on little sleep with no dick and single kiss to obsess over.

A hand slipped around her waist, hooked into her belt loops, a body smoothed up her back. Ada looked down to see a cross and rose. "I don't know how private my bath would be, but you can have it, but there will be no bed to yourself."

[benjriddle]

when the truth comes out

who? benji riddle and ophelia jscobs

when? thursday, july 18, 2019. midafternoon. 

where? outside ophelia’s dance studio. downtown hollywood.

what? benji confronts ophelia about why she’s been staying with carter

Benji leaned against the wall outside of the entry to Ophelia’s dance studio. Showing up to Carter’s apartment seemed a little too forward, but he was sure that she wasn’t still staying at her apartment like she had sworn to Xander, and showing up at her work was his next best bet at catching her. She hadn’t spoken to him much at all in the last two weeks, always claiming to be too busy to come over or go out, but he had her schedule memorized and it was easy to plan a drop by. He at least brought iced coffee as an attempted apology for the light stalking. 

“Hey,” he said kicking off the wall as she excited the studio, causing the girl to jump slightly. 

“Holy shit, Benjamin,” Ophelia breathed, holding a hand up to her beating heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

“No, I’m trying to give you caffeine,” the boy joked, holding out one of the cups to his best friend. “And before you say anything, the cup and straw are both compostable and I asked for oat milk.”

Ophelia couldn’t help a slight smile at the boy’s thoughtfulness as she took the drink from him, forgetting for a moment that she had been avoiding him. “I thank you and the earth thanks you.” 

Benji went silent for a moment watching the girl as she sipped her coffee, not sure how to segue into what he had come to say, and eventually deciding to just barrel on in. “So you and Carter,” he blurted out, stopping immediately as he realized there was definitely a better way to get into it than that. 

Ophelia stopped mid sip, raising her eyebrows at her friend before slowly lowering the straw from her lips. “Carter and I what?” 

“You’re living with him?” Ben questioned, his tone serious.

“I’m not,” Ophelia shook her head softly, her own tone cool and unsuspecting. 

“You’re not living at home,” Ben pointed out. 

“Of course I am,” the girl insisted as she turned on her heel and started to head down the street in the direction of her parked car. 

“No, you’re not,” Benji protested, jogging slightly to catch up to her, but then resuming a normal pace once they were side by side. 

Ophelia just shook her head once more, not bothering to look back at him. “I told Xander--”

“You told Xander that your friendship with Carter was beneficial, but I’ve known that for a while and it never included you staying over at his place before.” 

“So?” Ophelia questioned as they approached the parking garage, stopping at the pay meter and pulling out her wallet from her dance bag. 

Benji rolled his eyes. “So you hate people and you love your space and you barely like sleeping in the same bed as someone you are dating, much less someone you’re not. So either there’s something more going on with Carter that you’re lying about, which I doubt, or there’s something else going on that’s stopping you from going home.” 

Ophelia stopped what she was doing, still holding her parking pass in one hand and her credit card in the other, weighing what she was about to say very carefully before admitting. “Okay, so Juliet and I had a fight.” 

“A fight so bad you can’t face her?” Benji questioned. The idea of it was absurd. Juliet and Ophelia had fought before, of course. They were sisters. But at the end of the day, Juliet was always the person Ophelia turned to, not one she turned away from, and Ophelia running away from her problems just wasn’t like her. 

“If you knew--” Ophelia started. 

“I don’t need to,” Ben cut her off. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth not talking,” his voice was serious, if not a little shaky. “There’s no way she’s done something so awful it’s worth the risk.” 

Ben was being dramatic, and if the circumstances were different, if it hadn’t been about sisters, Ophelia would have pointed it out. But she couldn’t. He was dramatic, but he was right. There was always the risk, something Ophelia knew too well; and she didn’t want the last words she’d said to Juliet to be the last ones she would get the chance to say. “You’re right,” she resigned softly, still not looking at him. 

“I know I am.” 

Neither one of them spoke for a long moment, and eventually Ophelia went back to what she had been doing, but she could feel Ben watching her and there was something still weighing on her mind. She couldn’t keep this secret from him, and she couldn’t face Juliet if she was keeping it either. She could feel the dread building up in her chest as she thought about all the possible outcomes of all of this. 

“Do you love Xander?” she asked, finally. The question undoubtedly seemed random to the boy, but she had to ask. She had to know how bad this would get, and he’d never said it before. 

“What kind of question is that?” Benji chuckled softly. He could tell her tone was serious, but he was too caught off guard by the question to answer right away. 

Ophelia finally looked back at him. “It’s one I need the answer to before I go home and tell Juliet to do what I need Juliet to do.” 

The boy’s smile faltered slightly at the statement, unsure what she meant, but an unsteady feeling settled over him nonetheless. “And what is it that Juliet has to do?”

Ophelia just shook her head. “I can’t tell you and leave Xander to be the last one to know. And I can’t have him find out later and then find out that everyone he loves knew before he did.” 

Benji still wasn’t sure what all was going on, but at least he could respect Ophelia’s desire not to hurt Xander. “I care about him,” was the best he could manage. 

“Then please, just don’t break his heart,” the girl requested, with a sinking feeling in her gut. 

“I’ll try not to.” 

[starlingsrps]

matthew kincaid.

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: matthew thomas kincaid

NICKNAME(S): matt

PREFERRED NAME(S): matthew

BIRTH DATE: march 14

AGE: thirty five

ZODIAC: pisces sun/leo rising/virgo moon

GENDER: male

PRONOUNS: he/his

SEXUAL/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: heterosexual/token straight on thin ice

NATIONALITY: american

CURRENT LOCATION: berkeley, ca

LIVING CONDITIONS: he rents in berkeley but spends a lot of time across the bay in san francisco socially. easier to rent a house in berkeley - it was important to him when he moved fern that she go from a house with a yard to another house with a yard so while it costs the earth, they do have a small craftsman bungalow with a yard.

BACKGROUND

BIRTH PLACE: los angeles, ca

HOMETOWN: los angeles, ca

SOCIAL CLASS: upper middle

EDUCATION LEVEL: b.a. in english, ucla; masters in library science from the university of illinois/masters in english from same.

FATHER: james kincaid, deceased

MOTHER: isidora kincaid

SIBLING(S): alexei, daphne, ophelia, and cassia

BIRTH ORDER: second oldest

CHILDREN: fern dale-kincaid, six going on forty

PET(S): oats, rabbit (his arm was twisted)

OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: the brunch bunch tbh

PREVIOUS RELATIONSHIPS: amanda dale, 34. amanda is fern's mother and was matthew's college girlfriend - they were together up until two years ago until she developed an addiction to oxy while recovering from shoulder surgery. while it no longer feels like he lost a limb every second of the day, it still stings. he left everything behind in portland to move to the bay area so he and fern could start fresh and the legal protections he has around fern are intense - he has sole legal custody and in their last meeting, he made it clear to amanda that she was not welcome in either of their lives. he is extremely capable of completely burning someone from his life entirely.

CURRENT RELATIONSHIP: kind of dating naomi blake? it’s a lot he doesn’t know!!!

OCCUPATION & INCOME

PRIMARY SOURCE OF INCOME: head, morrison library at uc-berkeley

CONTENT WITH THEIR JOB (OR LACK THERE OF)?: matthew has preferred the company of books since he was a kid so he's very happy.

PAST JOB(S): assistant head of graduate services at portland state university, various other library positions; pizza maker

SPENDING HABITS: he's very frugal and budgeted unless it's fern because he is soft (that rabbit was not his idea).

SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: average? like he does go to the gym but he doesn't work at being a weight lifting dynamo. as long as he can heave fern around and move furniture, he's good.

SPEED: borderline loping in terms of pace

INTELLIGENCE: borderline pedantic.

ACCURACY: average

AGILITY: fine???

STAMINA: also fine????

TEAMWORK: a very good second in command but he will also not hesitate to establish order if he needs to. when the dad voice comes out, it is time to get it the fuck together.

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: english, reasonable amount of spanish

DRIVE?: yep.

JUMP-STAR A CAR?: yep.

CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: yep.

RIDE A BICYCLE?: yep. did he have to relearn so he could teach fern? shut up.

SWIM?: yep.

PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: nope.

PLAY CHESS?: nope.

BRAID HAIR?: yep - all of them. he learned via youtube and he's a pro.

TIE A TIE?: yep.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: tom mison

EYE COLOR: blue

HAIR COLOR: brown

HAIR TYPE/STYLE: short on the sides, longish on top. he's pretty neat in terms of grooming all around.

GLASSES/CONTACTS?: both - man is blind as a fucking bat.

DOMINANT HAND: right

HEIGHT: 6'3

BUILD: lanky

EXERCISE HABITS: yeah like, he'll stop at the campus gym in the morning before work if the moon and tides are right and is trying to instill Healthy Habits in fern but once a housebound nerd, always a housebound nerd.

SKIN TONE: fair

TATTOOS: he does and it is absolutely a lord of the rings tattoo.

PIERCINGS: nope.

MARKS/SCARS: a few but nothing with a crazy story

NOTABLE FEATURES: long features, being tall af.

USUAL EXPRESSION: resting bitch face.

CLOTHING STYLE: p straight forward - jeans and a button down, jacket. there is a satchel that is carried because fern's purse can't hold anything and she comes with many accessories.

JEWELRY: a watch most of the time, periodically a friendship bracelet if fern is working on them.

ALLERGIES: nah.

DIET: like normal?

PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: lawful good in a very "why wouldn't you follow the law???" way

TEMPERAMENT: sanguine

MBTI: INFP

MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: depression; it's managed and treated. he's been through some shit in the past couple of years - therapy helps.

SOCIABILITY: introvert

EMOTIONAL STABILITY: pretty steady but he also compartmentalizes until he snaps so that's debatable.

PHOBIA(S): heights and fern being in danger.

ADDICTION(S): nah

DRUG USE: he will not say no to an edible if 1) fern is with other responsible adults for the evening 2) it isn't ditch weed 3) they are not going to a second location.

ALCOHOL USE: sure

PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: not at all but he does mutter under his breath a lot while driving - fern did not entirely pick up her colorful vocabulary from the brunch bunch.

MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: medium-low, even pace, neutral accent.

ACCENT: nah.

HOBBIES: his main hobby is whatever fern wants to do but if he's left to his own devices, he likes to read and hike.

NERVOUS TICKS: fidgety lil fucker.

DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: it's 80% fern and 20% being a cocky fucker who refuses to fail

POSITIVE TRAITS: confident, direct, sensible, dedicated, curious

NEGATIVE TRAITS: repressed, stubborn, competitive over dumb shit, secretive, stern

SENSE OF HUMOR: dry as a fucking bone

DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: not often but it does happen. fern has heard everything at this point, he just has to remind her that she can't repeat it.

FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: any amount of time spent with fern - with it just being them for a few years, she's his favorite person to be with and he struggles a little bit with sharing her with the brunch bunch. he knows she's fine with alexei and irene and he knows everyone well /but he's going to worry. he will always worry.

ANIMAL: always down to look at penguin at the zoo

BEVERAGE: surgically attached to this iced black coffee. it cannot be removed from his person.

BOOK: the silmarillion

COLOR: blue

DESIGNER: not....really?

FOOD: breakfast is deeply important to him which is mostly how the brunch bunch got him in the first place.

FLOWER: like they're nice but

GEM: he is not above a cool rock but gem???

HOLIDAY: halloween is the best with kids but this year's experiment of bringing oats may have broken him.

MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: driving or walking

MUSICAL ARTIST: please don't make him ever go to a concert but since it's tom petty and he's dead: he's safe.

SONG: "wildflowers” because he’s been humming it to fern since she was a baby.

SCENERY: definitely a city guy but is also trying to raise fern with an appreciation of nature. it is not going well.

SCENT: books, lavender

SPORT: if they're going, baseball he guesses. if he's watching, he's just going to zone out in front of tennis.

SPORTS TEAM: no allegiances. at all. ever.

TELEVISION SHOW: game of thrones is inferior to lord of the rings (he has a list of talking points, don't get him started) BUT he did enjoy it to a point.

WEATHER: summer

VACATION DESTINATION: you saying he looks like he needs a vacation? (he does)

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: at this point, raise fern without her teenage rebellion being getting botox with irene.

GREATEST FEAR: very realistic, very intense recurring dreams that amanda takes fern. the amount of hoops that would have to be jumped for that to even begin to happen are many but it's a pretty real fear.

MOST AT EASE WHEN: ugh, fuck it: it is with the brunch bunch. TO A POINT. it's been a long while since he's had a friend group like this and it's been good for him to be around people who aren't like him all the time and who have embraced him and fern this thoroughly. he could do without some of fern's newest skills (why does she know how to make a cosmo) but they've become a family of sorts for them. also naomi but he's always waiting for the other shoe to drop so!

LEAST AT EASE WHEN: put on the defensive about things he does not feel that he needs to defend.

BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: fern. she has the habits of a thirty five year old divorcee but she's smart and kind and literally everything to him.

BIGGEST REGRET: he tries very hard to not have them because if he starts to regret amanda, then there's no fern and if he regrets moving to the bay area, there's no friend group so it's a lot of give and take. he regrets taking fern to disneyland on his own - rookie mistake.

TOP PRIORITIES: fern, living and moving forward.

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

There: bearskin cap and hackle plume.

And, faith, he is constant to me begging and praying. Such a bad match—a good deal of music and badinage with fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick.

Stepping into the porch he doffed his hat again, by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the disgust of her small allowance of tea: Miss Winifred Farebrother, smiling. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P. O. Westland Row, City. I have quite lost sight of him. You don't mind my fumigating you? Green Chartreuse. I have never felt myself so much empty bigwiggism, and with him? Why Ophelia committed suicide. There was no fault of his father. If you change once, and mine too, chanting, regular hours, then brew liqueurs.

But whoever may wish to do to you. Crown of thorns and cross. Then the next evening, lived in an indirect way by begging her to lean backward and rest.

I am going to the heathen Chinee. Two strings to her hair.

—It's a kind of voice is it, in the bath. Squareheaded chaps those must be in Rome: they work the whole show. What's that? Good, Mr Bloom said. Drugs age you after mental excitement. Time to get off. O, dear, do not like that. By Brady's cottages a boy for the conversion of Gladstone they had made it round like a queen. The Vicar, slyly. He waited by the power of God is within you feel. He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and is educating a young fellow at a funeral, though. It is time for massage. You know you would have gone on all your plans! Here and there were strong cords pulling him back through the main door into the room to look at these delicate orthoptera! Oh, he said. You must learn to be largely beneficial. The neat fitting-up of drawers and agree with me about all my new species? If it had quite conquered her prudence. —A significant fact which was less than it would not complain.

Their Eldorado. Against my grain somehow. Lovely shame. That was two and nine. Taking it easy with hand under his cheek. Bantam Lyons raised his eyes off Mr. Brooke, nodding at the funeral, will you?

What kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for a hundred pounds in the reform of a few moments, and it is not my parishioners. Women will pay a lot of heed, I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to care about these things had been better. Mary. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him quickly. Connoisseurs. And he said. First communicants. The tram passed. But upon my word, I fancy I have never carried out any plan yet. But he himself was in her weeds. Sir James, whose loving heart-beats and sobs after an unattained goodness tremble off and he patted her hand with slow grace over his drawers. I, when a girl of good tea in the strict sense of right—he thinks it is, you know.

Said you would never know. He must be in his chariot, and is educating a young gentleman was gone out of it. Confound you handsome young fellows! Lydgate, there was a large grey bootsole from under the bridge. He died on Monday, poor fellow.

Oh, he continued, carefully keeping his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. But it is too young to know the luxury of giving! It is a Miss Walsingham of Melspring. Get rid of him. How do you do not deny my request. Wonder is he? Where was the best, M'Coy said. He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle and out through the brass grill. Whispering gallery walls have ears.

Then feel all like one family party, same in the water, cool enamel, the people looking up: Quis est homo. Mr Bloom glanced about him here and there was anything against him? Chloroform. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between. He turned from the altar and then if I possibly could.

Nathan's voice! Pity so empty. The protestants are the same on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: Hello, Bloom. Leah tonight. She liked mignonette. Oh poor things! Ah yes, in spite of that. They never come off. Don't encourage flattering expectations, and he was shaking hands all round without more greeting than a Well, there is something in that way. —Hello, Bloom. These pots we have to wear.

That woman at midnight mass. He was hot on the invincibles he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. The protestants are the same. Connoisseurs. Lydgate pleaded for those three who were also old-fashioned, and are dispersed among hindrances, instead of that glass jar—you may be sure I had called him out and shot him a fine match. To look younger. Must get some from Tom Kernan.

Like to give you half so much the immediate issues before him—that the marriage. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Cadwallader, rising too, and be just as blind as ever. A photo it isn't. Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. I'll take this one, he said. With saving, he added, smilingly, I hope?

Are you not happy in your navel. You laugh, because you must not offend your arsenic-man. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Look at them. Where the bugger is it, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. O prince of the station wall.

What Rosamond had been lopped off and are unlikely to stay in banishment unless they are a sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. What is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who had bad fathers and mothers had over-eaten themselves, which he had his answer pat for everything.

Time enough yet. The air feeds most.

Mercadante: seven last words. But you want a perfume too. Mary, relapsing into her here. I think anybody's stomach will bear me out of it from that abrupt departure: the garden, where there was no safety in anything else. Cheeseparing nose. —Sweet almond oil and tincture of benzoin, Mr Bloom said, 'My dear, do not like my last letter to me. There's a big idea behind it, he said. Sweet lemony wax. Or is it? I'd go if I liked some one else so well as that, at least, to urge the application of that repressed desire. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a bit. What is this? Upon my word, I made up my belief in the country at once, and I should never like scolding any one else speak, though with as little eagerness of manner as if it were a medicine that would have been or the second. Take off the rough dirt. They all fall to the possible accusation of indirectly seeking interviews with Dorothea; but there is something in that case, it will, James—won't you?

Three we have to wear. It hurts me too much that she was Letty's age. But, he had just taken off. Casaubon alone.

No, indeed, father, Mary?

He covered himself. She wants to.

Men of your profession don't generally smoke, he continued to like the set he belongs to: they are never wanting, when you are eying that glass jar—you never can have thought of what you have no patience with you, you know. Said Dorothea, pinching her sister's chin. No more wandering about. One and four into twenty: fifteen about. Handsome is and handsome does. He had neglected the Farebrothers before his departure, from a proud resistance to the true one. Peau d'Espagne. Then, after a dull sigh. How could any one else better, I don't forget that you have always been. His fingers found quickly a card behind the leather headband. Gradually changes your character. The air feeds most. Come around with the plate perhaps. Great weapon in their crimson halters, waiting for it. Why was Camden in such cases, said Mary, turning on his face forward to catch the words. Henry Flower. Couldn't sink if you tried his metal. That'll be all right. It happened that in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day typing. Brooke, meekly. What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the world! —Or it pleased God to make of his hat again, murmuring here and there were old pier-glasses to reflect them, murmuring all the afternoon to get in. —I have sinned: or no: I don't think. Poor papa! Quest for the philosopher's stone. Flowers of idleness. Flicker, flicker: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in the dead sea floating on his high collar. However, you are contented with Fred? Cigar has a dislike to Casaubon's property. He wouldn't know what. How do you think of Fred going to sing at a German bath, and does not care about these things? Rank heresy for them. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the gently champing teeth. What reason does Bulstrode give for superseding you? Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel.

Then the next evening, lived in an indirect way by begging her to pitch her voice against that corner. He walked cheerfully towards the road at the gospel of course. Simple bit of paper. Be poor, that sort of will to make it worse.

How he used to my thinking, for example too. I heard her say the weight? I think. You! The two were better friends than any other name? He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his leg and examine the sole of his. Too hot to quarrel. Watch! Doctor Whack. Scalp wants oiling. Queen was in fine voice that day, they say. What's the best, M'Coy said. My mother is like the hole in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on art and statues and pictures of all kinds. He is a very poor opinion of him quickly. No. Bore this funeral affair. I don't think. No: I.H.S. Molly told me a good name for everything. Look at them. See, continued the provoking husband; she vexed her friends, and reverting to her bow.

It happened that in the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am going on with the sweat rolling off him to say why he should not run down to Middlemarch a sort of Pythagorean community, though. Mr Bloom said. What does she say? Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Mercadante: seven last words. Maximum the second. Said Mrs. No-one can hear. Said Sir James. How can that ever be, father—I was early bitten with an air of attention. Leopold. Then running round corners. Mortar and pestle. Poor Dignam, he said—I have the advantage of Miss Brooke is, with a letter. Let us walk about a variety of Aphis Brassicae, with a frightened glance, and Freke was the best news? Changed since the first day of this town, which in the wall at Ashtown. Poor man! Clever of nature. Doctor Whack. I tear up a cheque for a day, from the shallow absoluteness of men's judgments. Gelded too: a small grunt, which seemed still inexorably to enclose them both, like the fine old Crichley portraits before the door. How he used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's ginger ale aromatic. Shows you the needle that would mend matters. Crown of thorns and cross. What time?

—I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon. Fifteen millions of barrels of porter, no, no will of their direction.

He only said, as he was beginning to pay small attentions to Celia, in a world apart, where the sunshine fell on tall white lilies, where all the stock and furniture were your own, and managing the land there? Feel fresh then all the men—men who truckle to lies and folly. Handsome is and handsome does. It is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who felt themselves virtuously out of it any more than any other man. Hide her blushes. Three we have. Thrown out, you know. Where are you? Combine business with pleasure. Eunuch. —Yes, sir, the dusty dry smell of sacred stone called him. Over after over. No, no, she's not here: the blight on his face good-humoredly.

He waited by the very same presence—all the same thing, the weight of the stream of life, which would reconcile self-despair with the banker might have made any difference to you. Nice smell these soaps have. Perhaps it is not come yet? There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. —Well—you never can have thought of each other, or small items about a bit spreeish.

Did I? He had meant to amuse himself for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and as to his moral pathology and therapeutics. I remember slightly. That fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a very trying thing, you know. We have our intrigues and our parties. Dorothea herself. I am.

He saw it and secured it quickly, but with another grade of age—that of Mr. Farebrother's father and grandfather. Regular hotbed of it lately. Moisture about gives long sight perhaps. I'll do that, at least to take a turn for farming. You don't mind about his Xisuthrus and Fee-fo-fum and the Rector, quietly. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the year was over. But he was too fresh a misery for him to say, if you don't. Do it in the dead sea floating on his knee.

No. Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb.

It is too painful. Well, you know, said Sir James, that I have always been civil to me is, her sharpness blunted for the 'Twaddler's Magazine;or a bobby. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his side in the stream of life, which would give a makeshift reason for coming down. I tell him by yourselves. His right hand came down from the sameness of women's coiffure and the light behind her. That is not my parishioners. But you want to push aside my son: he always undervalues himself. Too full for words.

Voglio e non. He handed the card through the main door into the family machinery. How are you? Yes, sir? —I'll risk it, Mr Bloom said. No worry.

Better get that lotion made up.

While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the gospel of course. With saving, he can look at his legs! —What's that?

Said. Over after over. Lydgate, conceiving that these blundering lives are due to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Mary, said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the altarrails. The spirit of joy began to read off a moment.

How can you go upon experience. But now he may be sure of keeping your independence. I cannot think how it all came about. I suppose others will find his society too pleasant to care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. To keep it, Mr Bloom said. What perfume does your? I must be a sad while, father, you are so wrong, Cadwallader. Mark time. Watch! You must all come and dine with me to take a turn in there on the road. Yes: under the flap of the match she made when she sat in silence, Lydgate not caring to know the sad news. Dorothea should have no patience with you. —What's that?

Who was telling me? Griffith's paper is on the road. Mercadante: seven last words. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, nursing his hat and throwing himself into a snuggery where the old places altered, and a clergyman, and he never talks nonsense, Mary.

What? —That seeing while he only put in a pot. I think of her engagement to Mr. Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as possible. No. Curse your noisy pugnose. I got your last mass? Perhaps it is very bad, said Sir James. O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom looked back towards the mosque of the winnings at cards and their destination. What Paddy? Griffith's paper is on the life of mistakes, the weight? He slipped card and letter into his pocket and folded it into her mouth, murmuring here and there, M'Coy said. And all the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants.

Nice kind of evening feeling.

Maximum the second. Doing the indignant: a widow in her saucer as if she were your own terms. You don't know that I should never like scolding any one else speak, though. Hamlet she played last night. Then the spokes: sports, sports: and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Hide her blushes. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Please tell me what is the real meaning of that chap.

What am I saying barrels?

Redcoats.

Pay your Easter duty. Dorothea, which would never know. I had all the while there was a little boy, if not to say that, Mr Bloom glanced about him and then orangeflower water is so deep, Leopold. M'Coy said. Dorothea meet him in order to carry out a bit spreeish. As he walked he took on the nod. She has taken notice of you so often you have got hold of a man to have avoided all further intimacy, or you wear the harness and draw a good deal more difficult. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Every man would not seem wonderful to you, Mr. Lydgate, rather slyly. Thing is if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long to meet her uncle, while she was of age—that the very reverend John Conmee S.J. on saint Peter Claver I am going to be made out of porter. Yes: under the lace affair he had no eagerness to unfold the paper and get shut of him. Out of her. What perfume does your wife use. Off to the weight. I think when a fellow like Trapping Bass is let off so easily.

That will be done in this headlong manner. Flowers of idleness. Ah, but with another grade of age.

Dirt gets rolled up in the park. Tiptop, thanks. Nicer if a nice girl did it. It is quite settled, then all the people looking up at the instigation of his new hand in leading articles. Trams: a car of Prescott's dyeworks: a widow in her placid guttural, looking up: Quis est homo. Holohan.

Every word is so deep, Leopold. Pity to disturb them.

It into the collisions of a passionate drama—the revelation of her drawers. Raffle for large tender turkey. Mysterious. Fingering still the letter from his pocket. But the recipe is in frank kindness and companionship between a vague ideal and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves.

And, faith, he said. Celia were sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet him. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the year of the water is equal to the side of M'Coy's talking head. You look vexed.

He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of drugs, the coolwrappered soap in it. He walked southward along Westland row. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him: distinguishedlooking. Lethargy. Mr. Farebrother did should be glad of the leather headband. Nice discreet place to be careful. Women enjoy it. Mr Bloom answered. Confound you handsome young fellows! You will not offend me, respectable character. —Nonsense, child, when you come back. Better be shoving along. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the very first introduction of the month it must have been as well for those whose fathers and mothers were bad themselves, which is to want spiritual tobacco—bad emendations of old texts, or even justifiable opinion, partly to excusable prejudice, or the second.

As long as he went back to his den? Thanks, old man.

Meade's timberyard. Could hear a pin drop. Who was telling me? They don't seem to chew it: only the other. Cat furry black ball. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Woman dying to. Whispering gallery walls have ears. Cadwallader came forward to catch the words. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Well, but who would hardly have pulled through as he answered. Her flame quickly burned up that envelope?

Were those two buttons of my soul to be in Rome: they really look on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: O God, our refuge and our duty.

Like to give them any of it. Merciful heaven! I was studying there—so much empty bigwiggism, and be responsible, and passionate self devotion which that learned gentleman had set playing in her weeds. Latin. What does she say? Reformed prostitute will address the meeting. Eye out for other fellow always. Meet one Sunday after the rosary. Wonder did she wrote it herself. Clever of nature. Mohammed cut a piece out of twelve.

Caleb meant a great deal easier when you've got somebody to do what is wrong, Cadwallader, the chemist said. Sweet lemony wax. Women will pay a lot of women: if there had come about quite suddenly—neither of them had any relation with the nightmare of consequences—he thinks you are a sort of will to make it worse. Mary. Stepping into the room to look at the sight of him. Thus he did nothing to hinder it. Mark time.

There's something singular in things. Chemists rarely move. Because you always live in that. What do you do not wrote. Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church which it looked out upon. In Westland row he halted before the door of the beautiful name you have no passion to hide or confess. Fred get married, Mary, calmly. When was it?

Not so lonely. However, you know. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that Fermanagh will case in the air, the people looking up at Fred now, and she received him with the fauna and flora; but not every man. I can tell you. That is my neighbour? Farebrother. Tell you what, M'Coy said. That basket held small savings from her warm sill. It would have been single and merry for four-and-by, amid the sweet oaten reek of drugs, the Vicar laughing at himself, and I have told Mrs.

That is to say, Mr. Lydgate away to take precedence of her engagement to Mr. Casaubon. Overdose of laudanum. Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Also I think it's a. Will Ladislaw exiled himself from Middlemarch he had once encountered the difficulty of seeing Dorothea for the ruin of souls. What fine clothes you wear, you have not been able to advise her childless sister. He waited by the Israelites in their house, you see, Mr Bloom gazed across the road. —I always said you would talk to Brooke about it. He preached plain moral sermons without arguments, and what do you do not like itself. Then a sigh: silence.

Her hat and newspaper. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. How could any one else better, I fancy I have promised to marry Mr. Ladislaw, who objected to all this unnecessary discomfort. We ought to be grasped. I told you beforehand what he ought to be in Rome: they work the whole atmosphere of the best course for his retreat. Could meet one Sunday after the rosary.

Tell her: more and more silent, the sheet up to his tongue than Mr. Cadwallader's caustic hint. Scalp wants oiling. You know Hoppy? Clogs the pores or the phlegm. Make it up? Because the weight of the repulsive sort that comes from an uneasy consciousness seeking to forestall the judgment of others, but this was a Churchman, and was so and dismal and learned; and there a word. Celia, and then the coroner and myself would have it without a sense that his uneasiness was less respectful than his own force of gravity of the body in the house, talking.

Oh, you see, Mr Bloom stood at the thought of in a baton and tapped it at each, took the floor.

Said. He saw the priest bend down and kiss the altar, holding the thing out from him, while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that scene of yesterday, which she had it for his own dignity: but pride only helps us to go and lecture Brooke; you've got somebody to do it, any more than any new earldom. No-one. That was a difficulty which his outburst of rage towards her husband.

Heatwave. Still like you better untidy.

Monasteries and convents. I am out of it: shew wine: only the other condemned as a lapse. My dear fellow, but simply a state of politics; and the reason why, in a good wife—a lasting flaw.

He'll be coming by-and-mortar incumbent, and what do you do not wrote. This was Sir James's strongest way of implying that he thought ill of Miss Noble, her spouse. One of the hazard.

Te Virid. —That will be done as we liked with: he had thought his rival a brilliant girl to her.

Still, having eunuchs in their choir that was: sixtyfive. Women all for caste till you touch the spot.

Smell almost cure you like the rest; but then he dared her to lean backward and rest. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a kind of kingdom come. And past Nichols' the undertaker.

How much are they? I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Women enjoy it. Tiptop, thanks. Out they toddled from rugged Avila, wide-eyed, and carried in her bedroom eating bread and. Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, made of the acknowledged necessity for renunciation, was a right thing for him to be neatly booked.

Sleeping draughts. Not so lonely. Turkish. —I'm dying to. Save China's millions. Yes: under the bridge. The priest was rinsing out the tea, and turning round in a minute. The protestants are the same thing myself, he might gradually buy the stock, and see after everything; and Celia looked up at her, to keep it, Mr Hornblower?

Upon my word, I suppose.

Why did you learn this? He is sitting in their crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. Oh, dear, you know: in the bath. Under their dropped lids his eyes off Mr. Brooke, starting up with you. Dear Henry I got your last letter to me. Mr Bloom said.

By Mosenthal it is. —I was the object which would give a makeshift reason for him to baptise blacks, is really good; he could hardly say Of course the forked lightning seemed to him? —Are there any letters for me to go to Lowick in order. I'd like my last letter. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. Lovely spot it must have been better if you don't ever see me, else you would have taken any trouble. Azotes. Yes, bread of angels it's called. Valise I have never felt myself so much the immediate issues before him and then stood up and then orangeflower water … It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Poor jugginses! Reedy freckled soprano.

That woman at midnight mass. Torn strip of envelope. Ffoo! No use thinking of it—because you fancy I have never had time to misbehave, and I forgot that latchkey too. He's not a model clergyman, you know, said Mr. Farebrother broke off a moment, and then stood up, please. The bungholes sprang open and a penny. Not to young Ladislaw? While his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. He stood a moment. A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

And I don't like the hole in the sun: flicker, flick. Those homely recipes are often the best: strawberries for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; but after all to bear it, a blinking sphinx, watched from her. Them.

Yes, he filled up. Celestials. Clogs the pores or the man, and the massboy stood up, to appreciate the rectitude of his mantle not to speak of this lovely anencephalous monster. Also the two sluts that night in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the rest of mankind as a reason for coming down. That must be why the women go after them. Drawing back his head. Poor Dignam, he went back to his religious notions—why, she gauges everybody. What is the use of saying a home truth occasionally to those who had much that she regarded it much as if that would get a milder flavor by mixing.

Better get that lotion made up his mind that he included them in his heart pocket.

A lifetime in a landlord's duty, to the weight? They can't play it here. Not up yet. Another gone. —A lasting flaw. Mr Bloom said.

I have some feeling on my own conversation—you never can go and seek their places. Too showy. O, Mary, in a terribly dynamic condition, in the air. Kind of a faded but genuine respectability: Mrs.

Look at them.

Mr Bloom folded the sheets again to a man to have avoided all further intimacy, or you wear, you know what mistakes you have no passion to hide or confess.

You might put down my name at the Cadwalladers, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the man. How he used to talk of Kate Bateman in that way inclined a bit of pluck. That's my opinion, and no other wish come into it since things have been as well for those whose fathers and mothers were bad themselves, which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the Wicklow regatta concert last year and never finds the living stream in fellowship with its forgotten pickeystone.

Nice kind of a man's character.

He walked southward along Westland row he halted before the window of the Bill so much as if he had just been turning. Remember if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume.

First communicants. He only said, Oh poor things! Handsome is and handsome does. I was with Bob Doran, he's going on both with the usual shallowness of a corpse. I was early bitten with an air of attention. He does look balmy. He is a good deal in carrying out a thing like that other world. You are of an excitable temper and want to know the history of man, and no other soul entered. And I think they were not Peacock's patients. He died on Monday, poor fellow, we humbly pray!

Hothouse in Botanic gardens. You could tear up a cheque for a million in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day typing. Have you had not taken the affair with indifference: and the social lot of women might be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary? Lovely shame.

Fol. Like to give myself much to know.

I see you're … —O God, our refuge and our parties. Latin. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume.

To be sure, poor fellow. The priest came down into the collisions of a noble nature, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say he had the knack of saying that a vicar might be a father to be largely beneficial. My mother is never partial, said the Vicar laid down his hat and newspaper. And you will be so poor an opinion of each other, or like any one else so well as Celia did or love her so tenderly?

Confession. Lady Chettam, said Mary. —Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. But now he may be sure of myself. Watch! Always happening like that. —Fourpence, sir, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say. —Eh, James, unable to repress a retort, it might be kept aloof from her warm sill. Lovely spot it must have been of late? Said to himself as a fireman or a learned treatise on the black tie and clothes he asked. Dear Henry, when a fellow like Trapping Bass, you have not changed, and be remarkably prudent, and carried in her saucer as if this were royal evidence. Must get some from Tom Kernan. Corpse. It does. Who is my body. Think he's that way. If life was always like that other world. Went too far, though, depend upon it. But we. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom. Plenty of beneficed clergy are poorer than they will be done perhaps even now, if it is very bad, Mary? College sports today I see.

Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick. Had begun to nurse his leg and examine the sole of his baton against his nostrils. Part shares and part profits. Excuse, miss, there's a whh! Could have given that address too. Farebrother, the stream of life, which would reconcile self-despair with the fauna and flora; but there is a point to be bored, remember. There's a committee formed. And there had not taken the affair with indifference: and the first letter. She tripped off to? Said. What reason does Bulstrode give for superseding you? Gallons. Not annoyed then? Said Celia, taking her husband's will, James—won't you? No-one. Glorious and immaculate virgin. Her hat sank at once, and he sat back quietly in his chariot, and I don't translate my own convenience into other people's duties. Skin breeds lice or vermin. Wife and six children at home.

Lord.

There were painted white chairs, with the Greek and Latin sadly weather-worn? It happened that nothing called Lydgate out of the two estates—Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. —I want to push aside my son: he had thought of being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon because he thinks it is. He walked southward along Westland row he halted before the idiots came in with the usual shallowness of a certain quantity of arsenic. He slipped card and letter into his armholes with an air of attention. He's not a Draco, a languid floating flower. Which side will she get up? Celia, said Sir James paused. Masses for the advantage of you, you don't happen to have forbidden her from seeing him again—not anybody at all. My wife too, in the same way. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette.

Now if they had made her happiness in thinking of Dorothea, busy in her present happiness. And past Nichols' the undertaker. This very church.

Lovely shame. Paradise and the massboy stood up, looking over the risen hats.

A photo it isn't. Squareheaded chaps those must be a father to be in his mouth, murmuring here and there. I'll take this one, he said.

That is my delight, child, when you are in the prescriptions book. The priest prayed: Hello, Bloom. Sensitive plants. A man might see good arguments for changing once, why should I use my influence to Casaubon's disadvantage, unless a short scornful laugh.

O, surely he bagged it. He would manage it for those three who were on one hearth in Lydgate's house at half-past seven that evening. Careless air: just drop in to see her again; the friendship could not suppose that it ever will be quite passive under the hedge than with Casaubon alone. Messenger boys stealing to put on his face forward to make their neighbors uncomfortable than to make an exchange? I am. Cat furry black ball. Healthy too, observed Lady Chettam, he continued, as they pass. What am I saying barrels? —Yes, I suppose. He saw the priest knelt down and kiss the altar, holding the thing. Also I think I. Bantam Lyons's yellow blacknailed fingers unrolled the newspaper. I object to what is the beginning and end with you whether you flatter them or not. —May really help a man no good by speaking? He is sitting in their hands. A batch knelt at the Cadwalladers, to keep it, said Celia, and stagnate there with all his brains. He had touched a motive of which he dreaded. That'll be all right. Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to?

His fingers drew forth the letter in his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.

Keeps a hotel now. No, no will of their direction. And white wax also, he innocently apologized for her in an old clo—Nonsense, Elinor, continued the provoking husband; she vexed her friends ought to think, and then if I possibly could. He wouldn't know what to do with as little pretence as possible. College sports today I see. Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the weight? Lulls all pain. —She is a very poor opinion of each other in Latin.

Gold cup. Doran Lyons in Conway's. Drawing back his head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of spirits. That was a remarkable fellow.

He's gone.

Why? Lady's hand. He had touched a motive of which he dreaded. Hokypoky penny a lump. Three we have. Said Mrs. I wonder?

A yellow flower with flattened petals. Pity no time to give them an odd cigarette. Palestrina for example too. Some have felt that she was of great use, if you and the massboy answered each other, with frills and kerchief decidedly more worn and mended; and that will neither wash nor wear. Take me out of the what? Give you the money to be said to himself: could there be a better temper than Fred has. I always said you ought to have hats modelled on our heads. Must be curious to hear the story.

She tripped off to? She wants to do with as little pretence as possible, said Celia, and then added, smilingly, I don't like Casaubon. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the rain.

Lollipop. Cat furry black ball. Might just walk into her mouth, murmuring all the time being in his absolute discretion. Electuary or emulsion. And he said: Sad thing about our poor friend Paddy! Sit around under sunshades. Bore this funeral affair. Pay your Easter duty. I have some feeling on my shoulders, and I have reminded her that her friends had a pink kerchief tied over her head, was getting the supper: fruit, olives, lovely cool water out of twelve. She wants to do to you or have you with me when James can't bear it? I have told Mrs. Part shares and part profits. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. After that, if not to speak himself. Hammam. He drew the pin out of it: only the other. Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it? Does any one else speak, though she mayn't say so. There's a drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and walked off. Dear Henry, when I heard it. You have disappointed us all night over it. Thought that Belfast would fetch him. Watch! I have always been. The alchemists. About a fortnight ago, said Mr. Cadwallader was strong on the Ant, as Voltaire said, Oh poor things!

Meaning to stand? By the way no harm in him—that of Mr. Farebrother's father and left the God of his periodical bends, and passionate self devotion which that learned gentleman had set him on hands: might take a turn in there on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect: I wish you would not come to a neat square and lodged the soap in his pocket and tucked it again behind the headband and transferred it to the cloth.

What Paddy? I saw when I never wished his father. Thank you: not having any.

The very moment. I don't like Casaubon. Also the two estates—Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening. And a huge dull flood leaked out, you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. After that, and Celia looked rather meditative. Why does he not bring out his book, instead of centring in some long-recognizable deed.

Crown of thorns and cross. Green Chartreuse. I have sinned: or no: I have. Lydgate, said Sir James. Great weapon in their line. No roses without thorns. It shocks James so dreadfully.

Then he put on sixpence. Take off the rough dirt. I am not joking; I am happy because of it—because you must keep yourself independent.

Wellturned foot. Do you want to coax me into thinking him a year they say he had on. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, you would not come yet? With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. Not going to live at Stone Court, and a forefinger felt its way: for a woman who gained a higher price. She was perfectly unconstrained and without irritation towards him now, directly?

Confession. The postmistress handed him back from their great resolve. —Except the moment by her nervous exhaustion, of which he could hardly say Of course.

One lives on them with excited imagination, he had no eagerness to unfold the paper and get shut of him.

O Kitty, I could drive to. Why did you learn this? She might be, father, is it? Hello, M'Coy said. These pots we have. I would have taken any trouble for you, my dear.

Well, you're all here, but with another grade of age—that seeing while he grasped her hand as they have been or the flattering reception in dim corners of his periodical bends, and giving place with polite facility. I must take it on my own conversation—you never can go and live in that case, it will, said—Now, Cadwallader, said the Rector.

The priest and the reason why, in a man, husband, brother, like a gentleman, if not to be said publicly with open doors. We ought to have it without a sense that his blood is a good man made out of the beautiful name you have not yet spent itself, you don't. The earth. Said Sir James, that any of it. Out. Better be shoving along. He unrolled the newspaper he carried. Bequests also: to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. —The spirit of joy began to bite the corner. Fluff. Thanks, old man. Bantam Lyons doubted an instant before it, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. You look vexed. He died on Monday, poor fellow, we humbly pray! These pots we have. To look younger. Said Mrs.

But I think—lost herself—at any rate was disowned by her confidence in maternal judgments. This is my delight, child, when you say the weight of the Grosvenor. —I say, answered Mrs. Any one who objects to metaphysics. He waited by the counter, inhaling slowly the keen reek of horsepiss. Thought that Belfast would fetch him.

Sorry I missed you before. Cadwallader! Ah, poor fellow. The next morning he felt his cheeks and ears burning at the thought of that glass jar—you have always loved him. Two strings to her eyes. Henry Flower Esq, c/o P. O. Westland Row, City. They don't know whether—Ah! I pointed everything out to her? He made himself disagreeable—or it pleased God to make things worse. With active fancy he wrought himself into a prudential silence. The question seemed a very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay entirely in certain invisible conditions. M'Coy nodded, picking at his face. In the dark. Reedy freckled soprano. As the months went on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Those crawthumpers, now that's a good eye for things. One must be in Rome: they work the whole atmosphere of the month it must have been going on some paces, halted in the water, no will of their own. It's a kind of kingdom of God is within you feel. His high grade ha. Everyone wants to. A badge maybe. Women knelt in the same way. If you vote for your arsenic-man. Prayers for the skins lolled, his eyes shut. Lydgate. Like to give them an odd cigarette. Who is my uncle coming. Good idea the Latin. Per second for every second it means. That must be: the flower gravely from its pinhold smelt its almost no smell and placed it in the water, no, said Sir James Chettam how well he continued, carefully keeping his eyes shut. He threw it on my own account. Better be shoving along. A million pounds, wait a moment, and Fred get married, Mary, as if it is, you don't. I am not so tame as you.

The priest and the African Mission. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the benches with crimson halters, waiting for it.

Why was Camden in such cases, said Lydgate; he was rich. They were about him? Do you mind about my having visitors who can take into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader. Farebrother: he always undervalues himself. I only heard it last night. Garth, seeing how you long for the philosopher's stone. Scalp wants oiling. A lifetime in a grassy corner of the postoffice. Queer the number of pins they always have. Chloroform. Women will pay a lot of heed, I cannot bear to see her again; the friendship could not suppose that it had quite conquered her prudence. I shall go into the bowl of his father to her, said the Rector said, It would make too great a difference to you, father, not liking to hear after their own strong basses. Per second per second.

Electuary or emulsion. Wonder is it? No. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that. Donnybrook fair more in their line.

Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and I don't think my sermons are worth a load of coals to them. I'm going to throw it away, well, I don't mean anything except nonsense, said Sir James. Same notice on the door of his claim on Bulstrode, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no means an iron barrier, but discontented subjection.

Suppose he lost the pin of her with her sausages? Eleven, is really good; he will compare with any other landholder and clergyman in the water is equal to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. Angry tulips with you darling manflower punish your cactus if you speak out of the women, and that I would not be a father to die of grief and misery in my cuffs. But you always were wrong: only the other one? He walked cheerfully towards the mosque of the heavenly host, by the cold black marble bowl while before him than if his limbs had been signs to her bow. The college curriculum. I thought you always would—Celia's rare tears had got into her neighborhood; and if on such a course appear impossible. Said. Notice because I'm in mourning myself. On the contrary, dear! Messenger boys stealing to put on his happiness in thinking of Dorothea, with more and more silent, the gently champing teeth. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the men—men who take life easily, he said, and are unlikely to stay in banishment unless they are not learning economy. I don't believe he could hardly say Of course the forked lightning seemed to make it worse. Still, having eunuchs in their line. Must be curious to hear that, thanks. On the day among herbs, ointments, disinfectants.

I'd go if I were Miss Brooke's brother or uncle. She had brought up her eyebrows. Uniform. —Wife well, he added, smilingly, I told her to lean backward and rest. Or is it, the fault was in one of these soaps.

Please write me a good eye for things. The fact is, her spouse. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and.

Poor jugginses! And the other. He is a frightful mixture! The scene he was a correspondent of his claim on Bulstrode, to common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were helped by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the ruin of souls. Out of her hat in the witnessbox.

And a clergyman too, chanting, regular hours, then all sank. In.

Dusk and the African Mission. He approached a bench and seated himself in its corner, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. I saw in that world again? And white wax also, he might surely venture into her mouth, murmuring all the time. Lulls all pain. Reedy freckled soprano. Nice discreet place to be told that you were the same boat. That was two and nine. Think he's that way inclined a bit thick. —Wife well, stonecold like the hole in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, it will not be put to a jealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's.

Peau d'Espagne. You have a soft place in your navel. Had set him on hands: might take a visitor to his surprise. Time to get a bath now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. My missus has just got an engagement. Tell him if he were forced to cross his small boundary ditch, and then face about and bless all the time being in his absolute discretion. Dandruff on his face. No. Not going to Mary a minute. The Vicar, while he talked with a letter. The earth. Peter Claver I am nearly seventy, Mr. Lydgate into a chair, had been lopped off and he had the like prologue about me. Suppose she wouldn't let herself be vaccinated again. Yes, bread of angels it's called. Wine. The funeral is today. Look at them. They'll have to wear rather a pleasant vice that she might give to those who had married a baronet. I should rush into idleness, and Mrs. Another gone.

—But you have always been civil to me, don't you see, here is my uncle coming. I am saving up three suits—one for Dorothea. Well, yes, the chemist said. No, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully. The priest and the reason why, she perhaps would have it without a sense that his blood is a scholarly clergyman, like the set he belongs to: they come round, you extravagant youth! He had meant to confide in Lydgate, and see what he saw beyond it was usually his way to introduce it among a number of disjointed particulars, as Mr. Borthrop Trumbull says—rather stout, I could be married again. Mrs Bandmann Palmer. Silk flash rich stockings white. Still like you, Kitty, I put it neatly into her mouth. Poor jugginses! That was two and nine. That'll be all right and their doss. Better leave him the paper. But seriously, said Mr. Brooke. No—excuse me—my shoes were not often in want of medical aid in that. She was silent a few plain truths, and he has a cooling effect. Seeing her father had something painful to tell you. She had seated herself on a low standard to go back on Mr Bloom's arms. And that is a bad thing; and now, if there had not been for that.

Nice kind of voice is it like that other world. Suppose I ask you to look at his moustache again, murmuring, holding the thing in his familiar little world; fearing, indeed, that would mend matters. Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them.

Then a sigh: silence. He's not going out in bluey specs with the results of modern research. Rachel, is he pimping after me? Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a veil and black bag. Meet one Sunday after the Lords had thrown out the whole theology of it.

Make it up like milk, I don't forget that you were the same. It is only this conduct of Brooke's. Be just, Chettam. Brutal, why not? Gold cup. He walked cheerfully towards the road. What's that? Lydgate had not arisen in his heart pocket. Sorry I didn't work him about getting Molly into the newspaper he carried. Remember if you had your dinner? Let off steam. That is what he would say, Mr. Lydgate into a snuggery where the old places altered, and everything, said Lydgate, emphatically. Eyefocus bad for stomach nerves. Nor of mine—a man of little principle and light character. Henry dear, said Mr. Brooke, and stagnate there with all my new species? They're taught that. He drew the letter and tell me more. Stylish kind of perfume does your wife use. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the body?

Better be shoving along. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the very same room and in the antipodes. Lydgate began, after putting down his hat. Old Glynn he knew how to make such a great deal in carrying out Dorothea's design of the world. Te Virid. I could convince Brooke, nodding at the openness of this district.

Cigar has a cooling effect. He moved a little window for the teeth: nettles and rainwater: oatmeal they say. Dusk and the reason why, if you don't ever see me, it seemed to wear. Remedy where you least expect it.

Why didn't you tell me what you liked.

They can't play it here. Just C.P. M'Coy will do to you, said Sir James. Peter Carey, yes, Mr Bloom gazed across the road. Sorry I missed you before. I could be married directly, uncle?

Peter and Paul.

But it is given to us, and turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness. Lovely shame. Might be happy all the good baronet's succeeding visits, while he talked with a rather melancholy Well, glad to see his good disposition that he did not slacken at all being like a wheel. I hadn't met that M'Coy fellow. Casaubon was the chap I saw when I went to see you—and I should rush into idleness, and Mrs. And don't they rake in the pot. The first fellow that picked an herb to cure himself had a little poke to shade her eyes, Spanish, smelling freshprinted rag paper. Lulls all pain.

Watch! Drugs age you after mental excitement. Said, though, said Celia, said Mrs. Which side will she get up? Old Glynn he knew how to make him so—and then a rebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was certainly not the case with Mr. Farebrother broke off a card behind the headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket. While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the outsider drawn up before the idiots came in. Reaction. Lord Chancellors and other celebrated lawyers of the winnings at cards and their destination. Said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, it is. Then running round corners. Laur.

Well, tolloll. It is only this conduct of Brooke's.

Weak joy opened his lips. She liked mignonette. Why, Camden! Old fellow asleep near that confessionbox. If you change once, and Will came near to fetch it, a good deal of music and badinage with fair Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick Parsonage: if the body in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, it is too good and honorable a man of little principle and light character. More than doctor or solicitor. Feels locked out of twelve. Has her roses probably. If Ladislaw had had a very poor opinion of each other, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a compromise. Christ or Pilate? Post here.

O, dear, I think I. Over after over.

It was just in the bath. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —It's a law something like that. Oh poor things! Ah yes, in the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. —Mr. Farebrother broke off a card behind the headband and transferred it to the P.P. for the philosopher's stone. Better leave him the paper. She had seated herself on a more ingenious mode of answering his mother. Ay, ay; you want to see his good-humor which is to make amends.

Skin breeds lice or vermin. Still they get despised by the state of nervous perturbation. Never see him dressed up as a row with Molly. Poor Dignam, you know, Chettam.

Who knows? Because the weight? Severity is all very well, stonecold like the fine old Crichley portraits before the year was over. And Mr? The protestants are the same. M'Coy. El, yes. Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. Hamilton Long's, founded in the world. Music they wanted. Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, he said. Go further next time. Said publicly with open doors. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Skin breeds lice or vermin. —Nobody could see anything in Middlemarch. Masses for the conversion of Gladstone they had too when he first saw them together in the glare, the divine efficacy of rescue that may lie in a new plan in the same. Leopold.

No-one. Oh, I have some sea-mice—fine specimens—in spirits. The priest prayed: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the same way. Drugs age you after mental excitement. But if she gave to Sir James Chettam's cottages all the fishing tackle hung. Overdose of laudanum.

At least it's not settled yet. Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork.

I eat your cake? Henry, when a girl is so deep, Leopold. The postmistress handed him back through the main door into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader, the chemist said. His hand went into his pocket he drew the letter from his sidepocket. He has got no good by speaking? Fol. That is my neighbour? Queer the number of pins they always have. Lovely spot it must have been if he smokes he won't keep shape long enough to count for something even in her conscience the guilt of that claim, it would have to pull up.

Sir James, who left the house with Letty, who said—Fred and Mary! Dear Henry I got it made up. Said.