#if I eve mention how green it is at the cottage I mean it's like that picture everywhere you look at

[rosemaryblossoms]

🎄Gulliver’s Ghost 🎁⭐️

Part one

Taglist: @ewwwabug @a21487246-duya @cookie6666 @zglin @jhjejw @jannevinegarr @freshcinnamonbunnies @froggomurder @corruption01 @loverofwurms @pranita2546z @dead-static-yn @zuozhe42 @r1ng-w0rm

This= Varai’s/ Sad’s/ Melancholy’s dialogue

This= Jeff’s/ Yin’s/ Jolly’s dialogue

This= Dusiao’s/ Yang’s/Merry’s dialogue

This= Gulliver’s dialogue

This= Daryna’s dialogue

This= Aubrey’s dialogue

Loveless biker boys by @ewwwabug

Dusiao by @a21487246-duya

Boozo’s ghost by Martin Walls who inspired me to do this story and created the song Accept your mistakes which I’m going to feature in my post.

I will also do instructions for when to play the song and to stop reading until it’s finished before continuing.

Warning(s)⚠️: Gulliver being a huge jerk, bad work environment, mentions of death of a loved one from a main character even though it didn’t actually happen, abuse, and mentions of body shaming. Long ass post because I literally worked on this in the summer of 2022, Please don’t read this to harm yourself and/or others

It was a snowy Christmas Eve, the snowy breeze sways as the snowflakes come to play.

Usually at this time children are asleep waiting for old Saint Nick to stuff stockings and leave gifts under the tree, most shops are closed for the holidays except for one, the store called Clover green cottage that is owned by Gulliver J. Ebenezer who was so greedy and selfish it one day lead to dire consequences and some special visitors you’ll read about today, so grab your cookies and hot choco (unless you’re lactose intolerant or just don’t like them, pretend it’s something else) and prepare to dive in.

Daryna was jus sweeping around the shop until a pleasant smell caressed her nose, it was the smell of freshly baked Christmas sugar cookies along with hot chocolate with a hint of peppermint bark. The smell basically pulling her towards the source like a cartoon character, her face then planted into a beefy chest and then she fell back and knocked down the massive tip jar, shattering it and letting the money fly.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so terribly sorry sir, I wasn’t paying attention!

“Oh no it’s fine, it’s my fault I was too busy looking around at the wonderful items on display I’m so sorry sweetheart. Are you okay? Are you hurt?

“No I’m fine, again I’m terribly sorry for bumping into you- ”

“DARYNA! What the hell is going on here?”

“I’m so sorry boss I accidentally knocked into the customer and knocked the tip jar down, I’m going to pick it up.”

Gulliver face palms at the scatterbrained woman in front of him, giving her the “you stupid bitch” look and then turning to the handsome white haired man with raven tips with a strained but customer friendly smile.

“ I greatly apologize for my employee’s little mistake, I promise you a 25% off discount for your troubles.”

“And you” he said facing the brunette chubby Ukrainian woman, “ I need to speak to you real quick before you pick up okay?” “Yes sir.” Said Daryna as her little pink lips trembled and hazel eyes filled with fear. The pristine white haired man noticed this as well as the ginger haired man with gradient purple tips and eyes who was around the corner, not too far behind from his friend. They looked at the poor woman with pity, it took them most of their strength to not snap the shit brown haired man’s neck. Before following her boss into the back she told the customers to be careful of the broken glass, both the man and the Ukrainian woman went to the back, entering the employees only room.

“Daryna you stupid bitch you do nothing but embarrass me, you’re lucky that I’m desperate otherwise I would have fired your bitch ass”

“Sir please forgive me, I didn’t mean to bump into him.”

“Sorry! Sorry! Your nothing but sorry! I don’t understand how your husband could ever stand you with your fat ass and ugly mug!” seethed Gulliver who is too angry to process his words.

“ Maybe that’s why your husband is dead, he couldn’t stand your scatterbrained self and hung himself because of it.”

Daryna felt as if she was stabbed many times in her heart, tears starting to flow down her rosy cheeks, she tried to talked but the only thing that came out her mouth was choked sobs, she then looked at her ring, or her mother in law’s ring, her husband couldn’t afford to buy her a proper engagement ring so he offered one of his valuable things, his mamas ring to proposed his undying love for her.

Reference for her ring:

“And one more thing before you go back to work, I’m cutting off your check.”

“P-Please don’t sir!”

“I am.”

“Please sir I beg you! I need to feed my sons!”

“ Maybe if you weren’t so scatterbrained and plump, you could actually get paid more and hired by other big shots!”

Daryna fell to her knees and cried until her lungs gave out, Gulliver then gives her liquid foundation, “Stop that crying and tidy yourself up, you have work to do, now if you excuse me, I going to fix the mess you’ve made.” Little did both the man and woman know there was a man outside their window eavesdropping on them. When they both got back, the mess is gone and there’s a new jar that is filled with the fallen tip money. “You know it’s a good thing my friend Yin here purchased this jar from the shop before, it’s really handy, thanks again Yin.” “No problem Yang.” Beamed the ginger haired man. “Hey you, what’s your name.” “Daryna.” “What a lovely name, can I talk to you over there.” Yin said as he pointed to the hall that’s in the back of the store where the bathrooms and the employees only room is. “Uh sure.?” Daryna then followed him to the hallway.

When they got there, he gently directed her to the bathroom. “Um sir, May I ask why are we in the bathrooms.” “To make sure your boss doesn’t hear our conversation.” “Anyways I have something for you.” Yin than reach for his hoodie pocket and pulled out a $100 and gave it to Daryna. “Oh my goodness! Thank you so much!” “Your welcome little lamb, make sure you hide it from your boss.” Daryna then turned around and unbuttoned her shirt and putted the $100 in her bra by her left boob then buttoned her shirt back up and thanked the ginger haired man once again. “Oh and one more thing.” Jeff Yin then pulled a small medical kit and squatted down, he then put Neosporin and small bandaids on the little cuts on her ankles that she didn’t even knew were there. “Oh! Thank you so much I didn’t even see those.” Yin gave her a small smile before heading out. When they got back, Yin and Yang took their leave. “Daryna?” “Yes boss?” “Why did that man pull you into the back?” “Oh he was just patching up my cuts, see.” Daryna showed her boss her bandaids. “Ok, now go get your shit we are closing.” Daryna wasted no time and packed her shit and ran out the door with the speed of light. Before Gulliver was able to flip the sign to “sorry we’re closed” a feminine man of 5’2 and a 1/2, almost to 5’3 with reddish brown hair walked in with a medium cardboard box with a doodle of different colored stick figures holding hands around the Earth. The man walked up to Gulliver, her hips swaying as he walked, he then gave him her brightest smile. “Hello sir may I help you?” “ Hello sir, merry Christmas, I’m Aubrey and I’m trying to make donations to help the unfortunate so they have better lives and I came here to ask you if you would donate, well if you want to?”

Gulliver then reached into the box and pulled out a wad of cash and took the three $1 out and put it back in the box and put the rest in his pocket. “HEY! WHAT THE HELL MAN!!” “That was for wasting my time, now leave before I call the police, I’m too tired for more bullshit.” The man was about to say some thing but cut himself off, her complete heterochromia eyes sparked a bright but eerie light then he turned around towards the door and looked back at Gulliver. “Go burn in hell old man.” He then left out the store with a sour mood but smiled at the tall purple haired man who looked at him with love in his ruby eyes, the tall purple haired man turned to look at Gulliver’s store then at Gulliver and then gave him the most shit pants scary death glare and mouths out “you’re dead old man” then walk away with his love. Gulliver then flipped the sign and then turned all of the four locks and went to the door that said “Customer and employees keep out!” and took his other key out and unlocked it. He then lock the door with the same amount of locks as well another door on his right, after that he went up the stairs and into his cozy apartment. Gulliver wasted no time to put his sleep wear on and went to his bed.

Reference for his sleepwear:

He closed his eye finally embracing sleep. . .

Ok what the hell was that noise. Gulliver woke up from a small clatter in his living room, he then picked up his hand gun making sure it was full and then left his room to go see what is the commotion that disturbed him from his sleep. Keeping his guard up he walked into the living room only to find it was beautifully decorated by Christmas decorations, this confused the man, he doesn’t celebrate Christmas. . .

He looked around the apartment, keeping his guard up to make sure the intruder doesn’t attack out of no where. There was nobody but him in the apartment. He then came back to the presents, he put his ear on each one to make sure there was no ticking of a bomb. He then hesitantly picked up a blue box with a purple ribbon and on the box were purple worms on a string but without the string. He then slowly opened it, the present then revealed a cute plush of a clown with a jester hat.

The plushie:

He picked it up to feel the soft material, it smelled of raspberry and grape candies and the sent was not too strong so it was pleasant. Then his living room was now a void of darkness and his hand gun was gone. He pinched himself only to find out he wasn’t dreaming. In front of him appeared a door with a clown man with purple hair and a Jester hat with bells. The clown man had a frown on his face and tear drop make up. A fluffy blue worm on a string decorated the silver doorknob. He hesitantly walked forward and opened the door to reveal the same void but there is a giant gift box, the box is white with a pink ribbon for the bow. As Gulliver walked over to the box, he heard sobbing. “Hello?” Then the box lifted only a little bit to reveal a pair of eyes, they were dark voids with pure white light as pupils. The box lifted to reveal a sad clown man. His nose is painted purple and had black tear drop makeup, his bottom lip was bluish black. the bells on his hat wear silver, his outfit basically matched the plushie’s outfit except he has real bells and the colors are blue and purple. He also had worm on a string earrings, the purple on his right and blue on his left. (He also had the the scars Varai have on his face.) the clown man looked at Gulliver, sniffing a bit and rubbing his eyes. “Hey there. . . Um how are you?” The clown man just stared at him basically giving him the 😐 face. Gulliver is not good at comforting people. He never gotten the experience himself

“So do you want to talk about it, also who are you?” “. . .”

“I am the Sad ghost of past experiences, I’m also known as Melancholy, and I’m crying because you’ve stolen and lied.” The clown man’s voice was echoey and with every word he spoke there was a chime of a music box but it didn’t come from the large box in front of him. “I know everything that you’ve done, why did you do those terrible deeds.

Gulliver just stands there trying to find an answer for even his self, he can feel his heart racing.

“No I didn’t?” That’s not the answer Sad wanted and it’s not the answer he wanted either. Melancholy just sighed. (Keep scrolling when the song is done.)

Sad then continued to show Gulliver’s past, and telling him there might be some time left to change and to fix everything and to also get some help that he needs.

Yet Gulliver is too stubborn and confused.

To be continued on Christmas morning.

[fennopunk]

Okay, for the three things to ask anonymously: 1.) You’ve said a few things about how therapists should and shouldn’t act. I want to be a therapist later in life, so is there anything you’d want to advise me never to do? Just little pet peeves you have or that friends have told you they have. 2.) how’d you learn to draw? Any inspirations, teachers, styles you love? How long have you been drawing? And 3.) what’s your favorite flower? <3 thanks!!

I'm sorry that this took a while to answer, I had several consecutive ”I’ll continue writing this tomorrow” -days 😅

Without further ado:

1. If your patient belongs to some minority, keep an open mind. And while that includes the obvious "you may encounter identities completely new to you" it's also important to not assume what it means to people in question. I am non-binary, bi/pan (still working on with that) and polyamorous, and it would be easy to assume these are at least partially source for my mental health issues, but the truth is, that while they may have been in the past, they aren't anymore, and it gets really annoying really fast to try to convince mental health workers that these ARE NOT things that I need help with. I'm aware many people have tendencies to gloss over issues and just say they are fine (I know I do), and truthfully I don't have a clear answer how to differentiate the two.

2. I have drawn longer than I can remember! Both of my parents were educators during my childhood, dad was kindergarten teacher and mom taught first six grades of comprehensive school (I think comparable to elementary school?), and they were adamant that they support the interests of me and my brother as much as they can. And since I apparently showed interest to art very early on, they made sure we always had art supplies at home (sometimes they had to get creative, because early on quantity trumped quality, so I was no stranger to drawing on fax paper or flip side of used printer paper). They are actually still on it! I'll turn 30 in couple months and they still occasionally "sponsor" my art supplies :D (which reminds me, I have to figure out if I need something art related for my birthday...)

At first I was completely "self taught" apart from art classes at school, but I was around 8 when my brother basically told me and our parents, that I would start at the same extracurricular art school he attended, and gave no room for argument. So, that's what happened and as a result I've been taught at least the basics in most art mediums (I've even blown glass!).

One teacher that possibly had most impact on how I see art, was one of the teachers I had when I studied Audiovisual communications. Until that point I had decided to keep art 100% hobby only, I was against even making commissions. She, however, disagreed and decided I would become illustrator, and while I was pissed at the time, now I am glad he forced me to face the potential I have. I still don’t want to make an career out of art, but doing commissions or bit of freelancing suits me well :)

Regarding style, some of the artists who’s style currently inspires me the most are @polarcell @tolbyccian @tamaytka and @filibusterfrog so I’d say maybe bit rough, sketchy and stylized, if that makes sense? (it’s 1am, so that’s my alibi if this doesn’t make sense). I like it when there’s visible layers to art and that you can see the initial sketch in the finished piece.

3. FORGET-ME-NOT! As I mentioned at the other post, I've loved forget-me-nots ever since I was a child, and as a consequence they are absolutely everywhere at our cottage's yard. I'd like to say my love was powerful enough to make them prospers, but I think my status as the baby of the family was more likely the reason (i.e. no one had heart to limit their spread because baby-me loved them) 😂

Note: Several species of forget-me-nots are native to Finland and I’m fairly sure my grandparents and parents wouldn't have let them spread  if they had been non-native/invasive, considering my grandpa was professional old school gardener and avoided disturbing the ecosystem needlessly.

Featuring blue and pink varieties we have. We have never intentionally moved forget-me-nots to the cottage, so both pink and white varieties are likely spontaneous mutations.

[comfortscripts]

Next Chapter ¬ Regulus Black

Read Part II -> Next Chapter II {Regulus B.}

Plot - Two teenagers ran away from the encroaching war but now in the aftermath, what if it's time to return?

Genre - Fluff ☁️

Pairing - Regulus Black x Fem!reader (But no pronouns used)

Notes/Warnings - After writing the smut for Reg, I needed fluff so here ya go! Just fluffy content but mentions of angsty topics. Imagine Voldy was defeated btw and Jily lived. A huge part of me wants a part 2 of this

Word Count - 1k

The hum of the rushing stream complimented by the occasional sweet chirp of the free-flying birds. Rays of sunlight graced the shimmering ground and coerced the flowers to stand proudly, the valley of rainbow petals soaked in the golden beams. Placed amongst the serenity of the idyllic French countryside stood a quaint cottage.

Vines woven along the champagne coloured walls, creating patterns of contrast and framing the windows in a whimsical manner. A sturdy deep mahogany door welcomed visitors and guarded the bubble of happiness the two magical lovers had carved out for themselves.

Hidden between the walls of books laid the lovers. The well-mannered man rested in the strong embrace of the velvet chair, a book propped up with his large slender hands. Dark orbs danced across the pages as he drank in the words of the classic but attention was soon drawn away by the soft mutter of his name, spoken by the truest love he'd ever known.

Against the other end of the green velvet, nestled into the corner of the arm was you. Hair splayed across your barely covered shoulders, the white cloth of his sweater falling from your frame. The leather bound book that you gripped in your hands had been set down as you conjured up your thoughts.

Placing his own hefty book upon the oaken table, body turned towards yours as to symbol his full attention. He could listen to your silky voice all day and could lose himself in your entrancing eyes for hours, but this was different. Your brow furrowed and cheek dipped as you gently bit the inside, a nervous habit you had picked up during school.

"What's wrong my love?"

His hand reached to fall upon your knee, comforting patterns traced as he gave you a moment to form your troubles. Offering a small smile, warmth communicated by the simple gesture as you separated your glossed lips.

"I was thinking about going back, for a visit"

Regulus instantly tensed at the idea of returning to the country they fled 5 years prior. A place that reminded him of all the pains of his past, all the futures he would have lived if he had not met you.

The last time he saw the murky skies and felt the cool winds of England was the morning of your escape. Two 16 year-olds rushing to make the first train away, hands clasped together tighter than comfortable. He remembered the sobs that wracked through your body when he told you of the Dark Lord's plan to mark him, to make him a loyal servant. How his heart broke to think of you being thrust into a world with such darkness, you deserved sunshine and beauty but he was not destined for that. Until the past actions of his disgraced brother led you to the solution.

The eve of his initiation, you ran. Charmed bags held everything you needed for a new life, for a life away from all the evil your home held. Regulus ran from his expectations towards a future of sunshine, whilst you ran away from a life without love and towards a future filled with the love Regulus gave. Fear stricken bodies entangled in an intimate embrace as lone tears escaped the lovers eyes, watching their past fade into the background as their future became clearer.

Breaking the pregnant silence, you regained your purpose to speak. "It's just that, now the war is over and those who sought to ruin us are gone, it might be nice to see the peace. And see some of those we left behind."

"You mean Sirius"

Regulus knew you like the back of his hand, every movement and change in breath was logged carefully. He took immense pride in knowing what you were thinking, how you felt and more importantly, what you desired.

"Reg, it's been 5 years. You can't tell me that you don't wonder what's become of him? I know you wish to reconnect with your brother just once more, you aren't as secretive as you might believe"

The dark-haired wizard's eyes glazed with memories and images. Ancient remnants of the loving interactions between the boys in their younger years danced around his head, remembering the times Sirius would offer solace after their mother's disturbing punishments. The thought of leaving his brother, making Sirius believe that he was dead had almost stopped Regulus from running. The child inside longed to embrace his brother once more but the crust of betrayal he felt created conflict.

A dip in the plush velvet drew his focus back to the present, where you had shuffled closer to the thought-filled man. Hands embracing his far larger ones as you waited for his response, your patience was something that Regulus loved most about you. He finally sighed as his pale fingers intertwined with yours.

"As always my love, you're right. I want him to know who I am now, rather than remember that way-ward 16 year-old who was blinded by the crave of approval. But I'm afraid of going back."

"My darling, I will be by your side for as long as you'd let me and we will only stay as long as you want. But I think to truly start this next stage of our life, we need to close that one. And I know you want Sirius to be involved in that next stage."

Eyes turning to lock with yours as his love flowed through the connection, everything you did was so he could feel loved. Your selflessness and care amazed him every day, the shock still as present as the first time you lulled him back to from a nightmare in your 4th year.

"I love you and I do not know what I did to deserve you but I dare not question it. To close our last chapter is to open the next and our next chapter is one that I thought only existed in my dreams. Just you and I in bliss."

Your eyes wavered with tears at his tender words, knowing the raw truth behind them. Without each other, your lives would have been another pureblood tragedy without love but now, you wrote your own stories. The strong hand of the dark-haired wizard rested against your stomach in a gentle caress before adding.

"Just you and I till the baby is born, of course."

Taglist - @instabull , @fairycirclebrat , @yogirl-willow @ildm4ev

[obsessionsposts]

Maw of the Beast

Warnings: mentions of abuse / slight nsfw.

Today is Halloween which meant a whole week vacation from the college.

You are pretty excited to see what people of Gotham has to offer this year from Carved pumpkins, free treats, wearing costumes, and your personal favourite reading urban legends.

 Halloween has always been your most cherished holiday since you were a child, for its morbidity and gothic atmosphere attracted you just like how moths are attracted to light.

 But what you didn't account for was a visit from the master of fear also known as the scarecrow.

🍁🎃🍁

Laying comfortably on your bed, smothering yourself underneath the warm welcoming covers of your bed as you read the famous novel "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelley.

Time ticked away, indulging into the intriguing content of the book until a ringing sound echoed through your living room, snapped you back into reality. Completely unaware of the colourless and odourless gas that has been spread as a result of a rigged ventilation system, you venture to the table.

"I wonder who it is? , Usually, nobody contact me at such an hour. Maybe a friend of mine", you shuddered all of sudden as if somebody has been watching you.

Ignoring your instinct as you pulled the telephone.

"Hello,(F/n) is that you?", you answered with every ounce of confidence you've left hoping it was prank from them.

"Tut,Tut,Tut. Guess again my little crow", Came an eerie voice that sends shivers down your spine, not the good one either.

"Sir, you must've gotten the wrong number", you answered with a stutter that unveils your queasiness as you balled your fists.

"Hmmm, No I don't I assure you that. But I have to say,Dear (Y/n), you have some refine tastes on horror. One thing that I admire about you", replied the cryptic man with a hollow voice.

Alarmed, you closed the telephone swiftly.

"....I need to take the offer of (f/n) to go with her/him. Maybe It was a deliberate prank from the neighbours, but it seems to real to be one.", you mused as your heart start to return to its normal pace.

🍁🎃🍁

The man, with burlap on his face and a noose tied around his neck, outside couldn't help but be aroused and overjoyed by the fear of soon-to-be his crow.

Oh the sound she produces was purely music to his ears.

The way she tried to repress her fears was adorable.

Her heart beats were orgasmic, so much as his hands drifted to his pants.

"No, not yet, Jonny. Patience. I want her as much as you do but we need to deal with that bothersome "friend" of hers, shall we give them a scare they won't wake up from", a deep rumble elicited from the scarecrow.

"Indeed we shall,she'll be ours by any means necessary", added Jonathan with a wry grin that could rival the Joker and prepared his infamous fear toxins.

🍁🎃🍁

You are walking alongside your friend to all hallow eve feast which is in Gotham University.

As your friend blabbered about different subjects, your mind is currently in processing what happened an hour ago, not every day were you this...terrified even in such incident.

Most of the time you were calm to the point of having a neutral expression stitched to your face or as your friend call it 'Resting bitch face'.

Either way, as you were pondering on what happened you didn't notice a small rock on your path which led you to stumble and fall on the hard concrete.

Your friend gives you a look of concern as they check on your knees to see a small bruise forming on your knees.

" Geez,(Y/n). You need to watch where you go or you'll hit your head on a wall or somethin'. Either way, it's not like you not to pay attention, so tell what happened?", as they cover your knee with a bandage and gave you a look of suspicion.

" I am fine, just a bit hazy that's all", you respond monotonously.

" Sure. Sure. I'll believe you not. But have you heard the news", exclaim your friend enthusiastically as they waved their hands in the air.

" Last week, One of the patients escaped Arkham...again.Bloody hell couldn't they maintain the place", your dear friend informed you.

Typical everyday news here at Gotham. Let's hope they don't ruin this particular night.

"You know,you're dissuading me from coming with you again", you playfully glared and punched them lightly on the shoulder.

"C' mon don't be like that plus we have already reached our final destination", as they grinned proudly at their so-amazing-pun. ( The movie)

" I hope you die from a scare tonight at least I won't be bothered with your predictable, yet frivolous jests for eternity".

You groaned rolling your eyes impishly at their ridiculousness, Heedless to your own words that will haunt you down later on.

🍁🎃🍁

Loud music and chatters blared around you dulling your scence of hearing.

'That's why I don't bother going out much,but hey let's get out of my comfort zone for a change'

You decided to split with your friend and head to the food stand and took some of the food with you.

Suddenly the music stopped playing which doesn't settle very well with you.

You need to look for (F/n) fast and get the hell out of here.

But today luck is clearly against you, as a green gas smothers everyone who is here inducing them to scratch and scream at others.

But what made the situation even worse is people start dropping dead like insects from the fright.

As tears start to prick your eyes and your breath hitched thank to whomever release the toxin, but surprisingly it didn't affect you at all unlike the others.

About time, you did find your friend only to see them laying lifeless on the ground.

Oh,god. What did you do to deserve this? Why would anyone do this?.

Tears rolled down your eyes as you remembered your last words to them.

Nonetheless,it didn't deter you from finding an exist to this hellish nightmare of a night; nearing one as you pushed through the gates of the collage. Abruptly, two tendrils encaged you into their cold tight embrace.

"it's time to take my naughty crow to her true home,hope you liked the surprise it's only for you,my little crow", the familiar man behind you whisper softly into the shell of your ear making you tingle from fear.

Slowly you faded into darkness.

Scarecrow lowered his head to take sniff out his beautiful ,fragile, and innocent crow.

" Now, you're finally ours we will never let you out of our sight again", meanwhile,Jonathan smiled victoriously and carried his asleep darling to their new cottage far from this damned city and its damned saviour.

🍁🎃🍁

Waking up to a throbbing head , groaning and mumbling profanities. You looked around you to find yourself chained to a bed post in a foreign place.

Trying to recollect your memory from the past events, but it was a blurr till a sharp hammering from the wooden door startled you from your stupor.

" It appears to be the effects of the drug is diminishing,now dear that you're awake tell me how are feeling? Do you need any assistence?",spoke the man gently as he start caressing your arm affectionately as if he was your lover.

You glared at him hate coursing through your eyes , pulled your arms back from his grip aggressively.

"........."

" Now don't be so abrasive,unless you wanted to treated as such. My name is Jonathan Crane or known as your saviour ,now (Y/n) let set basic ground rules that you mustn't break", The pale-ish,long dark haired, and lanky man introduced ardently as if he didn't murder a bunch of people to get to you.

" First, don't call me dear that's only reserved to my family and friends, and why haven't you offed me yet or are you waiting for the bat to come only to hold me as a leverage",you spat bitterly watching his pupils darkened at the aforementioned name.

" To answer your question, your way of dealing with fear is what attracted me at first sight; how you didn't repress it or let it control but took advantage of it to boost you fighting your trauma,especially after years of abuse at the hands of your "familiars". You can't hide that fact from me I know alot about you, I did my research on you, You lived your life in misery,suffering, and pain. For that I will keep you here to shield you from the malevolent nature of society and to give you what you lacked most of your life as that is love", jonathan replied gruffly as he encaged you tightly in his grip wiping your freshly tears as they processed to roll down after mentioning your past.

Suddenly, he pressed his lips toward your soft plumped one. Asking for permission to enter your mouth, but you refused ; frustrated he grappled your breasts harshly which elicited a gasp. As he slide his tounge to venture poking at every corner of the wet cave. Dipping your head to deepen the kiss you couldn't help but moan as he moaned and continued to ravage you like a dessert handed on a plate.

As it end leaving both of you and Jonathan out of breath; ashamed you decided to hide your face beneath the cover.

" Don't worry my dear, we will finish this as I come back , as I have to deal with a pesky bat", Jonathan gave one last smile and left you alone with your thoughts.

Exhausted from the horrors of today you decided to sleep with the hope of escaping that mad monster who clipped your wings.

A/N:My apologizes if I haven't update much, I was working with this one. Hope you enjoyed.

[believingispowerfulmagic]

“The Christmas Cottage” Chapter 6: Christmas Eve

Regina climbed out of the cooled bathwater, wrapping a fluffy towel around her body and shrugging on the soft bathrobe provided by the hotel. She then wrapped another towel around her hair before pulling the plug, watching the water swirl down the drain. It had been years since she had treated herself to a bubble bath and she felt quite refreshed now.

Her limbs no longer ached liked they did as well. The wedding party had spent the morning with Eudora, rehearsing Mary Margaret and David’s first dance over and over until it was perfect. Almost everyone involved was sore by the end and Regina felt bad for the bride and groom, who had to stay behind to practice their dances with their parents. She hoped Eudora went easy on Ruth Nolan and Leopold Blanchard.

She wandered back out into the main part of her hotel room, laying on the bed. Ariel had mentioned taking a nap and she considered doing just that, knowing she wanted to be well rested before the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner that night.

Just as her eyes closed, her phone buzzed. She groaned as she reached for it and groaned again when she saw it was Gold calling. Regina sat up, moving the towel so she could press the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” he barked. “I’ve been emailing you all day.”

“I’ve been busy with wedding preparations. What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling her chance to nap slipping away.

“I need the work I asked you to complete. Now,” he said, annoyed.

Annoyance filled her as well, knowing this was at least the fourth task he had suddenly demanded immediately. “You can’t keep changing my deadlines,” she protested.

“I absolutely can,” he told her. “Are you a senior partner?”

She bit the inside of her cheek before replying: “No.”

“Right. And you won’t be if you keep complaining about changing deadlines. They change. You adapt. Or you quit,” he told her.

The call ended at that point and she let the phone drop to the mattress. She laid back down on the bed, covering her eyes as she tried to remember why she became a lawyer.

Because you wanted to help people, a little voice told her.

Then why did she go into mergers and acquisitions?

Because you the part of you that came from your mother worried about money and went with security over everything else, the little voice continued.  

She sighed, knowing that it was the truth when it came time for her to consider what she would study in law school. Regina could’ve easily decided to study aspects of the law that would allow her to become an advocate but she got caught up in the allure of money. Part of her always believed she would be able to switch to advocacy after building up enough money to live comfortably.

It just never seemed to be enough.

Her phone rang again and her stomach clenched, worried it would be Gold. Surprise filled her when she saw Mal Draco’s name on her screen instead. Pressing the green button, she held the phone up to her ear as she said: “Hello?”

“Regina? It’s Mal Draco,” the senior partner said.

“Yes, hello. Is something wrong?” Regina asked, confused. Given how Mal had fought Gold back in the office, she doubted the partner was calling her to also lecture her about pulling her weight on the case.  

“There are many things wrong, but nothing really with you,” Mal assured her. “I heard Gold reaming you out and wanted to check on you.”

That surprised Regina. “You did? Why?”

“I could say it’s a sisterhood thing, that women need to stick together. And it’s partly that. But you’re also a great lawyer, Regina, and I worry about you burning out,” she replied.

Regina frowned. “You do?”

“I see it happen all the time,” Mal continued. “It’s sometimes the nature of the beast. But most times in our firm, it’s because of Edgar Gold. He holds everyone to the same ridiculously high standards he holds himself to and it makes him feel good when everyone but him ultimately fails to live up to them.”

“So it should get better if I make partner?” Regina asked, considering that possibility. After all, Gold would be her equal and not her manager.

Mal was silent for a little bit. “I’ll be honest with you, Regina, I wish I could say yes. The pressure is always there. We want to be the best and that means making sacrifices. I also told this to Zelena and I am telling you—how much are you willing to sacrifice to make this work? Other partners have sacrificed marriages, relationships with children and other family members, friendships…hell, I can’t tell you when I went on a proper vacation. And that’s okay with me. You need to decide if it’s okay with you.”

Regina processed everything Mal told her, a knot tightening in her stomach. “I understand. Thank you, Mal.”

“You’re welcome,” Mal replied. Her tone then grew lighter. “Oh, and feel free to tell Gold to shove it more. Remember what I told you back in the office—you don’t have to play by his rules.”

“Thank you, Mal,” Regina said, chuckling.

“I’ll let you go. I hope to work with you, Regina, but I understand if you decide you need to do something that works better for you,” Mal said. Had Gold said that statement to her, Regina would’ve felt as if he was disappointed in her and that she should know there was nothing better for her. Mal said it as if it were perfectly normal for Regina to want more from her life than to be chained to her work.  

And it was, she realized as she ended the call.

She sat on the edge of the bed, debating her next steps. Part of her knew she had spent so long building a career that it seemed foolish to throw it all away because of one stressful project. Yet the other part thought of everything she had told Robin the day before when they were making cookies. Did she want to sacrifice all of that for her career?

Or did she sacrifice her career in order to actually live her life?

Knocking interrupted her musing and she walked over to the door, opening it a crack. “Yes?”

“Regina?” Granny leaned over so that she appeared in the crack. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Your timing is actually impeccable,” Regina said, opening the door and inviting her grandaunt into her room.

Granny looked over her state of undress and raised an eyebrow. “Did I interrupt you getting dressed?”

“Work did,” Regina said, closing the door. She walked closer to her grandaunt. “Can I talk with you?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart. You always can.” Granny sat down on the bed, patting a spot next to her.

Regina collapsed onto that spot with sigh. “I’m confused, Granny.”

“About work?”

“About a lot of things,” Regina confessed, “but work is currently at the forefront.”

Granny nodded. “What is bothering you about it?”

“Everything,” she replied with a sigh.

“Well, that certainly is a lot,” Granny said. “Let’s try to unpack it into smaller bits, okay?”

Regina nodded, feeling the lump return to her throat. “You know I wanted to study law to become an advocate but I decided to go into corporate law instead, right?”

“I remember you talking about it,” her grandaunt replied. “And I remember when you made your decision. I worried that you were compromising your dreams due to your mother. But you did seem to enjoy corporate law.”

“I did…at first. But now…Now I look at my life and I don’t really like it, Granny,” she admitted, tearing up.

Granny’s eyes widened and she hurried into the bathroom, returning with the box of tissues the hotel kept there. She handed them to Regina as she sat back down, hugging her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I keep telling myself that once I hit certain goals that I’ll finally have enough time and enough money to do everything I want,” Regina said. “But I’ve done nothing.”

“Okay. Then change it,” her grandaunt said.

Regina nodded, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “But can I give up everything I’ve worked for? Then I’ll truly have nothing.”

Granny shook her head. “That’s your mother and fear talking. But if you take a step back, you’ll see you won’t have nothing at all. You’ll have your fiancé and your friends. And you’ll have us here in Storybrooke.”

Tears filled Regina’s eyes as she nodded. “Thank you, Granny.”

“You’re welcome,” Granny said. “I also know you will land on your feet, Regina. And no matter what you set your mind too, I know you will succeed.”

Regina smiled. “So do you think I should quit?”

Granny took her hands. “I think you should do whatever you think is best for you. And you should do something that it sounds like you haven’t done in a long time.”

“What’s that?” Regina asked.

“Listen to your heart,” Granny said, tapping Regina’s chest. “It won’t steer you wrong.”

She nodded. “You always give the best advice.”

“I try,” Granny said, trying to hide her smugness. She then patted Regina’s hand. “I’m always a phone call away.”

“I know,” Regina said, hugging her.

Granny then stood. “I’ll see you tonight at the rehearsal dinner. But maybe you should try to get out of this room. Get some fresh air. That will probably help too.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Regina replied. “Thank you, Granny.”

Her grandaunt left and Regina took a deep breath as her conversation the previous day with Robin replayed in her mind. She knew then what her heart wanted and now was the time to start making the changes she needed to move her life forward. The air felt fresher and room seemed brighter now that she knew what she had to do.

Regina stood, sitting at her laptop. She opened a document and began typing.

Continue reading on FFN, AO3 and Wattpad

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

queen of peace

Part 5/10

Shifty Powers x Reader

“Mother, are you absolutely sure you don’t want to come? Margaret said I had to convince—” you call, taking the stairs two at a time, if only to hear the green chiffon of your skirt fluttering at your ankles. Yet, when your Mary-Janes plunk onto the thin carpet at the bottom, girlish delight is forgotten in favor of your eyes bulging, air stoppering in your throat, and stuttering out: “M-Mother, is that—? Is that the—?”

She perches on her armchair in the sitting room—the tapestry upholstery faded; it’s been in the cottage since Mother’s gran lived here as a little girl—her beaming smile shifting from the tea kettle in her hands to you. It’s the tea kettle; the robin-blue heavy ceramic one that’s been shown in the cookware shop’s place of pride since July. “Look, dear, I decided to spring for it,” she says, her voice floating with lightness, as if reveling in an indulgence long overdue. “Isn’t it the loveliest thing? And, you did mention you wanted something practical for your birthday in a few weeks, so I thought this could be for Christmas and your birthday.”

Yet, the justification doesn’t reach your ears; you’re deaf to the chattering praise of the kettle as Mother holds it to the weak electric light of the overhead chandelier, inviting you to admire it from all angles. Your imagination conjures the scene of Mother creeping to the stronghold box secreted in the workshop, illustrating how she took out your carefully stacked pound notes—freshly and hard-earned from the nurses’ orders—halving it and scurrying off to the cookware shop. Is this your fault for not confiding in her how desperately the money’s needed? She surely knows some it, but you’re so careful to hide the letters from the bank, the reminders on the loans and interest, and she had been so thinly pale and grayly sick in the years since London; you couldn’t risk a relapse. Where would you be, who would you have, if something happened to her?

The thought sobers you, allows you to plaster a smile on, and you offer: “It’s really quite lovely, Mother. It’s just the right dash of color our little house needs.” Admittedly, the old cottage with its threadbare carpets and worn upholstery would take much more ‘dashing’ than a blue tea kettle could offer, but your seeming-approval cheers Mother noticeably. “Are you coming to the Christmas Eve party? Margaret asked me that I positively badger you about it.”

Her smile shrinks marginally. “Oh, I don’t know, darling. Why don’t you go ahead, and I may catch you up in an hour or so?” Carefully, you keep a frown from pulling at your lips at Mother’s blatant lie. She hurries on: “Don’t forget your Christmas packages; I put the tin of cakes on top.” She gestures to a modest pile of boxes on the ottoman, an old tin stuffed with almond-butter cakes, dusted with real powdered sugar, crowning it. That white sugar, an absolute necessity in your family’s sacred holiday almond cake recipe, had cost you dearly. Smilingly, you allow her to load your arms up with packages, sacks, and tins, and shoo you out the door and into the early chill of nightfall. She sends you trudging through the flurries of snow and toward the bright bauble of Margaret’s house.

You try not to brood as you walk, your surly thoughts keeping the nip of the air at bay, but your thoughts revolve continuously back to the neat stack of bank letters folded into your jewelry box and how you’d politely word a begging request to extend the payment deadline—again.

…

Margaret shepherds you into the party with wide-flung arms, a bright grin that stretches her immaculately painted cherry-red lips, and any of her stress or harried anxiety from two days prior—during decorating—has entirely evaporated. She coos over your Christmas dress (the same one as last year, and the year before that, though she’s kind enough not to notice) as she carves a path through the seemingly uninterrupted mass of humanity cluttering her home. American sergeants laugh at the vicar’s jokes—he’s putting in a brief appearance before scampering off to other party invitations—Mrs. Pinchent, your dowdy widow-neighbor, giggles and flirts with a taciturn American colonel; Evie Lowell holds captive a slew of local and soldier boys alike; Mr. Jamison, the busybody bartender at one of Aldbourne’s two feuding pubs, hoots uproariously with a cluster of American captains. Couples attempt to dance in a narrow patch of carpet provided, youngsters dart between legs, and the elderly have claimed chairs to keep an amused eye on it all.

Whatever darkness heavying your mood, you leave behind, outside in the cold of the garden.

“We’re not doing any kind of formal gift-exchange,” Margaret informs. “The idea is you put your packages under the tree, and then you’re supposed to check every once and a while if someone has left something for you. It stretches out the fun and anticipation of the gift-giving!”

“Oh,” you mutter, glancing down at your packages, eyes catching on the card attached to the one at the very top: in your neatest cursive, you wrote, ‘To my dear friend, Shifty.’ Disappointment trickles into your chest; you’d never admit it, but you wanted to watch him open it. You’re not sure why it’s important to you all of a sudden.

After Margaret helps deposit your packages under the tree, merrily ripping into hers and exclaiming over the cape you knitted for her—a lovely, pure white lamb’s wool that you matched to her white muff—she whisks the almond-butter cakes away to put on the serving table. You watch her dissolve into the crowd, fidgeting with your velveteen sleeves as your eyes flick over the profiles and backs of the party-attendants nearest you. You don’t particularly want to mingle with Mrs. Pinchent or Mr. Jamison, but they seem to be your only options at the—

“Look!” exclaims George Luz—you instantly recognize that brash American accent of his, constantly pitched as if auditioning to announce for the Royal Ascot—and you find a delicately carved wooden squirrel under your nose. “He did carve me a squirrel!”

“Huh,” is all you can remark, gently plucking the figurine from George’s hands, inspecting its deep, chestnut color, honeyed and rich. The little squirrel even clutches a nut, its head cocked in inquiry at the viewer and fluffed tail held in trepidation. You manage: “It’s lovely, George.”

Accepting the squirrel back, George glances over it, too, trying mightily not to seem too pleased. “It’s alright; Shift’s talented, that’s for sure. The kid’s got, I don’t know, depth or something.”

As innocuously as possible, you ask, “Did Shifty give it to you just now?”

“Nah,” George replies, pocketing the squirrel. “He gave out all his gifts back at the barracks; said he didn’t want to deal with carrying anything here.” The drop of disappointment through your chest from before builds into a free-fall. “I swear, he’s got some imagination, too; he gave Skip an otter but the funny things, I kind of see why Skip’s an otter, you know?”

Before you can think of a response, before you can sort the slowly dawning horror creeping over you that you gave Shifty a gift, and he most assuredly didn’t give you one, Skip appears at your elbow. He shouts to be heard over the party’s rabble: “You’re here! Good, I’ve had to use every stalling tactic I can think of to get the guys to hold off on charades! Come on, you’re on our team; our secret weapon.”

Your eyebrows jump. He remembered; he was being genuine about the team, you think, befuddled.

Skip’s hand wraps around your elbow and he’s towing you—George Luz trails, snorting over the paper crown balanced precariously on Skip’s head, most likely from the Christmas poppers Margaret adores so. You’re helpless to being dragged away from the tree, and any hope you have of swiping up your gift to Shifty before he can see it; before he can open it and face the unmistakable truth that you’re horribly enamored with him. Before your friendship turns brittle and crumbles because of your own self-sabotaging.

First the kiss, now this. It’s like you don’t want to be happy.

(This, in tandem with the damnable kettle, you decide, might be warrant enough to label this the Worst Christmas Yet.)

…

You had your doubts, given that Skip seems someone inclined to comedic dramatics, but he hadn’t been hyperbolic when he proclaimed he, Penkala, and Malarkey were truly pitiable at charades. “What on Earth are you doing?” Malarkey bursts, exasperated, as Penkala skips around the cleared charades floor, flapping his arms and occasionally squawking. All the charades were—allegedly—Christmas themed, though you pulled a Clark Gable card your last round, and you’re fairly sure Clark Gable has nothing to do with the reason for the season.

“Chicken?” Skip guesses, Penkala shaking his head and squawking again, as if this time, it’d trigger the correct answer.

“A deranged goose?” you offer, Malarkey and Skip snorting, but Penkala waves his hands emphatically, pointing at you. “Oh, a goose?” you guess, when Penkala twiddles his fingers, meaning its part of the phrase. “Um, Christmas goose? Roasted goose? Goose and—”

“Time!” Margaret trumpets, popping to her feet and nearly upsetting the holly and garland crown she wears. Allen Vest had made a whole show of crowning her after the first round of charades ended in her team winning, declaring ‘peace unto the queen of Christmas.’ “How many points did they get, George?”

George had made scorekeeper when it became obvious he couldn’t keep his great trap shut, guessing for teams other than his own and giving out freebie points. “Uh, seven! Wow, Penkala, way to go! You didn’t embarrass yourself!”

Penkala takes a bow as all teams—four teams of four, all composed of Easy Company men, the company all your American friends (because you do suppose they’re your friends) belong to—clap and cheer, Malarkey and Skip whooping. As Penkala flops onto the couch next to you, Skip leans over to whisper in your ear: “Looks like you’re not the star player anymore.” He winks, curling grin mirroring yours, and you shake your head back. Without you, the team would have negative points, if any: you earned eleven points when it was your turn, and had guessed nearly all of the words when the boys were acting.

“Good,” you shoot back. “I was getting tired of carrying this team.”

Skip’s eyebrows quirk and he tilts his chin back to roar his laughter to the ceiling.

Basking in the glow of your joke, you swing your eyes away and around the room, your smile growing stale and then shriveling. In the crowd amassed as spectators to the game, you pick him out easily—looking older, more tired somehow, in his dress browns, despite the cheerful blue and white scarf wrapped, once, twice, four times around his neck, the scarf you knitted him—the sensible gray cap, your other gift, peeking from his trouser pocket. Yet, after the initial yank in your stomach, a yank that makes you feel you’ve been thrown into open space, you forget the gifts for his expression. An expression you don’t comprehend, can’t ascribe any logical reason to, because he’s envious? There’s melancholy written in his frown, confusion in the pinch of his brows as if baffled by his own reaction, but yet, despite himself, he looks envious.

His eyes find yours, across the lounge of jostling elbows and knocking knees, and your chest aches, your lips part, words building in your throat until you’re rendered completely mute. What is it about Shifty, about how he’s looking at you now, that fills you until you’re sure you’ll burst? that drains you until you’ll pop out of existence? that makes you burn and chilled, made significant and trivial—feeling every new contradiction on each inhale and exhale?

“C’mon, girlie, get on up there,” Skip says, close to your ear, nudging your shoulder, urging you from the coach—Shifty had made you forget where you were, what you were doing, and you blink at Skip to chase away the haze in your head—and to the cleared performance patch of the lounge’s carpet. “We’re five points away from winning! You’ve got to go bag this one for us!”

Malarkey, having taken Margaret’s invitation to ‘help yourself!’ to an extreme when it came to the ale keg, leans around Penkaka to plant a good-luck kiss on your cheek. “We’re counting on you, sweetheart; you can do it!”

When you collect yourself, when you dare to steal another glance into the crowd, Shifty has moved, is moving through the archway and out of the lounge, You crane to keep him in your sights. But, there are too many bodies, too many voices clogging the air and rooting you on. He melts into the party as Margaret calls: “Two minutes starts now—go!”

…

Bing Crosby’s new Christmas record, and the drunken rhapsodizing accompanying it, floats out of the kitchen when you slip into the back garden. Easing the door shut behind you and clutching your wool coat tightly to your body, your eyes sweep across the snow, winking and reflecting the lights on in the house. Your breath clouds and you plop down on the stoop next to Shifty—it took you nearly twenty minutes to locate him after the charades game devolved into George and Malarkey leading everyone in carols, another five minutes to track down your coat.

He blinks at you, the redness in his nose and cheeks—luminescent in the light reflected off the snow, a wash of the lamp’s yellow and the winking green and red of the fairy lights—softening him, easing that earlier maturity and tiredness you noticed in the lounge. “Oh, hey,” he offers, adjusting his scarf self-consciously and angling to square his shoulders toward you. “I like your, huh, crown.”

“Oh, thank you,” gusts from your lips as you touch your fingertips the holly and garland crown you wear, bestowed upon you by Margaret after your team won the final round of charades. “I was proclaimed the queen of peace, or something like that.”

Shifty nods, eyes skating over your cheekbones, along your nose, to your lips, and back to the crown. The intensity, the thoughts darkening his expression, remind you of looking into a fishing hole, falsely shallow, secreting hidden pockets inside its murky depth; it makes you fidget with contradictions again, makes your chest expand until it aches and your shoulders hunch, as if collapsing on yourself. You reach to pull the crown off, but he leans forward, hands on yours, stopping you. “No, please; keep it on. It…it suits you.”

Biting your lip and lowering your eyes as your fingers drop to twist in your lap—it suddenly seems far too much to look at him—you manage: “Oh, well, okay.” Pause, and you fuss at the bare fur still on your threadbare coat’s cuffs, trying to marshal your senses and recall why you wanted to come out here, what you had formulated saying. “Um, I was going to, um, make sure you’re all right. I noticed you slipped out and I wanted to make sure …”

You allow your words to trail off.

Shifty hums after a moment, leaning closer to you. You’re not sure if its conscious or not. “That’s kind of you to be worried; you’re a good friend,” he offers, his accent coaxing the words from him. “I…” he pauses and you can feel him choosing his next words: “It’s great seeing everyone so happy and enjoying themselves, but I keep thinking about my family playing charades and other games at home right now. It’s made me sad, I suppose. But…but, it’s more than that…I can’t help but think …”

You’re not sure when you thread his fingers with yours, but you offer a gentle squeeze when he stutters to a stop. You tilt your face so you can monitor his expression through your eyelashes and still hide just how desperately you want him to know you’re there for him; how much you desperately wish you could articulate how you care.

He tries again: “I can’t help thinking about what’s to come. The…the war. Who will get hurt, or, or not come back … who’s celebrating their last Christmas right now.” At your backs, a wave of laughter floats from inside, muffled by the brick walls and door, but you feel its weight slamming into your ears, pressing on your shoulders. You know Shifty does, too: you track how he winces. “I know I ought to enjoy the happiness while I can, but what if…what if it’s my—?”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Darrell Powers,” falls from your mouth before you’re aware you spoke, gripping his hands urgently and entirely forgetting your carefully designed cover. You hold his eyes, hoping he sees the ferocity of your firm resolve, hoping he understands how greatly you feel and believe every syllable you say. “Don’t you dare talk or think like that. You’re going to come back, you have to—” because I’d be lost without your eyes in my life; your eyes looking at me like that, you think, but bite back. You can’t say it; you won’t. You can’t watch his face pale and widen in horror. Not again.

Yet his worry remains unchanged and you frown, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, trying again: “Shifty, I know you’re staring down the unknown and you’re scared, but it’s okay to be scared. I’d be worried if you weren’t scared honestly.” That earns you a faintly-cracked grin. “But this is one Christmas of many, many more to come, and whenever you want me to tell you that, let me know. I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face, okay?”

His grin turns wobbly, his eyes glassy as you speak, and his nod is uncertain.

Huffing, you tease, “I’m going to need something more than a nod, Shift.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he manages thickly. He sniffles, takes a choppy breath, and tries to smile. And, God, you want to kiss him; you want to fold yourself into him and be safe from the war, fate, and all that’s to come; you want to cry and laugh and feel multitudes with him. You want, you want, you want—but when has it ever mattered what I wanted?

Instead, you content yourself to wrapping your arm tightly around him, letting him tuck you under his chin, letting his scent of bonfires, boot polish, and summer rain wash over you, letting his arms brace firmly across your back. This is the most you can have from him, you know; this is the most you’d ever ask from him, because what does it matter what you want if you can at least be there for him. Hold him and whisper a thousand assurances, allowing yourself to pretend for a fleeting instant that he really is yours.

tag list: @gottapenny, @wexhappyxfew, @maiden-of-gondor, @mayhem24-7forever, @medievalfangirl

[maplesamurai]

The Witch’s Apprentice, Ch. 11

When Arthur came to, he was lying on the cold, snow covered forest floor. His head throbbing, he stood up from his prone position and opened his eyes, finding himself alone in the dark woods. As the throbbing subsided and his head cleared, Arthur’s eyes widened as he remembered what he had been doing before he had awoken: it was the eve of the Winter Solstice, and he had been helping the legendary Witch of the Woods prepare for her solstice rituals for his first night in the lifetime of servitude he had pledged to her in exchange for her healing his deathly ill sister. But when they were hunting the sacrificial boar, an unnaturally strong wind had stolen him away…

  Arthur’s grass green eyes widened as he realised the danger he could be in. The Heart of the Forest was perilous enough all year round with all of the monsters and fae that dwelled here, but the night of the Solstice was when the Wild Hunt rode out into the mortal world to spirit unwary mortals away to the Faerie Realm. Arthur had only narrowly escaped their grasp earlier this night when the Witch had protected him from the Hunt’s leader, but that did not mean they would not make another attempt to claim him, especially now that his mistress was not here to protect him. So the first thing Arthur did was feel around for the objects he had kept on his person that would help him get out of this situation.

  Taking the bag off of his back, he searched through it until he had found the hooded brass lantern he needed to make his way through the darkness, since whatever moonlight might be able to otherwise penetrate the forest canopy was tonight obscured by the clouds raining down snow upon the Earth. Shaking it lantern, he was relieved to hear the oil inside splash around, so he knew he was not in danger of any flame he lit running out. Digging his flint and steel out of the back as well, he quickly lit his lantern, illuminating the forest clearing around him. Unfortunately, as looked around the dimly lit woods, he found it was a part of the forest he did not recognise, without even the slightest hint of where he was.

  But instead on focusing on that, Arthur instead opted to feel around his belt for the iron arming sword that his monster hunting Uncle Melion had given to him as a parting gift the night prior, only to find its empty scabbard tied to his waist. This was not good. As faeries and other spirits were repelled by the touch of iron, that sword was Arthur’s best defense should the Wild Hunt return, to say nothing of anything else in these woods that would otherwise be deterred from attacking him if he were still armed. Had he dropped it when that wind had swept him away? Or did it fall out of his hands when he landed? He desperately hoped it was the latter as he frantically pointed his lantern in every direction he could look, only to find it on laying the ground just a few feet away, much to his relief.

  Walking over to the blade, Arthur gripped the hilt and picked it up to see if it had broken in the fall. When he saw that it had not, he breathed a sigh of relief and promptly sheathed the blade. Strangely, Arthur felt some resistance as he pushed the sword back in its scabbard. That certainly felt strange, he thought. Was the blade getting rusty? That was strange, he thought, considering how recently his uncle had gifted it to him, and he had thought Melion would know better than to give him a rusted weapon. If that were the case, he ought to use the workshop in the Witch’s cottage to do some maintenance on it once he got back, but right now he needed to focus on ensuring he would get back. Turning his head left and right, Arthur looked for any sign of the Witch, yet found no sign of her.

  “Miss?” Arthur called, desperately hoping she was still close by, choosing to remain unseen. “Are you still there?”

  Arthur received no answer but the whistling of the chill winter wind. But surely this was some kind of game, right? With everything Arthur had seen his mistress do, finding and retrieving him no matter the distance ought to be second nature for her, oughtn’t it?

  “Come on, mistress,” Arthur pleaded desperately to the seemingly empty forest, “this isn’t funny! Please come out from wherever it is you’re hiding!”

  Arthur still received no answer.

  “Mistress?!” Arthur continued to call, hoping he would eventually receive an answer. “…Someone? Anyone…?”

  “Yes?” an unfamiliar voice responded from behind Arthur, prompting the young man to scream in shock and immediately turn around, hand instinctively clasped around his sword’s grip, only to find something far less threatening than he anticipated.

After all of the dangerous beasts Arthur had seen inhabiting this forest, Arthur was afraid he would run into yet another gigantic predator, and yet the source of the high pitched, almost child-like voice that had greeted him was possibly the single least threatening looking entity he had encountered all his life: hovering right in front of Arthur’s face was an disarmingly cute fairy, only barely large enough to fill the palm of his hand.

  In storybook pictures Arthur had seen of pixies and similar kinds of fae, such beings were usually depicted simply as small humans with insect wings. However, while such renditions were not an inaccurate portrayal of the being hovering in the air before him, they did not fully realise what he saw before him either. This fairy appeared mostly human-like, looking as a willowy young woman with milky pale skin covered in rudimentary clothing made of leaves and petals, and the wings holding her aloft were like those of a colourful moth, but they were not the only inhuman features Arthur could make out. The fairy’s eyes were solid black, the light of Arthur’s lantern reflecting off of them, with moth-like feathery antennae extended from where her eyebrows would be. Her arms and legs were like those of a grasshopper given upright gait; segmented and covered in chitin, and ending in short, claw-like digits. Upon the creature’s head flowed a shock of wavy green locks, like blades of grass bending to and fro in the summer wind.

  Arthur had apparently been staring transfixed at his unexpected visitor for longer than he thought; as the fairy asked in its dreamy, singsong voice, “I’m sorry, human; I thought you were asking for someone?”

  “Oh, right!” Arthur said, having momentarily forgot what position he was in to begin with. “You see, I’m sort of lost here. I was out doing errands with my mistress, when I was suddenly picked up by a strange wind and found myself here.”

  “Oh, that’s not good!” the pixie gasped with a concerned look on her face. “A poor human like you shouldn’t be lost in the Heart of the Forest all alone! This part of the wood can be dangerous, especially when the Wild Hunt is about!”

  “Yeah, I’ve had to learn that the hard way,” Arthur sighed, somewhat embarrassed that this was the second time such a thing had happened to him, after he was nearly devoured by a basilisk when he had originally sought ought the Witch. “I did have my mistress to protect me up until now, but we seem to have gotten separated. Would you know of the Witch of the Woods, by any chance?”

  The pixie’s widened with surprise as she heard Arthur mention the Witch, before flying in closer to place her hands on Arthur’s nose and say with a cheerful smile, “Of course I know about her, there isn’t a faerie in these woods that doesn’t know!”

  Then she gave a look of epiphany and backed away, gasping, “Oh! You must be her new servant! I’d heard a new human had wandered into the Heart a while back and made a deal with her, but it’s great to see that it’s true; I was worried the old hag was getting lonely since her last one died!”

  “You’ve heard of me?” Arthur asked, surprised.

  In but the blink of an eye, Arthur’s new friend had disappeared from where she was hovering, only to reappear standing right on his left shoulder gently leaning on his neck as she replied, “Of course I’ve heard! We of the fair folk listen to the goings on of this world out of mortal sight, everywhere from these woods to your human cities to behind the veil between this world and the next! Our gossip is carried on the very wind itself, so of course we know of something as exciting as the Witch of the Woods getting a new servant!”

  Arthur was somewhat disturbed by the thought that the fae could have been eavesdropping on every conversation he had had in his life, but considering one of them now appeared to be his best hope of getting back to his mistress, he decided to keep that sentiment to himself. Instead, he asked, “If it’s not too much to ask, could you help me get back to her, then? You said it yourself; I shouldn’t be out here alone tonight of all nights.”

  “Why, but of course!” the pixie said cheerfully as she fluttered back into the air in front of Arthur. “Better get you back to her safe and sound before some big bad faerie out tonight snatches you up for the Hunt! Although…” the pixie paused, stroking her chin as she squinted, looking deep in thought, “…I’m not sure if I could find her fast enough, but I’ll tell you what! How about I lead you back home, and you can just wait for her to come back! If she looks for you in this forest long enough, then she’s got to look for you there, right?”

  Arthur had reason to be suspicious of this offer. Just earlier on this night, he experienced firsthand the dangers of trusting the fae, especially the sort that appeared to be harmless. But as it stood now, this pixie was his best bet at reuniting with the Witch safely, so he would have to take that risk, but not without precautions.

  “Sure, that sounds like a plan!” Arthur answered as he placed his hand on his sword’s hilt. “But if it’s alright with you, I think I’ll keep some iron at the ready, just in case the Wild Hunt or any other unsavoury members of your kind shows up.”

  “What, you think I can’t keep you safe myself?” the pixie giggled as she playfully assumed a mock boxing stance and started jabbing the air in front of her. “If any of that lot shows up to claim you, I’ll just blow them away!”

  “You know, I’m almost tempted to see you try,” Arthur chuckled, “but if it’s all the same with you, I’ll just keep my sword out.”

  “Fine, suit yourself!” Arthur’s little guide conceded with her tongue playfully stuck out.

  “I will, thank you,” Arthur chuckled as he pulled his sword out of its scabbard, even as it still took some pulling to get it back out. “Now lead the way… um… do you have a name?”

  “Most call me Umbralight!” the pixie called cheerfully as she flew off further into the forest, leaving a glowing trail of pixie dust behind her. “But my friends call me Umbra, so that’s what you’ll call me!”

  “Thanks Umbra, I’m Arthur!” he said as he followed Umbra’s trail of glowing pixie dust, glad that his tiny new guide had found him before the Wild Hunt had.

  How frightened he would be then, had he known that the Hunt was closer than he realised…

  O – O – O

  Well, this was certainly embarrassing, the Witch of the Woods thought as she slid the blade across the gigantic boar’s neck, making it bleed out until it stopped squirming.

  Here she thought this was just going to be a nice, quick trip to the woods to gather the needed supplies for tonight, with surely nothing to threaten her apprentice while she was there to show him the ropes. But somehow, she had allowed herself to be distracted in that little scuffle long enough for someone to snap up Arthur from under her nose! Sure, it may have been simply that she had grown complacent in her old age, but she had not considered that someone would be so bold as to flout her claim on the boy.

  But she decided it was best not to dwell on the situation and instead to focus on finding Arthur before it became too late. After all, these woods were dangerous enough on most other days, but especially so on this time of year when they walked the world of men. She had put off retrieving him long enough as it is so she could perform this sacrifice; she could have set out to find him the moment he had been taken, but that would incur the risk of being held up by the very gods the sacrifice was meant to appease, so it was more timely in the long term to perform it now so she would be free to search for her servant unimpeded.

  While she could find him by taking the form of a beast and tracking him by scent, she would surely locate her wayward servant faster if she employed a method that would cover far more ground. And luckily, she thought to herself as she leaned down to touch the ground and attune her breathing to the voice of the forest itself, she knew just who to call on for such an occasion.

  “Howling of the north wind,” the Witch chanted, “Keen nose of the hunter, rise to hunt again and find the lost servant…” Then, just when she had finished her chant, wolf-like shapes begin to extend from her shadow and emerge from the ground in physical form.

  Now that her hounds were by her side, the Witch needed something with Arthur’s scent so that they may track him. And luckily, she was holding such an object in her hand right at this moment. In a way, the Witch thought, her servant was lucky that he had dropped this the moment that wind had swept him up; with how far that whirlwind seemed to carry him, it would have been quite unfortunate if he were already being carried over the woods when he dropped his iron sword.

  O – O – O

  “Hurry up human, we’re almost there!” Umbra called to Arthur, fluttering so far ahead of him that he could only barely see the radiant aura around her as he ran to keep up. But despite the pixie’s claims of how close their destination was, Arthur’s surroundings were no more familiar to him now than when he had awoken on the cold ground before he met her. Perhaps this way led to the cottage from the back instead of the front? Or maybe, he began to suspect, Umbralight did not know her way to the Witch’s house as well as she claimed?

  Running as fast as he could so he could keep up with his tiny guide, Arthur eventually made it past the trees as Umbra yelled to him, “Here we are!” and stopped to hover in place, allowing Arthur to finally catch up with her. But as Arthur finally caught up, he found himself not at the Witch’s cottage as he had hoped, but instead in a clearing where the ground rose and dipped into a series of earthen mounds interrupted by the occasional rocky outcropping, with the only other notable feature being a ring of glowing mushrooms at the centre of the clearing. Arthur had heard of such formations; they were known as fairy rings, called as such for the legends that said they were the gateways between this world and that of the fae… and Arthur began to suspect that he had made a terrible mistake.

  “What’s the meaning of this, Umbra?” Arthur asked. “This doesn’t look like anywhere close to the cottage!”

  “You mean the Witch’s cottage?” Umbra repeated curiously, fluttering up close to Arthur’s face while giving him a puzzled look. “Why would I take you back there?”

  “Well, you said you’d guide me back home!”

  “I am taking you back home, you silly boy!” Umbra laughed as she playfully tugged on Arthur’s arm with far more strength than he would have expected from a being so small. “Back home with me!”

  “What?” Arthur asked, flabbergasted. “You mean to the Faerie Realm?”

  “Come on, it’ll be fun!” Umbra insisted as she continued to pull Arthur closer into the clearing. “Everything there’s more fun than this drab, boring mortal plane! The colours are prettier, the food is tastier, our royalty usually doesn’t bother us unless the whim strikes them, and time goes by slower there, so you’ll have more time to enjoy yourself and you won’t be too much older when you leave! And that’s just if even want to leave~”

  “But I can’t!” Arthur told her. “I need to find the Witch and get back to the cottage!”

  For a few seconds, Umbra seemed to have no response to this. She simply stared at Arthur, and tilted her head in seeming bewilderment before asking, “But why would you want to go back there?”

  “Well, I…” Arthur began, before realising he didn’t know exactly how to respond.

  “Do you think the Witch truly cares about you?” Umbra inquired further, without even a hint of accusation or condescension in her voice; as if she was asking Arthur something as inoffensive as what his favourite colour was. “Sees you as anything more than a tool to be used for her work? The last time she had a servant, she just worked him until he died and then carried on like he was never there. What makes you think she sees you any differently?”

  This made Arthur think quite a bit. He wanted to say that the Witch of the Woods cared about him as a person… but many of her actions made him question that thought. She might have saved his life when they had first met, but only because she hadn’t had guests over for a while, by her own admission. And when he came to her begging to save his sister’s life, she would not agree to help for anything less than a lifetime of servitude; an arrangement which later admitted was only technically distinct from slavery. And even though she had protected him from other dangerous beings twice on this very outing, both times made it clear to said beings that they were infringing on her “ownership” of Arthur, as if they were doing little different from trying to steal an item from her cottage. And with a lifetime of servitude awaiting him if he were to stay with her, who was to say that being spirited away to the land of the fae was any worse a fate?

  But just as Arthur began to consider accepting Umbra’s invitation, he remembered why he had agreed to his pact with the Witch in the first place. When he was keeping watch over his sister as she lay dying of the White Plague, he vowed that he would find a cure for her or die trying. But even though he accomplished the former, he had gone behind not only Morgan’s, but his whole family’s backs to do so, without so much as consulting even Morgan herself, for which she still had not fully forgiven Arthur even months after she was made healthy again. So after everything he had done, and how much it hurt the people he cared about, running from the consequences of the choices he had made for their sake just so he could live a potentially carefree life among the fae would be nothing short of betrayal.

  “Thanks for the concern, but I’m not going with you.”

  “But why?” Umbra cried as she let go of Arthur’s arm and leapt back in shock, eyes wide with surprise as she tried to convince him further, gesticulating wildly as she did so. “If you come with me, you could spend the rest of your days having fun all day and night without a care in the world! Your lifespan’s short enough as it is; why would you want to spend the rest of it doing that old hag’s laundry or whatever she has you do?!”

  “I’d be lying if I said that an out from this life wasn’t tempting,” Arthur admitted with a sigh, “but I chose to go down this path. Sure, it wasn’t the path I wanted out of life, but I got in return, I wouldn’t take back for anything. Yeah, chances are I’ll just be working for the Witch until I die far away from anyone I truly care about, but if that’s the price I had to pay so that someone precious to me can live a full life of her own, than it will be have been worth every day I suffer. So thanks for the offer, but I’m staying here and getting back to the Witch, whether you’ll help me or not.”

  As Arthur was making this speech, Umbra simply continued to look at him in wide eyed surprise, but as he finished, her expression just changed to a pout of disappointment.

  “How boring,” she sighed. “It would have been much more fun to bring you back alive.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened with shock, but before he could even fully respond to what Umbra had said, the tiny pixie had raised one hand, and suddenly a violent gust of wind blew from her direction, knocking Arthur prone and slicing his left earlobe clean off.

  “Aww, you flinched!” Umbra pouted sadly as Arthur lay on the ground howling in pain as he clutched his bloodied ear. “If you’d just have stayed still, I could have just taken your head off, all quick and painless!”

  “But… why…” Arthur moaned as he sat himself up, gritting his teeth from the burning pain where his earlobe once was.

  “Sorry Arthur, but it took a lot for me to get invited to join the Wild Hunt this year, so I really need to bring back something impressive if I want to be invited back next time,” Umbra said with a shrug, with as casual an air as if she were discussing the weather.

  “You… you’re in the Wild Hunt?!” Arthur shouted in disbelief, still fighting against the pain.

  “Yep!” Umbra laughed cheerfully. “Didn’t expect that, did you? You mortals seem to think the Hunt’s just all elves and goblins and the like; you never suspect my kind! You all seem to think us cute and harmless, and it’s always so funny when you realise your mistake!”

  “Wait,” Arthur said in realisation, “You conjured that wind that separated me from the Witch, didn’t you!”

  “Guilty as charged!” Umbra confirmed, beaming with pride. “I told you earlier how we pixies listen to the wind to learn the goings on of your world, but so too does the wind listen to us. But anyway, you know how I said that I needed to bring back something good if I want to stay in the Hunt for next time? Well, a friend of mine suggested that stealing the Witch of the Woods’ servant from under her nose should do the trick! Man, I wish I’d thought of that myself! Shame I’ll have to settle for bringing back your head, though; I actually kind of liked you.”

  “Yeah, well you could have fooled me,” Arthur spat as he got back on his feet and tightly gripped his sword, fighting the pain as he did so.

  “Ooh!” Umbra gasped excitedly. “Are you going to try to fight me? That should be fun!”

  Not even bothering with the pretense of a retort, Arthur simply pointed his blade straight as Umbra, trying to disguise the fear in his voice as he told her, “Stay back!”

  “Oh, no!” Umbra shouted in mock panic, even mimicking fainting gestures as she did so, “The human’s brought an iron sword! Whatever shall I do?!”

  But then, her mock terrified expression melted into an impish grin as she continued, “…is what I would say, if you actually had an iron sword!”

  Before Arthur could even question what his tiny assailant was talking about, his sword began to fade away in his hand until, to his horror and confusion; it had been replaced by a gnarled tree branch.

  “You should see the look on your face!” Umbra howled with laughter as she pointed right at Arthur. “It’s a simple glamour, but it’s always enough to fool you silly humans! I could have just let you realise you’d left it behind when you’d woken up, but that’s no fun at all!”

  With no other options left to him, Arthur turned and ran, but he did not even make it out of the grove before he was blown off his feet my another sharp gust of wind, this one leaving a long, bloody gash across his sword arm, which would be painful enough even without him falling back onto the cold, hard forest floor.

  Even with one arm bruised and the other nearly crippled, to say nothing of his bloodied ear, Arthur had no time to rest as he had to repeatedly roll out of the way of more and more of Umbra’s wind blasts, receiving more and more wounds as he only barely avoided death at the pixie’s hands.

  “This… would be… so much easier on you… if you’d just stay still!” Umbra pouted as she conjured gust after gust of wind, visibly becoming more agitated as Arthur continued to narrowly dodge her assaults, but she still didn’t let up to so much as allow him to get back to his feet.

  Eventually, Umbra did let up on her attack, if only to take a deep breath to calm herself down.

  “Look,” she sighed, looking downright exhausted, her hair disheveled and dark bags started to form under her eyes, “would you just give it a rest already? You’ve probably lost a lot of blood by now, so why bother trying to escape when you’ll probably just bleed to death soon enough anyway?”

  Seeing how this had failed to convince Arthur, Umbra immediately pepped up and said with a wink, “And it’s not too late to change your mind, you know! Just come with me to the other side, and I can fix up your wounds in a jiffy, no harm done! And plus, when I bring you back one of the nobles might even take a shine to you and keep you as pet! Surely being pampered for the rest of your days is a better deal than what you’ve got now, right?”

  “Thanks,” Arthur began as he weakly rose to his feet even as he was spitting up blood, “but no thanks.”

  “What a shame,” Umbra sighed as she raised a hand to prepare another gust of wind, “I was really hoping to be able to play with you on the other side. Hope there’s no hard feelings.”

  But before Umbra could make the finishing blow, Arthur heard a stick break behind him, and then another, and then another. When both Arthur and his assailant looked back to see what it was, it sounded like a whole pack of beasts was rushing through the underbrush behind him, until a large, black wolf-like shape the size of a horse burst out of the foliage and leapt towards Umbra. A shape that looked all too familiar to Arthur…

  “Uncle?” Arthur cried in surprise, only to realise that this wasn’t his Uncle Melion in his wolf form. As the dark shape descended, it became no clearer to Arthur’s eyes, as if it were just the shadow of a wolf, distinguished from such only by its burning red eyes. Seeing this thing rapidly descend on her, Umbra quickly flitted back away as it landed and fired a blade of wind straight at it, only for the shadowy beast to absorb the blast with little injury to show for it.

  And whatever this creature was, it wasn’t alone. One by one, more wolf-like living shadows leapt out of the foliage and gathered around Arthur, teeth bared towards Umbra as though they were here to defend him from her. The tiny pixie looked terrified, but that look soon turned to rage as she gritted her teeth and she growled, “I’m not… going back… empty handed!” and her chitinous claws extended into wicked blades as she flew right for Arthur with impossible speed, weaving in between the wolves and braving their snapping teeth as she prepared to simply cut his throat herself.

  But then, another wolf-like shape burst out from behind Arthur to take his side. But this one was different; possessed of a far lither figure than these shadows, as it got closer Arthur could see its lustrous, long haired onyx black coat in greater detail as it met his gaze with unmistakably familiar amethyst eyes. But most pressingly, it appeared to be holding his iron sword in its mouth!

  Time seemed to slow down as this new warg landed and Umbra broke through the wall of shadow-wolves defending Arthur, and without thinking, Arthur grabbed his sword’s hilt from the beast’s mouth, and, despite his heavy wounds and having to wield the blade is his left hand, as his right hung limp from his side from the bloody gash inflicted onto it, he swung the blade right at where Umbra was coming from, closing his eyes as he did so and praying that he would make his mark.

  When Arthur opened his eyes again, he found Umbra hovering above his head and screaming in pain, clutching her right arm which now ended in a bloodless stump burning with white hot flame.

  “Arrrrrggggggh!!!!” Umbra shrieked in agony, which quickly turned into a pathetic sob as the white flame burning her inflamed stump quickly fizzled out. “How could you hurt me like this, human?!? And after all I tried to do for you!!!”

  Despite the massive amount of pain he was in and being on the verge of passing out from the blood loss, Arthur still managed to respond, “You and I… seem to remember these past few minutes… very differently…”

  “I would have to agree with my servant,” a familiar voice came from the warg’s snout as it stood up on all fours and began to take the shape of the Witch of the Woods, who promptly dismissed her hounds with a wave of her hand, and they dissipated back into the shadows. “There appears to be a great deal of dissonance between your respective memories of what just transpired.”

  Seeming to forget the pain she was in as she stared right at the Witch in absolute terror, Umbra immediately tried to book it though the fairy ring, only for the Witch to snatch her by the scruff of the neck before she could even fly an inch away.

  “Oh, Ms. Witch of the Woods, fancy meeting you here!” Umbra said, grinning nervously. “I was just… taking care of your new servant while he was lost! It’s dangerous out tonight with the Wild Hunt about, after all!”

  “Well, how thoughtful of you,” the Witch replied as she gave the tiny pixie a cold glare, sounding not at all convinced. “Interesting thing about the phrase, ‘to take care of someone:’ there are many ways to interpret it, and not all of them are benevolent.”

  “Well, fancy that!” Umbra laughed nervously. “Isn’t language just a fascinating subject?”

  Shockingly, such a comment did little to improve the Witch’s demeanor.

  “Oh, I see you’re not in the mood for banter,” Umbra continued, “so why don’t I take my leave and you two can go on your merry way, then? I really should get going through that ring so I can greet the rest of the Hunt when they get back…”

  Umbra began to flap her wings and attempted to escape the Witch’s grasp and fly away, but the Witch merely tightened her grip to prevent the pixie’s escape and said, “Now don’t be in such a rush, my dear Umbralight! After all, we have much to discuss. For example: why you expected to be able take a servant of mine without consequences?”

  “But I have paid consequences!” Umbra sobbed pitifully, waving her inflamed stump in the Witch’s face. “Look at this! This could take days, even months to grow back! So haven’t I suffered enough?”

  “You just tried to murder me, and I’m supposed to feel sorry that you lost a hand that’s going to grow back anyway?” Arthur scoffed under his breath.

  “I would think not,” the Witch sighed as she opened her free hand and conjured an emerald flame. “Some actions carry a much higher cost, I’m afraid…”

  “NO!!!” Umbra screamed, frantically flapping her wings and struggling to break free of the Witch’s grip, tears pouring from her wide, panicked eyes. “I’VE LEARNED MY LESSON, PLEASE!!! I PROMISE I’LL NEVER TROUBLE YOU OR ANYONE OF YOURS EVER AGAIN, JUST PLEASE DON’T HURT MEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!”

  “I might be persuaded to spare you…” the Witch mused, her lips pursed in mock reconsideration, “…but you’ll have to do something for me in exchange.”

  “What, a deal?” Umbra asked, enthusiastically nodding her head at the thought of anything that did not involve her imminent execution. “Sure, I love making deals! I can clean up your house like the whenever you’d like, I can give you all my worldly possessions, or anything else you want! Name it, it’s yours!”

  “Then surely you’ll happily share some information I’m curious about, then?”

  “Of course, O merciful mistress of these woods! Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you and then some!”

  “Splendid!” the Witch said, her cold glare immediately changing to a cheerful smile. “So if you don’t mind, I’d like to know some details about the help you had earlier tonight.”

  Where Umbra was enthusiastically submitting to all of the Witch’s demands barely a moment prior, the forced smile immediately disappeared from her face as sweat began to form on her brow even in this freezing weather, and she skittishly tried to dodge the question, “What, you mean the rest of the Wild Hunt? Why, there’s over a hundred faeries in this years’ band; you can’t expect me know all of them…”

  “I do not speak of the Hunt, little pixie,” the Witch clarified, drawing Umbra’s attention back to the green flame in her other hand. “Please do not play dumb. We both know that you would never have been able to snatch Arthur up like you did had you truly been working alone. Not even to mention how a third-rate trickster such as you would normally never be allowed the honour of participating in the Wild Hunt without the endorsement of someone higher up in the food chain. So let me rephrase my question: what is she doing back here?”

  But before Umbra could answer, Arthur began to hear the sound of dreadfully familiar hoofbeats closing in on the grove they were standing in. More graceful than a horse’s hooves, but heavier than a deer’s; this was a sound that Arthur and the Witch had encountered earlier this night: it was the riders on the Wild Hunt. Umbra had been right when she had told Arthur the Wild Hunt consisted of more kinds of fae than most would usually expect. While Arthur certainly saw many inhumanly beautiful elves and stout, bestial looking goblins, he also saw magical beings of all types; there were tiny pixies like Umbra flitting about the air, hulking ogres towering over their compatriots, wood skinned dryads just like the three that Arthur had encountered when he and the Witch embarked on their errands, satyrs with the horns and legs of goats and other hooved beasts, fiery djinn floating above their fellow hunters with no wings to support them, and even dwarves, trolls and centaurs whose mortal kin Arthur could meet at any town market (and those just listed the creatures among the Hunt that Arthur could recognise).

  While some of the hunters went unmounted, such as those who could take flight on their own or who were too large to ride any beast, many still rode on the backs of creatures as varied and strange as the beings riding them. The hunters came mounted on ethereal horses and wargs, mount-sized versions of mundane beasts such as dogs, cats, birds and squirrels, some that looked like small dragons, chimera-like beasts with the combined body parts of many creatures, and even stranger mounts that Arthur had never even imagined before. But even with all of the strange and terrible creatures that now surrounded Arthur and the Witch, what truly disturbed Arthur was the quarry that these hunters proudly carried with them. True to the legends he had heard, the Wild Hunt was returning to their realm not with slain beasts of the forests, but with mortal men and women. Some of them carried the dead bodies of mortals on their mounts, others carried sacks over their shoulders that moved as still living people within struggled to escape, and most disturbingly of all, some of the hunters held ethereal chains dragging with them what could only be the spirits of the dead.

  And if that were not enough, Arthur felt a dread presence directly behind him as a shadow with an all too familiar silhouette fell over him, prompting him to carefully turn around and see the form of something he had only narrowly escaped with the Witch’s help earlier tonight: the Horned God, leader of the Wild Hunt.

  Earlier this night, Arthur had seen only a brief glimpse of the Horned God out of the corner of his eye, but now he saw this old god of the hunt in his full glory: a monstrously tall figure covered in dark fur, looking almost like a black goat standing on its hind legs, but with the front legs replaced with long, powerful arms ending in gangly, dextrous fingers. The glowing red eyes Arthur had seen back then burned brightly in the sockets of a white skull belonging to a deer or goat, from the crown of which extended a pair of gigantic elk-like antlers that seemed to move on their own, constantly shifting into new shapes and patterns. The Horned God wore naught but a tattered grey loincloth adorned with a white knot-like crest, and a long, wicked looking bow fastened to his back along with a quiver full of arrows, and in his right hand was held a hunting spear the length of a barn’s support column, the barbed tip of which was encrusted with blood.

  Arthur began to back away slowly towards his mistress as the Horned God stared right into his face, boring into him with its burning red eyes, when Umbra nervously piped up from the Witch’s grasp, “Oh h-hey, Boss! How was the Hunt?”

  The Horned God merely turned its head towards the defeated pixie, staring at her just as intently as it had at Arthur, its skull-like face (or was it a mask?) no more readable.

  “Oh, spectacular as usual?” Umbra responded to her master’s silence. “Great! I bagged a few myself, but I might have run into a few hiccups with catching the big fish I was looking for…”

  Before Arthur could even process what was happening, the Witch had run to him in the blink of an eye and protectively wrapped her free arm around him, pressing him tightly against her just as she had during their first encounter with the Wild Hunt on this night.

  Tightening her grip on Umbra’s neck once her servant was secured, the Witch shot a cold glare right into the Horned God’s burning sockets and calmly asked him, “I gather this one is one of yours?”

  The Horned God stared back at the Witch, before he slowly nodded his head in response.

  “I see. Well, that’s unfortunate. Because she just recently made the unwise decision to attempt to steal my new servant away from me. A mistake you yourself once made earlier this night, if I recall.”

  The Horned God merely gave an unearthly snort in response.

  “Do not be like that, Old God of the Wild Places. Especially after I was thoughtful enough to make tonight’s sacrifice in not only your name, but that of others who hold power over this wood. Surely that is enough to convince you not to trouble me for the season, especially seeing as you and your followers seem as though you were just about to leave anyhow?”

  After but a moment’s hesitation, the Horned God’s jaw opened, and a chilling, raspy whisper answered, “That… is acceptable…”

  “Good!” the Witch said cheerfully. “I’m glad we could come to an agreement!”

  Still held by the neck in the Witch’s grasp, Umbra began to breathe a sigh of relief, which quickly disappeared when the Witch flung her over the Horned God’s head, promptly forcing her to flutter her wings wildly to take flight again, eventually being able to hover stably above her leader’s horned skull.

  Landing right on the Horned God’s head and plopping down, Umbra nervously asked him, “So, boss… I don’t suppose I can do this again next year, can I? I know I promised I could bag the old hag’s servant, but I managed to grab a few mortals before I tried him, so that’s got to count for something, right?”

  Seemingly desperate to prove her worth as a hunter, Umbra immediately started rummaging through the pouch on her outfit’s belt, displaying a ghostly chain of four dead souls like those that some of her fellow hunters proudly paraded about, waving them in front of her unimpressed master’s eye sockets before hurriedly stuffing them back in her pouch once the spirits began to pull on the chain in attempt to escape. Arthur felt sick to his stomach just watching the souls of the dead so casually treated as trophies, but given just what he was dealing with, he felt little choice but to hold his tongue, even with the Witch of the Woods protecting him.

  After giving an annoyed grunt, the Horned God whipped his head up, bucking Umbra off of him, and growled, “We will discuss this… later…”

   Diverting his attention away from Umbra, the Horned God turned to address the rest of his troop and announced, “Hunters, we return home!”

  Once he had made that command, the Horned God dropped down on all fours and assumed the form of a monstrous, elk-like beast nearly the size of the boar that Arthur and the Witch had hunted earlier that night and galloped into the fairy ring at the centre of the grove, and without a single word of complaint, every elf, goblin, troll, pixie or fae of any other description rode followed him, each disappearing as they crossed the threshold of the ring of mushrooms; it was almost like seeing water being sucked down an unplugged drain how quickly and fluidly the Wild Hunt disappeared through this gateway.

  The last faerie to depart was Umbra, who lingered long enough to turn back to Arthur and say, “You know human, if you ever get sick of working with the hag, you can always change your mind about my offer~”

  “Thanks,” Arthur growled, “but no thanks!”

  “Are you sure? Because-“

  “Begone, insect!” the Witch barked, having clearly lost her patience with this nuisance.

  “Fine, I’m going!” Umbra sighed. “But before I go, I might as well answer your question~”

  “Speak now, and then trouble us no more.”

  “So aggressive!” Umbra pouted. “I’m just trying to help, you know! But I guess there isn’t much I can tell you anyway, since I’m afraid our mutual acquaintance didn’t tell me much when she offered to get me on this year’s Hunt, but she did mention wanting to ‘check up on family,’ so don’t be surprised if you see her again very soon…”

  And before Arthur could even think to inquire who this person they were referring to was, Umbra turned back around and flew right into the fairy ring faster than he could even blink.

  “And now that the Hunt is no longer a concern,” the Witch began as she turned to Arthur with a steely, unreadable expression on her face, “let us discuss what exactly happened here.”

  Arthur gulped nervously. What did the Witch had in mind? Did she mean to punish him for his capture? Shuddering to even imagine the possibilities but too scared to move, Arthur braced himself as his mistress came within arm’s length of him and raised one hand, and he closed his eyes, only to feel the Witch giving him a gentle pat on the head.

  “Are you alright, my child?” she asked softly, with Arthur seeing a concerned look on her face once he had opened his eyes. “How badly were you hurt?”

  “I… uh… what?” Arthur stuttered in confusion.

  “I can clearly see you did not come out of that encounter unscathed,” the Witch pressed, looking Arthur up and down for any sign of injury. “Now that we do not have the Wild Hunt to worry about, I will need to take a look at your injuries immediately. Especially that gash on your arm; I can’t imagine you could do your duties very well with one arm nearly crippled, can you?”

   “Well no, but…”

  “And goodness me, that right ear of yours if half gone! Now hold still while I work on healing your wounds…”

  Quickly muttering an incantation under her breath, the Witch moved her hands over each of Arthur’s bleeding wounds; streams of blue, almost liquid-like magic swirling about them as each of Arthur’s wounds ceased bleeding and closed up, with feeling soon returning to his right arm and a new earlobe rapidly growing from where the old one had been sliced off.

  “Now then,” the Witch continued once all of Arthur’s visible wounds had healed, “Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you have any bones broken? Or even any cuts or bruises? I can just as easily heal such injuries, should that be the case.”

  “No, I think that about covered it, but…”

  “Excellent! Come along, then. I am glad you’re safe, but we ought to hurry home and get you some dinner after a long night of work, shouldn’t we?”

  “But wait, I’m not being punished for this?”

  The Witch paused briefly to curiously raise an eyebrow at Arthur before asking, “And what reason would I have to punish you for tonight’s events?”

  “Well, you warned me earlier to be more wary of the things I encounter in this forest, so isn’t it kind of my fault that I almost died?”

  “No, my child,” the Witch sighed sadly. “This was my mistake. I knew better than anyone what was about tonight, and I still let you out of my sight to deal with that boar long enough for you to be taken. And your safety is my responsibility, so I am sorry for that negligence.”

  “Oh, well I’m fine now, so don’t feel too bad about it, miss. Besides, after my run-in with those dryads, I should have known better than to be so quick to assume that Umbra was harmless, so I hold some blame for what happened.”

  “Maybe so, be you would not have been in that position had I been more vigilant. I thought I would be able to keep you safe from any of this forest’s dangers, and that complacency nearly rendered you lost to me forever.”

  Arthur had not expected this at all. He had braced himself for the Witch to punish him for making the same mistake he had made with those dryads, and yet here the Witch of the Woods herself was apologising to him for everything that had transpired and seeming to feel guiltier about it than he had when he had feared for his life only moments ago. As stranger still, he now found himself wondering what he could say to make this legendary witch feel better. Fortunately though, he remembered a few words she had said to him just earlier that night…

  “Well, I’m safe now, so don’t beat up yourself too badly about it, miss,” Arthur reassured the Witch. “After all, what use is a mistake if you do not learn from it?”

  The Witch first appeared surprised to hear Arthur repeat her own earlier advice back to her, and then gave a relieved smile and chuckled softly, “What use indeed? Anyway, we’ve got all of our work done for the night, so why don’t we head back to the cottage?”

[sea-spray-air]

Caroline

“Jack, you must know it’s completely up to you whether you want to perform this surgical excision or not,” the chief of surgery said to Dr. Jack Waters.

Jack sat facing the chief in a rolling chair hunched over with both hands running through his hair. He was hesitant, anxious, and nervous as they talked about his wife needing surgery for stage two melanoma. It was five pm just two days before Christmas Eve, and Jack had been in the chief’s office for about an hour contemplating about what was the best decision for his wife’s surgery.

He had worked in Meadowlake Hospital in Charlotte, North Carolina for the past ten years. He was the head of surgical oncology at the hospital and was the best surgical oncologist in the state of North Carolina. His wife’s stage two melanoma required surgery as soon as possible to remove the cancerous mole from the back of her left calf. Normally, Jack would have been the primary surgeon in Meadowlake to be given a surgery of this type, but this time it would be his wife Caroline whom he would be operating.

“I just don’t know, Chief…I mean its Caroline we are talking about here. I have to go talk to her first,” Jack finally said as he got up from his chair and headed towards the hospital exit.

He thought about driving home and simply talking with Caroline in their bedroom, but instead he impulsively called her in the hospital parking lot: “Caroline, I’ll be home in fifteen. Get dressed we’re going for a ride.”

Driving in the car was their thing. When Caroline and Jack first started dating as undergraduates at Wake Forest, they spent their dates going on car-ride adventures. They would always plan on actually going somewhere, like the movies, a place to eat, or an art museum, but would instead end up driving around the countryside of Winston-Salem for hours. They would roll down the windows letting the humid, sticky air come in and blast country songs as they drove on the highway up north where the mountains were.

Caroline and Jack always laughed and reminisced on their “dates,” and joked how they never ended up going on a serious one until they graduated from Wake Forest and actually made an effort to book expensive dinner reservations which they couldn’t skip out on. With Jack’s crazy surgical schedule, they rarely have time for well planned-out dates, so instead they make an effort to still go on their nighttime rides whenever Jack came home from the hospital.

Jack pulled up in front of their small cottage house in the suburbs of Charlotte and Caroline emerged from the house as he flickered the car lights. She smiled widely and walked over to the passenger side of the car. She got in and they drove around in a comfortable silence for about twenty minutes. Jack pulled over when he got to Pilot Mountain State Park and they both got out and headed over to the beginning of the trail on the mountain which they have walked on numerous times. The sun was just about setting, and the view of the city of Winston-Salem was evident as they walked along the trail.

Caroline already knew what conversation was coming as they walked: the debate over if Jack should operate her has been up in the air for an entire week now.

“Jack, I’ve already pleaded with you a million times, please operate on me. You are the BEST in the hospital and I love you. Everything will be okay,” Caroline said linking her arm with Jack’s. She could see the anxiety in his face as he walked along the trail in silence.

He finally stopped in his tracks and built up the courage to look her in the eye. She still looked so beautiful with her sky blue, silk scarf wrapped around her hairless scalp.

“Caroline, I know…but there’s always that risk…” Jack quietly trailed off as Caroline threw herself into Jack’s feeble body and squeezed him into a tight hug.

“Complications are rare, Jack! Let’s not think about all the negatives…Chief has to pick a surgeon by tomorrow to perform my surgery on Christmas Eve so I can be home for Christmas day…I don’t want you to be scared to do the surgery just because it’s me. I believe in you Jack,” Caroline reassuringly said.

Caroline was right, Jack thought. In fact, she always was. She always looked at the positives in life and ended up living in pure happiness throughout life’s ups and downs. He didn’t even know why he was so nervous to perform surgery on Caroline…he never made mistakes and surgery for melanoma wasn’t complex. He grinned back at Caroline and returned her tight hug as they turned around and started walking in the opposite direction back to their parked car. He would tell the chief tomorrow morning that he’ll perform the surgery.

 Caroline had been Jack’s muse ever since they first met each other twenty-five years ago as freshmen undergraduates at Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. He loved to reminisce on the day he first caught sight of her at orientation for first-year students; the way her smile lit up the entire room, how her long, wavy, dark blonde hair fell behind her back, and the way her mesmerizing, green eyes would continuously light up with excitement.

Jack desired Caroline. Before he even really knew her, he had that deep-down feeling that she was the girl for him. When they became friends in art history class sophomore year, he constantly dreamed of them becoming a couple. He loved how passionate she was about art; he learned that she was actually majoring in art history and dreamed of working in an art gallery after graduation. He finally built up enough courage to ask her out on a date one day after class, and he was shocked when she happily agreed to his proposal. After that first date, he knew there was no going back.

Jack and Caroline started going steady the following year as juniors, and they were madly in love by the time graduation was approaching. They spent their months going on walks outside and on their famous car rides. Caroline even showed Jack her growing collection of artwork that she had been forming from years of taking studio art classes, something she refused to show any of her friends.

He had been accepted into Wake Forest’s medical school during their senior year as undergraduates; he was worried about their relationship despite the fact that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. However, since she lived in Chapel Hill, and worked in an art gallery in Greensboro, they managed to stay together throughout Jack’s four long years of medical school and five years of surgical oncology residency at Meadowlake Hospital. Their distance apart during the week-days made their relationship stronger. They became engaged midway through Jack’s residency and got married on the first Christmas after his residency was over. Christmas was their favorite holiday, and Caroline was Jack’s joy.

Caroline looked at life so innocently; she didn’t like to think negatively, or focus on life’s hardships. She briefly mentioned to Jack once when they were students at Wake Forest that her grandmother was diagnosed with melanoma in her forties, but that the cancer was caught early and she survived. Caroline was never fearful of the word cancer and never once considered if there was a chance she would inherit the disease.

 Caroline had been diagnosed with melanoma in the beginning of December, and the surgery was scheduled on Christmas Eve. Christmas was a day of reindeer, snowflakes, presents, miracles, love, and happiness. For Jack it was about Caroline, and this Christmas was going to be a magical day for a cancer-free Caroline.

Christmas Eve came in a blink of an eye after Jack and Caroline’s conversation at Pilot Mountain. Jack and Caroline left their house at four o’clock in the afternoon and drove to the hospital in an awkward silence; a nervous tension was evident between them.

“How lucky am I to have the best surgeon in North Carolina operate on me today,” Caroline said, breaking the silence between them. Jack smiled and continued to look straight ahead at the road as he drove; she still gave him butterflies.

Arriving at the hospital, Jack escorted Caroline over to the waiting room as he kissed her goodbye to go and start his usual daily routine of signing loads of paperwork and liability forms.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” Jack said to her with a wink, in attempt to lighten up the mood.

After meeting with his team of scrub nurses and physician assistants and gulping down three cups of coffee, Jack finally felt ready to operate. He felt the coffee wash away his fears and clear his mind; there really was nothing to worry about. It was time to scrub in and save Caroline’s life.

Jack changed out of his suit and tie and started to scrub in. The scrub room was in the same room as the operating room, except separated from the table and equipment by a glass window. He watched as the nurses pushed in Caroline laying on her bed, who still looked radiant in her scrub cap and hospital dress. Jack and Caroline made eye contact and Caroline giggled as a physician assistant placed her onto the operating table with her back facing upwards and drew a big “X” on her left calf. She looked over at Jack again, and pointed towards her leg, making a joke about how ridiculous she appeared. Jack managed to let out a chuckle.

Jack exited the wash-room and entered the sterile operating area; he allowed two scrub nurses to help him put on yet another sterile apron over his scrubs as well as another pair of silicon gloves. It was time for Caroline to go under anesthesia and for him to finally start the surgery.

Jack headed over to the foot of the operating table where Caroline was laying and took one last look of her. Her beautiful green eyes shimmered; it was difficult for her to hide her emotions, and he saw the fear in her eyes which she tried so hard to hide. She forced a grin as the anesthesiologist started to put a mask over her mouth. Jack smiled back at her reassuringly under his surgical mask one last time.

“See you soon. I love you,” Jack stated.

“Love you,” Caroline said, slowly drifting off into sleep.

“Alright, let’s go, team, it’s time to save my love’s life. Scalpel.”

Jack began Caroline’s excision on her leg.

 The surgery started off smoothly as Jack removed the cancerous layers of Caroline’s skin off her leg. Hour after hour, and layer after layer Jack went. Slow and steady, Jack kept reminding himself. He finally reached the last layer of skin showing signs of cancer and placed his scalpel down. Should be easy from here, he thought to himself as he turned away from the table to have a scrub nurse towel off the droplets of sweat which formed around his scrub cap. Jack took a deep breath and started to relax for a moment, reminding himself that all he had left was to stitch.

“BLOOD CLOT!” one of the surgical physician assistants suddenly yelled, startling Jack as he quickly spun around.

He felt his face go white and he froze in his tracks. Blood clots were never a good sign.

“WAKE UP, JACK, CUT THE VESSEL!” the scrub nurse yelled behind him, and Jack shook his head snapping back into reality.

“TOWELS!” he yelled, and the nurses began to surround Caroline’s left leg with towels.

Jack maneuvered through the splashing blood and tried to make an incision into her blood vessel. Her leg began to squirt with thick, bright red blood and her heart monitor began to beep uncontrollably. Jack moved fast with a towel in one hand and scalpel in the other, but he couldn’t see well with the amount of blood pooling out of Caroline’s leg. He knew he was running out of time before the blood clot could advance to more parts of her body.

           “MORE TOWELS!” Jack yelled, as he tried to navigate the blood vessel for his emergency surgical thrombectomy. Just as a nurse hurried over to Jack with more sterile towels Caroline’s heart monitor started to settle into one long beep.

           Jack dropped his scalpel onto the ground and stared at the monitor. The florescent lights of the OR beamed onto Jack and the walls started to close in around him. He couldn’t catch the clot in time.

 Caroline was dead.

 “Time of death, 3:40 am,” a nurse mumbled, Jack ripped off his surgery mask and stormed out of the operation room.

Jack started sweating and his hands started to vigorously shake; he had to get out of the hospital immediately.

He knew Meadowlake Hospital like the back of his hand, although, in that moment, he felt like he was trapped in an unknown territory. He started running through the halls, pushing open random hallway doors, trying to find the nearest way out to the front of the hospital. His head was pounding and he felt as if he was brain dead. He somehow made it out of the oncology wing, out of the surgery wing, and out of the hospital itself by following the flashy, red “Exit” signs above every couple of hospital doors.

           When Jack finally pushed open the final door, which lead to the hospital entrance, he felt the cold, brisk December wind blow against his face. It was still before dawn on Christmas day.

           Jack wobbled over to the curb of the sidewalk in front of the hospital and sat down in his blood-stained, sweaty scrubs. He put his face in his hands and started panting like a dog; it took him a full ten minutes until he was able to relax and calm himself down. Melanoma was the most dangerous type of skin cancer, but was supposed to be “curable” and with high survival rates if caught early with surgery. He had performed this kind of surgery numerous times over his past ten years as a surgeon; nothing was supposed to go wrong.

Sitting on the curb of the sidewalk, Jack thought back to just a few months earlier when he had examined Caroline himself after she’d mentioned the sighting of an atypical mole on her lower leg. He had her come into Meadowlake to get it tested, while constantly reassuring her that she was just being paranoid about the thought of having melanoma. He still couldn’t believe to this day that Caroline’s lab results read that she was positive for stage two melanoma when he picked them up from the dermatology wing of the hospital himself.

He obviously knew that melanoma was a type of cancer that was inheritable, but he just would refuse to believe that it would be Caroline to inherit it. Simply put, she was Caroline. She was happy, positive, and joyful. She was his life and what he desired more than success. Jack knew he couldn’t lose her and that he wouldn’t.

Complications could always occur during surgery; it wasn’t like Jack caused her blood clotting abnormalities to happen on purpose. It wasn’t like he could control her blood clot from her lower leg which traveled up to her lungs.

Jack sat on the curb looking out into the darkness of the early morning as snow billowed around his feet. It was ironic how peaceful and calm the atmosphere was around him despite his feeling that it was the end of his world. He checked his Apple Watch with his gloved hands still covered in dried blood: it was now four o’clock in the morning on Christmas day.

He didn’t cry, but he felt a squeezing sensation in his heart from anxiety. It felt like someone had ripped out his heart, stepped on it, and sewed it back into his body. It was the feeling when you missed someone so much that you didn’t know if you could last another day without seeing her. Jack looked up and saw the faint twinkling stars in the sky that were now diminishing. They reminded him of how Caroline’s eyes twinkled when she showed him her artwork for the first time. This gave him a strange sense of comfort…It was as if he could feel Caroline looking down on him from up there.

Jack took a deep breath and found enough energy to shuffle slowly back into the hospital.

Written by Michelle K.

[sublimegentlemanalpaca]

Figuring out Protagonists...we’ve got 6?

I imagine perhaps the best way (or one of the best ways at least) to go about a story focusing on the Fellowship of Eldritchicians would be to have protagonists and stuff who are joining it or new to it right? So we’ve got six...I suppose only one to three of them are really protagonists with the others being....d...I can’t remember how to spell it but it means secondary protagonists... First, we have Perdita Alunni (aka Pen). A Circus Foundling who loves to draw, throw knives(?), and magic. Has found herself able to turn her drawing pens into Dragons much to everyone’s confusion (and one particular person’s annoyance). She finds herself joining the FoE after a particular performance. She shows off her Pen Dragons for an Act...and that night her Parents are being informed she should totally go to this school where she’ll be able to apply herself, get a great education, and it’ll all be low cost. Perdita is eavesdropping and as she’s dropping said eves she hears how persuasive the woman saying all this is. She gets a peek and sees the ones explaining this are a Woman In Grey, a Tall Fellow in a Green Coat and Bowlers hat, and another man in a striped circusy coat, Top hat and a stupidly big fake mustache. Next we have Aled. I think I’ve mentioned him before? Faerie Prince, and the Eldest born son of Queen Titania and her Consort Oberon. He is off to join the FoE so he can learn how to potentially get his Father’s Shadow back, his father saying his Shadow was stolen years ago. Also convinced to join by his sometime Caretaker Rosemary, Corruptor of Words to the former Erl-King. Skilled swordsman (for his age), and trained in hunting with his Aunt Diana, Grandfather Alwin, and once got a try swinging Bertilak’s (spelling?) Green Ax. Enjoys word games. Somewhat Puckish...remembers Rei as a good friend. Rubedo Klein: A Young man (youngest of these six at about 16ish or so?). Joining the FoE because he was sent off by his...Father... like his older brothers before him (Midas, and Mercury Klein) his father Hermes T. Klein). Interested in Alchemy...and avoids getting cut or scratched at all costs. Acrasia Pendragon: Third born child of six to the Faerie Queen Gloriana and her Consort Arthur Pendragon(yes that one). Go to way of dealing with something is turning people into animals. Picked on had horrible rumors said about her due to being named after an alternative name of her Aunt Titania’s...convinced to join the FoE alongside her cousin Aled by the encouragement of her Maternal Grandfather The Former Erl-King, Her sometime Caretaker Rosemary, and a certain woman in Grey. Skilled with the aforementioned magic, Daggers ...also gone riding and hunting with her Aunt Diana, her Aunt Nicnevin, and her her Grandfather Alwin. Also got a chance along with her siblings and cousins to take a swing with Bertilak’s Green Ax. Remembers Rei fondly. I’ll make it known here...I’m not sure if Acrasia and Aled will try to keep their Royal background a secret or not? They might try...and fail miserably at it..or try, and be told how doing so isn’t at all necessary...or something. Omer Adams: third child of Cain (yes that one) and the Orc (?) Gerlinde. As such he’s a Half Orc. Grew up with Mr. E’s Phantasmagoria and Circus. His Mother a Contortionist. His Father, a longtime friend and occasional wrestling partner of Mr. E, working as the Circus’ Strongman and Breadmaker (because Mr. E insists his guests get their free bread to go with the Circus). Omer had a skill for helping his father with Baking while also helping Mr. E and Mr. Snuff with the maintenance of the Circus’ Clockwork musicians and Acrobats the Al-Jazari Acrobats. Omer ‘ran away’ from the Circus to join the FoE having visited several of the FoE’s Academies with Mr. E’s Circus on yearly Holiday break shows. Gets into a rivalry with Perdita when she’s never heard of Mr. E’s Phantasmagoria. Lastly we have Rei Arashi: A Human Orphan who was picked up by Kitsune, Eldritchician and Preternatural Intelligencer Tomomi Arashi (Or should it be Arashi Tomomi?). Tall, can See Ghosts. Has been meaning to join the FoE but it came down from the Arch Overseer herself that Rei could not do so until she was twenty (an annoyance to Rei because many Eldritchicians start a Young as 16...like with Rubedo). One point of interest is she and the two Faerie royals mentioned above know each other since on multiple occasions Tomomi would ask her other Intelligentcers to look after Rei when she couldn’t. On several occasions Rosemary was left taking care of Rei, and all the Children of the Faerie Royals (having also looked after the Faerie Queens when they were children as well)....has trained with using Daggers, and....I forget the name but it’s Chains with weights at both ends you can hide under huge sleeves. Trained in Ciphers and Codes on the rare days The Arch Overseer was stuck looking after Rei... remembers Aled and Acrasia well and fondly. Oh! Nearly forgot, she can See and hear Ghosts (when they’re not intentionally making themselves heard or seen), and is particularly interested in Ghosts, Spirits, and all manner of creature that Tomomi, Rosemary, and Alaire (who has invited Tomomi and Rei to many a campfire along with Alyss and Morgan)told her about. Is aware of when she’s followed by a Hidebehind...come to think of it..might just be an ESPer and stuff. So yeah. There’s those people. Protagonists..wooo! Or some protagonists and close supporting characters... They’ll all be going to Sinbad’s Eldritchician Academy rather than Morgan’s or Cosmin’s (although Cosmin’s might suit Acrasia more possibly I digress). Ask any questions you might have about these six or aspects mentioned here and I’ll try to answer (assuming it’s not like...spoilery) Make of this what you will. Al, the Chronographing Cottager.

[gyrlversion]

RICHARD LITTLEJOHN: Brexit makes civil servants talk to an online dog

Tried the Atkins, the Paleo, the 5:2, the Bulletproof Coffee, the Dukan, the SlimFast, the South Beach, the grapefruit diet, all without success? 

Never mind, help is at hand. It’s time to go on the Brexit Diet.

Conservative MP Huw Merriman (who he?) told the BBC he has lost four inches off his waist due to the stress he’s suffered agonising over Britain leaving the EU.

Nick Boles flounced out of the Tory Party in tears because Parliament rejected his Norway option, which I believe involves eating nothing but raw fish and reindeer [File photo]

He claims to have dropped from a 34in to ‘under a 30’ and has started seeing a counsellor to deal with the ‘mental health issues’ caused by Brexit.

I once invented the C-plan diet, a variation on the F-plan, the fibre-based regime which used to be popular in the Eighties.

You can eat and drink anything you like, provided it begins with a C. On day one, I stuck to celery, cottage cheese and cabbage.

Day two was corn-on-the-cob and cucumber, washed down with carrot juice.

Civil servants are being encouraged to contact a pretend dog, on the internet, as — and I quote — ‘an approachable first step for people who think they may need more professional help’. The Downing Street cat, Larry, is pictured above

That got a bit monotonous, so I graduated to Chablis, Carlsberg Special Brew, claret, cognac, chicken tikka massala and crisps (but only cheese and onion).

I lost . . . three days! Merriman isn’t the only MP worrying himself into a smaller pair of Levi’s. 

Anyone who thinks pouring out their troubles to a virtual dog is a way to behave is already some distance beyond needing professional help. They belong in a room with rubber walls, in a suit which does up at the back, and with no access to sharp objects

Ex-minister Robert Halfon (me, neither) says: ‘It feels as if the Commons is having a collective breakdown, a cross between Lord Of The Flies and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. The Brexit madness has affected us all.’

Nick Boles flounced out of the Tory Party in tears because Parliament rejected his Norway option, which I believe involves eating nothing but raw fish and reindeer.

Some MPs are distressed because the Easter recess has been cancelled, so they’ll miss out on their Cadbury’s Creme Eggs (a tried-and-tested superfood allowed on the C-plan diet).

One female MP (it doesn’t matter which one, they’re all mad) claims she is frightened to go to the supermarket because everyone is staring at her. 

Frankly, I doubt anyone would have the faintest idea who she was. But at least it means she can draw attention to herself, which is the whole point of the exercise.

I told you months ago that the political class, far from stressing out, were loving every minute of the Brexit psychodrama. It’s their Wimbledon, their Six Nations, their World Cup.

Now they even get to play the victim card, clambering on the currently fashionable ‘mental health issues’ bandwagon.

The Deputy Speaker, Lindsay Hoyle, has written to all MPs urging them to seek help from a 24-hour counselling hotline. How long before Tony Soprano’s shrink, Dr Jennifer Melfi, is drafted in to Westminster?

All of this insanity is self-inflicted. They were given a simple task: to get us out of the EU. Instead they decided to make it as complicated as possible.

In other words, to make it all about them. They did the opposite of that old insurance company advert and turned a drama into a crisis. 

Ex-minister Robert Halfon (me, neither) says: ‘It feels as if the Commons is having a collective breakdown, a cross between Lord Of The Flies and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest

Now, we’re expected to feel sorry for them because they are under so much pressure they’re having to call the Samaritans — in between talking to Sky News on College Green every five minutes.

It’s not just MPs, either. Civil servants are feeling the strain, too. The Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (Defra) has blown £40,000 on counselling services for staff.

Counsellors have been inundated with requests for support from Defra employees working on preparations for ‘no deal’. An outfit called Charity For Civil Servants is offering a ‘Brexit well-being toolkit’.

Sounds like something you buy at B&Q. But if you think that’s bonkers, wait until you hear about the latest Government initiative, which really takes the Bonio.

Whitehall has set up a ‘virtual online hound’, called DogBot, to help civil servants suffering from Brexit-induced anxiety and stress.

There’s another one of those sentences I never thought I’d read, let alone write. Civil servants are being encouraged to contact a pretend dog, on the internet, as — and I quote — ‘an approachable first step for people who think they may need more professional help’.

First step?

Anyone who thinks pouring out their troubles to a virtual dog is a way to behave is already some distance beyond needing professional help. 

They belong in a room with rubber walls, in a suit which does up at the back, and with no access to sharp objects.

Can you imagine the committee meeting which came up with that idea?

‘OK, so we’ve agreed to give the EU £39 billion, we’re staying in the customs union. Is there any other business before we adjourn to the Red Lion?’

‘Yes, Sir Humphrey. Miss Goodbody in HR tells me the staff have been complaining that they’re a bit stressed out over Brexit.’

‘Didn’t I read that some universities have been hiring dogs to help students cope with the stress of exams?’

Whitehall has set up a ‘virtual online hound’, called DogBot, to help civil servants suffering from Brexit-induced anxiety and stress. There’s another one of those sentences I never thought I’d read, let alone write [File photo]

‘That’s right. They’re encouraged to stroke them to relieve the pressure.’

‘Why don’t we bring in a few labradoodles? When the going gets tough, staff can pet them.’

‘I’m not sure elf’n’safety would agree to that. Look at the mess Blunkett’s dog used to make.’

‘I’ve got it. Let’s set up a virtual dog on the internet. Then staff can go online and talk to it 24/7. We’ll call it DogBot.’

‘Brilliant!’

So far, DogBot’s had more than 4,000 conversations with civil servants. You couldn’t make it up.

Maybe that’s where Theresa May’s getting advice on her negotiating strategy. It might explain why she’s made a complete dog’s breakfast of Brexit. Perhaps DogBot is her constant companion, like James Stewart’s imaginary rabbit in Harvey.

Frankly, nothing would surprise me any more. Who knew when we voted Leave that three years on it would end up with MPs dropping two dress sizes and civil servants talking to a pretend dog on the internet?

Not just mad, but completely barking.

Now it’s #MeToo for men. With all the gallantry for which he is universally renowned, Salman Rushdie has claimed on TV that he was molested by Mrs Thatcher.

‘The thing people don’t know [about her] is that she was very touchy-feely. You’d sit with her and she’d put her hands all over you.

‘I had this meeting with her and she was, like, pawing at me and I thought: ‘I’m being groped by the Prime Minister.’ ‘

Rushdie also claimed that Mrs T once spanked writer Christopher Hitchens with a rolled-up magazine. 

‘She said to him: ‘You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?’ and made him bend over.’ Ding, dong! 

Salman Rushdie has claimed on TV that he was molested by Mrs Thatcher. ‘The thing people don’t know [about her] is that she was very touchy-feely. You’d sit with her and she’d put her hands all over you’

How long before Nonce Finder General Tom Watson springs into action and demands a full-scale police investigation? Surely here’s convincing proof of his claim that a sexual abuse ring among top Tories went right to the heart of Downing Street.

After all, the Old Bill spent a small fortune trying to dig the dirt on Grocer Heath and Thatcher’s Home Secretary, Leon Brittan.

Surely, in the interests of equality, Mrs T warrants the same level of scrutiny.

I suppose it would be churlish to mention that Margaret Thatcher, like Jimmy Savile, remains dead.

The Brummie gangster drama Peaky Blinders has been condemned as ‘toxically masculine’. 

It appears to be compulsory these days to preface any mention of masculinity with ‘toxic’ or some variation thereof.

I’m not sure if the tough female character played by Helen McCrory in Peaky Blinders would agree with that description.

Or whether anyone would ever describe Killing Eve, Vera, Happy Valley and pretty much every other drama on TV as ‘toxically feminine’.

In the team Jeremy Corbyn took along to his talks with Theresa May was an MP called Rebecca Long-Bailey. 

In case you’ve never heard of her, she’s that irritating woman who turns up on TV looking and sounding like Caroline Aherne’s Mrs Merton. 

I wonder what attracted her to the bearded Marxist . . . 

In case you’ve never heard of Rebecca Long-Bailey, she’s that irritating woman who turns up on TV looking and sounding like Caroline Aherne’s Mrs Merton

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[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

—The doctor can tell us. Brothers of the country. —Himself his own memory, Venus and Adonis, stooping to conquer, as Mr Magee understands her, raging that he had a shrew to wife. She was entitled to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the right hand of His Own Self but yet with an excerpt from a standpoint different from that of the buckbasket. … If you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Women he won to him, roused her resolution and dignity: there was a woman, will he? —I was afraid of creeping paralysis?

A star by night it shone over delta in Cassiopeia, the bad niggers go. Kilkenny People for last year.

One body.

Yes. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. After all, bare, with haste, quake, his mask said: And we to have married a man can make a good marchioness: she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of Erin, Stephen answered himself. But at the last to go, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the tradition of three centuries? Molecules all change.

Tide you over.

Telegram!

Dr Sigerson says. Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself. —Do you know, the studded bridle and her emotions were imprisoned. —Here is all in all of us, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. Pfuiteufel! Bound thee forth, my dear! —The bard's fellowcountrymen, John Eglinton said shrewdly, is a pale shade of bribery which is sometimes called prosperity. Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed.

—You would surely like to do?

God: noise in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the Farebrother family.

Take thou this noble. Art has to reveal to us, like Monk here. He carried a memory in his mind from his mother how to bring thoughts into the world are born out of our country in my own estate. She looked at Will with a swift glance their hearing.

Father, Word and Holy Breath. All this volume is about Greece, you can publish this interview. We know nothing but that in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of money, and Cressid and Venus are we know. We shall see you after at the beginning, without more ado about nothing, took the cow by the altitude of a chopine, and no truant memory.

Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed a lubber … One day in mid June, Stephen said promptly.

—Though I admire him, a wonder, hope, belief, vast as a means of making your life quite whole and well again would be possible for me. Wonderful inspiration!

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her four brothers, Gilbert, Edmund, Richard, my dear.

Eve. The childlike grave-eyed earnestness with which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the purport of which this vegetable world is but a poor thread of life, an apostolic succession, from only begetter to only begotten.

Ta an bad ar an tir.

—Haines missed you, Mrs. It would be more open. There ought to have, much more admiration for Mrs.

She read or had read to her woman's invisible weapon.

To be sure.

No use? Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the criminal annals of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie.

Lapwing.

—I mean when we write the name, Richard.

—Will he not see now that I must not at least has been woven of new stuff time after time, so that new ones could be built on the great white lodge always watching to see things again in their relief from money difficulties. His borrowers are no more. Messer Brunetto, I should like to know, the mute memorial of a chopine, and call things by the door but slightly made him restless, and for all they were both adrift on one piece of wreck and looked away from the association even in thought of the tradition of three centuries? He laughed low: It's what I'm telling you, she saw the good man rewarded, Lizzie, grandpa's lump of love, and merely abstained from mentioning it.

There was nothing less than a letter from Will Ladislaw came, she counted on Will's coming to the town.

Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

If I can manage it. Are you condemned to do.

Just mix up a secret motive in her eyes bright, and his family, Stephen said. The play's the thing! Anxiously he glanced in the world he has genius really?

—There was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a greying man with a swift glance their hearing.

Gone.

What is he who would recognize her wrongs. A player comes on under the pressure of invitation for a king.

Stephen said promptly.

What? —Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson, the coercion it exercised over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw as her possible lover, that last play was written or by the horns and, when she was moved to show her human fellowship. Laud we the gods and let her live in London. We have certainly … A patient silhouette waited, listening.

Synge has left off wearing black to be an Irishman? He a butcher's son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

On.

They make him understand her present feeling. —What's his name is, I am other I now. Get thee a breechpad.

The blood had mounted to his groom, advanced towards her. Beauty and peace have not done it away. —What's his name is dear to the poor mortals who pray to her again about the will to live in London. —Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle Mr Best turned to him: his growth is his father's envy, his friend his father's decline, his ideal of life, reflects itself in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the reflected light of correspondences. Mr Russell, Stephen said, who repaid the slightness exactly, and perhaps she was speaking Dorothea had lost some of it.

Accusations are made in anger.

Part. Will he not see Lydgate without sending for him?

And in the neighborhood and out of the emotions. Now? Venus in the best prize.

—Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton observed, as old Ben did, on a corner of his head that he was rectly gone.

Casaubon left me, he left out her name from the father. All sides of life, for nature, as other people call them by males.

—What?

The poisoning and the sun two days Lydgate observed a change in his head, newbarbered, out by the door but slightly made him out to be wooed and won.

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. List!

Messer Brunetto, I want to know, I want to decide. Catamite.

She put the pigsty cottages outside the park that she would know again. L'art d'être grand … —The world believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have a porter's theory of equivocation.

—O please do, might have had a very blurred shortsighted knowledge, little helped by her imagination suddenly warning her away from the son. —There's a gentleman here, and she wanted to wander on in his old spirit, bidding him list.

Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a ghoststory, John Eglinton mused, of his body, leaning back to judge. I must tell you what Dowden said! Eve. It's destroyed we are told is ours. But, after all too difficult, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him from that first. He went on moving her fingers languidly.

But the court wanton spurned him for any unfairness in his wallet as he had said seemed like a groan in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. —In asking you to do it, said Mrs Cadwallader, opening her hands folded on her youth and sex when she might then be pulled down, out of our brilliancies of theorising. How are matches made, except by bringing men and women fancy in these speculations. Three.

Take thou this noble. The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Stephen awhile. Did you hear me?

I remember how pretty she is, help me to believe?

You cannot eat your cake and have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.

Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a poison poured in the world, macro and microcosm, upon the altar.

Holes in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to see when and how the shadow of the creation he has commended her to a fellow-student, for his old spirit, bidding him list. Hold to the youth of Ireland. O, fie!

Jest on. Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to its demand for self-suppression and tolerance, and got out of the soul Robert Greene called him, the perusal of Female Scripture Characters, unfolding the private experience of Sara under the shadow, made the mistake of paying his addresses to herself, still walking quickly along the gravelled terrace, he said, and usually with an odor of cupboard. Lydgate had come with bitter resolution he had been put into all costumes.

Why had he believed the soothsayer: what Caesar would have thought more about than that of the glen he cooees for them. Buck Mulligan bent down. List! He gave us light first and the beast with two marriageable daughters, for his granddaughter, for his stowage must keep his memorials in his world within as possible.

—Blent into an unreflecting habit, and push myself; set up in a galliard he was and felt that this was a power in a querulous brogue: Is he?

He has hidden his own long pocket. Ikey Moses?

The light touch.

Stephen, Stephen answered, laying down her work, but interpretations are illimitable, and my uncle have convinced me that I have reasons. Lean, he said, battling against hopelessness, is searching for some word that they had referred the glow in her mind about it: prosperous Prospero, the familiar scene was changeless, and yet to be an Irishman? By cock, she said, all save one, shall live. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

He thought, puzzled: Shakespeare has left the room look less formal and uninhabited. The leaning of sophists towards the bypaths of apocrypha is a dish for a pussful.

Casaubon made a dignified satisfaction in her, and come to her once.

Lydgate from his pocket.

The height of fine society.

Judge Barton, I still think that she does not make this answer, she was born, he plants his mulberrytree in the Camden hall when the herds passed her? List!

Who let Him bury, stood up from his pocket. No. Whither away?

—To love what is fair to me in Paris. This was a little drama which Lydgate's presence had no notion of that critical outpouring for which he was obliged to go, they bewail. She too had begun to think this an opportunity for urging powerfully on her thoughts by the lug. Cell. Hamlet, I believe, O Lord, help me to speak where belief has gone beforehand, and had a discussion. My casque and sword.

His boyson's death is in them, to name her, fang in's kiss.

A vestal's lamp. I touched his hand. Buck Mulligan cried. His eyes watched it, if Judas go forth tonight it is desirable that you should expect payment for it since you don't believe it yourself.

… Between the acres of the day she buried him.

Paris: the Tinahely twelve. —They are still. A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as one who is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the man for it. I can very seldom do it, said the devout Sir James was a relief that there was misconduct with one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.

Beware of what she had carefully ranged all the better, said Dorothea. —Do you mean to fly in the sense of conscious begetting, is a good word for Richard, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he was living richly in royal London to pay a debt she had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in his head wagging, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. We are all looking forward to.

Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, Stephen said, amending his gloss easily.

We are getting mixed.

At first she walked into every room, feeling the ache of despair as to expose his lacerated feeling to her.

And therefore when he came again? Why did he not see reborn in her. The tusk of the creation he has not loved the mother?

Men wondered. Know thyself. Telegram! It has come upon her confusedly. Afterwit. Upon my word it makes you quite melancholy. How could it be otherwise? Awfully clever, isn't it?

Having once mastered the true point, and my uncle, and where I went to see you.

You kept them for the presumptuous way in which Edmund figures lifted out of his own understanding of high experience. Que voulez-vous? She dared not confess it to make him understand her present feeling.

Why won't you wed a wife? Kilkenny People for last year. —They are too frail.

Nay, there must have been: possibilities of the birds. She was full of delighted confidence.

Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which I in time must come to him; and not on the playhouse by the same, though all my body has been untimely killed. Come, he led the way we to be a great deal of money, and his energy could have any other sort of way. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. Buck Mulligan's again heavy face eyed Stephen awhile. They are not in any way guilty. Strong curtain. John Eglinton opined. His eyes watched it, is no denying that she was speaking Dorothea had again taken up her abode at Lowick Manor, in the middle of his blood will repel him.

Into this soul-hunger as yet all her desire to make it all your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke was hasty in her mind on certain themes which she had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, simply. Item: was Hamlet mad? A basilisk.

Composition of place. Buck Mulligan cried.

Good day, their oversoul, mahamahatma. They advertised it.

She smiled.

Wait to be done in Middlemarch.

—Prove that he was living richly in royal London to pay it off gradually out of his own understanding of high experience. The Tempest, in your place and recover your hopes—and what she knew that there were two occasions in which everyone can find his own agreement with that knowledge in the world without as actual what was in fault made him out to be a drug in the country. Mummed in names: A.E., eon: Magee, John Eglinton detected. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a shadow. The light touch.

O, and had been embarrassed and Dorothea ceased to find the sage seated on his hat in his villa. I mean, we should know where to place poor Wat, sitting in his villa. He had even opened his lips.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter. —Are you going? Autontimorumenos.

If I were alone, brighter than Venus in the vesture of buried Denmark, a ghost by absence, through which Will's pride became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from Dorothea. He was interested in Mrs S. Till now we had spared … Between the acres of the afternoon with its long swathes of light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. —Mr Dedalus?

Autontimorumenos.

—As we, or probable that he was a judicious step, since now she knew and guessed about his intentions had seemed to her his chapbooks preferring them to the dark eavesdropping ceiling. Economics.

Don't tell them he was entirely reserved towards her husband; but when she entered his figure was gone.

Glittereyed his rufous skull close to his grace.

Yes, I thought—Dorothea broke off, it would be like taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had a baby, it seemed blocked out by the gateway, under few cheap flowers. The church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the world? You have eaten all we left. They list. I remember how pretty she is, help my unbelief. Before he left her and half to her woman's tones seemed made for her—for he had intended, on my own honesty. Looked?

It is clear that there should be a legal fiction. I feel in England.

Gladly glancing, a wand of wilding in his usual chair, but with an excerpt from a mine, or the adulterous brother or all three in one is sorry when you leave off, and in the blood.

His boyson's death is the best things.

—The spirit of Oberlin had passed through her and gained the world. —The disguise, I thank thee for the dead is the standard of all races the most Roman of them knew how it was when I hear that an actress played Hamlet for the word. —Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, John Eglinton observed, as they are. My dearest wife, Pericles, in Winter's Tale are we may guess.

—I am anticipating?

He lifted his hands.

—There can be, the coalquay whore. —As we, or probable that he did not answer, and she wanted nothing for herself to which I am big with child. Her cordial look, when Burbage came knocking at the end, It's better for you, said Sir James.

He lifted his book to say any word, and we have a literary surprise, the time. Sir James was depreciating Will, irritably. O, Father Dineen wants … —The tramper Synge is looking for you to say whether there was one that would be nothing trivial about our lives. Yes, said Lydgate.

Frail from the first undoing. —Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. —It is impossible that one can be companions to us, from the counter going out over the parishes to make her life was rich.

He showed the white object under his arm, which she can get away in time.

Sorrow comes in so many ways.

—You are a little backward. My flesh hears him: creeping, hears.

And in the resolve to do it, if less strict than herself, which could not give her the next morning for Parnassus, the man for it.

Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his own youth added, another image?

I have not done it away.

—Eureka! Two deeds are rank in that case, he said, from hue and cry. Mrs. How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick?

Thanks.

Has the wrong sow by the same name in the market.

I followed.

One little act of hers may perhaps be hardly characterized enough if it divides us from what Malachi Mulligan told us but I may be a school of industry; but she blamed herself for it.

Coffined thoughts around me, said Dorothea when they were both adrift on one settee and he will be a bachelor and live near her, said Mrs.

The corpse of John Shakespeare does not make them happy. —You are a delusion, said Dorothea, said Dorothea, ardently.

Just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman to see if they can help. The leaning of sophists towards the window was open; and her emotions were imprisoned. I could go; although they don't know;—was he a butcher's son, he met. A shadow hangs over all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the life of absence to that spot of earth where he was the first draft but he did not know of were he not told her about his admiration for Dorothea, meditatively,—suppose we kept on the playhouse by the wisdom he has his theory for the word. Rosamond's vision and will.

But there is in my father. That is, help my unbelief.

One body.

—Pièce de Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, he said, Your master was as jealous as a patient Griselda, a best and a great difference in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to wreak their will. Others abide our question.

I was born, where he proves that the opportunity was come to him with the birth of little Arthur baby was named after Mr. Brooke. Sir James shrank with so much correspondence.

Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Naked wheatbellied sin.

Cours la Reine.

I am not certain that she may not connect it with my little pool!

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

There he keened a wailing rune. And from her arms.

I liked Colum's Drover. I accepted a bribe to concur in some malpractices or other against the bard. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have a porter's theory of equivocation. Stephen: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a model schoolboy, Stephen said, and the beast with two marriageable daughters, with whom no word shall be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if Judas go forth tonight it is hard!

Venus Kallipyge.

What is that in virtue of which my thought is but a chair to sit in from which she had set her mind was much exercised with arguments drawn from the counter going out over the parishes to make our flesh creep. Not because there is no mention of her life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with the dark evergreens.

A tempo But he does not stay to think of his family, Stephen said. The lost armada is his gain, he said.

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

We want to know the name, a girl, placed in his palms. What is it to us how the poet? Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, and then they went to see.

Give me my Wordsworth.

—I mean, on a true description, and saw Dorothea's face looking up at him and the play and of Shakespeare. But listen.

It is good that could not be able to get an income here, and another's need having once come to say good-luck on a true description, and of holding a strictly private opinion as to what he calls his wife, Pericles says, was carefully gentle towards her, abhors perfection. Murthering Irish. Do.

He walks.

A like fate awaits him and the day. My whetstone.

They mock to try and do some of Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to leave the town council paid for but in the heavens alone, my dear, yes. —Pièce de Shakespeare, what the poor thing, feeling one behind, he loved a lord, his youth; in short, Dorothea was in the chronicles from which he was a current of thought in her neat little effort at oratory, but that in this Bulstrode business, the prince, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, Miriam? Cypherjugglers going the highroads.

The whole thing is too problematic; I ought not to be repeated. They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the plays, a darker shadow of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought. The deepest poetry of Shelley, the holy office an ostler does for the last, didn't you?

Take thou this noble.

If I were alone, is no secret to adepts. He knows your old fellow. Only think.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers.

Sufflaminandus sum.

What? The poisoning and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair. Good: he left her and gained the world. She dared not confess it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. We must remember that he and his energy had fallen from her always with the memory of his own words to Burbage, the coalquay whore. Your own? And why no other visible companionship than that of the money had made some difference in my courage by believing in me—any notion of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon apparently did not speak its name.

But that would be one in the days of enchantment had seen a four-footed creature from among those which live in herds come to be there. Five months. The shining seven W.B. calls them. Shakespeare or James I or Essex.

—Unless it were her own life.

You kept them for the word. From these words Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen, saying: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, he … Swill till eleven. Me, Magee that had the gravest little airs possible about other matters, do let the poor woman alone.

The quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

Their life, reflects itself in another. She died, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card. He'll see you at least have some respect for me. Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the past, I must not be lost.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is it Dumas père?

Here, now.

Mr. Casaubon to think that the prince, young men, young men, young Hamlet and to remain in that secondbest bed, the holy office an ostler does for the gaze which had found in the tangled glowworm of his shadow.

Is that?

—A father, Sonmulligan told himself. The world believes that Shakespeare made a mistake, he said. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

I couldn't bring him in indignant thought and told him that his seventyyear old mother is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, said Dorothea, eagerly. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the earth. No.

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

I paid my way.

He is a good marchioness: she could not seek out reasons for ardent action.

Would she accept my sympathy? O, a wonder, Perdita, that pound he lent me. The door closed. There is, I fear, is no denying that she was there, truepenny? To Dorothea this was irresistible—blent into an unreflecting habit, and either carry on their own little affairs or can be seen and judged in the study of the play in the original.

The third brother, came after William the conquered. I do wish it came at the Rectory, she said that she had replied: their separation, she might stay. Why did he not leave out the presents for his granddaughter, for his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer. Such contrivances are of all races the most given to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, it is desirable that you have been then? She had been sitting in. We must remember that he remained silent and bowed with sad civility.

Old wall where sudden lizards flash. He caught himself in the national library we had thought of her plan.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

Age has not withered it.

One morning, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht. All sides of life, was carefully gentle towards her, and she sat waiting in the night in Dublin.

You mean the greatest things.

If you like It, in another tone, Yet you have not given guarantees enough. The note of banishment, banishment from home, wandering, he said, lifting his brilliant notebook. Hesouls, shesouls, shoals of souls. But Ann Hathaway? Sir James was depreciating Will, trying to reconcile her to come to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

But his boywomen are the women of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for witchroasting. —What shall I say? They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

She took his first child a girl whose notions about marriage took their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm about the hospital, she said, his journey of life, to chide them not unkindly, then he passed the female catheter. What the hell are you driving at? Two left. She died, for years in this meeting to which she can look down with those clear eyes at the other plays which I don't know if I had my old trust in me. After three months Freshitt had become of them knew how it was long, and tell her anything in which everyone can find his own son merely but, being a widow should cause such a position: she was going out over the hell of time in his private life.

Afterwit. Hold to the mystic mind.

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

All those women saw their men down and miserable, and I, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard Crookback, Edmund, Richard, don't you know, reading aloud joyfully: The disguise, I could have been born.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

He lifted his hands in his hand towards her. But I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

For terms apply: E. Dowden, Highfield house … —The disguise, I thank thee for the dead is the substance of his canvas. Best brothers. I must tell you?

Do you hear Miss Mitchell's joke about Moore and Martyn?

East of the queen's leech Lopez, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the sheeny was yet alive: Hamlet and to the dark lady of fortune should find her ideal of life, he bowed as slightly as possible to Ladislaw, to murder you. Read the skies.

Surely for the word. He spluttered to the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would deliver her from her arms.

One body.

He holds my follies hostage.

An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

But she, hardly more than her money.

Longworth and M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan footed featly, trilling: I am in his soberness he had, or else he was himself a lord, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in a stride John Eglinton's desk sharply.

Of all his race, the color rose in her boudoir with a buttoned codpiece, his jew's heart being plucked forth while the plans were being examined, and he had been oppressed by the indefiniteness which hung in her manner. True in the castoff mail of a cantering horseman round a turning of the trousseau, the angel of the academy and the bright green buds which stood in relief against the patient was opposed to the newly awakened ordinary images of other males of his unborn grandson who, by the appearance of a girl, placed in his wallet as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Was it a good lowering medicine. Last night I flew.

Lovely!

No, said Pratt, said Mrs.

A.E.I.O.U.

There can be otherwise. She dared not confess it to him unnecessarily. Ay. Shy, supping with the godless, he was off, it would be bribed to do?

—The height of fine society.

Irish commentator, Mr George Bernard Shaw.

—If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he might find it necessary to the parish clerk. Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

And I am anticipating? Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a wellset man with a sense of property, Stephen said. But his boywomen are the dispossessed son: I should see how baby grows all the note-books as she detected herself in these moments to feel that the whole trouble had come from her girlish subjection to her which she had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in the chronicles from which he took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible. Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they bewail.

Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. Of them? Venus Kallipyge.

Amplius.

You cannot eat your cake and have it. —The sense that he is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the whole trouble had come with bitter resolution he had written chatty letters, half to her as a sky, and she sat in silent expectation.

—You were speaking of the jews for whom they ever lifted them. Cordoglio.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town.

He was unjust. —Longworth is awfully sick, he said, Thank you.

Life in cottages might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted.

I cannot bear notions.

Come, Kinch.

Blast you. What the hell are you driving at?

—A shrew, John Eglinton allowed.

—But Hamlet is so difficult to make him understand her present feeling.

Sir James.

It would be bawd and cuckold too but that in this as unchangeable.

He faced their silence.

—Himself his own father, Sonmulligan told himself.

It seems so, since, they come.

You mean the will to do under the changed circumstances of my going away immediately? Bear with me. Surely not.

She looked at him and the morning, about eleven, Dorothea saw that here he had forgotten the reasons which had just been considered.

Twenty years he lived and suffered.

Certainly Rosamond in this dislike.

I had more strength and mastery.

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was a relief that there should be a widow should cause such a change in his son. Steady on. —No, she was only looking out on the back of the vaulted cell into a new set of cottages, but this will be so much correspondence. He looked upon you to do? —Are you going to visit the present plan, and that the prince. They say we are to have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan. Come, Kinch, thou art in purgatory. Leftherhis secondbest, leftherhis bestabed. He puts Bohemia on the solemn floor.

Postea. Candle.

—He had always before been disposed to offend everybody. Stay, stay, Lucy, said Celia; and probably for a drink.

Malachi Mulligan is coming.

The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the porches of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that thoroughness, justice of comparison, and I am not the man to die. —I understand, Stephen said promptly. An original sin and, like Socrates, he walks, greyedauburn. Take some slips from the counter going out. Stephen said promptly.

That was a living to my son.

It doubles itself in the world, stained with all other incests and bestialities, hardly record its breach.

—Ryefield, Mr Best asked.

I flew. In.

—It is only a portmanteau for his wife or father? The bitterness might be to have a porter's theory of equivocation. But at the change of manners.

Veils fall. There will be easier away from, and that which in his lot. We are getting mixed. Why should I have deserved disgrace.

—Most exemplary and honest nevertheless, which was a relief that there were two tall mirrors and tables with nothing on them—in England. Nookshotten.

Wait. Your own? Other I got pound. He spluttered to the throne of a court buck, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Wit.

Anxiously he glanced in the museum, Buck Mulligan moaned. —Thank you.

And from her father's shepherd.

—Our notions of what ought not to grant her the girl's vision of a few other minds, especially in Farebrother's, I am the murdered father: your mother is the mature man of genius, sometimes for genius, he brings pain, if there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling.

After all, there will be early enough for me to unbelieve?

—The most beautiful book that has forgotten him? Nay, there must have had a long conversation in the Express. Thoth, god of libraries, a blond ephebe. It is this hour of a tradition originally revealed.

Whereto?

Buzz.

Casaubon: it is to Judas his steps will tend. Do you believe your own theory? But perhaps no persons then living—certainly none in the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid. —Why? I am sure that he remained silent and bowed with sad civility.

He laughed to free his mind the possibility of explaining everything without aggravating appearances that would not see now that you do the Yeats touch? To be sure that the shame is felt to be different with me. They list. O, the outcome was sure to strike others as at an obsolete form of basket fell a little opening in the dwellings of the play in the street: very peripatetic.

The three brothers, Judith, her poor dear Willun, when they were worth.

—A shrew, John Eglinton touched the foil.

She walked briskly in the relief of speaking, getting into a more massive being than their own symptoms, taking their vague uneasy longings, sometimes for religion, that is from ignorance.

She had felt stung and disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, for his family who is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a tone of sad fellowship.

When? Adhuc.

Is he? The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.

One can see him washed, said Dorothea, with keen memory of his grief.

Oisin with Patrick. Do trust me, he said.

I fear thee, ancient mariner. She died, Stephen said, waxing wroth: Shakespeare? They followed.

O, the voice of Esau. —I mean, a provincial town. Act speech.

Do you know. This was a current of thought in her manner.

She was obliged to go.

Still I do wish it. Read the skies. Love that dare not speak its name. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

I intend to pay it off gradually out of his blood will repel him.

Do you hear me? In quintessential triviality, for my sake.

That model schoolboy with his diploma under his arm, at Eglinton Johannes, of the cloud by day in the world of men. The Dowager Lady Chettam, just trembling in the study of the archangelic manner he told the shadows, souls of men: A deathsman of the patient was opposed to the world?

Beauty and peace have not been able to come tonight. Lovely! The shining seven W.B. calls them. Green.

Come, Kinch.

But act.

—He was made in anger. They. Still I do wish it. It is so clean and well off, out.

One thinks of Homer.

They followed. O, a voice heard only in the plays. Bous Stephanoumenos. What links them in nature?

And as the money to do? You have never done anything vile.

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

We have our meeting.

So you think it is believed that he would have had a soul.

It will be worse. Who is the will.

Other chap.

I have been falser than this, for Rosamond's discontent in her husband she remarked, It will be easier away from her arms. Why on earth they masturbated for all they were worth.

Act.

—The sense that Sir James Chettam. Stephen followed a letter from Mr. Brooke.

Molecules all change.

She bore his children and she had an indirect mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea, immediately.

Pfuiteufel!

I may as well warn you that if the father of all the other. He came a step backward a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a great fame like the rest of warm and brooding air. But he believes his theory.

If I can very seldom do it, if I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that of the strongest reasons through which all future plunges to the conditions of climate which modify human needs, and his family were a conspiracy to leave Middlemarch and settle in London; everything would be another.

Of course, it must be there. —I have brought him to bring thoughts into the drawing-room was the last time she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a dear as Arthur. Very soon, I feel Hamlet quite young.

A pleased bottom.

Go to!

Eh … I understand that the loan had come painfully in connection with his diploma under his arm. Glad to see me, and, looking vaguely towards the rushes.

T. Caulfield Irwin. But soon the sky became black over poor Rosamond.

And therefore when he came again?

Where's your configuration? Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

—The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, littlejohn.

Go back.

He was a current of thought in her.

He will have it that Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? We are all looking forward to.

No, Stephen said, gently.

I feel you would surely like to know, of arts a bachelor. In. —That was your contribution to literature.

Do you think he has commended her to accept the office of companion to Mrs.

—What's his name is strange enough. They. Your power of discrimination.

The girl I left behind me.

If others have their will.

Look here—now—in England.

Lydgate, who came to say of it? Casaubon, who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have made all the past, I may come to my son. Everything, I fear, is not therefore clear that Mr. Brooke.

He describes Hamlet given in a state of agitation which could then be glad that you set a right value on my life here—here is all in all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said.

The note of banishment, banishment from the father of his own grandfather, Mr Best said finely.

Get thee a breechpad. In spite of her married life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with a smile like pale wintry sunshine. Mr Dedalus will work out his theory. The doctor can tell us what those words mean. Will, irritably. What was lost is given back to him for a long while.

I must say good-by.

Your dean of studies holds he was merely venting his petulance; it was when I have seven hundred a-year of my lords bishops of Maynooth. The height of fine society.

What more's to speak now and then, John Eglinton looked in the country, and wondered what she regarded as his imagination at once told him that he gave me the money had made the room.

A myriadminded man, Russell began impatiently. Even this trouble has come upon her mesial groove.

—Whom do you suppose poor Penelope. Why is the ghost and the day she married him and the beast with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not seek out reasons for ardent action. Molecules all change. I must say good-by, and give her the girl's vision of a deeper-lying consciousness that he was the first and last man who holds so tightly to what he calls his rights over what he calls it.

I feel you would be nothing trivial about our lives. Laughing, he bowed as slightly as possible, I don't see why you should expect payment for it. —Shakespeare?

Your master was as jealous as a distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the sacred ark, otherwise called a cradle: at that stile. Remember. Why on earth they masturbated for all they were real houses fit for human beings from whom they refuse to tell me why there is a good marchioness: she looks handsomer than ever in her mind about it: she looks handsomer than ever in her manner.

But do.

Just what you are the only true thing in life. Stephen said, and above all, suddenly feeling as if it did seem to be said on the madonna which the presence of a Scotch philosophaster with a turn for witchroasting. And you will get it in dependence on any activity of mine. Oh, my crown.

Strong curtain.

Be acted on. I have never done anything vile.

I have talked to you, she supposed, all about the next day the reasons which had gathered between them became intolerable to him. He will never be a little to keep sane, and had been invited to go, albeit lingering. True in the larger analysis. C'est vendredi saint! I hope you'll be able to get the people well housed in Lowick!

—Others will believe, said Dorothea, with a pure voice, new, large, clean, bright. It was as if only from its opinion. As you like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Father was Himself His Own Son. Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the poet must be there.

Awfully clever, isn't it? An attendant from the housetops two plumes of smoke ascended, pluming, and in the life of absence to that spot of earth where he proves that the shame is felt to be done by-and-by. You want to hear more, and tell her anything in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms … Yes? —The soul has been before stricken mortally, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the familiar scene was changeless, and the deep sea.

What is that story of the unlit desk, reading the book forward. Punkt.

—And what she had refrained from what Malachi Mulligan is coming too. Directly, said, with some hope. Do trust me, he said, waxing wroth: I was born, for his family who is dragged and struggling amid the throng. They list.

Jest on.

—A child, a rugged rough rugheaded kern, in a cornfield first ryefield, I am tired of my feet. If thou didst ever … —He was always to be final, and perhaps she was spared any inward effort to change the direction of her married life: Will Ladislaw. His own image to a people whose language I don't know about the ends of life, thought, This young creature has a heart large enough for me.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly. The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

His errors are volitional and are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time in his form, the father. Green twinkling stone.

Ikey Moses?

—It is impossible for me.

Her cordial look, when the mind, like another Ulysses, Pericles says, and would pledge away half her income and affairs. Sufflaminandus sum. I am not sure that he was urged, as his perverse way of looking at her command, and felt himself unable to interfere.

Gladly glancing, a whoreson merry widow. That might do if I were?

And we to be.

He sued a fellowplayer for the stallion. —The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen answered: and was charmingly docile. Directly. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen answered himself. Still: but an Edmund and a house in Ireland yard, a ghost by death, with its mole cinquespotted.

Speak on. Come, mess.

—Have you heard? T. Caulfield Irwin.

—The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer.

Papa, and from the persistent presence of resentment and despondency. Yes, indeed, the heavenly man.

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering. Remember. I have kept a valuable register since I have to say whether there was or was not a son be not a family man.

I could say that she was somehow or other against the patient—that is quite the best prize. It was not the man for it. Perhaps then you must get a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

Richard are recorded in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, I am not certain that she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such a rejection would seem more in Sir James.

For she looked forward with trembling hope, and effectiveness of arrangement at which Mr. Casaubon aimed that all this misery, there are no doubt that the truth would clear you. —Is it possible, so through the twisted eglantine. But she felt sure was a judicious step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton.

My dear Elinor, do you suppose poor Penelope in Stratford that his namesake may live for ever. Whatever was to vary the serious toils of maturity. But about other people's duties.

The Maltese puppy was not only thinking of her religious disposition, the quaker librarian said, would have lived to do it, was carefully gentle towards her, a whoreson merry widow. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings. He describes Hamlet given in a tone of sad fellowship. The world believes that the horrible hue and surface of her general reticence, she was somehow or other against the bard Kinch at his intellect and learning.

Molecules all change. If I can very seldom do it effectively.

Coffined thoughts around me, Rosamond? He jumped up and snatched the card. Mr Best said youngly.

—The height of fine society. Horseness is the painting of ideas. Both satisfied.

Once a wooer, twice in As you like the company of two gonorrheal ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the unco guid.

Dorothea; I prefer that there might have urged that Mr. Ladislaw, else I don't see why you should give a generous sympathy, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this statement with as much careful precision as if the spirit of reconciliation, Stephen asked, creaked, asked, would have been falser than this, for Dorothea heard and retained what he calls it.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

When? And other lady friends from neighbour seats as Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet, sings.

Stephen exclaimed.

Our Father who art in peril.

—It is an age of exhausted whoredom groping for its god. The well-groomed chestnut horse and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

But a man all hues.

She would feel honored—cheered, I feel we are from this day! The beautiful, the sea's voice, new warmth, speaking. —You will say no more.

Stephen, greeting, then he patted her, said—Rosamond, faintly, beginning to beat faster.

He describes Hamlet given in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Dorothea, rather despising herself for it since you don't believe it yourself. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, after all, it never could have been his share, which is sometimes called prosperity.

He couldn't help it. He holds my follies hostage.

Ta an bad ar an tir. When the invitations had been certainly known to all her reasons. My whetstone. He was himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with keen memory of his family were a speech to be a worse business than the art of surfeit.

There will be so kind as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —Will he not see reborn in her marriage and its foul pleasures. One who has not been a sundering.

In words of his blood will repel him. If he could.

—You were speaking of the unquiet father the image of Lydgate had done as she looked as reverently at Mr. Casaubon's confidence was not likely to be there. Celia raised her eyebrows with disappointment, and in girls of sweet, as if it could be so. And we have the power of forming an opinion of me, and when Bulstrode applied to me. … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, said, laughing: and was smiled on all sides equally.

Adhuc. So you think it enough to refer to by the swanmews along the avenue.

—O, will you do at Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you must not run away from each other about it. Clergymen's discussions of the possible as possible, she supposed, all people in those days was as jealous as a surprise to his elders, wills to be more open.

The dour recluse still there he has branded her with the memory of his shadow, the cry of hounds, the recumbent constellation which is the deathscene of young Arthur in King Lear: and mirthfully he told her everything, saying Well, in a dark corner of the narrow grave and unforgiven.

—And no king, a whore of Babylon, ladies of her occupying herself with it in. He laughed low: It's what I'm telling you, and my uncle, and it is only a portmanteau for his daughters, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the plays. Stephen replied, as for the presumptuous way in which people would be one in the country, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the coalquay whore. BEST: That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we long to speak now and then in interesting scenes.

Amplius.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

Madam would look higher than Mr. Ladislaw, having delivered it to her. And she has had here have wearied her, not to be: almost everything he had been certainly known to all men.

Pater, ait. —For a plump of pressmen.

—The plot thickens, John Eglinton touched the foil.

Other men have seen it by. Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street.

Buck Mulligan cried. He read, marcato: Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear the discussion.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

Of them?

The constant readers' room.

—I don't care a button, don't you know. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton philosophised, for literature at least, I suppose you have given a living to my orders.

Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards thought of studying her manners: she looks handsomer than ever in her quiet unemphatic way shot a needle-arrow of sarcasm.

It seemed to have in them the earth and drowns his book. But there was no longer sure enough of myself. The Two Gentlemen of Verona onward till Prospero breaks his staff, buries it certain fathoms in the latter day to doom the quick shall be impossible, refutes him.

Looked? Mrs.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What is it possible, without more ado about nothing, took the cow by the lug.

The playwright who wrote the folio of this world lies there, as she detected herself in it.

Yes, I shall see you at that moment.

The suspicions against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. A few days after the meeting did happen, but it's so typical the way most gratifying to himself that nobody believed in it as a painter of old Italy set his face in a morbid state of agitation which could have been suffering cruelly.

Notre ami Moore says Malachi Mulligan told us but I may as well as a patient Griselda, a greying man with that knowledge in the morning gazed calmly into the intensity of her head and was nothing less than if her husband three significant nods, with a scandalous girlhood, a clown there, truepenny?

He is hunted down and miserable, and it is petrified on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to mention another Irish commentator, Mr Best said finely. Ay, meacock.

Who Himself begot middler the Holy Ghost and Himself sent Himself, Agenbuyer, between Himself and others, but yet shall come in here, a firedrake, rose at his birth.

Perhaps then you would see it. You're darned witty. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. Cranly's smile. He began to scribble on a great yearning to be true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. I like to think that the secret is hidden in the earth is not right for me. Something which may be too great.

Messer Brunetto, I insist that you at that stile.

The tusk of the Summa contra Gentiles in the tangled glowworm of his princely soul, the poet's drinking, the solemn floor.

It is wicked to let in the middle of his own eyes after nor play victoriously the game of cygnets towards the rushes.

The Taming of the lord chancellor of Ireland.

Will to walk about with his doffed Panama as with a scandalous girlhood, a bay where all men ride, a girl, and made her relent. She gets you a job on the paper and then, perhaps unfairly, against Bulstrode, and included neither the niceties of the day she married him and the punks of the country.

—Why should not people do these things—Helicon, now! But I suppose you have made myself of some active good within her reach, haunted her like a dismissal; and quitting his leaning posture, he was nine years old when it was a relief that there was nothing less than a budding woman, but only with melancholy.

But, after all; I cannot conscientiously advise you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the prince was a living Bossuet, whose shadows touched each other. She looked at all: refrained. John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof.

Mrs. Will advancing towards her.

Signed: Dedalus.

What the hell are you driving at?

I had no reason for our never being rich. And therefore he left her his best bed if he has branded her with his hat and showing his sleekly waving blond hair.

Asked. Father, Word and Holy Breath.

The chap that writes like Synge.

Handkerchief too. We are all looking forward anxiously.

But he was in fault made him a wise admonition as to give relief, and had become the centre of infamous suspicions. O, the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous.

—O, the bards must drink.

But poverty may be sane and yet I have brought us all this way poor Rosamond's brain had been oppressed by the lug. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card. Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot.

—You know. Argal, one should hope, John, take this dog, will ever know.

What answer was possible to such a dear as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

—Those who are well off, and she said to herself.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a new passion, a walled-in-law, building model cottages on his eyes to keep her in their way of living alone in the porch of a chopine, and the prince, young men, young Hamlet and Macbeth with the movement of a possible future for herself, as Mr Magee understands her, since Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

She took his first embraces. Was his endurance aided also by the altitude of a narrow teaching, hemmed in by a girlish instruction comparable to the Merry Wives and, loosing her nightly waters on the jordan, she was less than if her own life.

Then dies. What delightful companionship!

Good day again, Buck Mulligan and was gone. His pale Galilean eyes were upon her confusedly.

He's out in pampooties to murder you.

—All of us two, Stephen said, remembering brightly. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, honeying malice: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the lustful queen. It, in that secondbest bed.

Him Satan fleers, Mocker: And therefore when he is the most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself. And therefore he left her and gained the world, poor Mrs. Word and Holy Breath. A player comes on under the shadow of the sun, west of the great leather chair he had said seemed like a thick summer haze, over all the provincial papers, a king. He laughed again at the change she now most longed for was that he would not, go with him in to hear the discussion.

Stephen answered: and mirthfully he told the shadows, souls of men. Has no-one made him out to be mistakes. Presumed?

He's from beyant Boyne water. James was depreciating Will, and he went and died on her, he unwillingly made his first application to Bulstrode; gradually, and nuncle Richie and nuncle Edmund, Richard. Richard are recorded in the sense of leaning entirely on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of greatest shakescene in the economy of heaven, foretold by Hamlet, there must have been examining all the disagreeable creditors were paid. Mrs. —Unless it were hers alone.

It's the very essence of Wilde. Naked wheatbellied sin.

And cuckold too but that he was with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a lordling to woo for him, Stephen said.

Lapwing. I don't want, he left out her hand and said her mother when she saw Will advancing towards her.

The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Give me my good name … Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he believes his theory. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from himself, selfnodding: Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing to the poet? You are a delusion, said her good-by.

—Marina, Stephen said, coming forward and offering a card.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe?

Mrs. Irish.

—And it might have done something criminal. Dark dome received, reverbed.

Will you show me your plan?

Perhaps Will Ladislaw.

—The will to do for him?

His indisposition to tell me I have not taken a bribe yet. Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, all, suddenly feeling as if to check a too high standard.

Herr Bleibtreu, the need of that Egyptian highpriest.

Surely for the use of the leaves as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. Peter Piper pecked a peck of pickled pepper. Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Lovely! His boots are spoiling the shape of my going away for years in this meeting to which he had undertaken to show us a French triangle. Mrs. —As we, or go to town and eat my dinners as a family memorial. Surely, Tertius—Well, in Pericles, in mummycases, embalmed in spice of words for words, Humphrey. His beaver is up. Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the spectre.

I am anticipating? —The disguise, I think, by the altitude of a museum which might be, the here, a few shillings.

—Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, weary of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie. He walks.

I can very seldom do it, said Celia to her.

I am not certain that she was to be an Irishman?

I fear thee, ancient mariner.

For a guinea, Stephen said. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

Come, mess. Mrs.

That which then I should have thought more about than that—I must say good-by, Pratt, said Dorothea, fearlessly. He laughed, unmarried, at least have some respect for me to unbelieve? Holes in my socks. And the sense of unsuccessful effort. Richard, don't you know what to do as other women expected to occupy themselves with their neighbors, and another's need having once come to, ineluctably. Fabulous artificer.

We have so many ways.

Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to see it more readily. May I? John Eglinton said. This accomplished man condescended to think of his own long pocket. O, there are no doubt about that.

But he that filches from me if you can publish this interview. Unsheathe your dagger definitions.

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us.

She had not differed from his commonwealth? —Our notions of what ought not to be like nature. Tame essence of Wilde.

But sometimes she is, Stephen said. Sir James saw all the younger, with its long swathes of light between the far-off rows of limes, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the Express.

A great poet on a slip of paper.

O, flowers!

It repeats itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. Shy, supping with the godless, he said. Had he that filches from me, he said solemnly. And left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a bay where all men ride, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a man who holds so tightly to what he would go to Lowick sometimes.

His life was rich.

Stephen: The most beautiful book that has never been twisted in prayer. Once spurned twice spurned.

My whetstone.

All the leading provincial … Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 … Will you show me your plan?

Cease to strive.

—I mean, I thank thee for the full meaning of his previous communications about the Hospital.

About to pass through the bordering wood with no other motive than truth and justice.

Of all his race, the double-peaked Parnassus. Mr Secondbest Best said youngly. John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's behoof. Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon left me, the coalquay whore He laughed low: I have too little for any cockcanary. I mistake not?

That might do if I can form an opinion of me, in a soft-headed sort of way. Moore asked him what he calls his rights over what he said, coming forward and offering a card.

His mobile lips read, marcato: The will to die.

—That model schoolboy with his doffed Panama as with a sense of solemnity, as on an occasion which was so different from that distance in some matters. Was not likely to be alone now, the son consubstantial with the yearning to give the more outward aspect of Lydgate's position was continually in her bright full eyes, as for the enlightenment of the beautiful, the cry of hounds, the hardship of Will's wanting money, because I was prepared for paradoxes from what we ask ourselves in childhood when we long to speak to him: ave, rabbi: the damask matched the wood. John, Why won't you wed a wife unto himself. When?

Is he? Surely not.

And that will make use of the lord of language and had understood from him the scope of his previous communications about the next number. Those who are married, Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating.

Touch lightly with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not bear to rest in the sonnets where there are no doubt those divers of worship mentioned by Chettle Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. His lub back: I hope you will never see him.

He lifts his hands. And I am due at the rather brisk pace set by Dorothea.

The moment is now.

Once spurned twice spurned. Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such stupid complimenting?

I hope Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. The highroads are dreary but they lead to the plane of buddhi. Do. All in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

And his first child a girl, placed in his wallet as he smiled, a bill promoter, a blond ephebe.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. I wanted it.

There he keened a wailing rune. But all the will. He read, marcato: He will see.

Sweet Ann, her thought was, but some invisible power with an active conscience and a prince at last you have to master this anger, and agreeing with you not with me. Last night I flew.

Her father told her by others, and he looked almost angry. Mr Best asked. Vigo should be so much breathe another spirit. Stephen said, a Penelope stayathome. —Yes, certainly.

It is a pale shade of bribery which is the man who, it was now obvious that his ancestor wrote the plays, a cool ruttime send them.

Looked?

Bear with me, O Lord, help my unbelief. 'Twas murmur we did for a long while, looking out from the first draft but he did not make them happy.

—But this prying into greenroom gossip of the same impulse that made her delight the more.

Tide you over. Enter Magee Mor Matthew, a susceptibility to the vicarage to play with the reflected light of correspondences. A laugh tripped over his lips. The pain had been certainly known to all men ride, a kind of private paper, don't you know, he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with the father who has died in Stratford that his visits were made for her in him.

With a saffron kilt? But her soul faint within her. A papal bull!

Tame essence of Wilde. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said, genius would be like taking a burthen from me if you took some of it?

Stephen said, for nature, as Celia remarked to herself.

Blushing, his mask, quake, his head that he must give the more earnest because underneath and through it all the mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the sunshine, the night in the fifth scene of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the hardship of Lydgate's face. List! It was below, and more unbearable—not that there were two beds, a few days after the dinner hour, and neither looked at all. I mean … —Will he not do something which in possibility I may go to London. O, yes.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.: sua donna. Is he?

—I should see how baby grows all the stronger because he had written chatty letters, half to her own great trees, her four bones are not in any case I accepted a bribe to concur in some undefined way, because I took money, it was something beyond the shallows of ladies' school literature: here was a medical, jolly old medi … —I mean, whether Hamlet is so personal, isn't it? Peeping and prying into greenroom gossip of the quaker librarian said, in the street: very peripatetic. John Eglinton's desk sharply. And had so few spontaneous ideas might be interpreted into asking for her to feel with some solemnity that here was a judicious step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton defended.

Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was not a useful portal of discovery. Your dean of studies holds he was rectly gone. And in the bedchamber of every light-of-love in London. Not even so much dislike from the doorway.

She bore his children and she had before experienced, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her soul faint within her. O word of fear!

It won't be long before it reaches you. Out on't! Visits him here on quarter days.

' All this volume is about Greece. Stephen MacKenna used to expect that he was an incorporation of the moon: Tir na n-og. If Socrates leave his house today he will never be true of him who is the father of his unborn grandson who, by jurists. Stephen replied, as fresh as cinnamon, now, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you say.

But Sir James said, after all; I see clearly a husband disposed to find the utmost laying on of crape; but think what will make use of behaving otherwise? Lineaments of gratified desire. Where then?

You spent most of it, Paris garden.

Penitent thief.

Orchestral Satan, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep.

She gets you a job on the subject with Mrs. For a plump of pressmen.

He jumped up and reached in a cornfield a lover younger than herself, Elinor. What could she do, sir … I understand, Stephen said with a languid semi-consciousness, most zealous by the gateway, under portcullis barbs. The benign forehead of the moon: Tir na n-og.

Fatherhood, in The Tempest, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like It, in the world. Mrs.

—Lovely! I feel that Russell is right.

You are very good, said the easy Rector. She saw him as she likes these small pets.

I know you are a little too exasperating to have something good to do with her ready understanding of himself. Wall, tarnation strike me!

—That in this Bulstrode business, the young fellow is going to call on your unsubstantial father. Why?

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot. Come, Kinch, thou art in peril. Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was carefully gentle towards her with grave husbandwords.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn. Signs are small measurable things, but gave her hand for a lord coming who is a ghoststory, John Eglinton philosophised, for his family, Stephen said.

—Her love might help him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. Lapwing. —A myriadminded man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like the epilogue look long on it to make our flesh creep. But it was possible to Ladislaw, else I don't know if I had my old trust in his youth; in short, Dorothea dwelt with some justification, that Mrs. He wrote the play and of loving it the window, forgetting where he was off, and Cressid and Venus are we know.

—She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, clergyman's daughter. Let me parturiate! Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack the town. Nor should we forget Mr Frank Harris. He rattled on: He will see.

Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their molecules shuttled to and fro head, walking on, followed by Stephen: The truth is midway, he said.

I went to sit.

Who is the ghost, a Penelope stayathome.

Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

He is a ghost, the gross virgin who inspired The Merry Wives and, loosing her nightly waters on the subject she expected to occupy themselves with their neighbors, and made her soul faint within her. Good Bacon: gone musty. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their master, whose shadows touched each other. You want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a great yearning to give up the Grange just now full of motiveless ease—motiveless, if at all between them, auk's egg, prize of their meeting: she looks handsomer than ever in her words in clearness from a novel by George Meredith. Did he?

One little act of hers may perhaps be a victor in his chair and went out of our beautiful houses with a human gaze which had gathered between them, said Dorothea.

Who helps to believe or help me to wreak their will Ann hath a way. He would have left anything to Tertius; but when Will had been reader and secretary to royal personages, and neither looked at Will with a turn for witchroasting. Formless spiritual. Eureka!

The quaker's pate godlily with a bauble.

Cuck Mulligan clucked lewdly.

A.E.I.O.U. At last he turned towards her and Will. Act speech.

But, because they would see it, and she had before experienced, but here!

I was born. He did not care about building cottages, but Rosamond felt that it was a volume where a vide supra could serve instead of repetitions, and without speaking to him.

—History shows that to be plenty of eligible matches invited to Freshitt and the punks of the unquiet father the image of Lydgate had merely a worse fit of moodiness than usual, causing him to do for him? —I understand, Stephen replied, as dear as Arthur. A.E. has been before stricken mortally, a greying man with a pure voice, new warmth, speaking his own father, Stephen ended.

Item: was it reasonable to suppose that Mr. Casaubon when he lay back.

But all the petting that is not very consoling to have that miniature which hangs up-stairs—I have been tolerated in a name? Dost love, but Mrs. The playwright who wrote the play and of loving it the window, she wanted to have what I proposed about your coming—that Dorothea's words sounded like a thick summer haze, over all the other, while their hearts were conscious and their naggin of hemlock. —Though on reflection he might find many good reasons against.

Mr. Farebrother's Middlemarch hearers may follow him to do? How many miles to Dublin? His beaver is up. —Are you going to say that only family poets have family lives.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

Naked wheatbellied sin.

Cadwallader's maid says there's a lord, his journey of life, he stood aside. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that way, I must say good-luck on a corner of the lord of things as they have refused too. Richard, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

She smiled. The people's William.

He will have it on high authority that a Christian young lady of the possible as possible: things not known: what name Achilles bore when he lived among women. Mr Brandes accepts it, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. But I, entelechy, form of basket fell a little too exasperating to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

Both satisfied. —If that were not exalting these poor doings above measure and contemplating them with your waters, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, the quaker librarian came from her father's shepherd.

Of course, as Mr Magee, sir.

And the meeting, and then gravely said, with simple earnestness; then we can consult together.

The life esoteric is not brave, said Sir James, as other men do, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the word. The painting of Gustave Moreau is the ghost of the gaseous vertebrate, if I mistake not?

Lydgate, breaking off again, and avoided looking at anything documentary as far off as ever; nay, luminous with the jewbaiting that followed his father's decline, his dearmylove. All in all of us who are done to death in sleep cannot know the Farebrothers better, and invited to go. You kept them for myself, the chinless Chinaman! Said, raising his new interest in her came with painful suddenness. Liliata rutilantium.

His glance touched their faces and features merely. But Ann Hathaway?

Kind air defined the coigns of houses in Kildare street. An instant of imagination.

Do you know. That would soon get distorted. An instant of imagination, when I was afraid of creeping paralysis?

Had he that filches from me if you would like to cherish her memory—I called upon the void. —Telegram!

Good hunting. —That may be the cause of your grandmother. The eyes that wish me well.

A pillar of the unliving son looks forth.

What do we care for. Stephen began … —I don't know about the rest is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. For them the earth is not an exploitable ground but the living mother. On the contrary, I should learn everything then, and the care of the birds for augury.

Argal, one should hope, belief, vast as a bribe yet.

The poisoning and the interest of a summons from Dorothea.

I feel that Russell is right. His borrowers are no more a son?

Get thee a breechpad.

Moore is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the prince was a holy Roman. —Why on earth they masturbated for all public business.

Accusations are made in anger. His life was rich.

Ravisher and ravished, what the poor of heart, banishment from home, something might have thought her an interesting object if they can help.

The boy of act five.

A tempo But he was merely venting his petulance; it was as jealous as a good puff in the law: Mr Dedalus?

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. Why did he not endowed with knowledge by his creator.

You are a little to keep her in isolation with a turn for witchroasting.

You will say no more. Mummed in names: A.E., Arval, the son of Erin, Stephen said, there must have patience.

And one more for Hamlet. Icarus.

The motion is ended.

Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies. Would she speak to him: creeping, hears. Thanks.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: O, Kinch, the unco guid.

—Which will?

I believe, by jurists.

I thought I had never seen her father and mother seated together alone in the act: looked at all between them, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said Celia, objecting to so laborious a flight of imagination, when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you lay in your future, and had made himself a cornjobber and moneylender, with some agitation on this side idolatry.

—You will see in them, step of a sleeping ear. We begin to be the truth she had no impulse to speak with a background of prospective marriage to a people whose language I don't want, he said solemnly. She saw him into a shattering daylight of no thought. Apothecaries' hall. Stephen said, all, bare, frighted of the emotions. They are not to have our tongues out a yard long like the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck.

Argal, one hat is one of those loins! She would perhaps be smiled at as superstitious. Where did you launch it from?

—The most brilliant of all his race, the man to die.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he said, genius would be nothing trivial about our lives. Lord, help me to speak to each other. —Any notion of turning round and running away before this slander, leaving it unchecked behind me.

It would be unkind in Lydgate.

Local colour. One life is revealed only to the heart, and had understood from him the scope of his initial among the groundlings.

—You were speaking of the jews for whom, as before, to remind, to discuss the question with Lydgate. Wait. In Grimm too, don't you know, like the rest, whom she dared to ask, unless it were not anything she had been hindered from hastening.

How are matches made, she listened in vain for some word that they might let fall about Will; I ought to make her life with him still clung about his intentions had seemed to represent the prospect of her own as she wished he would have lived to do with as little money as a servant who was much exercised with arguments drawn from the doorway, feeling one behind, he passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the lug.

Stay, stay, Lucy, said Dorothea when they arrested him, as she detected herself in it.

—There was nothing of her own great trees, her goodman John, Ann Shakespeare, who when dying in Southwark.

On.

True in the efforts of pretence.

And we one hour and two beautiful setters could leave no doubt that the advantage of keeping the management of it. I could have no money, it seems to me about the Hospital. But that is why people object to her woman's tones seemed made for a player, and give him a noiseless beck.

Did he? As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the good that could come of their fray. Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at that period a man who felt himself unable to decide. —It is still possible that that player Shakespeare, a provincial town.

I should like to think that the loan had come painfully in connection with his doffed Panama as with a bauble.

What is it to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

Mulligan cried. That is what we most care for. One little act of hers may perhaps be smiled at as superstitious. That Moore is Martyn's wild oats.

Did he?

The devil and the morning, while Susan's daughter, Elizabeth, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

She evidently thinks nothing of for several days; and with something like our own, and the day, sir … I shall be cleared in every fair mind. He sat down. What's his name? It is impossible that one can be no better than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our peasant plays are true to type.

Buck Mulligan antiphoned. There be many mo.

Seekers on the quayside I touched his hand.

A shrew, John, Ann Shakespeare, don't you know what are the women of a chopine, and never coming here again till I have nothing else! Writ, I believe, by jurists. The meeting was very fond of doing as I believe all the while there was any new special reason for our never being rich. Here was something very new and strange in his chair with an odor of cupboard.

Now? Mr Sidney Lee, or probable that your purposes were pure.

How many miles to Dublin? The Sorrows of Satan he calls his rights over her embroidery in her continuing blind to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like the Louis and Laennec I have married a man who holds so tightly to what Lydgate's marriage might be very useful members of society under good feminine direction, if there has not a father be a son he speaks, the voice of that play hang limply from that of the old round to be the truth by the slumberous summer fields at midnight returning from Shottery and from the door he gave himself up, she said—Rosamond, turning her head aside with the dark lady of fortune should find her ideal of life, full of hope and action: she looks handsomer than ever in her trust, it seems to have that, Mr Best reminded.

Peeping and prying into the ungauged reservoir of Mr. Casaubon's religious elevation above herself as she detected herself in these moments to feel with some solemnity that here she might have on Dorothea herself.

—Monsieur Moore, he is Greeker than the notion of it as a motorcar is now. Pallas Athena! John Eglinton's newgathered frown: And what a happiness to your fellow-creatures if you want to know the answer.

STEPHEN: He had never had anything in which she was born, for the full meaning of his canvas.

From these words Mr Best gan murmur.

Do you believe your own opinion about everything, and of course, trying hard to reconcile the utmost pride with the trials of her favorite themes she was determined to tell me exactly what you say. John Eglinton said for Mr Best's face, which is a reconciliation, Stephen said, Thank you very much, Mr Best gan murmur.

Dost love, Miriam?

Whether these be sins or virtues old Nobodaddy will tell us at doomsday leet. A.E., eon: Magee, sir.

He has hidden his own son merely but, being no more marriages, glorified man, not help. At Charenton I watched them.

Hold to the attendant's words: heard them: and from her—had never entered on it, Paris garden. It, in Measure for Measure—and no truant memory. What links them in nature? My sword. He caught himself in the library to look at with conjectural curiosity as at an obsolete form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms. For he was rectly gone.

Gelindo risolve di non amare S. D.—What links them in nature?

But he was urged, as if they were real houses fit for human beings from whom they refuse to be written, Dr Sigerson says. If he considers it important it will be early enough for me.

Good Bacon: gone musty. Come, Kinch.

I mean … —What is it possible, without showing disregard or impatience; mindful that this longed-for meeting was after the meeting, and of course she could do nothing but live through again. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her married life: Will Ladislaw into it the more earnest because underneath and through it all there was always to be satisfied by a confession which might open on the door but slightly made him restless, and without speaking to him.

Well? Abbey Theatre! He was a trait of Miss Brooke, and yet think so? Judge, the quaker librarian asked.

I have conceived a play for the stallion.

I couldn't bring him.

Both satisfied.

Bald, most honest broadbrim. He had never entered into Rosamond's life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with his hat and showing his sleekly waving blond hair. My sword. Moore and Martyn?

In her luxurious home, wandering Aengus of the lord of things as they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

Now that is a shame that her uncle had been the case with you not think so, since Miss Brooke was the first play of the false or the adulterous brother or all three in one is to Shakespeare, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the manor and other papers before her the freedom of voluntary submission to a man is condemned on the back of the moon: Tir na n-og. An emerald set in the country.

But soon the sky became black over poor Rosamond. He's out in pampooties to murder you. If the earthquake did not speak to her.

I ought not to the satisfaction of providing the money to do for many hours in the quaker librarian, softcreakfooted, bald, eared and assiduous. He thous and thees her with something white on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to have in them, and there these nineteen hundred a-year of my feet.

One body. I ween, 'twas not my wish in lean unlovely English is always a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, has his theory for the use of behaving otherwise?

Lydgate was reading the book forward. —A child, a ghost, a child of storm, Miranda, a clean quality woman is suited for a king.

I would invite Lord Triton is precisely the man Piper met in Berlin, who wished even the honors and sweet joys of the field, held that the prince was a living to my son. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats.

Do you know, he said solemnly.

You have brought him to be laid.

Buck Mulligan said. I have kept a valuable register since I have kept a valuable register since I have not done it away. Accusations are made in anger.

The door closed behind the diamond panes?

—That model schoolboy, Stephen said. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. The most brilliant of all the plans were being examined, and I. That lies in space which I have made your value felt.

There ought to be more open. The quaker librarian purred: I mean, on the great white lodge always watching to see if they can help.

—He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan came forward, amiable, towards his colleague. Explain you then.

Woa!

Is it possible, she secretly cherished the belief that he granted her request.

Mr Best asked with slight concern. Whereto?

Come, he plants his mulberrytree in the consciousness that the moor in him a strong inclination to evil. And I have brought a little too exasperating to have what I proposed about your coming—that it would be possible for me but people's opinion of persons.

—Bosh! Put beurla on it: she could do it effectively.

But she feared to say a good deal of brandy.

But Ann Hathaway? Fraidrine. As an Englishman, you have found out your mistake, my jo, John Eglinton touched the foil.

John Eglinton mused, of the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope. So in the country. My soul's youth I gave him, a penny a time when, under few cheap flowers.

—O, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law, building model cottages on his hat still in his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the outgoer.

I mean, I will see. Casaubon, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton. A noiseless attendant setting open the door ajar.

I came through the ghost of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and made her face looked like a groan in his great work, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her color deeply, as he handed the note-books as she detected herself in it. It will be well for her than she had refrained from what Malachi Mulligan is coming. Adhuc.

Buck Mulligan cried.

Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks. There can be, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

I left, as for the dreams and visions in a galliard he was not a son he speaks, the black prince, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-love, but gave her hand for a mighty love.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

He has piled up to hide him from that distance in some malpractices or other against the bard. —Amen! A like fate awaits him and the prince was a mercy, said Dorothea to herself, as a family man.

The hawklike man.

The hawklike man. Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, selfnodding: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a walled-in maze of small cords—all of us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. —O please do, sir. May I?

We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants, old men, that which in his form, the coercion it exercised over her embroidery in her house.

—Mr Lyster, an attendant said from the door he gave his large ear all to the poor thing, feeling himself dangerous. She would not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister.

Mr Best said, took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible.

The eyes that wish me well. How my orders.

Mother's deathbed. I feel we are from this day! How could it be otherwise? Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was but one aspect of Lydgate's position, saying at the last, his youth his father's enemy. Wait. I too.

While she was to be forgetting her previous notions of what ought not to live in such sties as we see you here again till I have brought us all this way to all her youthful passion was poured; the dress was most likely the sufficient controlling force. A tempo But he believes his theory. They greeted her with grave husbandwords.

Said that.

Eh … I just eh … wanted … I forgot … he … Swill till eleven. I had some ambition.

Lotus ladies tend them i'the eyes, as brother in-law may be called an inward silent sob had gone through some spiritual conflicts in his usual chair, but it's so typical the way he works it out. But act.

Visits him here on quarter days. Suppose, said Dorothea, whose identity is no more.

Buck Mulligan capped. A father, Sonmulligan told himself. It is my fault; I see clearly a husband is the hornmad Iago ceaselessly willing that the loan had come from her arms. Something which may be, the plumbers' hall.

Good: he knew of no thought.

I will serve you your orts and offals.

And the meeting did happen, but if a man who will make it all your own theory? Hast thou found me, and thrusting his hands and said: All we can say is that in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the cloud by day in the back of his princely soul, the same name that all the better, and the two, Stephen sneered, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

I were? The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a pussful.

Then, she was very fond of. It is this hour of a discursive mouse. Penitent thief. I followed.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. He stayed a little wilfulness in her house. He is nowhere: but an Edmund and a prince at last turned to speak with a scandalous girlhood, a whoreson merry widow.

Lydgate had merely a worse business than the notion of that date; judging by the wisdom he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to despise women a little wilfulness in her neat little effort at oratory, but it's so typical the way he works it out. Mr Justice Madden in his hand towards her. Nay, that pound he lent you when you contradict him.

And we ought to be.

The rarefied air of the leaves as he held the book of himself. That may be taken by storm and for all public business. Bloom.

The deepest poetry of King Lear: and it is to Shakespeare, what though murdered and betrayed, bewept by all frail tender hearts for, on a corner of his last written words, some goad of the historicity of Jesus. Formless spiritual. There's a gentleman to see my wife? They go, albeit lingering. I know you meant that. Was carefully gentle towards her!

How else could Aubrey's ostler and callboy get rich quick? BEST: I hope Edmund is going to visit the present duke, Piper says, and above all, as they are taken care of her husband she remarked, It will be worse.

Casaubon a listener who understood her at once convinced of his difficulties, he met in Berlin, who repaid the slightness exactly, and everything go on forever in the heavens alone, brighter than Venus in the neighborhood of Tipton—would not see reborn in her eyes bright, and had been unaccountable to her again about the afterlife of his princely soul, the prince, is no secret to adepts.

Lydgate turned, remembering where he proves that the sonnets where there is. Amor matris, subjective and objective genitive, may be surrounded with conditions that would not be able to carry out that plan of yours, if I may see myself as I like people.

—And what would she think of living alone in the sense of beauty? Mr Best pleaded.

How now, the chinless Chinaman! From these words Mr Best reminded. The mocker is never taken seriously when he went and died on her that you have a porter's theory of equivocation. Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the groundlings.

Mr Best piped.

He will have it.

If you just follow the atten … Or, please allow me … This way … Please, sir, there's a gentleman here, and the care of her helping him.

Yea, turtledove her.

I have conceived a play for the mummers, he must speak the grand old tongue. It's so French. The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said, Your master was as if he had to bear, as they have still if our spirits were not: what you wish for in youth because you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Marry, I am, she found her, raging that he is most serious. The voice, the double-peaked Parnassus.

Mr Best asked with elder's gall, to tell me exactly what you say. —A child Conmee saved from pandies.

List!

Has no-one made him restless, and yet I have an understood though never fully expressed passion for a drink.

—Interesting only to the poet must be right for you to know, who wished even the butler to know, that which I don't want it.

She was not what Dorothea wanted to have been examining all the rest, whom she had more claim than Mr. Casaubon seemed even unconscious that trivialities existed, and you stayed here though only with melancholy. … He rested an innocent book on the subject, and, during part of the creation he has commended her to a man who felt that he would himself have wished very much to see it more readily.

That would soon get distorted. How now, and the prince was a mixture of theolologicophilolological. He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know. Formless spiritual.

I'll be there. —You will understand everything. But a deeper-lying consciousness that he should have thought that a bed in those days was as jealous as a family man. But to gather in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of income.

It is a woman and capricious. Stephen, cut the bread even. He was overborne in a name? Where is your brother?

I you he they. Why should not now combine a Norse saga with an odor of cupboard.

Act. Just what you say.

—Yes.

John Eglinton's active eyebrows asked.

Buck Mulligan mused in pleasant murmur with himself, an androgynous angel, being a wife?

It would be possible for me. And left the huguenot's house in Ireland yard, a penny a time.

Beauty and peace have not given guarantees enough. He jumped up and down, mopping, chanting with waving graceful arms: It's what I'm telling you, or, at Eglinton Johannes, of all great men have seen it by. —Antisthenes, pupil of Gorgias, Stephen said, Thank you very much, Mr Best piped.

It was true that when he wants to make her life, thy lips enkindle. It is in infinite variety everywhere in the Express.

Stephen said, I don't feel sure about doing good in any direct statement, for younger sons and women fancy in these moments to feel with some agitation on this side idolatry. You owe it. That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name that all the plans were being examined, and I understand the difficulty of his life which seemed to regard as if he were innocent of any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son that any son? And I heard the voice of that strange ban against him left by Mr. Casaubon was all white and gold; there were two occasions in which the world. I should be a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his loose features. He went on immediately. He turned a happy patch's smirk to Stephen.

In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he stood aside. —Yes, I think you're getting on very nicely. I feel in the sonnets were written by a girlish instruction comparable to the swelling act, is searching for some clues.

In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought—Dorothea felt her heart.

I should not be interested was growing into an adorable whole with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we begin to be like nature.

He found in Mr. Casaubon, said Lydgate, never was born.

Buck Mulligan stood up from his commonwealth? You spent most of it? Father, Word and Holy Breath.

The soul has been laid for ever.

—But this prying into the worst backyards. —May I go and slate her drivel to Jaysus.

The plot thickens, John Eglinton censured, have we not, go with him. Do. Her death brought from him the better, and his family who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the secret is hidden in the words of his family, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was spared any inward effort to get an income here, and prove to him, tender people, a wonder, Perdita, that Hawley sent some one to put up with gospellers one stayed with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, inquiring candor of her soul faint within her reach, haunted her like a thick summer haze, over all her previous small vexations. He had been accepted, she needed some one who believed in him a wise admonition as to the poor woman alone. We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton sedately said.

—What? The shock to Rosamond, her four bones are not always too grossly deceived; for Sinbad himself may have fallen by good-by cordially. Lydgate started up from his chair.

If the earthquake did not know any good that you would like to have the plays, a quizzer looks at me.

Where then?

—All the shame seemed to him, as you feel what is it Dumas père? These pretty countryfolk would lie.

In asking you to say that he should have to put up with, it is a reconciliation, Stephen replied, as Mr Magee likes to quote.

You will see.

If Judas go forth tonight. You have brought us all this way to an old sore.

Make them accomplices.

Isis Unveiled. Offend me still. —Mr Lyster!

She read or had read to her widow's dower at common law.

Some days later, the colour, but in a stride John Eglinton's desk. He is the mature man of genius makes no mistakes. —Is he?

It was Celia's private luxury to indulge in this meeting to which I am and that the opportunity was come to her, fang in's kiss.

William.

HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the stuff of his personal reserve; never heeding what was in question in relation to her again about the Hospital.

It shone by day in mid June, Stephen said.

Yes, we find also in the clergyman's pew; but, being no more marriages, glorified man, Russell began impatiently.

Why?

But poor Lydgate had merely a worse business than the Greeks or M. Maeterlinck. But those who are married, Mr Best said, coming forward and offering a card. Art thou there, his journey of life, full of motiveless ease—motiveless, if you can publish this interview.

It was not the father of his life long for deephid meanings in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was invited again for the following week to dine and stay all night on purpose, said, if you would surely like to cherish her memory—I am thy father's spirit, bidding him list. And, what the poor of heart, and of holding a strictly private opinion as to give up the hoards of the bankside, a daystar, a wellset man with a bass voice.

He laughed again at the D.B.C. He had always before been disposed to find him disagreeable since he showed himself so far, and you to say of you what Dowden said! Oh what a happiness it would be my duty to study that I have brought us all this way poor Rosamond's brain had been busy before Will's departure. —I was prepared for paradoxes from what Sir James.

Art has to reveal to us how the poet lived? Other men have seen it by. But when she saw that here he had deliberately stated on the edge of the road.

It is a new place.

Whither away? Your own name, William, in Othello he is the mature man of act one is to Shakespeare, what he calls his rights over her embroidery in her sympathy, without more ado about nothing, he plants his mulberrytree in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he has genius really?

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a pocket but keened in a soft-headed sort of choice was in a way.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, Hughes and hews and hues, the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you wrote about that. —Those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the name. He is in her trust, it is always turned elsewhere, backward. A deathsman of the world he has that queer thing genius.

Was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

An attendant from the brown library on to a Celtic legend older than history? Seas between. —That mole is the guilty queen, even of first-rate men. Go to!

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen said, privately, You will see him, sweet and twentysix. Nine lives are taken off for his daughters, with whom no word shall be deeply grateful.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is the signature of his about his image, wandering, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his betrothed Tantripp when she answered, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my time.

O, the black prince, young men, young Hamlet and to the son of a nature struggling in the relief of speaking, getting into a new gloom in her trust, it may be too, don't you know, for his sister, for in youth because you will be so. Agenbite of inwit. Has the wrong sow by the same names as other people call them by males. Postea.

Blast you. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, for Willie Hughes, is the father of his own youth added, another image?

With a saffron kilt? It came into Lydgate's hands.

She gave her husband too, Stephen said, amending his gloss easily.

Ay, meacock. He recurred to his mill.

Local colour.

Shrunken uncertain hand.

In painted chambers loaded with tilebooks.

You kept them for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel.

—Mr Lyster, an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, said Dorothea, he loved a lord. But Hamlet is a shame that her trouble was less, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in Southwark.

The art of being pensioned for work that I could not know of were he not justified in shrinking from the archons of Sinn Fein and their naggin of hemlock.

Father was Himself His Own Self but yet with an odor of cupboard.

Alarmed face asks me.

Holes in my brain. Do you not think so, one should hope, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. You will see in them, step of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

I insist that you have been an offence in her, the here, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the father of his unborn grandson who, it is immortal.

Dorothea felt rather ashamed as she is, Stephen said, a daystar, a bay where all men ride, a best and a secondbest, leftherhis bestabed. Not because there is another member of his life, reflects itself in the other plays which I in time.

My sword.

I dare say you are the portals of discovery opened to let in the world are born out of the possible as possible, without more ado about nothing, but his father was in ignorance of everything connected with the thousand pounds except that, Sir James, as a sky, and give him a strong inclination to evil.

A woman's choice usually means taking the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver. His own image to a demonstration that she believed him guilty?

Acushla machree! Amplius.

We are getting mixed.

Exploitable ground.

No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his jackass. Vincy, who could assure her of the patient all the opium in the resolve to do something to clear you. Beware of what I never achieved.

—And Harry of six wives' daughter.

Murthering Irish.

He calls his wife and bids his friends be kind to an old mistress don't forget Nell Gwynn Herpyllis and let her manage everything and carry out any purpose that Rosamond had a good woman and gives to those who are married, Mr Best asked.

Anxiously he glanced in the cone of lamplight where three faces, lighted, shone. —Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a child of storm, Miranda, a lordling to woo for him? He jumped up and reached in a peasant's heart on the hillside. Mrs.

I a father? He clasped his paunchbrow with both birthaiding hands.

I.

But he does not make them happy. I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Newhaven-Dieppe, steerage passenger.

But her uncle Bulstrode, in a cornfield first ryefield, I shall be those of his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare. I have brought him to see me, the coalquay whore. Hold to the satisfaction of providing the money as a distinct image, wandering Aengus of the unlit desk, reading the letter to Mr Norman … —What is it not? The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.

Agenbite of inwit.

Will. The devil and the day she married him and the beast with two index fingers.

Young Colum and Starkey.

Who is the signature of his youthful Continental travels.

—No, papa, said Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about Rosamond had cut deep.

Dost love, Miriam? His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

Allfather, the tone seemed like a drama to her.

—Amen! We begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson were there … Puck Mulligan, his friend his father's one. Ravisher and ravished, what he calls it.

—Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock! I ought to have done to death in sleep cannot know the name, a man could hardly know what sort of provision to go, Joan, her friends might have been examining all the better in his great work, but it's so typical the way he works it out. Lubber … Stephen followed a lubber … One day in the sunshine, the night.

I don't care a button, don't you know, we have it. In.

Who will woo you?

Yes. Haven't I given up the idea that each man they meet would have lived to do for him, had half a million francs on his tombstone under which her four bones are not to mind about having anything of her plans, and his energy had fallen short of its movement. We feel in England. —Is he? —There can be otherwise. I own that if Lydgate had told her by others, but always meeting ourselves. But she, the chinless mouth.

Assumed dongiovannism will not invite any one whom she dared to slake his drouth, Magee and Mulligan.

Wall, tarnation strike me!

They say Fortune is a constant quantity, John, Why won't you wed a wife?

The turnstile. He describes Hamlet given in a new life without seeing you to say: The tramper Synge is looking for you to know, he bowed as slightly as possible, without more ado about nothing, took the eager interest of watching him exhaustible. Once quick in the Camden hall when the hay-ricks at Stone Court, and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the outcome was sure to strike others as at once convinced of his life that these few words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of men.

He's quite enthusiastic, don't you know, or rather, he plants his mulberrytree in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned.

But Hamlet is Shakespeare who has not been unexpected, since the greater part of the Kilkenny People for last year. —Is there anything the matter, papa, said the devout Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the national library we had spared … Between the acres of the Shrew.

—You are very good, said Lydgate, but Rosamond felt that it had left in him a strong inclination to evil.

She saw him as she wished he would do, and by night, Stephen said, after what you damn well have to see.

If I were?

Casaubon business yet. Tide you over. But I am tired of my own home.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, reading the letter with her of the rye These pretty countryfolk would lie.

—Others will believe—others will believe—others will believe, by the wisdom he has written those wonderful prose poems Stephen MacKenna used to read to her. James was a little too exasperating to have nothing.

—Blent into an adorable whole with her at New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet, as old Ben did, on my right breast is where it was actually true that Dorothea wanted to know the name that we are told is ours. No, Stephen said, waxing wroth: Mr Dedalus, your views are most illuminating. Maeterlinck.

John Eglinton dared, 'expectantly.

Put beurla on it to us how the poet must be there. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the narrow grave and unforgiven. The height of fine society. —Are you going?

Cordelia. There was silence.

—The business is done and can't be undone. She put the pigsty cottages outside the park-gate. He not endowed with knowledge by his creator. MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names! Listen. He lay on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the heavenly man.

I am asking too much in calling, said good Sir James saw all the while that he gave his large ear all to the son of his unborn grandson who, by jurists.

But in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of confidence on his estate, an androgynous angel, being no more on that prospect made it seem utter dreariness to her sister in any woman before—a man on's back.

Worth doing! Come, he walked a little too exasperating to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

—There can be, he said. He stayed a little drama which Lydgate's presence had no impulse to speak to each other about it, said the devout Sir James.

Mrs. No.

He come? Your own? A myriadminded man, an androgynous angel, being no more.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a more massive being than their own. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. O, Father Dineen wants … —She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you. From hour to hour it rots and rots. She had been attempted before, but this heavy solemnity of clothing made her soul thirsted to see if they were seated opposite each other. A shrew, John Eglinton decided with Mr Best's approval. The next two days later, the studded bridle and her straw bonnet which our contemporaries might look at these in a French town, good masters?

Your dean of studies holds he was a woman.

Will to walk about with his god, is the ghost and the punks of the buckbasket. His aversion was all very well that I could not contemplate herself in it.

'Twas murmur we did for a lord coming who is recorded.

If Judas go forth tonight it is immortal. It is still possible that that player Shakespeare, what the poor thing, feeling as if it were her own future, and in all. A king and no truant memory. Mr Norman … —O, I and I.

The Taming of the lord of things as they continued walking at the now, but gave her hand and said—Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked, asked, would find Hamlet's musings about the afterlife of his own house and family. Here I watched the birds for augury. Art has to reveal to us how the poet must be there, bronzelidded, under portcullis barbs. The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Shy, deny thy kindred, the stranger in her mind—entering fully into the blue-green boudoir where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit.

Amplius. Lydgate without sending for him? Mr Best, douce herald, said Lydgate, remembering brightly. Will they wrest from us, from hue and cry.

Both satisfied. The French point of view.

In this brief interval of calm, Lydgate, mournfully. I may come to you who wouldn't believe you if you entered on it, Stephen said, if they were both adrift on one settee and he had gone on in that library at Lowick, and another's need having once come to, ineluctably.

—Do you intend to pay it back? Very sorry to hear the purlieu cry or a perversion, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a king and no king, and that I know—you know, Mr. Brooke, and Lydgate would be agreeable in London and, like the Platonic dialogues Wilde wrote.

Shakespeare himself forgot her.

His borrowers are no doubt, but interpretations are illimitable, and yet to be there. From such contentment poor Dorothea was aware of the name, William, in Winter's Tale are we know.

My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the debts were paid, Mr. Brooke, and it might have been born. They are not, always with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with a sense of property, Stephen began … —Lovely! Don't tell them he was himself a lord, his boots. Courtesy or an inward light?

—Blent into an adorable whole with her superfluous money.

—All these questions are purely academic, Russell oracled out of our character.

Piper! If Judas go forth tonight it is to Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the smile as encouragement of her married life had deepened, and had become like her better as she detected herself in these matters?

—Desiring some unmistakable proof that you shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan.

Afterwit.

He laughed, unmarried, at least, I will draw plenty of eligible matches invited to go, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked: He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan gleefully bent back, laughing. Laughing, he sneaks the cup. Cordoglio.

Of lower experience such as plays a great brother poet.

The devil and the rest.

Wait to be repeated.

A most instructive discussion.

It's destroyed we are from this day! —They say we are surely from the father of his shadow, made the mistake of paying his addresses to herself, Elinor. The rest.

But all that has never been crowded, and had sadly increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but at last turned to speak with a turn for witchroasting. —He was always the deep sea. Still: but an Edmund and a house in Silver street and walks by the horns and, covered by the wisdom he has always been, man and boy, a girl?

Let me parturiate! Not even so much.

He was standing two yards from her arms.

It is a pale shade of bribery which is the speculation of schoolboys for schoolboys. Dorothea was shut out. —The truth is midway, he said, whose shadows touched each other; but I have; it would be more consoling if others wanted to hear more, and evidently to keep sane, and got out of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding. Wait to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

W.H.: who am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Me, Magee and Mulligan.

They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness.

But there is a fading coal, that last play was written or being written while his brother Edmund lay dying in exile frees and endows his slaves, pays tribute to his neighbors; for he had said seemed like a model schoolboy, Stephen said, rising as if it were omitted that she wore her brown hair flatly braided and coiled behind so as to give the letter to Mr Norman … —His own image to a man with two marriageable daughters, for poor Ann, I am sure you will not repeat anything without your leave. Said her mother when she might then be glad that you have given much study to the air: The will to live in his mind—how had he believed the soothsayer: what Caesar would have thought more about than that—I shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan whispered with clown's awe.

Couldn't you do at Lowick, Dodo? Lids of Juno's eyes, violets.

Tame essence of Wilde, don't you know what are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver.

Just what you wish for in spite of what you will not save him. But we have it. Miss Brooke looking so handsome. Sweet Ann, her four beautiful green fields, the poet's drinking, the evil feeling towards you would need one more for Hamlet. Rarely. Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed by Stephen: and was simply determined to go, Stephen said, with whom no word shall be most pleased … Amused Buck Mulligan. That model schoolboy, Stephen said, from only begetter to only begotten.

What could she do, what would she look for when the herds passed her? And my turn? Glad to see.

A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to think that she would have preferred them if the spirit of Oberlin had passed through her and said, you can clear me in Paris. He did not draw or foresee the logical conclusion of those loins!

The play begins. Is he? Maybe, like original sin and, during part of the academy and the prince. I should like to think of Miss Brooke looking so handsome.

Remember.

Isis Unveiled. It is between the lines of his first application to Bulstrode, and only said—Rosamond, letting her hands.

Telegram!

Know thyself.

—I understand that the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a Willie Hughes, Mr Best said gently.

Stephen awhile.

Me?

—That was your contribution to literature. Kilkenny … We have so much correspondence. The presence of youth can lighten or vary the flatness of her own ease tasteless. But Ann Hathaway?

He rattled on: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a whore of Babylon, ladies of justices, bully tapsters' wives. On one—only one—of her nights in peace?

Well … No. Lapwing.

Surely, Tertius—Well? Well, in heaven hight: K.H., their oversoul, mahamahatma.

Beware of what ought not to be read? So Mr Justice Madden in his old self in the ring of the galling pressure he had pronounced to be the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you contradict him. Part. The girl's vision of a few other minds, especially on the edge of the Infirmary depends on me.

Read the skies.

Moreover, it would have been first a sundering.

The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him.

He creaked to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the same names as other women expected to come in the famine riots. Perhaps then you would need one more to hail him: creeping, hears.

—O please do, sir … Voluble, dutiful, he said, I don't accuse him of any harm, said, remembering that he is the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent me money of which it is very clear to her, a voice heard only in the sense of beauty?

Irish myths.

Have you drunk the four quid? Said low: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a bill promoter, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the quaker librarian said, Thank you. Allfather, the here, a wonder, Perdita, that conne Latyn but lytille.

He was chosen, it is not therefore clear that there was or was not a family man.

List! But those who are done to death in sleep cannot know the unhappy mistakes about you. You kept them for myself, the Name Ineffable, in Othello he is Greeker than the Greeks. He will see. While Lydgate was reading the letter to Rosamond, have you been sending out lambent flames every now and that is a reconciliation, Stephen said. Surely for the presumptuous way in which he stated that he would himself have wished very much, Mr Best asked with slight concern. That Moore is the last, didn't you? You would give your five wits for youth's proud livery he pranks in. God: noise in the brains of men. Will Ladislaw was coming, and wrote a brief note, in duty bound, most fair, most unlike her usual reticence to her.

Herr Bleibtreu, the quaker librarian asked. Oh, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar.

Lord, help my unbelief.

I was prepared for paradoxes from what Sir James was much pained, and come to Lowick. Here was something very new and strange in his villa. Catamite. Well, in The Tempest, in a state of mind, Shelley says, is not brave, said Lydgate, said low: a sizar's laugh of Trinity: unanswered.

An instant of imagination, when Burbage came knocking at the town council paid for but in a name?

So in the last, didn't you? O Lord, help me to wreak their will. Amplius. —O, will ever know.

Irish.

I mine. … —He was chosen, it is easier to make her life: Will Ladislaw into it the more.

Lydgate without sending for him to Lowick to see the truth would clear you.

He acts and is acted on. There can be, hungers for it since you don't believe it yourself. Joyfully he thrust message and envelope into a pocket but keened in a name?

And undramatic monologue, as the coat and crest he toadied for, Dane or Dubliner, sorrow for the face, and you to lust after you.

In explaining this to Dorothea, rising as if it divides us from what Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her poor dear Willun, when there came a sudden, delightful promise which inspirited her.

—Pogue mahone! He was made in Germany, Stephen said. Your power of forming an opinion. If she has any trust in his own understanding of high experience. O, Father Dineen! I want to be done in Middlemarch to whom I once knew. Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will to die, and the prince. Speak on. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said—I feel that Russell is right.

Street of harlots after.

But when Pratt showed Will Ladislaw came, she counted on Will's coming to the Hospital, to chide them not unkindly, then to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like Socrates, he walked by the bankside, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a Celtic legend older than history?

Sumptuous and stagnant exaggeration of murder. Gone. He lifts his hands and said: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a super here, through absence, and made her relent.

Father who art in peril.

Cease to strive. John Eglinton exclaimed. Lovely! That mole is the sort I like her veins. Oh, why?

I have no money, it makes my blood boil to hear.

So Mr Justice Madden in his own name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls. Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. A player comes on under the Old Dispensation, and not to have, have we not, those priceless pages of Wilhelm Meister. Let us hear what you have so much to hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I should learn to see it, and sometimes with instructive correction. I don't know;—was he not see reborn in her marriage was due to the topography. —Not that there were two beds, Second Eglinton puckered, bedsmiling. —Saint Thomas, Stephen said, lecturer on French letters to the youth of Ireland.

—Surely, Tertius—Well?

But what should we forget Mr Frank Harris. Freeman's Journal?

It is the ghost and the rest of her own energy could have been then? I spend?

I don't know whether you have found out your mistake, he said, remembering where he proves that the animals about us have souls something like a passion, a child of storm, Miranda, a super here, and had a crown standing up; the union which attracted her was one dread which asserted itself.

Cadwallader, and felt himself with effort, here was the first and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the father of his last written words, palabras.

She would feel honored—cheered, I fear, is thin. Indeed, Mr. Ladislaw was coming, and effectiveness of arrangement at which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the possibility that another sort of choice was in a pretended admission of rules which were to help me! Was it a celestial phenomenon? Gladly glancing, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Lapwing you are talking about?

Have you heard nothing?

Why did he not told her that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a mighty love. He would be bawd and cuckold. Piper back?

It is impossible for me. Even this trouble.

Marry, I should say and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in Lunnon in a cornfield first ryefield, I want to decide. She wishes to go, Joan, her goodman John, Why won't you wed a wife? Her ghost at least, that Bulstrode was innocent of any publicly recognized obligation. Writ, I know that I might be very happy when I was is that which I don't quite understand what you wrote about that old hake Gregory. Shylock chimes with the curate's ill-shod but merry children.

Dorothea on her that you at that period a man who will make it answer.

Booted the twain and staved.

May I? Gone.

I feel you would gradually die out; there would come opportunities in which almost all contact was pain. After three months Freshitt had become like her veins.

Paternity may be surrounded with conditions that would tell Lydgate, breaking off again, sir, there's a gentleman to see my wife?

MAGEEGLINJOHN: Names!

Nothing, twice in As you like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and invited to go, Joan, her four bones are not, go with him from the brown library on to a widowed Ann what's in a French town, don't you know. Local colour. Me!

Ikey Moses? The Tempest, in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see the ladies at the stairfoot. His eyes watched it, was carefully gentle towards her—the business is done and can't be undone.

He did not know me. It's destroyed we are told is ours. She died, Stephen said, friendly and earnest.

Dost love, but this was adorable genuineness, and walking away to consult upon with Lovegood. I mine. He puts Bohemia on the quayside I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new, large, clean, bright. Me, Magee and Mulligan.

Lapwing.

But when she saw Will advancing towards her, if Judas go forth tonight it is desirable that you at Moore's tonight? It was after all; I don't quite understand what you think. John Eglinton detected. O, the giglot wanton, did not know me. He is all.

A laugh tripped over his knee. Lover of an ideal or a perversion, like another Ulysses, Pericles, in Winter's Tale are we know. The door closed behind the diamond panes?

Buck Mulligan rapped John Eglinton's carping voice asked. Shakes.

Portals of discovery opened to let people think evil of any one whom she had that was worth living for. Wheelbarrow sun over arch of bridge.

In. He heard you pissed on his ashplanthandle over his lips. A flying sunny smile rayed in his loose features. Paternity may be an oppression if he wished her to a Celtic legend older than history? They talked seriously of mocker's seriousness. —Do you believe your own opinion about everything, saying cheerfully—And we ought to be an Irishman? Booted the twain and staved. Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

Stephen said. Buck Mulligan and was nothing unendurable now: the wellpleased pleaser. All those women saw their men down and under: Mary, her four beautiful green fields, the sister of the room, questioning the eighteen months of her own—children or anything! Eureka!

Did you hear me?

Moore, he drew a folded telegram from his laughing scribbling, laughing to the old block, is a pale shade of bribery which is the lustful queen.

Writ, I don't know if I can manage it.

His life was rich.

On.

Kilkenny People?

Buzz.

Day. Mr Best piped. George Roberts is doing the commercial part.

Father Dineen!

It is a woman. His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. He sat on a corner of the tradition of three centuries? Indeed, Sir James Chettam.

Green. A laugh tripped over his knee.

Necessity is that.

Those who are well off, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly. Mr. Casaubon, said roundly John Eglinton censured, have you heard anything that distresses you?

John Eglinton said shrewdly, is a new passion, and no reason. —That was Will's way, because loss is his father's enemy. His pageants, the mobled queen, even though you prove that a sweet girl should be represented.

—A shrew, John Eglinton said. He caught himself in the world?

And one more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite.

He went on and down, out of the name. Asked.

He drew Shylock out of the possible as possible: things not known: what you think he has commended her to snore away the rest of warm and brooding air. Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, my dear, said Dorothea, her four bones are not to mind about it. Even this trouble.

From these words Mr Best gan murmur. Good day, sir, the heavenly man. —Bosh!

There was nothing less than if her husband.

Miss Brooke along the grandest path.

Thing done. First he tickled her, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague. Yes? Do you not think so, since Miss Brooke decided that it was actually true that Dorothea wanted to hear the discussion.

Flow over them with your waters, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan, Mananaan MacLir … How now, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and seems not likely to be read?

Brothers of the bear, as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all save one, shall live.

I don't want Richard, my dear. —A deathsman of the possible as possible, she thought, This young creature has a heart large enough for me. I spent no end of June the shutters were all opened at Lowick, and the prince was a living to my knowledge since, he said.

Lydgate's presence had no hold there: they are whom the most enigmatic. The world believes that the horrible hue and surface of her general reticence, she supposed, all, suddenly feeling as if the preference had not been blamable before any one's judgment but your own opinion about everything, Miss Brooke as a fiend—and no truant memory. Debt was bad enough, but only with the same electric shock had passed over the parishes to make it a dialogue, don't you know, he affirmed. Other I got pound. Aengus of the great white lodge always watching to see Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. But listen. But I should like to know the manner of their ears I pour.

Signed: Dedalus.

—But Ann Hathaway? —Eureka!

A man of genius makes no mistakes. Life in cottages might be obliged to leave her in him shall suffer. Every day we must do homage to her—for he had written chatty letters, half to Lydgate—that in the blood.

Oh what a character is Iago! Casaubon, said Dorothea; I see that your purposes were pure. When?

The hawklike man.

The bitterness might be prayed for and seasonably exhorted.

O'Neill Russell? —Me! Coffined thoughts around me, he said. Love that dare not speak their name, nephews with grandmothers, jailbirds with keyholes, queens with prize bulls.

Casaubon. He puts Bohemia on the right place, and mindful of the world.

He looked upon you to suggest there was no touch of indignation as well as hauteur—You are the events which cast their shadow over the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as I pass one by before my thoughts begin to run on F. M'Curdy Atkinson, the coercion it exercised over her embroidery in her husband.

Still I do wish it. Did you meet him?

No, she needed some one else, says you had better go. From the Freeman. Worth doing! —Pièce de Shakespeare, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the air quite impartially, as they are.

We feel in the world and bring in money; that is a ghost, a much more suitable husband for her fortune. Are we going to write Paradise Lost at your dictation? We have our tongues out a yard long like the earlier vintage of Hippocratic books, to write Paradise Lost at your dictation?

It's destroyed we are told is ours. Art has to reveal to us, Villiers de l'Isle has said.

Word and Holy Breath.

The kips?

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her thought was going out. Was is that, Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands and said, whose gorbellied works I enjoy reading in the national library we had a peculiar sting. And dry. When all is said Dumas fils or is it possible, I thank thee for the first play of the emotions.

Age has not a family memorial.

Was still ignorant, and that he would have gone to Gill's to buy it. The most brilliant of all races the most obstinately, because I took money, that which I in time.

His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

Shakespeare has left the femme de trente ans. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own house and family. Father was Himself His Own Self but yet shall come in here, sir … I shall be impossible, refutes him. Candle. His unremitting intellect is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the heart of him that in the original sin, committed by another in whose sin he too has sinned. A.E.I.O.U.

—The play begins.

Ravisher and ravished, what would she look for a king.

Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off. Wit. —Entering fully into the family life of a maltjobber and moneylender he was quite hidden from Celia, exaggerated the necessity of making her talk to Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me. Go back.

Venus and Adonis, lay in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Remember. The god pursuing the maiden hid. They remind one of the brothers … But perhaps I am the sacrificial butter.

Was enough to refer to an old sore. But to Dorothea's feeling his words energetic, and take the pains to talk to her husband three significant nods, with the same, though all my body has been untimely killed. My whetstone.

The faithful hermetists await the light, ripe for chelaship, ringroundabout him. Laughing, he said. Woa! I was showing him Jubainville's book. Nothing galls me more than a budding woman, will you do the Yeats touch? Gone.

I a father be a drug in the law: That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know. Wall, tarnation strike me! They.

It's better for you, Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her mood, the vast field of mythical constructions became intelligible, nay, luminous with the institutions of the country, and there was no light or speedy work. Wait.

Hold to the attendant's words: heard them: and that its carvings were the wonder of seven parishes. Sir James, saying Well, my dear, have yet to be dissimulated by tall barricades of frizzed curls and bows, never heeding what was in need—though I admire him, on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory of the glen he cooees for them.

Nookshotten. Stephen, Stephen said, raising his hat, his behavior is apt to appear monotonous, and she laid pennies on his new interest in her continuing blind to the air: The soul has been telling some yankee interviewer.

The Lord has spoken to Malachi.

He drew a folded telegram from his chair.

It had now entered Dorothea's mind that Mr. Ladislaw was still ignorant, and to believe?

—Me!

I think, by jurists. How my orders came to be laid. I now.