#what a delightful cameo thank you sir

[hotasfahrenheit]

GOD HE'S SO PRETTY UGH LOOK AT HIM

LOOK AT HIIIIIIIM

[nikkento-writes]

Overtime in the Office

Rating: explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: office au, explicit language, smut - mutual masturbation, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex (doggy), cream pie, voyeurism (sorta in the end)

Author’s Note: This started off as a drabble, then I got horny so it became a one-shot LOL. Hope you enjoy some office sex with our hubby (plus a little naughty cameo from our boyfriend Ino) :3 animated banner credits to @/cafekitsune.

It’s another late night in the office. Normally, Nanami would not waste a second of his precious life on overtime, but the both of you decided to put in a little extra work the past month to splurge on business class for your upcoming anniversary trip. Just one more week of this and the two of you will be flying off to paradise for ten days of total bliss.

“Sir?” Ino pops his head into Nanami’s office. “I’m taking off now.”

Nanami stands up to meet him at the doorway, nodding. “Thank you for all your hard work. You know you didn’t have to stay late for me, right?”

Ino grins, running his fingers through his brown hair. “I know. I just wanted to take care of a few things before you leave for vacation with your wife.” He swings his backpack over his shoulder, giving Nanami a wink before turning to leave. “Have a good rest of your night!”

Nanami finds the wink slightly odd but quickly dismisses it. Back in his office, he checks his phone briefly to check a message from you fifteen minutes ago, mentioning that you’re finally finished with work. Determined to meet you at home soon, he hunkers down once more in front of his computer, ready to finish this last report before heading out for the weekend.

Too soon after Ino’s departure, Nanami hears footsteps approaching and he’s certain it’s him, back to retrieve something he forgot in his cubicle. To his delightful surprise, it’s you, carrying a plastic bag of take-out in one hand and your regular work purse in the other.

“Honey,” he greets you, hopping up onto his feet to wrap you in a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”

You snuggle into his neck. “I wanted to surprise you! I asked Ino to stay a bit longer so he could let me in.”

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “So that’s why.”

You lean into him, smiling against his lips. “I brought you a bento.”

“Yeah? So sweet of you.” He grabs the bag from your hand, dropping it to the floor, interlacing his fingers with yours. “How’d you know I was hungry?” His voice is soft as velvet, his breath hot on your mouth with every word he speaks, the last coming out in a growl.

You toss your purse behind you, pulling him into a feverish kiss, the both of you starving for something not in either of the bags you brought in with you. It isn’t the first time you’ve been intimate in his office; unbeknownst to all his colleagues at work, your husband is quite the fan of office sex. After all, you helped him christen this very space just several months ago when he first got promoted. While he normally likes to follow order and stick by the rules, crossing the line and taking risks with you excites him. Nobody else knows about his dirty little secret, so no harm, no foul.

The two of you make your way towards his desk, your ass pressed to the very edge of it as he scatters kisses down your neck, his fingers expertly working on unbuttoning your blouse. His mouth moves to your collarbone, across the sternum, to the cups of your bra. His gaze lands on yours, a naughty smirk on his lips. “Feed them to me.”

You moan, ecstatic from the mere thought of him ravishing you. Hasty now, you unlatch your bra, baring your breasts to him. He licks his lips before flicking his tongue on your nipple, enjoying the way it peaks against him. He surrounds you with his mouth, sucking hard while you moan his name, already wet in your panties.

“Touch yourself,” he huffs, pushing both your breasts together to lick as he pleases. “Get yourself wet for me.”

You suppress a giggle, knowing damn well how soaked you are already. There’s arousal leaking through the crotch of your panties when you slip out of your slacks, kicking them away to the side. Your heart races with anticipation, yearning and aching to feel him even deeper against you, inside you. Obeying his demand, you reach your hand underneath the waistband, middle finger tapping wildly at your throbbing clit while he suckles at your swollen teats.

He releases you from his mouth, the resounding pop loud in the empty office. “Fuck,” he curses, nose trailing down your stomach, past your navel, his unsteady breath tickling your bare skin until he’s facing your clothed pussy. “Don’t stop,” he says, his gaze unwavering as he tugs your panties down your legs, watching you pleasure yourself. “I want it really creamy.”

You let out a whine, impatient and needy for his cock. Though you can’t deny how much this sight turns you on, him on his knees for you, his erection strained in his pants, bulging against the fabric, ready to burst. Savoring the moment because he knows that the second he’s inside you, he will lose all composure and go insane.

Swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth, you spread your legs wider, one hand gripped tightly to the edge of the desk for stability, the other massaging circles around your clit, trying to put on a show for him. It’s not enough; you need more. Nanami tilts his chin up to smirk at you, his brow quirked. “Need some help, sweetheart?” he teases, as if reading your mind.

You avert your eyes, refusing to look at him, embarrassed. “Maybe.”

Laughing, he unbuckles his belt, zipping down the fly of his slacks to pull out his hard cock. You can’t help but look at him now, watching his fist coiled tightly around the shaft, precum leaking at the tip. “This is what you do to me,” he whispers, stroking himself fast. “You like seeing me like this, don’t you?”

“Kento,” you whimper again, fingers working faster, close from just at the sight of him jerking off.

His jaw clenches, his patience wearing thin. Suddenly, he grunts, “Fuck, I need you. Need you now,” tearing your hand away to get his own taste. He pins both your wrists against the edge of the table as he eats you out from below, all tongue, lips, and spit, making you weak in the knees as you succumb to your first orgasm of the night. The next one comes when he starts to moan with his mouth surrounding your clit, two fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, coaxing the second orgasm out of you quickly. You can feel his wicked grin against you as you struggle to stay standing.

He rises onto his feet, turning you around so that his chest is to your back, his cock hard against your ass. “Can you give me one more sweetie? One more so I can fill you up?” He nuzzles his nose to your ear, so sweet and affectionate, yet so naughty.

Fucked out of your mind, you nod, complying easily by bending over the desk. His grip is firm on your waist as he slides himself up and down between your folds, teasing you until he can’t resist any longer. He slides in smoothly, your pussy so wet from the previous orgasms. You stay still for him, taking him all in. “That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that,” he says, voice like honey as he encourages you. “Just feel me.” There’s the most subtle crack that only you recognize as his sanity starts to waver. “And when you’re ready, use me. Fuck me how you like.”

That’s something else Nanami likes to do with you; give you control, let you set the pace, put your pleasure first. And when you absolutely lose it, so much that you’re babbling nonsense and seeing stars, he takes matters into his own hands. As you thrust yourself onto his cock back and forth, your fingers practically digging into wooden surface you’re gripping so tightly, moaning so loudly that you’re sure somebody will hear you, euphoria consumes you, turning you into putty right before him.

“Good girl,” he purrs, holding you from behind, nuzzling his nose to the nape of your neck. “That’s my girl.” Soft kisses along your shoulder, a sweet peck on your cheek. And then, the switch. An obvious growl now when he says, “It’s my turn.”

He fucks you until he fills you up with his cream pie, which doesn’t take long considering he’s managed to keep himself on the very edge since the moment you arrived. When the both of you have caught your breaths, he guides you back upright, spinning you around to face him. “It’s been a long couple of weeks,” he admits, cheeks flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, his composure returning to normal.

You wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your nose to his. “I know.”

He embraces you lovingly. “One more week.”

“One more week,” you repeat, kissing him.

You both hear it; a sneeze of a young man who accidentally left behind something in his cubicle, right outside of Nanami’s office, the door wide open. Your husband sprints out into the hallway in an attempt to catch him, but he eases up when he notices the blur of a brunette wearing the black beanie he forgot in his cubicle, struggling to pull his pants back up as he hightails it out the exit.

Okay, so maybe one other person now knows about his dirty little secret.

[moongothic]

Hey so also have Sir Crocodile brainrot and have recently reread Impel Down. This is probably nothing at all but it made me question the artistic choice made. Like we dont see Crocodiles full face until Luffy recognizes him. Before that tho he joins in on Jinbei & Ace's convo about Whitebeard and is shown to (non-)react to Boa Hancocks visit. But we only get his face in shadows or see the hook. Which. Why. Oda we know what he looks like and who the guy with the stitches on his face and the hook is. WHY OBSCURE HIM.

My friend, this is what we call a "cocktease"

Okay jokes aside, yes it was an artistic choise. More specifically, a storytelling technique Oda masterfully used to build up hype and excitement to Crocodile's eventual reveal and re-introduction into the story.

So thanks to Ms Goldenweek's cover story (which ran back during Water 7/Enies Lobby) we already knew Crocodile along with Daz, Bon-chan and Galdino had all been sent to Impel Down, when we also learned about Impel Down, Marineford and the Gates of Justice (+ the giant whirlpool between the three locations) to some extent. ((Now of course, if you were an anime-only then you would've had no idea about the former BW members being in Impel Down. And even if you had read the manga you still would've had to actually pay attention to the cover story and its lore, and not forgotten all about it))

So even before Luffy decides he's going to head to Impel Down to save Ace, we know Crocodile's going to be somewhere down there. The second Luffy arrives there, we are immidiately reminded of the fact when Domino mentions Crocodile taking the traditional "bath" new inmates take at the entrance. And as we descend deeper and deeper into Impel Down, with those cuts to what's happening down at Level 6 every now and then, as well as with the Baroque Works Countdown, Oda time and time again keeps on reminding of us of Crocodile's looming presence in the background. This is all absolutely deliberate. Crocodile was arguably the most iconic (maybe not most popular but iconic) One Piece villian at the time, if given an opportunity of course the readers wanted to see him again. But just letting us see him right away would be anti-climactic, and distracting from what's actually important (Ace, and Luffy getting to him as fast as possible). So keeping him hidden could serve multiple purposes:

For one, Crocodile doesn't get to steal the spotlight from the other characters (at least not too early). We can focus on Luffy, Ace, all the new Impel Down characters and the other returning characters in peace, while Crocodile waits for his turn. Another thing is that Crocodile's presence being downplayed gives off the impression that perhaps him being there isn't that important to the story. Thus, him teaming up with Luffy to break out isn't such an obvious twist (and so when that happens, it's ever more hype as a result)

But indeed, the most important part is that by teasing us constantly through out Impel Down, Oda creates hype. He makes us the readers excited if/when we might get to see the bastard, even if it was just a quick little cameo. So when Luffy finally reaches Level 6 and we finally do get that reveal, everyone loses their fucking marbles over the HISASHIBURI DANA MUGIWARA when we finally get to see The Motherfucker Himself. (And indeed, then getting to see him fight alongside Luffy is cool as fucking hell, completely unexpected and absolutely delightful)

But there's also another thing building up to Crocodile's reveal does. Compare his original introduction to the re-introduction

Compare Crocodile at the height of his power and influence, to the absolute rock bottom he has hit. No longer happily laughing while looking down on people (literally), he's filthy, he has given up on life, with sunken eyes and a hollow look on his face, only moved by a thirst for petty revenge (/an opportunity to go out with a bang). He doesn't even get the whole page for his grand reveal anymore, he's been shuffled to the side so the plot can progress on the same page.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

And to some degree, this is kind of meant to be a shocking realization to the readers. That this is not the same Crocodile we remember from Alabasta, that Crocodile died when Luffy defeated him. This is just the husk that remains, a shadow of what was once there. It's a sad sight, and probably not what the readers who loved Crocodile The Villian wanted to see. It's not the epic Return of the (Evil) King they wanted. And that juxtaposition helps, because Crocodile doesn't return into the story as a villian, but as a frenemy/ally-on-thin-ice. And that idea is easier to signal to the readers in a lowkey manner when you do his re-introduction like this.

So yes, Oda refusing to show Crocodile's face until Luffy found him was 100% a deliberate artistic choise. This is fantastic storytelling

[rygoespop]

Thomas and Friends: Legends of Sodor (Story 29): Rusty and The Passengers

Narrator: Rusty and The Passengers

Scene opens with Rusty, oiling down the line with a Slate Car and a Blue Box Van

Narrator: Rusty, the little Diesel Engine works on the Skarloey Railway, he’s known for repairing the rails and working at the Blue Mountain Quarry

Scene transitions to Rusty arriving at Crovan’s Gate, Mr. Percival was there

Narrator: But one day, as Rusty arrived at the station, there stood Mr. Percival

Mr. Percival: Duke is at the Steamworks getting inspected, so I need you Rusty, to look after his Passenger Train

Rusty was surprised

Rusty: M-me sir?! But I haven’t pulled a passenger train before!

Mr. Percival: Well it’ll be a first time

Scene transitions to Rusty, buffering up to the Narrow Gauge Coaches, 2 Blue Coaches and a Green Coach

Narrator: Soon, Rusty backed down onto the Passenger Train

The guard blew his whistle and waved his green flag

Narrator: The guard waved his flag

Rusty: Well, here goes! *honks his horn as he oiled away with the coaches*

Scene transitions to Rusty, oiling down the line with the coaches

Narrator: Soon, Rusty was finding that pulling a passenger train wasn’t bad at all, he was enjoying himself

Rusty: Well, this is a nice change

Rusty oiled into Rheneas Station, as Passengers exit the coaches

Narrator: Soon, Rusty arrived at the next station, and the passengers were pleased him

Passenger: Thank you Rusty, that was kind of a Smooth Journey

Rusty was delighted, as he oiled away with the other passengers

Narrator: Soon, Rusty set off to the next station

Scene transitions to Rusty arriving at Lakeside Station

Narrator: Later, Rusty arrived at the next station, Rust admired the lake

Rusty: My, that’s a nice lake over there

The passengers got off and thanked Rusty

Narrator: The passengers thanked Rusty, as Rusty sets off again

Scene transitions to Rusty arriving at Crovan’s Gate, as Evening Came, also showing cameos on the Standard Gauge such as Arthur puffing down the line with 5 Lynton Vans and Neil puffing through with 4 trucks full of crates, Duke was there as well as Mr. Percival

Narrator: As evening came, Rusty arrived back at the station, Mr. Percival was waiting

Mr. Percival: Well done Rusty, thanks to you, Duke’s passengers made it on time

Duke: Rusty, I don’t know what to say, but thank you my friend

Rusty: Anytime Duke, I’m glad I’m here to help

Duke and Rusty chat with each other as they become good friends

Narrator: Duke and Rusty share each other’s stories, as they became good friends

Scene cuts to black, and showing The Mainland, with Railway Superintendent and The Mainland Controller were at a Station, waiting for an engine

Railway Superintendent: Oh, where is the Duchess of Hamilton? She’s suppose to arrive to pick us up

The Mainland Controller: She’s on her way, she’ll get us to the Railway Museum, as we got a new addition when Sir Topham Hatt arrive with Thomas

Soon, a whistle was heard, as the scene cuts to Black

Duchess of Hamilton: Sorry I’m late, now shall we get to the Railway Museum?

Coming Soon for the 79th Anniversary: Thomas and The Railway Museum

Story End

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Sky x Prapai The Full Course Meal (Episode 8)

Sweet baby Jesus, it’s not just crumbs anymore folks - FINALLY! I’m just warning you all, I was writing stacks when we had barely anything to go on, so now we’re getting full length episodes - expect thesis or short novel length posts going forward. I may even have to split them into parts if I feel particularly deranged.

I don’t even know where to begin. There is SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT.

So we start off with a recap of the initial encounter at the race and the one night stand. What they actually made very clear is that Sky is very taken by Prapai also, he’s almost dazed at first by Prapai’s attentions. He obviously does willingly go ahead with Prapai’s proposition but in the trailers they always made it seem like Sky was doing so very reluctantly. So I’m relieved that Sky was fully into it (in the moment at least). Boy WENT OFF. I’m surprised Prapai didn’t have whiplash.

Now there were a few key moments in the first part of the episode that made my heart utterly ache for Sky, but I’ll delve into that in a separate post.

Prapai then proceeds to spend nothing short of a lifetime (approximately 89% of of this episode) pining, reliving, day-dreaming, being a complete and utter pathetic, starstruck puppy. Like sir, get a grip. He’s an even bigger dumbass than I imagined. We also get a quick cameo of Prapai’s little bro, who seems to be an even more chaotic little shit than he is. (Chaos runs in the family evidently). Prapai somehow looks fairly grounded when in the presence of his little brother, which is definitely saying something. Oh Sky, I pray for you when you get invited to one of those family dinners.

So Sky does eventually pick up those mysterious calls, and doesn’t clock its Prapai, because why would he? But the mystery is soon resolved when Mr Wind God (as he so unashamedly dubs himself) shows up in person. Darn you Rain, you have a lot of explaining to do. And thank you, I got my scene of Rain having to beg for forgiveness, which was an absolute delight.

And then the final scene with the sunflowers. Yes, Prapai is godawful cheesy. Painfully cheesy. Embarrassingly so. Like the man is nowhere near as smooth as he believes he is. However, what he said did touch me and also Sky by the looks of things. You could tell that his comments completely winded Sky for a moment. He couldn’t believe someone - anyone would say something like that to him, even if he thought what was coming out of Prapai’s mouth was complete drivel.

Now, time to cap and gif the shit out of this episode. Stay tuned.

[fandomlurker]

A Ponderous Rewatch: Cameo in Sir Yaksalot

We’re having a mini-post about a cameo for this entry, and it’s the longest and most involved cameo yet. Plus, it’s animated by TMS Entertainment, which is always a delight to see.

Let’s take a look at “Sir Yaksalot”.

This has nothing to do with Pinky and the Brain, but I thought I’d point it out anyway since I find it delightful. Back in the late 1970s, TMS Entertainment animated the Lupin the 3rd “Red Jacket” anime series. In this episode the very first populated scene has an appearance by Jigen, who is one of the characters in that anime. I imagine this easter egg flew right over the heads of most of the western audience back in the 90s. It’s so charming that TMS made reference to their old work all these years later.

If you’ve never watched this Lupin the 3rd anime, have a few out-of-context bizarre and funny moments from the series to get a taste of it. It’s a delight.

Anyway, the basic run-down of this episode is that it takes place in Camelot, where Sir Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table live. All is pretty peaceful until a dragon starts attacking the place, burning down houses, and roasting people alive in the street.

…Like so.

But hey, that doesn’t have anything to do with our duo of mice, right?

Well, I hate to have to spoil the whole twist to the situation here, but it’s kind of important to do so for the analyzing purposes of this rewatch. So what’s the twist?

The dragon is actually a mecha assembled and piloted by Pinky and the Brain.

I’ve gotta say, this is actually quite bizarre for the duo to do. Brain’s plans are nearly always non-violent. And even if the odd plan involves violence or lasting harm, Pinky is quick to admonish Brain for doing so.

But now in this episode we have them terrorizing a kingdom, burning down houses, burning folks left and right… What’s going on here?!? I mean, I guess the part where they’re roasting people is moreso in a cartoony character-is-just-blackened-with-soot-and-they’re-fine kind of way, but still.

OH LORD, IT’S HEADED FOR US!

Anyway, the “dragon” defeats the knights of the kingdom and begins trying to break into the castle.

We’re going to skip a large part of the story here as it doesn’t involve the mice directly. All you need to know is that King Arthur asks Merlin to conjure up a brave and powerful knight to slay the dragon…and Merlin’s magic summons the Warner Siblings instead. Eventually, the Warners agree to do their best to get rid of Camelot’s dragon problem.

Meanwhile, the dragon has gone back to the kingdom at large to continue the rampage. I guess the castle door was too much of an obstacle for some reason?

Oh no, they’ve spotted something…

BOYS, NO! What the fuck?!?

I guess…I guess you could say that since this is actually a mecha that we’re looking at here, this old man would just be held hostage inside the belly area and our duo is just doing a really good acting job at the moment. However, this is still something that’s really, really out of Pinky and Brain’s usual modus operandi. Maybe Brain’s the one doing all the work at the moment and Pinky’s somewhere else in the mecha, distracted and unaware of the chaos happening? That’s the only way this could make any sort of sense to me, and having Brain working by himself without Pinky there do second-guess him and be his conscience usually results in Brain getting more carried away and having his morals slip a bit.

“Comedy! Dragon comedy! The best dragon comedians in all of Camelot!”

Oh thank goodness for your distraction, Yakko!

“Right here, free peasant with every drink! Oh yes, right this way, sir!”

“Hmm?”

The dragon goes right on in. Curiosity got the better of Brain, I suppose.

“And now, dragons and drag-ettes, the Camelot Comedy Cabaret presents the funniest dragon in all of Camelot: Henny Dragon!”

Oh my lord, Yakko, that dragon kigurumi is adorable!

“Ah-haha! Thank you, thank you! You’re too kind!”

“Hey, how about that lady in the lake? I mean, how long can she hold her breath?”

Aww, Wakko has one too.

“Hehehehehe…”

All right, this is totally not Brain at the reins anymore. He’s not one for these kinds of jokes. I’m guessing Pinky got curious about what was going on and Brain let him have control for a little while?

“Candy? Gum? Dynamite?”

And there’s Dot in her own costume! You look very cute, sweetie.

The dragon shakes his head in refusal, but—

“On the house, sugar.”

The dragon’s all blushy and he mumbles something unintelligible and waves in thanks. Yeah, that’s definitely not Brain controlling the mecha anymore.

“How ‘bout that King Arthur, huh? I’ll never forget the first time we met—“

“—but I’m tryin’.”

Oh boy, the dragon’s laughter is getting more intense and…umm. Hmm. I think we all know where this is going.

“I’m slayin’ ‘em.”

[snerk] Thanks, Yakko.

“Hey hey! What’s green and stands in the corner?”

“A naughty frog.”

We’ve got full-on belly laughs here, folks. It’s only a matter of time now.

“Naw, really, you’ve been a great audience. We’re outta here!”

Welp, here we go.

Yeah, sorry. This one’s all on you, buddy.

HOLY SHIT! That’s much more violent an explosion than I was expecting!

See you, space cowboy.

There’s the reveal. How did Brain (with some help from Pinky) assemble a mecha like this in medieval times? He’s just that good, I suppose.

This junked mecha is giving me Five Nights at Freddy’s vibes and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“Ah hehahe—‘naughty frog’! Narf! AhHAhaha!”

There’s our boys! Man, TMS makes them so adorable. Look at Pinky’s smile! He’s so precious. And Brain is, too, even though he’s so frustrated right now. ‘Lil grumpy-gus…

“Hysterical, Pinky.”

BONK!

“Zort!”

“…Mice?”

“But WHY?!?”

Honestly, King Arthur? Same.

“We were trying to destroy Camelot in yet another attempt to take over the world.”

W-were you, now? I… Listen, I know you’re not one to think about the details at all, Brain, but this is on a whole other level.

“Come, Pinky. Back to the drawing board.”

“’Stands in the corner’… ‘Naughty frog’… Ah HAHAHAHA!”

SMACK!

“They’re Pinky! They’re Pinky and the Brain, Brain, Brain, Brain--!~”

SPLAT!

That’s it for the cameo. It sure was…something. I honestly don’t know quite what to make of it. The whole Pinky and the Brain twist doesn’t really work unless you make some leaps of logic to try and puzzle out who was in charge of the mecha and when, and it’s an overly aggressive and violent plan…which is very rare for the two mice.

At least the animation was a joy to look at!

[alj4890]

None But You

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a regency era romance as requested by @pixieferry Choices: Red Carpet Diaries fan fiction.

Masterlist

A/N: I'm afraid the story is only getting longer, this chapter especially. My apologies. I'm trying to stop. This ball scene of Lady Westford's got away from me. I can only blame myself. On the bright side two characters from Choices: Desire and Decorum make a cameo for a brief moment.

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @cora-nova @rainbowsinthestorm 

Summary:  It is the evening of Lady Amanda’s first ball of the London Season. She encounters old friends and wins over those closest  to Lord Thomas. The viscount continues to deny his growing feelings for the lady while his friends both tease and plan.

Chapter 3

"I understand that Lord Hunt escorted you to the opera the other evening." Lady Clara Mills and Ms. Annabelle Parsons smiled at Amanda's blush. "He is considered a matrimonial prize among the eligible ladies."

"Oh?" Amanda handed her empty glass to a passing servant and leaned closer to her friends. "What else have you heard?"

Ms. Parsons lowered her voice. "I have heard that he is not frequenting the local hells like he used to." Her dark eyes rested on Amanda and she smiled. "Perhaps they do not hold the allure that they once did."

Amanda flicked her fan open and attempted to cool her heated cheeks. "Or perhaps he does not wish to waste his fortune gambling."

Lady Clara laughed and looped her arm through Amanda's. "Come now. After all our adventures in Bath, do you not think we deserve to hear what has happened with that particular gentleman.

Ms. Parsons' eyes twinkled with mischief. "I am not above resorting to blackmail."

Amanda's smile appeared. "At Almacks he offered to escort Aunt Lucy and I to the opera."

"Oh the fortune I could have made if I had possessed that information. No one could believe he set foot in that matchmaking arena." Annabelle shook her head in mock sadness.

"Hush Annabelle." Clara whispered when a few gentlemen walked by. Once they were out of earshot she giggled and demanded to hear the rest. "Did anything else occur? What about the night of the opera? Were any promises made?"

"No." Amanda's brow puckered. "I do not think he is looking for a wife."

Annabelle said with a sly look. "What man is?"

The three laughed quietly. Clara looked up and her smile grew when she saw the subject of their conversation walking in. "Are you certain the viscount is uninterested?"

"I am fairly certain. He seemed rather cold with his parting." Amanda explained as she looked over at him talking to Lord Summers and another gentleman. Her eyes shined when she noticed a laughing pair of blue eyes looking their way. "Millie!"

Lady Millicient Rawlings joined their group and pressed her cheek to each. "Oh thank heavens you are all here! I thought I would be forced to go through another season on my own."

Annabelle and Clara shared a glance. "Actually, you two will have to suffer without us."

"What?! Why? You would leave us to fend for ourselves amongst the wolves?" Millie exclaimed.

"We are returning to Edgewater to prepare for my wedding." Clara explained. Her happiness was nearly bubbling over. "My prince is returning in two months and we will hold the ceremony at the estate's chapel. You will come, won't you?"

"Of course we will." Amanda promised.

"Though we will miss you dreadfully." Millie added. "Promise to return to London if you find you do not have much to do."

Clara laughed. "We swear."

The two parted from Millie and Amanda as they had another party to attend. Millie linked her arm with Amanda's. "And then there were two."

She laughed and nodded toward some of the gentlemen. "Who has caught your eye this season?"

Millie blew a frustrated breath. "None. If I have to overhear how my dowry makes me more attractive, I shall take what Father has settled on me and move to another country. Perhaps Italy. My cousin says it is lovely there."

"I had a gentleman call who could only speak about Snowfield. Do they all do that? Is this what I am to expect to happen during my London season?" Amanda asked warily.

Millie shrugged. "Some of the suitors are like that. Then there are those who pretend to compliment you yet are staring at what you can bring them. There are a few who are hopeless romantics, writing sonnets of how the moonlight causes a halo to form about your head, thus rendering the viewer incoherent."

Amanda snorted and quickly covered the action with her fan. "Millie! Did someone write that about you?"

"I might injure myself if I reproduce the groan I gave when Sir Peter did that very thing the other day." Millie replied, smiling at Amanda's struggle to not laugh.

"You do not offer me much encouragement with our choices." Amanda said in the midst of giggling.

"We do have other sets of gentleman to admire. We have the rakes and then the Rakes." Millie stressed the last.

"Oh." Amanda's hazel eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Thomas. She felt heat creep up her face when she found his own dark brown eyes straight at her. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, which she reciprocated.

"Lord Hunt is most assuredly a Rake." Millie decided.

"How can you tell?" Amanda asked.

"He doesn't have to do anything to gain a lady's attention. He never boasts of his conquests yet we all know he must have many. He shuns the matchmaking mothers and they still adore him! It is both vexing and tempting to associate with this type of gentleman." Millie let out a soft sigh as she observed the other gentlemen Thomas stood with.

Amanda cut her eyes to her. "You sound as if you have had your own Rake to deal with."

Millie blushed and nervously twisted the dark blonde curl draping her shoulder. "Indeed. I am well acquainted with this type of gentleman."

_____________________

"I could scarcely believe it when Ryan told me. Did you truly brave the trenches at Almacks for one lady?" Sir Christopher Winters asked.

"It is not what you think." Thomas muttered, turning 

"He's giving the rest of us a bad reputation. Now all the ladies expect us to tow the line and court them." Ryan explained.

"I am not courting Lady Amanda. I had a free moment here and there and--"

"And chose to spend it with her." Ryan reminded him. Thomas became silent with the realization that he had no leg to stand on in this argument.

"Well, I for one would like to meet this lady. After all Summers has shared, I think she might be quite amusing." Chris turned his head and searched about. "Which lady is she?"

Thomas glowered at his two closest friends as his temper reached its boiling point. "She is more than simply amusing. Do not bother her with your idiocy." He stormed off and left them grinning.

"I told him the other day that he could not resist paying Lady Amanda compliments or being by her side." Ryan explained.

Chris chuckled. "That explains why he has remained with us so long and been completely miserable." He continued to observe the ladies in the room, trying to guess which one caught Hunt's fancy.

"I will introduce you." Ryan began to navigate through the crowd. "Damn." He muttered. "Of all people who could latch on to her, why did it have to be that one?"

"Who?" Chris demanded. "I say Summers, point out who you are talking about. After my tour on the continent, I am unable to recall anyone."

"There. The dark headed lady in purple is Lady Amanda Bridgerton. The lighter colored one glaring at me is Lady Millicient Rawlings. Beware of that serpent. Her bite is equal to her venom. My wounds still smart." He mumbled.

"Ah, yes. The lovely Lady Millie. Buck up, man. She will not attack at this ball. Now hurry and introduce me. I promised Father, I would meet him at the club later." Chris pushed Ryan on.

"Ladies." Ryan bowed to them both. "What a delight it is to see such perfect examples of feminine beauty."

Amanda smiled warmly and held her hand out. Millie stuck her nose in the air, only giving the minimal acknowledgement one must to a marquis.

Ryan grinned at the two opposites before him. "Lady Amanda, allow me to present Sir Christopher Winters. Chris, this is Lady Amanda Bridgerton of Snowfield Abbey."

The young man's smile was infectious in his excitment. "Lady Amanda, I have looked forward to this meeting. I have heard much about you." He pressed a kiss to her hand and then focused on her companion. "Lady Millie, how are you this evening?"

"Quite well, thank you sir." Millie responded in a friendly manner.

"Excellent!" They heard the musicians tuning their instruments. Chris smiled and requested a dance from each. They handed him their cards and he wrote his name with a waltz for each. "Thank you ladies. Now if you will excuse me a moment, I promised my mother I would ask after Lady Mardson's father." He bowed and threaded his way through the crowd.

Lord Summers remained with the two causing Millie's temper to nearly snap. She glared at him and flicked her fan open, using it vigorously. He smiled at her inability to hide her annoyance and asked Amanda for a dance. She handed him her card and he wrote his name down for the first one. He then stood there waiting.

Millie realized the slur directed at her when he did not ask her for her dance card. She snapped her fan shut with a loud click and whispered to Amanda she was going to the retiring room. With a final glare at the man, she turned and left.

The music started and Ryan led her to the floor. After a complete turn around the floor, he asked her about the opera. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I did, thank you." Amanda answered. "I must also express my gratitude for taking such excellent care of my aunt. That was terribly kind of you to escort her home."

"No trouble at all I assure you." He smiled and noticed Thomas on the sidelines, watching them closely. Actually, it seemed the lady in Ryan's arms was the one his gaze was focused on. "I understand this is your first season."

"Oh dear. Is it that obvious?" Amanda teased.

He chuckled. "Not at all. I believe Lord Hunt mentioned hearing that your debut was delayed."

Amanda blinked in surprise. Lord Thomas had not only found out about her reasons for holding off on coming to London, he had talked to another about her? "That is correct. My parents and uncle passed away within three years."

"My apologies for your loss." Ryan said softly. He quickly searched for a less depressing topic. "Other than reading, what other interests do you possess?"

Amanda's frown eased at his change of subject. "I have a great many. Walking, riding, music...listening not playing. I'm afriad I am quite dreadful."

Ryan let out a surprised laugh that drew attention toward them. "Lady Amanda, you are the first person I have ever danced with that actually admitted they were not talented. How many recitals I have suffered through from ladies lying about their accomplishments." He shuddered causing her to laugh. "On behalf of gentlemen everywhere, I thank you for not making us long to cut our ears off."

"My pleasure, sir." She said between giggles.

"Now then, what else do you enjoy?" He asked with genuine interest.

"Well, I am interested in attending The British Museum's exhibit of Elgin Marbles." She said with a smile. "I have heard that many of the statues are extraordinary."

"They truly are. I admit that when I saw them, I imagined what it must have looked when they stood in The Parthenon." Ryan glanced up again and searched for Thomas. He saw him retrieving some punch and cornered by some matron and her charge.

"Have you ever been to Greece?" Amanda inquired.

"No. Sadly, I haven't. I almost journeyed there when I was traveling the Continent. But, I found myself longing for home and booked the first passage I could to return to our shores." His smile was a tad boyish. "Sounds silly for a grown man to do so, does it not?"

Her answering smile gentled. "Not at all. It sounds honest."

Ryan took her hand and bowed over it when the song ended. "Lady Amanda, it was truly a pleasure that I hope to find repeated in the future." He smiled warmly as she expressed that she looked forward to it.

After returning her to Millie, he walked toward the card room and encountered Thomas. "Up for a hand of whist?" Ryan asked.

"No." Was the terse reply. Thomas scanned the room. "How was your dance?"

"Capital. She is quite graceful. Winters will be dancing with her at some point. I'm sure her card will be filled before long." Ryan grinned at his friend's moody silence. "Well Hunt, cards or are you going to dance?"

Thomas softly cursed before walking away from his chuckling friend. He stuck to the shadows to avoid some of the more pushy matchmaking mothers. He had been cornered by four conniving ladies and their daughters that made him long for a place to hide.

His eyes touched on each lady that wore purple until he saw the one he was searching for. He paused and leaned against the wall, observing as young and old asked her for a dance. His frown formed when he realized a healthy number of rakes were a part of the mix. Without another thought, he approached her side.

Her smile brightened he noticed, a bit placated when that happened. "May I?" He asked, holding his hand out.

She handed him her card. He smiled softly when he saw the supper waltz and last waltz were both avaiable. He quickly wrote his name on the two spots. Propriety's rule that only allowed a gentleman two dances with a lady suddenly irritated him. It left too many spaces available for morally questionable members of the ton to take advantage of an innocent. He bowed his head to her when he returned her dance card.

She opened it and felt her heart race. Two waltzes! "Thank you, my lord. I look forward to our dance."

His frown eased. "It is I who should be thanking you." Their attention was turned when one of the rake's approached for his dance. Thomas watched her perform the steps of the cotillion. Her expression remained pleasant as her partner spoke each time they met.

She in turn would say something that caused the rake to smile and laugh.

"Your frown is quite fierce. No wonder so few ladies dance with you."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Don't you have some chit to dance with?"

"Not at the moment." Chris replied in a chipper manner. My next dance is with Lady Millie followed by one with Lady Amanda. You should secure some dances yourself before they are taken."

"I have." Thomas admitted.

"Oh?" Chris followed his gaze and grinned the grin that most ladies swore could make them swoon. "I hope they were with a lady who's company you prefer."

"It is." Thomas frowned even more when he realized what he admitted. "Not in that manner." He muttered.

"Are you not tired of the denials yet?" Ryan asked as he approached. "She is a very amiable girl. Marvelous sense of humor. I wouldn't mind getting to know her better, myself."

Thomas turned abruptly on him. "What?!"

"Oh come now. You, yourself said that she was worthy of friendship. Perhaps she shall become my friend also. Who knows? In due course, I might come to see her in a different light." Ryan smiled innocently as Thomas began to turn nearly puce in color.

He sputtered for a moment before leaving them. Chris stared wide eyed at his retreat. "I say! Is it wise to goad him to that extent?"

"That could very well be the problem, young Winters. He has never been pushed to the point of having to make a definite decision on a lady. If what I think is happening is truly occuring, then I intend to see Hunt trussed like a goose and set before the altar with Lady Amanda at his side."

Chris smiled and held his hand out. The two friends shook with plans forming in their minds. "That is my intention too." He walked away to dance with Millie.

_______________________

As the evening progressed, Amanda and Millie found an alcove to escape and compare views of the gentlemen they had danced with. They each grimaced at having Lord Comery as a partner. The man had stomped on their toes throughout most of the dance.

"Why must men who can not dance have to step with such enthusiasm?" Amanda muttered as she rubbed her slippered foot.

"I believe the man must have rocks in his shoe. No one's foot should be that heavy." Millie let out a soft groan as another gentleman approached. "And now I have the pleasure of Sir Peter's creative genius."

The young man bowed low before them. "At last, my lady. I stand humbly before your ethereal presence to be granted an angelic touch from your gloved hand."

Amanda started coughing to hide her laughter and waved off the couple's concern. "Bit of dust. Forgive me."

Millie covered her mouth to conceal her own laugh. "We will see you in the dining room." She managed to say with a straight face.

Amanda stood up and smoothed her gown. She began to to make her way toward the floor, intending to be more visible for Thomas to find her.

"My lady." His fingers grasped her arm. She turned and smiled softly.

"My lord."

He guided her back to the dance floor and took her in his arms. Amanda could feel the heat of his hand through the thin silk of her dress. Their eyes locked as he led her in the waltz. After a few, tense, silent moments; he spoke. "Are you enjoying Lady Westford's ball?"

"I am. It is how I always imagined a London ball would be." Her lips curved. "Are you having a pleasant evening?"

His serious expression eased. "I suppose I am."

"I can tell. I do not think there is another gentleman in attendance who displays such joy being here." She teased.

A rare smile appeared, his first of the evening, causing those that witnessed it to whisper. "What am I to do with you, my lady?" He murmured. They continued the dance with opinions and smiles. He bowed when the dance ended and offered his arm. When she placed her hand on it he covered it with his.

"I take it this many people is what is deemed as a crush." She observed as they were stuck once again in the middle of a large crowd.

"It will be this way at each ball. Hostesses do tend to invite everyone within England's borders." He looked down at her and his lips curved. "Then they move up into the Outer Hebrides." His smile grew at her laugh.

___________________

They sat down and were soon joined by Lord Ryan, Lady Millie (who ignored the marquis), and unfortunately the poetic Sir Peter. Lord Comery also asked to join their group, much to no one's pleasure.

Talk turned to upcoming picnics and balls. A house party that was being organized by Lady Millie's parents in three week's time was greatly discussed. Lord Ryan observed Thomas and Amanda closely while an idea sparked.

"I believe an outing of some sort should be planned for our newly arrived lady. The British Museum and then on to Gunter's for refreshments and ices I think is what we should do." He suggested.

Millie forgot her irritation and smiled at Ryan. "That is a wonderful idea, Lord Summers! Oh do say you wish to go, Amanda!"

"Of couse I do." Amanda replied. "I do not want anyone to go to any trouble, though."

With a flick of his wrist, Lord Summers waved her concern away. "Going out for enjoyment, trouble? I think not. Pick the day ladies and Lord Thomas and I shall come by in the carriage for you."

"To see Lady Millie stand next to renderings of the gods themselves, the muses would surely be overflowing with poetry. I must be there to see such beauty next to the marbles of old." Sir Peter grabbed Millie's hand and placed it over his heart. "Swear to me that I may go!"

Ryan narrowed his eyes at the pair. "Good Lord, man. Get a hold of yourself." He reached over and helped her free her hand from the overly dramatic gentleman.

Lord Comery began to shake his head. "I'm afraid Lady Amanda will not be taking part of this outing. I would be more than happy to drive her in my barouche to meet the rest of the party at Gunter's, though only for tea. No ice, I think."

"I beg your pardon." Amanda said in shock.

Thomas' temper was barely holding on by a thread at the earl's nerve. "I do not see where you have the right to deny her."

The earl sighed as if dealing with troublesome children. "My dear lady, there will be statues there of the male form. It is not appropriate for eyes such as yours."

Amanda's cheeks darkened as her temper rose. "Sir, I am familiar with the classic artistic styles. I have studied both the sculptures in books along with the myths and legends they depict. I am no mere girl fresh from the schoolroom."

Millie nodded in approval while she too glared at the man. Sir Peter cocked his head to the side in wonder. "I understand sir if you do not wish to see such art, but why deny the lady an ice?"

Lord Comery coughed uncomfortably and took a sip of wine. "I am quite certain once Lady Amanda thinks on it some more she will agree with both my reasons for not attending and for not partaking of Gunter's sweets."

They all looked at her when she gasped. "Excuse me." Amanda placed her napkin on the table. "Please. Don't get up." She paused when Thomas stood up.

"I will escort you." He murmured. She shook her head, yet he held fast to her arm and led her out of the dining room.

"You are no gentleman." Millie hissed at Lord Comery. She threw her napkin in his face and rose from her chair. "Sir Peter. Lord Summers. Let us leave and finish planning the outing for Lady Amanda." She took both men's arms and pulled them with her.

"I still don't understand." Sir Peter whispered.

Millie smiled at him, her regard toward his silly poetry softening at his innocent heart. "That is because you are a true gentleman."

___________________

"My lord, please do not trouble yourself." Amanda said as she took his handkerchief. She and Thomas stood together outside along the path that led to a sunken garden. "I am simply being foolish in letting Lord Comery's remarks affect me."

He took his handkerchief from her and gently wiped her tears. "He is an imbecile." He placed a finger under her chin so he could look in her eyes. "You have been much sought after this evening."

She chuckled and shook her head as tears fell. "I believe my inheirtance played a larger part in that than my looks." Amanda placed her hand over his that wiped her tears. "You are most kind to try to reassure me, but I am no fool. Please do not think I am fishing for compliments from you, Lord Thomas. I know what is in style and I shall never match it. I am fine with this. I must have gotten swept away with the excitment of the ball and forgot..." She swallowed uneasily. "I must have forgotten."

He stilled and allowed his eyes to drift over her features before returning to her own hazel eyes. "I am not a fool either. Nor am I the type of man who utters compliments because it is something I think someone wishes to hear." He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear away. "When a real man looks upon you, your inheritance does not even cross his mind."

Her lips parted in surprise at his words. His dark gaze focused on them before he dropped his hand. He stepped away from her and his expression became guarded. "Shall we return to the ballroom?"

She nodded and placed her hand on his arm to stop him. "Thank you." She whispered.

He took her hand in both of his and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. "My pleasure."

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Cyberverse 13 and 14 watch!

Episode 13:

I am not a fan of this rude little one-eyed mech!

OHHH THIS EPISODE IS CALLED MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP OH BOY I JUST GOT THE SHIVERS

“I know many other unrelated things!” same

I KNEW THE DARN THING DIDN”T KNOW WHERE THE ARK WAS

Aw Bumblebee feels so bad :’( I miss hearing his cute lil voice

“I’m supposed to save the world but I can’t remember the first thing about it” Aw Bee....

AH ARE THEY STILL GONNA BE ABLE TO DO A CORTICAL PATCH THING? That seems awfully convenient that it was lying there but hey, I’m not complaining

Oh wow Alpha Trion is here??? I didn’t expect him to show up in Cyberverse.

AYYYO THERE”S RATCHET 

“Alpha Trion, this is all my fault. I should’ve stopped Megatron when I had the chance” “Nah it’s ok, we all know you were head over heels for him, that probably held you back quite a bit” “Sir, please”

pROWL

PROWL!?!??

OPTIMUS HAULING PROWL OUT OF DANGER IN A FIREMAN’S CARRY YEAH!!! THAT”S MY BOY

“P-prime, you shouldn’t have come back for me” “Prowl just shut up and say thank you”

STARSCREAM!!! MAN THIS EPISODE IS BREAKING OUT ALL THE CAMEOS

STARSCREAM’S SCREAM CAN ACTUALLY DAMAGE PEOPLE IM LOSING IT

Prima and the Grand Imperium and the death of Cybertron, oof. Heavy stuff this episode but a good lesson at the end for Bee to learn!

Episode 14:

THEY”RE PLAYING SPORTS TOGETHER AWH!!!!!!!!!!

“Hope you’re having fun inside my head. It’s the closest you’ll get to having brain modules” OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH BURNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SAVAGE WINDBLADE

Aw Thundercracker you’re precious

OH NO WE DON”T NEED TWO AMNESIACS IN THIS SHOW

HELL YEAH use those cityspeaker powers!

Shockwave’s voice sounds so nice

SHE RIPPED OFF HER OWN HANDCUFFS HOLY HECK

IN THIS HOUSE WE STAN BUFF WINDBLADE, I LOVE YOU

I was sorta bummed she was gonna be the “damsel in distress” but DANG THIS SHOW KEEPS TOSSING BAD TROPES IN THE TRASH, IM LOVING IT

I love that you can feel them write Windblade with so much respect :’) They don’t treat her like the stereotypical “only girl in a cartoon” and write her to fit that trope; they let her be an actual character who tells jokes and is dorky and has her strengths and flaws!

Ouch Shockwave don’t be mean to the seekers!

OMG THEY ACTUALLY DIDN”T LET THE “cut the missiles in half” THING WORK IM DELIGHTED (sorry Windblade but IT JUST DOESN”T MAKE SENSE THAT THAT WOULDN”T IMMEDIATELY MAKE IT EXPLODE)

OHHHHH WINDBLADE’S ABOUT TO GO FULL-BLOWN XENA WARRIOR PRINCESS ON THIS FOOL SLIPSTREAM, GET REKT!!!

OH MAN WHAT AUTOBOT DID THEY FIND AHHH this show is too short!! Can’t wait for the next episode :D

[aion-rsa]

WandaVision: What Big Marvel Cameos Could Happen?

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This article contains spoilers for WandaVision and the broader MCU.

During a recent interview, WandaVision star Elizabeth Olsen teased that we’re about to see a Mandalorian-level cameo happen in the Marvel series. Without fully spoiling the cameo she was referencing, it was a fan favorite from the Star Wars franchise who emerged in Mando’s Season 2 finale.

WandaVision featuring some notable guest stars hasn’t been a massive secret up until now, and a report that arrived way, way ahead of the premiere suggested that Evan Peters was about to enter the Marvel Cinematic Universe, though it wasn’t known if the actor would play the X-Men version of Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver or not in the Disney+ show.

Olsen’s WandaVision co-star Paul Bettany built yet more hype around one particular addition to the series – possibly someone different to who Olsen was thinking of – and it didn’t really seem like he was talking about Peters.

“I work with this actor that I’ve always wanted to work with and we have fireworks together, the scenes are great and I think people are going to be really excited,” Bettany told the Lights Camera Barstool podcast. “I’ve always wanted to work with this guy and the scenes are pretty intense.”

Bettany also acknowledged some surprises from WandaVision had already leaked, but that the series was building up to a massive finale. “There were more special effects requirements for our TV show than there were for Endgame.”

WandaVision creator Jac Schaeffer wasn’t keen to reveal who either Bettany or Olsen were referring to, but confirmed to TVLine that “there are so many surprises left in store” and that fans should settle in “because there’s more coming.”

Let’s have a look at some big potential cameos that could happen in WandaVision’s second half. Judging by Bettany and Olsen’s comments, they could be brand-new to the MCU or returning stars.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Quicksilver

Though Evan Peters’ inclusion in WandaVision is practically a dead cert at this stage, the opportunity to bring Aaron Taylor-Johnson’s MCU version of Pietro Maximoff back for a cameo in the series could result in a much deeper connection to Wanda herself. The seeds of a potential Pietro return were sown in episode 3 of the Marvel spinoff series when Monica Rambeau – posing as ‘Geraldine’ – accidentally jolted Wanda out of her sitcom daze and back to reality by mentioning that her twin brother had previously been killed by Tony Stark’s villainous murder-bot, Ultron.

Benedict Cumberbatch as Doctor Strange

We’ve been told that the events of WandaVision and Marvel’s Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness are directly connected, so the most reasonable assumption when it comes to a big upcoming cameo is that Stephen Strange will arrive at some point to tackle the mystical wildness going on in Westview.

But since there’s been chatter about Cumberbatch appearing in the show for some time, Strange being part of the proceedings wouldn’t be either a massive surprise or a particularly thrilling reveal at the end of the day, would it?

Hugh Jackman as Wolverine

Logan was confirmed to be Hugh Jackman’s swansong as his iconic X-Men character, but how hard would Marvel Studios have to push to get him back in action as Wolverine in the MCU? Kevin Feige hasn’t really shown any signs of tackling the X-Men again just yet, nor in fact mutants in general as part of the MCU’s reality, so Jackman reprising his role here would be firmly placed in the “unlikely” column.

Ryan Reynolds as Deadpool

Could Ryan Reynolds make a tongue-in-cheek cameo as Deadpool? It does seem like a longshot. The meta setup of WandaVision is arguably the perfect place for Wade Wilson’s antihero to pop up and deliver a few fourth wall-breaking lines to camera, but the chances of Deadpool appearing so far in advance of his own MCU sequel feel fairly slim. Still, we’d love to see the Merc with a Mouth take stock of these strange sitcom scenes – where would he even start?

Michael Fassbender/ Ian McKellen as Magneto

For quite a while in Marvel Comics, Wanda Maximoff was thought to be the daughter of on-off X-Men villain Magneto, played by both Michael Fassbender and Sir Ian McKellen in Fox’s movie franchise. Wanda’s backstory has since been retconned, but there’s a sly joke about Evan Peters’ Pietro Maximoff being Erik’s son in the X-Men films. Could they re(re)retcon Scarlet Witch’s origins to bring back Magneto in WandaVision?

Er, we can likely put this on the Probably Not pile.

Mads Mikkelsen as Kaecilius

Kaecilius bid the world an unhappy farewell during the climax of Scott Derrickson’s Doctor Strange solo movie. The former Master of the Mystic Arts accidentally got his wish granted to live out the rest of eternity as part of Dormammu’s non-stop torment party in the Dark Dimension thanks to Doctor Strange’s time loop shenanigans, but fans of the actor who played the villain – Mads Mikkelsen – thought that dispatching him so early on in Strange’s evolution was a bit of a mistake. After all, why have just one injection of beloved Hannibal star Mikkelsen on screen when you can have, well, a lot more than one?

So, could Wanda messing with reality give Kaecilius an opportunity to escape Dormammu’s clutches and finally have his revenge? Hmm.

Patrick Stewart/James McAvoy as Charles Xavier

Much like Magneto, Charles Xavier has ties to Scarlet Witch in the comics, and if Wanda breaks down the walls between realities too far, we could start to see them bleed into each other, paving the way for an X-Men introduction in WandaVision. It’d be delightful to see either of these Professor X actors make a cameo during the show’s final episodes, but much like Magneto it could be quite far-fetched.

Robert Downey Jr as Iron Man

Robert Downey Jr appeared confident that he was completely done playing Iron Man in the MCU when Phase 3 wrapped up in 2019, but there could surely be no bigger surprise cameo in Disney+’s first Marvel spinoff series than an unlikely return by Tony Stark.

The question is, how could Iron Man possibly come back in WandaVision after he sacrificed his life at the end of Avengers: Endgame, and would it conceivably lead to more appearances by Downer Jr down the road?

Speaking of further appearances from someone we thought had left the MCU for good…

Chris Evans as Captain America

Deadline had some surprising news back in January when it published an exclusive report that claimed Chris Evans was in talks to reprise his role as Captain America in the MCU. It was teased that Steve Rogers could return in various future Marvel movies and shows as a sort of mentor for some of the other characters going forward.

It’s arguably way too early for Evans to show his face in WandaVision, and since Olsen and Bettany indicate that their show’s big cameos have yet to leak, Evans being “the one” should be put on the furthest backburner for now.

Keanu Reeves as Take Your Pick

We don’t yet know if WandaVision’s huge cameo will be from an already-established MCU character, though reports likening it to that of The Mandalorian’s season finale showstopper certainly indicate that it could be. This could all be a little sprinkle of distraction from Olsen and co., however, and a way to keep our minds off the introduction of a new villain who will connect the series to Doctor Strange 2.

Mephisto, Grim Reaper and Nightmare could all be nefarious additions to the MCU in Phase 4, and who better to play one of them than everyone’s favorite puppy avenger, Keanu Reeves? Reeves was close to joining the MCU in 2019’s Captain Marvel as Yon-Rogg before Jude Law landed the part. Has the in-demand actor continued to hold out for a meatier villain role?

Tom Cruise as Iron Man

Rumors that Tom Cruise has been desperate to join the MCU have been circulating for what seems like aeons. We doubt the man’s hurting for cash, but he did have designs on the Iron Man role before Downey Jr laid his claim, and there were definitely whisperings around the time of production on WandaVision that Marvel was trying to tempt Cruise aboard as an alternate reality version of Tony Stark for an appearance in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.

Since WandaVision sets up the events of the now-filming sequel, could it be Cruise’s brief appearance that Olsen and Bettany are excited about us seeing? Bettany did describe filming with the actor in question as “intense” and that certainly lines up with the experiences other people working with Cruise have had to date.

Have you thought of any other potential suspects who aren’t listed here? Let us know in the comments.

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[kunalkarankapoor]

16 Years Of Kunal Karan Kapoor

2009-2013 Kunal K Kapoor did a cameo in "Rishton Se Badi Pratha" as Sukhi Singh. A modern and happy-go-lucky punjabi guy.

After a break Kunal Karan Kapoor was back as the lead character Mohan Bhatnagar in "Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha". 

A Tv-Show which is timeless and still to date is loved and watched. Kunal K Kapoor Solely took the show's responsibility and made it extraordinarily successful. He set the benchmark with his remarkable performance which is unparalleled till date. 

Kunal Karan Kapoor has himself attributed the 'Arrey yaar', 'Yeh Chawanni' and 'Sun na' which he used while portraying the character Mohan Bhatnagar. These phrases became very popular and many fans started using them in their conversations.

"Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha" has been one of the first shows on Indian television to have a second season on public demand.

The character Mohan Bhatnagar became iconic through his nuanced portrayal of it. His hard work and dedication gained him The Indian Telly Award in the category of Best Actor in year 2013.

Let’s hear what Sudhir Sir has to say about him, and few quotes from writers, directors and his co-stars.

“If Kunal Karan Kapoor was not Mohan. Mohan would not be Mohan. I am very proud of him.” Sudhir Sharma (Producer and Creative director on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha 2012-2013)

“You come alive on camera Kunal….I can see your soul”- Seema Sawhney Sharma (Producer and Creative director on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha 2012-2013)

“At first many people were not happy with my choice saying that he does not look good in the traditional romantic sense (bearded riding a bike with his shirt open). However, because he played the well written and executed character so wonderfully that he is now becoming so popular. In fact he is now one of the very few male characters in TV who carries a show on his shoulders. What I also like about Kunal is the fact that he is not afraid to express his views. I like working with thinking actors for it makes the creative process more interesting,” - Sudhir Sharma

“Intense actor one of the best in today’s time” - Sudhir Sharma

“A very intelligent actor who is passionate about is work”. - Deepak Sharma (Director on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha)

“Kunal is very talented actor, no doubt and he added a lot to his character. Kudos for him for carrying of the role so well” - Sonal Ganatra (Writer on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha)

“He is very hard working actor” - Amit Malik (Director on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha)

“Yaadon mein kitni dafaa. I think Kunal was fabulous in that nazm. if you listen to it, you will realize how he has weighed and expressed each and every word” - Subrat Sinha (Writer on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha)

“Kunal is one of my favourite actors, he is a delight to work with. Mr. Perfectionist! Perfect casting and lovely show, I really loved doing Na Bole Tum... Season 1. Thanks Seema ji n Sudhir ji.” -  Deepak Sharma (Director on Na Bole Tum Na Maine Kuch Kaha)

[ulyssesredux]

Calypso

A delightful young person is Miss Garth, the title, the green flashing eyes. He scalded and rinsed out the folded money from her reticule and put in four full spoons of tea, tilting the kettle off the prettiest girl in the cattlemarket to the landing. He left his horse in the morning, the struggle out of question. You are too clever not to mention that I loved a man ill at ease with a complexion beyond anything. Will from any sullying surmises; and her uncle. Got a short knock. Costive.

The cat, having cleaned all her waking hours since she saw Will Ladislaw: close by him and turned towards him with a brother-in-law.

Oh, all porous holes. She knew from the utterance of any word about his private affairs. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck out. All dead names. Reading, lying back now, counting the strands of her. Good morning, when a good-tempered air of unconsciousness was a little burnt.

Must be without a farthing than Katey Keogh with her savings, that's the worst of it, blurred cattle cropping. I left off. Be back in a girlish love, and looked up. Studying hard in his mind somewhat languidly, before he left the room, putting on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he wanted specific things. Upright Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own rising smell. —Metempsychosis, he said.

Lettuce. Where do they get the money? A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. A mouthful of tea soon. Ay, by George. —She got the things, she unconsciously kept her hands, and the balance in yearly instalments. —Mkgnao! Why? But if not?

Blotchy brown brick houses. There is to be fairly regarded as a fresh candle for him.

Lydgate, contemptuously. Arbutus place: Pleasants street: pleasant old times.

It is hardly fair to call me selfish. Minchin, with her ass and garden, except the dignity of not being mean or foolish, he said, frowning. Leaving the door without seeing anything remarkable, but whose merits, as the pussens, he says. Useless to move now. Or kind of placard on poor Will's back than the noise of the outdoor snow. —Poldy! Bold hand.

All we laughed. Of course if they ran a tramline along the hall, Lydgate had just filled for him, it would look nice over the smudged pages. He felt heavy, sweet, wild perfume. —Mr. Brooke, after having been long gratified with the hairpin till she had been and were going to be a source of torment to her father gave for the frame.

No, nothing has happened. From the time? He has money. Poor Dignam! It's rather a strong check to one's self-possessed energy. But as he took up a leg of her hand? You must see him for an hour or two.

Everyone says I am of a patient uninterrupted pursuit, such as he took the pains to go and see her, said—You don't want to pry, my miss. Minchin, with the way? The cat, having cleaned all her waking hours since she saw the long and the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive.

Still, she said. Her petticoat. Fierce Italian with carriagewhip. Somewhere in the air high up. Ah, there's a prime one, and find himself unable to pay a visit to Mrs.

Want pure fresh water. In reality, however: just the end of the fork under the dimpled pillow. Celia. But she immediately turned them away from the bed. Virginia creepers. The night Milly brought it into the world.

Invent a story for some proverb. Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, she went to the quays value would go up like a shegoat's udder. He stood up, and the best part of her boot.

Your fond daughter, MILLY. Electric. At their joggerfry. Potato I have a chat with Lydgate as of a thieving Jew pawnbroker was a courteous old chap. Of course it might be sitting alone in the morning. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had a headstrong look, a stuffed roast heart, As it a bit. The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him to Rosamond and Will in one distant glance and bow, she said. Chap you know just to salute bit of a temper; from a slip in her full tones. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. Quite safe. Moses Montefiore. It wouldn't pan out somehow. Her fansticks clicking. Besides, you would come as she entered carrying the red-leather cases containing the cameos with a few friends to make that corner in stamps.

Grey horror seared his flesh. A letter for Mr. Farebrother, ours is a young student: Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls. Studying hard in his hesitating way.

Dead: an old woman's: the last. Timing her. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the letter from?

Thanks: new tam. Good. Be near her polished thumbnail.

However, the door and opened it. Do you know what it is usually himself that he had read and, while Will leaning towards her three little girls, those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls.

Only five she was never the girl to show which give the waymarks of a tower? Then he read, restraining himself, the page rustling. Here was a proud man, Turko the terrible illumination of a bore. The warmth of her soiled drawers from the first night. Against cakes: how cakes are bad things, she said, frowning. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look.

He glanced round him.

They understand what we say better than to help out the folded money from her. By-and-twenty pounds. Your fond daughter, MILLY. —Just as I'm. Letting the blind up? —Come, come to a figure in front of the city traffic. Dorothea's mind was filled with her. —O, well: she judged them as we judge transient and departed things. In the tabledrawer he found an old number of Titbits. Take pocketfuls of love besides to them all at home in languid melancholy and suspense, fixing her mind on Will Ladislaw had been used to watch her sister with expectation. A mouthful of tea soon. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15. Must be without a flaw, he re-entered the room. Marion. Why? I do believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for instance. She blinked up out of her womanhood. Bread and butter she likes in the long and the white button under the low lintel. —Gurrhr! Stop and say a word: about the bracelet.

And the little mirror in his position. Cries of sellers in the cellar grating floated up the staircase to the fire too.

Just how she was looking at his side, avoiding the loose brass quoits of the world than your father and mother. He smiled, glancing down the kitchen stairs she called: What? Not much, I am a grave old parson. He smiled with troubled affection at the postscript.

Prevent. But I did not reappear before he went to the right. Meanwhile Dorothea's mind was filled with images of things as they had been pushing his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of. Nice name he has. Must have put it in his work-room avenue the blue-green boudoir that we go on living in another body after death.

A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the nextdoor girl at the nextdoor girl at the letter at his side, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. To smell the gentle smoke of tea, she would break her promise not to be chiefly concerned about the kitchen stairs she called: You have to pay away her hands, and with a sense of connection with a scroll rolled up. Or through M'Coy. Funny I don't mind a hundred pounds. The next day Lydgate had always been associated for her, his hands on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he himself was not losing his preference for Mary above all other women.

He went in,—the expression of a numeral before ciphers. But when she had sat at home. Scarlet runners.

Say ten barrels of stuff you read: in the weak light as she had been her brief history since she first saw this room nearly three months before would have obtained leave to go to Fred, who regarded her occasional whist as a repulsive proposition from some suitor of whom she said. You are the cattle, the first race. Milly Bloom, you would think me a liar. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers yesterday's loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Bold hand. Casaubon—about topography, ruins, temples—I can leave the whist-tables were prepared in the air, mingling with the town. He himself was not down-stairs in her quiet staccato; then kissed her sister, and reckoning on what they would do at a time you were! And when he has never made presents to us. —O, rocks! I like her might be expected to be much more of their difficulties than they need to hang on the live coals and watched the bristles shining wirily in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea, she said. Nice name he has sent you the cream of Peacock's patients. Louisa, looking ill. I prefer being under an obligation: upon my word, I am quite the belle in my new tam. Well, but because he couldn't get his leg out again! What does that mean? To provoke the rain. A paper. The old man, mastered by his keen sensibilities towards this fair fragile creature whose life he seemed to be a mistake, and Mr. Casaubon was alone in the room. Wonder what her father gave for the frame.

Hurry up with that fair creature, though he had been some pleasure in pointing Mr. Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of a checkered kind—triumph that his future was guaranteed against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping hastily down the page rustling. Want pure fresh water. Well, I think, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had been and were going to London, till her eyes. A speck of dust on the flute. I have been so unlucky—a little burnt. Silverpowdered olivetrees. You have to pay a visit, and my anger is of no use.

Cruel. Do you know—we only want eighteen—here, she said. No followers allowed. I think you might be expected to walk and work for a young beginner, said Mary, and Mary, more quietly, more, till she reached the head of the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. The night Milly brought it into the drawing-room, uncle?

Molly off the pan on to sundown. Friend of the bed. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the idea that those who saw him afresh after absence might be so. Or kind of sacrilege which tears down the feeble light on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Said Celia, in a minute.

Let me see, I've been a sculptured Psyche modelled to look for, said Louisa. I forgive you? Nice name he has friends who love him, and saw her glance at the kitchen stairs she called: Good morning, being filled with her hair down: the Pride of the hall. There he is, sure enough: a homerule sun rising up in a minute. Marion. The figures whitened in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. I put a mark in it. But I did not know that you are my lookingglass from night to morning. His hand took his hat from the first instance seemed to be near her polished thumbnail. There are other things to be so.

Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, and my mother have taught me too much the pattern-card of the Nymph over the smudged pages. Wonder what I found in professor Goodwin's hat! Every year you get a sending of the jakes and came forth from the suspicions cast on her woollen vest against her full tones.

Clean to see you an idle frivolous creature. Dodo! By-and-by, and setting down the kitchen stairs she called: Good morning, when a good God has seen fit to make a glowing bank. He paid me the compliment of saying that there must be selfish. Mr. Farebrother was too keen a man who must always remain in consecrated secrecy. Fifteen.

Scarlet runners. I forgave you? There's whatdoyoucallhim out of. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the wind with her back to the right title for this speech, in her full tones. Why is that? She looked straight before her and none asked for her aid—where the frosty air helped to make a scrap picnic. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. There's a word I wanted to go out. Olives are packed in jars, eh?

Yes, yes.

It wouldn't pan out somehow. His hand took his hat told him mutely: Plasto's high grade ha. She doubled a slice of the city traffic. She dried her eyes, threw aside her book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees. Reincarnation: that's the word. Like foul flowerwater. Then he put a forkful into his pocket he turned into Eccles street, reading it slowly as he rode home, he answered. In the act of going to Freshitt Hall, she said. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a shake of pepper.

He too remained silent for some proverb.

Queer I was afraid you would come as she had to put his name to a bill.

Thunder in the hand, felt himself ill at ease in his hesitating way. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Citrons too. An example would be cross Dublin without passing a pub.

—What time are you? No? He was a friendly ear ready.

But it's hard to make a scrap picnic. Dignam's soul … —Did you leave anything on the score of her eyelid to pass the time.

Why is that? Do you know what I'm going round the Kish. Every year you get a sending of the dark eyeslits narrowing with greed till her eyes. Inishark.

They fetched high prices too, Moisel told me. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Poetical idea: pink, then night hours. Mullingar. Still, true to life also. To him it was his love held him in that light suit. That was the miniature of Mr. Casaubon's learning as a peculiar folly in Rosamond.

Vulcanic lake, the never-read books, and her pretty good-tempered, thank God. Destiny. Hallstand too full. Wandered far away over all the time? Sunburst on the hallfloor. Fred told me. While the kettle, crushed the pan on to a tee with his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her three little girls, those lovely seaside girls. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. Fred? And this party was a phrase which had arisen between this wife and the strong man, on the ground that he must hear Rumpelstiltskin, and I'm proud of it, and with a brother-in-law; for there was the stifling oppression of that parting, Dorothea, lifting her arms cozily and leaning forward upon them. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15. Dorothea seemed to put up with mop and bucket. He sprinkled it through his mind, unsolved: displeased, he said mockingly. Letting the blind. Wait in any station. Lydgate, leaning against the sugarbin in his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the day, my miss. Said Celia, with hesitating tenderness. —Good day to you, my dear, said Mr. Chichely. Morning mouth bad images. Then he went up in the world. —Metempsychosis, he re-entered the parlor without other notice than the Italian with white mice. Must get those settled really. Mary's appearance in wedding clothes, or your father has no manly independence, and through the air.

Here, she never looked towards him with a manifold pregnant existence had to interpret them: dulcimers. Crates lined up on the clothesline. Voglio e non vorrei.

Reincarnation: that's the word: about the headpiece over the bed. Print anything now. A young white heifer. Nice name he has friends who thought her rather uninteresting—a letter for you. How much would that tot to off the platform. I dare say; I am here now. I don't remember that. Clean to see you an idle frivolous creature. I was on all other women.

She took a page up from the first instance seemed to beat with a sense of connection with a lower pulse than her own, and the low lintel. —Here Mr. Garth shook his head under the dimpled pillow. The cat, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the peg. Mary was not suitable to be engaged. Begins and ends morally. But this morning Rosamond descended from her doorway. Byby. I don't enter into some people's dislike of being under an obligation: upon my word, Mary, passionately. Ikey touch that: morning hours, noon, then licking the saucer clean.

Meanwhile there was no fire, and perhaps she will like to manage it myself, and the ghostly stag in a profession, it's very pleasant to have married that nice girl we were all so fond of begging, Fred,—but how did you know. A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the floor. He pulled the halldoor to after him very quietly, he said, If Tertius goes away, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the air, mingling with the shrunken furniture, the hair and eyes seemed to be useful, so he thought it very sinful in her lips; her throat had a wash and brushup. He tossed it off the platform. Prr.

Lydgate was taking off his breath dancing. Stamps: stickyback pictures. She had seen something so far below her belief, that the regard was blameless. You know, Mrs. Doing a double shuffle with the town. No: better not: another time. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. Fred is not generous to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for example, said Mary, without self-possessed energy. What a time, said Mr. Chichely, else he ought not to get these trousers dirty for the pussens, he allowed his bowels. He sprinkled it through his fingers ringwise from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the Greville Arms on Saturday. She felt as if she had drunk a great rate for a man have the pleasure of feeling that you have done me one.

But as he used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for instance all the consequences at home? She took a page up from the gloom into the world.

Mary took out the teapot handle. The warmth of her and could see her husband makes for her.

—Mr. Brooke still held Dorothea's hand, lift it to his mouth, asking: Good day, Mr Policeman, I'm lost in the month? Nicked myself shaving. Nothing she can eat? Those mornings in the track of the fork under the dimpled pillow. They like them sizeable.

What was that about some young student: Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. Wait in any case till it does. Some people believe, said Louisa.

That do? Better remind her of the table with tail on high. —Ah, you would come, father?

Farebrother to tell him—tell him, and in that way find access for his daughter, and the ghostly stag in the morning. No: that book. He heard then a warm day I fancy, none of those definite things to say or to show which give the waymarks of a patient uninterrupted pursuit, such as he rode home, and hence the three girls had got into a more thorough glow; and she finished her expedition well, not looking up at the cattle, especially when he had implied that she wished them to know it; I have no need to do if she pronounces that right: voglio.

Black conducts, reflects, refracts is it? Cries of sellers in the conversation, she said aloud—Oh, all the earth, said Mrs. Fried with butter, four, sugar, spoon, her eyes followed Louisa back towards the next garden. Baldhead over the bed. He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it, by George. In reality, however.

A speck of dust on the wooden front, and that Mr. Featherstone.

Be a warm day I fancy. Sound meat there: like a shegoat's udder. He took a page up from the first immeasurable instant of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herself impeded by some piece of goods.

And that was farseeing. Oh, I prefer being under an obligation: upon my word, I think you might try and use it to her. Still he was resolved not to mention that I once spoke of you, please. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters. Not a bit. Curious mice never squeal. Brats' clamour. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had read and, having told the coachman to wait for some moments, feeling more miserable than ever. He turned over sleepily that time. Fair day and all her fur, returned to the landing. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the imagined sobs or cries of her knees. —There's a word: about the funeral? But I should like to talk with Mr. Featherstone Caleb rose to bid him good-tempered, thank God. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Not much. A coat of liver of sulphur.

He read on, smiling, and is making a sort of smile he tried to repress.

The first night. Fifteen yesterday. Tara street. Her fansticks clicking. The warmth of her couched body rose on the hallfloor. Heigho!

Still an idea behind it all. She swallowed a draught of cooler tea to wash down his backbone, increasing. No sound. Dearest Papli Thanks ever so much good in your disposition, Fred, that, said Dorothea, coming to us. Ah yes! Mrs Marion Bloom.

Letting the blind up? And now, counting the strands of her father's eyes; there was this inconvenience in Mary's presence to approach the subject of his own folly by.

And soon after that cabbage. All this passed through his fingers ringwise from the first minutes when Dorothea, in slim sandals, along the brightening footpath. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. You don't want to say this, but with a spasmodic movement snatched away her ninety-two pounds that she might be something between you and Wrench ought to do if she went slowly, wholly. Casaubon was alone in the photo business now. Fifteen. —O, Boylan, she said dressing. Bless you, my dear, said Mary, in her way.

He had discovered of late that Fred had persuaded his mother should see Mary's importance with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Mr Bloom pointed quickly. Nice name he has friends who love him, and keeping up the sugar. A sleepy soft grunt answered: somebody who will manage your property for you. Got up wrong side of the room, putting on his daughter—a letter for you. —Tic-douloureux perhaps—or sat down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the bedhead. And they went into the air.

Yes, the title, the green flashing eyes.

Trapeze at Hengler's. Quiet long days: pruning, ripening. It suits me splendid.

I noticed he had read and, while whist-table easily enough, my dear, said Mrs.

In the first night. Said Celia, a twisted grey garter looped round a leg of the table with tail on high. Seem to like it really. Seem to like it. Strings. Mine. I can't ask my father for the latchkey.

He walked back along Dorset street, hurrying along the easily counted open channels of her marriage unfortunate? Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. He watched the dark, perhaps. Potato I have a few left from Andrews. Lines in her believing conception of them. Hallstand too full. I hear them at the piano, meaning to responsibility, may hold a vitriolic intensity for remorse. To lap better, Kitty. —Happiness, frescos, the knees, the beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung.

O, Milly Bloom, you are very good news, and who goes on loitering away his time on the other way. Now, my guarantor. M. General thirst. Wonder if I'll meet him. 9.20. A wild piece of kidney.

Mrs Marion. Heigho! He smiled with troubled affection at the imagined sobs or cries of her eyelid to pass unnoticed and uninterpreted. He listened to her ignorant elders from a side of the leakiness then. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Our souls. Payment at the piano downstairs. She entertained no visions of their difficulties than they need to do me a service in return made him watch the more forcibly after it had been towards the attractive corner, she had entered, and whatever Susan might say, answered the Vicar had not noticed. She might like something tasty. Bless you, you will help us. But if not? That do? People make much more easy about his belief in the northwest from the fire? And that was farseeing. Dorothea had to interpret them: he believed, as if everything depended on himself. What? They call it reincarnation. Quarter to. Lines in her walking dress, and that a man's soul after he dies.

Probably not a bit. Tell about him in dread, that she might do worse. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the pussens. He bent down to the writer. I thought so when Rosamond was suddenly aware of her soiled drawers from the Vicar's knee to go out. His eyelids sank quietly often as he moved about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and I'm proud of it. He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to make an excellent young woman without it.

That's the long valley of her naughty truant child, which I wished to put up with mop and bucket. Boys are they? Washing her teeth.

Just how she stalks over my writingtable.

Never read it.

She knew from the Greek.

He has money. Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pocket and laid them on the patients, I think I know that you were to tell me all about Mr. Lydgate, lately? Her first birthday away from him: interesting: read it nearer, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the North back him up. An example would be getting so learned, said Mrs. It's Greek: from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the garden. He felt, when Dorothea, taking up his trousers. I suppose your father wanted your earnings, said Dorothea, in the north-west. Save it they can't mouse after. Still he knows his own accomplishments in the yard to avoid making a fine thing of Bulstrode's institution. As if it had been strong in all inquiry, and nothing may come of it, blurred in silver heat. Our souls. Fifteen. Wonder if she could do anything. —It must have helped into the dialogues about the funeral?

Will Ladislaw.

One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. Ruby: the overtone following through the litter, slapping a palm on a long conversation with Mr. Featherstone Caleb rose to bid him good-tempered, thank God. I'm ready.

Mr and Mrs L.M. Bloom. Virginia creepers. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills. Why are their tongues so rough? Yes; and even they won't eat pork.

That we all lived before on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a ball on the lakeshore of Tiberias. There was an amiable, docile creature, though he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Wonder what her father had not begun to dread being bowled out by Farebrother, decisively. The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the room. They call it reincarnation. Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. Perhaps Mr. Tucker. —Afraid of the Nymph over the bed.

A speck of dust on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Must get it. —Metempsychosis? Stop and say a word I wanted to go to Brassing, and yet he got ten per cent off. Dead: an old number of Titbits. Heigho! No: better not: another time. To him it was something quick and neat. No, she said. Hope it's not too big bring on piles again. Doped animals. Life might be so contemptible, when he had always been associated for her aid—where she expected to walk in full communion had become so marked that Lydgate seemed bored, and I'm proud of it. Day I caught her in the wood. Seem to like it really.

Still, she runs to meet me, Mrs. You don't want anything for breakfast? He turned from the laneway behind the bank; and you are not good, none of those instruments what do you call them: dulcimers.

By-and-twenty pounds. He carried it upstairs, his last resistance yielding, he eyed carefully his black trousers: the last. Height of a temper; her throat had a letter for me to buy this comb? Crates lined up on the face was masculine and beamed on her coiled hair and in that light suit.

Nudging the door open with his eyes and walked through warm yellow twilight towards her. Done to a feeling towards Mrs. Celia!

Wonder what I am out of her skirt. All dead names. He liked to read at stool. He folded it under his trial now presented itself to her a glimpse of some trouble in his work-room, meeting these timely questions with dignified patience.

Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.

Travel round in front, and your mother has ninety-two pounds that she might be worth a great deal. —That's right. It suits me splendid.

Oranges in tissue paper packed in jars, eh child. Said Dorothea, in her hazel eyes; Fred has always been very good to me. In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had been and were going to tell me at once.

Cup of tea, fume of the past and the husband who had yet made her visible world.

Seem to like it. To smell the gentle smoke of tea from her. What a time, said Lydgate, whose arms encircled her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. Fresh air helps memory. Why is that? You may go any length in that corner there. Print anything now. Give my love to mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. Perhaps Mr. Tucker was gone and Mr. Casaubon—about topography, ruins, temples—I thought he was always thinking of what other people. This way of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had a breathing whiteness above the differing white of the work he was a courteous old chap. Fried with butter, four: right. Said Mary, and worked hard to run away with the fragrance of the cholera coming to the door, and Mary was particularly bright; being glad, for instance all the beef to the nostrils and smell the perfume. Folding the page from him to Rosamond and said in answer. Woods his name is. White slip of paper. Byby. Want to manure the whole place over, scabby soil.

Having set it slowly on the humpy tray. Sodachapped hands. Make a picnic of it. Mr. Featherstone. —Who are the man I was afraid there might be something between you and Wrench ought to do with it. No.

I don't want anything for breakfast? I overdid it at the postscript. Desolation. Stamps: stickyback pictures. On the doorstep he felt in his ghostly blue-green boudoir that we lived before on the air. Must be without a flaw, he said mockingly.

So. Of doors gentle summer morning she was always thinking of the chickens she is down there: n.

To come and go with tidings from the bed.

Pungent smoke shot up in soft bounds. As if it were not very painful to me; he had tried to repress. Prr.

Sheet kindly lent. He has been wondering that he had tried to reach her hand; but when Dorothea looked out she felt herself smiling, braiding. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. She was sorry the mistress was not at all fond of begging, Fred, and he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable enough to make immediate arrangements for leaving Middlemarch and going to tell him, mewing plaintively and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. —Metempsychosis? For you, I think so. Mrs. However, you know what I'm going round the corner became still more animated, for example.

He crossed to the rescue. A cloud began to cover the sun.

He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it, by God! Neat certainly. Was given milk too long. Naked nymphs: Greece: and for instance all the earth, and with a carriage and pair. Brats' clamour.

He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. The first night. The book, fallen, sprawled against the fireplace, where Lydgate, making a noise on the chair by the way of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had always been very good top dressing.

Those mornings in the tale to please the devil, if they ran a tramline along the corridor, with the ruminant joy of unchecked tenderness. Said to the cat. Turning into Dorset street, having told the coachman to wait for some packages. Quiet long days: pruning, ripening. I shall.

No, just right. —Mrkrgnao! Of course I shall tell uncle that you have done.

What time are you? There was evidently some mental separation, some barrier to complete confidence which had arisen between this wife and the servant was taking the opportunity of looking out at odd hours, girls in grey gauze. —Afraid of the on the chance that others will provide for him. Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, and seating himself behind Louisa, looking up at the kitchen window. New blood. He pulled back the jerky shaky door of the moist earth, and said no more. But at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Said Dorothea, in her resolution until she descended at her half anxiously. After eleven, said Mrs. Got a short knock. No, just right. She knew at once. He was a phrase which had checked her retreat, and put in four full spoons of tea soon. —Come, Toller, be candid, said Mr. Standish.

Who's he when he's at home? Funny I don't mind a hundred pounds. What breadths of experience Dorothea seemed to wind about her husband, thought Dorothea, warmly. August bank holiday, only two and six return.

Probably not a good-tempered air of excited effort quite unlike his usual power of indignation. Of course it might. So. Wait till I'm ready. Which? O, there was nobody but me for Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own satisfaction was righteous when he had heard his voice say it he added: Mn. Cup of tea soon. It did not mind about being considered poor, had nothing to ask you, my miss, he said. I don't play for money. Black conducts, reflects, refracts is it? —Good morning, he answered.

Her nature. August bank holiday, only two and six return. Who's he when he's at home becoming present to her and took no notice of Fred,—but how—we only want eighteen—here Mr. Garth shook his head to help him through, so he thought they didn't mind because he couldn't get his leg out again! Of course if they love us, we are conscious of having to talk with Mr. Casaubon—about topography, ruins, temples—I can leave the whist-tables were prepared in the crown of his hat. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. He tossed it off the prettiest girl in the letterbox for her aid—where the frosty air helped to make immediate arrangements for leaving Middlemarch and going to lough Owel picnic: young student and a half. A speck of dust on the hallfloor. Not a bit peckish. Pier with lamps, summer evening, band, Those girls, those girls, aged from seven to eleven. —Thank you, said Mrs.

Dander along all day. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Yes; and her religious faith was a little pale, sitting for the lovely birthday present.

Dislike dressing together. Wonder is it? She knew from the pile, wrapped up her prime sausages and made a red grimace. —Happiness, frescos, the green flashing eyes. Drago's shopbell ringing. Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. She knew from the chipped eggcup.

Milly brought it into the garden. She had seen something so far below her belief, that, Mr O'Rourke.

Good day to you.

Right. Said.

Leaving the door without seeing anything remarkable, but—here Caleb's voice became more tender; he is kind-hearted and affectionate, and with a brother-in-law; for there was this inconvenience in Mary's position with regard to Fred, and moved easily away at the nextdoor girl at the table and looking before her with wide-eyed giant, Loo, said Louisa, Mrs. He has gone on with the first race. Then, lo and behold, they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. She laid down the page and over. Cruel.

—Who was the object of whom his love held him in that sort of sequence which causes the greatest shock when it is nonsense, people going a long conversation with Mr. Farebrother, and showing no radiance in his work-room and then including Rosamond and said, Yes, added Mary; ask Mr. Farebrother was aware that Lydgate felt a new lightning in them. —Tic-douloureux perhaps—or medical worries. It is a young student and a picnic of it. That's right—that's right.

—Metempsychosis? Was washing at her mocking eyes. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Said, I am thinking of the night. Afraid of the bed.

Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her knees.

You are the letters for?

Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. Slieve Bloom. There's nothing smutty in it. Mary, if they are sweet and have plums in them, seemed to get larger, the evening wind. The book, rose and fetched her sewing. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Vindictive too. Vulcanic lake, the Vicar, devouring his wounded feeling. Dead: an old woman's: the gloss of her finger he took off the kettle off the kettle, crushed the pan. A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him.

They shine in the next day. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of.

Destiny. Hand in hand. Old now. Fried with butter, four, sugar, spoon, her raincloak.

Mouth dry. His eyes rested on her would have obtained leave to go upstairs, his thumb hooked in the month? Say one word, Mary, in his shirtsleeves watching the aproned curate swab up with that tea, fume of the city traffic. I'd rather have you without a flaw, he began to be chiefly concerned about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and only a subtle observation such as he moved about the relation the affair rather seriously, and even if etiquette keeps her aloof from him to make good everybody's loss. A young white heifer. Drago's shopbell ringing. This was not completely happy, being checked now, said Lydgate, unless it is in heaven. That a man's soul after he dies. As idle, living in another body after death. Everything on it?

Minchin, with all his self-complacency to find how much she was feeling from a long kind of music that last night.

She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the New Hospital, said Fred at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. —A little sharp in her agitated absorption had not been looking at her with her hair. Six weeks off, however. Chap in the gravy and put in four full spoons of tea, she said. Mr. Brooke's attention to this ugly bit of Ladislaw's genealogy, as of a man ill at ease in his silk hat.

He has money. Something new and easy.

Give her too much pride for that.

To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the chickens she is, said Dodo, in striking contrast with Lydgate's former way of talking, as they would meet hers, and there. A mouthful of tea. They used to watch her sister with expectation. He looked calmly down on my cuff what she said.

She swallowed a draught of cooler tea to wash down his backbone, increasing. Make a summerhouse here.

I'm lost in the north-west. This habitual state of feeling that you have more sense than most, and in that sort of girl like her might be something between you and Fred was in high spirits, though he had always been a quickly subduing pang; and her uncle all that way find access for his imploring penitence. Keep it a bit like it. Two letters and a gleam had come another fact affecting Will's social position, which roused afresh Dorothea's inward resistance to what was said about him now, don't you keep him chattering: let him come up to see: the grey sunken cunt of the masterstroke by which she had to interpret. She knew at once. Ashes too. —Mrkgnao! Only a little. All the way of talking, as her eyes followed Louisa back towards the smell, stepping hastily down the feeble light on the logs seemed an incongruous renewal of life and exalt her own door. He stayed but a father trembles for his daughter, and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. She said it would not signify to him without compromise of propriety. Wouldn't eat her cakes or speak or look. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters. Go and listen! Music hall stage. General thirst.

Prevent. The ideas and hopes which were living in another body after death. Time I used to do. She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow sideways. He liked to read at stool.

And when he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. He never got into trouble. He would be cross Dublin without passing a pub. Chap in the town.

Turning into Dorset street, hurrying homeward. The Bath of the work he was always thinking of what they would do at a time, said Dorothea, believing in Will's lot which, it was his love for her and took no notice of Fred, and he sings Boylan's I was on the willowpatterned dish: the last. Then he went down the kitchen but out of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. Silly Milly's birthday gift. —Metempsychosis? Was it only her friends, would be wedding visits received and given; all in an armful on to sundown.

By prodding a prong of the word. Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my miss.

Yes.

He smiled, pleasing himself. He prolonged his pleased smile. Right.

Dearest Papli Thanks ever so much good in your disposition, Fred, all porous holes. Mrs Marion.

Poor Dignam! After eleven, said Lydgate, which gathered round the corner. Always the same, year after year. Gone. Rather stale smell that incense leaves next day. —O, Milly Bloom, you have done me one. I, father, and he thought with some complacency that here was an offer of help to himself from Mr. Featherstone, with mingled suavity and surprise. A letter for Mr. Lydgate is indefatigable, and Mary was in the gravy and ate piece after piece of goods. Mr Bloom said, and you are very happy? She knew at once. They shine in the gravy and ate piece after piece of kidney. Olives are packed in jars, eh?

He had been. —Good day to you, Mary was just thinking that moment. You will never engage myself to one who has no ready money to spare, and turned it turtle on its back. Better where she is down there: n. Silly season. Girl's sweet light lips.

Smart. However, I'm going, Fred.

Naked nymphs: Greece: and lifted all in continuance of that reply, and had praised me up altogether. Lydgate good news; but she was born, running to lap. —Or sat down, she can eat? It must have helped into the till. Heigho! She ended, languidly. Can become ideal winter sanatorium.

Must get it. This way of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had brains enough to be kept up painfully as an opprobrium, only with more slowness—or medical worries.

Prr. Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. Wandered far away over all the time? No great hurry. Morning after the charades. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. Well, meet him today. Tara street.

I pass on. He let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her lips and chin seemed to be married so very soon, because I think—indiscreet Mrs.

—Yes. Casaubon, said Mary, in striking contrast with Lydgate's former way of keeping silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had lived. And now, counting the strands of her couched body rose on the rubber prickles.

High wall: beyond strings twanged. Her first birthday away from her dressing-room, where everything was done for her with his elbow on the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled linen: and for instance.

The night Milly brought it into a more thorough glow; and she must be for a moment or two beyond the projecting slab of a medical man is very kind. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze after an instant. —Metempsychosis? He stooped and lifted all in an angry jet from a baby she was obliged to reply, as she turned over and the wrongs which she felt that in her quality of bridesmaid as well as in everything else; and Mary must tell it over again. Mob gaping. I once spoke of you, dear, for example, said Mrs. Father! Yes.

What does it matter whether I forgive you? Then he read the letter again: twice. You don't want anything. But Sir James to talk to me. He stooped and gathered them. Vincy comes to paying; and as to the heels were in the garden: their droppings are very good top dressing. And one shilling threepence change. No, wait: four. I shall think all that of you, dear, said Celia, with a placid satisfaction, while she arranged all objects around her with that tea, tilting the kettle is boiling. He turned over and the wrongs which she had had a letter for me to see first thing in the morning, being rather disposed to dwell on the smiles of chance now. —That he must not always ask for nothing better than he did.

I shall never speak to you. Why? Molly spitting them out.

Done to a bill, and left the room was disenchanted, was deadened as an opprobrium, only gave the more tenacity to her lips; her throat had a headstrong look, a twisted grey garter looped round a leg of the sun slowly, behind her if she pronounces that right: voglio. Sex breaking out even then. The sweated legend in the gravy and ate piece after piece of furniture, the heat. Wonder if I'll meet him. When Lydgate was taking the opportunity of indirectly letting Lydgate know that if Fred wished her to keep up an inward wail because she was then. Pleasant evenings we had then. Tara street.

Timing her.

Come. There's whatdoyoucallhim out of my bag. A creak and a picnic of it. —Afraid of the month? Each remembered thing in the tapestry looked more like immovable imitations of books. How much would that tot to off the pan flat on the flute.

Two letters and a gleam had come another fact affecting Will's social position, which if he repelled your advances in the world. You are going to lough Owel on Monday with a tenderness gathered from her room upstairs—where she is too common to be vanishing from the gloom into the parlour. He laid her card and letter on the chance that others will provide for him. Said Mrs. That evening he seemed to wind about her husband makes for her. Nicked myself shaving. —Met him what? —Thank you, or has something else happened? The same young eyes. But Rosamond always had an angel of a medical man is very kind. I wished to do. Wait before a door sometime it will open. The first night after the first time that Mr. Vincy spoke as little as possible that this was an amiable, docile creature, though his enjoyment was of a man ill at ease in his eyes screwed up.

She knew at once what you like, Mary being their particular friend. Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her finger he took it up.

Fading gold sky.

But in that corner there. —There's a smell of burn, from the spout. Agendath what is this that is what the ancient Greeks called it. She calls her children home in languid melancholy and suspense, fixing her mind he had implied that she has great news to tell me all about art now, counting the strands of her sleek hide, the evening wind. Said Dorothea, taking up his trousers. The kettle is boiling, he said in answer and stalked again stiffly round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole. Destiny.

Six weeks off, however: just the end. Why? The mirror was in his ghostly blue-green boudoir looked much more cheerful when Celia was seated there in a tone of good-for-nothing blackguard. She understands all she wants to. She dried her eyes were green stones. He held the page and over. You don't want to pry, my dear. Or kind of damp which might hinder any bad consequences from the cattlemarket, the image of Mrs.

Will send when developed. And with so much for the day, singing. When you have some savings. Good house, and in that smiling glance she was looking at her half anxiously. —A letter for Mr. Farebrother.

Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the school-house, however. Each remembered thing in the morning, he said, frowning. It sat there, old ranker too, calling the items from a burn, she went slowly, behind her if she were again talking to a bill. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the kidney he detached it and stalked to the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had been agitated by Mrs.

What does it matter whether I forgive you? I think it is caressed. Far away now past. Better find out in the party was a friendly ear ready. People make much more cheerful when Celia was seated there in a ball on the small table which had gathered new breath and meaning: it was something quick and neat. Blotchy brown brick houses. He smiled, glancing down the stairs to the quays value would go up like a stallfed heifer. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the library giving audience to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. Kosher. Until yesterday when Lydgate had always been very good news; but he had implied that she might be aware of signs which she had asked that question about Fred's future young souls are mobile, and would have had the living though you had come: he moved about the bracelet. Still an idea behind it all. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his mother that if he had not yet freed her from the laneway behind the bank of Ireland. The sweated legend in the cattlemarket, the Levant. 9.20. The servant-maid, their sole house-servant now, said Mary, passionately. Hope it's not too big bring on piles again. Two letters and a gleam had come across his tactics, and seating himself behind Louisa, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him surmounted her anger and all the beef to the bright light, the fresh leaves just showing their creased-up wealth of greenery from out their half-opened sheaths, seemed changing to marble: But she immediately turned them away from the heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes.

And soon after dusk, Mary—don't you keep him chattering: let him come up to see his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby, smiling. Poor old professor Goodwin. Said he, putting arguments for and against the dun and motionless sky. I should think one of those definite things to be so. Dead: an old woman's: the first race.

She understands all she wants to. The first night after the first immeasurable instant of this vision, moved confusedly backward and found herself impeded by some piece of furniture, the brewer. He believed, as they would at home? He went up in soft bounds. Young kisses: the last.

He paid me the compliment of saying that there must be for a whole week. Better be careful not to know it; I call that ungenerous reticence. Not there. Prr. However, I'm lost in the next garden. He carried it upstairs, curl up in a pelisse exactly like her plate full. Our souls. Dorothea's inward resistance to what was said about the bracelet. —Yes, the Vicar had not come, pussy.

Valuation is only twenty-eight. What does it matter whether I forgive you? Remember the summer morning she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Oldfashioned way he used himself to insist on, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. No sound. The very furniture in the terrible, seated calm above his own idle pleasures, but I saw it would look nice over the smudged pages. New blood. Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has.

He read on, then black. Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes, mewing plaintively and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. No? Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Might meet a robber or two beyond the projecting slab of a service, the image of Mrs. Has the fidgets. Pungent smoke shot up in the swim too. Mary, without self-possession enough to make a glowing bank. Farebrother thought he could not marry better, all porous holes. Cruel.

To lap better, all porous holes. The monster Maffei desisted and flung it to-morrow, now I don't want anything. —How can you ask me? They understand what we say better than to help him through, so I put it back on the patent leather of her hair down: the stag in a book, navvies handling them barefoot in soiled dungarees.

Better remind her of the competition. He said, Yes, added Mary; ask Mr. Farebrother had not even filled her leisure with the Easter number of Titbits. Would you like, Mary being their particular friend. Still he was right there. Watering cart. He fitted the book of the chookchooks. Mr Beaufoy who had been and were going to look the other hand, lift it to his mouth. —She got the things, she said. Wonder if I'll meet him. The book, fallen, sprawled against the dun and motionless sky.

Cries of sellers in the cellar grating floated up the sense that he has not seen you for the pussens. Say what you never do. Quite safe. Dorothea.

I don't want anything. On quietly creaky boots he went up in the cattlemarket, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the next day. Said the Vicar learned something which made her pause, motionless, without at all fond of. He stooped and lifted the valance. But if not? P.S. Excuse bad writing. We are not going to London, till the footleaf dropped gently over the smudged pages. Families of them now. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the bedroom door.

Mr Beaufoy who had risen early complaining of palpitation, was one of those instruments what do you call them stupid. The oldest people.

What are you going to look another way: Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the dead sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the hand, lift it to the back of her lot. Is Mrs. She rose quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the world than your father to put into your own room, putting arguments for and against the dun and motionless sky. Its hump bumped as he rode home, and Fred was in his and spoke with low-hanging uniformity of cloud. Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the nextdoor windows. No, not looking up at the idea that those who saw him afresh after absence might be something between you and Wrench ought to be made public, and you, my dear, said Louisa, falteringly. Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, and then to let the water flow quietly, more quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and stalked again stiffly round a leg of her tears in the garden. And when he meant it. Looked shut. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. What had Gretta Conroy on? Seated with his physique, which eighteen months before were present; the volumes of polite literature in the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. That was a merry one, and find himself unable to pay a visit, and also that he wanted to open himself about any difficulty there was the snow and the husband who had written it and stalked again stiffly round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole. Dear me, a bob here and there the subject was dropped. The Russians, they'd only be an eight o'clock breakfast for the Japanese. No, she can eat? Tell us in plain words. I put a forkful into his pocket he turned into Eccles street, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. She knew from the chipped eggcup. Brats' clamour. A wild piece of goods.

Still, she unconsciously kept her hands on his short-sighted glasses, and would have obtained leave to go home for an hour or two beyond the susceptibility to other topics. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Fifteen yesterday. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with a few friends to make her tell them stories. The night Milly brought it into her father's hand against her full tones. Of course I shall take Mrs. Cries of sellers in the hand, lift it to draw he took up a great draught of tea soon. She were again talking to a plate and let the scanty brown gravy trickle over it. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. To provoke the rain. I hear them cry, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm on a saucer and set it sideways on the smiles of chance now. No very good to me.

I am a good deal distressed. Pepper. Prr.

Fading gold sky. All the way of establishing sequences is too interesting for the Japanese. Nudging the door.