#terror by letter
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if-you-fan-a-fire · 2 years ago
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"7 YEAR SENTENCE FOR BADALINI THE BLACKHAND MAN," Sault Star. January 29, 1913. Page 1. --- Sent A. Greco Threatening Letter Demanding Money on Pain of Death. --- WAS WELL CONNECTED AT HOME IN ITALY --- Copy of Letter Given Below Offence a Serious One. --- ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. Badalini, with a seven-year sentence hanging over him, attempted suicide in the jail this afternoon, endeavoring to sever the arteries of his left wrist with a a piece of looking glass. His injuries are not considered serious.
Baldo Badalini, who sent a threatening letter to Alphonso Greco, demanding money was sentenced to seven year's in penitentiary by Magistrate Elliot this morning. The letter demanded money "not less than $20 and not more than $50" to be placed in a specified place along with the letter or things would be made hot for the family, the killing to start with the dog and end up with Greco and his mother. Crown Attorney McFadden was in charge of the case.
Mr. Uriah McFadden, solicitor for the defendant, put in an eloquent plea for him, pointing out that he was well connected in Italy, his father being an advocate and his mother a school mistress. But the magistrate saw the offence as serious one, and one that had caused much apprehension among he members of the Italian colony, and thought that a stiff sentence was the proper thing.
The following in a copy of the letter that Greco received:
Dear Greco: The Black Hand is implacable. I beg you to bring tomorrow a sum, not less than 820 and not more than $50, behind the house of Geanetti Geovanni (enclosed in an envelope.) You must put i it behind the seat of the sleigh, which which will be near to Baccassanojs. Besides this, you must put this letter with the money. I beg you not to mention a word about this to anyone, or else it will go bad with you and your family. With this money we shall have to pay the court of Toronto for the liberation of one of our friends from prison. If you will do what we ask ask, you may rest assured you will lead a tranquil life, but if not harm will come. Two stick's of dynamite and six bullets will be directed towards you, unless you do exactly what we want you to do. Be careful to do what we ask you for the first and last time. And remember that our hand is strong and and long. Then you will live peacefully all your life, and whenever it may be in our power to help you we will not fail you. Thanking you in advance, we wish you to put this letter with the money. If you want to live peacefully, do as you are told, and if you want to shed blood, we will begin with your dog, and finish with you and your father. If you say a word to anyone you are all lost. Our hand is long and powerful.
[AL: Badalini was 20, from Italy, a carpenter, and had no previous criminal record. He was convict #F-546 at Kingston Penitentiary, and he worked mostly as a carpenter. He was only reported twice - once in June 1913, being put in solitary for 48 hours, and in July 1913 lost 3 days remission. He was deported in 1919.]
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asparklethatisblue · 1 year ago
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When you spend a semester abroad and then can’t help peppering in the new language you learned into everyday speech…
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suddenly-frankenstein · 8 days ago
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and then they've never seen each other again
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cockroachesunite · 3 days ago
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James Fitzjames in his letter to John Barrow jr. 10th July 1845
(transcript from May We Be Spared To Meet On Earth)
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saturnniidae · 10 months ago
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Lying to myself everytime Hiccup sends a terror mail in Rtte. Idc about coloration differences, it is Sharpshot. Sharpshot didn't just disappear after Dob.
Hiccup still has him, and loves him, and takes care of him. And he sits on Toothless' head and they play together sometimes but also have an incredibly one-sided rivalry centered around trying to impress Hiccup. And he bothers Hiccup while he's working because he likes laying on his desk like a cat. And for all the shit he gives them, he loves Hiccup and Toothless so much and they're like a little family. He's still there guys he's just chilling in Toothless' saddlebag most of the time.
The series may have forgotten about Sharpshot, but I have not. He is still there and so are all the other dragon riders' trained terrors.
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crancisfrozier · 11 months ago
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One thing I really wish they would have had more time to develop in the show was the relationship between Crozier and James Clark Ross. Like there’s a little of it there but not “My Dear James who I will walk an hour to see, who I went to Antarctica with and spent many a night with at the observatory, who made the doctor write to him about my health when I was sick, and who I confided my deepest insecurities to” levels. It makes the ending hurt so much worse. Like historically thats your best friend in the whole world!! Right on the other side of that tent!! He has literally traveled thousands of miles into unforgiving terrain to find you!!! You are sacrificing something you hold so dear because you can’t forgive yourself!! You are rejecting love in the name of penance!!!
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anchorsnreignbows · 7 months ago
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whoops too real
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moongazeonastarfillednight · 7 months ago
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Thinking about James Fitzjames sharing with Elizabeth C. the letters he received from these little girls to show off their penmanships and express how much it touched him to receive them 🥺
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And little Fanny be all: "Frostbitten toes be upon thee!"
God, children are magical and that's the most precious thing I've ever read.
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willow-al-najjar · 11 months ago
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When a Palestinian woman wants to pray at Al-Aqsa on Friday.
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shyjusticewarrior · 11 months ago
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Jason + Calling Them His Family (An Analysis)
I've noticed that when Jason refers to his family as family in front of them it has a sarcastic or smart ass tone. It's italicized, has quotation marks, and/or is part of a quip.
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Meanwhile in his conversations with others and in his internal monologue, he straightforwardly refers to them as brothers and family.
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if-you-fan-a-fire · 3 years ago
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"ARSENIC CLUB," Hamilton Spectator. April 24, 1912. Page 10. ---- Poisoning of Horses Leads to Belief That a Branch Exists in Toronto ---- Canadian Press Service. Toronto, April 24. - As a result of the discovery by Dr. A. R. Pyne that the five horses of N. Brenner, Hagerman street, died from arsenic poisoning, the belief is freely expressed in the city this morning that a branch of the Arsenic club of America exists in Toronto. The club, which is known to have operated in the state of New York in much the same manner as the black hand society, undertook to wreak vengeance for individuals in the Jewish community, by poisoning the horses of their enemies at a fixed sum for each animal. Threatening letters were first sent, and if demands were not met, the death of the horses followed.
Brenner received threatening letters, as did also several others in the local Jewish community who have lost their horses. The police are experiencing great difficulty in getting Information, however, as those who have been threatened fear violence if they give out any information. Notwithstanding this reluctance, several arrests are expected in the near future.
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eleanorcrane · 18 hours ago
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my love for you is deathless
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gabriestat · 9 months ago
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the terror : 1x09 'the c, the c, the open c' / in memoriam by alice winn
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cockroachesunite · 8 months ago
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and this, of course, is Fitzjames sleeping in his boots
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secretmellowblog · 1 year ago
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It’s fascinating to see how much Jean Valjean’s characterization lines up with modern descriptions of PTSD. When Jean Valjean is triggered by upsetting reminders of the galleys —or believes he might be forced to go back to the galleys—he often forgets where he is, has “panic attacks” where he becomes disconnected from reality, doesn’t hear people when they’re talking to him, and behaves frantically/desperately or attempts to flee as if he’s being attacked even if no one is actually attacking him.
When he comes across the chain gang with Cosette, he becomes frozen in terror and seems to believe for a moment that he is the one being pursued:
Jean Valjean’s eyes had assumed a frightful expression. They were no longer eyes; they were those deep and glassy objects which replace the glance in the case of certain wretched men, which seem unconscious of reality, and in which flames the reflection of terrors and of catastrophes. He was not looking at a spectacle, he was seeing a vision. He tried to rise, to flee, to make his escape; he could not move his feet. Sometimes, the things that you see seize upon you and hold you fast. He remained nailed to the spot, petrified, stupid, asking himself, athwart confused and inexpressible anguish, what this sepulchral persecution signified, and whence had come that pandemonium which was pursuing him.
(….)
Jean Valjean returned home utterly overwhelmed. Such encounters are shocks, and the memory that they leave behind them resembles a thorough shaking up.
Nevertheless, Jean Valjean did not observe that, on his way back to the Rue de Babylone with Cosette, the latter was plying him with other questions on the subject of what they had just seen; perhaps he was too much absorbed in his own dejection to notice her words and reply to them.
In Arras, he spends most of the night overwhelmed by a sense of unreality that often turns to terror, and at one point even blindly runs through the empty halls of the courthouse “as if pursued” in a moment of panic:
He sought to collect his faculties, but could not. It is chiefly at the moment when there is the greatest need for attaching them to the painful realities of life, that the threads of thought snap within the brain. He was in the very place where the judges deliberated and condemned. With stupid tranquillity he surveyed this peaceful and terrible apartment, where so many lives had been broken, which was soon to ring with his name, and which his fate was at that moment traversing. He stared at the wall, then he looked at himself, wondering that it should be that chamber and that it should be he.
(…)
As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost forgotten that door. His glance, calm at first, paused there, remained fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little became impregnated with fear. Beads of perspiration burst forth among his hair and trickled down upon his temples.
At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which does so well convey, “Pardieu! who compels me to this?” Then he wheeled briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor, broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued.
When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself up with a shiver.
In the bishop’s house, he panics at the sound of a door opening:
He decided on his course of action, and gave the door a third push, more energetic than the two preceding. This time a badly oiled hinge suddenly emitted amid the silence a hoarse and prolonged cry.
Jean Valjean shuddered. The noise of the hinge rang in his ears with something of the piercing and formidable sound of the trump of the Day of Judgment.
In the fantastic exaggerations of the first moment he almost imagined that that hinge had just become animated, and had suddenly assumed a terrible life, and that it was barking like a dog to arouse every one, and warn and to wake those who were asleep. He halted, shuddering, bewildered, and fell back from the tips of his toes upon his heels. He heard the arteries in his temples beating like two forge hammers, and it seemed to him that his breath issued from his breast with the roar of the wind issuing from a cavern. It seemed impossible to him that the horrible clamor of that irritated hinge should not have disturbed the entire household, like the shock of an earthquake; the door, pushed by him, had taken the alarm, and had shouted; the old man would rise at once; the two old women would shriek out; people would come to their assistance; in less than a quarter of an hour the town would be in an uproar, and the gendarmerie on hand. For a moment he thought himself lost.
He remained where he was, petrified like the statue of salt, not daring to make a movement.
He often behaves as if on autopilot, mechanically doing actions without seeming to understand what he’s doing or hear who he’s speaking to, the way he unfortunately does with Petit Gervais:
“My piece of money!” cried the child, “my white piece! my silver!”
It seemed as though Jean Valjean did not hear him. The child grasped him by the collar of his blouse and shook him. At the same time he made an effort to displace the big iron-shod shoe which rested on his treasure.
“I want my piece of money! my piece of forty sous!”
The child wept. Jean Valjean raised his head. He still remained seated. His eyes were troubled. He gazed at the child, in a sort of amazement, then he stretched out his hand towards his cudgel and cried in a terrible voice, “Who’s there?”
Prison had such a massive horrific effect on his mind, and on the way he interacts with the world. He’s constantly living under this sense of terror and paranoia that he’s being pursued, that he will be brought back to the galleys, a terror that often turns into blind almost-mindless panic.
It’s been mentioned before and is a kinda basic analysis, but Jean Valjean’s prison sentence was really far more than nineteen years— the severe mental physical and emotional trauma from those nineteen years lasts his entire life.
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parhelios · 2 months ago
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sorry guys i can't come in to work today i'm thinking about god's special little lamb and sacrificial victim of all time irving
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