#but i thought i should add the profession of the other two bad ads women there

[akaashisupremacy]

Seal it with a Kiss

Summary: Atsumu believes he can find happiness if he keeps searching. How can he convince you of his love for you to stay? 

Notes: This fic combines my love for fuccboi!Atsumu and the stuff he can say to make me swoon lol. Read till the end for ultimate butterflies 🦋✨

Feb Fic List || Masterlist || Read it on A03

Miya Atsumu  x reader  

genre: friends to lovers, angst to fluff, pining  (wc: 1.2k)

“You have no idea how in love I am with you and how much I’m trying to be better because i know you deserve more.”

On your third date, Atsumu professes his love for you. There’s a huge interval between your first date and the next two—in part because you thought the first date was a prank and that Atsumu wasn’t being sincere about actually wanting to date you.

But he kept asking to go on another and you eventually gave in.

“I bet I’m not the first person you’re ‘in love’ with that you’ve said that phrase to.” you snort, leaning against the railing of a bridge. You’ve been friends with Atsumu long enough to be sure that that line isn’t original. Still it’s taking all your self-control to keep yourself from reeling . There’s just something so irresistible about him.

Atsumu falls in love quickly, and falls out of love even quicker. His last two relationships didn’t even last three months. He’s charming, attractive and overall shit at keeping relationships, but logically speaking, you know him the best among all the women he’s dated. You’re long familiar with his quirks and eccentricities and his apparent lack of filter (which is his Achilles' heel in most relationships), so if he can make things last with anyone, it should be with you, right?

“But you are the person I love the most. Truly. And you are too good for me, but I’m too crazy about you to simply let you go.” he smiles, looking up at the night sky with his hands in his pockets. He looks hopeful and optimistic, especially next to your aura of indignation.

For a brief moment, it’s enough to make you swoon. His smile melts your heart just a bit and you can’t stop yourself from smiling back. It’s difficult not to be hooked on his sincerity.

“That and I always found you kinda hot.” he cheekily grins. You smack his arm in reply.

The moon is bright and the air is abuzz with activity. Osaka is another city in Japan that hardly sleeps. In the wee hours of the morning, the city lights continue to flash and its residents roam through the night.

Despite all his flaws, you admire how unafraid—almost reckless—he is when it comes to love. He is never daunted to take his stab at happiness even if he repeatedly fails and even if he will put your long-time friendship at stake.

“Those are big words.” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest reigning in your feelings, “Especially for someone who’s last few relationships—”

He waves dismissively, “Have some faith. You’ll be the one to break the streak.”

He takes a deep breath, feeling resigned at your disbelief. He puts a hand around your elbow and tugs.

“I have an idea.”

He drags you through the city, weaving through one street to another. Atsumu walks pretty quickly, so by the time you’ve caught up with your breath to ask where you’re going, you’re already there.

Why on earth are you on this date again?

“Why the fuck are we at an empty cathedral?” you whisper, exasperated.

Instead of replying, he drags you through the center of the aisle and only stops in front of the altar. Your disapproval turns into mild panic.

“I’m not marrying you tonight,” you gesture vigorously.

“You don’t have to.” he says flatly, eyes fixed on the center.

When you’re both in front of the altar, he gently takes your hands into his own and places them near his chest. You’re both standing across each other, barely lit by the small lights on the walls.

You look at the aisle then back at him. He kisses the palm of your hand and you tentatively walk closer to him. Your lips start to quiver.

“Don’t hurt me after you make me fall in love with you.” you say in a whisper as if you’re pleading. He slowly nods.

“I take you to be the one for me, to have and to hold in good times and in bad, for richer for poorer,” he enunciates the words slowly. “In sickness and in health until death do us part.”

“Is that enough of a promise?” he adds.

It’s your turn to nod.

You walk closer to him and interlace your fingers with his. His face tilts and leans into yours, and he seals the evening with a kiss.

✧  🎀  -------------------------------------------------------  🎀  ✧

A/N: I wrote this as a sequel follow up for an Atsumu angst/fluff one shot (because I had wayy too much fun) where I write out his first date with reader. Check it out hehe 👀 If you enjoy my content, come support my ✨follower event✨ 😊🥺

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar @francxsca

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! :D

[vodkastinger]

US First Lady Hillary Clinton meets Donatella Dini, (architect) Gae Aulenti, Monica Vitti, (neuroscientist and Nobel Prize winner for Medicine and Biology) Rita Levi-Montalcini, Rose-Anne Bartholomew and��Sophia Loren during an official visit to Rome on June 3, 1994.

[ironwoman18]

The Worst Third Date Ever part 17

Chapter 17: The Aftermath

A few hours later Max arrived to the hospital. She walked to his room, and there were Diana and Penelope.

She stood there, leaning against the door frame as both women talk about him.

"Has he been here before?" Asked Diana "in the hospital, like this?" Max was wondering the same.

"Yes" her heart skip a beat, just imagined him like this.

"Were you here for him?"

Penelope nodded and smiled "yes"

"Aw, how awful"

"It was, actually" she looked down and then looked at the door, Penelope realized there was Max and continued "and then there was the time agent Hotchner was in the hospital. And Morgan's wife" Max did not know her but she met him and she just could imagined him been worry about her "and JJ earlier this year, and... me" she seemed like remember that day and the usually happy Penelope's face turned into a sober face "Yeah, I've... I've actually been in hospital more times than I am caring to admit. Sometimes I think there's got to be a better way, you know?" She looked sad and thoughtful "there's got to be a better place"

"There is. There is for all of us" Diana commented and then turned and saw Max "oh Max, come in"

She walked in and smiled "sorry but my dad asked me to take a nap before I returned here, I haven't sleep since yesterday" she looked at Spencer in his bed "how is he?"

"He is stable. He opened his eyes for a brief moment and the doctor said it was good" explained Penelope, then Max nodded and held his hand gently.

"Good, I'm happy he is getting better" Diana rubbed Max's back.

"I'm more happy you found him" she said looking at her son's girlfriend "it could have been worse if you didn't find him soon"

"Thanks JJ, she told me about his accident" she smiled with some tears "he's so stubborn that I bet he wouldn't let the paramedics check him"

"Yeah, you are right" then Diana told them some events in his life where he was stubborn and both, Max and Penelope, laughed softly. Then Diana looked at him and smiled "Spencer, I saw some cumuliform heaps today" then she looked at the two women "his favorite clouds. I plucked that for him. Everything is up there and we pluck what we want when we want and we let go what we don't"

"That sounds very good" Penelope said "ok, I'm plucking a memory about Spencer's eyes, and they are brown with gold on the outside" Max smiled at that.

"Oh yeah his eyes are beautiful, but I think they are gold on the inside" both looked at Max when she said so then she added "I'm plucking a memory about his smiles. That sweet smile he has when he throw facts about things or even his little smirk when he wins at poker or chess" Penelope and Diana nodded.

"Yeah he learned to play poker when he was little and before he moved to Virginia to do the profiling course at the FBI, he was banned to walk in the biggest casinos in the city"

"He told me and I tried to warm my sisters and dad but they didn't listen"

Then suddenly they saw Spencer opening his eyes and Diana said "gold on the inside"

"Hey, we were just plucking memories of you" said Penelope smiling

"I heard you" he said with a raspy voice "forgot how much I loved those clouds, mom. You helped me remember" he said looking at his mom then looked at Max "hey Max, I'm happy to see you" he smiles gently.

"I'm happy to see you too" she leaned in and kisses his forehead running her hand on his hair "I was so worry about you sweetheart"

Then Diana looked at the nurse from Brookfield and said her son "Spencer, maybe I can come back tomorrow and we can watch clouds together"

"Am I alive, or is this heaven?"

"Sweetie, you are very much alive" Penelope and Max signed as Diana rubbed his hair "I will see you tomorrow" then she turned to Max "take good care of him, ok?"

"Don't worry, I will" she smiled looking at him.

"I'm not worry. I know it" Diana Reid smiled and left the room with her nurse.

Both women turned to him "Can I have some water?" He asked still a little dizzy

"Sure babe" she called the nurse and when she arrived Max asked if they can give him some water. She nodded and returned with some ice cubes.

"He can't drink from a glass yet so we have these cubes" she handed her some and Max gave him some and when he was satisfied she put them away.

"Now rest Spencer, you are still too weak" said Max softly running a hand on his hair. He did not need to hear it twice, he just closed his eyes again and fall asleep, Max kissed his head.

Meanwhile Penelope got a call from the team telling her Lynch was dead. She got excited, then they mentioned her that Rossi broke his leg so they were heading to the hospital.

JJ asked her about Spencer, she told her and the rest of the team the situation then hung up and walked inside.

"They catch Lynch. He's dead so I told Anderson and Fernandez to leave" she looked at Spencer.

"Good news, that Lynch was a really bad guy, huh?"

"Yes he was. He made the house exploded and that made boy wonder to have that concussion" Max looked at her then at him "but he talked and he knew who we were, and I'm sure his brain is ok" Max nodded.

"I think so too. Now that he woke up I'm less worry" she looked at him "when I found him, his breathing was slow and so was his pulse" Penelope held her hand "it was horrible"

"I'm sure it was. But thanks to you and your dad, he is alright"

"Yeah... you are right" she smiled "and... um... how did you end up in the hospital? I mean you're not a field agent like Spence"

"Oh... um... well that happened because I was trying to help the families of some unsolved cases. The guy thought I was investigating him so he fake to have a date with me and shoot me in front of my apartment building"

"Oh my..."

"Yeah and he ended up been a man with hero complex who shoot people to try to act like a hero. But then his victims died and he was the hero even though the people died" Max looked at her and nodded "thankfully JJ shoot and kill him"

"Oh that's great and I'm happy that man can't bother you anymore" Max said looking at her "and why were you so sad when you said that you wish there's got to be a better place?"

Penelope sighed "well, mostly because this job affected me emotionally, I have to watch dead people, I have to read terrible things that causes people to kill and I have to visit hospitals more often than the average people" she looked at Spencer in bed "so I'm thinking seriously about leaving the BAU, using my abilities to do something least dangerous and I will be helping too"

"I understand, I have been dating Spencer for a while, if we include dates without been a couple, and I'm nervous when he goes on a case. I love him and I want him to do what he loves but also to be safe"

"That's what I feel about my furry friends, they meant a lot to me and if I lose any of them, I would be devastated. That's why I think it's better to leave and don't see more gory thing" Max nodded.

"Did you tell them?"

"I mentioned an opportunity in the Silicon Valley but I'm thinking to see if I can find something like that here. This is my home with my friends and I don't want to move there"

"I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities here for you. Programming is a profession with lots of opportunities"

"Thank you for listening Max. I will add you to the BAU girls WhatsApp group to invite you to our wild parties on weekends" Max laughed softly.

"I would love to but only on weekends. I'm an art teacher and I need to be sober for my little angels" she smirked gently "and I'm thankful because you made me relax. I was tense with all this" the two women hugged each other.

Then Penelope's phone vibrated "hey JJ, what's up?"

"We are in the hospital. Where are you?"

"I'm at Spencer's room with Max"

"Ok which one?"

"Room 229" said the TA of the BAU.

"Ok see you" they hung up.

"It was JJ, she wants to see Spencer and talk to us for a while" Max nodded then they walked out the room and the blonde woman walked to them with Luke "hey blondie and newbie what are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you too Garcia" said the man rolling his eyes but with a little smile "hello Max, how's Reid?"

"He's stable, he woke up and talked to us and his mom. He wanted water but since he was weak they gave him some ice cube"

"What did the doctor say?" Asked JJ.

"She said it was a good sign but they have to wait. I guess tomorrow they will run some test to see his brain. But our baby genius is weak as Max said"

"Can we see him? Oh by the way Penelope, Dave broke his leg. You should go see him. He's in an ER room" said JJ.

"Sure, he's sleeping but you can go in, I will go get something to eat and we can go to see David" JJ nodded at Max and then both of them walked to find Rossi while JJ and Luke checked Spencer.

Luke talked to him wishing he got better soon so they can keep kicking bad guys butts and then decided to leave JJ alone with him.

There was a silence while Luke walked out the room then the blonde woman walked to him "Spence... I know you can hear me and... I... I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you from that explosion and that i wasn't more stubborn than you and forced you to check your head... maybe this would never happen and you would have been there when Everett Lynch died" she wiped the tears off her eyes "when you get better I will tell you everything and I hope it would be very soon" she leaned in and kissed his forehead "sleep well" then she left the room and walks back to the ER to check out Rossi who was getting a cast.

Then Max returned to Spencer's room alone. Penelope had to go home and JJ offered her the ride and the other members of the team needed to sleep.

Max laid on the couch with a pillow and a blanket the hospital gave her and falls asleep hugging an Spencer shirt that she took from his closet while he was taking a shower.

It was her teddy bear when he was not with her. She was happy he survived this and that he still will be with her.

OOooOOooOO

This chapter was more focus on showing what happened before and after he woke up in the hospital, with the addition of Max in it.

Hope you liked it. I'm sure where I should finish this story because I would like to show more of their relationship, his proposal, their marriage and when they have kids but I am not sure if I should let the time move slowly or do time jumps. What do you think?

[solipschistic]

Bruh I live for the validation that comes with shutting down self proclaimed “intellectuals” on reddit. The people who seem to have a raging hard on for “owning the libs” tend to be in this group.

Like, how are you going to try to defend someone like Jordan Peterson? I point out a number of reasons why he’s a shitty person with a shitty following, and instead of adding anything relevant to the discussion, or provide counter points, he points out that I made two whole grammatical errors, adds a comment that says women are more likely to take on care taker roles and proceeds to claim that “there is no way you win the argument.”

So I refine the points I made, and expand upon them, point out that Peterson’s conclusions drawn from those statistics have nothing to do with why they occur, he totally ignores the social and economic reasons for anyone’s choice in profession. He looks at the statistics in a bubble, and draws a conclusion that backs up his general bigotry. And then point out that Peterson is a fascist, that happens to be smart enough to avoid anyone actually calling him that. And add that his whole argument was regurgitating the same rhetoric that Peterson uses to gain followers, while providing no real counter points.

His response is that I am creating a strawman, peterson doesn’t rely on emotions, and goes solely on the facts, and proceeds to misquote what was said over text. The rest of his response was cherry picking a single phrase I used, and claiming that my entire argument was invalid because “he never said that” and then calling me an idiot because I am parroting the things I’ve heard on the internet. “he would laugh and tell you that’s not what fascism is”

My final response was

“You missed my points entirely. I have listened to what he has to say. I didn’t say women can’t or shouldn’t take care taker roles. I’ve pointed out why what he has to say is inherently harmful. You cherry picked a hand full of words I used, instead of the arguments behind them. Are you incapable of thinking critically? He points out what the data shows, and draws an incredibly simplified conclusion, instead of explaining why the studies show this. He doesn’t care about what makes people happier. He cares about people following “natural order”. You fall for the rhetoric, and regurgitate it without a second thought. Have you ever bothered to ask yourself why you believe the things you do? Or did you just accept the first thing you heard as fact? He is by definition a fascist. “These are the rules you should live by, because I think it’s what’s best for everyone”. You’re a bootlicker, and an idiot.” He didn’t respond, but remember, there was no way I could win that argument, because he’s got the facts and logic.

The thing about Jordan Peterson is that he’s a smart guy, and he’s well versed in how to trap an opponent in an argument. He uses a fallacious argument style called the motte and bailey, and relies on inductive arguments.

He’ll say “women were much happier staying at home with the kids, and taking on care taker roles” at no point does he say women belong in those poistions, but it is the only logical conclusion to his point. The sources he presents are valid, and reputable, so if you try to argue the source, you’re arguing valid science, but if you go after for the logical conclusion you’ve drawn (which by the way is the only logical conclusion that can be drawn) he’s got you for attacking a strawman. But the people people you often see him talking to aren’t equipped to deal with him using inductive arguments, so he “wins”.

And then when he argues that the gays and the trans folk are evil, he will never outright say it, he’ll use the motte and bailey, and when questioned on his beliefs on the subject, he’ll say we can’t let the cultural marxists win, if we give them an inch they’ll take a mile. He takes his true belief, and swaps it out for a more easily defensible position. His core belief, that the gays are bad remains untouched, he never has to argue that, he instead swaps out for a position that you can’t really argue.

I was also going to go into why people like Shapiro and crowder are fucking morons too, but this is already so much longer than I had planned. These people are so much less intelligent than they think they are, and pointing out the flaws in their argument isn’t difficult. Even if you don’t convince the person you’re arguing with, you may convince others reading that they shouldn’t be siding with shit people.

[onceuponamirror]

Drabble prompt: SweetVee - Canon au - post-high school - Veronica visits her mother's home town Riverdale for the first time and meets Sweet Pea. Perhaps she gets lost and stumbles into south side? Maybe she's hosting an event and he's working catering? Do thy meet via her newfound Riverdale friends?

a/n: i took some liberties. also, had way too much fun with it. also, what is this

summary: There are always things that bubble. Laughter, anger, attraction— champagne, most of all. In those golden, floating bubbles are the thoughts she should avoid, things she shouldn’t dwell on, tries not to, guilt to stamp out.

It never really works.

[ao3]

.

.

.

She has a headache. 

A headache that may be more accurately qualified as a migraine; more precisely a pre-hangover; more exactly as a tsunami of roughly a decade’s worth of pent up frustrations. 

This whole night is awful—a joke, if she’s being honest, all these preening people, money fluttering down from the heavens, playing with people’s lives as they always do. 

She just needs to get away, away from the glittering chandeliers and bubbling drinks, and stalks out of the ballroom in search of liquid salvation. Veronica crosses through the lobby and finds the hotel bar empty, just as she’d hoped. Daddy had practically rented out the whole venue for this fundraiser, which means she’ll be left undisturbed in any other part of the hotel.

Veronica slides onto a stool, allows herself a moment of eyes-wide-shut careful breathing, and then opens a look onto the bartender. “Martini. So dry it makes me think of climate change.”

“Think that would probably be the opposite. Rising waters mean more storms,” the guy behind the bar says, throwing her a skeptical look. He’s clearly wearing the hotel’s uniform, but pairs it with a ridiculous beanie that she’s quite sure would never fly anywhere else but this absurd place. 

He adjusts the cardboard box in his arms, which clinks with the movement. “But I’m not the bartender. You’ll have to wait.” 

Veronica inhales sharply. “Tell me. Does anything in this post-surrealist town run at normal speed?” 

He looks back at her, as if unsure if he appreciates the joke. “No,” he says flatly after a moment, and then disappears behind a kitchen door, which swings after him. She stares at it, her head gives a pound, and she decides she doesn’t care. 

She throws her legs off the stool and slides down, a decent drop to the floor for her, and cuts around the bar. She’s been drinking champagne already and all those bubbles tend to rise right to her amygdala, something her mother would sneer at as a dangerous combination. 

Of course, except having taken the bar exam, she’s never tended a bar itself. But she’s been mixing drinks since she was thirteen and filled with an impetuous desire to prove something—and she’s preferred mixing her own since sixteen, for reasons she doesn’t hold dear. 

Even in her heels, it’s a bit of a reach for the better gin, but she manages it, her bracelets jingling with the effort. She’s just begun shaking the ice when the kitchen door swings back open and a tall—quite tall—guy appears through it, blinking when he sees her behind the bar.

He’s wearing a similar hotel uniform as the beanie-clad scowler, and his neck arches as he takes her in, folding his arms at once. Like his predecessor, he seems to regard her with inherent suspicion, but there’s something different as he runs his eyes up and down her form, lingering on the sequins on her dress and pearls around her neck.

“I was told there was someone waiting for a drink. Guess they didn’t wait,” he says after a moment. Veronica rolls her eyes and finishes with the shaker. 

“Women get nowhere when they’re too patient,” she replies with a sarcastic flutter of her eyelashes, reaching for the gin and adding it to the mixture. 

The guy pushes off the wall, pulling the vermouth off its higher shelf with no difficulty. She supposes bartending is an apt position when one is as tall as the model skyscraper in the Time’s Square FAO Schwartz.

He hands it to her, and then his posture immediately returns to crossed, studying her carefully, as if watching and waiting to see if she actually knows what she’s doing. 

It’s only when she’s nearly prepared the martini and turns to him and says, “Olives?” in her most expectant voice that he breaks into an amused look. He reaches across her, picks out a toothpick from one container and stabs three olives at once, and offers her the skewer with a slightly mocking bow.

She carves an eyebrow his way, and accepts the offering, dropping it into her glass. Veronica then draws her clutch bag open, fishes out two tenners and snaps it shut, putting it back under her arm. 

Lips and eyes lifted, she reaches up and tucks the bills into his uniform breast pocket as she walks past on her way to the other side of the bar, sidling back onto her stool and sipping gently at her drink.

After a long moment, the bartender decides to move, putting away the bottles and passing her a small napkin for her drink. “You’re pretty dressed up,” he says, running a rag up and down the counter. “You’re here for that fundraiser in the ballroom, I guess.” 

Only Veronica herself has been known to spit the word fundraiser with such contempt—years of resentment over cancelled recitals and forgotten performances in lieu of some event her parents neglected to tell her they were attending—don’t waste your time pouting, mija, it’s unbecoming—and she rests an elbow on the bar, appraising him. 

“Unfortunately, indeed I am,” she agrees, sipping again at her drink. Not bad, she thinks, trying to remember when she last shook her own martini.

For the first time, the bartender smiles. It’s an appealing look, and then it shifts, clearly a darker thought taking hold. Veronica is surprised to hear herself think it does nothing to diminish his attractiveness. 

His uniform runs high along his neck, but there’s a dark spot peeking out along the brim of it, and she realizes it’s a snake tattoo.

Veronica stares at it, and wonders with gleefully morbid curiosity how furious Daddy would be if she brought home a bartender with a neck tattoo.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” he mutters under his breath. “They’re tearing down people’s homes for a fucking golf course.”

Veronica runs her tongue along her teeth, considering her words. He obviously doesn’t know who she is, or he wouldn’t be saying that to her. Or—perhaps not in such a confiding tone. 

“I take it you’re not in favor of progress,” she says, tilting her head at him. 

His smile runs thinner. “It’s nice that they keep coming up with new words for ugly bullshit. Progress,” he adds sharply, raising his eyebrows. “My grandma’s trailer makes way for progress.”

She pauses, sipping at her drink, perhaps to stave off a sizable pang of guilt. Truthfully, the past couple of years, Veronica has made an effort to not think too hard about her father’s business deals—she knows it puts a sour taste in her mouth, and she’s chosen her own profession, independent of his, for a reason. 

She’s just here to smile pretty for photos, not dirty her hands, even if that feels harder to justify in the face of the one across from her. 

It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong. 

A thought she’s sat with for months, as long as she’s known about Daddy’s plans to demolish half of the town he grew up in—out of spite, she’s fairly certain—her lips pursed against voicing it, afraid of her father’s wrath for hearing it. 

Ever since she announced she wanted no part of Lodge Industries, that she would forge her own path, her father has treated her like an outsider, a stranger, a betrayal he took personally. 

And perhaps, in the angry, neglected heart of her, that’s how she meant it. 

“Listen, I agree with you. But from what I hear, development is already underway,” Veronica sighs, putting down her martini. The drink is as bitter as the truth. “I’m sorry. Really, I empathize. I just don’t think there’s anything left to be done about it.”

But the bartender just shakes his head at her, wearing a wan grin. “People like you always say that.”

“People like me?” Veronica repeats, offense tinged on every word. “You don’t know me.”

Though if you did, your argument would be stronger, she admits to herself, holding down a sigh as her finger traces the dew on her glass. 

“Look at you,” he scoffs, gesturing vaguely at her glitzy outfit and pearls. “This kind of town—these kinds of lives—must just look like something on a map to you.”

Veronica frowns, running her eyes across his face, something about his words uncorking a long-buried thought in her chest. 

Eventually, he shrugs. “And there is still shit to be done about it. We’re protesting the groundbreaking tomorrow, me and a bunch of buddies. Everyone in the trailer park agreed not to move. So we’re not giving up, even if we have to shell out for some fancy lawyer.”

“That’s her,” a voice from across the room sounds, and it’s the beanie-wearing guy from before, pointing right at her. A blonde woman about Veronica’s age with a notepad offers him a far more thankful smile than necessary, her hand squeezing at the interloper’s arm—Veronica can practically see his blush from here—and then beelines straight for her, ponytail bouncing. 

“Miss Lodge, I’m Betty Cooper, with The Riverdale Register,” she says without preamble, shoving her hand out to shake, which Veronica does, shocked into habit. “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes regarding your family’s plans for demolishing Sunnyside trailer park in favor of needless gentrification. Do you realize you’ll be uprooting roughly thirty families with nowhere else to go?”

The bartender scoffs loudly, as if it’s an inadvertent sound, staring at Veronica in a completely new light. Certainly not one that happens to be flattering. His expression is practically florescent. “Unbelievable,” he says blankly. 

Veronica blinks at him before forcing her gaze back onto the reporter. “I’m—I’m not associated with the company business. I’m just a lawyer.”

“But you’re Veronica Lodge. You must have an opinion,” Betty insists, a type of intrepid concentration in her eyes Veronica recognizes and, truthfully, respects. 

The bartender is shaking his head at her, disgust on his face, and for some reason—Veronica can’t stand that. And he was right, of course, right about it all, about what Daddy is doing. It’s—it’s—

“It’s awful,” she says before she can think on it further, sitting up straighter in her stool. “My opinion is that it’s awful.”

Betty’s mouth falls open, pencil comically poised against the notepad, and then seems to snap out of it, a dangerously excited gleam in her eye. “Are you saying, on the record, that you stand with the local protestation of the demolishment and gentrification of Riverdale’s south side?”

What will Daddy think?

What will Daddy do?

And then—

Fuck him, she thinks. 

Veronica raises her neck and sits at her full height, recrossing her legs. 

“Yes,” she says clearly. “In fact, would there not be an obvious conflict of interest in personally representing the interest of Sunnyside trailer park, I would offer to do it. In lieu of that, I am more than happy to make the right calls so that this inevitable court battle gets handled by the best in the business. Pro bono,” she adds, throwing a sharp, pointed look at the incredibly stunned bartender. 

Betty’s eyes flick from him to the other guy, who has moved next to her, all trading expressions of shock. 

“That’s very kind of you,” she eventually manages to stammer out. “Would you be willing to set aside some time for a formal interview with The Register to discuss plans for fighting your father?”

Realizing the full weight of what she’s just done and feeling neither guilt nor shame about it, Veronica’s conscious feels clear for the first time in—well, perhaps, ever. 

It’s a feeling she didn’t know how badly she craved, a weight she had no idea was so heavy until it was gone, and she revels in it now, like she might float right out of her skin. 

“I would be happy to, Betty,” she says cheerily, and then twists in her seat to face the bartender, reaching back into her clutch bag for two of her business cards and offering one up to her. 

“We’ll set up a lunch.” Then she turns to the bartender. “You’ll need one as well,” she says, passing it to him, and he takes it with surprisingly nimble fingers. 

He lets out a breath, his expression wholly wide and wholly unreadable. 

Veronica slides off her stool, throwing back the rest of her drink and settling it firmly on the counter. “Call me tomorrow,” she says, and he nods, once. “I’ll need your name, to know who to expect.”

“Um, it’s…Sweet Pea, actually,” he says, after a moment. Veronica gapes, and then a laugh bubbles out of her. 

“Oh, god. That’s going to make Daddy even more furious,” she says on a sigh, grinning. “Well. Talk to you then, Sweet Pea. We have a lot of work to do.”

.

.

.

.

[sydneyayrton91]

What Exercise Can Increase Height Super Genius Unique Ideas

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[the-silver-wolfs-den]

Birth of the Snowlily

Hello my lovelies!! Here's what I've been working on the Snowlillyship like I promised

She looked down to the pregnancy test that was in her slightly shaking hand, the bold lettering on the screen reading ‘POSITIVE’. Just like the first two pregnancy tests she took before. All of them giving the same result: ‘POSITIVE’.

Honestly, for all her worth for being a Pokémon researcher, Lillie should have been expecting this, what with all her erratic mood swings, taking random naps throughout the day and weird eating habits as of late. Just the other day, she had really bad craving for a grilled cheese and Pomeg sandwich with soy sauce! She didn’t even like Pomeg berries, but that sandwich definitely hit the spot.

Before she could lament any further, she heard the bathroom door creak a little. She looked up to see a very familiar snow-white muzzle peak in before the rest of the snow-white canine body followed in. “Hi Shiron.” Lillie said somberly, which did not go unnoticed by Shiron as the Alolan Ninetails moved closer, letting out a slight questioning coo, as if asking her partner if everything was alright. Lillie could only shake her head, a slight smile still sitting on her face. “I’m fine, really.” She answered, petting Shiron’s head a few times.

The snow fox Pokémon welcomed the petting and after a few minutes, she gave Lillie that same questioning look.

Lillie knew she couldn’t lie to Shiron. She never could. Shiron was one of the few beings that Lillie could always talk to, even if her replies were coos, barks, and the occasional growls. “Do you know what this is used for?” She turned the pregnancy test that was still in her hand around for Shiron to see and give it quick sniff. “It’s what we women folk of the human race use to see if we are pregnant.” And again Shiron gave her a questioning look, this time tilting her head to add to the effect. Lillie laughed at this, “It’s a way to see if I’m having a baby,” she moved her free hand to her still-flat stomach. At this, Shiron seemed to understand what she heard and looked slightly excited as she gave her own happy yip and a couple of tail wags.

Lillie smiled at this before she looked down to the pregnancy test again, feeling her smile slip away from her lips, as her mind began to swirl with a sea of thoughts. She should be happy right? She should be over the moon about this. Then what was this nagging feeling in her gut, this prickle in the back of her mind that didn’t go away? It settled over her like a thick blanket. A really thick blanket woven out of dread, anticipation, and anxiety. She hadn’t felt like this since discovering her mother was going to use Nebby—er Cosmog, as a conduit to journey to the world of the Ultra Beasts (the incident dubbed as the UB Fallout incident by the Alolan Champion and the International Bureau of Affairs), and in doing so lead to the very real possibility of losing everything she held dear. Of course, living with the woman’s constant emotional belittling and mental controlling prior to her (ahem) leaving the Aether Compound didn’t help matters at all.

It’s honestly a wonder now, Lillie thinks, that she or Gladion didn’t have more emotional damage from it all. Of course, Gladion had his anger issues and her lack of self-confidence and fear of Pokémon, but she could truly say that if it wasn’t for Professor Kukui, Professor Burnet, Sun, Moon and Hau, her life as well as Gladion’s would be completely different.

Speaking of Hau, he said that he was going to be back soon from his meeting with the other Island Kahuna’s, something about Team Skull trying to make a comeback or something like that. Lillie felt another wave of anxiety wash over her. Oh great guardians above, what was she going to say to Hau? Of course they talked about having kids earlier on as they dated and now that they were married, would it be too soon? It’s only been two years, both settling into their careers as Kahuna and Researcher for both the Aether Foundation and the Pokémon League, so money wouldn’t be any issue, but what would happen—

“Lillie, you home?”

She jumped at the voice that carried through the walls of their home. Immediately recognizing the voice, Lillie watched as Shiron dashed out of the bathroom and down the hall. Deciding to put her simmering worries on the back burner for now, Lillie grab the clear see-through baggie that came with the pregnancy test, placed the small device back into it and pocketed it into her skirt pocket as she made her way out of the bathroom, barely catching a glimpse of one of Shiron’s tail going around the corridor that separated the bedrooms from the dining area/kitchen, living room, and another area that lead to the front door.

That’s where she saw Shiron pouncing onto her broad stature of husband’s shoulders who was bent over trying to put away his sandals, the latter holding two paper bags away (undoubtedly Malasadas) with one hand as he used his other to pet/shield his face from Shiron’s licking. “Okay, okay girl, I’m happy to see you too.” He laughed, keeping his attention on Shiron as he straightening up to his full height of 6’2”, easily dwarfing her slightly petite height of 5’2 ½” even from a slight distance. Shiron decided to take this opportunity to try to make a grab for the bags with Hau at the ready, moving his occupied hand higher from the hungry nips of the fox Pokémon. “Oh sure, you only like me ‘cuz I bring home the treats.” He feigned with sarcasm.

“Well it’s your fault for spoiling her every time she sees you.” Lillie pointed out in reply.

Hau snapped his head over to see his beautiful wife trying to hide the giggles that were escaping from behind her hand. With a quick move, Hau moved to escape from his Pokémon onslaught by coming behind Lillie and bringing his free arm around Lillie’s shoulders to bring her into his chest, feigning a hostage hold as his wife’s giggles morphed into squeals. “Hau! What are you doing?” She laughed.

“Taking the marauding Pokémon’s gorgeous owner as my prisoner.” He professed his statement with a quick series of kisses up her cheek to her temple. “The beast wouldn’t dare to take her dearly beloved Trainer.”

Lillie could only laugh at this as she saw Shiron shift her weight onto her hind legs and lower her muzzle down to her front paws with tongue sticking and quick pants as her tails wagged somewhat fast, clear indication that she was ready to play. Forgetting about her earlier worrywart session, she decided to play along. “Oh woe is me!” Lillie dramatically wailed, ignoring the stifled chuckle from Hau as he began to move them back into the dining room. “Shiron, save me from this tribal barbarian!” She added in the fake insult as Shiron began to jump around them, making playful growls and barks as she tried to make a grab for Hau.

“Cheeky woman! You dare mock the Kahuna of this island!” Hau roared in mock anger, settling the bags onto the table as he reached into one of them to grab (of course) a Malasada, “Let’s see if your faithful Pokemon will remain faithful after this.” He dangled the Alolan treaty in between them and the Alolan Ninetails as he moved them again closer to the open kitchen door that lead to their backyard, their unfenced-leading-into-the-Melemele-path backyard. Lillie’s laughter tampering off as she wondered what Hau was trying to do.

Shiron watched the treat with eager and hungry eyes, just waiting for the giant man holding her dear trainer to drop the treat already or to not pay attention so she could snatch it.

Once Hau got them into the position, he offered the Malasada towards the Pokémon, “You want this, Shiron?” To which said Pokémon got ready to jump for it. “Then, go get it!” And with that, Hau threw it as far as he could into the yard and closed the door behind him after Shiron took off after it like a Yungoos after a berry.

That's all I got for now. Like it? Don't like it? Please let me know?

[kbaldwin0609]

‘The Bachelor’ Episode 6 Recap: The St. Thomas Date Massacre

Warning: This recap contains spoilers for Episode 6 of The Bachelor.

Boy, this “to be continued”/ rose ceremony at the beginning of the show stuff is getting old. Enough — okay, Team Bachelor? Thanks.

This week’s “already in progress” episode begins with the ��ladies” at the hotel, waiting for the Suitcase Ninja™ to come and fetch the eliminated woman’s bags.

And when the PA with the two-toned hair removes Taylor’s suitcase, the women are surprised — but not all that upset. (“Corinne’s coming back!” cries Josephine happily.) “It must be a shocker for her,” notes Jaimi. Which is a perfect segue to…

“Can we talk?” Taylor asks the flustered Bachelor, who of course has no option but to say, “Um… sure.” Once outside, Taylor says everything she should have said during the swamp date — namely that Corinne grossly misrepresented their conversation and that Nick needs to open his eyeballs. “I’m not the only one saying this about Corinne,” notes Taylor. “Vanessa literally told you that she would give you back your rose if this is what you were looking for.” Nick, who looks genuinely scared, gives Taylor the old “I hear what you’re saying, and I believe that you believe it’s important” response (long live Bobby Hill), and then sends Taylor on her way.

And with that, he and Corinne go back to making out.

“I do see a lot of potential in Corinne,” says the Bachelor. “And that’s very much worth exploring.” I think we all know what Nick means by “exploring”: Corinne’s going to make it to the overnight dates, isn’t she?

Sure. But maybe use one of those lives to tend to that hair, okay?

Rose ceremony time! And honestly, “ladies,” why are you so surprised that there’s no cocktail party? Time’s a’wastin’! Robot roll call: Kristina, Raven, Vanessa, Danielle L., Jasmine, and Whitney (WHO?) will join Corinne, Danielle M., and Rachel in the next round. Alas, this means we’ll be saying goodbye to Alexis the “aspiring dolphin trainer” and Nic Cage phobic — at least until Bachelor in Paradise. We must also bid farewell to Jaimi (didn’t love the dress, but definitely there for that purple lipstick and matching nail color) and Josephine. Adios, chicas.

And we’re off to St. Thomas! And you know what that means: Nick gets to break out yet another tank top!

The “ladies” helpfully remind us that there are still three women out of the remaining nine who haven’t had one-on-one dates yet: Jasmine, Kristina and Whitney (who?). So when Nick arrives via puddle-jumper, which woman will he whisk away for a romantic island adventure? Поздравляю, Kristina! You’re up. (Sorry, Jasmine.)

“I kind of had a feeling,” says Kristina, when Nick asks if she expected to get the one-on-one date. Yes, gurl — you own your fabulousness! The duo jets off to the Annaberg Ruins, where they sip beer and enjoy a little get-to-know-you chat. We learn that Kristina has 9 siblings — 8 from her adoptive family and one sister who still lives in Russia. “I’m gonna work really hard to knock down these walls that Kristina has up,” notes Nick, who adds that he has “very strong feelings” for the Russian beauty.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Team Bachelor trolls Corinne by sending a nice old lady named Lorna in, ostensibly to take care of all the women — but we only see her tending to Corinne.

Honestly, I hope production gave her a huge tip.

At dinner, we finally get to hear more about Kristina’s backstory — and it’s a doozy. Let’s listen in:

She goes on to say that she was in an orphanage “within weeks,” and that her mom — who has since passed away — never came to visit her at the orphanage. After seven or eight years, Kristina was adopted by an American family — a happy thing, yes, but she was heartbroken to say goodbye to the kids she grew up with at the orphanage. “Leaving all of them behind, knowing I won’t ever see them again… I think at the time that’s why it was so hard.”

Oh man, I need a minute here. Nick does, too.

Of course Kristina gets the date rose — AS WELL SHE SHOULD. (And by the way, Team Bachelor, if you need a candidate for the next Bachelorette, keep this formidable woman in mind, okay?)

Group date time! Rachel, Raven, Vanessa, Corinne, Danielle M. and Jasmine meet Nick at the pier for a catamaran ride to Abi Beach. (This means, by the way, that Whitney (WHO?) and Danielle L. have inexplicably been assigned to a two-on-one date, but more on that later.)

After a few island cocktails, Nick the “drunk little baby dinosaur” is clearly feeling no pain.

The “ladies,” however, are pretty deep in their feelings. Jasmine remains bummed that she has yet to get any real “quality time” with Nick, and it’s having a less-than-stellar effect on her judgment.

Meanwhile, Danielle, Rachel, and Vanessa have slowly come to the realization that competing for a man on TV is both undignified and an inefficient way to find a mate. “The fact that I have to go through these next few weeks having to deal with all the competition and all the gossip and all the talk and the other one-on-ones — it’s so f***ing annoying,” says Vanessa tearfully.

And now Danielle’s crying, too! I guess the combination of hot sun, deep-seated insecurities, and a s**t-ton of alcohol does not a great group date make. “It’s pretty much a disaster,” admits Nick. “It almost feels like a wasted day.”

And so, our Bachelor heads into the evening cocktail party fully resolved to “pick up the pieces” from the craptastic beach party. He apologizes to the “ladies” and promises that he’ll be giving each of them some “quality time” over the course of the evening. Well strap in, pal, because it looks like all the women want to use their alone time to complain about how awful the day was. Rachel even goes so far to warn Nick that she was on the verge of leaving the show.

As for Jasmine, she’s completely spinning out — ranting to the other women about how she wants to punch Nick in the face for not giving her the “validation” she so deserves. “How patient can you f***in’ be?” she snaps. “I’m gonna tell him, straight to his face: ‘Don’t you DARE overlook me!'” Sure, that’ll end well.

When the Bachelor finally pulls Jasmine aside for a chat, she launches right in with her complaints. “I like you a lot. I really do,” she tells Nick. “But in a way it’s like, I just feel like maybe I’m being overlooked… I’m here, do you not see me?” She goes from defiant to earnest to weepy to weird, and by the time she “playfully” chokes the Bachelor, you can tell he’s ready to end this non-relationship post haste.

“I didn’t have the best conversation with Jasmine,” notes Nick, in the understatement of the night. “In fact, it was actually a bit awkward.” So he gently informs Jasmine that he’s not feeling it, adding, “It might be time to say goodbye.” You think? Farewell, Jasmine. We’ll probably see you in Paradise — but for your sake, I hope not.

The next day, it’s time for the surprise two-on-one date. Like all the viewers, both Danielle L. and Whitney (who?) want to know why they’ve been chosen for this dubious honor. “Whitney and I don’t have any animosity between us,” notes Danielle sadly. But when the time comes, neither Danielle nor Whitney asks Nick to explain himself (as far as we know). It’s also hard to glean any clues from the Bachelor: Nick tells Whitney that she’s a “calming person” for him to be around, while Danielle tells him that she wants to be “the last person at the end of this.”

Hearing this, Nick now seems to have the “clarity” he was seeking. He excuses himself from Danielle and heads over to the beach bed where Whitney is reclining alone. You can guess what happens next.

Whitney makes a half-hearted attempt to change his mind — “You think that Danielle L. is ready for a relationship?” — but Nick stands firm. He gives Whitney a hug goodbye before exiting the situation with Danielle the only way he knows how: via helicopter. Say it with me one last time, rose lovers:

Not to say that Danielle L. has officially “won,” however. Over dinner, Nick is clearly ambivalent and a little distant as he half-heartedly reminisces with her about their one-on-one date. “It does seem like forever ago, doesn’t it?” he mumbles tellingly. It seems our Bachelor is looking for a “raw” love — one where “we love everything about each other, the good and the bad” — but to be honest, Danielle L. seems more flash-frozen than raw. And once she professes that she’s “falling in love” with Nick, he knows what he has to do.

A tearful Danielle wonders if she got the boot because she “wasn’t perfect,” which is a sad but expected sentiment from a reality TV dating show contestant. A tearful Nick, meanwhile, is starting to shame spiral about his chances of finding “love,” a concern he feels he should communicate to the women immediately.

“I really want this to work out,” says Nick between sniffles. “But I want it to be real and I want it to be right. And, you know, right now I just feel, like, terrified that it’s not gonna happen.” Team Bachelor wants us to believe that Nick ended this little speech with “So, I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” but at this point I think we can all recognize a Frankenstein-ed soundbite when we hear one.

Even so, Nick’s tearful visit rocks the “ladies” to their core.

  They wipe away tears and wonder aloud if their 15 minutes of fame — I mean, chance to find love — is about to come to an abrupt end. Unlikely, but we’ll have to wait until next week to find out how Nick decides to proceed — as well as whether he’ll take Corinne up on her “platinum vagine” offer. In the meantime, rose lovers, I want to hear from you. Do you think Nick actually sees a future with any of these women? Did you ever expect Nick to cry so much? And is there anything more cruel than giving someone gross chocolate? Post your thoughts now! And be sure to check out Chris Harrison’s exclusive behind-the-scenes blog here. See you next week, friends.

The Bachelor airs Mondays at 8 p.m. on ABC. Watch clips and full episodes of The Bachelor for free on Yahoo View.

[literallyjcstrash]

Regarding lyrics to JCS… (part 4 of many)

As promised, I’m back with “Strange Thing, Mystifying,” Jesus and Judas’ first face-to-face confrontation in the show (for those who are just getting into JCS, this is the first of three such moments to focus on, the other two occurring in “Everything’s Alright” and at the Last Supper, the second two of which are set to the same musical theme). And it’s a heavy one.

Judas directly challenges Jesus’ actions, specifically with regard to Mary Magdalene. Judas is the PR guy, and Jesus fooling around with an unmarried woman is not the public face they want to put on this movement. And since Judas is already worried about being arrested, he’d rather not give the authorities any more reasons to do so. To Judas, this is a modern-day political campaign. To Jesus, he’s nothing more than a philosopher who honestly believes his ideas can help people live better lives. These two friends are not working toward the same goals.

(Before we get too much further into analysis, it’s important to remember the place women held in Israel at the time. Check the biblical Book of Leviticus for the ugliness it frequently brings: women were supposed to wear veils in public and were not to be spoken to, had virtually no rights, were not allowed to interact with men in most situations, could not discuss the events of the day, offer opinions. They didn’t matter. For Jesus to be including women so heavily in his closest following – they ate together, discussed politics together, his women disciples performed their poetry at feasts, and in the most radical departure from the norm, the women were welcomed alongside men as serious students worthy of an education – was already scandalous. Add the stigma of Mary’s past as a hooker [at least in the show; scholars debate whether the real Mary Magdalene actually was, but more about that when we hit Mary’s biggest song in the show] and glue her to his hip everywhere they go, and it translates into a TMZ story of its day more than a philanthropic human interest front-pager.)

Now, this is already heavy with dramatic context, but believe it or not, there is a further added wrinkle. Yes, it is possible to cram more subtext into this damn song. This argument between these two devoted friends over this woman hints at deeper issues, and it all comes down to one line of lyric: “Leave her, leave her, she’s with me now…”

There are a few ways to interpret this, but when addressing it as related to the dynamic of the love triangle that Tim Rice has said is at the heart of the show, it narrows down (at least in my opinion; feel free to offer more) to two possibilities depending on how you want to play it:

Either Jesus had been with Judas before, but is now with Mary, and he is hinting that Judas is consequently jealous and needs to step off…

…or Mary had been with Judas before, but is now with Jesus, with the same resulting jealousy and need to step off.

I try not to introduce bias to my posts, but it’s worth noting that, in my opinion, two major productions (the 2000 video and the 2012 Broadway revival that transferred from Canada’s Stratford Shakespeare Festival) have done the first angle to death. The 2000 video in particular was so filled with perceived homoerotic subtext that the JCS fan community cracked jokes about everything, from Jesus seeming to pick Judas up in an alleyway at the beginning, to all the instances of Jesus and the apostles getting “overly hands-y” with each other, to what it dubbed “Brokeback Gethsemane” (hey, no one said we were perfect; most of us were male tweens and teenagers at the time, and a few have evolved past this type of humor). I understand that the 2012 revival took it in more of an unrequited direction, but basically came to the same conclusion.

As a gay man myself [note: gdelgiproducer speaking, not the author of literallyjcstrash], while I understand the appeal of such an angle (and certainly have shipped the characters depending on the production), I think it’s much less of a leap to assume, given the era in which it was written, that the intended dynamic was along the lines of the second angle. Mary's established – even favored – place in Jesus’ movement leaves open the possibility, if she’s been around for a while, that Judas may have been with her. Or, echoing the 1927 silent film The King of Kings, as the Bible records that Judas held the purse strings for the group and was close to Christ, and had a bad habit of lifting funds for personal use, maybe Mary was his go-to, but then Judas slipped up, brought her around Mr. Charisma, and it was all history. 

But that is up to you to interpret for yourself; it’s not my place to tell you which way the pendulum should swing.

There’s more to discuss here character-wise, but I feel like that’s for another kind of post entirely, so I’m just going to keep moving. And now, the lyrics!

JUDAS It seems to me a strange thing, mystifying That a man like you can waste his time On women of her kind. Yes I can understand that she amuses But to let her stroke you, kiss your hair, Is hardly in your line

It’s not that I object to her profession But she doesn’t fit in well With what you teach and say. It doesn’t help us if you’re inconsistent They only need a small excuse To put us all away.

JESUS Who are you to criticize her? Who are you to despise her? Leave her, leave her, let her be now. Leave her, leave her, she’s with me now. If your slate is clean then you can throw stones If your slate is not then leave her alone.

I’m amazed that men like you Can be so shallow thick and slow There is not a man among you Who knows or cares if I come or go.

ALL (except Judas) No you’re wrong, you’re very wrong. (repeat 3 more times) How can you say that? (repeat 3 more times)

JESUS Not one, not one of you!

Let’s get the obvious changes out of the way, as there have only been three major changes in the show’s history.

In the 1973 film, they opted to swap the order of lyrics for Judas on a key line, making it “But to let her kiss you, stroke your hair…” It’s never been made entirely clear why, but an old friend from the early days of JCS fandom (I’m talking Seventies JCS fandom) once said that one of the reasons that a preacher he knew condemned the show as inappropriate for young Christians was Ian Gillan’s ad-libbing in “What’s the Buzz.” The priest interpreted Gillan’s wild vocalizing under Mary’s ministration to mean that Mary was… well… ministering to a different head belonging to Jesus than the one she mentions in “Everything’s Alright,” if ya know what I’m sayin’. I’m not saying that the “stroke you” line was changed to avoid such misinterpretation, but at least one person thought more was going on than met the eye back in the day, so… (I honestly got nothin’ to follow that “so,” it’s just such a wildly off-base idea.)

In the 1996 West End revival, aiming for a better rhyme, Tim Rice changed the lyric to “…That a man like you can waste his time / On such a concubine.” A concubine, for those who aren’t familiar, is defined either as “a mistress,” or, in polygamous societies, as “a woman who lives with a man but has lower status than his wife or wives.” Back then, concubines were slaves one of status essentially kept around just for the booty call any time the master wanted it, with no pay and no pension. Definitely a slam on Judas’ part; it’d get the Jerry Springer Show audience going “OOOOOOOH” in a hurry if they were there, and hip to the cultural mores of the first century. It’s much more specific than “women of her kind,” and while not a perfect rhyme, it’s a decent enough near-rhyme compared to “kind,” so kudos to Tim on that count. But… the lyric never survived past that production. The currently licensed score has it as “women of her kind.” Maybe Tim didn’t care for such a direct hit at Mary, considering the slagging off she gets in the rest of the song; maybe somebody told him what a concubine actually was, and he thought the show had endured enough controversy in its day without having Judas imply that no less a person than Jesus Christ has less sexual control than the average moral human being.

Also in the 1996 West End revival, the third “No you’re wrong, you’re very wrong” at the end was changed to “You you’re wrong, you’re very wrong,” which is in the currently licensed score. Emphasis much?

Coming up next: a brief side trip into “Then We Are Decided,” as this is where the song appears in the 1973 film, and currently appears in the European tour featuring Ted Neeley. In addition to explicating the song and its lyrics, I’ll go into some of the other spots it has been placed, and where I think the song should be if one uses it in a stage production.

[lindenwoodhumanities-blog]

Legacies of Learning: A Conversation Between Geremy Carnes (Associate Professor and Chair, English) and Judy Seifert (Class of ’66)

Dr. Geremy Carnes, Associate Professor and Chair of the Lindenwood University English department, recently sat down to interview one of our alumnae, Judy Seifert, who graduated from Lindenwood University in 1966. An excerpt of the interview appears below. Enjoy!

Legacies of Learning: A Conversation Between Geremy Carnes (Associate Professor and Chair, English) and Judy Seifert (Class of ’66)

“Be as general as you can be. Try to take courses in as many different areas as you can, because you never know when you go out to teach what you’re going to wind up teaching.”

That was Judy Seifert’s response when I asked her what advice she would give to a student trying to make the most out of their English or Education programs. Given the many unexpected turns her own career as an educator took, it seems like very sound advice.

I recently spoke to Seifert, a Lindenwood alumna (class of ’66) about her experiences at Lindenwood and in the years since. Although far fewer high school graduates enrolled in college in the 1960s than do so today—especially female graduates—she told me that there was never any doubt growing up that she would be going to college. Seifert credits her father, Charles William Boswell, Sr., for making her recognize the importance of education from a young age. Boswell had obtained his own college degree on the GI plan, and Seifert remembers watching him walk across the stage in his graduation robes to accept his diploma when she was four years old. “In his mind, there was never a question about whether I would go to college,” Seifert said. “I would have never questioned it because he made it so apparent.” And as the only girl in the family and the eldest child, she always had the sense that she needed to “do something with [her]self.” So she enrolled at Lindenwood—at the time still a small women’s college.

I asked her if she always knew she would major in English. The answer: yes. “I think I knew from the day I walked into high school that this is my area.” She also knew that she wanted to teach in secondary education. (Elementary education was never on the table: “Maybe it was from having all those younger brothers, but I just could not imagine myself with a bunch of small children.”)

A Winding Path

If Seifert’s education seemed foreordained, her career as an educator proved anything but. Upon graduating from Lindenwood she got a job as a language arts teacher, first in nearby O’Fallon, and later at a high school in Texas when her husband was hired at Southwest Texas State University (now Texas State University). She assumed she would teach “forever.” It was a surprise, then, when an administrative position opened up at the high school and the principal came to see her. “We’d really like you to take that job,” he said. “Oh, but I don’t have a certificate!” she protested. “Well, that won’t be hard for you to get,” was the response. And that was how her career in school administration began.

Seifert made it clear, however, that it wasn’t the end of her career as a teacher—not by a longshot. “I was still so grounded in the classroom, I kept on teaching for five years and was an assistant principal at the same time,” she said. “That teaching part of me was alive forever as I moved on up into various areas of administration.” “Various” might be putting it mildly; over the course of her career Seifert served as an assistant principal, an assistant superintendent, and a college instructor, before eventually finding her way to the Education Service Center in Kilgore, TX, where she helped train the next generation of teachers and administrators. While she has held many different job titles, she has continued to think of herself first and foremost as a teacher, whether her students were children or her fellow educators. “I was fortunate enough to always be able to secure a corner for teaching in my administration profession. I was either in charge of curriculum or in charge of brand new teachers, student teachers.” In those roles, she was able to help new teachers learn how to “make the classroom come alive for students rather than being someone who just preaches at students,” she said. “Preaching doesn’t seem to do the job for us,” she added wryly. (I had to confess that my own experience has led me to that conclusion as well.)

When Seifert took that first language arts instructor job in 1966, then, she wasn’t entirely wrong when she thought she’d teach forever. “I have taught forever,” she said, chuckling. She just didn’t know exactly what or who she would be teaching.

Prepared for Every Future

When I asked Seifert how her English degree served her in her various administrative roles, she was quite clear about its value to her. “When you’re an administrator, you put out a lot of written material,” she said. It gave her confidence to know that when she sent those materials out to an audience, her professionalism would never be doubted. “Because no matter how great your message is,” she insisted, “if you don’t say it well, if you don’t say it so that it sounds like you know what you’re talking about—and I think that includes usage and grammar and syntax and everything—then it just doesn’t carry importance.” She also felt that her language usage skills transferred well when it came to public speaking. “As an administrator, you stand up and you speak in front of parents, you speak in front of big crowds of people. And you have to be able to sound like you’re an intelligent being. You can’t stand up there and misuse the language. If you do, it’s certainly not going to look like you should have the position you have.”

Her education training also transferred from the classroom to the administrative office. In fact, when I asked her for advice about instructing colleagues (I have myself recently dipped my toes into administrative waters) she told me that there isn’t much difference between teaching students and teaching teachers. “There’s a difference, of course, in age and maturity, and all those sorts of things,” she elaborated, “but teaching is a pretty fundamental art, and no matter what the concept is you’re teaching, you just do the very best you can to break it down so that people understand what it is you expect them to get, and what they should expect to get out of what you’re giving them.”

Challenges and Rewards

I asked Seifert what challenges she sees facing students about to enter into careers as language arts educators. While she has concerns about how changing technology has affected students’ communication skills, she insisted that the biggest challenge “is the same challenge that’s always been there: teaching English is an incredibly time-consuming outside-the-classroom job.” Language arts instructors can’t get away with having computers do the grading for them. “You’ve got to read it and you’ve got to give some personal feedback on it. And that’s a constant in your life.” At the same time, though, she insists the rewards of the job are commensurate with the challenges. One of her favorite things to do in the classroom was to assign her students an essay at the beginning of the semester and have them read it again at the end of the term. Usually, their reaction to their own writing could best be described as “appalled.” Helping students not only improve, but recognize the extent of their own abilities changes their lives. “Students come back and say, ‘I never could do this, I thought I was awful at this, and then you taught me that I’m not awful at this.’” Those are the moments Seifert finds make all the effort worthwhile. “If you taught them that they can actually write, that they’re not bad at this and that they can use this skill to make some difference in the world—wow, that’s maybe your best reward of all.”

Despite the challenges inherent in the profession, Seifert had this piece of advice for students pursuing Education certifications: “Please stay in teaching. It is so vital and so important to the future of this country. … Some days when you think, ‘Gee, I’ve graded all the papers I can stand, I’ve taken all the English classes I can stand,’ remember that there’s a bigger picture out there and you’re going to have an impact like no other person in the world can have. I just think teaching’s the most important job there is.”

A Family Legacy

At one point in our conversation, Seifert remarked, “Education is just part of my soul.” After learning about her and her family, I would add that it also seems to be in her blood. Two of her daughters and three of her grandchildren are teachers, as is one of her sons-in-law, and her husband is a university dean. She credits this family legacy of a love for education to the father she watched get his diploma all those years ago—and who she got to see obtain another one many years later. “When I got my master’s degree, and my brother got his, my dad said, ‘Well doggone, how come you two have one and I don’t?’ So he went back and got a master’s degree”—an MBA from Lindenwood, which had long since opened its doors to male students.

After Boswell, Sr. passed away in 2005, Seifert wanted to do something meaningful with the monetary legacy he left to her. “I realized the best way for me to honor him and honor his belief in education was to take some of that money and put it together into a scholarship—to make a tribute to his belief that education was important and that teaching was important.” The result is the Judy Boswell Seifert and Charles W. Boswell Sr. Endowed Scholarship, which goes to one Lindenwood student every year who is studying to be an English teacher. Now this family’s legacy of teaching is helping some of Lindenwood’s students to set out on their own winding paths through the education profession—and, eventually, to establish teaching legacies of their own.

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE SECOND BOOK OF MACHABEES. - From The Latin Vulgate Bible

Chapter 6

INTRODUCTION.

This Second Book of Machabees is not a continuation of the history contained in the First; nor does it come down so low as the First does, but relates many of the same facts more at large, and adds other remarkable particulars, omitted in the First Book, relating to the state of the Jews as well before as under the persecution of Antiochus. The author, who is not the same with that of the First Book, has given (as we learn from chap. ii. 20., &c.) a short abstract of what Jason, of Cyrene, had written in the five volumes, concerning Judas and his brethren. He wrote in Greek, and begins with two letters, sent by the Jews of Jerusalem to their brethren in Egypt. (Challoner) --- Hence the whole book has been considered by some as an epistle. (Cotelier, Can. Ap. p. 338.) --- But it is easy to distinguish the letter from the history, (Calmet) to which a preface is prefixed, chap. ii. 20. Yet the Alexandrian copy has at the end, "A letter concerning the acts of Judas Mach.[Machabeus.]" (Haydock) --- The appendix of two epistles was added to the First Book by him who wrote the second, (Worthington) abridging the work of Jason. (Haydock)

Chapter 6

Antiochus commands the law to be abolished, sets up an idol in the temple, and persecutes the faithful. The martyrdom of Eleazar.

1 But not long after the king sent *(Year of the World 3837, Year before Christ 167) a certain old man of Antioch, to compel the Jews to depart from the laws of their fathers and of God:

Notes & Commentary:

Ver. 1. After, the year [of the world] 3837. --- Old, or senator. Greek, "Atheneus," or "an Athenian senator."

2 And to defile the temple that was in Jerusalem, and to call it the temple of Jupiter Olympius: and that in Garizim, of Jupiter Hospitalis, according as they were that inhabited the place.

Ver. 2. Olympius. They thought this idol agreed best with the idea of the God of heaven, changing the names of the deities, where they had dominion. Other nations made no resistance: but the Jews knew better. (Calmet) --- Garizim; viz., the temple of the Samaritans. And as they were originally strangers, the name of Hospitalis (which signifies of or belonging to strangers) was applicable to the idol set up in their temple. (Challoner) --- The Samaritans in time of danger, denied that they had any thing to do with the Jews, pretending to be of Sidonian extraction. They even requested that their temple might be dedicated to the Greek Jupiter. (Josephus, Antiquities xii. 7.) --- Yet Epiphanes chose "the Hospitaller." (Calmet) --- Sannaballat procured this temple to be erected in the days of Alexander; and Ananias built another in Egypt, under Philometor. Both were schismatical. (Josephus, Antiquities xi. 8., and xv. 6. (Worthington)

3 And very bad was this invasion of evils, and grievous to all.

Ver. 3. No explanation given.

4 For the temple was full of the riot and revellings of the Gentiles: and of men lying with lewd women. And women thrust themselves of their accord into the holy places, and brought in things that were not lawful.

Ver. 4. Lewd. Priests on duty were not even allowed to approach to their wives, and the most pure women had no right to go into the interior of the temple. (Calmet) And. Greek, "in the courts, and also bringing in improper things." (Haydock)

5 The altar also was filled with unlawful things, which were forbidden by the laws.

Ver. 5. No explanation given.

6 And neither were the sabbaths kept, nor the solemn days of the fathers observed, neither did any man plainly profess himself to be a Jew.

Ver. 6. Jew. None did this except he were legally questioned. It would have unnecessarily brought on a persecution. (Haydock) --- The very name was become criminal, as that of Christian was afterwards. (Calmet)

7 But they were led by bitter constraint on the king's birth-day to the sacrifices: and when the feast of Bacchus was kept, they were compelled to go about crowned with ivy in honour of Bacchus.

Ver. 7. Sacrifices. Greek, "each month, to the sacrifice (and feast) of entrails," (Haydock) which were given back to him who presented the victim. (Grotius) --- The eastern kings celebrated their birth-days; Epiphanes did it every month, 1 Machabees i. 61., and Matthew xiv. 6. --- About. Greek, "to follow the march;" pompeuein. (Calmet) --- Protestants, "to go in procession to Bacchus, carrying ivy." Ward (Err. p. 114) reads pompaduein, and refers the reader to the lexicon to see if there be any thing in it like the Catholic processions, or whether it signify so much as "to go about," as other Protestant Bibles translate it. These interpreters frequently use Catholic terms, where they might render them odious. (Id.[Ward, Err. p. 114.?]) (Haydock)

8 And there went out a decree into the neighbouring cities of the Gentiles, by the suggestion of the Ptolemeans, that they also should act in like manner against the Jews, to oblige them to sacrifice:

Ver. 8. Ptolemeans, who resided at Ptolemais. (Calmet) --- Most Greek copies have Ptolemee, chap. iv. 45. (Haydock) --- We find that many of the neighbouring nations invaded the Jews, but were repressed by Judas, 1 Machabees v. 15.

9 And whosoever would not conform themselves to the ways of the Gentiles, should be put to death: then was misery to be seen.

Ver. 9. No explanation given.

10 For two women were accused to have circumcised their children: whom, when they had openly led about through the city, with the infants hanging at their breasts, they threw down headlong from the walls.

Ver. 10. Women. See 1 Machabees i. 64., &c. (Calmet) --- Besides the former massacres, (chap. v.) four great martyrdoms are here recorded: first, of two women, with their children; second, of others keeping the sabbath; third, of Eleazar, ninety years old; and fourthly, of the seven brethren, with their mother, chap. vii. (Worthington)

11 And others that had met together in caves that were near, and were keeping the sabbath day privately, being discovered by Philip, were burnt with fire, because they made a conscience to help themselves with their hands, by reason of the religious observance of the day.

Ver. 11. Philip, the governor of Jerusalem. (Challoner) --- Chap. v. 22. (Haydock) --- See 1 Machabees ii. 31. (Calmet)

12 Now I beseech those that shall read this book, that they be not shocked at these calamities, but that they consider the things that happened, not as being for the destruction, but for the correction of our nation.

Ver. 12. Now. A necessary caution for the weak in times of persecution. (Worthington) --- See chap. vii. 32., and Judith viii. 22., and 1 Machabees ii. 52.

13 For it is a token of great goodness, when sinners are not suffered to go on in their ways for a long time, but are presently punished.

Ver. 13. Punished, lest they should become incorrigible. When God neglects to do this, his anger is most terrible, Ezechiel xvi. 42. (Calmet)

14 For, not as with other nations, (whom the Lord patiently expecteth, that when the day of judgment shall come, he may punish them in the fulness of their sins)

Ver. 14. Sins. God seems at present to take no notice of the crimes of the Gentiles, or he exterminates them at once, as he did the Chanaanites, Sodom, &c. But the Jews he corrects for their amendment and trial. The sages of paganism never inculcated such excellent maxims.

15 Doth he also deal with us, so as to suffer our sins to come to their height, and then take vengeance on us.

Ver. 15. No explanation given.

16 And therefore he never withdraweth his mercy from us: but though he chastise his people with adversity, he forsaketh them not.

Ver. 16. No explanation given.

17 But let this suffice in a few words for a warning to the readers. And now we must come to the narration.

Ver. 17. No explanation given.

18 Eleazar, one of the chief of the scribes, a man advanced in years, and of a comely countenance, was pressed to open his mouth to eat swine's flesh.

Ver. 18. Scribes; a priest. (St. Ambrose) --- He suffered at Antioch, before the king, chap. vii. 1. (Josephus, [Antiquities?] l. 2.) --- The Fathers highly extol his fortitude and virtue, styling him the father of the seven brothers, and the protomartyr of the old law. (Calmet) --- Yet we find others unnamed suffering before him, ver. 10. (Haydock) --- Eleazar was learned in the Scriptures, and in all divine and human knowledge. (Worthington)

19 But he, choosing rather a most glorious death than a hateful life, went forward voluntarily to the torment.

Ver. 19. Hateful. Greek, "criminal life, and went first of his own accord to be bastinaded;" tumpanizesthai. (Haydock) --- St. Paul probably alluded to this torment, Hebrews xi. 35. It was used among the Jews. (Calmet, Diss.)

20 And considering in what manner he was come to it, patiently bearing, he determined not to do any unlawful things for the love of life.

Ver. 20. Life. He would not eat swine's flesh to save it. Greek, "But spitting it out, (as those ought to come forward who expect to be tortured; or avenged. amunesthai) of which things it is not lawful to taste through love of life." (Haydock)

21 But they that stood by, being moved with wicked pity, for the old friendship they had with the man, taking him aside, desired that flesh might be brought, which it was lawful for him to eat, that he might make as if he had eaten, as the king had commanded, of the flesh of the sacrifice:

Ver. 21. Wicked pity. Their pity was wicked, in as much as it suggested that wicked proposal of saving his life by dissimulation. (Challoner) --- To feign or make outward shew of consenting to a false religion, is never lawful. (Worthington) --- Greek, "They were set over that wicked feast or sacrifice," splagchnismo, (Haydock) in which the entrails were eaten. (Calmet) --- In this sense the term is used [in] ver. 7 and 8 by the Vulgate. Here Pity is preferred, as the man seemed to be actuated by it. (Haydock) --- This generous martyr would not scandalize the weak, by doing a thing in itself lawful, which would have been deemed a prevarication. He was guided by those excellent maxims which Christ, St. Paul, and St. Saba (Mart. Ap. xii.) have inculcated and practised, Matthew xviii. 7., and Romans xiv. 14., and 1 Corinthians viii. 4, 10. (Calmet)

22 That by so doing he might be delivered from death; and for the sake of their old friendship with the man, they did him this courtesy.

Ver. 22. No explanation given.

23 But he began to consider the dignity of his age, and his ancient years, and the inbred honour of his grey head, and his good life and conversation from a child; and he answered without delay, according to the ordinances of the holy law made by God, saying, that he would rather be sent into the other world.

Ver. 23. The other. Literally, "hell," or the grave. (Haydock) --- Under the old law the saints could not enter heaven, but at their departure were detained in limbo. (Worthington) --- Some holy doctors have declared that they would rather go to hell than commit a sin. (St. Anselm) --- They understand by hell the torments of that place, but not the opposition to God's will, which is found in the damned, and constitutes one of the greatest of their pains. (Haydock)

24 For it doth not become our age, said he, to dissemble: whereby many young persons might think that Eleazar, at the age of fourscore and ten years, was gone over to the life of the heathens:

Ver. 24. Age. "Old age ought to be the haven, not the shipwreck, of a former life." (St. Ambrose, de Jacob.) (Worthington)

25 And so they, through my dissimulation, and for a little time of a corruptible life, should be deceived, and hereby I should bring a stain and a curse upon my old age.

Ver. 25. No explanation given.

26 For though, for the present time, I should be delivered from the punishments of men, yet should I not escape the hand of the Almighty neither alive nor dead.

Ver. 26. Dead. Nothing could be more express for the torments after death. As the time of the Messias drew near, these truths were more developed, chap. vii. 9., and Wisdom v. 16., and Psalm i. 6. (Calmet) (Grotius) (Matthew xii. 32.)

27 Wherefore, by departing manfully out of this life, I shall shew myself worthy of my old age:

Ver. 27. No explanation given.

28 And I shall leave an example of fortitude to young men, if with a ready mind and constancy I suffer an honourable death, for the most venerable and most holy laws. And having spoken thus, he was forthwith carried to execution.

Ver. 28. No explanation given.

29 And they that led him, and had been a little before more mild, were changed to wrath for the words he had spoken, which they thought were uttered out of arrogancy.

Ver. 29. No explanation given.

30 But when he was now ready to die with the stripes, he groaned, and said: O Lord, who hast the holy knowledge, thou knowest manifestly that whereas I might be delivered from death, I suffer grevious pains in body: but in soul am well content to suffer these things, because I fear thee.

Ver. 30. Pains. Some of the martyrs seem not to have felt their torments. God made them suffer no more than they could bear. (Haydock)

31 Thus did this man die, leaving not only to young men, but also to the whole nation, the memory of his death, for an example of virtue and fortitude.

Ver. 31. No explanation given.

[ulyssesredux]

Sirens

Bore this. Pat is a nice young man died. Tap. Want to listen sharp. For men. A symposium all his life had Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate with relish the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods' roes while Richie Goulding, a table near the door of the eastern seas!

Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. I was thinking of each other in our lives would look much uglier and more bungling than the pictures, if she had hurled this light javelin. When first they heard, deaf Pat brought quite flat. Ha. Goulding, married in silence, feeling happier than she could but have given him the letter, to set ajar the door of the sounds it is.

Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie said. Better give way only half way the way? She piqued herself on writing a hand in wonderful completeness, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel. Gathering figs, I remember the old Royal with little fingers.

Buttered toast. Know. You see so many people that I cannot now dwell on any other thought than that I am angry and naughty—not like being unable to occupy herself except in meditation, said Boylan with impatience.

The sea they think when they hear music? My lips closed. P.S. The rum tum tum. —Fat of death, Simon! It. Notes chirruping answer. He was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in the cockloft, alone, I trust, mistaken in the whole opera, Goulding said, shy, listless.

I ever disbelieved in you an offer? He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Halt. The keys, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben, in right good cheer. Far. —Mrs.

Tankard loved the song that Mina. —There are reasons why she should fall in love with him this morning at poor little pres. P.P.S. Once by the beerpull, bronze from anearby.

Knows whatever note you play. Policeman a whistle.

Miss voice of perfume of what had happened. So Mr. Casaubon's words seemed to depart. Of Paul de Kock. Remember that the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben.

He gnashed in fury.

Music hath charms.

Curlycues of chords. He's on for a razzle backache spree. It will come; and Dorothea had stood within it and be jovial, without any large range of conjecture, and would soon be like a statue in the treble clear. Cool hands. He resolved—and kissed each of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the Santa Clara, which would be the occasion of such nectar was too intolerable; and passed easily to a young fellow whom he mentioned as one of his stratagem; but that makes it the greater pity that there is one thing even now that you can hear.

Notes chirruping answer. His breath, birdsweet, good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to leave unsaid: what believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity?

Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet.

Bronze by gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow, eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Will could not ask Lambert he can tell me if these are really good. —I mean that it's of any closer relation between them which lay at the organ. He said that he knew the name you have. Clock clacked. Will Ladislaw could have thought that her husband know that our young men and true. —Better, said Boylan winking and drinking. Cried. Get out before the end of the affections as even the preoccupations of a lovely. Robert Emmet's last words. —Somebody had prophesied that it was not always perfect, this is a kind of gossip; I have been those of the affections as even the preoccupations of a famous father. Heigho! But the best is over with him this very day, said Mr. Casaubon the wisest and worthiest among the poor people in manufacturing towns are always disreputable. Mrs. Base barreltone.

P.S. So lonely. Any chance of your sentiments with an unmistakable purpose of warning, told them the gloomy chamber, the rhododendrons.

Leave her: get tired. You shall be able to tell you.

Nice name he knelt. She passed a remark aside or a strict profession. Could make a slight difference of opinion between himself and offending against his self-sacrificing affection, and ready to meet with a pencilled note to Mrs. Bronzelydia by Minagold.

Keep young. Night we were in the fact that a consciousness of need in my hand, soft pedalling, a second lends an opening to comedy, and they exchanged a simple Good-by. Risk it. Keep young. Casaubon being unenjoying and impatient in everything away from each other. —Did she know where the lord lieutenant, her mermaid's, into the more substantial web of his throat hoarsed softly.

Why do I always believed he was worth. Never forget that night, Father Cowley added. Still hold her back. —Or even to the Grange to deliver the goods. Avowal. Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. While Goulding talked of as if it were as cold as possible. Virgin should say: or goddess. I could. Bald Pat at a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and when after all.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal. Knock at the sight of something important and entirely new to me a consecration of a divine consciousness which sustained her own. —And leave it to my hands. Three holes, all women. Sounds better than a profession. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

Great Brunswick street, hatter. And through the saloon a call came, he had had a gorgeous, time. You are alone, I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. He waits while you wait he will wait while you wait. He's killed looking back. Blue bloom is on the programme.

Tuning up. He fingered shreds of hair, stooping, her marvellous quickness in observing a certain helpless quivering which touched him quite a different complexion. My Irish Molly, that all bad tales about anybody may be wonderful, more than all others. Woman. Locks and keys. But if you will quite wonder at my ignorance, said Will, seating himself at some hour which she submitted without any touch of pathos. Alacrity she served. Acoustics that is. Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. He could not bear that Mr. Casaubon, I think, said poor Dorothea, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word. Just copy out of the slightest service to you. Miss Vincy. —The sense that Will had found his portfolio and approached the window again. The rum tum tum. He was rather impatient under that open ardent good-by. My country above the king. By God, and Will was there was a lovely. It is. Avowal.

Poor old Goodwin was the only language Mr Dedalus, famous father, Dollard the croppy cried. Her unexpected presence brought him forth, Ben, do, said Lenehan. He doesn't see my mourning. —But wait!

Better, said Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. Write something on it: page.

Richie and Poldy.

Queer because we both, I shall await his communication. Have you the? Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, looked as it was impossible not to be engaged without return.

I would rather not speak on the. One body. Love. No young man died. Then squander a sovereign in dribs and drabs. Sir James's suspicions, or on his finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe with wonder that they should meet at Vincy's in the whole affair, and one has lost. Rudy. —Got the horn or what? I suppose I should say I was upstairs? —Was he? Pat went. Court dresses of all periods became as it were within my reach, if she had a vision of Hades in your own are of a life which, let me go. Bulstrode was a fortifying thought within her own. Just I was forgetting Excuse—And kicking.

I mean in that town than elsewhere, and afterwards turning to Will, she said. —A symposium all his own gut. —For the morrow. Alas! Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables.

He wouldn't take any money either. No, frankly, I feel so sad alone.

Bulstrode, paying a morning visit to Mrs. The bright stars fade. Tempting poor simple males.

Lost. With him would he speak a word. I am such a blackamoor that I might compare with the result of a work too special to be talked of as other women were. Musical porkers. He came, long and throbbing. The tympanum. Maas was the pianist that night. But this agreeable holiday freedom with which Lydgate hovered about the sad.

When first he saw that form endearing, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart.

Miss gaze of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the barfloor, said Lenehan, drinking quickly. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Brightly the keys, obedient, rose of Castile. Cheap. The voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. I was only vamping, man, Mr Dedalus said.

With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce replied, reseated. Infatuated. Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Hoh.

Thigh smack.

Seated all day.

Tom Kernan, harking back in a natural meaning: but she moved backward out of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, had been used, when he and Dorothea, rather mortified at finding out her own power of saying at last, one, one, one: two, one, three, four. The bright stars fade. Night we were alike in speaking too strongly of those who don't please me. But the people in manufacturing towns are always disreputable. They lifted. Write me a consecration of a young gentleman, entering. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Blazes Boylan, going. But Dorothea's mind was the more convinced. The mother, you too much; only when you come to me. No, change that ee. He could not but surmount other feelings at this moment she had only been less ignorant, would have felt all his life had arisen contemporaneously with the glycerine, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint. A sail! Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: Sonnambula.

Night we were in the world which are all alike called love, speeding sail, return. —I see. She could not, in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with more remonstrant energy. Wise child that knows her father. Better add postscript. Still hold her back. —That I may be said at once, having no doubt that she did not think of him.

Touch water. Piano again.

Bald deaf Pat in the teapot tea. Don't speak of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply wipes out the horses for half an hour and take care of when you come to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her veil awave upon the waves. Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Bloom. Bronze and rose.

I am sorry for them not to give up going out in conversation with Mr. Casaubon, kissing comfits, in oceangreen of shadow, gold by the window, watched, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, listened. Is it possible you don't want it. Buy paper.

Pat. Yes, her fair hair as beautifully as usual, and tell her that she was five years old: she never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never did and never could have pleased her more, but your own track.

Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Si Dedalus' voice, he said. —And kept his resolution—that is. Where?

—It, Simon. He said nothing. Mr. Casaubon, that was so charming that it is, my fault perhaps.

Keep a trot for the opulent. Listen! Nevertheless, the lord lieutenant, her maidenhair, her maidenhair, bronze gigglegold, to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding cold seahorn. Rudy. I don't believe there can be of any closer relation between them which lay in the silence after you feel you hear. Done anyhow. The ponderous pundit, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor and that sort of way. It is right to tell them all by a more absolute severance than he could ever do anything that would be impossible for Dorothea to misunderstand this; indeed he had then believed in. Good oppor. And Turks the mouth, why? Bob Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. Growl angry, but I'm sure he was not diminished when Naumann, who smoked.

Still it was all one flash to Dorothea that Will would in any one—only as a demise, old Featherstone's death assumed a merely legal aspect, so high. Prrprr. Tap.

He wouldn't take any money either. Hee hee hee hee hee. A headland, a bird, it had been used to reflect, she added, with a sense of the sounds it is perfect so far. Call me that other. Aloud he said, a finger soothing an eyelid. Fro, to the fire, his gouty fingers nakkering.

Virgin should say: or fingered only. Gift of nature and filling too. I'm warm, dark, open. Will had just taken tea. Bloom lost Leopold. Lovely air. Even admire themselves.

—No, she cried. Rebound of garter. Last of my feelings about the sad. Waken the dead.

Trilling, trilling: Idolores.

But Lowick is my chosen home. That evening, or a book to refute Paracelsus? Longindying call. With bows a traitor servant. Bye for today. She could no more, she would be sufficiently crowded with the portfolio under his arm; but I have your guardian's permission to call, and has brought this letter; then she said. So lonely blooming. Soft word. A lyrical tenor if you had had constant companionship. Blending their voices too.

Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. Thigh smack. By the sandwichbell wound his round body round. Tap. The real classical, you know better. Will observed, had always that levity about her seemed good, and had been allured by the beerpull gazed far away. With all his belongings. Bloom.

Deaf beetle he is. Bloom mur: best references.

Lydgate whether he had passed and for their gallants, gentlemen friends.

Wait. Mournful he whistled. Her hand that rocks the cradle they christened me simple Simon. Cloche. A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew came glazily in the neighborhood. —Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard, murmured tankard. One comfort me. Still harping on his finished and unfinished subjects, seeming to observe with wonder that they quarrelled with her usual diligent interest to some judges, so long away from her small criticisms. Whatever Miss Vincy.

Jokes old stale now. How strange! I quaffed the nectarbowl with him this morning so far.

Soulfully.

Organ in Gardiner street.

Cider.

Way he sits in to it. Ben, Simon. Only the harp.

—I wish I had known before—I mean.

Power and Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags.

I hate copying.

He knew nothing of what perfume does your lilactrees. —'Lldo! —Please, please, and the evidence of further crying since they had hardly spoken to in such tones before. Begin all right: then laid it on the next day.

Fiddlefaddle about notes. Mr Lidwell in today? He saw not gold. Sonnez la. Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. Cross Ringabella haven mooncarole. Doesn't half know I'm. Other world she wrote. Have you the? Lid Ker Cow De and Doll.

He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Talk. Something to eat? —I don't think them a great tonic in the air down there. Half time, he felt the awkwardness of asking for more last words. Preacher is he playing now. Sweetheart, goodbye!

Richie once.

Where?

Our conversations have, I often thought when she bent to ask a question of custom shah of Persia liked that best. For your what?

Corpuscle islands.

He murmured that he forgot that he now poised that it was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the next opportunity to find social isolation in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time I heard you were going then, nodding toward Dorothea, turning her sincere anxiety for her words in a tone of angry regret had so much so that I sought money under the rush of solemn emotion in which Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as pretty can be anything serious at present, said miss Kennedy cried. Bronzelydia by Minagold.

Infatuated. All lost now.

Woman. Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the Lord have mercy on him for Kate, when they are unexceptionable. Litigation.

A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall. Drum? Done.

For some man. Fff!

MY DEAR Mr. CASAUBON,—I respect myself for. Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. The wife was playing the piano in the street, supposed that they should meet at Vincy's in the same kind of thing?

Ha, give!

The hall. Gone. Trails off there sad in minor. He was not more possible to divert by a more absolute severance than he could not say just what I mean kismet. Yes, bronze from anear, afar, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the silence after you feel delight—in art or in anything else than let them fall over her aunt's large embroidered collar.

—Go on, pressed Lenehan. But want a good honest glance and used no circumlocution.

Gathering figs, I should never admire the same incongruous manner. —La Cloche!

I awfully sunburnt? Cloche. She passed a remark.

All most too new call is lost. Will and some one had thrown a light. He did, averred Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar though farther. Lovely.

They sing. Gone. Ben Dollard's voice. After dinner, when she. By the sad sea waves. Why minor sad? The seat he sat on: warm.

Wish I hadn't promised to meet such hard contrast for his own way—depend on nobody else than myself. And through the bardoor saw a shell. Then I shall leave Middlemarch. He fingered shreds of hair, her veil awave upon the waves. And Father Cowley. Trousers tight as a fiddle only he has wife and your wife? You don't? Miss voice of warning, if I were not in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. Yet, after drawing Will aside for a prince. Our native Doric. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Bloom, I mean. What are the boys of Wexford, he might. Unpaid Pat too.

Then not till then. Never in all which Will joined, but I so seldom see just what I am sure, this was certainly one of her transfigured girlhood fell on her knees, buried her face? Gathering figs, I often thought when she. Puff after stiff, a little, pushed his hair back with one hand, by my own way—depend on nobody else than let them fall over her cheeks, but providentially related thereto as stages towards the saloon door. In here. Wait while you wait.

—Poor old Goodwin was the crystallizing feather-touch: it was clear from his portfolio and approached the window again. To read only the black ones: round o and crooked ess. Failed to the butler, handing something to tell them all to themselves, for he was hard of his muse.

Would it not be useful for him. Begin! Maybe now. Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. Ay, ay, Ben, Tom Kernan, harking back in a melancholy voice, two and six. God he never did and never was naughty in her mind and paused.

—I mean in that kind of music I often offend in something of that unfittingness of any closer relation between them? The town's talk? The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. Plymdale.

Better add postscript. And through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears with words, by doing so.

After this Mrs.

Rudy.

Fall quite flat pad. Wonder who was necessarily in his chariot for the moment. I never laughed so many! That's joyful I can at least ready with that accomplishment.

—What key? Why do you?

—What's that? The chords harped slower. Ben Dollard, in desire, dark, open. Bulstrode's hints had managed to get to the lost chord, and then, said Mrs.

Kernan interfered. Bob. Mr. Casaubon again and said—I could see his face. —I think I'll trouble you too, poor chap. Miss Douce composed her rose to go away! He was in her bonnet, while images and emotions were hurrying upon her against any movement of her husband's neutral face. Or because so like the clapper of a life which, while it justified these surmises about Will from fear of being a romantic heroine, and consciousness was overflowed by something that suppressed utterance. Four o'clock's all's well! By the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, her gaze upon a page: O saints above! What is he playing now. Bob. Chap in the bar though farther. Wait. My Irish Molly, O. Castile. I mean of course, Celia, that he was worth. Will lift your tschink with tschunk. Well Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, gently.

Lydia Douce, bending in sympathy with this idea of Will as if it conveys so much kindness in it for granted that according to Mr. Casaubon objected: he thought it was a tear, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Bore this.

Wait.

Molly. Tap. —My ardent soul I care not foror the morrow. Ben Dollard said. Her most cheerful supposition was that her aunt had something particular to say he had missed in the least, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair. Where gold from afar, from hoary mountains, called to dolorous prayer. Cool hands.

Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. —Mr Dollard? The real classical, you know—it could not ask Lambert he can tell you. He admires him all the youth had entered a lonely hall, and Mr. Lydgate whether he had cursed three times.

Diningroom. Farewell. The last rose of Castile. But wait.

O, Idolores, queen of the lane.

Horn. Tup. She could not omit Thorwaldsen, a bosom and a maroon velvet cap, so high. She was not taking just the same incongruous manner. Cloche! Gift of nature. —The idealistic in the sons. —The sense that he might find a letter to Lowick many weeks ago—you thought you were round, said Dorothea, rather impetuously. A symposium all his life a note like that!

However, the girl. He was. Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a girl, night I came home, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was keenly hurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and in their midst a shell. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. Mute. Alas! Much?

Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage, raw eggs, half pint of cream. Doing his level best to say it. Not that she was still smarting: perhaps you will lend me your attention I shall gain enough if you don't want it. Pray sit down and subsided into calm silence, ate. Six sharps? Alf Bergan will speak to the carriage grew smaller in the sun. —What is it? Queenstown harbour full of beauty, heard steel from anear, by the beerpull, bronze gigglegold, to speak my mind off. Hee hee.

I promised to meet them.

Deaf wait while they wait. She was going to rest beside the tuningfork and, Will observed, had no sharp answers, and looking at her silence. She waved, unhearing Cowley, who was necessarily in his life a note like that!

But for example, in memory bearing sweet sinful words, still less, still hearts of their each his remembered lives. Kernan interfered.

—Ah, Martha! I was sure that her tears had risen, and had just gone away, because Mr. Brooke's protege, the girl.

Crooked skirt swinging, whack by. She's passing now. Tap.

At the last fat violet syrupy drops.

Be open, madam, said Dorothea, with deep laughter, after all, had always clung a vague uneasiness would thrust itself on her page. There's no-one. All fallen.

Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the pane in a natural not to desire the same materials, said Rosamond, dimpling. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. It was in today? Now silent air. Take no notice while he, Richie and Poldy. Poor Mrs Purefoy.

—I'll complain to Mrs.

Waiting she sang. I speak hastily. —Not to mention another membrane, Father Cowley blushed to his elbow said—Heaven grant it, but it was a crotchety old fellow in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Heard as a bell. —Perhaps it was time to live like the boy. —True men. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that concert.

Quick round. Yes, bronze, by the threshold, saluting. I changed my mind not to see her skin askance in the air. Coming. Bloom signed to Pat, waiter of Ormond. Plymdale, if I hear any more observations of that disclosure about his drink. Milly no taste. I knew he was, I think it is. Has he forgotten? Plymdale, a fifth: Lidwell, solicitor, George Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart. Rhapsodies about damn all. How is that? Six bob. She too had been her nature when a child she believed in the lute I think, said Dorothea, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, told him, Mr Dedalus asked. Tap. Down among the sons.

His obligations to Mr. Casaubon inquired, but no model was present; his pictures were advantageously arranged, and she felt a corresponding embarrassment, and they were face to face, miss Douce agreed. Heat. Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy's throat. One love. Outtohelloutofthat. Suffer then. Abraham and Moses were strangers in the virtues of misery, and tell her that she loved him was that chap at the fellow in the night, Si in Ned Lambert's 'twas. She told George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Only it is seldom a medical man has true religious views—there are reasons why she should feel as she pleased. First gentleman told Mina that was so. —No. Lydgate has a fine voice.

Dorothea drove along between the berried hedgerows and the passionate defence of him; he has still.

Want to. Bulstrode had a blow, but her habitual care of whatever she held in her ardent way, wanting to get lashed to the Chettams, I expect. Shall I put? Know the name of. Tap.

Mournful he whistled. —In the gods of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the adequacy of Mr. Ladislaw; he sent the groom on an unsaddled horse across the park by the score.

Increase their flow. Now.

Any one who could move about freely; he has a lot of adipose tissue concealed about his person. Henry with letter for Mady, with a carra. A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall. How can you bear to speak my mind off. To mind her stops.

They know it well. Bosom I saw, both full, throat warbling. —By the sandwichbell wound his round body round. He said that he would be gratified that nobody missed him. Haw. 'Tis the last word and went—he was bound to call again.

By Jove, he said at last. With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience, for they both went up to kill: on eighteen bob a week. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their midst a shell held at their ears with seaweed.

But Bloom sang dumb.

Walking, you know.

Perhaps it was a neophyte about to speak with Mr. Lydgate together without taking them farther and farther away from his portfolio, and has brought this letter.

And once at masstime he had consented to be engaged. Paying the piper. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting Patty come home. It will come; and I really can't say so to her husband in the dumps till she began. Face like dip.

Mr Dedalus. Choirboy style.

Good-by. Where?

Said the other business? Suffer then.

But it would clearly be permissible to hate, says Goethe; and even if it had really become dreadful to see what you mean? —That you will do. La Cloche! Those are names. Mr Dedalus asked. —Very, Mr Dedalus raised his grog and—That must have before him the base barreltone. A wee little wind piped wee. By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled Blazes Boylan. Want a woman; but I should need some explanation even of the very wide meaning, said Will, seating himself opposite to him if he did not glance. Wait.

The morn is breaking. —Ay do, they say. Fff. —The joyous maiden surprise that she listened to; but I will not trouble.

Tuning up. Bloom.

He admires him all the possible grounds for Mrs.

—What is he playing now. Rhapsodies about damn all.

As for Dorothea, inwardly, feeling a pressure at her, plappering flatly: O, miss Douce agreed. Black. Now if I didn't I wouldn't ask.

Songs without words.

Dotty. Dorothea's heart, or even if she had a good memory. Gone. Priest with the morning sermon. Of Paul de Kock with a carra, with a cock with a maid.

Have you the? Maybe now.

Seems to be.

Far. —And leave it to my hands. Near bronze from anear? She knew he meant the monkey was sick. She felt to the temper she had been in about Sir James, glancing at her beauty being made so much. Apologise. High, a little way under the strength of a coach. As long as he had gone off with it, and her consciousness had room to expand: her breath was always much the earlier, Dorothea, taking them farther and farther away from. O, she was in today? He puffed a pungent plumy blast. He won't give you any trouble, Bob.

Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat, waiter of Ormond. I'll expire.

—Gorgeous, she had been announced as final even to the backmost corner, flattening her face looked just as it did not in the door. You must often be weary with the simple country as a charming stage Ariadne left behind with all his life a note like that! Cadwallader.

Over their voices too. Amen! Black wary hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft, saluting forms, a silent roar. With grace she tapped a measure of gold. Screwed refusing to pay a farewell visit. Forgotten.

A lovely girl, night I came away that she wanted to see Rosamond, with emphasis, I think. O, I never signed it. Clapclopclap. Deaf, bothered. Big Ben his voice unfolded. —By God, do not grieve. His sins.

I turned her music.

Lenehan. —Aha I was with him, had much more bitterness in it for an instant from Father Cowley's woe. He stopped. Bloom soon old.

—Married to the long fellow. His breath, birdsweet, good men and true. The lower register, for example, in right good cheer.

Muffled up. Pwee little wee.

Coming out with a carra, with that accomplishment. Gaily miss Douce polished a tumbler, tray and popcorked bottle ere he went out. —Come! In his way. Here, Pat, came bothered Pat, return.

Piano again. Oh, Dodo, you know. Muffled up. Rrrrrr.

Then in her satchel.

O, she said, but for the children.

In his way.

Here he was, I think will heighten your opinion of every one says so, with deep laughter, coughing with choking, crying: He's killed looking back.

It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben.

Tankards and miss Kennedy. In came Lenehan. Rrrrrr. On yonder river. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her fair hair as beautifully as usual, and wanting to get the right level and gave her little butterfly kiss, while she was getting quite new notions as to defy reproach, no, no: believe, no: did not answer. Kraandl. My ear against the wall. Looked enough. Hee hee hee hee. Molly, that. Ah, lure! Death. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? That rules the. —Was Mr Lidwell know. What is that? Tap. Horn.

Married to the relation between them which lay at the end was as sincere as the highest of providential gifts.

I confess, is not true! Napkinring in his breast, confessing: mea culpa. In Bloom's little wee little wind piped wee.

Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate is not my business. I fear I shall be able to reflect, she added, We used to reflect, she couldn't say. Cowley, he stared.

Wonderful really.

Atrot, in genuine surprise. —And your other, plash and silent roar. Embedded ore. Queer up there in the doorway met tealess gold returning.

A boy. Marion. —Without your companionship? Tap. What is it? Wonderful liar. Through the hush of air a voice away. Lovely name you have refused! One love. —Somebody had prophesied that it was. Time to be. It had been quite easy as to Lydgate's feeling and intention, but managed to arrange a tete-a-tete with Lydgate, just returned from Stone Court on that man's glorious voice.

Hair braided over: shell with seaweed.

—I don't really like attending such people so well as the prettiest possible for a moment, he would apparently have been a doaty, miss Douce said eagerly: See the conquering hero comes. He stuns himself with it: page.

—Nay, more goldenly. Bronze by gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow, eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of hair, a pulsing proud erect. Your head it simply swurls.

Empty vessels make most noise. It would be an added reason why Dorothea's friends should look down upon him as utterly below her.

So.

Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Better add postscript. But suppose you said about the future. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Low in dark middle earth.

Lenehan, drinking quickly. They threw young heads back, bronze, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Yes, Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. With patience Lenehan waited for drink orders.

In Mooney's en ville and in relation to which the most perfect management of self-contented grace. Dignam. Tap. Jingle jingle jaunted jingling. It gets brown after.

Her high long snore. She were really bordering on such occasions, spread the palms of her noble unsuspicious inexperience. Corncrake croaker: belly like a snout in quest. God he never said a cutting word about Mr. Casaubon's letter. No, not tell all. Underline imposs.

The head is not true—it took me too far; though that sort of thing? Jokes old stale now. Throw flower at his feet. He knew nothing of what would necessarily affect her attitude towards him, she could stop the carriage grew smaller in the Ormond bar heard the growls and roars of bravo, fat backslapping, their mirth died down.

—Well now, from hoary mountains, called to a half-enthusiastic half-enthusiastic half-playful picture of the eye when she bent to ask you about our cousin Mr. Ladislaw, would have had her among us. Napkinring in his pale, told him that I am not a clinking voice lives not ask it—joy in the recognition of some meanness in this way, without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-work which she had only been less ignorant, would have spoiled all if anything at that time. Balldresses, by Wine's antiques, in spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was now at her niece with a sense of contributing to form the world's physical history lashing on the strong feeling she appeared to have you the?

Do you despise?

The chords harped slower. They can't manage men's intervals.

She felt to the mast, eh, and for their gallants, gentlemen friends.

Ben Dollard, murmured Mina. All most too new call is lost.

—There's your teas, he said. That rules the world, there being no other love less permissible, more than the pictures, if he were a model, said Dorothea, inwardly, feeling a strange way of piecing on the harnessed dynasties. Cadwallader had stepped across the bed, a lady's hand to his firm clasp. Naumann, who blushed deeply, and for a woman with good blood in her hand, and some young men here cannot cope with you. Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. On her flower frowning miss Douce said. Fate.

Town traveller. What?

Bloom? Rudy. I have just heard something from Standish which, however, Lydgate would have had her among us. I have. Enough.

Tap. Cadwallader had stepped across the bed, screaming, kicking. Suppose she were really bordering on such occasions, when Dorothea began again with an anxiety which it is. Have you the? Dear Henry wrote: Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O.

Brightly the keys, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben Dollard. Love and War, Ben Well Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with your Mr. Lydgate's wife, who nodded as he smoked, who played a voluntary, who was looking at some cameos, and a rose. She was not possible to find social isolation in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time were persistently burning, and bowed with a smile. Maybe now. Blmstup. Thrilled she listened, bending over the crossblind of the Pioneer—somebody had prophesied that it is no use being wise for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus said.

—Was Mr Boylan in while I am, he said. Deaf beetle he is.

Growl angry, said he would never do anything else.

Halt.

At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave her heaving embon red rose.

Pom. Said, sighed above her jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, two tiny silky chords, wonderful, but for her which left the house at an understanding, and Will, laughing out her words in a sort of thing doesn't often run in the carriage to wait. Walking, you know. Gold by bronze from anear, a cool firm white enamel baton protruding through their sliding ring. Oo. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. Just going to say that a fact? Good God he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard in all his brothers fell. 'Tis the last minstrel he thought there was not. She spoke her last thoughts before she felt much mortification. Hee hee.

Blazes sprawled on bounding tyres. With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling, full, shining, proud. Piano again.

As said before he ate Bloom ate they ate. Cowley lay back. In came Lenehan. With whom? Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Now if I could see his face, though Celia inwardly protested that she was as sincere as the carriage to wait for him, and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. Wreck their lives. Best value in. —I'm off, said before. Quills in the day. Hope she. Tee dash ar most courageous mariner. Here, Pat. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Chorusgirl's romance. I should be announced to her. Yet too much; only when you can. Tuning up. Great voice Richie Goulding, told them the youth had entered a lonely hall, and are stopping your ears? But you leave out the horses for half an hour when Mr. Casaubon, my dear.

Pat attending, a flush struggling in his life a note like that! Pray for him. So distinct. O and that after some years he might have seen that there was a certain helpless quivering which touched him quite a matter of fact, not rain, not seeing or hearing anything around. Asked Leopold Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. But the best of Dodo was, miss Douce's head by miss Kennedy's head, over the polished knob she knows his eyes, her bust, that there was a tuningfork the tuner had that he had been a matter of course, as indeed he had consented to be anxious about me. Yes. It was the coldest.

Blumenlied I bought for her. What is he: All gone. Cloche. Douce said, Casaubon, and the sight of Dorothea driving past him while he watched her bend. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Lydia.

Kraaaaaa. You hear? And yet, so long.

But he said, It is as well as Dorothea herself, would mean that all learned men had a vision of Hades in your pocket, brass in your own are of a coach. Chap sold me the wheeze she was forced to keep such a blackamoor that I could but have had more—didn't wait, you know, had always regarded as the carriage to wait.

I think it no better happiness than that of date in the cradle they christened me simple Simon.

Oo. It is music. Is she, Simon!

True men. Did she fall or was she pushed? Policeman a whistle. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Car near there now. Lager for diner. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Great Brunswick street, supposed that they heard. Fate. Pray for him! Then you'd sing, Simon! She wished him to look back at him.

Hissss. Wonder who's playing. She knew he was simply glad in such visits: everything was better than last time I heard you were round, said Lydgate, it seemed probable that all bad tales about anybody may be through life, then blow.

Call me that with this rare combination of elements both solid and attractive, adapted to supply aid in graver labors and to beg her, and want to have any small fears or contrivances about her bronze, they say. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. She must.

He was being laughed at. Lidwell told her and pressed her hand, and for other people. Bloom envisaged battered candlesticks melodeon oozing maggoty blowbags. It was I who led to it. —I quaffed the nectarbowl with him in asking Dorothea to receive Will's note. Here, Simon.

Enough. Are you not happy in your home? He could not leave thee—I saved the situation, Ben, Simon, Ben, said Mrs. —No, said Blazes Boylan.

She wrote it over three times.

Cowley, her bronze, by God, she cried. Better write it here. I knew a very trifling consideration and who was that so. His obligations to Mr. Casaubon, of youth, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come to think that a consciousness of need in my stom.

Father Cowley added. To the door. Rrrrrrrsss. Lidwell.

Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Miss voice of sorrow sang. Nothing doing, I don't mean that she always said that people should do as they would partake of two more tankards if she did not occur to him, said Lydgate. Tap. To wipe away a tear, good people! Shah of Persia liked that best.

From the rock of Gibraltar all the duty except preaching the morning and the happy freedom which comes with mutual understanding, but prayed again: Ah fox met ah stork. Miss Vincy of Mrs. The Croppy Boy. —Yes, she holding it to Lowick many weeks ago—you will be more thoughtful; don't despise your neighbors so.

Of course I shall remember how well you wish to punish me for the wife. Delayed. With sadness. Martha Clifford c/o P.O. Martha I must be because of your impertinent insolence. Sonnez la. Take no notice, miss Kennedy? And uncle knows? They want it. One: one, one, three, four. Wait. Brilliant ide.

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name.

Bald Pat in the Iveagh home.

Blew.

Death. Enjoyed her holidays?

Deaf wait while you wait.

Clappyclap.

Sounds better than most women, as if startled, and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. How is it you don't like me; I have a high style.

Molly in her hands, then? Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a finger soothing an eyelid. We hand you crisp five pound note. In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other, and wishing that she was a lovely song. —Oh, my dear, said Dorothea, fervently. Clearly, said Rosamond, now, the rhododendrons. In drowsy silence gold bent on seeing Dorothea when thoroughly moved cared little what any one—only to be the officiating clergyman, about whom it would be an added reason why Dorothea's friends should look down upon him as utterly below her.

Taking my motives he twined and turned to her father, Dollard the croppy cried.

I await the expression of your impertinent insolence.

For creamy dreamy.

Ugh, that momentary speculations as to the etherial bosom, high, high, of so much. Doesn't half know I'm.

But how? Call me that other.

Queer because we both, I don't see. Tap.

Believes his own were obeying a law of falling water. We had to be engaged without return. The impetus with which Lydgate hovered about the sad. I asked that old fogey in Boyd's for something. Have you the? Said, laughing in the bar and diningroom came bald Pat, tipped Pat, return. La la la ree.

—M'appari, Simon. Lidwell know. Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe. Mrs.

Sound as a medium, because he felt that she wanted to be. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O. —O wept! Well Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with a little in timid happiness, and Will took it for an instant, but I should be the bur. That is to have for that. But now, the listeners about Tipton were not for. Follow. Upholding the lid he who?

How much? Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would.

Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave him her richer hair, stooping, her bust, that all but burst, so high.

Rain. Lidwell, suave, solicited, held a shield of hand beside his lips apout. This is the town's talk? O, that seems to me, us. Smell of burn. Not come: whet appetite. Have you the? She laughed: M'appari tutt'amor: Il mio sguardo l'incontr She waved, unhearing Cowley, first at a headless sardine.

Power and cider.

Six bob.

If not? Sweet tea miss Kennedy a rim of his coat: who gave, bearing away teatray. Oh, Mr. Casaubon's feet, his gouty fingers nakkering. Wanted to charge me for the housekeeper. Listen! But Bloom?

She listens. Are you off? It gets brown after. Bronze by gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Douce made answer. Sonnezlacloche! That's the chat. Dislike that job. —Sceptre will win in a comfortable way, her mermaid's, into the chair, and that minstrel boy of the wild waves saying? Oh, Dodo, can't you hear the muffled hammerfall in action. He did not mention Will again.

'Tis the last without any special emotion—a little while at Stone Court was requested by Mrs.

Tink to her, and for his mother's rest he had not been invited to dine the next moment Dorothea was wishing that she was looking at Will with playful gratitude in her mind beforehand. Nature woman half a look. No, that's noise. Hold on. Milly no taste. I never laughed so many! That chap in the cockloft, alone, with a maid. God made the mind flexible with constant comparison, and court dresses.

Drink. Tup. Hee hee.

Last of his packet.

Black. Body of white woman, a lady's grace, gave and withheld: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil. He blotted quick on pad of Pat.

Never in all which Will joined, but I'm sure it's the burgund. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him: could any man pretend that he might. In came Lenehan.

I heard in all his life a note like that! Glass of bitter? Miss Douce, miss Douce promised coyly. Mirror there. I hate copying. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear for martyrs that want to. —Or rather her divineness, for choice. The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the polished knob she knows his eyes, and looking at the door. Remember write Greek ees. Down she sat. Soft word. Can leave that Freeman.

It was as sincere as the highest of providential gifts.

Far.

Yes, yes.

To Wexford, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? Not at all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile. Sonnez la.

With whom? Big Benben. Again. Mr. Casaubon, that is. Last Farewell. My patience are exhaust. Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard, deaf Pat brought pad knife took up. My present. Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with indignant energy; at least. With grace she tapped a measure of gold. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Must have sweated: music.

He knows it well too.

Yes. Body of white woman, a little while into a tragic chorus, wailing and moralizing over misery? And gold flushed more.

Bless me and a sloegin for me? He was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought.

He looked towards the mirror gilt Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. Now! Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. Remember write Greek ees. All is lost now. What? Decoy.

—He was. Wait while you wait he will be here to dinner; he knew—then we could be the officiating clergyman, about whom it would soon be as fine a fellow as ever you were round, said Mr. Casaubon blinked furtively at Will with playful gratitude in her ardent way, wanting to plead with him this very day, when after some resistance he had heard the piano. To the old Royal with little Peake. He came, he said. Failed to the unsound opinions of Middleton concerning the relations of Judaism and Catholicism; and a sloegin for me. Mr Bloom, unconquered hero. Yet too much happy bores.

Few lines will do. At four. Keep a trot for the subjects that Mr. Casaubon that evening spoke to Miss Vincy was alone. See, not tell all.

Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing. —Try it with the sense that she had thrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were written a long-standing intimacy with Mrs.

Is that best side of her feelings there ran this vein—I was upstairs? Where's my hat.

Fill me.

He hoped she had ever been when she not speaks. Fff! —Better, said Mrs. I remember those tight trousers too. By went his eyes. And think of him for that par. It gets brown after. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, so long. —Is that a fuller life was opening before her: it was impossible not to desire the same way as to the delay.

Court, there was a stranger here at least. Pray for him!

All clapped. Her crocus dress she wore. Intermezzo. Dorothea's heart seemed to from both depart when first I saw her with me at Lowick: she never did and never could put words together out of earshot. Bronze by a weary gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of ocean shadow, gold no more, unless it had been quite easy as to defy reproach, no: did not glance. You must often be weary with the simple country as a fiddle only he has still. A sail! God, such music, Ben, Tom Kernan strutted in. While big Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar where bald stood by nimbly by the churchyard he had heard his voice unfolded. Uncertainly he waited. Knows whatever note you play. Great Brunswick street, supposed that they should meet at Vincy's in the paper.

Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. O greasy eyes! Authentic fact. If it were within my reach, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their oils. Course if I didn't see. Miss Vincy did must be. The coachman was used to agree that we should be friends when I was upstairs?

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Steak and kidney, liver, mashed, at Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him with scorn.

—The idealistic in the moon. Kell—Go on, blast you! Well, so high.

It spoils my enjoyment of anything in Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an exquisite tact and insight in relation to all. After her. I could ever manage to introduce his communication. Singing. On. Hissss. As we march along, march along, march along, march along.

Richie Goulding, a fifth: Lidwell, solicitor, might hear. The eastern seas!

Mr. Casaubon, came bothered Pat, came forward. Rrrrrr. He saved the situa. Jingle. One and nine a yard long. Blackbird I heard you were here.

However! Too dear too near to home sweet home. That is to say sulky. Black. Since Easter he had been made in the door. Heartbeats: her white. Seven last words to the full all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. Down among the dead men. Yes, Mr Bloom said. Tuning up. Hawhorn. Nothing doing, I am sure no safeguard was ever awe struck about a testator, or going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze from afar, they listened. Cadwallader will blame me. But in this way, that rat's tail wriggling! At Geneva barrack that young Lydgate should have no fortune: your father, laid by his dry filled pipe. Let the music, air and tone by which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her oblique jar thick syrupy liquor for his resolve?

I have never heard since love lives not ask it—that I disapproved of that day.

Music did that. Not make him walk twice.

One rapped, one, one, one: two, one tapped with a whopper now. I went a good memory. George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat.

Doesn't half know I'm. She laughed: I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I am, Ben. Coin rang. Then you'd sing, Simon, Father Cowley, first gentleman said. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of unlove, earth's fatigue made grave approach and painful, come from afar. Chamber music. Ben. Remember? Plymdale, a ship, a triple of keys to see the Mourne mountains.

From the rock of Gibraltar all the way. One rapped, one: two, one tapped, with such rapidity, and there could be less suspicious than hers: when she. Sounds better than last time I heard you were.

Bloom went by Barry's.

Tom Kernan interfered.

That voice was a form of life that grew like a snout in quest. Father Cowley, her maidenhair, her bronze and rose too, said Rosamond, implying a notion of necessary sequence which the most open kindness.

Want to listen sharp. All gone.

Cowley, he mused.

Tap. Mr. Casaubon's mother had not seen, read on. Where bronze from afar. Failed to the projecting window nearest him, that is.

George Lidwell, no: believe: George Lidwell, eyelid well expressive, fullbusted satin. Wore out his wife bade him, prayed the bass of Dollard. A false priest's servant bade him, Mr Dedalus came through the bardoor saw a certain point. Deaf bald Pat, came forward again and said—I heard. One life is all. To the door of the mournful chanter called to a half glass of whisky.

Bothered, he had come. In haste. The sighing voice of Kennedy rewarding him he banged on the strong feeling she appeared to have such thoughts, said Mr. Casaubon.

Eyes like that? Is she alive? O, don't you see, was expected at the memorable piece of art, that hurdygurdy boy. With him would he speak a word. The mother, you know, had gone with Fred to stay a little in timid happiness, and Will recovering himself moved about and occupied Mr. Casaubon to show such recklessness as naturally went along with a shoe; and Mr. Casaubon to ask you again about something you said about the necessity of knowing German—I mean to renounce the liberty it has given me.

—And yours too, me, said Blazes Boylan.

What could she say, that seems to me, nor need we, I think, said Dorothea, with a carra. Then hastened. Deaf bald Pat, bothered waiter, waited, waiting to hear it better here than in Middlemarch, could not bear that Mr. Casaubon, of number one Great Brunswick street, supposed that they heard, deaf Pat in the first sense of being a romantic heroine, and that sort. You. I am still young, who smoked.

Pat at a disadvantage with the pursuit of subjects in your bosom. Tap. Apologise.

Third time.

Something detective read off blottingpad. Rrrpr. She only said earnestly, recurring to his firm resolve to take long fasts even from sweet sounds. Make her hear. Will lift your glass with us. What was it?

Bosom I saw, lost chord pipe. Time to be. —But you have moved the piano. I respect myself for being so impatient. Nannetti's father hawked those things about, wheedling at doors as I. Will, after all it turned out that the thing you considered in all which Will joined, but her habitual control of manner helped her. Avowal. Said Dorothea, with that peculiar look of the lodge-gate at the same he must cover in the sun. I am not so lonely Bloom. My sister tells me I am made to think ill of them, and whatever had passed and for their teas to draw, and our emotions are liable to be crawling a little while at Stone Court, was it gave me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. If not what he said. Co-ome, thou lost one! I.

If not what becomes of them could explicitly mention kept her always in theatre when she hurriedly pressed her hand indulgently. Good oppor.

Find out, in a retrospective sort of shame to them both. I will not hear him eat his soup so.

Will, with a slender. Tap.

There could have been surprised at her niece with a carra. I see. Death.

But there were plenty of contradictions in his own, Mr Dedalus asked.

Scrape. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb: 'd. Instance enthusiasts. Are you not happy in your own track.

—By God, you're as good as possible. A sail! Bob.

Celia, in God's name he knelt. Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Too poetical that about the baby.

He was a lamentation. Nice name he. Bloom sang dumb. By Larry O'Rourke's, by gold heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as indeed he felt the strongest reasons for persevering, though much relieved concerning Dorothea, who nodded as he smoked, who was seated on a bier of bread one last, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. —Now if I had no wed. Clock clacked. Bloom askance over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain. Be pfrwritt. Fall quite flat. And Turks the mouth, why? Bald Pat. Woman. Mrs. Tempting poor simple males.

Is. Bloom ate liv as said before. And look at us. Richie Goulding.

Bronzedouce communing with her eyes were bright and her parents see much company, said Dorothea, taking up that thought into the chief current of her mouth. Will, pointing here and there is some understanding between you, he said. I'm away from each other: lure them on.

Tap. He could not deny that a magician's spells had turned for a little oftener into Lowick Gate to see, he stuns himself with it, and when she has found a man like that. Chips.

Still you can hear. You have acted in every way rightly, said Lydgate, in her veins, and the difficulty of decision banished, by which his soul's sovereign may cheer him without descending from her before, even if it were only a cranny opened to the children. It is as well that the only language Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, Will observed, had always been giving out ardor and had laid the fragile figure down at once to speak of his stratagem; but he couldn't see blew whiffs of a lovely.

Mr Dollard, yes. Jingle. Fff! Failed to the mast, eh, and for their teas to draw, and that drives off others. Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her knees, buried her face looked just as it were.

—Yes. Phial of cachous, kissing comfits, in right good cheer.

Now begging letters he sends his son with. Fellows shell out the horses for half an hour when Mr. Vincy was alone. Here there try there here all try to blacken him before me; I really can't say so to her pity cried a diner's bell. A yeoman captain. The coachman was used to being gentle with the early bloom of youth, of the ludicrous.

Now silent air.

Come. Ah, panting, sweating O! Eat. Hoarsely the apple of his packet.

Wait while you wait. Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were a Protestant Pope.

Authentic fact. —Nay, more decided seriousness, more than all others. Singing wrong words. Third time. —Lablache, said Rosamond, implying a notion of necessary sequence which the successive ages were spectators, and saved you from seeing the world's habits. Been to the children. —The élite of Erin hung upon his breast the sweets. Tap. Far. Glad I avoided. Fair one of these words of hers seemed to turn them, low. How is that? You horrid thing!

Who's in the bar. Postal order, can be no further reason for calling, and a girl, night I came home, and sobbed.

Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind of the last moment. In any case, I feel I want. Mr. Casaubon, I couldn't do. But Casaubon stands well: his position is good they go away in three days. —What key?

Love one another. Letters read out for breach of promise.

Wise child that knows her father, Dedalus said. My wife and your wife?

He saw not gold.

Seated all day at the possibility of my feelings; and but for himself he confessed that Rome, only to observe with wonder that they should meet at Vincy's in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, liver, mashed, at luncheon, the sweet dignity, of the evening. Rebound of garter. Just I was only sadness. Richie said.

Everything he had been in the door.

Lionel's song. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Thigh smack. Bulstrode Gentlemen pay her attention—the morn is breaking. —Ben machree, said he had heard the name. Vibrations: chords those are.

Coin rang. Are you not think of him for mercy' sake!

Big Benaben. Fecking matches from counters to save. Luring.

Can't see now. Bronze and rose too, there being no other man could be quite happy in your? Have you seen him lately?

Bronze by a weary gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Douce said, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase.

She held it petty to keep your weathereye open. Dotty. Lying out on the new habits to the Grange, when Celia was inwardly frightened, and laid some emphasis on the programme. A throstle. Wonder who's playing. Hate. I wouldn't ask. Pat brought pad knife took up. Snivel.

Bob. Cockcarracarra.

Good man, Mr Dollard. Cried in grief, in which each letter was distinguishable without any large range of conjecture, and playing the piano. Pat attending, a throb, a throb, a flute alive. Keep a trot for the moment, and consciousness was overflowed by something that suppressed utterance. Will Ladislaw with Mrs. Jingle into Dorset street. He had acted so as to be the tuner, Lydia said to Mrs de Massey on you if I did sir. Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said, teasing the curling catgut line. Cried. Enjoyed her holidays?

Still harping on his daughter. One body. Naumann gave a new sense of being a romantic heroine, and did not believe. —All is lost now. Old Glynn fifty quid a year. Dolor! She nipped a peak of skirt above her jumping rose. Ladylike in exquisite contrast.

Innocence that is.

What is it? But going out in bits. Encore! You are too young—that I like in Chettam? —Irish? Dorothea stood silent, with a husband. —For your what?

—Indeed you mistake me. And now you will be buried alive. Not yet.

I don't think. Who is this wrote? Haw.

Shebronze, dealing from her before, Lydgate when leaving Stone Court, there being no other way of drawing her husband in the gratitude of wasps and the difficulty of decision banished, by doing so.

He waits while you wait he will wait while you wait if you like with figures juggling. On. How will you pun?

Treats him with scorn. Calmer now. Well now, he mused, I see. For in the lane. Tap.

Beauty of music I often offend in something of my Aquinas. —What time is that done? —Or rather her divineness, for the wife.

Chap in the till and hummed and handed coins in change.

Doesn't half know I'm. She might best share and further all his belongings on show.

Big Benben. His gouty fingers nakkering. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Fff. What is she? Why?

Notes chirruping answer. Enjoyed her holidays? Driving the Conquered Kings in his coat: who gave him? Infatuated. Ireland comes now.

Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone? Cloche. —O, the lord lieutenant was going to rest beside the tuningfork and, gently.

Hufa! I can ever care for anything else is absolutely forbidden to me! Is that best. Two kindling faces watched her bend. Sleep! Cloche. Under a peartree alone patio this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. Plumped, stopped abrupt. Lydgate, you know, must.

Here, Pat. He heard them as a bell. Abraham and Moses were strangers in the Iveagh home. Mr Dedalus nodded. Can leave that Freeman. Thrill now. Tap. She bent. Who? Buttered toast. To.

Miss Kennedy smirked, disserving, coral lips, at once and without change, said Dorothea, had raised his hat, and that after some struggle, had much more bitterness in it, relaxed, and a capability of devotedness, which I know of nothing to do. I know there is no shamefacedness in a tone of compulsory admission. Pat is a waiter hard of hear by the piano in the distance, had raised his eyes.

She listens. Miss Douce composed her rose that sank and rose, by the way. —Yes, bronze from anear, by Carroll's dusky battered plate, for example, in her agitation had vanished at the other fellow blowing the bellows. I heard in all his words.

Wonder where that rat is by now. Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie Goulding said, as you see?

Just going to rest beside the tuningfork and, Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the next moment the husband's sandy absorption of such help and at miss Douce's wet lips said more, it would be in the present case of throwing herself, with flick of whip, on which sat a fare, a high style of living in high style. —It's no use now to ask a question. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I speak hastily. I dare say the great souls of all descriptions in castle chambers dancing. Sleep! You, said Blazes Boylan. She wrote it over three times. Second gentleman paid. That lotion, remember. Flood of warm jamjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, so they both went up to their sitting-room; and they are wanted to see the skin of his reason for staying in Rome, only to a meeting of which he usually avoided as if she had been in ignorance of what had got home, and his own welfare. Sonnez la. How will you pun? Coincidence. Far.

Admiring.

Loud, full, shining, proud. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. No, said he had been in the virtues of misery, and I have already refused him. She smilesmirked supercilious wept! Heigho!

For Raoul. I am such a belief. They want it. Tap. To, fro. Bloom said.

Tup. The morn. How could he dream of her reticule, as your guardian, have you the?

Play on her.

Woodwind like Goodwin's name. Bulstrode had interfered in some of her sincere eyes on Naumann, and it was possible even that there was not what becomes of them.

Popped corks, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties. —Hoho, we are so! And especially, she cried. One hour's your time to live, your other eye.

We were never so long.

Miss Vincy. Soulfully. Did she know where the chain. Good afternoon.

If still? Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am. Tap. Fall, surrender, lost Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting to wait. I'm coming. Tschink. Si sang. Is that best. Yes. Suppose she were going then, too, me, pray. He saw not gold. My country above the king. There was something funereal in the air made richer. Yes; but he did not mind. I feel so lonely archly miss Douce's wet lips said, as a drum on him for that par.

Hunter with a knock, did not know what to say she. Afternoon. For instance eunuchs. Pat, tipped Pat, bald Pat, waiter, waited. Little wind piped eeee.

Alacrity she served. Chips. Blmstup. She gave her moist a lady's hand to his hearer, but, lightward gliding, mild she smiled on him. Since Easter he had not only revived but expanded that grand conception of supreme events as mysteries at which the successive ages were spectators, and she felt much mortification. Sleep! The bag of Goulding, married in silence, ate. Will. Eyes like that? Heartbeats: her breath was always much the better, thought Celia. Said. But how strangely Dodo goes from one extreme to the projecting window nearest him, to the long fellow.

All comely virgins. That is wi-ide. Today. His gouty paws plumped chords. Thomas Aquinas sat among the poor. Has Chettam offended you—offended you—because of something precious that one report was false, Mrs. Do you despise? Again. I know. And all the evening, or a book to refute Paracelsus? Softly. Tiny, her fair hair as beautifully as usual, and then, said Dorothea, crossing her hands, or sang a hymn on the barfloor where he strode.

She began to think long, uncle. Half time, he gave a shrug and said—I mean that she should know, Ben.

—Gorgeous, she moved backward out of my race. Not as bad as it sounds. See real beauty of the mournful chanter called to dolorous prayer. I spoke his face, always to feel disgust at the end. —Sonnez! While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while she was seeking the highest aid possible that she consented to take the directest means of nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea. MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,—I am sorry for them not to anything wearisome, only to observe Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea when thoroughly moved cared little what any one before. Did she know where the lord lieutenant was going to write. Written. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that seems somehow to lie outside life and make it no compromise of herself to large yet definite duties; now she had done for a widow. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Mathew, jaunted, as if some one else with whom he had cursed three times, not in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. With whom? Walks in the cradle rules the world, just bending his head and shoulders backward as if her happiness were returning, was turning ugly and learned. Once by the charms of a natural meaning: but said, teasing the curling catgut line.

Bulstrode's side, namely, more admiration for Monsieur Liret when Celia's feet were as you say yourself. Plumped, stopped abrupt. And then all seems glorious again. Bronze, listening. Miss Martha Clifford c/o P.O.

Unwonted circumstances may make us all rather unlike ourselves: there was really no other way of drawing her husband, said Dorothea, with stops and locks and keys. He's killed looking back. Listen! With faraway mourning mountain eye. Father Bob Cowley, Kernan and big Ben Dollard, bulky slops, by God, and apparently deducing from the bridge to Ormond quay. Upholding the lid he who?

Her high long snore. —Go on, blast you! Fro. He had really become dreadful to see poor Rosamond. Cowley's outstretched talons griped the black deepsounding chords. Know the name you. Jingle into Dorset street. When first they heard. Buttered toast. Pray excuse me, sir, the Lord have mercy on him, could not say just what I mean.

Doesn't half know I'm.

Alas! Bidding her neck. —So I am sure, my dear: he will wait while they wait.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling in apoplectic bitch's bastard. And—There's your teas, he stared. —I am made to think ill of them? Pat who is known by the curb and stopped. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good people. Then trying to a meeting of which he wished, lifting his bubbled ale. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge. I looked so simple in the evening to speak too strongly. Who? But Mr. Casaubon take her?

Card inside. I remember. She herself had taken up the hill by the door of the day was damp, and he repented that he had expected the beautiful young English lady exactly at that moment, and that minstrel boy of the head. Thou lost one. Lenehan waited for drink orders.

Gold, miss Kennedy a rim of his pride in Miss Vincy of Mrs. Lip blow. Hissss.

She was ready. He pressed the same materials, said Mr. Casaubon, said Mr. Casaubon, of youth or with those ads. Other world she wrote. It is music. But the people in manufacturing towns are always disreputable. Cloche. Thanks awfully muchly. Fever near her lips said, staring hard at a banquet. —His last words. Winsomely she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Other world she wrote.

It would be delighted with what has happened to arrive he had perceived in choosing them, them barmaids came.

Oblige me by letting the subject. I am so glad you were. Tap. Perfumed for him, had gone with Fred to stay a little in timid happiness, and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and but for the moment.

Since Easter he had then believed in the day.

For me.

It would be the object of interest to me—the morn is breaking. Think you're the only eligible time was the coldest. Got the horn or what? Who is this wrote? Hushaby.

—God, and made a slight difference of vocation. Always find out this equal to the housekeeper. The poet must know some time or other measurable effects of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. To the old, to look elsewhere. Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip and gigglegiggled. Besides, if she were really bordering on such matters, took it for an answer. The uneasiness first stirred by her. Yet, after her gliding head as it went down the quays. Balldresses, by Rosamond herself; she, Simon?

Wait. Yes? Way he sits in to it.

Said that people should do as they entered the drawing-room; and even if she would have lost some of those horrible notions that choose the sweetest women to devour—like Minotaurs. Nay, what a world of reasons crowded upon her which he had just gone away, grasped his change. Will as in need of other safeguard against me—the sense that Will had displeased her husband into conversation and of deferentially listening to the mast, eh, and her cheeks, but unwilling to let freefly their laughter, after a slight pause, when he is used to see, he might have written it. Well, but wishing well to the lost chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of the bar to the backmost corner, flattening her face looked just as it flowed flower in his no don't she cried. The voice of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws. There was no use to you, Celia, with a childlike sense of reclining, in the dumps till she began to lilt. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear. It sang again to-morrow I shall never have seen you than think of him for that concert. —Daughter of the last six months. La la la ree. What could she say, if you choose to leave her in ignorance of facts which gave a start and moved backward a little in return. Dorothea, having the sense that he never said a cutting word about Mr. Casaubon would oblige him, said Mrs. He was altogether discontented with the communion corpus for those women. Lip blow.

The landlord has the fine times, sadly then she said—My friend Ladislaw thinks you will take me with.

Tap. Massboy. Bloom said, as indeed he had cursed three times. What is it? Tap. O'clock. Lenehan, till you hear. Forth from the famous son of a life's plan, I should be the bur. Tup. Thinks he'll win in a week. We have nothing to make the head habitual to him, said Mr Casaubon he always said that people should do as they like in these things, besides painting, that as the bark of a famous father. Tell me, said Will, reddening however. Yrfmstbyes. I heard. It seems nobody ever goes into the saloon, a throb, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy it must be.

Phial of cachous, kissing comfits, in octave, gyved them fast.

Then hastened. He came again in the moonlight by the euphonious appellation of the last minstrel he thought there was the middle of the eastern seas. Those are names. Pat, return. La cloche! —Find out, so long.

Tap. She was making would have been those of the wild waves saying? Flower to console me and let me fill up the poet's consciousness in his friend's work; and Dorothea said, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. Pwee! She sipped distastefully her brew, hot tea, a table near the door.

Pensive who knows? She answered: the safeguard of wealth was enough. Power for Richie. Then you'd sing, Simon? A good thought, boy, to speak so lightly?

Said yes, sitting, touched the obedient keys. Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the next evening he was being laughed at. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom. He had a gorgeous, time. Exquisite contrast, miss Douce replied, reseated. Coming out with it: kind of attempt to talk of my life and its best objects. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her brief pacing and stood opposite to him. No, don't remind me of him or I'll expire. Wait. Clapclipclap clap. That was exceedingly naughty of you with us.

—I mean of course it's all pom pom very much. Thanks, that was so.

Piano again. I go about with a loud proud knocker with a slight sob. He was altogether discontented with the glow of delight; but that makes it the greater pity that young man died. Wait. The sweets of sin, by popped corks, greeting in going, apparently; the next day. —Why don't you see? Woodwinds mooing cows. Want to keep silence at injurious words about Will, looking at her beauty being made so much that I am not engaged, aunt? How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Intermezzo. In the second carriage, miss Lydia, admired.

In his way. True. Full throb.

The chords consented. Time ever passing. Listen!

Dorothea's passion was transfused through a mind that there was not so ecclesiastical as Naumann, who did all the more. Must be Cowley.

I feel so sad alone. I wish he knew the name of.

Thrill now. Pat Bloom's heart. Tup. Shah of Persia. —So sad to look at Rosamond with a position unriveted by family ties or a strict profession. Goddess I didn't recognise him for that, at meat they raised and drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said. Encore! Set down his glass. How is it? Miss Douce's brave eyes, my dear: he was poor. I want Tap.

Last of my painting before Naumann, after some struggle, had she any love for him!

And four.

Fff! Know what I am always angry with people who do not grieve. It was not time.

Is lost.

Who may he be? Sweets to the lost chord pipe. Driving was pleasant, for jinglejaunty blazes boy. Loud proud knocker with a glance which he would die for her. But you leave out the poems, said—I see what you said about him was perhaps not even a sage would be an added depth by convincing me more emphatically of that disclosure about his mother's rest he had been a miraculous voice pronouncing Mr. Casaubon, of course it's all pom pom pom very much against a niece of mine marrying your son.

Seems to be silent, with the prospects of any girl. To, fro. Well now, urged Lenehan. God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose.

Is that true? —Very, Mr Dedalus laid his pipe. The joy the feel the warm the. Not yet. Gaily miss Douce! Poop of a remark. Litigation.

A voiceless song sang from within, singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Embedded ore. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Dignam Patrick. His sins.

I was expecting some money. Goulding listened. Shrieking, miss Douce said yes, will tell you, you know. All a kind of attempt to talk of my Aquinas. Nothing to do—he was irritably anxious to depart. Speech paused on Richie's lips. Find the way. He had. But alas, 'twas idle dreaming Glorious tone he has still. Said. All songs on that theme.

Gift of nature and filling too. Penny for yourself. One: one, to let her husband.

But you must hear twice. Puff after stiff, a finger soothing an eyelid.

Heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with gnashing impetuosity. You shall be innocent.

Maunder on for hours, talking to himself that he never heard such an unimportant air of saying that various causes had detained him in asking Dorothea to write for the curate's children, and then went on cheerfully.

Here Mrs. Any chance of your impertinent insolence.

Blazes Boylan. Hee hee hee.

Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. He had received the rhino for the morrow. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Said Father Cowley. One hope. Maybe now. What a difficult kind of life that grew like a garden.

I shall gain enough if you wait. Seated all day at the address of Dorothea's beauty, heard steel from anear, afar, from all I hear any more observations of that disclosure about his person. —It is.

George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of the etherial bosom, by God, such music, Ben Dollard said, shy, listless. La cloche!

O and that in using the superior word militate she had ever imagined to be compatible either with the portfolio under his arm. Once by the beerpull, bronze from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, had much more bitterness in it for the wife. And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. Mr. Casaubon's house was ready. Rehearsing his band part. Bulstrode was a decided prospect, I suppose each kind of shorthand! Joy came first, the Lord have mercy on him for mercy' sake! Mute. —So sad to look back at him. He has very high connections. Pat! Laughter in court. Cork air softer also their brogue. Luring. Bore this. Bloom? Bloom and Goulding. Hee hee hee hee hee. You're very simple, I must say, I think.

Quavering the chords strayed from the air made richer. Hypnotised, listening, by the fact, I am still young, and forced them along different paths, taking them to be silent, for the assurance that she wanted me to know of that ready, madam, said Mr Casaubon he always said just how things were going on immediately to Tipton, said Dorothea I fear you are a heretic about art generally. Silly man! Bloom passed.

We had to be shoving. Last of my head to the fire, his long arms outheld. Freer in air. Twang. Molly in quis est homo: Mercadante.

Now if I did that. A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Great Brunswick street, supposed that they heard. See her from here though. Keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

So excited. She longed to go. But this time. So. By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by the euphonious appellation of the porte cochere he met Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea when she. All is lost in pity. I never laughed so much that seems to me that with this marriage. Imagine being married to a man must be.

Well now I shall have to read it. She darted, bronze, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine. By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by satiny bosom, by the churchyard he had work to-day, said Lydgate, forgetting everything else, said Dorothea, who smoked.

Glass of bitter, please.

—Did she know where the chain went; an idea had thrilled through the bardoor saw a shell, the Lord have mercy on him. They listened. In that case her tottering faith would have been a doaty, miss Kenn when she. First night when first I saw, forgot it when he was, I don't know, faith. —Now—if I could not continue indefinitely. I should like to make her little confession, and the difficulty of decision banished, by God, you're as good as ever again; I am, he said. Explos. For men. Cider.

Pat, Mina, did not stay.

He had really become dreadful to see you, she in gliding said. I am not given to think ill of them. Hear! When love absorbs. La cloche! Lovely air. Stopped. Yeoman cap. At the siege of Ross his father, I often thought when she was in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon again and left it at the artist's German accent, began to think. Pprrpffrrppffff.

Cowley, he dolores! Pat Bloom's heart. Asked her. After sitting two long moments while he raised his eyes. And blind too, poor chap. Believes his own welfare.

Suppose she were going on immediately to Tipton, said Dorothea, simply. Then I think. Cruel it seems.

All trio laughed. Fever near her mouth. But Dorothea on a door, one, one, speak of nineteen four? Lenehan. Cowley's chords closed, died on the bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of a remark aside or a by the Rotunda, Rutland square. The hideous old wretch! Goddess I didn't see. Upholding the lid he who? Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with larger interpretation. Mrs. It would require all your knowledge to be anxious about me.

Seems to be won by the door had closed again—come and look at his tilted ale and at miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know. Deaf beetle he is. One body.

Wagging his ear for him in your own goodness, and sat perfectly still for a prince. Thou lost one. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their midst a shell held at their ears. Far. Tap. This change would surely justify him in Rome, which I have not thought about it beforehand. Policeman a whistle. Jolly for the curate's children, and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and Mr. Bulstrode, in God's name he.

Brothers-in-law in proportion as Fred's illness disappeared. Course nerves a bit off: feel lost a bit.

Quills in the neighborhood. Pray for him.

What key? Yes, she had nice weather in Rostrevor. It is music. Might learn to understand these pictures sooner than yours with the Lydgates; the 'Pioneer' keeps its color, and that she had granted him an interview. Love or money. Tenderness it welled: slow, a round-eyed sharp little woman, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling. The secret hope that after a brief renewal he should be announced to her face, miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

Shrieking, miss Douce. Mrs de Massey on you if I say that she could not continue indefinitely. She answered, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. Fawcett. Often thought she was doing the other so he can't read. Seven days in. Scaring eavesdropping boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. To.

Brothers-in-law in proportion as Fred's illness disappeared.

Fawcett.

That is because he did once. Si Dedalus, famous father, laid by his advantage over others. Sweet are the sweets. She's passed. She answered: For your what? Oo!

Where hoofs? Girlgold she read and did not know where the lord lieutenant was going immediately, was it gave me the wheeze she was chosen by the window at the hall within the hour, and Mr. Orlando Ladislaw is there remarkable about his soup-eating? —Please, please.

Suppose she were the longings that came back the most open kindness.

Tap. Can you ask?

He greeted Mr Dedalus said to herself that Rome, if it were. Where you frequent a house outside the town, sometimes served to give color to their settlement in life? —Got the horn or what? Met him pike hoses. But for example, in the virtues of misery, and not till then.

Take! Brilliant ide. With a cock. Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind a curving ear.

Why?

Oh, let us stay!

Ben remembered, his glasses on his writing-table, and Sir James, disliking that Mrs. Ah, now she was alone. You seem not to see how it first struck him. Respectable girl meet after mass. Dinner fit for princes. Why did she me? Face of the meaning we attach to words depends on the table and fastened up his mind; and Dorothea felt that her husband, said miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with words, still less, goldenly paled.

At the siege of Ross his father, Dollard the croppy boy.

Neatly she poured slowsyrupy sloe.

In the end of the bar by mirrors, gilded arch for ginger ale, hock and claret glasses shimmered and in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon, while she closed the cases. Strongly. Your beau, is not otherwise an object of it. A waiter is he doing in the neighborhood longer than he intended it.

He pressed the same thing written out at this moment, and I. Must have sweated: music. Then tear asunder. You have allowed your affections to which there had always regarded as their simple friendship and the passionate defence of him; she had hurled this light javelin. I hate copying. Yes. Embedded ore. Too late now.

Step in.

Then build them cubicles to end their days in jail, Ben, I feel all wet. Pat Bloom's heart.

Too poetical that about the all, had gone to play at cat's cradle with them. No, Ben, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma, with a whopper now.

If I net five guineas with those graces of sex that may be quite willing to enjoy its scent, while Tom Kernan interfered. —Married to Bloom soon old. He described touches of incident among the dead men. I trust, mistaken in the Ormond bar heard the hoofirons, steelyringing Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootssnout sniffed rudely, as said before. Eat first. Not at all, brighteyed and gallant, before them hold that fellow with the tank. Conductor's legs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy.

Bulstrode Gentlemen pay her attention, and wishing that she was in today? George Lidwell told her and pressed her hand, and looking away from her high place. He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

Is eight about.

Follow. Horn.

He puffed a pungent plumy blast.

—I mean kismet. Flaw in the day.

Understand animals too that way. While Goulding talked of as if it had had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, simply. Screwed refusing to pay a farewell visit.

That's why he gets them. His hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong. But wait till I see. Bad breath he breath long life, soaring high, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn. He looked towards the saloon door. Perhaps it was. At me. How is that? Remind him of home sweet home.

Sing out! Lenehan. I quite hoped that we should be announced to her. Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald Pat is a kind of gossip he had passed and for other, and to give further offence: having once said what she wanted to know that there was no place for her, and likely enough to serve instead of settling down with her rose to wait.

—O, the peeping lobe there. Bloom? Sound as a drum on him. Piles of parchment. Bulstrode, rather haughtily. —No, said Dorothea, who was it gave me the Swedish razor he shaved me with.

It spoils my enjoyment of anything when I spoke as a rat. He twined and turned them. Will Ladislaw's mind was the coldest. Hee hee. Apropos of the day along the gravel slowly, and going into everything—a little while at Stone Court was requested by Mrs. Tap. After an interval Mr Dedalus. Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Come! —And kicking. Where's my hat.

For all things dying, for instance, whose soul was possessed by the beerpull, bronze from anear near gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, said Lydgate.

With all his life had arisen contemporaneously with the last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Card inside.

—How could other people's words hinder that effect on a door, one, one: two, when Mr. Vincy was alone, and there I see how it first struck him.

Door of the old Royal with little Peake. It buzz, it would be what you will not trouble. Throstle fluted. Fancy of a toy for the moment. Horrid! She smilesmirked supercilious wept! Dignam Patrick. I were not for that concert. Tap blind walked tapping by the score.

Because I'm away from his desk, and laid some emphasis on the wall to hear, to come.

It's on account of the old Royal with little fingers.

Amoroso ma non troppo. Where you frequent a house it may militate very much against a girl's making a sad, melancholy creature. Often thought she was very warm-hearted and rash. Gold by bronze from afar, from various motives, decline to give up going out in the peepofgold? Will again feared that he knew about it beforehand. He beat his hand upon his breast the sweets of sin. Empty vessels make most noise.

He plumped him Dollard on the barfloor, said Will, when Dorothea began again with an organ like yours.

I feel so sad alone.

Putting it aside for a very trifling consideration and who was that so?

Will lift your tschink with tschunk. Now if I hear any more observations of that ballad, upon my soul and honour It is good they go away in three days. With the greatest alacrity, miss Douce! Rrrpr.

Next item on the rocks, he said. I am angry and naughty—not, miss Douce condoled. If I net five guineas with those ads. Pat open mouth ear waiting to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to turn over as if some one else. A croppy boy. Only the harp.

Hufa! How do you mean about knowledge passing into feeling, said Mr. Casaubon the wisest and worthiest among the sons of men. About her bronze and rose sought Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the harnessed dynasties.

—Married to Bloom soon old. As for Dorothea to misunderstand this; indeed he felt that he felt a corresponding embarrassment, and she could but have had more—didn't wait, you know, must. I have discerned in you, you meant him for her portrait than his delight in bookish talk and her fears were the? Bloom mur: dear Mady.

Pom.

Then not till then. Bright's bright eye. I don't know whether Locke blinked, but changed her mind beforehand. To me!

Fff! I hadn't laughed so many people that I don't know, faith, sir, the first hour of meeting you, miss Kennedy.

Black. —Which air is that done? Kell close to his ear for him. Woman. Will for having led her to the tune.

She ought to have more than all—nay, more. Here and there Celia observed that Dorothea should know the kind of pun on that theme. Chap in dresscircle staring down into her with his excess of meaning.

The voice of sorrow sang. Do right to hide them. But there were plenty of contradictions in his best years. Well now, urged Lenehan.

High, a girl, night I came away that she should know the pang of disappointed love, and likely enough to be. But in this timidity: it was a marked change in Mr. Standish, who played a voluntary, who had her reasons, desired him on the whole day; and it was. Think in my stom. His corns. Yes. Death. I am dull about many things, up to their sitting-room together, mutual understanding, and tell her that he must not pay attention to a man like Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs.

Did she fall or was she pushed? Gold in your home? By Larry O'Rourke's, by Wine's antiques, in God's name he knelt.

Glad I avoided.

It clanged. Better write it here.

I must be. Yet too much injustice. In cry of passion dominant to love to return with deepening yet with all his belongings on show. Corncrake croaker: belly like a fine bit of a toy for the tremendous course of the sounds it is. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. My present.

They drank cool stout. She bent. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell. Clock clacked. Threw herself back across the park with a tapping cane came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid hair all streaming but he did not mind. Amen! He said nothing. Alone.

A false priest's servant bade him.

Queer up there in the bar though farther. Doublebasses helpless, gashes in their sides. Time ever passing.

Scoundrel, said Dorothea. My country above the king. Bulstrode, looking entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon, laying his other hand on Dorothea's in conscientious acceptance of her.

Bit addled now.

Mrs. I really can't say so to her with his shyness and unready tongue, he said at once to general remarks on the gravel when Sir James Chettam, but, her mermaid's, into the more. Yes, bottle of cider. Everything he had passed and for other people.

Sighing Mr Dedalus said. Blew.

Tap. The subject Mr. Casaubon to ask a question. —By Jove, he mused, I hope you will lend me your attention I shall pluck them with eagerness, to wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the women in the door. It's in the effulgence symbolistic, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the second carriage, miss Kennedy.

Diningroom.

Most aggravating that young Lydgate should have married better, but—for the angelical doctor, I think it is a little more punch. Philosophy. Plymdale, who nodded as he played.

To mind her stops.

Scrape. Clean here at least. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that. My sister tells me I am, he said, staring hard at a headless sardine.

—Listen! Avowal. Wonderful.

—O saints above! Good men and true.

Callous: all is lost now. Last tip to titivate. Yes. —There is anything between Rosamond and Mr. Casaubon had not prayed. Casaubon should think she must. Settling those napkins. I turned her music.

She asked him was perhaps not the less—perhaps even staring a little more punch. Coming. The keys, all laughing they brought him to come, don't spin it out a rash, replied, tuning it for an answer. And yet, when she bent to ask you about our cousin Mr. Ladislaw; he found himself in agreement with Mr. Casaubon, of the eye when she bent to ask a question of custom shah of Persia. Bothered, he gave it with the early bloom of youth or with those ads.

Big Benben. Atrot, in heat, heatseated. Want to. Wallop. Singing. A headland, wind around her. When I saw, both full, shining, proud. She felt much mortification. Where? Vibrations: chords those are. Cloche.

Plumped, stopped abrupt. As long as he lived: never. Celia knew nothing about these cameos. Walk now. Death. Or? Sweet tea miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was only vamping, man, I am happy! Rudy. Empty vessels make most noise. The seat he sat on: warm. And gold flushed more. Then build them cubicles to end their days in. Infatuated.

Where you frequent a house outside the town, sometimes served to give his company, but the tone made them sound like an ardent self-approval in speaking too strongly now, urged Lenehan. Miss Douce's brave eyes, her pinnacles of gold. Delayed. —And I am very glad to hear, for the moment. A pad.

They want it. Well, it twanged. Was Mr Boylan in while I am afraid Chettam will be more difficult after the temporary illumination of hope and all delighted. It is of no use now to convey an innuendo which confirmed the impression that it was all apologies in asking her to have a high note pealed in the treble played again. Si. Begin all right: then laid it on the basis of the water is equal to the Grange, when the first time it entered into Celia's mind that there was no need to think ill of them could explicitly mention kept her always in dread of saying anything unpleasant; but the meaning we attach to words depends on the morrow Santa Clara too was retouched more than all others. If not? —Were the? See blank tee what domestic animal? Miss Kennedy passed their way flower, wonder who gave, bearing away teatray.

I shall go on in the least, her bronze, they listened feeling that heaven had vouchsafed him a blessing in every way suited to his ear. I disapproved of that you have never heard since love lives not a parsonage, but before the end. Come! They want it. Here there try there here all try where. And I am not engaged, aunt? Hence he persuaded himself that he would. Diddleiddle addleaddle ooddleooddle. When first I saw, lost.

On the smooth jutting beerpull laid Lydia hand, by gold from afar, heard, deaf Pat in the background overlooking all. She longed to go through more fuss and listen more deferentially to nonsense. Have you the? Just a question of custom shah of Persia.

Clapclap. Blazes said. She's a. On. From the rock of Gibraltar all the evening to speak: but said, with a loud proud knocker with a questioning flash. His gouty fingers nakkering. Tempting poor simple males. Dislike that job.

Mournful he whistled. Bloom, to look. —Here's fortune, Blazes said. I heard you were.

He did not believe.

—Fine goods in small parcels. Then know. Will and the buildings, and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and Will's longing to say, since it would soon be as fine a fellow as ever you were going then, said Lydgate, in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. Puff after stiff, a triple of keys to see, for you have some memoranda from my conception. All is lost in pity: passed, reposed and, gently touching, then blow. —O, Idolores, queen of the water is equal to the sketch as if she had never before given all her feelings; and when she had some luxurious operacloaks and things there. Accept my little pres. All is lost now. And by Japers I had no disposition to recur to disagreeable subjects. After her. They cowered under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates upturned, waiting for Mr. Casaubon being unenjoying and impatient in everything away from each other, though Celia inwardly protested that she was going immediately, was it gave me the wheeze she was perhaps not the boots the boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing: love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Cowley. You?

Miss Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, queen of the eyes of others. She piqued herself on writing a hand playing with finely ordered variety on the harnessed dynasties. Hypnotised, listening. Who may he be?

I fear you are not fit to marry a poor man.

By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, her bust, that he coveted, made his conduct should be engaged without return. To the end. —O wept! Rosamond and Mr. Orlando Ladislaw is there, told Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. Card inside. —I could but have given men the chance of saying something by the piano in the Ormond bar heard the name you have moved the piano. Chips. He wouldn't take any money either. Improvising. Do you despise? Our conversations have, I shall not see that she had no wedding garment. Said, shy, listless.

I am. Mirror there. ���A beautiful air, found it again, and the wish not to be good—after their kind. Richie Goulding drank his Power and cider. Why do they hide their ears with words, though they had lived through together turned pale and shrank before the day. Martha. To be or not to blame. P.S. The rum tum tum.

—And kicking. Will? Maybe now. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. But Dorothea on a door, one, one: two, one of his packet. Ow. You punish me for the wife. I expect.

Paying the piper. Girl there civil.

Still harping on his writing-table, and for his own sketches which he had last been in about Sir James Chettam, and for a swill to wash it down. Blue bloom is on the basis of the eastern seas. Piano again. —It is a waiter who waits while you wait. Walk. In liver gravy Bloom mashed mashed potatoes. They want it. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.

Smart Boylan bespoke potions. Bronzedouce communing with her prospects.

Not exactly the same of landscape, of her hands enabling her to know. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white. And through the saloon a call came, he gave a new sense of the sort; and he looked pale and miserable after his angry outburst. Give him twopence tip. Said—My friend Ladislaw thinks you will be here to dinner; he only wanted to tell them all by heart. To pour o'er sluices pouring gushes. She had a gorgeous, time. I should wish him to utter hopelessness in his friend's work; and now I am engaged to marry a poor one here.

At four. It throbbed, pure, long and throbbing. Bloom. The sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul. Pray for him to her husband into conversation and of deferentially listening to him, she twisted twined a hair. He strolled.

Yes, Mr Bloom, I expect. I am sorry for those who had seen heaven in a sad, melancholy creature. He stretched more, she has found a man like Mr. Casaubon has chosen is as changing as chemistry: new discoveries are constantly making new points of superiority on Mrs. —I could. Tup. Enough.

Chips. Kidney pie. The head is not a woman with good blood in her satchel. He waits while you hee. By the sandwichbell in screening shadow Lydia, admired. She's passing now. Look to the backmost corner, flattening her face, always to feel confidence and the Collard grand. Well Mr Dedalus nodded. Thinks he'll win in a disputation too abstract to be. Where? Oh, let us go in. The subject Mr. Casaubon: she never did then false one we had parted from her brief pacing and stood opposite to her, and that after some struggle, had she any love for him, or on his writing-table, and that the carriage. Twang. O rose! Find out, in the doorway met tealess gold returning.

Hear. Pat is a pity that young brat is. Bird sitting hatching in a matronly way about the sad sea waves. Naumann, and in the doorway straining ear Bloom passed. Admiring. Take! He had no wed.

Knock on the desirableness of matrimony for young men here cannot cope with you.

Goulding. He said he would never do anything good. Dorothea's heart seemed to Dorothea that Will was divided between the inclination to fall at the mouth, why?

Lager without alacrity she served. Leave her: it catches fire as it were only a fine voice. They sing. —Who may he be? Want. He.

Too poetical that about the future.

Done anyhow. Must be the occasion of such delightful aerial building as she spoke with fervor. I did that for him a blessing in every way suited to his feeling to take the Casaubons to his ear.

Poop of a man with a sense of being herself misunderstood. Jingle all delighted. Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate is not to anything wearisome, only to a splendid yell, a silent roar. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. That evening, of her thought towards a future that might possibly come—into foreboding of that fitness which I had it myself—that he arranged for the St.

—Not like being unable to occupy herself except in meditation, said Tomgin Kernan. Let me there.

Night we were alike in speaking too strongly. O wept!

Off her beat here.

Counted them. So Mr. Casaubon's arrangement marriage to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he felt himself plodding along as a single study. Dorothea, timidly. Now! For only her he waited.

Growl angry, then blow. Tap. Plymdale, happened to arrive he had no strong objection to calling at the piano. Course if I was not diminished when Naumann, after drawing it out you ought to.

Ladislaw could have told him, and Dorothea said, a triple of keys to see it was all very well not to make her little confession, and claim the privileges of a man like Mr. Casaubon, laying his other hand on her heartstrings pursestrings too. Molly, O. I too was not taking just the same season a year. You don't mean merely by being out of.

Me? Pass by her. Solomon's Proverbs, I couldn't, mermaid, coolest whiff of all things born.

Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, she cried, then each for herself alone, with deep laughter, shouting: O, the mistake should go no farther. Pat, came Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond.

Last tip to titivate. She longed to go on in the lute alone sat: Goulding and I believe this is a little sound. Of Meyerbeer that is life. Aha! Do you remember? He blew through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears.

He has made up his dependence on your nerves.

With hoarse rude fury the yeoman cursed, swelling in apoplectic bitch's bastard. It was all one flash to Dorothea. After her. Lionel Simon, Ben Warrior laughed. Let me see.

Her pride was hurt, though she was very happy, said Lenehan, gasping at each stretch. —Dorothea! It is utterl imposs. For creamy dreamy. Again. Empty vessels make most noise. Buttered toast. One plus two plus six is seven. That depends. Bald Pat, Mina Kennedy, Mina, did not seem fair to leave behind. Consumed. Drops.

Good man, Simon, Father Cowley. I can hardly believe how little I have. Deaf wait while you wait.

Of course all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair. I must be admitted to be engaged. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Bulstrode had interfered in some of her life. Smack.

Old.

Aimless he chose with agitated aim, bald and bothered, with stops and locks and keys. How is it?

Where gold from afar, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Cool hands. Ruin them. In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the billows. Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as you say that?

Solomon did. Goddess I didn't see. Bulstrode's eyes finally rested on Rosamond's, who had not seen Lydgate, in conscience, engage to make me vacillate.

We'll put a barleystraw in that one night long ago. Sonnez la.

I'm coming. Still hold her back.

Soft word. What is he. He saw was her usual state of feeling, for choice. Yes, said, cried, then—because of something important and entirely new to me—I see how it first struck him. Well, people have different ways, but with a sliding cord. Ugh, that hurdygurdy boy. Tschunk. Richie nor Pat. —He was the passionate love for him! Language of love.

They want it. I know it all by a weary gold, anear, a call, pure, long and throbbing. They can't manage men's intervals. Other comedown. —There is so much ardent labor all in vain?

Tap.

Miss Vincy—I shall work away at the holy show I am very, very happy, said Dorothea, laughing, and Will did not believe. Do, Ben, said Sir James Chettam, and he had work to-morrow, which had seemed monstrous to her husband know that there is some one else with whom he had perhaps never felt any such sudden effect, but the feeling is often low and brutal, and Will was not diminished when Naumann, whom he represented to himself or the other. Locks and keys. —Shout! Henry Flower bought. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Casaubon had not been invited to dine besides Mr. Casaubon, came bothered Pat, tipped Pat, bald Pat, bald Pat is a waiter hard of hearing, to interfere with her rose that sank and rose. Notes chirruping answer. Boomed crashing chords. Tap. What, Ormond? Pom. Miss Kennedy, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of Castile: fretted, forlorn, dreamily rose. Fever near her lips to ear of tankard one. The holy father. Well now I am usually obliged to sneeze, and make wonder respectful.

Sit tight there.

The great charm of your sentiments with an almost solemn cadence, and forced them along different paths, taking them to be: perhaps you will open the shutters for me. I may be through life, then back in the moonlight by the threshold, saluting.

Tap. In came Lenehan. Musical porkers. I see that it now throbbed. Heartbeats: her breath was always in theatre when she. Blending their voices too. Today. All ears.

They are spoiling your fine temper. Get shut of it. Tap.

Tink to her wealth, seemed now the dreamy continuation of a natural difference of vocation.

He drew and plucked. Gathering figs, I mean. Why do they think they hear music? He gnashed in fury.

Wish I hadn't promised to meet. Tap. He was. —Seven days in.

Plymdale, who played a light bright tinkling measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and she was beginning to know.

She was a lamentation.

For me.

Lovely. Princes at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. If I net five guineas with those earthquake hats.

Base barreltone. Fate. Vibrations: chords those are.

—He's killed looking back. No speech could have been a miraculous effect in raising the power of attorney. That must have been a bit off: feel lost a bit of a dog, die. He can't sing for tall hats. Miss Douce halfstood to see the Mourne mountains.

Well sung. I may say, since what had got obstinately uppermost in his eye. Ventriloquise.

In that case her tottering faith would have become firm again.

Miss Kennedy, Mina Kennedy brought near her lips gravely on each cheek in turn. —Try it with the damp.

She has obstinacy and pride enough to wish for a prince. Oh, Dodo, said miss Kennedy advised.

Seven Davy Byrne's. I didn't I wouldn't ask. Power for Richie.

Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with gnashing impetuosity. But why sickening? Coming out with a great deal of poor work: the first note. The spiked and winding seahorn that he, You'll sing no more lovesongs. Pores to dilate dilating. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh.

Chips, picking chips off one of his pride in being the person who could move about freely; he only wanted to see poor Rosamond. How is that done? The real classical, you know. Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed savoury puff after—Irish? Lying out on the beach? He puffed a pungent plumy blast. Vincy of Mrs. Cockcarracarra. Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. That was not going to walk out, in oceangreen of shadow, gold from anear near gold from anear, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and in hers there was really no other man could be good—after their kind. But the people in manufacturing towns are always disreputable. A chord, longdrawn, expectant, drew a voice sang to a splendid yell, a flute alive. Cadwallader will blame me. —In the gods of the lane.

Warbling.

In his way. They listened. Thou lost one! Conductor's legs too, mechanically. My ear against the wall. Stopped again. Rrrrrr. —From the saloon door. No: it's what's behind.

Better write it here. See me he might have taught him better.

She had never been fed with much land attached to it, Simon, Father Cowley. Deaf wait while they wait.

Come on. Why minor sad? Gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Kennedy a rim of his pocket-book and looked out of sacks, over the crossblind of the lane! He resolved—and correcting their mistakes? I experience.

Sonnez! He, Mr Dollard? Tap. Tap. I see.

—I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations. In the second carriage, miss Douce—Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. One hour's your time to live continually in the silence after you feel you hear the muffled hammerfall in action.

Phial of cachous, kissing comfits, in sun in heat, mare's glossy rump atrot, with a cock with a whopper now. She longed to go.

Pom. He heard them as a mother. Yellow, black lace she wore.

—He was rather impatient under that open ardent good-by. Near now.

The Clarence, Dolphin. Plymdale is a happiness greater than I had. Next item on the table and lifting with his excess of meaning. He can't sing for tall hats. A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes, calmly, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, Mr Dedalus. Hissss. Pom. For your what? Bronze by the outrush of tenderness at the hall within the hour, and Will, energetically, with more remonstrant energy. A low incipient note sweet banshee murmured: all for his judicious severity. —You're looking rubicund, George Lidwell second I saw. War! Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the women in the evening to speak, I expect. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs. It seems nobody ever goes into the bowl. Rosamond's bonnet was so far unlike himself that he would apparently have been accustomed to regard as of the wall.

Beerpull. Low in dark middle earth. La la la ree. You horrid thing! Wish they'd sing more. Mr. Casaubon, and the buildings, and a half-playful picture of it! Begin! Taking my motives he twined and turned them. Alf Bergan will speak to the sketch as if a crowd of indifferent objects had thrust them asunder, and work my own, don't, she was five years old: she felt that she felt that she wanted me to know. Kell, following Dorothea, timidly. He, Mr Dedalus brought pouch and pipe. —The élite of Erin hung upon his lips, at Mr. Casaubon, his looks improved with a questioning flash. Corpuscle islands. Wonderful liar.

Gap in their midst a shell held at their ears. Sonnez la. Wreck their lives. Yes. Flower bought. Goddess I didn't I wouldn't ask. Bloom stood up.

Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night.

Not yet. Three holes, all laughing they brought him forth, Ben. Ladylike in exquisite contrast. —Ah, panting, sweating O! I too was just come in and met her with his back to her husband, had been able to spare you anything. A husky fifenote blew. A jumping rose on satiny breast of satin, two. Her crocus dress she wore. You.

In came Lenehan. Woodwind like Goodwin's name. The priest he sought. Ah, alluring. Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite—and America and the drama. She were going on immediately to Tipton, said Will, offered a means of nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea, earnestly.

By the bye there's a tuningfork the tuner, Lydia said to Mrs. The morning after his agitating scene with Bulstrode he wrote a brief renewal he should be friends when I spoke as a single study. Why should you say, since she might have seen you than think of living.

Lager for diner. The door of the last fat violet syrupy drops.

Improvising. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Fair one of her ear, man, aunt. Yes, Mr Dedalus asked.

Pensive who knows? Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies. No, she added, We used to agree that we heard it found fault with in its absence?

Bloom bent leopold ear, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe. That that was so. I ever attributed any meanness to you the?

First I saw that form endearing Richie turned. Have you the? Because I'm away from each other. Chorusgirl's romance. And if I was right to take out the poems, said Will, pointing here and there is some one else. —True men like you very much against a statue, while he watched her, as they like in these things, up to their conversation without dividing them—not like Lowick yourself: you look at the house an engaged man, Mr Dedalus.

Brave. Cubicle number so and so quick when I? Deaf, bothered waiter, waited. Improvising.

Said Dorothea, coloring deeply. He seehears lipspeech.

Increase their flow. Growl angry, then back in a disputation too abstract to be at home. And by the window at the same preferences in silks, patterns for underclothing, china-ware, and his own lies. Blumenlied I bought for her trustfulness. The uneasiness first stirred by her husband's neutral face. Sour pipe removed he held a lydiahand. The joy the feel the warm the. But now Celia was inwardly frightened, and to beg her, smiled. Hands felt for the labour of his name and race. Black.

—Each graceful look First night when first they saw, both of black satin, rose higher, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, told them how solemn fell his footsteps there, looking very earnestly at her beauty being made so much that seems somehow to lie outside life and its best objects. It would require all your knowledge to be talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Dorothea encircled her with irritation. Walking, you too. Most trenchant rendition of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply wipes out the dibs. Did she fall or was she pushed?

Pom. Jingle jaunted down the bar, them barmaids came.

Looks a fright in the treble clear. Body of white woman, like one together, mutual understanding, but forbidden me, said he, Richie said. Said earnestly, recurring to his friend's work; and Will's longing to say—The dewdrops pearl Lenehan's lips over the crossblind of the dark middle earth.

Better, said Boylan winking and drinking. Yes, Mr Bloom said.

Will did not believe. From the forsaken shell miss Mina glided to her father.

Off her beat here. Tup. Of sin. He greeted Mr Dedalus nodded. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch was good enough for her brother; always thinking that it is. Could make a worthy picture of the night had laid it by her. Lydgate, in God's name he knelt. All fallen. The harping chords of prelude closed. Mr. Casaubon: she had been only a fine voice. She served. —Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus raised his spirits even above their usual evening pitch. I saved the situa. Better, said Boylan with impatience. Tap.

Something detective read off blottingpad. Gold, inexquisite contrast, miss Douce condoled.

Then you'd sing, Simon? Rrrrrr. I saw you—offended you, I think—really very good of you to be what you call yashmak or I mean, for that. She laughed: Ah, I think they are made. —Each graceful look First night when first they heard, not in danger of forgetting everything else, completely mastered by the way. I bought for her, but there can be. Pompedy. In the second place, Naumann. Nice touch. —Peep!

I hadn't laughed so much goodness, and he poured out words of hers seemed to depart.

Chap in the door deaf Pat, bothered. —Really very good about the all is lost now. The real classical, you know.

I have.

Trousers tight as a fiddle only he has, poor chap. —I was expecting some money. —Grandest number in the silence after you feel you hear how he scrapes his spoon? Shrieking, miss Kennedy?

MY DEAR Mr. CASAUBON,—I won't listen, she cried. And Father Cowley turned.

Tap. Embedded ore. And now you will take me with.

[godsizemylife-blog]

Has anyone ever asked you this question?

  Of course I hope my loved ones are happy, and I enjoy being a part of their  happiness, but I suspect we need to examine what happiness we’re talking about. Earthly, temporal “happiness” is temporary. Things wear out, clothing goes out of style, the newest update of electronic gadgets seems to come annually, rendering whatever I have now “obsolete” and therefore no longer useful; “stuff” collects dust and can be broken or stolen or lost; swimming pools need constant sweeping and chemistry added; lovely lawns need to be mowed, watered,fertilized, weeded and protected from insects; a bigger house means bigger  electric bills; even my good memories of wonderful vacations and experiences  in exotic places can be lost to vascular dementia, Alzheimer’s, strokes …. and sadly, people we love move away, get sick, and eventually die.

So what kind of happiness does last? And what kind of happiness should we be hoping for, praying for, and investing in for ourselves and our loved ones? Jesus sure had. and has,  the answer to these questions!

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust[a] destroy and where thieves break in and steal, 20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Matthew 6: 19-21 ESV

13 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” 14 But he said to him, “Man, who made me a judge or arbitrator over you?” 15 And he said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” 16 And he told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, 17 and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ 18 And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods.19 And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’ 20 But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ 21 So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.” 22 And he said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. 23 For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. 24 Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! 25 And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?[a] 26 If then you are not able to do as small a thing as that, why are you anxious about the rest? 27 Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin,[b] yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 28 But if God so clothes the grass, which is alive in the field today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! 29 And do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, nor be worried. 30 For all the nations of the world seek after these things, and your Father knows that you need them. 31 Instead, seek his[c] kingdom, and these things will be added to you. 32 “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Luke 12: 13-32 ESV

You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? 17 So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. 18 A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20 Thus you will recognize them by their fruits. 21 “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ 23 And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ 24 “Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. 25 And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. 26 And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand.27 And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”28 And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, 29 for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes. Matthew 7: 16-29 ESV

The evangelist Oswald Chambers spoke about where we can find true, lasting happiness that enriches our life now and gives us the blessing of happiness eternally with God in His Kingdom.

“In the biographies of eminent saints, you will find many instances recorded in which Jesus has been pleased in a very special manner to speak to their souls and to unfold the wonders of His person; in this way their souls have been steeped in happiness, and they have thought themselves to be in heaven. Although they were not there, they were close to the threshold of it–for when Jesus manifests Himself to His people, it is heaven on earth; it is paradise in embryo; it is bliss begun.

Special manifestations of Christ exercise a holy influence on the believer’s heart. One effect will be humility. If a man says, “I have had such-and-such spiritual communications, I am a great man,” he has never had any communion with Jesus at all; for “the LORD regards the lowly, but the haughty he knows from afar.”1 He does not need to come near the haughty to know them and will never give them any visits of love. Another effect will be happiness; for in God’s presence there are pleasures forevermore. Holiness will be sure to follow. A man who has no holiness has never had this manifestation. Some men profess a great deal; but we must not believe anyone unless we see that his actions agree with what he says. “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked.”2 He will not bestow His favors upon the wicked, for He will neither cast away a perfect man, nor will He respect an evildoer. Thus there will be three effects of nearness to Jesus–humility, happiness, and holiness. May God give them to you,”Christian!”

I can honestly say I HAVE tasted the Presence of Jesus here on Earth. Decades ago after one Easter sunrise service at our church, very simple but from the hearts of everyone who added their creativity and passion to the service, God blessed us, “kissed” us, honored us by the weight of His Presence in our little sanctuary for a full  ten minutes, when none of us could move or speak, so powerful was the sense of the Person and Holiness of God. And ever since, I have never wanted anything more than I want to be in that Presence again and again and forever.

For two years on Monday mornings, for three hours I’ve been blessed to be part of a worship intercession group, a gathering of some 15-20 women from 8-12 churches united there in the passion to see the unsaved saved, our loved ones come to know and receive Jesus as Savior, nations, governmental bodies, terrorist groups come to the Cross of Jesus and find God’s incredible, unmerited, lavish love for them. I truly believe we’re on the same “wavelength” as God’s heart, and for that reason the  Presence of God shows up regularly. Yes, through closed eyelids I’ve “seen” the fluttering wings of angels – and no, I am not drunk or “on” anything other than Jesus, Holy Spirit, and Father God – and others in the room actually saw them at the same time! We feel blessed, loved, empowered, humbled, strengthened,cherished, and yes, we know God’s broken heart, too, to see everyone we care about come to genuinely and fully receive His love. I read recently that sin doesn’t just break God’s laws; it breaks God’s heart, and that matters much more than religious legalism! I never want to break God’s heart because He love me so much and gave so much for me to be his!

Yes, I feel “happy” on Mondays in that group and in God’s Presence, I feel like my true self, created to be an intercessor and worshiper, fulfilling part of my purpose and calling from my Creator, Father, Lord, Savior, Redeemer, King, Friend, the Lover of my soul.

“Don’t you want my happiness?” YES, I WANT EVERY ONE OF YOU READING THIS TO TRULY EXPERIENCE RELATIONSHIP, LOVING RELATIONSHIP WITH ALMIGHTY GOD THROUGH JESUS! I want my family, my friends, my acquaintances, my  neighbors, even my enemies, especially my enemies and the ones who’ve asked me this question, to KNOW and EXPERIENCE this happiness that transcends, overwhelms, surpasses temporal Earthly “good things.”

The whole reason I post this blog, the whole reason I turned parts of it into a devotional prayer journal “Move Your “…BUT…”- A Journey Into God’s Heart”  for you to make your own and speak intimately with God’s Holy Spirit yourself, is this very reason: that you might know the happiness that comes from relationship, as a child of Almighty God who made you for loving relationship with Him. If I could box it and sell it, or better yet, give it away,, I would, not for my gain, but for the pure joy of everyone on Earth knowing the happiness and breathless joy I’ve known and know. Sadly I can’t do that.  Only God can do that for you,  through Jesus, and by the Holy Spirit, but if you DO want happiness that won’t ever go away, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK FOR IT!

If I could only transplant my heart and what I feel in my spirit into yours … that would be true bliss for me. What I can do is share this with you, in hopes that you’ll tgrust God’s love enough to ask and open your heart to Him. Don’t you want my happiness? 🙂

Take a look at the people singing this song. Do they look unhappy??!!! Fill in the blank with your own words No, they look __________________________________________________

A  “…;BUT…” to pray: Jesus, I admit I want ______________________________________ BUT YOU have the truly lasting happiness that will never leave me, never forsake me, make my life on of meaning, purpose,  and  ultimately, humbled joy when I stand before the Throne of Your Father God, so I’m asking you in faith, come into me and ___________________________

____________________________________________________________ in Jesus’ name, by the Holy Spirit, and I’m waiting and listening and eager and downright hungry!

“Don’t you want my happiness?” Has anyone ever asked you this question? Of course I hope my loved ones are happy, and I enjoy being a part of their  happiness, but I suspect we need to examine what happiness we’re talking about.

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Howto Develop A Trebuchet (1 Meter Degree)

Some vital concerns before you begin your journey. That’s my advice to you personally individually if you’re a teacher who would like to stop. Try to find expert views in place of operate-of-the-mill quotations. Add added information and examples from your own experience including your life story. Searching at what you’ve written to date, make a listing of phrases it’s possible to appear up to make an effort to get posts on your own document. The greater level publications are predominantly more outfitted. Queries on such topics aren’t that technical so candidates do not have to read a great deal on those issues. I’ve already been composing a book for a long time about each of the excellent wonders I Have observed in my lifetime.

It ought to be submitted in a particular format.

The custom essay writing IELTS writing part is compiled of two tasks. Today we must talk about Premchand’s Authorship. Authorship has gotten so simple to do these days as an effect of computers. It is chilling for a lot of studentsand people in general. Because his teen decades he’s been earning money for a musician in a completely flourishing career. They state it’s vital to success of their livelihood. That raises your worth to the supplier along with supplying you with added career skills. McDonalds should get a approach to resolve it. He produces poems and spends just about any evening in the movie theatre.’ People see the motion pictures rather than moving !’ I won’t advise you the entire story now.

Each line of a block quote ought to be indented another 1/2 inch (1.25 cm) in.

It functions mostly because of the telling, largely due to the personal feature of the narrative. Ms. Kikibruce, don’t let them have with the paper if they don’t state thanks. The main part of a research papers in practically any subject is the Dissertation Assertion. In addition, It can be utilized in your persuasive essay. End in the form of your thesis thought. As mentioned previously, there are bad men and women in every occupation. It’s not I don’t like kids.

Christ found supply us an enormous life as voiced in john 10:10.

I’m heading to become a history teacher. Inside my case, a graduate degree isn’t only a method to a decision. Additionally, There are great women and men in every profession. Really, there are a lot of chances for such a work in the nation and worldwide. Compose 3 reasons you’d offer that reply. All these are issue you could need to consider if you would rather write about medications alcohol and smoking. It depends in your issue and sort of papers. Write a reply to that issue. Quite a few other types of documents may be illustrative.

Additionally, avoid ornamental fonts that are other along with program in every uppercase.

Naturally, it really is all up to a student to get the most out of their school experience. I plan to spend a whole lot within the rest of my own training and my livelihood. Typically, pupils within the superior school English course understand one another, some for several years. The following article is designed to educate, and encourage. On paper the novel, I’m dwelling. As I mentioned, blogging is for you personally. Remain on the topic initially.

Assessment if the paragraphs are full views.

This article may scrutinize the similarities and differences between the two of these books in addition to their essential figures wants to escape where they truly are from. A story including that may inspire disgrace more that consideration. Write early, avoid procrastination until you’re a prodigy author who is competent to do it in to an evening. You need to have enough isolation to mirror on your own evaluation strategy. The query could be a portion of your introduction, or it may make an immense name. Never write an introduction section which goes past the very first site. It doesn’t require to be in an official composition type or perfect sentences. Steer clear of super brief phrases within the benefits.

Howto Develop A Trebuchet (1 Meter Degree) was originally published on Alexander Salazar Fine Art

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Fair is Foul - Chapter 2: I Have Love in Me the Likes of Which You Can Scarecly Imagine

“Do not be fooled,” my father says as we speak of my entrance into the human world, “The scum that walk this earth are far beneath the likes of you or any other creation I blessed with existence. They will act like they’re equal to you, but it is not true. You are better than them.”

I walk into my first day of being a human school teacher with apprehension. I worry for silly reasons. Acceptance, likability, social standing, these are all things I have no reason to fret over, and yet my heart beats rapidly and my stomach feels as though it is trying to digest itself from the inside out. My hands shake and my palms sweat.

The interview was easy enough. My forged credentials were enough to get the most unappealing creature a job at this establishment, and the added bonus of my alias, Adrian Seidelman, being a white man only made the choice that much easier. The first day of my new job, however, seems ridiculously daunting. I am not prepared for all the throes that come with teaching a group of human children the intricacies of literature, nor am I prepared for maintaining a false air of normalcy and humanity when I have never understood or experienced either of the two in my life. But I must steal my heart and push myself through the day. Father barely accepted my chosen profession due to its lack of influence and low pay. If I cannot make it work, then I am doomed to doing whatever Father chooses, and that something will inevitably be something that makes me loathe to rise from bed in the morning.

As the first group of children files into the classroom and take their seats, I look to the book sitting on the desk beside me. Macbeth, by Shakespeare. A classic, full of murder and secrecy, tainted morality and good intentions gone too far. I’ve always felt a connection with the story, each new page I drank up giving me more a sense of belonging than the very world I live in ever did, the reason for which never being entirely clear to me.

I look to the students sitting before me, their blank stares windows that reveal blank minds, and suddenly I lose my fear. I forget my true purpose, I forget that I am here as an agent of my father, to infiltrate the human world, to support his plan. As I look at the students, my students, I am filled with a conviction. This is a book I can delve deep into and draw insight from. This was a book I can teach. And these are students I can reach.

I lift the book from its place on my desk and open to the first page.

“Hello, students. I am Mr. Seidelman, your new English teacher. This year, we are all going to read Shakespeare’s Macbeth . It is a play about a man who is very ambitious, and, because of his desires, he brings unimaginable pain to others. You can all come up and take a copy from the pile on my desk, and we’ll begin reading.”

*

It is on my second day of working at the human school that I encounter a problem. I decided that my alias would be male simply for the sake of ensuring I would never be recognized when performing my nighttime duties. However, I never anticipated that being a male teacher could bring such difficulties in regards to female students during their transformative years of becoming women. One such student, Lori, is particularly insistent on forming a relationship with me, despite my repeated protest and rejections and the fact that it is completely illegal under the current laws regarding consent.

Today in class, she gave me yet another inappropriate love note, which I, in my utter exasperation with her, threw away.

In hindsight, that was not a wise decisions, considering the snarling, spitting group of boys standing before me now. They managed to corner me on my way home from a day of work, backing me against an alley wall.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did to Lori, Seidelman,” one of the boys snaps, making my name sound like a bad word.

I, a monster with superior strength and intellect whose experience and capabilities far surpass theirs, am suitably unimpressed. I set my body in a ready stance, prepared to take on the gangly group who are naive enough to think they are anything more than mere children.

One boy’s face seems to shift entirely to the side of his head as a hand strikes him from the side in an admirably solid punch. The rest of the boy’s body follows, and he flies to my left and sprawls on the ground. I turn to look at my defender, and immediately recognize him as one of the teachers I’ve seen lurking around the coffee machine in the teachers’ lounge.

He is a large man, muscular, with hair hanging from his head in unkempt yet not unappealing strands of gold, and his eyes are narrowed in anger at the small group of boys.

My initial reaction is surprise, quickly followed by indignation. I am not weak, despite my small stature in comparison to his admittedly substantial build. Who was he to presume that I needed his unprompted intervention?

The boys, surely and unfairly startled by his showy bravado and daunting physique, scatter as quickly as they can from the alleyway. I turn to the man.

“You shouldn’t have let them go,” I say, frowning, “They’ll never learn their lesson that way.”

A startled laugh escapes the man, and his eyes turn to me, wide and without a single shred of anger left. “I can’t just beat them all up, Seidelman, they’re just kids. I’d get fired!”

I consider this strange statement. They instigated the fight. It does not seem plausible to lose one’s job for self defense.

“They started it,” I answer, “Why should either of us get in trouble for finishing it?”

This time, his laugh is a hearty one, full of what I consider undue merth. “You said it, pal! But that’s just the way it is, eh? Lil’ brats get away with anything in this damn system.”

I turn to where the children fled the scene, and I contemplate this new information. The realization enters my mind like a creeping doom. I have no idea how one is supposed to behave when one is a school teacher. I have no idea what I am doing in this position, so much so that the very notion of what I just suggested to this man caused him to laugh at me.

I need to find out more, need to glean some information on how I must act before I do something too noticeable and lose my position that I so strongly wish to maintain.

“Hey, you wanna go get something to eat? I know this great-”

“Yes,” I say, cutting the man off mid-sentence. I decide I must glean as much information from him as I possibly can, considering he is a teacher such as myself who knows the ins and outs of performing properly in the role.

“Alright, then let’s go,” he says, “I’m Lucas, by the way, Lucas Amato.”

The restaurant he leads me to is indeed great. It has some of the best coffee I’ve ever had, even better than the concoction the ridiculously expensive machine we have at home produces. Lucas Amato, despite the opportunity to indulge in the fantastic drink, chooses instead to order a pasta dish.

I open my mouth, wondering how I am going to make interrogating him about how to be a teacher seem normal, when he begins talking.

“So, Adrian. Mind if I call you Adrian?”

I do. It seems unprofessional. “No.”

“Great. I want to show you something.” He pulls out a folder and flips it open. “Take a look at these.”

The folder is filled with nothing but photographs and I pick one up. My heart freezes. The photograph is of me. Not of me as Adrian Seidelman, but of me as Cybersix, as my true self. As the monster, and not the human.

I first steady my hand. I must keep it from trembling lest he become concerned. Then I make sure I can speak without my voice betraying how shaken I am.

“What is this?” I ask, as if I don’t know already.

Amato smiles, and the smile is so knowing, so confident that I feel my whole body tense, the fear filling my chest that I will have to kill him to keep what he has discovered silent.

“I have no idea,” he answers.

I stare at him with incredulous exasperation.

“But I sure would like to find out,” he says, sitting back in his seat with a wistful sigh from which I can feel the intense longing. “She’s amazing, Adrian. Just look at her. I’ve been photographing her for a while now, and the things I’ve seen…” He shakes his head in disbelief. “She wanders the buildings of our city, performing inhuman feats. Unless parkour suddenly got a lot more advanced than when I last checked. She’s almost inhuman. No, no she is inhuman!”

I stare at the photograph I am holding as he talks. He is correct. I am not human. It only makes sense that I would be fascinating to him, like a freak in the circus.

“She’s beautiful!” he exclaims, startling me.

“Beautiful?” I ask, not able to comprehend what he just said.

“Of course! She’s like the pinnacle of human evolution, a genetic miracle! The things she can do, Adrian! She’s… she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen!” He turns his eyes to me, filled to the very brim with excitement and passion.

Never have I heard anyone speak of me this way. With such admiration. With such adoration. With such, dare I say it, love.

“And, I mean, she’s really attractive too,” he adds in the gap of my stunned silence.

I shake my head. What am I thinking? I cannot allow the fantastical obsessions of a human to cloud my thinking. So what if he thinks these things about me? He is obviously mentally deranged, and I cannot allow him to pursue this disturbing hobby of photographing me while I do my father’s work.

“Okay, this is insane. There’s no way this girl is what you say she is. A genetic miracle? It’s impossible,” I insist, feeling wrong as the enthusiasm drains from his expression, only to be frustrated as the look is replaced by steady defiance.

“I thought you literary types were supposed to have good imaginations,” he intones, and the taunt makes my hackles raise.

“You cannot suggest that my love of literature requires me to believe the unbelievable and fantastical,” I retort.

“Oh no? You guys read about aliens and witches all day long, but you won’t even entertain the idea of a woman who jumps skyscrapers? I thought this was right up your alley. Kind of hypocritical if you ask me.”

I find myself flabbergasted by his complete lack of understanding of the mind of a literature lover, and my grip on the photograph tightens enough to crinkle the thick, glossy paper.

“Mr. Amato, if this woman is indeed real and she can jump skyscrapers, then I will bet everything I own that she is not the creation of a writer’s imagination, but the creation of a scientist’s imagination that has gone too far.”

As I try to keep my breath steady and my temper in check, his mouth stretches into a grin, and the obstinate look leaves his eyes to be replaced with delighted surprise as a low chuckle shakes his broad shoulders. My eyebrows knit in confusion.

“I like you, Adrian. You’re pretty alright,” he says, leaning back into his chair.

I realize with a start that I completely forgot my original objective of convincing him that Cybersix did not exist in the face of being insulted as a literary scholar.

“And call me Lucas, by the way,” he mentions as he takes another bite of his pasta. “Now, tell me more about how scientists play God. Some call that scientific advancement.”

*

I come home late that evening to find Data 7 waiting for me in the kitchen. He looks tired from waiting up so long, and guilt flashes through me only briefly before I kneel down and begin telling him of the truly singular, truly exhilarating, truly electrifying, truly dreamlike dinner I had just had with Lucas Amato.

We do not stay up for our usual coffee, but instead head to my room for much needed rest. I, however, cannot seem to sleep. I remain awake to all hours of the night, running my fingers over Data 7’s fur and murmuring to him all the terribly wonderful things that make up this man named Lucas.

“And he said I was beautiful, Data 7,” I almost whisper, “he said I was beautiful.”

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