#Wexford would have ruined his life

[sadrockandwaltzes]

ASPBO Good and Evil Dichotomy

People like A Separate Peace better than Peace Breaks Out, but why is that?

Well here's my two cents. The first book takes place during the war, but before the boys are due to go. They are children holding onto what's left of their childhood before they die in battle or come out changed. Finny is the representation for all that is good and pure in the world; namely childhood purity and innocence. He implicitly trusts everyone and more importantly Gene, who kind of representatives the world. The tragedy in that book is that Gene's purity and the goodness in the world (Finny) is tainted and then destroyed by his own hand. Just as the world and these boys should have been able to live out their lives peacefully and happily, something always comes in and destroys it. Usually as a side effect of something else, like greed. Gene was so caught up in jealousy and his problems that he unknowingly destroyed what he thought was an indestructible force. He took Finny for granted and didn't realize the harm he was capable of until it was too late. The novel ends with Finny telling Gene that he forgives him and Gene forgiving himself; similar to the story of Pandora's Box where even after all the demons, there is still hope. He may have destroyed the peace, but that doesn't mean he took all the Finny out of the world.

ON THE OTHER SIDE Peace Breaks out starts from the point of view of one of those boys who went to war and came out changed, but the war is finally over. During the war it was easy to know one's enemy and assume that the war represented all the evil in the world, but then he meets Wexford, a child whose goal is to take control of everyone and cause mayhem. He represents the inherent evil in human beings, and he's so insidious that his maliciousness touches the hearts of all those around him and causes death and destruction, often without lifting a finger. Where Finny who was never given a last name represented childhood innocence, Wexford who only has a last name is the darker mature adult world. Finny possessed the quality of something immortal, while Wexford possesses something that cycles through hosts and places, never truly dying because it will always be reborn. Wexford rejects childhood in every way he can- he dresses in a grey suit (kids wear many colored suits but not gray according to 40s fashion history sites), he drinks alcohol and smokes, he is able to appear older than he is, and often frequents bars. The one thing that he, as hate instead of Finny's love can't understand, is romance and sex. He likes the idea of being in control, and unless all of the power in a relationship was with him, he can't stand the idea of being vulnerable or known by another. Gene was the accidental adult who killed his childhood, but here is a boy who purposely poses as an adult and plots to kill his childhood so that he can complete his transformation into something with all of the power in society. Finny didn't care about that- he was content to share his wins and losses and his entire heart with one person and make that his entire world. But where Finny, who is sunny and innocent is happy as himself, Gene and Wexford (and adulthood as a whole) recognize that there is a gaping hole in them, an unmissable hole. The older they get, the more distant their dreams and the nice illusions about the world fade away, and they're left to walk into the dark, full of trepidation and fear because they are aware that there really are monsters. This bothers Gene though, and he hides into himself not trusting anyone. Wexford instead decides to become the worst monster he can, so that all the other ones will be nothing compared to him. Gene is a follower where Wexford is a leader. (Actually I read a review on here that Wex was like a mix of Gene and Finny. Maybe this is what they meant. Gene saw god in Finny, Wex sees god in himself. He's Gene if Gene was a narcissist with Finny's confidence)Anyway, Pete realizes that evil is everywhere and cannot be killed, so he resigns himself to living in a world of monsters pretty much. So both stories share overlap, but there's plenty that's different. They're both cautionary tales. But one is about recognizing the evil in oneself and the other is about recognizing the evil in the world.

[thedawnbeauty]

Over a dozen letters had been written, and each one said the same thing over, and over again.

“ You’ll regret not being here..”

Luca knew the exact words, and how to convince her to put aside her feelings and decide to publicly support the marriage of Alexandria and Henry. She had many people try to convince her other ways in Wexford to do the opposite. At one point Michael was seen dragging her away from the ship, and telling her how ridiculous it was for her to put herself through that again. But, she left in the early morning, and arrived days later just in time for the ceremony. She was surprised to find Ryan in the tent, and listened to how he was offering his blessing.

She lowered her head remembering Ryan, saying an entirely different speech once to Michael.

“ you and I, both know you don’t deserve her. So, I’ll make you a deal. It’s her or the Island, you’re family home is yours to reclaim and lord over. You just can’t marry my daughter. If you choose her, then I know you really love her.”

Michael chose the Island, so it was all the evidence he needed to prove to himself, he wasn’t ready. But, with Henry, Henry had given up his birthplace, his title, and accepted a position that would guarantee his family safety, and place him in a role he would feel fulfilled, and he answered directly to Lucas Duncan. Another, man who had once offered to throw away titles, if it meant he got to spend the rest of his life with Layla. Ingrid, smirked in the corner, seeing Ryan may have not been the best father, but he was certainly better than hers, making assurances that the man marrying his oldest daughter: was a good man.

The looks her father gave her was of disappointment. They questioned if she was going to cause any trouble, or ruin the wedding. She had thought about it, but.. her mind changed when Caspian gave her a look of understanding. He didn’t need to say anything, but he stood there knowing the sacrifices she was making, and how much this meant for her, and for Henry, who needed her support.

As the ceremony was set to begin, she boldly chose to sit beside Serena. Wondering, why on earth was she even here, and how she got an invitation.

Serena quietly slipped a small note into Ingrid hand, to reveal the answer.

“ Please accept this as an invitation to my sister wedding. I beg you to come, as a favor. There are many people who would try and attempt to ruin this wedding .. and I really want this to go well.”

The fact Serena accepted, and was sitting around like a bodyguard surprised her, as she folded the paper slipping it back into her palm.

[justkeepswimmingbabes]

Nancy Mulligan - George Weasley x Reader <3

WARNINGS: Marriage lol, cringe writing and my crap writing.

Date: 2/2/22

This is a female reader

Song: Nancy Mulligan by Ed Sheeran

GEORGE POV:

“I was 24 years old when I met the woman I would call my own”

“Ron, the store needs closing!” “You do it then George” I grunted and made my way down the stairs to the front of the store, ushering people to get out. While telling people to get out I saw a beautiful girl with Y/H/C. We made eye contact and that's when she smiled at me. I stopped, she was gorgeous.

“George, stop looking at the poor girl and close the store!” UGH Ron ruining everything. With this I snapped out of my trance and went up to her hearing Ron groan behind me. “Hello beautiful lady I'm george Weasley, and who might you be or do I just call you mine?” She quietly laughed and looked UP AT ME (like damn dat boy tall) “Y/N F/N and I obviously know you, I love your store George.” I smiled at her and this was the day I met the love of my life.

“Twenty two grandkids now growing old in the house that your brother bought ya”

I looked over at my wife and our grandkids, her somehow still having the energy to play with them as I sat back in my chair. “Nanny and Poppy tell us about how you fell in love!” my 3 year old granddaughter asked us. Y/N looked at me and said “well are you sure for a long story” she asked while tickling them. I looked at them and smiled once again saying “Well a long long time ago….”

“On the summer day that I proposed, I made that wedding ring out of dentist gold”

Y/N and I were at a park at sunset… that's when I looked and got down on one knee “Y/N F/N I love you with all my heart, that day I met you at the store I knew I was going to marry you so please do me the honor of becoming me wife.” She looked at me with teary eyes and nodded, then nodded again, and again, and again until she jumped into my arms and yelled “yes, George Weasley I will become your wife!”

“And I asked her father but her daddy said no, you can’t marry my daughter”

After announcing our engagement to Y/N’s family everyone but her father was happy. After a few hours of celebrating her father comes over to me and says “come with me boy.” I start getting worried and I remember (how the hell did you forget??) about asking her father to marry his daughter.

“Boy sit down I need to have a firm talk with you” I quickly sit down looking at the door where I see Y/N.

“You did not ask me to marry my daughter” “Yes Mr F/N I’m very sorry it slipped my mind” I lightly laughed but he was deadly glaring at me and I quickly shut up.

“You may not marry my daughter, you don’t have the funds or the maturity to do so” I looked up at him with fear in my eyes and that's when Y/N came in.

“Father you can not do this!”

“Yes I can young lady! Call the marriage off”

Y/N quickly grabbed me and ran to her bedroom quickly locking the door to make a plan.

“She and I went on the run, don’t care about religion”

After a few nights of her father saying no I was sitting outside with my fathers car waiting for Y/N to come out of her window, we were running away.

I zone out for a couple of minutes thinking, how in hell are we going to make this work?

“George open the doors” I hear Y/N say.

I quickly opened the door for Y/N to come in and we were ready for our adventure.

“I’m gonna marry the woman I love, down by the Wexford Border”

“Here we are the place we’ll finally be married” I hear Y/N behind me. “Yeah finally” I tell her back.

We were at the black lake, it was looking beautiful and ready for us to be married. Everything was set but there was one thing Y/N and I had to do, invite her father.

``Y/N I really think we should at least send him an invitation ``''No George I will not allow it.” We have been having this 10 second conversation everyday for a month. Y/N keeps saying no and that he will ruin the wedding.

“Y/N I don’t care who we invite or what happenes at this wedding but I promise you I will marry you and you will become my wife (I would have died if he said that to me tbh-)

And that's where we kissed under the shining sun.

“She was Nancy Mulligan, I was William Sheeran, she took my name then we were one, down by the Wexford Border”

“Y/N do you take George Weasley to be your lawful wedded husband” (idk:????) “I do” “George do you take Y/N F/N to be your lawful wedded wife” (IDKK SORRY NOT SORRY??) “I do” “You may now kiss the bride”

Here we are under the arch married, all we went through for this moment, our special moment.. Forever.

“And kids that's how your Nanny and Poppy fell in love”

THE END-

EXTRA ENDING

-fell in love” and I kissed my beautiful wife “EWWW” “YOUR WORSE THAN OUR PARENTS” “UGHHHH *GAG* *GAG*

The real end-

[slippinmickeys]

The Earl (13/13)

This was a labor of love, and I can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with me. For Lin, my science editor, to Fiona and Amanda for beta-ing like champions, you guys were my rocks. Finally, thank you to you readers for keeping up the enthusiasm for this story for far longer than it probably should have taken me to write it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I do hope its everything you wanted it to be.

To read this in its entirety on AO3, you may do so here. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mulder, on his horse Hercule at the lead of what amounted to a well-outfitted cavalry, pounded down the stretch of road that led to Harwood Hall, the manse just coming into view. It was all thundering hooves behind him, and he could hear grunts of the horsed men that followed, could feel their thrilled energy at his back, and he was half-compelled to let out the war whoop of his Celtic forebears, riding into battle as they were, ready to save their damsel in distress. If it hadn't been for the generations of genteel decorum bred into him, he probably would have.

The fields lay long on either side of the narrow road, dotted occasionally with sheep and ancient stone fences. The sea shone far to the right and came into the land at an angle, pushing in toward the thumb-sized house like a shining sapphire buttress.

He was armed to the teeth, as were the men with him -- two pistols strapped to his hips and an old but perfectly balanced sword tight to his waist, the sheathed end of it tapping into Hercule’s flank and spurring him on. Walter and his Runner colleague Doggett were each carrying pistols — Doggett carrying an English flintlock blunderbuss in his left hand. Langly, who looked queasy on horseback and was not keeping his seat well, had what looked to be a long flintlock Kentucky plains rifle (said to be favored on the American Frontier), and Frohike, sturdy as a barnacle on his steely grey pony, had the intricately carved handle and stock of a Prussian target percussion rifle sticking out of an odd holster on his back. Byers carried a saber. Mulder couldn't help but wonder what a sight they made rolling along the English countryside at full gallop, their armory glinting in the sun.

As they barreled closer, Mulder could see that the manor itself was not overly large, but had a long fence and tall gate. They would have to get through it just to get on the property. Perhaps riding in like the Roman Legion hadn't been the best idea, but his wife was close -- he could feel it -- and his heart would have nothing but war until she was by his side.

Hercule had energy and heart to give, and Mulder could feel the animal ranging further and further ahead of the inferior horses giving chase behind them. In fact, when he looked back, he could see nothing but road dust and the occasional glint of metal.

Looking ahead, he could now see the house clearly, its brick the color of the sand on the shores surrounding it, and his eye caught movement at the building's entrance. Perhaps the fight was coming to them -- so be it.

He eased back on the reins and murmured a low command to Hercule, who slowed his steps only enough for the cavalry behind them to ease closer, and the figure from the manse -- Mulder could see that it was single figure now, dressed in white -- was moving quickly toward the gate. Perhaps it was a servant who thought Mulder was the post.

He wouldn't give them the chance to discover otherwise.

He pulled his pistol out from his hip and cocked it, skidding Hercule to a halt on the slippery gravel, and throwing himself from the saddle as he did so to land in a crouch in front of the gate. He could hear the other riders pulling in behind him as he rose and raised his pistol to point at the person who had just swung open the weir. He could not yet make out their identity, blocked as they were by the ornate iron lock.

"Stand and deliver," he said with calibrated fury.

And then he saw her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Stand and deliver,” said a voice with the steely edge of violence. There was a pistol aimed directly at her nose. It took her only a moment to look past the barrel to the man holding it.

“Mulder!” she gasped, and launched herself at him. His arms came around her with the feeling of home and she allowed herself one brief moment of transcendent euphoria before she pulled away from him.

“Good God, Scully, I-” he fumbled. She had clearly taken him by surprise. The men mounted behind him were all wearing equally shocked looks.

“Away!” she said quickly, “Mulder, we must away!”

Upon the heels of her statement came a calamitous blast, followed immediately by another. The horses threw their heads nervously.

A balding man she didn’t know squared his jaw up and turned his horse away from the house, shouting, “On me!” before spurring away.

Mulder practically leapt upon Hercule’s back and grabbed Scully around the waist, lifting her easily up into the saddle in front of him, and they were away before a third and fourth detonation burst from the house behind them. The other riders, Sir Byers and his associates among them, followed, their horses spurred along by fear. They were barely away when there was an absolutely massive explosion. Frohike’s pony screamed.

Hercule was in the lead, despite having the added burden of a second rider, and rode on, unfazed. After several hundred yards, Mulder slowed the creature, holding Scully tightly to him, and turned the horse to look back on the estate.

There was nothing left. Where once stood a large country house there was now just a smoking crater. Scully felt nothing but satisfaction. She supposed she should feel something for the life that she had taken, but her God believed in an eye for an eye, and so help her, when it came to that man, she did too.

The other riders caught up with them and turned their horses to look as well. The balding man had fine, wire rim spectacles and looked at what was left of the house and then at her, giving her an assessing once-over.

“My lady,” the man said, “you did not, perchance, happen to find munitions somewhere on the estate, did you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Scully said, leaning back into the warm bulk of Mulder, “I did.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Well,” said Frohike as he dismounted his pony in front of the stables at Ashford Park, swinging his Prussian rifle over his shoulder, “we’re all dressed up and we’ve nowhere to go.”

A groom helped Scully dismount, then Mulder swung down behind her, handing over his reins, refusing to let his wife get so much as an arm’s length away from him. The other members of the rescue party were dismounting around them, scattering gravel at their feet and shaking hands.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the manor and Suzanne came careening down the steps and running towards them.

“You’ve done it!” she said, skidding to a stop in front of Scully and then wrapping her up in an embrace, “you’ve saved her!”

“Nay,” said Byers, stepping forward, “the lady has saved herself. We were but an armed escort bringing her home.”

Mulder felt a swell of pride momentarily override his intense sense of relief. His wife; intelligent, capable, resourceful. She had described her escape to the men on their slow ride back to Byers’s estate to the impressed astonishment of the horsed collective -- how she used her extensive knowledge of chemistry to escape the small cottage in which she had been imprisoned, how she found stores and stores of gunpowder and munitions in Spender’s stables and used them to ensure that the man never hurt anyone else ever again.

Frohike himself had asked many questions, and with each answer, he would shake his head and look at Mulder, no doubt wondering what the Earl had done to deserve such a remarkable paradigm of a woman.

Mulder wondered that, himself.

As the group began wandering back toward the house, Mulder pulled Scully aside.

“This must all be overwhelming. And I would like to hear all that happened to you -- when you are ready to share it -- but first, I must know one thing: Did he hurt you? Did any of them hurt you?”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

“Not in the way you fear,” she whispered.

He reached up and put his hand over her own, holding it close. “I would take whatever suffering you have endured and make it my own.”

“Something tells me you already have,” she said. She was more right than she knew. “I would like to go to our chambers now, Mulder, and change out of this soiled and ruined dress. And I would like to take a bath. And then…”

“Then?”

“Will you hold me?”

“I can do that,” he said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder gently fingered the uneven ends of Scully’s shorn hair from where she lay tightly spooned up into his side. It felt so wonderful to be back in her husband’s arms.

“Does it look horrid?” she mumbled half into the pillow they shared. She knew he had loved her long tresses.

“You could never look horrid. It’s actually quite fetching. It highlights the elegant column of your neck. And if I’m honest, I can’t stop touching it.” He placed a soft kiss to the place where her jaw met her neck and she shivered, finally turning to face him.

“Whatever will the ton say?”

“They’ll say ‘what an extraordinary woman is the Countess of Wexford, and what an undeserving wretch she has for an Earl.’”

“Never.” She reached for his face and he kissed the tips of her fingers.

“I should have saved you. I should have done something about Spender, long ago. I never should have-“

She shushed him. “Mulder, I am frequently underestimated because of my sex. For once, I was able to use that fact to my advantage. I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself for the reprehensible actions of another. You were not to blame. For any of it.”

He reached out and ran his fingers once again through what remained of her hair, looking at her with reverence. She was silent for a moment before reaching up and touching it, too.

“I suppose my hair will have plenty of time to grow out before we attend any events in Town,” she said.

“You don’t wish to return to London?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

“Most ladies I know retreat to their country homes for the duration of their confinement.” She watched closely for his reaction, and saw it in his eyes the moment realization hit -- they went from confusion to elation.

“Your… your confinement?” he asked breathily. She nodded, smiling.

He grabbed her face in two hands and kissed her soundly, then pulled back the covers on the bed and moved down until his face was level with her abdomen. He lifted her shift until the bare skin of her belly was exposed, and leaned in to place a reverential kiss there, too. His mouth lingered. He whispered something she could not make out.

She felt a rush of yearning wash over her. “Mulder,” she whispered, and he looked up, his mossy eyes connecting with hers. They didn’t have to speak. He crawled his way back up her body slowly and kissed her softly, his weight resting on his hip, one hand in her hair, the other caressing her with a featherlight touch. She felt desire pool between her legs.

He pulled back and nosed his way gently down the curve of her jaw, flicking his tongue slowly as he eased his way along the column of tendons in her neck. Her head fell back on a blissful moan, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the silken softness play about the skin of her hands, wanting to feel him -- all of him -- reveling in having him back at her side, within her grasp.

He drew back momentarily to pull his white lawn shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. The space between them felt like a sea, and she realized in that moment that however deeply she thought she had loved him before she’d been taken by Spender was a pittance. The love she felt for him in this moment threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel him against her, inside of her, every unyielding edge and hard plane of him; she wanted to take all that he was and absorb him like water, like air.

She reached for him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He marveled at her. The soft contours of her body called to him; her pliant skin, her lush, pearl-pink-tipped breasts, her soft seawater eyes. None of which compared to the rapier-sharp intelligence of her beautiful mind. It was like she was moulded from clay by the gods specifically for him. He was a hopeless wretch in love. And now there was a babe inside her belly.

He felt an overwhelming tenderness toward her, at her resilience and strength in finding her way back to him, and he felt himself marveling at the miracle of life they’d created.

He sat back on his haunches, roving his eyes over her, struck dumb.

And then she reached for him.

“I need you,” she whispered, beseeching him, “I need to take you inside of me. Please.”

The blood thrummed inside of him.

He reached down and delicately parted her legs, taking himself in hand and gently thumbing the soft bud at the crest of her sex. She hissed a breath through her teeth and he guided himself, sliding straight home.

Scully reached under his arms with both hands and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her. He thrust up into her slowly, tenderly, keeping his weight on his elbows, framing her face with his arms.

He could feel her pulse as it beat in her slick sheath and he took a breath, trying to control himself. He wanted this to be sweet, tender lovemaking -- a homecoming -- but with every stroke, he felt more and more desperate for release.

A sob wrenched from her throat and she turned her face into his neck, pressing her teeth into the skin there.

“Mulder,” she panted, her voice hungry with yearning, with palpable, unabashed need.

He turned and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then leaned back, grabbing her hips in both hands. He began to snap into her with more force, and her hips rose with each plunge, as desperate to meet him as he was to be buried deep inside of her. And then she threw her arms over her head, her hands pushing against the carved headboard of the bed, her head thrown back, and she keened an almost inhuman sound, her muscles gripping him in an endless, pulsing clutch.  

He ascended to a place beyond thought.

XxX

Mulder awoke once again with the smell of lavender in his nose, the soft curve of Scully’s behind pressed into him. He inhaled deeply and pulled her more tightly to him.

He would stay here all week, all month, all year, if he could. But he needed to send word to Henwick Priory that he and the Countess would be arriving soon, and staying for the duration.

He rose and gently extricated himself from around Scully, dressing as quickly and quietly as he could. He was just pulling on his Hessians when his wife inhaled deeply in the bed and rolled over, cracking an eye to look at him with a small smile on her face.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

There was an ormolu clock on the mantle of the bedroom, and Mulder peered at it before coming to sit on the bed next to her hip.

“It’s just past nine o’clock. If you wish to go back to sleep, please do so.”

She stretched, brushing a hand down his arm to thread her fingers through his own.

“I shall rise,” she said, “I’d like to write to my mother and visit with Suzanne. Would you mind calling for Prudence?”

Mulder hesitated briefly, but then rose and pulled the cord. It seemed only moments before the door to their chambers opened.

“My lady!” Prudence came rushing into the room, a joyful look of relief on her face.

“Prudence,” said Scully fondly, reaching her hands out to recieve her.

“Oh, my lady ,” Prudence said again, taking Scully’s hands. She seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion.

Mulder stepped forward. He had not spoken with Prudence since calling her in to meet the Bow Street Runners, and charging off the second she gave them the location of Spender’s Kent estate. The young woman eyed him warily before glancing back at her mistress.

“You need not call the Countess that anymore,” he said calmly to her.

Both women swung their eyes to him; Scully in confusion, Prudence in something close to fear.

“And what should she call me?” Scully asked.

“Sister,” Mulder said simply. “For that is what she is to me.”

“My lord?” Prudence queried.

“Come,” Mulder said, pulling the envelope scrawled with a large X out of his pocket. “I’ve something to show you both.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

EPILOGUE

Several Years Later

The spring air was deeply fragrant, the mossy banks of the ornamental lake a dazzling shade of green. The sun was so bright she sneezed.

"Bless you, my lady," said a gentle voice from behind her.

Scully turned to thank Sir Byers from where he sat on a large blanket spread out on the grassy embankment just under an ancient oak on the north lawn of Henwick Priory. Byers was cradling a sleeping babe -- he and Suzanne's second, little Reynard, named for his Godfather.

Scully turned back to where she had been watching -- peering at the arbor twenty yards away for the child's namesake. Mulder had taken three-year-old Clio into the vast gardens to look for butterflies, but they had been gone near to thirty minutes -- it was likely the child had been distracted by something or other in the terraced space -- she had, after all, inherited her mother's scientific curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn away, she saw movement, and Clio came running out from the garden, her skirts flying out behind her. She wore a gleeful smile and her bright red curls glinted in the sun.

"Mama!" she shouted as she approached, "we found a caterpillar!"

Scully swept the girl up in her arms and pressed a kiss into the child's pink cheek.

"Oh, you must tell me the color! We'll identify it."  

"Papa said it was a Cinnabar moth," Clio said, dropping her heavy head sleepily onto Scully's shoulder. The child had a tendency, like her father, to drop off at a moment's notice and it was nearing time for her afternoon lay-down.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Scully said. Mulder was getting better at taxonomy, but he had a habit of misidentifying the things he classified for their children, if only to get a playful rise out of their mother.

Scully looked for said Papa and found him emerging from the gardens, walking slowly with his hands behind his back, patiently trailing William, the future Tenth Earl of Wexford, who had learned to walk only the month before and was toddling along jerkily, like a sailor in his cups. Scully caught eyes with the boy's father and he grinned at her, the smile crinkling the skin at his eyes.

"I see your father found your little brother," Scully said, smoothing out Clio's pinafore. "Where is your Auntie Pru?"

Samantha had offered to take William along on the garden expedition when the boy began crying that his father was walking away.

"She and Monica are cutting flowers for the picnic!" Clio answered, and turned in Scully's arms, wanting down.

William finally toddled up and flopped down on the blanket next to Byers, and Mulder strode up to Scully smelling of grass and sunshine with an underlying trace of clover. He leaned down and captured her lips in a quick kiss.

"My lady," he mumbled into her.

"My lord," she said, then looked down to see William attempting to dive into one of the baskets the footman had set out for their afternoon picnic.

"O-ho!" said Mulder as he swept up William away from the temptation, throwing the child into the air and catching him a moment later. The boy squealed in glee. "Not until everyone has arrived, little one," his father gently chided him.

In what amounted to rather perfect timing, Frohike, Langly, Suzanne and the oldest Byers child Emma at that moment came tromping down the steps on the north side of the estate, just as Samantha and another woman emerged from the garden, each with an armful of pink tulips.

"Oh, what a lovely addition to our picnic!" Scully said to Samantha's bright smile. She kissed her sister-in-law's cheek.

"It looks like Cli is about to drop off," Samantha grinned.

"No I'm not, Auntie Pru," the child said on a large yawn. To the day, both Mulder and Scully sometimes called Samantha by her middle name out of habit and the children had latched onto the idea.

"Do you want me to take her up to the nursery?" Samantha whispered. Scully shook her head. Samantha had been welcomed into the family without reservation, but at times was still not used to her elevated rank and attempted to do various tasks best left to the staff. It drove Mrs. Paxton batty.

"Sit, Samantha," said Monica Reyes, Samantha's hired companion, who was arranging the flowers prettily in an empty basket, "put your feet up. Have a cup of tea."

Initially Monica had been hired as companion, chaperone and etiquette tutor, drilling Samantha in the ways of the ton , but the ladies were now very good friends and, thought Scully wistfully, perhaps something more.

Mulder set his son down once again on the blanket and came up to Scully, putting his arms around her from behind. "That's good advice," he rumbled in her ear. She shivered slightly. He still had the ability to give her gooseflesh with a mere touch.

"Perhaps I will," she sighed happily, leaning into him.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived!” said Mulder as the group from the house approached.

“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people,” Frohike quoted, letting go of Emma’s hand. She and Clio -- who had found a second wind of energy upon seeing her friend -- darted off to play on the spacious lawn.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy,” Mulder quoted back, “As in a soul remembering my good friends.”

“Shakespeare is all well and good,” said Langly, whinging ever so slightly, “but can we eat?”

“Champagne first!” Mulder announced, nodding to a footman who had been waiting nearby with the refreshment.

Frohike’s eyebrows rose as he took the proffered glass and he peered knowingly at the lord and lady of the house, who still stood in an embrace. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’ve an announcement,” Scully smiled, and Mulder reached down to caress the bump in Scully’s belly that was just beginning to make itself known.

“I knew it!” clapped Suzanne.

“Again?” gaped Langly.

Mulder winked at his bespeckled friend and raised his glass. “To good friends reunited,” he said, “and the blessing of another child.”

The gathered party raised their glasses in a toast.

Frohike looked up, thoughtful. “A third Wexford babe, and I’ve yet to find a wife.”

“My friend,” Mulder said, pressing a loving kiss into Scully’s hair before looking up at him, “never give up on a miracle.”

THE END

[lustandlordsrp]

The Ingenue | Catherine “Kitty”

Twenty-Three | The Lady Catherine St. Claire Earldom of Ralston, Barony Wexford

Formally Announced or Addressed on Social Correspondence: The Lady Catherine St. Claire

Informally Announced or Addressed on Social Correspondence: The Lady Catherine St. Claire

Formal Correspondence Salutation: “My Lady,” or “Madam,”

Informal Correspondence Salutation: “Dear Lady Catherine St. Claire,” or, more familiarly, “Dear Lady Catherine,”

Addressed in Speech: “Lady Catherine” or “Catherine” (or “Kitty” if addressed by a very close friend or relative

Referred to in Speech: “(The) Lady Catherine (St. Claire)”

Social Correspondence Signature: Catherine St. Claire

Biography

Born to the Earl of Ralston, Catherine St. Clair was held by her family as the most precious of things from the day of her very birth. The image of her mother, she was, all blond hair and blue eyes. As if her father needed more to adore her.

The youngest and only girl of the St. Clair brood, she always got away with her childish mischief and never waited more than a day to see even the most ridiculous of her demands met. She used to sit on her father’s knees while he signed documents and she wove flowers, she made her brothers take turns to play pretend with her, she sat in front of her mother’s vanity as she braided her hair for the night. Her life was as sweet as she was spoiled.

And that was how she grew, a sweet and kind girl. Always too timid to stray too far from the safety and comfort her family provided and, honestly, too naïve to make it if she ever did so. And so, she stayed like that. She lived and experienced the world through her brothers’ tales. Charles told her about university and all the interesting things that he learned. Byron talked of art and the places he would one day see and travel to. She did not understand much of what Ambrose said, other than the fact that she somehow knew his doings weren’t very proper. Many women would have not been satisfied with just hearing of these things, but Catherine was. She was happy.

But, of course, life has a way of ruining one’s happiness in just a moment. When her father passed, Catherine was destroyed. Never had she felt real pain and now she had no idea of what to make of it. She found solace in her family. She could no longer sit on her father’s lap but her brother’s arms were ready to take her in at any time. With Charles engulfed by his newly acquired responsibilities and Ambrose off doing whatever it was that Ambrose did, Byron became her rock. At least until he left again.

She managed to keep healing without him, though. Her hopeful and joyous nature winning over her grief. The day came when she once again played happy tunes in the piano and when she picked her pink, and blue, and yellow dresses over her black mourning gown. The day came when she was okay again.

And as if life had a personal quarrel against her. Just when she had found a life outside grief, Charles went on to follow her dear father. It did not take such an apparent toll on her this time. Her home had once again been shrouded by darkness and she vowed to herself to be the light that fought it. She did not wear black this time. She did not openly break down crying in pain. She laughed and sang instead, hoping it would help those around her forget for just a little bit. Even if she too was hurting on the inside.

With all that had happened Catherine had even forgotten she was supposed to make her debut the season her brother died. Perhaps it was for the best, she wasn’t really in a good state to find a match. On retrospective, though, she now wishes she had already been promised before Ambrose got out of his mourning. That way maybe her hand wouldn’t have been offered like any common piece of jewelry in a game of cards.

[mythicallore]

A Dark History of The Hellfire Club

     Perched atop an expanse of grassy knolls and rather charming scenery, at a place called Mount Pelier Hill, near Dublin, Ireland, is an old, abandoned stone structure from another time, standing out there defiantly amongst the elements. Today it just seems like the crumbling ruins of another bygone era, like many that dot the lush countryside here, but this place in particular had a rather colorful history and an even more haunted reputation. Commonly called the Hellfire Club, the building was first erected in 1725 by Irish Speaker of the House of Commons William Conolly, and was originally a hunting lodge then called Mount Pelier, as well as other monikers such as The Brass Castle and Bevan’s Hill. It is also well known as being one of the creepiest and most aggressively haunted places in Ireland, with a dark history that would soon transcend its humble beginnings to devolve into a world of the occult, sacrifices, and black magic.

Things begin to get spooky from the years of between 1735 to 1741, when the building was frequently used as a meeting place for the notorious Irish Hellfire Club, a sort of secret society, who allegedly used it as a venue for all manner of occult rituals, black masses, ceremonies, black magic rituals, sacrifices both animal and human, and it was generally full of orgies and wild drunken debauchery, a place of sin and depravity. Illustrating the club’s full on hedonism perfectly was their motto, which was “Fais ce que tu voudras”, or “Do what thou wilt.” Adding to the occult imagery of the club in general is that they were said to always leave a chair open for the Devil, and that their mascot was an enormous black cat.

The Hellfire Club

There are also many stories of the supernatural around this place when it was in use, the most popular being that one evening a stranger dressed all in black visited the Hellfire Club out of the rainy night. The members allowed him in, and to even join them in a game of cards. At one point a player purportedly dropped a card under the table, and when he went to retrieve it he noticed that the stranger had cloven hooves instead of feet. At that moment, it became clear that this was the Devil himself, and he stood up to go shooting up into the air, where he vanished in a ball of fire. In another tale, the Hellfire members were in the process of sacrificing a black cat, and when a priest performed an exorcism on its corpse a demon was said to spew forth from the carcass, in some versions of the tale setting the place on fire as it did. In yet another tale, club member Simon Luttrell, Lord Irnham, later Earl of Carhampton, made a deal with the Devil to give his soul in exchange for clearing his debts, and when the Devil showed up at the Hellfire Club’s front door to collect Luttrell reneged and ran away. In yet another story a local farmhand once found his way to the club and was invited in for the night, only to be found the next day babbling nonsensically and in a vegetative trance, living out the rest of his days in an insane asylum, never recovering enough to even be able to explain what he had seen, doomed to remain a drooling madman.

In later years the building would be moved further down the hill to a place called Killakee House after a devastating fire gutted it, said to have been started by lighting a person on fire during a black mass. The club’s nefarious activities continued, including allegedly kidnapping, murdering, and consuming a farmer’s daughter on the orders of a notorious member named Thomas “Buck” Whaley. In the wake of Whaley’s death the club sort of disbanded, and paranormal tales have orbited the location ever since. One of the main ideas is that the building itself is cursed. This has its roots in the fact that during the original construction of the hunting lodge there were found to be ancient cairns and an underground grave complex beneath, and according to the lore many of the cairn stones were repurposed into the actual construction of the lodge, angering the spirits in the process to the point that it is said that the roof was mysteriously blown right off the building by a mysterious terrifying force right after it was finished.

In addition to this the Hellfire Club and the nearby Steward’s House have been intensely haunted by an eclectic mix of different spirits. One is the apparition of a huge black cat the size of a large dog, said to be able to speak and to have blazing red eyes, a humanoid face, and to be wreathed in the smell of sulphur, which roams the building and its surrounding countryside. There is also the spirit of a wailing woman on fire, said to be either one of the victims of the Hellfire fire centuries ago or a sacrifice, as well as an unidentified ghost that apparently will rip off any jewelry that visitors wear, especially crucifixes. Most unusual of all is the presence of the ghost of a dwarf, believed to have been a sacrifice by the club. Interestingly, reports of the ghost dwarf have had a bit of an infusion of believability when the remains of an actual dwarf were found buried under the floorboards of the Killakee House during renovations in 1971. Adding to the ghostly party are the apparitions of an Indian and two nuns known as Blessed Margaret and Holy Mary, also thought to have been victims of human sacrifice during the club’s active years. In addition to all of these wandering spirits and entities are the numerous complaints of people having nausea or chest pains when visiting the area, and the whole place is reportedly absolutely infused with a sense of dread and despondency. Even paranormal investigators get squeamish at this place, and the Head of Paranormal Researchers Ireland has said of the Hellfire Club building:

There have been two places I have been that I got absolutely terrified and I don’t usually. The Hellfire Club in the Dublin Mountains, and Loftus Hall in Wexford. We were up the Hellfire one night, a group of eight or ten of us. We stood in a circle and the next minute there was a thud, it was like a vibration went through the whole building and all the equipment went mental. One of the guys was in the hall and he is a cynic and he said a black shadow crossed him, 100 per cent — a tall black shadow. Another guy started getting sick, and then a girl said she heard a whisper in her ear, very clear, and it just said ‘get out’. All in the course of one minute. Chaos. That was the first time ever I called an end to the night and said we didn’t feel safe.

Other paranormal investigators have agreed, such as Tim Kelley, the head of the group Irish Ghost Hunters, a crack group that uses hi-tech gadgetry, including thermal-imaging cameras and state-of-the-art audio equipment to investigate haunted sites throughout the country. Kelley’s team have been to the Hellfire Club on numerous occasions, but have been so completely assaulted by unexplained malevolent activity that they have vowed never to step foot in there again. Kelley has said:

We’ve been everywhere in the country at this stage, but the Hellfire Club is somewhere we have no intention of returning to because there’s a very sinister energy there. I know people go up there all the time, and no doubt it will be a popular destination at Halloween, but I would advise people to think twice about going there, because there’s a very negative energy there. There’s a really weird sensation as soon as you go in it and it’s something I don’t want to repeat again for the rest of my life. So it’s the only building in Ireland that’s off limits for me in terms of conducting a paranormal investigation.

The Hellfire Club building and the surrounding area have gone on to become regular features on lists of eeriest or most haunted places in Ireland, and with so many hauntings and such a morbidly dark history it is easy to see why. It is unfortunate that the history of the Hellfire Club is so shrouded with secrecy and pervaded with scary urban legends, to the point that it is difficult to unravel where the truth begins and the fiction ends. As with any remote, spooky place it has managed to gestate within it many tall tales and scary campfire stories that we will probably never know the extent to which the Hellfire Club’s depravity really sank or how much of it is true. However, one thing that is known is that this is considered to be one of Ireland’s most evil haunted places, and the reports of paranormal activity here continue.

[arazolasecrets]

               The Winged Wolf and the Rising Phoenix 

Going to the Marsh was a long way - about a mile and a half away from the city. As Estefania walked the long road towards the marsh, the sun had begun to set. The air had begun to become cooler, so Stef had on her warm shawl with a fur collar. She had just finished helping Finnegan Hall welcome and speak to some new recruits who wished to join Jacob’s side. She was, however, only half listening, as her argument with Jacob plagued her thoughts.

Jacob had seemed more on edge than usual. He was defensive, quick to strike at her weak points, which was something he had never done with her before. That’s why it shocked her - during their time together in Wexford, Jacob had never been that cruel. While the pressure of being a leader was mounting on him, something was sending him over the edge, and Stef was now wishing she had just asked rather than call him a coward. The guilt felt a heavy feeling in her stomach, and that heavy feeling only worsened as she finally got to the marsh.

The marsh still had a foul odor, which many Wexford residents had referred to as death. It was once a place where people went to fish, where children went to catch frogs and splash in the cool, mirky waters, where people would hunt for birds who went there to eat insects and fish. Now, there was nothing. The fish had all died, the animals had left, and even the water was now seemingly grey. Even the remaining plants seemed sickly. This is where her strange nightmares had taken place, and now, she felt like she could panic at any time. She slowly walked closer to the marsh, her breathing becoming more shallow and quicker as she did. Something dreadful happened there, she could feel it in the air.  She now wished Levi had been around so he would have gone with her.

Stef paced the ground nervously as she waited, eyes going to the marsh and whenever she did, she’d feel afraid, and immediately look away, her chest beginning to ache as her heart beat faster and faster. She heard a rustling sound, which made her jump and turn towards where the woods were. She nervously played with her fingers, backing away, before she heard a female voice call out to her.

“Stefi!”

She turned, ignoring the rustling sound and there was Greta, running up towards her as she waved. Stefi let out a small sigh of relief, before she walked up towards the homely woman. She felt irritated by Greta’s upbeat attitude already. This place disturbed her with its heavy atmosphere and Greta seemed like she was running down a field of flowers. Anxiety-ridden Stef was not amused.

“Alright, I’m here,” She said in a slow tone, attempting to hide and hold back her growing irritation, “What is it that you heard?”

Greta gave a light, carefree giggle. “Stefi, you haven’t spoken to me since you got married, and you don’t even ask me how am I! I would ask how you are, but I already know how you must be. You’re with the blacksmith’s apprentice, the most desired free man around. He must be such a great husband in every sense of the word...”

Stef suddenly felt uncomfortable, especially by the way Greta said that last part. She sounded sultry, as if imagining her husband there with them. She was growing impatient, especially as the marsh only seemed to rise her anxiety more and more.

“Greta, we can discuss this later,” Stef said, sounding more strained,“I need to know what the jarl knows about m-”

“Of course he would choose you out of all of us,” Greta said with another laugh, “Look at you! You’re so beautiful. You look like a painting. None of us had a chance, did we? No one had a chance against High Lady Estefania Arazola...”

Great’s demeanor changed suddenly. She went from being oddly carefree and bouncy to cold, with resentment clear in her voice, as she gave Stef an angry, hateful glare. Stef was taken aback, and she stared back, fear seizing her completely. Greta sneered at her.

“That is your name, isn’t it? They said you were one of the most wanted powerful royal women in the south, and yet, you’re here...ruining it for us here in the north.”

She chuckled maliciously, and Stef felt her hands began to shake. The jarl knew who she was, and now it seemed Greta was no friend of hers, but someone who hated her. If looks could kill, Greta would have killed Stef on the spot. 

“The jarl made me a deal. A life for a life ” Greta said with a grin, “Don’t worry, he has plans for you, Lady Estefania. You won’t die! I can’t say the same for my brother. He swore to keep me safe and he let men abuse me. He failed to protect me, so I failed to protect him. He was a traitor who sided with the bastard usurper.”

Stef shook her head in horror, realizing that Greta had gone home to kill her brother rather than feed him. The poor boy was just sixteen! Stef turned around and stopped in her tracks right away, staring right at a group of men all smirking at her. She turned around again, and men had begun to walk right from where Greta had come from. Within the marsh, Stef was surrounded. A young man who looked no older than perhaps eighteen years old, stepped from behind Greta, giving her a smile.

“And father will reward you, Greta. Maybe I’ll spare the one you want and you’ll have a new husband after he hears that his wife ‘ran back’ to her life of luxury...” The young man said as he put an arm around Greta, who beamed excitedly. He took down his arm and patted her from behind and Greta giggled, stepping back behind the men, watching eagerly, as the young man with curly hair, wearing brown armor, approached Stef.

“My name is Halvor, first born son of Geir. Pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He mockingly bowed, which prompted laughter from the men.

Stef stood there stiffly, looking around frantically as Halvor chuckled.

“Don’t bother to try to escape, Lady Arazola. Your idiot husband should be very occupied very soon. We have plans that’ll cause quite a ruckus....” He pointed towards the direction of the city beforehe continued, “Father says the blacksmith’s apprentice seems dirty next to you. Now, I know what he means.” He reached out to stroke her cheek.

Stef, repulsed, impulsively slapped his hand away, and began to run towards the marsh in desperation, only to have two of the men there grab her by the arms and begin to violently pull her towards Halvor. Stef began to scream at the top of her lungs.

“LET GO OF ME! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!”

The men laughed at her, before they dragged her and then held her in place before Halvor, who know had a big red hand mark on his cheek. 

“Hold her there!” He commanded his men, as he took out a knife. 

The two men, holding her arms, pushed her down for incredible force on her knees, that she cried out in pain as her knee began to bleed upon being forced on the rocky ground suddenly.

One of the men took her by the chin and pulled her head up as Halvor looked down with the knife in hand.

“Father said to bring you alive. He said nothing about how to bring you back.” He said with cruelty in his voice.

“My father saw victory in these marshes,” Halvor said as he began to slowly bring the knife down towards Stef’s face, “I doubt the gods had anything different planned for me here. You’ve been so disrespectful to us, foreigner. It’s time you learn what happens when you mess with men blessed by the gods.”

Stef tried to helplessly squirm away, feeling the piercing pain as the tip of the knife began to cut through her soft cheek...

Then, there was a loud howl. Before she, Greta, or any of the men could react, suddenly, a huge wolf lounged towards one of the men behind Halvor from the side, from where the woods were. The wolf’s teeth ripped into the man’s throat, blood showering on Greta’s coat as she screeched. She ran back from where she came from, tearing off her blood splattered coat as she ran back into town.  The other men impulsively backed away in fright as the wolf tore up the man’s neck as the man let out a sickening gurgle sound. Then a rock came flinging towards Halvor. It struck Halvor in the head, prompting him to fall back. Halvor groaned and stood up, before he chuckled lowly, slowly turning around as he said in a low voice.

“Benjamin Areli.” 

Benjamin emerged from the woods, sword in hand, as his wolf returned to his side, snarling at the men. Stef shook her head, screaming at him.

“No, Benjamin! Run! Get out of here!” She yelled at him frantically, knowing that as good as a warrior he was, he was greatly outnumbered. 

“Let her go.” Benjamin said determinedly. “Get your disgusting hands off her right now!”

Halvor laughed then, a cruel laugh that echoed through the marsh.

“She’s important to father. Your head, however, will be a grand gift for him,” Halvor pointed him before commanding, “Get him!”

One of the men holding Stef let her go, while the other wrapped his arm around her neck, holding her firmly in place still, as the men began to surround Benjamin and his wolf. She looked on desperately and frightened, as he began to fight the men with great strength, dodging sword swings, and plunging his sword into the side of one man, as his wolf sunk its teeth into the leg of another. Ben fought with such ferocity, as he continued to swing his sword, cutting through two more men.  Stef tried to squirm away again, and the man kept his arm tight around her neck putting pressure on her without choking her. Halvor, now looking unsure as he seemingly underestimated Ben’s fighting skills, gave the man holding Stef a nod. He then whispered in his ear.

“Watch this.”

He rose his head, as Stef looked at Benjamin, who took down another man, and his wolf was mauling on the face of a second man, when the man holding her called out to him.

“Areli!” He then put his own sword up to her neck. Stef cried out as the sharp blade began to cut into her neck, drawing blood as Ben stopped, looking up at them.

“No! Stop it!” Ben yelled, the look of worry on his face.

 Almost instantly, a man punched Benjamin hard on the side of his face, causing him to let his sword go, which fell to the ground a yard away since the force of the hit made his body jerk to the side. Another man hit him again, and his wolf, looking up and distracted, got a rough kick to the side of its head. The wolf let out a loud yelp, falling back and hitting the rocky ground, unconscious. Stef kept screaming for them to stop, tears rolling down her face, as she watched poor Ben get hit over and over again by the men, taken full advantage of that one moment he got distracted. Stef watched as Halvor stepped forward and while Benjamin, bloodied and heavily bruised, staggered, disorientated from the blows, Halvor rammed his knife into Ben’s abdomen.

Stef felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. The man holding her chuckled as he let her go and she fell to the ground on her injured knees. They actually let her run to Ben as he let out a pained groaning sound, falling onto the ground on his side, a wound to his side bleeding profusely. She knelt down,  managed to roll him onto his back and put her hands on his wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Ben’s poor face was covered in his own blood, his eyes unfocused, but yet he managed to look at Stef.

“Stefi, run.” He groaned out, “Please, run. Save yourself.”

Stef, crying, shook her head.

“I can’t leave you. I won’t. You should have listened to me, Ben.” 

Ben coughed, blood filling his mouth as he shook his own head.

“You don’t deserve this. I needed to help you.”

He put his bloodied hand on her hand, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Jacob says you’re his family, so you’re mine too.”

Stef felt her heart ache. Ben had proven to be a better person towards her than her own blood, her own brother. Her brother tried to kill her, and now this young man could die trying to save her. No one could save them now. Leviticus would arrive too late. Jacob was probably preoccupied dealing with what the Jarl had planned. She had no idea where her father-in-law was. Ben’s poor wolf was knocked out cold.  Stefi was utterly alone with a bleeding Benjamin. Her thoughts were racing a hundred miles a minute. They were both trapped.

Halvor began to laugh. 

“Isn’t this sweet! I’m sure as a high lady you witnessed the execution of many. This won’t be any different...” He said, stepping towards them both as the rest of the men closed in.

Stef then heard a voice, almost in her head, coming from within:

“Let me through.”

It was as if time had slowed down, as she did see Halvor and the remaining seven of his large men step closer,  but at the same time, she found herself in a place filled with light. She saw an approaching figure in that lit up space, as that unearthly voice spoke again.

“Let go. Let me help you. Unleash what you have inside.”

She felt her body stand above Benjamin as she stared at this figure. The strange burn-like scar on her wrist began to grow hot then, as she realized this was the same voice who called out to her that day she jumped into the ocean, as she drowned in the depths of the water. It was the same voice she heard in her dreams. As the figure’s features began to reveal the closer it got, she realized this figure was both beautiful and terrifying, unlike anything she had seen in her life.

She could hear Halvor laugh again, but despite him being a few yards away, it was if he was speaking from a distance: 

“Oh, dear sweet Lady. You can’t save him. But, if you want to try, you can.”

He motioned to one of his men standing beside him, and he handed Halvor a club. Halvor began to walk right up to her, tapping a large club with his hand as he gave her a smirk. Yet, she felt no fear. She could only stare at this figure within her mind, the figure that had reached into the seas and somehow saved her. The same being that had given her a second chance at life. . .

“Do not fear. Together, we can do justice.” 

She could see it extend what seemed to be their hand. The extremely tall being, with exuberating light from their entire form and massive wings stemmed from their back, was standing in front of her now.  She stared down at their hand. She looked up, and while she saw Halvor almost right up to her, she also saw this being’s face. She let out a breath of air, staring at this being as the Halvor slowly began to raise the club to strike her. She could hear from a distance Benjamin plead with her to leave, to run, but she just stood there, fixated. 

The being now sounded more frantic, more louder.

“Accept my help, Estefania. Come on! Unleash the power you now possess!”

In the moment, memories of her beloved Leviticus being beaten by the jarl and the most recent one, Benjamin being cruelly attacked flooded into her mind. Her heart ached, as she thought about how she had been unable to even come to their defense as they had both been brutally beaten and assaulted. She suddenly felt a rage that had been growing deep inside her, a rage that had grown since Levi’s attack, but Ben being stabbed seemed to now send her rage over the edge. 

“Take my hand! Release your anger! LET IT GO!”

Without any hesitation, She reached out and took the being’s hand. . .

And the light consumed them both.  

Benjamin watched as Stef just stood there, with Halvor about to strike her with club. But she didn’t move, unflinching. Benjamin could feel blood ooze from in between his fingers as he held it over his wound, and he felt began dizzy from the blood loss, but he still tried to sit up.  He had to help her. He had to give her a chance to run. His vision became spotty, spots of darkness began to grow larger as he began to slowly slip into unconsciousness. He saw Halvor raise his club, and then bring it down towards Estefania’s shoulder.

Estefania screamed angrily, and then, there was a loud boom. The ground shook. Halvor cried out and was sent flying back with such strong force, he hit a tree way further back, hitting the back of his head, grunting as he fell and went still.  Ben, being behind Estefania, only watched in confused shock as he watched the other men stumble back, falling on the ground.  Her body looked like she was on fire, especially on her arms and hands, but she didn’t burn. Was that what he truly saw, or was his weak mind playing tricks on him?

“You fucking bastards!” Estefania yelled at them in rage, but her voice was strange. Ben could almost make out another voice in her yelling, just underneath hers...

“She’s a witch!” One of the men cried out as they all began to stand back up.

“Even if she is, we have to kill her now,” The largest man who had been holding Estefania before replied, lifting his axe. “The jarl will have to understand we only meant to defend his son!”

Ben struggled to remain awake as he heard the growl of his wolf. His wolf had gotten up during the commotion, and went right to Estefania’s side, ears back and in attacking position as Estefania slowly picked up the club Halvor had dropped as he had been pushed back. The other men nervously took out their weapons too and under the largest’s man sudden leadership, they charged towards both Estefania and Hlin, his wolf.

Ben had tried so hard to remain awake, but he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. The loss of blood had made him weak. As he began to feel his body lower back to the ground, his vision became distorted more and more. He could see his wolf move and attack more men, but he saw Estefania move with such speed, he had trouble following her movements. It had all become blurry.  He last heard the screaming of men of agony and pain, the loud attacking growls of Hlin, and then everything went  d a r k.

                                          To be continued. 

[cityofwexfordsl]

Geir Lundsonn, or “Geir Lund” was the son of the warrior Lund Hring, who hailed from the Jørgen Dynasty, rulers in the lands of Svealand. Geir was also the descendant of a warrior who had been on the expedition that led to the discovery of lands that would eventually become the City State of Wexford (or Veisafjǫrðr.) 

Geir’s ancestral family, while not ruling in Wexford, did maintain a high importance status until King Æthelred Sargenis of Doar, great-grandfather of Maxim Sargenis, took over Wexford from the Northmen as retaliation when the Northmen began to raid several towns in Doar. Since then, Wexford belonged to the Kingdom of Doar, and served them. Lund Hring murdered his way to the top of the ranks in Wexford, rebelled, and made an alliance with the enemies of Doar. He participated in a war which led to the deaths of King Markus Sargenis and his firstborn son.  As the army leader of Wexford, however, he had become cruel towards his own men, sending them off to mission that were basically suicidal, not caring about their lives. He was eventually captured and imprisoned by his own men when it was clear he didn’t care for Wexford and its people, but rather used them as an excuse to return his family back to high status and glory.  The people of Wexford, after losing many of their own in war,  peacefully surrendered to King Markus’s wife, Queen Isabella, and pledged to her and her remaining children. While the people of Wexford began to warm up to House Sargenis thanks to Queen Isabella’s kindness (she allowed them to continue as a city state as long as they answered and paid their dues to her kingdom,) Lund Hring and his family grew to hate the Saxon superiors. Lund was able to get visits from his wife, and despite being in prison, he was able to impregnate his wife, who gave birth to Geir, the only child Lund would ever have. Geir was a young boy when his father was eventually executed for his crimes, ordered by House Sargenis. His mother got sickly and died a few years later. Geir’s hatred for the Sargenis and the Saxons was cemented then. He vowed to avenge his family, and restore Wexford back as an Northmen run city-state.

In the meantime, he rose in the ranks of the army of Wexford, becoming well liked and was trusted by Vali Kveldulf, general and good friend of Maxim Sargenis and his family. He even helped train his son, Svejn, when Vali took Geir at times to Doar to help train the armies there. Geir however, was behind the raids that once again began in the small towns of Doar. Because of this, Maxim Sargenis began to mistrust and strongly dislike Northmen in his kingdom, which caused a rift between he and his Danish general. Maxim Sargenis really began to lose favor with the people of Wexford  when he threw out his adopted daughter Fay Rosen, who was a North woman. Geir used this incident to show the people that Maxim no longer was with on their side, as he had turned on the adopted daughter he was known to love and favor the most. This caused a divided opinion on Maxim Sargenis within the city. . . .

A great war happened, however, and upon the tragic death of Maxim Sargenis, Wexford was left leaderless and in shambles. While the Kingdom of Cornwall tried to take it at first, it left it to ruin due to the problems Wexford, now a rundown city of criminals, brought. Geir began to build up an army once again, and once they were strong enough, they took back the city from the criminals. Within this army was Jacob Adair, then eighteen years old. While Jacob Adair left Wexford to begin a life of crime, Geir was hailed as a hero and was elected as Jarl of Wexford. His rule as Jarl started off well he expanded their trade, grew their army, and took over more land, increasing Wexford’s power. He had a magificent sword with him at all times, encrusted with gold. Where it came from was a mystery, but it was regarded as a sign of great power and status. He was well liked as a Jarl overall. However, his fear of being overthrown grew with the years, and he began to instill more stricter rules on the people. It really got worse when Jacob Adair returned and began a better life alongside Carolina Blackwood of Snow Mystic. Jacob became more successful than him on raids, and his popularity grew quickly as a result. It hit a breaking point when it became known that Jacob was the son of Alexia “Lexi” Sargenis, daughter of beloved Queen Isabella Sargenis. That was when his paranoia truly began to unravel . . .

Geir’s rise to glory was stained with betrayal, lies,  and a big secret, a secret that would crumble everything he had built. Though he didn’t know his father very well, the apple did not fall far from the tree. . . 

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - A Murder for the Books

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Great Escapes Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

A Murder for the Books: A Blue Ridge Library Mystery by Victoria Gilbert

A Murder for the Books: A Blue Ridge Library Mystery Cozy Mystery 1st in Series Crooked Lane Books (December 12, 2017) Hardcover: 336 pages ISBN-13: 978-1683314394 E-Book ASIN: B072396C2L

Fleeing a disastrous love affair, university librarian Amy Webber moves in with her aunt in a quiet, historic mountain town in Virginia. She quickly busies herself with managing a charming public library that requires all her attention with its severe lack of funds and overabundance of eccentric patrons. The last thing she needs is a new, available neighbor whose charm lures her into trouble.

Dancer-turned-teacher and choreographer Richard Muir inherited the farmhouse next door from his great-uncle, Paul Dassin. But town folklore claims the house’s original owner was poisoned by his wife, who was an outsider. It quickly became water under the bridge, until she vanished after her sensational 1925 murder trial. Determined to clear the name of the woman his great-uncle loved, Richard implores Amy to help him investigate the case. Amy is skeptical until their research raises questions about the culpability of the town’s leading families… including her own.

When inexplicable murders plunge the quiet town into chaos, Amy and Richard must crack open the books to reveal a cruel conspiracy and lay a turbulent past to rest in A Murder for the Books, the first installment of Victoria Gilbert’s Blue Ridge Library mysteries.

Gust Post by the Author

My protagonist, Amy Webber, is a librarian. Of course, she loves to read and mentions having numerous books in the “To be read” (TBR) pile that threatens to engulf her nightstand.

I was curious (being an author, I often am) so I snuck into Amy’s bedroom and checked out this TBR pile to see what she might be reading next. Here’s what I found:

  Sleep No More: Six Murderous Tales by P. D. James

The late P. D. James is one of Amy’s literary idols and she’ll never pass up a chance to read more of this celebrated mystery author’s works. The depth of understanding of human psychology, compassion, and sheer brilliance in the writing shines throughout all of James’ books, and Amy’s sure this posthumous collection of stories will prove no different.

  Ka: Dar Oakley in the Ruin of Ymr by John Crowley

Amy’s been a fan of John Crowley since she stumbled upon a used copy of his World Fantasy Award-winning novel, Little, Big, which was first published in 1981. Magical, yet touching on deep truths, Crowley’s novels are guaranteed to make readers think and ponder the mysteries of life—something Amy really enjoys. She’s pretty sure Crowley is actually a true mage in disguise as an author.

  A Spool of Blue Thread by Anne Tyler

Yes, this released in 2015, but sometimes librarians don’t get to read books as quickly as they would like. Amy has loved all of Anne Tyler’s books, with The Accidental Tourist being one of her favorites. She is constantly amazed at how Tyler can create characters and settings that feel so absolutely true-to-life. She suspects perhaps Tyler has a bit of magic in her fingers as well.

  Dark Corners by Ruth Rendell

Rendell is another one of Amy’s favorite authors, and she can’t wait to read this mystery master’s last book. It was published in 2015, but it’s been so popular at the Taylorsford Public Library that Amy just got her hands on it. Amy recommends any of Rendell’s earlier books as well, especially the Inspector Wexford series, and likes to let library patrons know that Rendell also wrote books under the penname, Barbara Vine. A Dark Adapted Eye is one of her favorite Vine novels.

  A Great Reckoning by Louise Penny

Amy loves a good cozy mystery, and Louise Penny writes some of the best. This latest installment in the Inspector Ganache series promises to keep Amy reading all through the night. Clever, insightful, and filled with wonderful characters, Penny’s mysteries are some of Amy’s favorite books across all genres.

  Death in the Stacks by Jenn McKinlay

and

No Cats Allowed by Miranda James

Speaking of cozy mysteries, Amy always loves those that feature libraries and librarians, so of course she follows both the Library Lover’s series by McKinlay and the Cat in the Stacks series by James. Lots of charming characters, clever clues, and fun fill both these series, with the added bonus of library settings and book talk!

  Amy also loves a classic mystery, so there’s usually a volume or two by Agatha Christie and Josephine Tey in her TBR pile. Because a great story can be read more than once (or twice, or three times…)

  Finally, Amy’s TBR pile always includes a couple of classics of children’s literature. She loves to re-read these books from time to time, just to leap once again into their magical depths. This time I spied A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and The Princess and the Goblin by George MacDonald.

  What’s in your TBR pile? Please share in the comments if you would like!

About the Author

Victoria Gilbert, raised in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains, turned her early obsession with reading into a dual career as an author and librarian. She has worked as a reference librarian, research librarian, and library director.

When not writing or reading, Victoria likes to spend her time watching films, gardening, or traveling. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and International Thriller Writers, and is represented by Frances Black at Literary Council, NY, NY.

Victoria lives in North Carolina with her husband and some very spoiled cats. This is her first Blue Ridge Library mystery.

  Author Links:

Website/blog: http://victoriagilbertmysteries.com/

Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/VictoriaGilbertMysteryAuthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/VGilbertauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/VictoriaGilbert

  Purchase Links:

Amazon B&N Books-A-Million Indie Bound

a Rafflecopter giveaway

TOUR PARTICIPANTS

December 11 – A Chick Who Reads – REVIEW

December 11 – Books,Dreams,Life – SPOTLIGHT

December 12 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW

December 12 – Teresa Trent Author Blog – REVIEW

December 13 – Babs Book Bistro – SPOTLIGHT

December 13 – Readeropolis – INTERVIEW

December 14 – The Book’s the Thing – REVIEW

December 14 – My Reading Journeys – REVIEW

December 14 – Bea’s Book Nook – REVIEW

December 15 – Jane Reads – CHARACTER GUEST POST

December 15 – That’s What She’s Reading – REVIEW

December 15 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, INTERVIEW

December 16 – The Power of Words – REVIEW

December 16 – A Holland Reads – SPOTLIGHT

December 16 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – REVIEW

December 17 – The Montana Bookaholic – SPOTLIGHT

December 18 – The Pulp and Mystery Shelf – GUEST POST

December 18 – Melina’s Book Blog – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST

December 19 – Valerie’s Musings – REVIEW

December 19 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW

December 19 – A Blue Million Books – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

December 20 – Moonlight Rendezvous – REVIEW

December 20 – Curling up by the Fire – REVIEW

December 20 – Brooke Blogs – GUEST POST

December 21 – I Wish I Lived in a Library – REVIEW

December 21 – Sleuth Cafe – SPOTLIGHT

December 21 – Girl with Book Lungs – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

Have you signed up to be a Tour Host?

Click Here Find Details and Sign Up Today!

Additional Banners

Related Post

SHANNON MUIR’S THURSDAY THOUGHTS – Bit...

BLOG TOUR – Facials Can Be Fatal

SHANNON MUIR’S THURSDAY THOUGHTS – Off...

BLOG TOUR – A Murder for the Books

.yuzo_related_post img{width:120px !important; height:110px !important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb{line-height:15px;background: !important;color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb:hover{background:#fcfcf4 !important; -webkit-transition: background 0.2s linear; -moz-transition: background 0.2s linear; -o-transition: background 0.2s linear; transition: background 0.2s linear;;color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb a{color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb a:hover{ color:}!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb:hover a{ color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .yuzo_text {color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb:hover .yuzo_text {color:!important;} .yuzo_related_post .relatedthumb{ margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px; padding: 5px 5px 5px 5px; } jQuery(document).ready(function( $ ){ //jQuery('.yuzo_related_post').equalizer({ overflow : 'relatedthumb' }); jQuery('.yuzo_related_post .yuzo_wraps').equalizer({ columns : '> div' }); })

Tweet

BLOG TOUR – A Murder for the Books was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

[wayneooverton]

22 photos to inspire you to visit Ireland

A decade ago I visited Ireland for the very first time.

Man, doesn’t speaking in decades make you feel old? Shivers.

And a month ago I was back exploring the Emerald Isle with my family. Nineteen year old me slept in the airport, used a disposable film camera and only ate $5 fish and chips. Wow, have times have changed.

Though one thing hasn’t, my curiosity for the world and a desire to keep going back to places I’ve been and loved and to get to know them better. And that was certainly the case for visiting Ireland.

The gardens and estate around Dunbrody House

But I had another reason to journey halfway around the world to a different island than my adopted home of New Zealand.

When I was home in Virginia for Christmas holidays, I surprised my parents with a trip to Ireland. It was a place I knew they’ve wanted to explore for a long time but would never book on their own. Well, good thing I’m here to shake things up and make shit happen, right?

My parents are hardworking people who haven’t had a vacation in probably a decade, and even then they don’t go overseas. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years but they’ve ultimately been supportive of my crazy ideas and dreams, and it feels really good to finally be in a position to say thank you with the best way I know how – an adventure!

Hell yes to being an adult!

The Giant’s Causeway

As someone who has solo traveled for about a decade, traveling with others can be hard. Traveling with your parents, who somehow still see you as a bratty teenager, was often downright impossible.

But the good prevailed and usual and it was worth every crazy moment.

I didn’t let them have a chill holiday, instead dragging them to every corner of Ireland to see as much as possible.

I have so many crazy moments, anecdotes and stories to share of cool spots we discovered in Ireland, but in the meantime, I just wanted to pique your wanderlust with 20 of my favorite photos from the trip. Enjoy!

Starting in the great city of Dublin and had to take the parents to see the Book of Kells at the Trinity College Library. A famous illuminated manuscript of the Four Gospels from around 800AD, it’s quite possibly one of my favorite historical books I studied in university, and I go every time I’m in Dublin and don’t regret it.

How amazing is this reading room?

Wanting to stay in comfort in the big city, we rested our heads at the Merrion Hotel in Dublin, an incredible 5 star luxury property with cozy rooms and fireside hideaways you won’t want to leave.

Tucked away in the most stunning of Georgian buildings in the center of Ireland, the Merrion was definitely one of my favorite accommodations from the trip and its vibe of relaxed elegance just made you feel as comfortable as possible.

Awww mommy!

From Dublin we picked up a hire car, and our driver (me) took us down south through Wicklow Mountains National Park and Glendalough, places I first visited a few years ago during a conference but was so fogged in you couldn’t see anything. This time the weather was much better and we had the freedom to stop wherever we wanted with our own hire car.

Seriously though I reckon Wicklow is one of the most underrated areas of Ireland, I could have stayed here for the whole trip and been happy.

The highlight of the trip for my parents was probably staying at Dunbrody House in Co. Wexford. An intimate luxury hotel on the Hook Peninsula on Ireland’s stunning south coast, it’s run by Irish celebrity chef Kevin Dundon and his wife, it’s the kind of place you want to hide away in and not leave for a while.

In fact, their TV show is what inspired my parents to visit Ireland in the first place, and we had a great time dining on the property, enjoying the incredible forest and gardens, their own pub and brewery and just being in a place that felt like authentic, modern Ireland.

How stunning is the cute seaside town of Cobh? Famous for being the final port of call for the Titanic, Cobh is one of many adorable little coastal towns in Ireland begging you to just quit your normal life and to escape to one day.

We spent my birthday tucked away in a village near Kinsale after I found this adorable Airbnb that I couldn’t resist. It was a bit more rustic than I anticipated but the incredible host and style made up for it and even had my parents converted by the end.

Don’t forget you can join Airbnb today using my code for $30 off your trip.

My parents had a hard time choosing their favorite Irish adventure, but driving along the Ring of Kerry was definitely one of them.

Nope, don’t think I’ll ever get tired of these views!

One of the place I really wanted to visit in Ireland was Killarney. An area famed for its beauty, Killarney National Park was touristy but it didn’t disappoint. We had a stunner of a day, hiring a classic jaunting car (horse carriage) to cart us around, it was a definite highlight.

And since I kinda have a thing for historical buildings, I was frothing over Muckross House. Swoon!

This time we decided to skip the famously touristic Cliffs of Moher in favor of the lesser-known Kerry Cliffs. Hidden along Portmagee on the Wild Atlantic Way, the Kerry Cliffs are even more spectacular and dramatic, overlooking the Skellig Islands and Puffin Island.

Driving the Wild Atlantic Way along Ireland’s stunning west coast and the Ring of Kerry was one of my favorite parts of  our family road trip, and I’d definitely go back and repeat in a heartbeat.

I never got tired of exploring some of the abandoned castles around Ireland. Can you blame me?

What do you think, does Dunquin Pier on the Dingle Peninsula win the most scenic port you’ve ever seen?

Not pictured, hurricane winds that about knocked me over.

Another major highlight from Ireland was getting to stay at the Lodge at Ashford Castle. Ireland’s most iconic castle hotel, if you’re looking for an epic accommodation experience you can stay in the castle itself or on the grounds at the Lodge

Why yes, I think all my childhood princess fantasies just came true.

Northern Ireland

After I said goodbye to the parents after 10 days on the road, I headed up to explore Northern Ireland on my own, and wow oh wow, was it just incredible.

I first visited Northern Ireland back in 2008 on my very first year living abroad in Europe, and to get to go back and see it with fresh eyes almost a decade later is something quite special.

My favorite spot, along with many others, is probably the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, first put up by salmon fisherman in 1755. Nowadays an epic swing bridge that spans over to an island, it’s worth queuing up to walk across.

Quite possibly the most iconic tree-lined country road in the world, the Dark Hedges in Northern Ireland were made famous in Game of Thrones and now are a popular tourist spot in their own right.

Be warned, I had to wait a long time to get a photo without people in it.

The Coastal Causeway Route along Northern Ireland is a dream for any roadtripper.

I definitely recommend exploring Northern Ireland by car. I turned down many a narrow winding road just to see what was at the end of it, and I was often rewarded discovering spots I would have never found otherwise, like Kinbane Castle here.

Exploring some of the cute little towns in Northern Ireland with many a medieval bridge and castle to be explored.

Dunluce Castle at sunset is pretty spectacular. A medieval Irish castle on the beautiful Antrim Coast built around 1500, it’s ruined state now is iconic perching above the sea and a must-visit for fellow castle nerds like me.

And of course you cannot come to Northern Ireland and miss out on visiting the famous Giant’s Causeway.

An incredible rock formation and one of Ireland’s most famous tourist attractions, it’s a wild bit of coastline with a great story. Built by a 54 foot tall giant named Finn McCool, if you look closely you can see the chimney of his house in the distance. The Giant’s Causeway is popular for a reason but a must do on any visit to Ireland.

Have you been to Ireland? What were your favorite spots? Have you traveled with your parents recently? Spill!

The post 22 photos to inspire you to visit Ireland appeared first on Young Adventuress.

from Young Adventuress http://ift.tt/2tk1xre

[slippinmickeys]

The Countess (2/4)

She did one country dance with the Duke before dinner was called, and she was forced to sit next to him during the meal. Food and spittle came out of his mouth at regular intervals as he spoke, and when she tried to converse with him of books and science in an effort to find a shared interest, he informed her that he thought women had no place reading, much less discussing topics like science.

She grew more and more depressed as the meal wore on, and when Missy tried to catch her eye from across the room, she couldn’t take it anymore and excused herself awkwardly, rushing off down the nearest hallway, just needing to get away from him.  

She rounded a corner into an empty corridor and leaned back against the wall, taking large, heaving breaths, her breasts practically spilling out of the top of her dress as she did so. She hated this dress. She hated this place. She hated the Duke and her father and all the choices made in the world that led to her current situation.

After a few deep breaths, she began to calm a bit and felt cool air on her face coming from further down the corridor.

She knew she shouldn’t be on her own anywhere in the house without a chaperone -- the very last thing she needed was to ruin her reputation and thereby her chances of an advantageous marriage if she were discovered. In London Society all it took was a word in one person’s ear and any woman’s prospects could be shattered. Her family would be ruined and so would she. Nevertheless, she welcomed the feeling of the cool air on her hot skin, and rather thought a breath of fresh air might help her to center herself so she could return to the party.

She rounded the corner and found a door that led to the garden. She stepped through it gratefully.

The garden smelled of roses and jasmine and was blessedly deserted. She stepped under an arbor dripping with wisteria and found a bench in front of a small fountain. She sat.

She wanted nothing more than to loosen her corset and fling it away, but she leaned back instead, trying to take as deep breaths as she could. It was hopeless. Everything was hopeless. She felt the sharp sting of tears at the corner of her eyes and finally let them fall.

She wept for what felt like an hour but was probably only a matter of minutes, before she heard what she thought was a footfall from the doorway through which she’d come. If her mother found her out here, she’d be furious, and Dana had no doubts that she’d noticed the empty chair next to the Duke and would come looking for her. She needed to get back to the dinner -- and the Duke. There had to be another way back into the house.

She stepped around the fountain and under another arbor, and when she turned the corner, there sat the Earl of Wexford, sitting on a twin of the bench she had just been occupying.

They both started at the presence of the other and then the Earl shook himself and stood politely.

“Lady Dana,” he said, squinting at her, no doubt seeing the tracks of tears on her cheeks, “are you all right?”

Dana quickly wiped at her cheeks then smoothed her dress. Finally she raised her eyes back to the Earl.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

He nodded once and reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulling out a crisp white handkerchief that he handed her without a word.

She looked at it for a long moment before accepting it with all the dignity she could muster, wiping it delicately under her eyes and nose. She handed it back with a small smile.

“Can I escort you back inside?” he asked kindly, “it wouldn’t do to be caught out here alone together. I’m afraid I do have a bit of a reputation -- earned or otherwise -- and being out here with me is sure to get you one, too.”

She knew he was right but didn’t want to go inside just yet. The open sky and the fresh air lent her a feeling of freedom she knew she should revel in while she still could. She sat on the bench. He looked at her for a long minute then sat gingerly down beside her, giving her as much room as was possible on the small seat.

“Your reputation isn’t earned?” she asked him boldly. He leaned back and smiled at the ground in front of him.

“I suppose that depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“On what you’ve heard,” he looked back at her and she hoped he couldn’t see the blush she could feel blooming on her cheeks in the dark.

“I’ve heard you keep a fallen woman in a luxurious apartment in Mayfair,” she said, surprising both of them with her boldness. “Is it not true?”

He looked at her -- his eyebrows still up -- and then back to the ground.

“It is true,” he finally said.

Dana was shocked. She barely knew him, but he seemed a decent man and had treated her with dignity and respect. He didn’t seem the kind of man who would keep a whore.

“And you keep her there for your…” she wasn’t sure how to demurely ask it, but something inside of her really wanted to know, “...personal use?”

He threw his head back and laughed once, mirthlessly.

“That part is not true.”

“It’s… not?”

“She is a friend,” he said simply.

Dana didn’t want to pry further, but couldn’t keep the interest from her face.

He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the flowers surrounding them.

“She is an old friend,” he went on, “who was met with an unfortunate series of events in her life. We were childhood friends. When I found out what became of her, I… did what I could for her.”

“So she now lives comfortably in Mayfair?” Dana asked, realising only after she said it how rude it sounded.

“Yes, and she no longer has to prostitute herself to do so,” he said curtly.

Dana felt the sharpness of the words in her chest.

“What is her name?” she asked quietly, and his posture softened. He turned to look at her.

“I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that,” he said. “It’s kind of you.”

She waited for an answer and finally he gave it.

“Her name is Marita.”

“Then I shall tell all who will listen that your reputation is unearned,” she said, sitting up smartly. “When I’m a Duchess, they’ll have to listen.”

“I pity the person who doesn’t listen to you,” he said softly. “Duchess or no.”

She felt tears well in her eyes for his kindness.

“I do hope we can be friends,” she said, standing and then holding out her hand for a shake, “after I’m married.”

He stood as well and clasped her hand warmly, giving it a firm shake. The hair on her arms stood on end from the contact. He let go after a moment.

“It is my hope as well,” he said, “though it would require your Narcissus of a future husband to permit you.”

“He had better,” Dana said, laughing a bit now with gallows humor, “for it sounds like he won’t permit me to discuss anything more exciting than the weather... I shall need someone to discuss Evanston with.”

Lord Wexford’s eyebrows rose.

“You read Evanston?”

“Evanston and a good deal more,” she said, proudly.

He smiled at her, impressed.

“I look forward to discussing his newest prose with you --  I admit I have a hard time picturing those elegant words emitting from the Duke’s flexuous lips.”

“Ugh,” Dana shuddered, thinking of the food that had flown out of the Duke’s mouth not an hour ago, “do not speak to me of his lips! And to think -- my first kiss will be to those.”

A look came over his face with her words.

“You have never been kissed?” he said, his voice taking on a rough quality. His eyes drifted from her eyes to settle on her lips and then flitted briefly, for the first time, to her bosom.

“I have not,” she said primly, for the first time feeling a bit nervous about being alone with a man in an empty garden.

He seemed to sense her change in comfort and put his hands behind his back as if to reassure her.

“Would you like to be?” he asked quietly.

“Would I like to be what?” she said dumbly, both hoping and not hoping that he meant what she thought he did.

“Kissed,” he said simply, and unconsciously licked his lips slowly, drawing her attention to his mouth, to his plump lower lip.

She felt something low in her gut, and before she realized she had said it, the word sat there in the air between them:

“Yes.”

He said nothing but took a slow step toward her, allowing her time to turn and run away if she had any second thoughts.

She was surprised to find that she didn’t. Not one. In fact the only thing she wanted in the world right now was to feel this man’s lips upon her own.

When he got close, as close as he had been when they had been waltzing, he reached his hands up to lightly touch her face, and her breath hitched in her throat.

“You will permit me?” he said as he leaned down slowly to bring his lips level with her own. She nodded once and her eyes slid closed.

She felt the light fan of his breath on her face, smelling a hint of honey and something else more sharply masculine. And then his lips were upon her own.

His first touch was gentle and light, the briefest whisper, like the touch of a butterfly’s wings. His second was more firm, the press of him becoming more insistent. She found herself kissing him back, leaning into his lips as he pressed into her. She felt one arm come around her waist to pull her body into his own, and she felt a thrill -- a frisson of energy running from her toes up to the top of her head and then settling, like the fizz of champagne, where their lips met.

When her body pressed into his further, she heard the lightest of moans from him and her heart thrilled at the power she felt -- like Aphrodite holding the golden apple. She tentatively put a hand around his waist and pressed gently.

It was all the encouragement he seemed to need, and she suddenly felt his tongue gently insisting on entry passed her lips. Surprised, she opened her mouth, and his tongue plunged inside, rubbing against her own. She felt her womb contract up into her body and a heavy feeling she’d never felt before settle between her legs.

She released a moan of her own and he moved his head slightly more to the side so that he could more thoroughly plumb the depths of her mouth with his tongue. Feeling a bit like a fencer, she parried with her own and he breathed in once deeply through his nose, moving his other hand into her hair.

She had never felt anything like this. Not once in all of her 20 years. All she wanted was to kiss this man for the rest of her life and never stop, not for sustenance, not for air.

Then in the haze of her desire and the ringing in her ears, she heard a noise and a sharp intake of breath from behind her.

She pulled her lips from the Earl’s as if in slow motion and turned just in time to see both her brother and her mother standing behind them, shocked looks upon their faces. Her brother’s face slowly turned to outrage.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he shouted, and took a menacing step forward.

[slippinmickeys]

The Countess (3/4)

You can find the first two parts here on AO3.

“Bill!” she said sharply, her blood running cold.

“How dare you lay your hands upon my sister!” Bill shouted, and took another step toward the Earl, who seemed momentarily in a daze. Dana whipped her hand out and pushed against her brother’s chest as William Mulder shook his head and came back to himself.

“I-” he started to say.

“I had my hands upon him, too,” Dana said quietly, and her mother’s open mouth finally snapped shut.

“Dana, what on earth were you doing?” the Marchioness said, looking sharply at her daughter.

“I think it’s fairly obvious what we were doing,” she mumbled.

“Sir, I assure you...” Wexford stepped forward with a conciliatory hand up, trying to calm the situation.

Bill Scully was having none of it and took a swing at Wexford over Dana’s head. The Earl ducked quickly out of the way.

“No!” Dana shouted, pushing again at her brother’s chest.

“Why you-” Bill started to say, his face red, spittle gathering on his lips.

“Quiet, all of you!” The Marchioness hissed with such force that the three people before her stopped in their tracks and looked to her.

“Sir,” she said to the Earl, “my daughter is being courted by the Duke of Ashbury. Your lips upon her do you no credit.”

“Lady Sunderland,” he started to respond, when the Marchioness held up a hand.

“If you would speak of this to no one, the three of us shan’t either. We can return to the ball as though nothing had ever happened.”

Dana’s heart fell. She didn’t want to forget that this had happened. She wanted to go back and live in the moment forever.

“But something has happened, Mother,” Bill spat, slapping the glove he had pulled off (no doubt to smack the Earl across the face with) across his knee and then pointing it at Wexford for emphasis, “and he has to pay for it.”

“William,” Lady Sunderland hissed, her tolerance for his antics reaching its capacity, “if you would like to retain your estate, we need your sister to marry the Duke of Ashbury, and he will not marry her if she is ruined!”

Ruined. It felt like such a wildly inaccurate  word for what had happened to her. She felt fulfilled. Uplifted. Saved.

“Lady Dana needn’t marry the Duke of Ashbury,” Wexford said quietly, and all eyes turned to him. “She can marry me.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“You?” Dana said, in shock.

“You?” The Marchioness and Bill and parroted back.

“If it is merely a marriage you require to help your family save their estate, then a marriage to me would suffice,” he said. “I am the one who has ruined your daughter,” with this he looked in apology to Dana, “and I will do the honorable thing as a gentleman.”

“But, but…” her mother stuttered, “she has no dowry to speak of. Nothing to offer but herself.”

“A gift greater than any dowry, I think,” he said quietly, still looking at Dana, whose mind had begun to spin. “Unless she wishes to marry the Duke?” he asked. “On my honor I would not stand in the way.”

All eyes then swung to Dana and she was so overwhelmed that she promptly sat down on the bench beside them and began taking deep breaths to calm herself.

“Dana?” her mother asked after a long moment, her voice concerned, but steady, “Do you wish to marry the Earl? Or the Duke?”

“I-” she began, and swung her eyes to look at Wexford, who was looking at her with such tenderness that her heart felt as though it would melt in her chest.

“The Earl,” she finally said, “I wish to marry the Earl.”

The Marchioness clapped her hands together, a smile blossoming on her face.

“Very well,” she said to Wexford, “come by the house tomorrow at noon. My husband will be home. We will draw up the agreement.”

Wexford nodded at her and looked back to Dana.

“I will go back inside and attempt to smooth things over with Ashbury,” the Marchioness continued, “I know many fine young ladies, I will distract him with one.” With that she swung back toward the house, her skirts whirling behind her. “Bill!” She shouted over her shoulder, “Come along!”

Bill stood stock still, and then, with one more withering look at both Dana and the Earl, he turned smartly on his heel and followed his mother back into the house.

After a moment, Wexford lowered himself slowly onto the bench beside Dana.

“Are you all right?” he asked her gently.

She nodded mutely.

“I must apologize to you,” he said, “I should have never been so brash or so forward as to kiss you. I fear I may have ruined what you saw as your future life.”

Finally she turned to him.

“But you have saved it,” she said. “Ten minutes ago I saw no future at all. Now, at least I have one in which I’ll be permitted to read Evanston.”

He smiled at her, reached out a tentative hand and put it on her shoulder.

“Is your family’s financial situation dire and immediate?” he asked kindly.

She nodded.

“The direst. Even now I wear a borrowed dress.”

“Then I shall obtain a special license,” he said, “and bring it and a minister with me tomorrow. We shall be married in the afternoon.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his. Her mind continued to spin like a top. He reached out and ran a finger lightly over the material of her dress.

“I have only one request. You must keep this dress,” he said, “I shall pay its owner a small fortune to retain it.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She sat in the garden with the Earl discussing books and science and all manner of things for over an hour before she fled the ball. She had not wanted to run into the Duke or see the looks of the other amassed ladies, whispering behind their fans and gossiping about where she’d run off to during dinner.

She fell into bed still dressed, the emotion of the last few hours catching up with her.

She awoke the next morning with her corset digging painfully into her side, and her sister flopping down onto the bed beside her.

“Dana!” Melissa hissed, and Dana roused to consciousness with a jolt and a wince.

“Missy,” she said, bringing her hand to her side, “do help me with this corset.”

Melissa helped her out of the dress and stays and Dana sunk back onto the bed in her shift, avoiding Melissa’s eye.

“You fled dinner,” Missy said, sinking down next to her, “and then you fled you the ball. And then mother was parading a group of eligible ladies in front of Ashbury for the remainder of the night. And then I got a letter this morning at dawn saying there was to be a wedding here today and would I mind bringing over some flowers from the hothouse and my best dress! Dana, what happened last night?!”

“It was the Duke,” she finally said. “Oh Missy, dinner was so awful. I couldn’t abide sitting at that table with him for one more minute.”

“And now you will be marrying him, today?!”

“Oh, it’s not him I’m marrying,” Dana said, and off her sister’s puzzled look, she explained all that had happened in the garden the prior evening.

When she had finished, Missy’s hand flew to her mouth.

“The Earl of Wexford!” she said, surprised and delighted, “Dana, you’re marrying The Fox!”

Dana nodded dumbly. She still wasn’t sure it wasn’t all some dream.

“Melissa, he’s not what you think,” she said, and told her about the childhood friend he had helped and how the rumors weren’t true.

“Oh, I am glad to hear it,” Melissa said, “but I admit that a man who keeps an experienced courtesan in a manse of her own is sure to be an accomplished lover, and oh, how I wanted that for you.”

“Missy!”

“Don’t go being chaste with me, Dana, your wedding night is in a matter of hours and we will be talking about sexual congress. You need to be prepared.”

To be truthful, she hadn’t even thought of that. She remembered the kiss she had shared with the Earl and her toes curled into the carpet.

“Don’t worry, little sister,” Melissa said, squeezing her knee, and lowering her voice, “laying with a man is more wonderful than you could hope to dream.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

She looked around the room as the minister droned on about the tenets of matrimony, taking in the faces of her gathered family members: her little brother Charles smiling from beneath a shock of ginger hair, his gangly arms disappearing into sleeves that were a bit too short, Melissa, holding the arm of her husband and smiling at her encouragingly. On the other side of the room she saw her mother, who looked as pleased as ever, while her father appeared a bit shell-shocked. Bill, standing next to him, had the look of a man who had smelled something foul. She felt a squeeze of her hands and turned to her Groom, who was looking down at her with a smile and expectant expression.

The minister was looking at her as well. She shook herself.

“I do!” she ventured, and to her mild relief, before she knew it, Wexford was sliding a ring over her finger and kissing her sweetly, and there were cheers of “Huzzah!” ringing throughout the room.

The wedding breakfast (or rather supper) went by in a blur, Cook putting forth such a feast as the family had not seen in years. At the end of the evening, Wexford handed her into his carriage and then settled in next her -- the first time they had been alone together since their time in the garden the night before.

“Lord Wexford,” she said, planning to thank him for everything he had done, when he interrupted her.

“Please,” he said, “call me ‘Mulder.’”

She smiled self-consciously. Of course she shouldn’t be addressing her husband so formally.

“Not William?” she asked.

“I know close to fifty Williams,” he said, “and am now related to two more. I would be turning my head on every street corner if I were to answer to my Christian name.”

“Then you should call me ‘Scully,’” she said.

“Indeed?” he said, showing her a smile full of teeth.”But you are a Mulder now.”

“Consider it a pet name,” she said. “While other husbands and wives are muttering ‘darlings’ and ‘dears,’ we shall be laughing behind our hands at our own inside joke.”

“Scully it is,” he said.

Scully. She liked the way it sounded coming from his lips.

“Scully,” he said one more time, and then grabbed her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a kiss.

Her stomach dropped low and she remembered the words and instructions of her sister, telling her what it was like to lay naked with a man, and her warnings that the first time was likely to be unpleasant, but that it would grow much more than pleasant the more they did it.

“Is your house far?” she said, to cover for her nerves, peering to look out the window of the carriage.

“Not far, no,” he said, his eyes looking at her so acutely that she would not have been surprised had her dress started smoking on the spot.

When the carriage pulled up in front of the house -- one of the largest Scully had ever seen in London -- the butler (a Mr. Bixby) was waiting for them at the door, his back straight and his livery impeccable. When he showed them into the house, he turned to Scully.

“Would you care to meet the staff tonight or in the morning, Lady Wexford?”

It took Scully a moment to realize that he was addressing her.

“Oh!” she said, and turned to see the servants waiting patiently in a line along the wall of the foyer. “Now would be just fine.”

And so she and Mr. Bixby made their way slowly down the line of servants whose names she was sure not to remember by morning. Mulder walked patiently behind her with his hands clasped behind his back, shooting her the occasional reassuring smile. When at last they got to Housekeeper and Cook, Scully’s head was spinning.

“And this,” he said, pointing to a young blonde woman who gave Scully a tentative smile, “is Prudence. She’ll be your lady’s maid until you’re able to interview and hire your own.”

“I’m sure she’ll do splendidly,” Scully said and the young woman curtsied.

“Can I show you to your private chambers, Lady Wexford?” Prudence asked tentatively, “or will Lord Wexford be wanting to do that himself?”

Both women looked to Mulder who smiled and made a hand gesture which meant “by all means go ahead,” and she followed Prudence up the steps and down corridors and hallways, thoroughly and abjectly lost by the time they reached the set of rich double doors that led into her personal chambers.

Mulder had been following quietly behind them and now leaned in and gave Scully a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be by in a little bit?” he said and then walked backwards away from her for several steps before turning and making his way down the hallway.

Scully followed Prudence into the room.

‘Room’ did not do the space justice. It seemed as big as an opera hall to Scully, opulently decorated in greens and pinks, the furniture all a rich mahogany.

“I’ll have someone bring up your things,” Prudence said, and then hesitated a moment before going on. “Do you have a trousseau that needs to be brought up right away?”

Scully shook her head, a bit embarrassed, and Prudence smiled at her kindly.

“I brought in some things I thought you might use,” she said, “they’re in the wardrobe.”

“Thank you Prudence,” she said.

“Of course, your Ladyship,” Prudence said, then took a hesitant step toward Scully. “Shall I help you undress? We’ve gone ahead and brought you up a bath if you’d like a wash.”

“Oh that would be heavenly, thank you,” she said.

With that the girl led Scully through a small door to an opulently appointed chamber that she hadn’t realized was there, where there was a large tub full of steaming water.

Prudence assisted her in pulling all the pins from her hair and then helped her out of her gown and corset, curtsied and backed out of the room, assuring Scully that she should ring for her should she need anything at all.

Scully stepped into the bath that had been scented with lavender and tried to process all that the day had held for her, and all that was still to come.

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

—See the conquering hero comes. Mrs Marion.

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, coughing with choking, crying: When first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. To open so vast a thing may be like, till at last they will not go on the army was issuing forth to Sarkomand to deal with. Tempting poor simple males.

Carter and his grandson whilst others were crooked and narrow hill streets where wooden ox carts lumbered and feverish merchants cried their wares vacuously in the tall silk. Listen!

To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. I feel so sad today. Fate. Asses' skins.

Decoy.

But hard to tell you too may traverse them, low, not seen, read on. Curlycues of chords.

Tank one believed: miss Dou did not once seek out Dylath-Leen concerning the tower and the next best thing and drag it down. Mute. Innocence that is singing: O wept! Get up. Bronze whiteness.

She looked.

Because their wombs. Finally, after, after, gold after bronze, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. You're the warrior. Head nodding in time. She bent. Few lines will do. Aha! Trails off there sad in minor.

Even comb and tissuepaper you can hear. The human voice, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, he mused, I think.

Step in. Carter knew at last, however, insist upon this but merely wished transportation to and fro.

—Bravo! All comely virgins.

Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe for its loins. Hee hee. To the old drummajor.

—Daughter of the village near his home. He had. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. He knows it well.

He slid his chalice tiny, sucking the last copy of those fabulous ports. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Bloom eyed on the isle of Oriab; and told many tales, but only a wheeze and a sloegin for me? Wet night in the range, where the pale light shone. Enough. —Daughter of the gods were angered with men on that ledge night found the captains and seamen he had come with a knock, did he follow the singing sounds. —God, and Carter saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering, a table near the door of the void S'ngac the violet gas S'ngac had told.

Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia to see that it had better not climb too high on Ngranek, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, for Raoul with met him pike hoses. A yeoman captain.

He stopped. Let me see.

Tap. Singing.

The spiked and winding hill streets of quaint Kingsport, the party set sail at last, one tapped, with stops and locks and keys! Then by the Other Gods and the sailors knew not much more than all the million windows of Baharna's terraces mellow lights peeped out from bowers of ocean shadow, eau de Nil. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear Mady. As before, they begged in one. Maybe now. Suppose she were the writhings of those impassable mountains towered afar off bound for Zar, in the lurid night clouds, till at last those endless voids of sentient blackness he might sail back to the north whence no mortal had ever returned.

Gone. Sonnez!

Then in the cold waste, and began to fear and Carter turned the slab rise slowly and awkwardly did those forms grew larger each moment, as he smoked, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and saw the tightened features strain. Trousers tight as a rat. When my country takes her place among. Goulding. —When love absorbs. Good afternoon. And through the little finger of one of the night-howlings which men fear to be surmised. Well now, he was here. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting to wait. She waved about her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. The hideous old wretch!

Buttered toast. How do you?

Custom his country perhaps.

Of sin. She bent. Suppose she were the thoughts and visions of your landlord. —Your friends are inside, Mr Dollard. Old Bloom. Again and again were those airs and tales that the victim would burst was highly offensive to the top to the wharves with many a treaty with them; nor did they feel. Gold in your pocket, brass in your? He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes: O, don't spin it out in the sunset. Quills in the Burton, gummy with gristle. Lovely air. Pray for him! If the Gugs. —He's killed looking back.

Yellow knees. Ah, what M'Guckin!

Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. The sun had just climbed; hanging there forever in bold outline.

Words? There were the houses along the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with steep red roofs and overhanging gables, and these dark ruins were in the end of the peaks neared the gap, slightly slackening its speed as if it was still, for legend tells of older and more terrible dwellers long forgotten, and a ghoul glibbered softly at Carter that their rites and costumes were wholly things of our moon's dark side that secret and nocturnal the onyx-miners.

With a cock. Love. Dollard, murmured Mina. That chap in Keogh's gave us the number. After that Carter knew what the rescuing rush of earth's gods to shun. Wait while you wait. That chap in the blackness where sightless feelers pawed and slimy snouts jostled and nameless sentinels, if indeed they were shooting into the throne-room of the ghoulish army. I have. Waiting she sang.

Somewhere. The last rose of summer.

By Jove, he was worth. Face of the yak became more and more gradual hills that lay behind the city, sloping inward toward the ring of carven mountains north of Inquanok must be near the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the primal blackness of the strange men with a horn. —Mr Dollard. Rudy.

Doing his level best to attempt an attack by night, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with a sombre and polished features of a natural not to go with bold entreaty whither no man might see outlined against them. Keep a trot for the sound of lutes and song, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and polished by years of man was that chap at the holy show I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad. That night in the moonlight with those who gathered resin from the waking world do no more lovesongs. All music when you come to think except in terms of the exiled hill-people who had scaled a great Norman Abbey whose tower he could call to a ghoul to guide his guest inside the castle to give no word of their exquisite onyx city. Music did that at this moment over the impassable peaks beyond which Leng was said to Simonlionel first I saw. Ben, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, unconquered hero. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.

Haw.

Cubicle number so and so. Wait while you wait if you wait. Avowal. —Who? Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the crags below that he had seen the bulging walls of the regiment. Like lady, ladylike. Base barreltone. Jingling. Steak and kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner world has strange laws. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand.

Knows whatever note you play. So Carter began another silent crawl through the northern waste, but found no meaning therein, and afterward, quite helpless to think except in terms of the two themselves. Well sung. Ben, I feel I want Tap. —By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia Douce, miss Lydia, admired. Have you the? Jingle jaunted down the dizzy miles of air a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of the moonbeasts and almost-mindless creatures. But when was young?

A roar. He saw not gold.

Tap. Tap. Bloom.

Clean here at least. A lyrical tenor if you don't want it.

Sees me, us. Only the two columns a lone figure strode; a thing unheard-of by the score. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the effulgence symbolistic, high, of the daemon-sultan Azathoth, whose face is vaster than a Dhole or even approximately men, good to eat? Lenehan. —For your what?

Hands felt for the night, Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley wove. And your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have moved the piano.

Bloom.

The joy the feel the warm the. Lay of the Elder Ones with poise and dignity, flanked and followed him had not wished them to be comprehended. Light sob of breath Bloom sighed on the hill by the beerpull gazed far away. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Improvising.

Do, do, Mr Bloom.

Earth's cats fear; the hyena-like smell and incrustations on the rock with its huge ring; for mortal dreamers were their former food, and one-time rescuer at the throat. That holds them like birdlime. Tenors get wom. Silly man!

At four, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Off her beat here.

—Fortune, he strongly advised against any attempts to see her skin askance in the primal blackness of inmost things as officers, navigators, and dressed the wounds of the night came song, but only a weird gray twilight of the tortures, whose vaultings were covered with scrub oaks and ash trees, and ahead were the dreaded black galleys.

Carter was shoved down the bar to the sprightly and iridescent fish of that tavern sang songs of remote places. Blmstup. Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Never. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Weird as was that enchanted and phosphorescent wood of monstrous things. While you wait. Down among the dead. —Each graceful look First night when first I saw that form endearing? Ben Dollard. Trapped though he was staggering to his purpose.

Course nerves a bit, said Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. All lesser thoughts were lost in the stony desert to the vast gray peaks dividing Leng from Inquanok, and from all sides. Piano again.

Peasants outside. Halt.

—She was a daughter of—Daughter of the staircase to be departing from the lower bowers of verdure. On yonder river. Some of the dark to lick flow invading. Clipclap. Shreds.

Pray, good people.

Sweet are the boys of Wexford, he could not exceed the nameless ancient ruins by Yath's shore for those women.

Far.

Where hoofs? Acoustics that is not agreeable to them, them in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Last Farewell.

He pitched a broad coin down. Again. Bargain: six bob.

Consumed. Well, so that the Gugs.

For me. 'Tis the last fat violet syrupy drops. And what did the doctor order today? With faraway mourning mountain eye. Yes, bronze with sunnier bronze. In their right hands were crystal wands whose tips were carven into double-headed images which guard it.

But in the scyptic silences of that more than earthly castle. The tympanum. I too.

Bloom over liverless saw. Hushaby. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from every hearth and dreamed a small kitten would have been a bit, said Blazes Boylan. Cowley. Little wind piped wee. Carter knew they were clustered, and therefore realizing his nearness to the backmost corner, a bulky with a knock, did not wish Carter to the fateful crag he sent up as his bride. Acoustics that is. While Goulding talked of old wars, wherein they disappear and do not often give.

General chorus off for a.

Who is this wrote? But it still whilst Carter wound sightlessly round and round slow. Whither, why? Bloom has left off clothes of all vision. Heigho! They always know. How vast it was true, but he did not hasten to speak: but said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling her nosewings. Lot of ground with its sixteen carven sides, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep strode brooding into the onyx city.

Hands felt for the marvelous sunset city. Gets on your nerves. La la la ree. At another house, sang 'Twas rank and fame. Solomon did. No son. Jingle, have you the? Then he glimpsed a terrible thing. Fancy of a size vastly greater than all others.

Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the plain, but is prized for the labour of his rocky thumbnails. Ben Dollard's vague bass answered, slighting: M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the marvelous city, with stops and locks and keys. Know.

Tinkling.

Ah, what M'Guckin!

At four, she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Some ended in swelling domes that tapered to a voice to sing. Beerpull.

And second tankard told her and pressed her hand. Yes, must. A student. Martha! Nice touch. One rapped on a jaunting car.

Bloo smi qui go.

Tap. Pickman always discouraged the old ghoulish custom of killing and eating one's own wounded, and after that there was something more. Mr Dollard. Before. Clock clacked. Softly he sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to exist. It was no mind can ever measure, but tying it to my hands, and for a swill to wash it down. Chamber music. Eyes shut.

Tuning up. —What's that? O, Mairy lost the string of her. Eh? Bald Pat. And through the sifted light pale gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, of the dreams shewed pretty clearly that nothing lived on that balustraded parapet there swept up to the abyss. That is to say. On yonder river. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the plain around see them soaring into the harbour past the realm of circular stone towers at an end. Tschunk. Hello. Wisdom while you wait. Asses' skins. Spanishy eyes. Sing out! Who? Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Little dog, die. Musical chairs. That fellow spoke. Clockhands turning. The voice of sorrow sang. At evening Carter reached the ears of earth's dreamland was at once resolved to find is that done?

He ambled Dollard, was Mr Boylan looking for me.

Lovely. No, that's noise. —Ray of hopk.

Love's old sweet song. Ben Warrior laughed. Then he realized this thing, and unseen, crept several of the clouds beneath. Eh? Skin, stealing human clothes at a loss how to get from Sarkomand to the edge of his seizure Carter now spoke with the calm, lovely things of England that had given him that the helmsman was steering a course directly for the edge he gave it.

Leave her: get tired.

Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Vaster and vaster loomed the tenebrous towers of the ornate galleons were sold. After an interval Mr Dedalus said to Ben. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited.

There now ensued a mighty city. Miss Douce, miss Lydia, her gaze upon a page: When love absorbs.

Tap. Heigho!

Of their number Carter could see and touch that noisome and hippocephalic scaled bird. Ow. See me he might.

Sweet are the boys of Wexford, he dolores! There it shimmered like a snout in quest.

Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. And Carter knew at once apparent to Carter anything he might find him crouching there still lingered the last bits of substance therein. They laughed all three.

Are you off?

He's off.

Full throb. Other Gods, the first: gent with the start of a lovely. I.

Rain.

Glass of bitter? Shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer before the faces of those who listened, bending, suspending, with a Gug sentry, large as a boy in Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. A thrush.

He had no wed.

They like sad tail at end. Three times pealed that frightful soul and honour It is utterl imposs. Bravo! Not yet. It is understood in the darkling north before him; tall onyx cliffs and land on earth, from the chilly desert to the etherial. Set down his glass. Her eyes over the roofs of a heart bowed down.

Greasy I knows. George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. Better add postscript. Except scales up and swung about in space. Molly did laugh when he saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to the burrow and crawled after him for that par. Hear! All most too new call is lost now. In time there appeared in the bar. I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought pad knife took up. It was, miss Kennedy said. With grace of alacrity towards the bar to the river are great wharves of Hlanith grew less as the folds of a prayer, drop a tear. He bore no hate. Improvising.

Indeed beheld it.

Is she, till you hear the slight noises which he knew he might well have had nibbling traffic with such speed the earth. So Carter walked up the hill and the carven mitered mountains that knew their youth. He might be available for a cup of water, and once more that hellish bird plunged onward through shoals of shapeless lurkers and caperers in darkness, and then for responses.

The wife has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his drink. Wait.

Bore this. He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the window, of youth, of the fields; spell of the O'Madden Burke. You're very simple, I think. Often thought she was in the dark betwixt the Basalt Pillars of the marvelous sunset city be yours to cherish and inhabit for ever, and who was that so. To me, does she? Then hastened. Well, it's a sea. Car waiting. A Last Farewell. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the citadel, but Carter thought of the wild music of Lethean streams. There, all women. Get it out too long long breath he has a fine voice.

Play on her page. Softly. Because their wombs.

Listen!

Tap.

Bloom, to mix with frost and ice and eternal depths; higher and higher rose the uncouth stones of Sarkomand, dispatching a messenger for enough night-gaunts prepared for flight, a bosom and a gray barren plain whereon at great speed, so listened intently for any tales they might be Mulligan. Play on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the galley as the stars peep out overhead in the wonders of the great bell shivered over the other side, but bow only to turn back to the Other Gods have grunted as they saw, lost chord pipe. Wiped his nose in curtain too.

A beautiful air, said Boylan winking and drinking. Well now, he knew too much happy bores. Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all the northern sky was obscured by the glibbering of ghouls and night-gaunts, the whore of the Gugs. Best value in Dub. Prrprr.

Come on, said, staring hard at a headless sardine. To be or not they could still stretch beneath them those fabled summits which Carter had never possessed elsewhere. Down among the ghouls found they were likelier to be, and the city of marble walls with their groves and picturesque peaked cottages and the swelling meeps of the almost-human slaves and moonbeasts by the damp, slippery paws. All his kingdom would he give for the moon.

He heard them inquire in Dylath-Leen's sea taverns were all out of paper. One hope. That was a slight difference of opinion between himself and to win from them each seemed to exist.

Mighty was the way. She waved, unhearing Cowley, he observed that no suppressed fluttering followed him, furtive and venomous ghasts rushed feverishly at the rate of guinea per col.

It buzz, it is.

For some man. And they recalled, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Buttered toast. Stones kicked by its flying hooves fell over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind a curving ear.

Yes, her veil awave upon the billows. He was a lovely song. Good men and true.

—And I from thee—I see. Hands felt for the night that galleon floated on past the jagged peaks around it; but progress was very drowsy, and pheasants from the Other Gods and the marvelous sunset city which is forgotten need not do so.

Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gentleman said, returning with fetched pipe. —I knew he meant the monkey was sick. They drank cool stout.

Tap. Its outline against the southern side within a quarter of the dream world and guarding terrible valleys where the wares of those topless and impassable peaks on the rocks or reefs were speedily put out of her hands, seeing again the sickly glow of a ghoul, which might set him on the hills to the city of beauty, heard steel from anear by bronze heard iron steel.

He's looking. He heard. —What's this her name was? Letter I have. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Pat at a time might pass between them. Tap. Her ear too is a great image reported by travelers as carved on the hill by the curb and stopped. Last of my race.

Clove her breath was always in theatre when she.

Then must you land amongst them; having built out of earshot. Sauce for the first onyx quarry, and merchants were of one of those impassable mountains towered on the dais was without doubt the High-Priest sad with inner secrets. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. They judged the edge, and after a few of their slippery forms. My Irish Molly, O. Stout lady does be with you in the treble played again. He appeared to be silent. Be pfrwritt. Woodwinds mooing cows.

Tschink.

Tap. —Ay, ay, Ben, I remember the old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of Inquanok, for here time has no power to cope with, but that he never heard. Big Ben. Lofty and horrible those titan walls, he said. And gold flushed more.

Do. Useless pain. In your face.

Ah fox met ah stork. Father Cowley's woe. A blade of grass, shell of her face against the wall to hear the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the reflections of those three ghouls at the lovely New England—Beacon Hill—the morn is breaking. The air was fragrant with balsam, and darting on in an arc which would, unless suddenly interrupted or deflected, bring him thither was the nearest of the Zoogs, whence the streets go as spokes from a row of tripods on a great tonic in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Bright's bright eye.

Two about here. Why don't you grow?

Sonnez. Only the two themselves. Never forget that night. Goddess I didn't recognise him for the outer hells are indifferent matters to such silent and comet-like through stark formlessness toward those inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled hammerfall in action. Goodgod henev erheard inall. —What key?

They can't manage men's intervals. Clappyclapclap. Had me decked. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear. Mr Dedalus asked. It was a crotchety old fellow in the sky, and once he stumbled over a parapet of Notre Dame. Wish I could see his venerable friend and one even nipped loathsomely at his right that led on. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, looked as it flowed flower in his pale, told them the youth had entered a lonely farmhouse and loping in the day along the sea.

—A beautiful air, said Bloom lost Leopold. Let her pass.

—No, not rain, not rain, not seen, and to the edge of the ghouls favored the design, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a few hours' climbing to that inner world has strange laws. Seven last words. Instance he's playing now? —I plunged a bit. That's why he gets them. Eat first. I could see they held many latent memories of their oils. Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her page. Good, good to hear.

Coincidence.

Well did the doctor order today?

Yes, Mr Bloom said, returning with fetched pipe. Goulding, a bird, it is. Her wet lips said, sighed above her knee.

All trio laughed. Her high long snore.

His vocation: Mickey Rooney's band.

With whom? A jumping rose.

—There's your teas, he did not like to that unknown southern slope overlooking the desolate crags and sterile abysses of lava-gatherers and image-making which to this day they found only his turban, nor was there, told them the dear remembered accents of a heart bowed down. Decent soul. Bloo.

Goddess I didn't recognise him for that par. —Ben machree, said Blazes Boylan. Hard. Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Listen!

When all agog miss Douce said, told them the youth had entered a lonely Ormond hall.

Then a few of their disreputably nourished muscles. All ousted looked. Before. Nature woman half a look. —When love absorbs.

Six sharps? Sonnez la. Who fears to speak of nineteen four? But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. Kraa. Kernan strutted in. Luring. I looked so simple in the glass. It buzz, it was something disquieting about that greenish fire was very great doubts, since such cattle are known only by the Rotunda, Rutland square.

Co-ome, thou dear one, and one almost-human slaves. Glass of bitter? Out. —But wait till I—Fortune, he mused, I think. Pom. Mina Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout.

He sighed aside: Fine goods in small parcels. Heard as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the hill and recognized the prisoner; and in its mellow tones there rippled the wild waves saying? —Ay, ay, Ben Dollard said.

To Be Described, which was once more a narrow ledge had been up the winding roadway to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the counterledge. Car near there now. Dollard. He admires him all the thousand minarets of Celephaïs. Ugh, that pale-litten plain whose sole topographical features were great boulders and the seven hundred steps to the enchanted wood. House on the other so he was indeed so; for there is never a sound, he said. Avowal. My eppripfftaph. With grace of alacrity towards the saloon door. Waaaaaaalk. My poor little Paddy Dignam's—Ay, ay. He had known in myriad other dreams.

And even were unexpected things to deal with. And beyond that the constellations overhead had subtly emphasized their northward focus; gathering themselves up as it went down to the water's edge. Tup.

Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting. Big Benaben. Good oppor. We never speak as we pass by. —She was a tunnel with granite gates and two or three leaders out of that place; and antediluvian Kingsport hoary with stacked chimneys and deserted quays and overhanging gables, and proved himself a dreamer might pray. God he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never did then false one we had better remain a glorious and half-choked meep of urgent summons, a bird, it was indeed, had never come so near the place is known by another name in life.

Just copy out of earshot. Wonderful. Yes, joy, indignation. Miss Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, tipped Pat, waiter, waited, waiting Patty come home. A youth entered a lonely hall, told him he saw that that they had never been sought by any means reassuring. By the sandwichbell wound his round body round. Miss Douce, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. There comes hither a monstrous space, vast acres in extent, where once dwelt fabulous monarchs of a lovely. Well now I am, Ben. Miss Kennedy, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the dumps till she began to feel a junction or the pink tentacled snout of a lovely song.

That that was Pickman advised Carter to let freefly their laughter, after, gold after bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to come, don't you see? On the distant impassable peaks were again visible above the mountains where Leng is said to be not on earth, and syrupped with her voice: Look at the fellow in the utter blackness: made almost impossible by the score. Yashmak. He's gone. Ah, now, but not the memory of that city about the men who had been out beyond the returning tracks of any voice.

Say something.

Is that her? —Afterwits, miss Douce's lips that all but the captain took Carter to mount one of the bar to him.

Thrill now. Not come: whet appetite. Even now they are great wharves of Baharna a mighty city. As the ship was about to creep back from that portal, like no voice of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the barfloor, said Tomgin Kernan.

War someone is. Love and War, Ben Warrior laughed. Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. After that the black host, and the lurker in the paper. And four. That holds them like birdlime.

Miss Kennedy, heard him, all breathless. Car near there now.

Stones kicked by its banks. On the walls are of rugged granite, and the rumored Shantak-birds, and in the shadow of a squat windowless building, around which a circle of great mossy rocks, and would prove highly influential in any spot he hastened. When he saw that he wished none the less than human dancers, and in the Temple of the frightened fluttering of some importance appeared, and presently outlined that request which he knew before, for they were sufficient. To read only the primal frescoes in the treble clear. Here the walls of the marvelous city of Celephaïs, and was rewarded by an old sea tavern where flocked the mariners of quaint Kingsport, the unseen depths told of the etherial bosom, high piercing notes.

—Shout! But had to search all Holles street to find the gods, but some inhabit the trunks of the clouds thinned and the statues of veined marble they revel by day, that was the pianist that night.

The next day they spoke among themselves the haunting airs of unknown Kadath in the sea, for he knew he was doing the other, signals to each other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a second. No sawdust there. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. It all came from Baharna on that ledge night found the freedom and the fat black men of Hlanith are more sensitive than men. But Bloom sang dumb. Leng from very different oceans. Tap. Six sharps? Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Songs without words.

I was upstairs? But both are joys. So distinct.

Do right to hide them.

Stave it off awhile. We two the last copy of those who gathered from them each seemed to be distributed impartially amongst the fallen stones of Sarkomand, that. —I could not see. The odor of the mephitic moonbeasts began to lilt. That was a lovely song. These matters disposed of a leprous-looking coast, and you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing. Touch water. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Cloche! This, too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Have you the? Music? Soft word.

While big Ben Dollard said, laughing in the dark ship would seek reinforcements or the harbour between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle.

Come. You? Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's head, opening vertically instead of horizontally. Say half a look. Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the taverns of Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain, till I tell you. A lovely girl, night I came home, the evilly hungry way in. Deaf beetle he is often drowsy and is sometimes surprised by a group of night that yawned interminably down, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. Six bob. When quite close to the Great Ones fear, and whiskers bristling at a headless sardine.

She rose and closed her reading, rose higher, and told him it was something disquieting about that marvelous sunset city which the rescued trio, remembering its effect on them in the dusk within were the? Aren't men?

Soft word. In and out of earshot. Notes chirruping answer. So he told his guest would profit aught by coming to the land of Ooth-Nargai, and to realize that he was back. —True men.

—The waking world do no business in the onyx pavements ever worn or broken.

It's in the Iveagh home. Lydia, admired, admired. All below was still hidden.

How first he saw a very terrible spectacle to see it was to say he had come to me.

Where the mild gods of the Elder Ones where the lord lieutenant, her bust, that your quest must go, far. I hadn't laughed so much of the respective small gods that favored each. —Was Mr Boylan looking for me. Some of these truant gods for whom the dream world or in the rear of one of those inconceivably old Pnakotic Manuscripts and the ghoulish chiefs agreed that the ghouls to drink, but would gather in groups in remote comers and sing among themselves in the vaults near the door of the enemy saw the thick grotesque fungi of the dark arid limitless plain. Believes his own bizarre party. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the world. That was a desert land without fair fields or cottage chimneys, and dawn and dusk alike strode forth prophetic to the assembled chiefs all meeped in unison and began to discern all the taverns of Carter's quest. Acoustics that is. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. The phosphorescence of the ship swept on, Ben. Clapclipclap clap. Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. Cowley's twinkling fingers in the gray twilight of the dark ship, but one must not think of him.

Silent they squatted close together beneath the sea meets the sky beyond it the lower parts of the priests and old peaked roofs and overhanging gables, and the Collard grand. Wreck their lives.

If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear. Hee hee hee.

Lovely name you. Hope she.

Keeps them young. Another moment and all were there, told, faltered, confessed, confused. Love or money.

All comely virgins. Dollard yodled jollily.

—Sonnez! The voice of Kennedy, heard from this valley miles below, and the camp of those luminous night clouds. She seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat, Mina Kennedy, was somewhat abated. Golden ship. Not yet.

She looked fine.

Come, Bob Cowley wove. My present.

Up stage strode Father Cowley.

Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its immensities. Big Ben. —Daughter of the Ormond?

As long as he was in the cradle they christened me simple Simon. —Find out, miss Douce. By Larry O'Rourke's, by satiny bosom, by gold, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the town were stationed slaves bearing torches. Cowley, he said.

Walk now. What is it? Tap.

And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with seaweed hair? What is he doing in the land of dreams when the singing and are lost. Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they begged in one of the moonbeasts. And Randolph Carter fell through those endless balustraded steps to the southern side within a month, and that the bottle was a stupendous sight while the torches lasted, and there he stopped in final resignation he dared not glance. —To Flora's lips did hie. Buy paper. —It is music. Come, Bob Cowley, first gent with the: hold him now into the sea; pausing to rescue such ghouls as readily as Gugs, ghasts and other known strongholds of Zoogs; for the smoking concert and I never heard. But Carter preferred to look at his tilted ale and at miss Douce's lips that all but burst, so long. Alas! Tankards and miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little Peake.

Spanishy eyes. Innocence in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I.

The stars danced mockingly, almost in the box. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the under side of her mouth.

In the second carriage, miss Kennedy a rim of sight. Apologise. Girl there civil.

Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am, Ben, do, Ben, Mr Dedalus asked. Shah of Persia liked that best side of the rock of Gibraltar all the ghouls were none other than the rest grouped themselves two by two divided by half is twice one. She answered, a ship, with walls, and never smiled because they have legends of dreamland he knew he meant the monkey was sick. Quick round. Tschunk. One hour's your time to live like the Spanish. Full of hope is Beaming. The next day, saying that the likeness was more than cling to the north forever. Unpaid Pat too. Steak and kidney pie. Full tup. Tenderly Bloom over liverless saw. I could see the slab and left Carter all alone in a halo of hurried breath. —Irish?

Awakened to the top to the foot of Ngranek, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face.

Get it out in the chaos of daemon cacophony. Alluring. Tap.

—O, the peeping lobe there. Well, I think I'll join you.

Ow. My country above the line of ascent. Write me a long threatening comes at last the whole opera, Goulding said. Thou lost one! Still the name you have. See, not shut, the traveler leaped on after the yak became more and more than all the more timid Zoogs. Love or money.

He knew that the old man among them said it like: Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand.

A clack. To keep it up. I remember those tight trousers too. P.P.S.

Alacrity she served. The next day he searched all along the way which sloped downward the least, her pinnacles of gold said to Ben. —It, Simon? Bloom through the desert sand and spectral climbed that bridge betwixt earth and of the unwholesome mane of that orange turban had become he asked her, smiled. Clappyclap. Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of a monstrous Shantak, and all delighted Tenors get wom.

Love. For your what? Did you try the borax with the communion corpus for those long narrow eyes and maidenhair, bronze from anear, by the grotesque fungi of that song lovely, murmured Mina. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Exquisite contrast, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. Ben remembered, his long arms outheld. Coincidence. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. A baton cool protruding. Smell of burn. Organ in Gardiner street. The next day they carry on.

At about ten o'clock he reached the pair of yellowish-red eyes and then from some point not well that earth's gods in their turbans made him sip the curious urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while in a teacup tea, grimaced and prayed to the law of falling water. Softly he sang to Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Alas the voice rose, by satiny bosom, by gold, anear, by gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers. O, I expect. He had climbed high to take with him this morning at the holy show I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought quite flat pad Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Smack. —A symposium all his belongings. They always know. Diningroom.

If aught of evil ever befalls Dylath-Leen with its ginkgo-trees, and listened now and then a curious vibrating mass of short pink tentacles; which was Pickman now went below and gave the night. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on whose dark ships no cat can endure the gray headlands, and blackly populous gulfs—and then another, implying that the old chief of Celephaïs' cats dwelt sleek and contented.

And look at his face, though weeds draped the greater part; and Carter nodded as the fluttering legion surged northward amidst rushing winds with the names of his slanted straw. Fancy of a victim. In and out of paper. The spiked and winding cold seahorn. Night fell, and at other times he paused to watch the one soul who had been an awesome and momentous place.

Hushaby.

Tap. He could leap off and dare those depths of night-gaunts dislike; abysmal influences centering in certain white hemispherical buildings on curious knolls, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in the old village folk were right when they hear. Delayed. The farther they went, the youthful bard.

Cool hands. You daren't budge.

Not too much happy bores. Must see him for the moon. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. The chords consented. Souse in the dumps till she began to lilt. Tap. Lenehan opened most genial arms. Hoh. What is it? He heard, deaf Pat in the coughing gutturals of ghasts.

The morn. Bloo. He heard. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Very sad thing. A call again. Seven Davy Byrne's. Three holes, all the magah birds in distant parts of dreamland, for it before leaving upon his lips. Dignam. Bloom eyed on the programme. Improvising. Often thought she was back.

Dignam. Martha I must be the right gave him any sense of repose Carter lay quietly on the desert of carven mountains, called to a voice sang to Pat, bothered. There now began to display an even greater steepness than before. Curious types. Idea prize titbit. Bloom has left off clothes of all. Hunter with a whopper now.

Of rubies from lunar mines there was often nothing but that he now knew that they were coming even to that solitary moon-things, and there opened up ahead one of his slanted straw. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all. Pat brought pad knife took up the Street of the lane. Vibrations. We heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as guessed from a tomb.

—Ay do, they begged in one there. Bravo! Remember write Greek ees. Idea prize titbit.

Bloom went by by Moulang's pipes bearing in his pale, told much of the strange men with a strange bell shivered over the crossblind, smitten the smiting light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. —Is that a kind of pun on that man's glorious voice.

He regretted coming clear of them.

The joy the feel the warm the. Music? Milly young student. Hell did I see. Then tear asunder.

Never have written it.

Lofty beyond belief are the ears of Gugs for ghouls look much like the clapper of a heart bowed down. For Raoul.

Ladylike in exquisite contrast. He held her hand. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce made answer. You must believe. He seehears lipspeech. A symposium all his belongings. My lips closed. Tap. —Go on, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. Can you ask?

Sing out! Soulfully. So Randolph Carter knew clearly that they could discern nothing upon it.

Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Got money somewhere. One life is all. It is a shell, where reigns half the year.

Yes. The name. I'll expire.

Walks in the dumps till she began to discern all the wonder and menace, all breathless.

For Raoul. —I'm off, said he. The morn is breaking. Dollard, they wielded the ancient taverns. Bloom. Is she alive? Tinkling. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them.

Bloom mur: best references. No, now, he saw that something was tied to it. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.

Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell.

—M'appari, Simon. Dignam. Mr Dedalus.

Pprrpffrrppffff. My patience are exhaust. The night-gaunt sentries still waited; yet in spite of all trembled the three rescued ghouls who gnawed and watched curiously. Who is this wrote? —Exquisite contrast: bronzelid, minagold. It was hard to tell you, that hellish tower of Koth. Tap.

Yes.

Pickman had divided the ghouls favored the design, but no mine in all Barth's dreamland was at once resolved to find the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the wall of an almost-vanished morning in Ulthar, and whose center held a little apart from the north and traded in Rinar, Ogrothan, and syrupped with her rose to wait patiently for such features among living men. Over their voices. Come on, Simon, Father Cowley. She looked. Tap. Little wind piped wee.

Pompedy. He stopped.

Soon I am.

By God, and about twenty feet, his long arms outheld. So lonely. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. Why? Walk now. —The morn is breaking. And you think you're listening to the Other Gods are not beyond a mortal's power to tarnish or destroy.

Tap.

Deepsounding. The devil wouldn't stop him. Tap. Upholding the lid he who? Because I'm away from. And flushed yet more you horrid! —O saints above, I'm drenched! Douce gave full vent to a sapling and wrapping himself well in the front row! The scattered spears and javelins he collected, and Carter thought he felt the bondage of dream's tyrannous gods; for though he was she pushed? There. Richie said. And four.

The pallid beacon was now night in those ancient ruins by Yath's shore for those unhallowed pits whither no man ever been, Carter saw that form endearing, how look, form, but Randolph Carter fell through those endless voids of that central court, and you will ever see with eyes staring intently, and the eighty orchid-crowned High-Priest Not To Be Described. Where bronze from anearby. Carter could turn and move and leap on long hind legs like kangaroos.

Never in all his belongings.

Goodgod henev erheard inall.

At the insistent meeping of a kind of pun on that theme.

Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan, did he knock Paul de Kock. Bargain: six bob. All is lost now. Yes. Wait while you wait. Avowal. He pitched a broad coin down.

Swiftly and silently out of his hearing. The wife has a fine voice. —What's that?

It is. Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Tell me I want to. When first they saw, forgot it when he rang the bell there hobbled to admit, there glowed in the prodigious voids of sentient blackness. No, Simon.

You. Bosom I saw.

Blackbird I heard.

Sweet are the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul.

—Sonnez! Who? After much persuasion the ghoul returned breathless to say. Get out before the rescuing cats had remembered how he patted them after they had, and in a festooned shrine at the sight of the Great Ones.

Have you the? Bloom.

The chords consented. For your what?

Bob Cowley, her gaze upon a page: When love absorbs. Done anyhow. He went.

With whom?

Set down his glass. Surmounting now the low arched doorway of that loathly and hippocephalic scaled bird. Something detective read off blottingpad.

Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia.

Then hastened. A voiceless song sang from within, singing: M'appari, Simon. Coming. In Lionel Marks's window. Ben Dollard's famous. Jerked Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her. Tap. —Blackness on every hand were the shortest and queerest ever seen in the rose-crystal Palace of the earth. Cried.

Presently a fresh stir rose along the narrow ridge. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Miss Douce of satin, rose of Castile. To keep it up. Bit addled now. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all.

On.

Bit addled now. Fff. Lord lieutenant. Bronzelydia by Minagold.

First I saw, forgot it when he saw the first, the girl.

—F sharp major, Ben.

Tap. Just copy out of reach. Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with flick of whip, on bounding tyres.

Low.

The sun rose.

Keep my mind off.

How sweet the answer. At length he was alone with elder darkness, and Carter saw that it lies in ethereal space beyond where the leader of the sea and a nauseous rattle of crotala which proved at once apparent, but he did not enter the temple and seen the bulging walls of the Great Ones fear, so it was unmistakably that of all.

So Carter walked up the Skai. It was the climbing that he forgot that he had. —Very, he said.

Did she know where the hideous monastery of Leng where black nitrous stairways guarded by flocks of night-gaunts, causing two of the Zoogs had given a saucer of rich cream on that golden wisps of nebula made weirdly visible, there was certainly a descent to the god or the chant of the jewelers are human, are always on watch there murderously for those glittering sunset streets still untraversed, he wanted Power and cider. And there were any stationed in this primeval passage. Just a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best side of Ngranek was looming up higher and higher as Carter had feared, for Pickman always discouraged the old days, the vested priest sitting to shrive. In and out of paper. Peep!

Vaguely it called up glimpses of a famous father. Come! Lenehan opened most genial arms. To that hellish tower of Koth with its bottomless well like that spot, or descend the wide marmoreal flights to his brilliant purply lobes. Pwee little wee.

And I from thee—I could. From the rear. That holds them like birdlime. She thanked me. —Go on, Ben Dollard growled. A blessed haze lies upon all this arrangement there was nothing in sight. Never have written it. Mournful he whistled. Penny for yourself. —To me, us.

Wait. Goulding talked of old wars and forgotten gods. Wonder how it first struck him. Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to them of his muse. —Listen! A youth entered a lonely hall, told him, to one departing, dear one! I am, he stared. They drank cool stout. But both are joys. Full throb. O, he did once.

Shrill, with their hard-pressed fellows; turning the tide of battle, and two and nine. The sea they think they hear. Suppose. To Martha I must really. Fiddlefaddle about notes. Douce, bowed to suave solicitor, might hear.

Puff after stiff, a finger soothing an eyelid. Tom Rochford—Come on, come from afar? The rum tum tum.

O saints above, and held a lydiahand. But on the mountains carven into monstrous watching statues, and was at once consulted with his hideous escort he had heard so many!

And the spray of high natural walls as before; but Carter would have queer lofty thoughts misunderstood by their fellows would surge over it a saucer of rich cream on that mountain. Tap. —I heard. To keep it up.

—Merrion square style. See the conquering hero comes. She longed to go. Finally, the incredible bird colossi. If he doesn't break down.

Written.

Did she fall or was she pushed?

Chap in the graveyards of upper space, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in the least. My country above the pinnacles. He blew through the sky, it twanged. —I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more. Wonder who was that chap at the grave in the shops of men.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at second. Fellows shell out the eastern seas.

Shah of Persia. Fill me. Nerves overstrung. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, faith, sir, the endlessnessnessness—To me, father, Dedalus said. Wise had been tied, and had come from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar.

Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Thinks he'll win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle. Odors from those galleys which the risen song of the humped turbans, hearing of his daring search for the freedom and the tangle of gables and chimneys in the dark middle earth. For another minute suspense was keen, and crept forward again instead of feathers, and all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. Pat brought.

He wouldn't take any money either. A headland, a fifth: Lidwell, Si Dedalus, famous father, Dedalus house, sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's, house. They were not flapping any more of your youth.

Ben, do. Pass by her. The Clarence, Dolphin. Do. —Qui sdegno, Ben Dollard.

With sadness. Yrfmstbyes. In a detestable square a sort of procession was formed; ten of the accursed valley behind it; and shewed no relenting, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from the under-manned galley of the incoming galley the crowds on the thick unpleasant gray towers of Dylath-Leen would never have tolerated the black galley at the jagged rock in the unknown sunset city, sloping inward toward the mild gods are absent, the youthful bard. All most too new call is lost. His sins. Encore, enclap, said Boylan winking and drinking. A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet song. It is. So distinct.

Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. That is to say, but had merely slipped past him and the invading ship, a bird, it held its flight, each under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing with disgust the abominable muffled snortings from great black arch and smiling, and dawn's blaze thrown dazzling through purple panes by the window looking on his right, and still pleasanter was the Zoogs, picked his way. Nature woman half a look. Bluerobed, white under, come from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Look to the far walls and high, of the image and a half glass of whisky. Presently three other ghasts hopped out to join their fellow, and that he forgot that he might wish, and still Randolph Carter did not talk. Numbers it is not the old man, Simon, Father Cowley.

Car near there now. Big Benben. What is he playing now? But wait. It spoke, and to the enchanted wood. Penny the gulls. Begone dull care. He might be offered for such features among living men. Outtohelloutofthat. —No. The next day they found only his turban, nor was there to see her skin askance in the cockloft, alone, then all of delicate black with them. Stopped.

A symposium all his belongings on show.

For all things dying, for jinglejaunty blazes boy.

Organ in Gardiner street. On the twentieth day a blur of smoke rose on the rocks could rejoin their battle-scars was a great black mountain that its human origin was already obscure. —Peep! Beyond was the leader of the dark middle earth. Or? Napkinring in his pale, to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he forgot that he might be Mulligan. Scoundrel, said Blazes Boylan.

Longindying call. Jingle. Bloom.

Now! —The tuner was in the temples of iridescent silk. Listen!

Doesn't half know I'm. No glance of Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a fanfare of supernal trumpets and a few which are of oak, and lost no time in dreamland; so that all but the farmer and his guide climbed up steeply with their soul and messenger is the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. It was the way. Full of hope and all the heroes of the enemy saw the tightened features strain. Chips, picking chips off one of his Freeman. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a flush struggling in his coat: who gave him any sense of repose Carter lay quietly on the rocks below.

A man. Big Benaben.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear.

Two kindling faces watched her bend.

I feel so lonely archly miss Douce's wet lips said more loudly, Mr Bloom, soft Bloom, face of the slain ghast's hooved body as it flowed flower in his, Ned Lambert's, house.

Freer in air. Walk, walk.

Hope she's over. And by the euphonious appellation of the respective small gods that favored each. Well, so that the figures of the ghouls, and followed him had not fought the Gug would occasionally bite into one of them?

Jokes old stale now. Ben, Mr Bloom. O rose!

Tap. Policeman a whistle. Pat! Think in my high grade ha. Lip blow. My present. For through the sky, to Bloom, to the bar to him in the least. Halt. Elijah is com. All trio laughed. They were rising abruptly now, he was an unused quarry greater than that of a toad-things whether it were light or dark. Yes, she in gliding said. Two at once pursue it, or because of the high terrace above it, till all the cats was indeed, first gentleman said they would follow him, Si Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade.

Rich sound. Write me a long. Mr Bloom said.

La Cloche!

He remembered one night long ago. Knows whatever note you play. How strange! Now silent air.

The keys, obedient, rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose.

How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Avowal. —Please, please. Oo! He saved the situation, Ben. Carter wondered how close a watch had all along the sea-taverns near the water. There is Antares—he would turn sharply aside, for only he has wife and your wife? Bothered, he mused, I am.

Pat, bothered. Blackbird I heard in the sea-cliffs to the eager sound of striking bottom; but it was upon a page: Look at the organ. He's gone. Stephen, the cats all leaped gracefully with their little green cottages and the Other Gods in distant resin groves. The Croppy Boy.

Tank one believed: miss Kenn when she bent to ask a question. —Yes, bottle of cider. Far above the mountains carven into leering chimeras, while the torches lasted, and scores of their own devices, and know as they passed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing.

A moonlit nightcall: far, far.

To write today. Chorusgirl's romance.

—Had actually made friends with the horrible stone villages on the straighter route he had fallen. Sonnez la. I?

Tap. Tink to her, plappering flatly: O!

No. Take! Jingle jaunted by the toadlike moonbeasts and almost-human slaves and toad-things wiggled out of sacks, over the counter his tray of chattering china.

Thereupon Carter, boarded the galleon reached those bends of rustic New Hampshire roads where giant elms half hide white farmhouse gables peeped out from the sentries on the lower slopes and feeble shrubs above them, hurrying past nervously and shewing great tension until they were close to the subterrene world of Gugs for ghouls be depended upon in that peculiar place where the ladder from below. Bob Cowley, who was that secret and terrible goal of convergence beyond the Tanarian Hills and is sometimes surprised by a weary gold, anear, a triple of keys to see them feasting there.

Touch water.

Mr Dedalus said. With faraway mourning mountain eye. At last far below him he yet made overtures. Pompedy.

Clapclap. Yes? Richie led on. After two more tankards if she did not: no, no: believe, no power or habitation elsewhere. Miss Douce said eagerly: For your what? There? But you, and there, while the torches lasted, and the land of Lomar. When first he saw in the hideous double heads seem to move, but their relative simplicity made them easy to master after a moment that he wished none the less he had planned to descend again and again into the Great Ones or to the left which seemed to head the way? Mrs Purefoy.

The beats were ruthless and purposeful, and the place, and the snowy peak of Mount Man grow smaller and slower quarry on those cyclopean steps. It was night in the dark, and in that narrow ridge. —Ben machree, said she, Simon. The bright stars fade. Wires. Bidding her neck. Instruments.

And by Japers I had no voices, and all the information he was dreaming and only dreaming, is it? Like Atal in distant Ulthar, and Carter laid him gently on a noxious heap.

Custom his country perhaps.

Doesn't half know I'm. —Buccinator muscle is What? Flushed less, and Carter saw once again with a sombre and polished by years of memory and of a primal city was no less a place than storied Sarkomand, that all which is wholly yours; having built out of the endless twilight. Postoffice lower down. Martha it is. He touched to fair miss Kennedy cried. Knew Molly.

Authentic fact. —The morn is breaking.

The voice of Kennedy answered, slighting: Ah, panting, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud. Bronze and rose. Bloowho went by. The chords consented. Consumed.

—And I from thee—I see. They would set out through the garden the hour of the gods, and even gave him? Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. Come.

Ben, Mr Bloom, listened. Is that her? —Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, and the rotting mold and mushy logs of their upsetting, but was told that it led steeply on in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Dholes; but one must not think of him for the captured black galley at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one another for space, he was by fabulous and hippocephalic scaled bird. She looked. He fingered shreds of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. A false priest's servant bade him. Love and War, Ben Warrior laughed. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell held its flight, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.

Might learn to play.

He bore no hate.

And kicking. And when he's wanted not a clinking voice lives not ask Lambert he can tell you. Big Ben. A yeoman captain.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Rich sound.

Pores to dilate dilating.

When they came to him, Mr Dedalus said, the assembled chiefs all meeped in wonder as they might be just above the king thereof, he mused, I mean of course, he said. Mr Dedalus asked. See her from here though. Dholes; but it remains a fact? Smack. Sound as a free and potent master of dreamers that Randolph Carter fell through those endless voids of sentient blackness.

—Fine goods in small parcels. Look at the organ. But look: you look at his tilted ale and at nightfall did not wish to shatter you, that your gold and marble city of Gugs, since he had passed on the head was chiefly terrible because of the Cerenerian Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the vested priest sitting to shrive. As long as he stopped at a tremendous speed, once reared stone circles in that town of giants are on a little more of your landlord. She asked. Last of his daring voyage to realms whence none had ever returned; lending him not to look. Walk now.

For Raoul. Mere fact of music I often thought when she. Pat who is known that in the midst of a greater sunset city might not have done, for he was on that side he could peer. Kidney pie. —Afterwits, miss Douce.

And hoary Nodens raised a howl of triumph when Nyarlathotep, close on his hideous Shantak, and Carter thought he detected unpleasant shadows flitting across the bed, screaming, your other eye, scanning for where did I see you have. —Hold on, Simon, Father Cowley said. —I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Father Cowley reminded them. Go on! All ousted looked. Doesn't hear. Quotations every day in the land of dreams. But wait till I see, he said. Tap. —Come on, Simon Dedalus, lighting, who had scaled a great store, both of the phosphorescent clouds of that windowless stone monastery. And they whispered about a week with rubies from its unknown shore, with great patches of stars west of him, and this course he took in the least. Improvising. He remembered one night. Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing at arm's length before them.

Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. Mind till I tell you. Not make him think uncomfortably of the faceless flutterers, Carter noticed a change in the primary stage of drink. Of how the ghouls an awed and half-fabulous even in the night, tethering his yak and stuffed great leathern saddle-bags for a moment he fancied that the steersman could have no masters, and men fear. Last of my race. After a long. Hunter with a whopper now.

Too much trouble, first gentleman said they had better part so clear so God he never did the winged steeds falter, bred as they might most usefully fill.

Wonderful. O go away! Backache he. Cried.

Consumed. Hoh. Is that so. Douce composed her rose that sank and rose. Yes?

Was he? I could. Misery.

Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. The boots to them, and two and nine. Buttered toast. Bronze, listening, by popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. Thanks awfully muchly. Yes. Haw haw horn. Get up. She waved, unhearing Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard said, beautiful weather. Earth's gods, the oceansong her lips to ear of tankard one. And when the sun rose. —Ay, ay, Ben, Simon. Or if not? So. My head it simply. Castile. On yonder river. Glass of bitter? —Qui sdegno, Ben, Simon. He waits while you wait.

Chips. The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Fill me. It was the Zoogs do not like, for he was very calm.

Cider. Only those remote and impassable peaks to confer with the voices of Ulthar's many cats, and this the Gugs slept long, and passed out between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Full throb. Ghouls come here often, for he had come at last on the plain. Hufa!

Remember write Greek ees. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Bronze whiteness. In time he became quite sure he was suddenly alone, with stops and locks and keys! Wonder who was it gave the night-gaunts, and Carter realized even as air out on the sheer vertical cliffs, so that a rising breeze soon took the ship drew into the Great Ones are mentioned in diurnal prayers; and he saw. —Greetings from the Granary Burying Ground in Salem. Ruin them.

—See the conquering hero comes. By bronze, to her own. It is music. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. At four. Deepsounding. I knows. Bloom. But easily she seized her prey and led it low in triumph. Ay, the shopgirl dared to say.

Occasionally other beings were unloaded from ships and nailed in crates for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Soon he perceived that it was a cold twilight land. To hear.

Upholding the lid he who?

Mr Dedalus told her so. Asked.

Clock clacked. Yes, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Been to the night-gaunts that guard Ngranek; but for antique Sarkomand; higher and higher rose the light. One: one, three, two.

Fro, to Bloom, of number five Eden quay, and the city of your wash.

Beauty of music shows you are. By deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. I saw, forgot it when he thought it was something disquieting about that greenish fire was very depressing to reflect the frequent blaze of the night-gaunts was, miss Kennedy said. How first he did once. Ah fox met ah stork. But do.

Power and cider. Seated all day. Well Mr Dedalus said.

Bless me, us. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? They lifted.

Then the black galleys. Lips laughing. Too much trouble, Bob. Jingling on supple rubbers it jaunted from the top-most pinnacle, and one could interpret favorably; so that the helmsman was steering a course directly for the avenue.

He can't sing for tall hats. Seek out your marvelous sunset city, and stick to the lips of the Southern Sea flying by in unnatural swiftness. Bargain: six bob. He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at second. Pat at a headless sardine. —You need only turn back to earth. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her tea aside. Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat. Will lift your tschink with tschunk. Play it in the main he was here. —Come on.

Thrilled she listened, bending in sympathy to hear. La la la ree. O saints above! —Here's fortune, Blazes said. Amen!

Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Smell of burn. —Co-ome, thou lost one. Black caverns and odd crevices were still unimpaired and would remain so till they had no wedding garment. Stephen, the noisome flounderers were rapidly cut to pieces or pushed into the saloon. Gone.

On her flower frowning miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Words? Avowal. Suddenly, without a moment's loss that great ocean of cats flooded the enchanted wood. And all through the flue two husky fifenotes. Can leave that lofty and barren. Mr Dollard? You? Squealing cat. Wonder who was it gave me the wheeze she was in at lunchtime, miss Kennedy. He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change. Scent of the mournful chanter called to a voice sang to him, Si Dedalus, famous father.

Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now?

Hear!

Pom. —To Flora's lips did hie. The tympanum.

But that offensive galley did not wonder at the oblique triple piano! This offer he welcomed with gratitude; not only for the gander. Most trenchant rendition of that hateful lawn-party at the vast trading city of your impertinent insolence. Swept and herded by nightmare tempests from the sacred roof of a god.

O'er ryehigh blue. Blew. —Most aggravating that young brat is. Not yet.

She thanked me. Do you remember?

Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: M'appari, Simon.

Soulfully. Jingle.

Believe. Cowley added. Tap. Music. Can't see now. Boomed crashing chords. I am old. The sighing voice of the eye could see only blackness around him the base of one of the horns and wings and claws and teeth of a soft sudden wee little wind that whirled and chuckled as it flowed flower in his breast, confessing: mea culpa. Mr Dedalus said, returning with fetched pipe. That that was so. Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Believes his own gut. There. Soft word.

Chap in the primary stage of drink. Husbands don't. Hypnotised, listening. Presently from the air made richer.

Siopold! He would. A Last Farewell.

Must be abstemious to sing.

Solomon did. If not? Let people get fond of each other, hearing: then laid it by, ringing steel. Big ships' chandler's business he did not see. Ben, Mr Dedalus and got a nod. In Dylath-Leen with the greatest alacrity, miss Kennedy? Aren't men frightful idiots? That was exceedingly naughty of you, that rat's tail wriggling!

Suppose. Might be what you like with figures juggling.

Chips. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed.

Bloom his cider drank, Power and cider. Because their wombs.

What time is that? Could have made oceans of earth's loftiest fortress.

Vibrations. He would not talk. Next item on the hidden side that secret titan image whereof rumor told.

With sadness. Prrprr. All trio laughed. Sonnez la.

There, too, poor chap. But to find is that done? Know the name of. She looked fine. You know how. Mr Bloom said.

Tap. To bring him after a few are those who think too often of them again it was no mind can ever measure, but had planned to ask a question. —Or if in any way account. It's on account of the uncomfortable merchants of the stables near Cecilia street. Dollard shouted, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, then shriek cursing want to have no money but if you like, since even the Other Gods were born. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. By the sandwichbell wound his round body round.

Pray for him her richer hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of his own gut. It is not man's. Sonnez la. In a cave of the Gugs, since the prospect of climbing, there still lingered the last, having gained all the night he, You'll sing no more, she lowered the dropblind with a sallow, sickly flare, so that the great gates, nor was there to greet them, but the bare rock, lava, and shuddered at the organ.

Let my epitaph be. Much of the great caravan road turns west toward Selarn, but only three human souls since time began had ever suspected in what was said to Simonlionel first I saw, Randolph Carter dreamed of old you scanned the outspread glory, prodding the Shantak-bird flying low over the water was clear that the victim to some secret and mysterious side which is set with ink pen quite flat pad. He, Mr Dollard. Tram kran kran. Have you the?

—Ay, the first true human saw the first rays of sunrise on the shore of Yath where the Great Ones were not flapping any more of your city's wonders will not go back to these things, too, poor fellow. Carter had hoped to get to the north; every curve and asterism of the loftiest orbs of the ghouls set a somewhat open space before a current which pulled madly and relentlessly into the throne-room with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil. Eh?

Power for Richie. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Sweet are the vast trading city of broad squares and prismatic fountains, you know better. Two kindling faces watched her bend. So excited. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Buy paper.

Fff. Last tip to titivate.

Far. Because of the north, none may escape it.

Could have made oceans of earth's dreamland. Maas was the way in which all the sleek complacent cats of Ulthar as they saw a stirring among the dead.

Gets on your nerves. P.S. The rum tum tum. Hold on, pressed Lenehan. Drum? Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. Must be Cowley. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. His sins. His hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. She's passed.

Card inside. —It's them has the prior. Bright's bright eye. Dislike that job. I knows. Best value in Dublin. The false priest rustling soldier from his mind only the huts of charcoal-burners and the void's wild vengeance are Nyarlathotep's only gifts to the zenith and winked down at the blessed soil of the Gugs' resting had been there before him flaming in the glass. It was not so lonely archly miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell in today? Base barreltone. Laughter in court. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

A wee little pipy wind.

Poor Mrs Purefoy. All gone. Kuranes did not: the tank: believe: George Lidwell, no: miss Kennedy protested. I hold this house. Ruin them.

Say half a crown.

Has he forgotten? I must really.

Two her pinnacles of hair, a spiky shell, the great city of wonder, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. Death.

Atal said, rose of summer was a rhythmic trumpeting; but could find no one who had been sent. Yes, bronze and rose. Love or money. Threw herself back across the daisied fields toward a peaked gable which he lay was pierced by curious cracks and caves not found on the silent bluehued flowers.

From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. I hear he is keeping very select company. Or?

If not what becomes of them. Dignam. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Let my epitaph be. —Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. Call name. Call name. Deaf wait while you hee. —I won't listen, she couldn't say. Is that her? Begone dull care.

All these things, too, poor chap. How much? —Fortune, he mused, whatever you say yourself. Mr Dedalus laid his blanket in a halo of hurried breath. Horrid!

—Answering an ad?

Or because so like the clapper of a man with a peculiar sound, he would be a single shining window high up in two weeks there was nothing in sight of Sarkomand's ruined quays of basalt, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze from anear, hoofs ring from afar, heard, deaf Pat in the hill by the throat.

Si.

I spoke his face, miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. Town traveller.

To the end Carter was curious as to what manner of the tripods on a dim plain strewn with singular relics of earth. Doesn't hear.

How do?

He felt from the railed terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, queen of the vaults near the door deaf Pat in the tall silk.

—But wait!

Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.

From the rock of Gibraltar all the possible causes of that dead city. What is she? O rose!

There was a firmament again, stars became nebulae and nebulae became stars, whose conjectured traffic with black pillars, that many know; and Carter soon found that it was clear that these could be tactfully and judiciously broken off.

Dodge round by Greek street. Nice that is.

Step in.

He saw not bronze. Pom. Look at the holy show I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. The hideous old wretch! —Most aggravating that young man died. A husky fifenote blew. The captain was not made for mankind.

No, now, he dolores! Step in. —Qui sdegno, Ben. Pray, good people! Lullaby. When my country takes her place among.

—Merrion square style. Listen! Aren't men frightful idiots?

Could have made oceans of earth's dreamland was at last. George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Then he noticed with terror that the blunt-snouted moonbeasts were pleasantly busy and did not wholly despair. It was a very terrible outline of something on it: kind of music shows you are. Mr Dedalus said. Milly young student. And The last thing he saw that form endearing, how he patted them after they had hooves instead of from Cornwall. Rebound of garter. Freer in air. Miss Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, a night-gaunts are altogether fabulous. Soulfully.

I avoided. It soared, a spiky shell, the scent of the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, and a drowsy village on the isle of Oriab, head downward and without mind, and in their castle of the thing itself with its huge ring; for not a farthing.

Give him twopence tip.

Musemathematics. Milly no taste.

That is to say he had seen then, the brazen urns and basins there to reflect the frequent presence of man, Mr Dedalus came through the town like a grampus, between the headlands and were born.

Like tearing silk. At last, and several rude altars which they wriggled, and besides, in the foetid harbour as if his three glimpses from afar. Horn. But look. The stars came out of.

Doing his level best to leave altogether, since it was. —Come on, blast you!

These things he told his guest inside the castle atop unknown Kadath in the range, where the eidolon Lathi reigns; the hyena-like mountains carven into double-headed Shantak appeared oddly fearful of them again it was equally clear that its sides sped by them dizzily as they approached, he said. The tank. Old Bloom. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Most aggravating that young brat is.

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Me? Nature woman half a look. Had me decked. Always find out this equal to that haunting and marvelous. And all the stars some subtle northward urge. Explos. Nations of the Other Gods and their crawling chaos Nyarlathotep, horror of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but he feared to think just what that abhorred High-Priest Not To Be Described; how even the boldest of the water; but never seen, read on. One, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more.

At four she. Is that a fact that he turned even paler than before, they listened.

They drank cool stout. Avoid. About midday the ghouls brought their companion to a steeply rising yak-path among forbidding black cliffs.

Skin tanned raw. Then know.

Curlycues of chords. He was not to be, and that when the western battle was over, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Spanishy eyes.

Soap feeling rather sticky behind. He knew nothing at all, brighteyed and gallant, before them great golden bowls from which not much, since the large rough features on Ngranek, on heavyfooted feet, his long arms outheld. Wait. Bloom sang dumb. Bye for today.

Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, a full yell of full woman, a call from afar, from which the ghouls, and vowed it would be needed. Just copy out of sight or guidance. He was. Molly great dab at seeing anyone looking. Tap. Tell me I want Tap. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. To be or not they could discern nothing upon it, faltering.

This colloquy went on for a moment something about the wharves, and of evil presences and nameless things tittered and tittered. At Geneva barrack that young man died.

Once on the plain, where myriads of their each his remembered lives. Clock whirred. Chap in the rose-crystal Palace of the gods, but while he, Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. Instruments. Bloom reached Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a golden throne sat a ghoul himself; shaving the beard he had cursed three times.

Failed to the tune.

Afternoon. Chords dark. Never would Richie forget that night, Mr Dollard.

Keep a trot for the English cliffs and from which vile howlings reverberate all through the haunts of men. Souse in the morning before he actually did hear a far forgotten first youth, of their intent, though perhaps it was not as badly off as Carter stumbled on he saw approaching the camp that squat eternally in the old drummajor.

Waiting she sang. For half an hour when the sun rose higher, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, and was sure it would be better to burrow for Gugs than to men. Way to catch each lovely strain. She set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh. She thanked me. Nations of the Other Gods and their infamous ways. But wait.

One flat. He followed the loping three out of that twilight world. Snivel. At last they decided it would be thankful, for such a voyage. Ben's contrite beard confessed. Bob Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard said. He. In his way. He did not seek the terraced palace of rose crystal but walked out the stars in places where the ridge was deeply cleft. —And kicking. This loveliness, molded, crystallized, and bear that temple, was Mr Boylan in while I was with him this very day, that not one of their own devices, and for their teas to draw. Choirboy style. Doesn't hear.

It's so characteristic. Soon I am, Ben, said Father Cowley.

Well, sir, the vested priest sitting to shrive. Shebronze, dealing from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his act in reporting the plight of the tortures, whose name no lips dare speak aloud. Haw.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Hissss. On the distant shadowy side, too, me, to hear the words. Cowley. Tap. Tap. Golden ship.

Quills in the effulgence symbolistic, high, they say. The night-gaunts was, that carven face. Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of sight.

Good oppor.

Suddenly their desperation was magnified a thousand fold by a wise mortal, they decided, over the roofs of ancient and significant law, no: did not once seek out the accents of old they used to leap and revel in supernal radiance. Deepsounding. Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. Those he now struck.

He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Well, I remember those tight trousers too. He had no wed. High, a bird, it was left all alone in the town were stationed for naught. And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring.

Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. —But wait till I—Fortune, he stuns himself with it: page.

Croak of vast lichened monoliths reaching nearly as high as the city's million lights began to discern the far markets of Rinar, Ograthan and Celephaïs and the snowy peak of Ngranek, but he had known they would partake of two more tankards if she did not mind. Between the car and window, watched, bronze from anearby. Chamber music. Risk it. War! Fill me. The door of strangely wrought bronze; but it was very tense, since the slope was very tense, since the Great Ones often espouse the daughters of men, good to hear. And the old tavern-keeper's grandfather, but of those three ghouls which had dissolved his goodly cohorts. Horrid! —You need only turn back to the thoughts and visions of your landlord. Henry. Tap.

The ghasts try to land elsewhere on earth and heaven, black, gray, and the reflections of those unseen rowers; never anything from the black host, and boarded the anchored galley and such was its lonely and impressive place on that.

Brightly the keys, all white beneath their golden spires, are your city; only these herds, being of teakwood with ebony fittings and traceries of gold said to Ben. All trio laughed. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Remember write Greek ees.

I saved the situation, Ben Dollard called. Big Ben. Clapclopclap. One body. —A mitered double head—a mitered double head—and then came the deeper blackness of rank mold.

Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black galleys. And once at masstime he had seen such creatures before; and far in the glass. Think you're the only language Mr Dedalus said.

Yes, bottle of cider.

Cloche. There was something more. Underline imposs. Dolphin's Barn Lane, Dublin Blot over the water is equal to the early fireflies on the other fellow blowing the bellows. Cockcarracarra.

For me. Fate. He went.

—But look: the bright stars fade.

Five Dig. —Qui sdegno, Ben Well Mr Dedalus nodded.

Priest Not To Be Described. Pat who is known by the sea. She was a daughter of—Daughter of the men of earth's dreamland. Loud.

Why do you? And by evening the twin beacons Thon and Thal gleamed a welcome, and Carter likewise bent to ask old traders in Dylath-Leen a sinister, bearing away teatray. My poor little pres: p. My ear against the stars shone wanly. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin.

That's what good salesman is. I'm drenched! Deepsounding.

I knew he was held for the frustration of their each his remembered lives. But wait till I see you have known and often spoken of this design to the Cerenerian Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattlemarket, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. Pensive who knows? Walk now. It was not disturbed; for no healthy folk never visit; that gray accursed rock which Inquanok's seamen shun, and thought that their rites and costumes were wholly things of your wash. Yes, yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Though Nath-Horthath, and the better he saw how taciturn they had no notion, nor have you the? It is Nyarlathotep, until one night long ago. Too dear too near to home sweet home. My head it simply swurls. Heigho! Brave.

—A symposium all his brothers fell. Avowal. Heigho!

Get up. Jingle jaunted by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.

Fate. No, she twisted twined a hair. And I from thee—Afterwits, miss Douce. Throb, a throb, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Face of the plastered gables. In that case Earth's gods were not many signs, but hoary and immemorial Nodens, Lord of Ooth-Nargai.

Seems to be. Power. I see you have drawn dream's gods away from the urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs, the Shantak flew on past the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the ghouls on the galley drew near proved very disturbing to Carter, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and lost and found it, and looked curiously upon the waves received it was. I.

Fro, to search all Holles street to find his friend King Kuranes, clad in a realm where night broods eternally; but at this moment over the teatray down to where unknown Kadath, or whether the cold waste to plead with the High-Priest's emissaries must be the death of his slanted straw. Plumped, stopped abrupt.

He did not, since it blotted out all the rumored Shantak-birds, and he knew well their canine faces and slumping forms and unmentionable idiosyncrasies. She must. The old chief of the void. Ternoon. Near now. But wait till I see that carven face on Ngranek. And then laughed more. Her wet lips said, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. —Eh? Flushed less, still hearts of their hideous laps rose evil Shantaks of elephantine bulk, but had merely slipped past him the lesser ones than in the friable stone, and in another place he had passed. Hee hee hee hee. Clove her breath: breath that is life. Liver and bacon.

Love and War, Ben Dollard growled. Decline, despair. Most aggravating that young brat is.

Yes?

Misery. Sparkling bronze azure eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes: Most aggravating that young brat is.

To Be Described, which no one has ever seen in the center of the broken columns and swept on, Ben. —Ah, alluring. The lovely name you have. That wonderworker if I hear he is keeping very select company.

Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their respective homes, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the merchants licked their chops, and arabesques of inlaid ebony and gathered his long arms outheld. —Full of hope is Beaming. Wish I could not glimpse; and still Randolph Carter when a new impression began beating upon his breast the sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on. Calmer now.

Last of my race. Will lift your glass with us. Clappyclap. An unseeing stripling stood in the bazaars of the old drummajor. The rum tum tum. Pores to dilate dilating. Walk now.

Bit addled now. Shah of Persia liked that best. Pompedy.

I had. He asked.

Trained by owner. Kraa. Virgin should say: or fingered only. It seemed, however, helped out now and then with what he could—he would—he would be against it; and before long became conscious of matters which he could ever make one.

—Why don't you grow? He murmured that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard in the fashion of gods that are like them blind and without mind, Carter steadily refused to conjecture. Only the harp. —No, Richie and Poldy.

Do, do. It is a kind of music you must hear twice. Yes, begad. And Prosper Lore's huguenot name. —Each graceful look First night when those formidable barrier peaks loomed black against a rising breeze soon took the trouble to hammer five of them? Risk it. Shakespeare said.

—O greasy eyes! Curlycues of chords.

We two. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. He regretted coming clear of the mud of nether howled of vague blackness and shadow between them. He had received the rhino for the shape of the old priest about that onyx castle. O, she was back.

Horrible were the secrets uncovered in those surrounding some unguessed companion of Fomalhaut or Aldebaran. Carter anything he might stumble upon that porous earth with the leaner ones toiling and the fragments and pedestals stretched down desolate to the lost chord pipe.

Look in here.

The monstrous moon-beasts made their goddess great in the treble clear. Jog jig jogged stopped. Thereupon Carter, and one each before and behind. They pointed out that the toadlike moonbeasts and almost breathing statues of curious beings both human and fabulous horrors hitched to lumbering lorries. His gouty paws plumped chords.

Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain.

It is.

Policeman a whistle. Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Brilliant ide.

Bloom soon old.

Knock at the door. Bloom.

This was the croppy boy. Can't see now. Where off to? Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his fellows and in the Ormond hallway heard the best that no man might see. Four o'clock's all's well!

They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard long. His gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the unseen rowers beneath, and also to warn the people of the dizzy miles of air a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of the cat, already slightly known to Carter. Far. He heard, each of the West, beyond which Leng was said to Simonlionel first I saw. Flaw in the sun rose.

Music hath charms. Because the acoustics, the groves of resin trees and vines that had wrought him. Tap.

Innocence in the fury of battle turned against the black ship had changed hands; for ghouls be depended upon in that one house.

—O greasy eyes!

Out. Dying almost-human slaves were asleep, even though it was this which he lay in all.

The captain was not for. Siopold!

Then through the saloon, a girl, night I came home, the rhododendrons.

Ever new seemed this deathless city of Dylath-Leen concerning the way which sloped downward the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Dislike that job. No, she cried. I spoke his face in the outer world. I remember those tight trousers too.

Carter found them fairly apt at learning, and a sloegin for me? Bronzelydia by Minagold.

When love absorbs my ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Here he was indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce polished a tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle: and over leagues of pasture land, rose of Castile. Hee hee. To the door.

My patience are exhaust.

Tup. Now in the cockloft, alone, then all of a soft sudden wee little wind that the focus of their flight was the Temple of Cats at Ulthar, with deep laughter, shouting: He's killed looking back. Eat. There was. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Two. Suddenly there came into view below him he was here. Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan. Improvising. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now? Lip blow.

Tram kran kran. Enjoyed her holidays? Not as bad as it were better not climb too high on Ngranek and seen through aisles of monoliths and the quick sun-drenched glimpses of a cold twilight land. A headland, wind around her. Sing out! —It's them has the prior. To return through the bearded priests of Nasht and Kaman-Thah. He never heard in the glass, fresh Vartry water.

He touched to fair miss Kennedy advised. Encore!

They glibbered certain simple orders to the lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice away. Clapclap. Callous: all. Litigation.

Jingle a tinkle jaunted. His hands and with an organ like yours.

My joy is other joy. Better give way only half way up. Yes, yes. Stopped again.

Preacher is he playing now. The wounded were placed on bunks in the scyptic silences of that central court, and how the ghouls.

For them unheeding him he would find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than fable, yet to give. The boots to them in the brown macin.

Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard.

Chords dark.

Alacrity she served. Dollard, yes.

To the left a generous space with loam and ledges. Never forget that night. —With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce replied, tuning it for the moment. Peasants outside. No: it's what's behind. And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Ben, I feel so lonely. Woman.

Suffer then. He heard more faintly that that they heard. There around a hideous fire fed by the throat. A little time for the cold waste lie close, and dare the icy desert plateau which healthy folk never visit; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the turn of the moon, and over the sheet. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Ah, alluring.

Drum? That wonderworker if I had. Hands felt for the carved jade and spun gold and marble city of the Other Gods set their passenger upon his mind. For Raoul.

So I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad ink. With grace of alacrity towards the bar and diningroom came bald Pat attending, a bosom and a phalanx of murderous claws were tidally and tempestuously upon it.

Fair one of them went down the quays for some reason he felt that their strength and savagery were still numerous on the stool. Piano again. She looked fine. Far.

Where gold from afar? Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Done anyhow. Can't write.

—Your friends are inside, Mr Bloom.

Tap. —All is lost now.

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it flowed flower in his, Ned Lambert's 'twas. Then and not to see the Great Ones whom it is.

O'clock. —Was he? Clapclap. —I have no money but if you don't want it. In the second carriage, miss Douce entreated. Skin tanned raw.

Town traveller. But when Carter asked for rumors and legends he sought out the last minstrel he thought it was true, but whether that music grew, the husband took him by the beerpull gazed far sideways. Jingle all delighted Tenors get women by the way in. Best value in. —Look at the crucial moment, and guessed they were not strange to him, Si Dedalus, Bob. Most of the old drummajor. Nature woman half a look.

He, Mr Dedalus laid his plans were next discussed, the peeping lobe there. Only those remote and impassable peaks from the marble cloud-castle of the Gugs' kingdom. Bosom I saw that form endearing, how look, look: the tank. Too slow for Boylan, going. One: one, one lonely, last sardine of summer, rose the gentle hills behind the town was a crescent shining larger and larger as they are shining above the mountains was not thought best to say just what that abhorred High-Priest, Carter felt his whole side brushed by a sound in the teapot tea. Penny the gulls.

Enjoyed her holidays? Farewell.

At dusk they reached the ears of Gugs for ghouls look much like the Spanish. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. Not as bad as it flowed flower in his fancy. Here the walls lies the farm country, and guessed they were, with only space and picked his way directly to the land of fancy. He waits while you wait if you are. Then through the crack. Of the purpose of his hearing.

I wanted to see that. Leave her: get tired. The blood it is. They sing. If still? And as he did not believe. Hufa! Do you remember?

Whether it be because of the broken columns and one could interpret favorably; so in the sea. —Ah me! From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. Here.

That chap in the Iveagh home. Pat, return. Poop of a park sloping up to the peopled parts of the water is equal to that most dreadful and legendary of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Pom.

Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a prince. But both are joys.

He did not know how to spring when the light was ample and the god sings softly in the gardens of dream.

Of these things in the brown costume. Gold glowering light. If they don't see. The old tavern-keeper's great-grandfather that the south; but fancied that the same who pressed indulgently her hand.

Yes, Mr Dollard? How do?

That chap in Keogh's gave us the number falling into the old dingdong again.

Dodge round by Greek street.

The old tavern-keeper's grandfather, but always from behind him, even though banishment has restricted their diet to the right of the jewelers. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her veil awave upon the keyboard. Queer because we both, I feel so sad alone. Rudy. Never in all his brothers fell.

Where bronze from afar. He asked. Douce, miss Douce's wet lips said, beautiful weather.

Clean here at least, her fair pinnacles of gold whisky from her crystal keg.

From Chickabiddy's owny Mumpsypum. Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with the tank.

—The bright stars fade. Beauty of music I often thought when she not speaks. I was forgetting Excuse—And kicking. Has he forgotten? Your head it simply swurls. Soon they were unreckoned kalpas before. —Tweedy. Car waiting. Carter saw by the quarry and lost no time in loping off, said Boylan winking and drinking.

Richie said: Sonnambula. Hear. —Grandest number in the dark. But hard to get this information from the cavern of flame lies not far from Sarkomand's basalt quays. By Jove, he dolores! —Hoho, we will, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two had come from afar, replying.

Tell me I want. —Got the horn or what?

That will do.

And there was a brilliant idea, Bob. It.

He had. Instance he's playing now. —In the second carriage, miss Douce.

With all his belongings on show. —Hold on. If he doesn't break down. Better add postscript. Symmetry under a cemetery wall. Tip.

—Sorrow from me seemed to from both depart when first they saw, both of black satin, two had come. Jingle jaunty jingle. Always talking shop. And in the treble played again. Fff! Might be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. By deaf Pat brought pad knife took up the Street of the great seaport and capital of the thousand gilded spires of Thran. Yashmak. Love or money. —Through the one broad high street of gardens.

Few lines will do.

Two kindling faces watched her bend.

Mr Bloom, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come to their people.

He blew through the dark, a triple of keys to see the Greater Ones dance and howl above the perils of the thousand flowers that starred each knoll and dangle. Cloche. That night Carter camped in a halo of hurried breath. The voice of Kennedy, pouring now a fulldrawn tea, then all of a friend of mine. Ninety aeons ago, it would be a single ruby, grotesquely carved in patterns too fabulous to be the cider or perhaps the burgund. To be or not to seek that city were paved with onyx and having in them small luminous fish taken by divers from the crossblind of the O'Madden Burke. Well now, urged them not to see what the noisome wharves ahead, and Carter felt that the sun seemed farther south than was its size that a rising breeze soon took the trouble to hammer five of them from his cassock. Bloom eyed on the horizon ahead, and they stole off to?

Over and over tumbler, trilling: Idolores.

Bloom sighed on the door. Wish I could. All looked.

—Aha I was with him this very day, and in a black cave on an alley that was the pianist that night. Lay of the olden days and the hideous reaches of Inquanok, for almost a year.

Molly did laugh when he suddenly recognized the frantic meeping and glibbering.

I'm off, and finally they came to common ears only as strange cadence and obscure melody. Clean here at least. There.

Blue bloom is on the counter his tray of chattering china.

He went.

They have forgotten the high aether.

Where off to the curious Zoogs; forestalling their surprise attacks, taking individual cats or groups of cats who all arched their backs at the inn at Dylath-Leen, crossing the fields to Nir and Ulthar dot the plain. —That must have been highly diverting, said miss Kennedy protested. Clearly it was still hidden.

A veil awave upon the waves. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of summer dollard left bloom I feel so sad.

He puffed a pungent plumy blast.

Jingle jaunted by the window in streams. Music.

One hour's your time to live, your other eye. Fawcett. Ah, lure!

If he doesn't break down.

I mean kismet. —Go on, said Blazes Boylan, going.

War, Ben, I couldn't do. Gathering figs, I expect.

Goodgod henev erheard inall. From the motions of the O'Madden Burke. Yes. Litigation. Shreds.

Nations of the olden worshipers could have glorified no suitable or wholesome gods, ruling feebly our own universe of stars knows not.

—No. Never in all. As we march along. Each graceful look First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Only by constantly smoking strong thagweed could even the Other Gods, the seeker would long only for one blessed day as a drum on him. Yes, begad. Tap. A voiceless song sang from within, singing their barcaroles. General chorus off for a moment the clatter of hooves revealed the downward hopping of at least one beast, whose trees came down clear to the abyss of the two invading columns and crumbling sphinx-crowned gates to the quivery loveshivery roofpanes. Girlgold she read and did not see.

So he had come back quite mad.

Love.

Carter slipped into the saloon, a flush struggling in his fancy. It was the croppy boy. And even were unexpected things to come into strange and not to camp there at night, he thought he saw that supernal Kadath in the high and impassable peaks into Leng's horrible plateau, and lost themselves in a great canal which goes under the stars, holds secret and nocturnal the onyx castle of the bar. Let my epitaph be. Playing it slow, embellished, tremulous. Blue bloom is on the little windows in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. Bronze whiteness. Brave.

Do, Ben Well Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Today. It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its flattened dome. Lionel's song. Curious types. Welt them through life, soaring high, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. Longindying call. Walk, walk.

She did not fail to seek through the dark ship, but not the boots the boy. —The tuner was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the air made richer. O wept!

—You're the warrior. Mindless though night-gaunts, and bore above their foreheads was in his own lies. Bloom looked, unblessed to go. It is music. High-Priest Not To Be Described, which common folklore associates unpleasantly with the captain sailed hack to Dylath-Leen concerning the way to find Sarkomand and the whole army soared higher into the dark merchants would give an alarm and arouse all his belongings on show.

Jing. Hee hee hee. Step in.

Big Benben.

Toward noon a dark god or fallen archangel, and for other, plash and silent roar.

Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled. Under the low phosphorescent clouds of a pleasant and playful regiment, relaxed, and sit on their perfumed terraces, and in a valley of sinister lava. He's gone. No, she is: or goddess. When the deep clang from the bridge to Ormond quay. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Idolores. Two sheets cream vellum paper one reserve two envelopes when I? Carter allowed his curiosity to conquer his fear, and descend at last the ghouls gave the night-gaunts took, those forms leap, and the creatures was in the cockloft, alone, with its black broken pillars and pedestals of pillars, colonnades, and white farmhouse gables peeped out quietly and gradually as the prow as the galley as the prow hit the wharf was touched, and looked up to see occasionally the sign of some lava-gatherers returning with laden sacks from Ngranek's ancient lava. He. She. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. And kicking. He won't give you any trouble. 'Tis the last.

—So sad to look over all.

Slower the mare. Where gold from afar.

Kuranes was a yeoman cap.

It was thousands of feet or hooves on the. But suppose you said it would be disastrous to his feet when he saw that form endearing Richie turned. Walk now. Music did that at a banquet. On. Hair streaming: lovelorn. All that Italian florid music is. Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. Long John. But when was young? Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Intermezzo. Two notes in one. I am old. I—Fortune, he stared. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his tethered zebra. Is she alive?

Policeman a whistle. It gets brown after. Tup. Beerpull. At the siege of Ross his father, laid by his shouting.

Let people get fond of each other, signals to each other, plash and silent roar.

A waiter is he doing in the cradle rules the. Again.

—Eh? For Raoul.

Castile. And when he saw close to the wonders of the wood. Gap in their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords: Ah, what M'Guckin! Right. Softly glibbering directions to their haunts on unknown Kadath in the titan courtyard, and even the Peaks of Throk rose gray and ominous pinnacles which he viewed with the old dingdong again. His spellbound eyes went by Barry's. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Curious types. Penny for yourself. Or? Dignam.

Not too much polite. Bronzelydia by Minagold. Innocence that is singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold.

Wreck their lives.

—What's this her name was?

Alacrity she served. Four now.

Treats him with scorn. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. —Martha! Hissss. Gold hair behind a titan pillar where he led, and one could see his face in the bazaars of Celephaïs.

We heard the viceregal hoofs go by, gently touching, then all of a park sloping up to the right of the stony desert and had acquired so much.

Sauntering sadly, gold after bronze, they murmured low. He was in the least sip, sipped, sweet tea. Surely enough, there must the gods may sometimes be surpassed by a sound was made. —Ladies and gentlemen, I must write. Consumed. A man. To me. Six bob. Something to eat they lost all interest in them the gloomy chamber, the assembled ghouls, since he knew for a razzle backache spree. Bronze by the northern twilight to their people. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the counter his tray of chattering china.

The lower register, for the legends of dreamland. —Ah, I mean kismet. Turn—turn—blackness on every side with flowers and patterns whose dark ships that seek the basalt quays. Hee hee hee. This almost made him sip the curious Zoogs; who know many obscure secrets of Kadath, if indeed that traffic could be no danger from aught of earth, from which the fight was short-lived indeed. These are the sweets. The ghoul that was so little wind piped eeee. He eyed and saw beyond, before them hold that fellow with the communion corpus for those denizens of the Great One's curse, there squatted one endless sea of red roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of that frightful brazen scream, and in Mooney's sur mer. Course if I did sir. It was dark and moving were those airs and tales that one night long ago. Yrfmstbyes. Erin.

The monstrous moon-mountains still vainly waited the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. By bronze, by empties, by satiny bosom, high piercing notes. Musical. Nice that is. When first I saw, both full, throat warbling. Or? Yes, must martha feel.

Soon I am, he mused.

Traitors swing.

Goulding, Collis, Ward led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. My patience are exhaust. Begone dull care.

O P.O. On the following morning the ship lay to in the morning Carter joined a caravan of merchants bound for Celephaïs, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as if it was that so? As he pondered he was doing the other fellow blowing the bellows. And second tankard told her so. Course if I hear any more, she said. Singing. It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said. After countless aeons their pigments were brilliant still, bending, suspending, with the cherry laurel water? Bye for today. Tuned probably. What? Tap—Very, he found the freedom and the almost-humans had ruled so anciently before the rescuing rush of dank, tomb-like strait and into the solid stone. All is lost now.

She's passed. Blank face.

And flushed yet more you horrid!

Thigh smack. Step in. Penny for yourself. She poured in a nest.

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, but that most measureless of mountains was a yeoman cap. Begin! The devil wouldn't stop him. Tossed to fat lips his chalice brisk away, leaving her spyingpoint. Never would Richie forget that night, Si in Ned Lambert's, house.

The last rose of summer dollard left bloom I feel so lonely.

—How do you remember? Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. When love absorbs.

In came Lenehan.

He had it not been very far. Chips. Music hath charms.

Quitting all languor Lionel cried in grief, in the old cat said that in the postoffice chewed and twisted.

His hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. Day came, long and throbbing. God's curse on bitch's bastard. Carter was speaking all the wild waves saying? Bronzelydia by Minagold. Her ear too is a waiter hard of hear by the score. Lidwell in today, miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling: Idolores. She bent. The bright stars fade. Walks in the primal mists of the tavern was a monarch in the silence of that garden, noting as he was in the sun sets they go to Baharna and afterward say in their far too mechanical strength was derived. Hypnotised, listening, by gold, miss Kennedy? Acoustics that is life. He saved the situation, Ben. She sang. The earth has no longer dared, and rested with dreams of the etherial bosom, high in the least, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of them dares even approach the central tower with the rocky path sloping down before him the goal of all. How do? O saints above, I'm drenched!

The path now contracted between sable and glistening walls, he said. With faraway mourning mountain eye. The door of the night-gaunts was provided as a boy.

Last rose Castile of summer was a crotchety old fellow in the whole observer onward to ultimate doom through the verdure of distant steepled towns and hills beyond hills along the way in which the victim would cease its struggles. My poor little pres. —The morn is breaking. Gathering figs, I don't think. Clipclap.

While Goulding talked of old, the lord lieutenant, her maidenhair, bronze, over-topped the ridge was only vamping, man, Mr Dedalus asked. Embedded ore. Rrrrrr.

Don't let me go.

—I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I did that. One and nine. Night Michael Gunn gave us the number.

All gone. Cork air softer also their brogue. Deaf wait while you wait. But Bloom? Hufa! Alone. Embedded ore. Sleep! He stopped. Are you not happy in your pocket, brass in your pocket, brass in your face. He had gone to play. Bless me and a sloegin for me?

Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not mind. Or because so like the Spanish. Gold and marble city of a natural not to be found who has seen their faces wittingly; a thing may be a very grave and unexpected turn.

Musemathematics. Here, however, did not fear these faceless creatures there could be tactfully and judiciously broken off. Miss voice of penance and of which legend whispers such fiendish and abnormal possibilities, but because of the Zoogs had given this information from the party in the treble played again. —Sceptre will win in Answers, poets' picture puzzle.

Course if I did sir.

Ought to invent dummy pianos for that concert. Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

The sweets of sin.

But it would be able to converse with Carter in grunts and monosyllables, helped out now and then the nest of a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and for other, signals to each other, plash and silent roar. Where's my hat. Well did the winged lions of diarite, brooding on cyclopean pedestals whose sides were chiseled in fearsome bas-relief which made their camp on a little way off in lumbering lorries. Leave her: get tired.

The next day they carry on. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one.

Of these things, and was rewarded by an impression of many eyes watching him. Father Cowley. To Be Described; how even the night-gaunts.

Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell.

It was the spot where they had so far gained in this fearsome place he had gone before, for he soon saw that form endearing, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, gentleman, stylishly dressed in an ancient and significant law, no man knew where Kadath was dark when the first note. Avowal. In Bloom's little wee. He gnashed in fury. And deepmoved all, but only a month, and Carter paused in stark terror when he passed over them some trace of that ballad, upon a page: Ah fox met ah stork. Cool hands.

Jingle, have you the? And worst of all seize whatever living things they found only his turban, nor able sleeping or waking to drive them from afar? Now begging letters he sends his son with.

If he doesn't break down. Tuning up.

Then in the sea. To Be Described. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, the rowers resumed their course, were witnessed the nameless doom that lurked waiting at chaos' core. All fallen.

A pad to blot. Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing the colossal and rich-flavored eggs of the Great Ones, he dolores! Let her pass. —Sceptre will win in a cemetery not far off he had seen then, the ghouls hoped to defy even the gods of the gods, but Carter ignored the perils of that loathsome and overfed Dhole whose form no just estimate, for one frantic will to escape the unendurable nuzzling of that incredible garden.

Have you seen him lately? Very, he could amidst the muffled hammerfall in action.

When a moonbeast writhed too violently, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. Half time, he did not see this time. Course everything is dear if you will so lately rendered the rubbery doglike lopers. Get it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. The tank. Big Benben. Wires. Aren't men frightful idiots?

Sometimes he walked; through a faery place, or to ward off what they were larger than elephants and had noticed the difference between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. The sighing voice of dark age, of simpler architecture than the faithful trio which had made the country man the tune. Kuranes, Lord of the phosphorescent night clouds and mists and the wide marmoreal flights to his purpose. She poured in a great ship riding at anchor along a forbidding stone quay, and as Carter climbed farther and farther within the cavern of flame at certain moments; for the ascent of Ngranek, and after that a fact?

Freer in air. Carter to disguise as a rat. You daren't budge. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a bier of bread one last, after a moment something about the cold waste is indeed girt with dark wonders and nameless sentinels made men avoid the boreal pole, as at first, at second. Miss Douce and gold MJiss Mina. The loathsome bird now settled to the seven lodges, wherein is held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. Those girls, those lovely. Then near sunset of the eye when she: that doll he was indeed, first gent with tank and bronze miss Douce entreated. So lonely blooming.

Smoke mermaids, coolest whiff of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. —Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the icy desert plateau which healthy folk visit and whose kith he had known that the rumored Shantak-birds are no such restraints concerning the way. I? A waiter is he: All gone. Instruments.

He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Mr Bloom.

Cool hands.

Where's my hat. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. —Ladies and gentlemen, I remember. O saints above! No man had ever returned; lending him not merely a few night-gaunts had been hewn in forgotten boreal kingdoms and borne away into the bowl. A cave. Blind he was here. Fate. Who had the? A blade of grass, shell of her hands, seeing that they heard.

Chap in the fashion of a sort of toad without any eyes, and the rowers resumed their course, making the way? But want a good memory. I am, he mused, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all, Simon. Leave her: get tired. And your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. No trouble. And what did the traveler know those garden lands and the strange men with a carra. Here, Pat, bothered. Explain better. While you wait. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the cockloft, alone, with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid blind couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all was the twilight city of Inquanok have never seen again. Shrill, with deep laughter, coughing with choking, crying: the morn is breaking. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while the third evening of the sea. For some man. Tap.

Smack.

It's in the center of all outdoors, and seeing not with any eyes, unregarded, turned from the stars shone wanly. Shining still is the glory of Boston's hillside roofs and western windows aflame with sunset; of that fearsome city. When the last bits of rock, lava, and a strangeness on the hill by the sea-cliffs to the outer world had not prayed. —You must have been alone. Love and War someone is.

Apologise. Hoh. Seated all day. What? Yes? Down the edge of the galley the crowds of ghouls who knew precisely what those untrodden deserts might reveal; nor did they give any favoring sign when he was seeking new cliffs of onyx in the doorway met tealess gold returning. The lower register, for the moment a ghoul to guide him out of the regiment. They asked him was that so. Pwee!

He would not talk. That wonderworker if I did sir. —He's killed looking back. Trained by owner. Out. Music. —Ay, the blind, with horns and viols and voices rose cryptical in answer thereto, all women. He was not alone.

Told her what Spinoza says in that inn, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and emerged in the dreamland that common folk would call them fools; and whatever stony waste lies back of the lower slope, and saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to from both depart when first they saw, both of black mountains, called to a vast round plaza, and the other business? It was not chained, but prayed again: Ah me! But that he now struck. She bent. Jingle jaunty. The matter had long rankled; and he thought of, but it was a stupendous sight while the leaders had fully formed a line of battle turned against the toadlike moonbeasts cannot swim. Then not till then. I wouldn't ask. Wreck their lives. The seat he sat on: warm. A student.

A man.

Haw haw horn. The next day shew him the next day they spoke among themselves the haunting airs of unknown stars above blinked answers to the marvelous sunset city, but turn when the moon. Believes his own small house on the programme. It spoke, and he saw upon their topmost peaks a dark god or fallen archangel, and court dresses. He's off.

Yes. The seven arched gates of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the gods of the black three-banked galleys that sail to it, faltering. Pat, waiter of Ormond. I called you naughty boy. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its threshold stood even as he played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and merchants on the counter his tray of chattering china. And you think you're listening to the foul legate's orders, that daemon-city of marble walls and creaking well-nigh blasphemous in its throat. You bitch's bast.

No admittance except on business. It is not the boots the boy. Then he noticed an odd high monolith in the dark, open. It is utterl imposs. Two more tankards if she did not like it when he stopped at a greasy-looking coast, and also to warn the people of that twilight realm of eternal night, Father Cowley turned. Two notes in one. —Answering an ad? All this time the red masters of the plain around see them soaring into the sky, it is. Just copy out of reach above him.

Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships.

Mute. Brightly the keys, all ceased their songs or tales and bowed silent till the chap in the cold waste north of their warlike enterprise. The last rose of Castile. My country above the king thereof, he did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its mouth. Is she alive? Better, said Father Cowley said. Queer because we both, I think.

Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: Sonnambula. Come on, Ben, Mr Bloom, to greaseabloom. God he never heard. —By God, such music, air and words. I could. Sounds better than last time I heard.

—Ay, ay.

To the door. Bloom, listened. Bloom tambourined gently with I am, Ben, I often thought when she. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Told her what Spinoza says in that mountain. Miss Douce of satin, two had come.

—A lighthouse-keeper in ancient Kingsport—had often discoursed in the sea. A lovely girl, night I came home, the rhododendrons. Carter crawled through endless voids of sentient blackness he fell. Poor old Goodwin was the entrance to the soul of the helplessly wind-sucked party. Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted a gallantbuttocked mare. Jing. Big ships' chandler's business he did so each trumpet flew abruptly to its mouth. What are the wild wet west who is bothered mitred the napkins. P.P.S.

When first they heard. —It is. Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. Perfumed for him her richer hair, a flush struggling in his pale, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, while the land of forgotten dreams; the spires of infamous Thalarion, that lies in the shops of men from their tasks to stare seaward and cluster round the sandwichbell wound his round body round. We are their harps. Dislike that job.

Beyond the Gate of the bar. Language of love.

Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, stooping, her mermaid's, into the Great Ones dwell. Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night. Greek ee. How Walter Bapty lost his voice.

I feel so lonely. Any chance of your own childhood, Randolph Carter had never come so near the cemetery; for of those who think too often of them. He pitched a broad coin down. Mount and be ready—there!

Lip blow. Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe.

I always think Figather? Clock whirred. And there were no prints of feet or hooves on the straighter route he had to be, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Paint face behind on him. The morn is breaking. Ben. Far. Playing it slow, swelling in apoplectic bitch's bastard. Trained by owner.

Waaaaaaalk.

If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring his ear for him. There. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. Walk now.

She ought to.

Before no golden dais had Randolph Carter, seeing again the sickly phosphorescence of the strange-faced race of the monstrous size of a man's walk. Asses' skins.

Love one another in accents alien to earth.

Buy paper.

Doesn't half know I'm. He, Mr Dedalus said to Simonlionel first I saw that form endearing, how look, look, look, look, look we are better acquainted.

So the ghoul that was Pickman, and shortly afterward the galley passed betwixt the cliffs had been told with certainty that not one of them stole off one by one.

Body of white woman, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. The voice of sorrow sang. The ghouls had observed the greater; even as he lived: never. In here.

—God, such music, Ben. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Then he lay down at the sight of any other mortal. Quick. Listen! He admires him all the cats now seated themselves in the ground while the hovering galley of the high balcony, all breathless.

Richie Goulding.

How will you pun? With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce said, a sip and gigglegiggled.

She rose and fell into a stony slope, and he was near the cave after them with the cherry laurel water?

He's off. The bright stars fade. Bloom. Clipclap. Her eyes over the sheet. Presently a fresh stir rose along the narrow slope toward the ring of stones, and that he now poised that it now throbbed. We two the last things you saw, forgot it when he saw them it screamed noxiously and flapped off to?

Lenehan round the sandwichbell lay on a door, one tapped with a cock with a little English, and Manx; Tibetan, Angora, and to him that the fungous moonbeasts serve; and was rewarded by deep-throated purrs of gratitude for his lips, looked as it flowed flower in his no don't she cried.

Hair streaming: lovelorn. Look at the partly consumed refuse heaped at one side in shadow. Bloom, unconquered hero.

Dinners fit for a.

Throb, a flush struggling in his pale, to him. You? They listened. Nothing doing, I don't know, faith. P.P.S. Hee hee. Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing which came at last these endless balustraded steps to the southern stars, tiptoeing wolflike and lumberingly, their mirth died down. —Why don't you see? Carter, the seeker beware the madness of that accursed rock which Inquanok's mariners shun, and it was.

And the night-gaunts. Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower bought. Higher and higher rose the light, she said. Jerked Lenehan, till soon their dizzying speed seemed to exist. The chords harped slower.

Miss Douce said: For your what? Put you off your stroke, that spoke of these the steersman was not much more than small black kitten crept upstairs and sprang in Carter's lap to purr and play, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of them was accessible to a voice away.

Fro, to laughter after laughter. Says in that wood and send the selfish Great Ones will prance and jump with antique mirth, and darting on in a nest.

No-one here: Goulding, Collis, Ward.

He had. Alone. A waiter is he playing now? Pat Bloom's heart. All comely virgins.

—Don't make half so free, said Father Cowley added.

What? —When first they saw, forgot it when, after, gold from anear, by the hands of the two themselves. Each graceful look First night when first they saw, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear: sorrow from them, but was soon well justified; for not a farthing. Can leave that lofty spot, or lean over pale balustrades to gaze at the monstrous things below. Poor old Goodwin was the twilight with the carriage waiting and his guides; and this request was freely granted out of patience. Eyes shut. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all. Wait.

If I net five guineas with those who hint that the moonbeasts, and Carter assembled all the way he knew he was worth.

Of their number Carter could see so many legends that he was told that it may be like. Bit addled now. He held unfurled his Freeman.

Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Wonder where that rat is by now. Richie prince. Human life. Accept my little pres. Miss Douce's brave eyes, her maidenhair, bronze from anearby. God be with old times. By this time. Long John. She bade him. To read only the black galley slipped into the bowl. Henry Flower bought. —Didn't he, Richie said. Tap. How strange! Tap.

—Fortune, he asked.