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346 "Once you spoke otherwise, Olmec," she taunted. "Once, in your youth, you spoke words of love. Aye, you were my lover once, years ago, and because you loved me, you slept in my arms beneath the enchanted lotus—and thereby put into my hands the chains that enslaved you. You know you cannot withstand me. You know I have but to gaze into your eyes, with the mystic power a priest of Stygia taught me, long ago, and you are powerless, You remember the night beneath the black lotus that waved above us, stirred by no worldly breeze; you scent again the unearthly perfumes that stole and rose like a cloud about you to enslave you. You cannot fight against me. You are my slave as you were that night—as you shall be so long as you shall live, Olmec of Xuchotl!"

ER voice had sunk to a murmur like the rippling of a stream running through starlit darkness. She leaned close to the prince and spread her long tapering fingers upon his giant breast. His eyes glazed, his great hands fell limply to his sides.

With a smile of cruel malice, Tascela lifted the vessel and placed it to his lips.

"Drink!"

Mechanically the prince obeyed. And instantly the glaze passed from his eyes and they were flooded with fury, comprehension and an awful fear. His mouth gaped, but no sound issued. For an instant he reeled on buckling knees, and then fell in a sodden heap on the floor.

His fall jolted Valeria out of her paralysis. She turned and sprang toward the door, but with a movement that would have shamed a leaping panther, Tascela was before her. Valeria struck at her with her clenched fist, and all the power of her supple body behind the blow. It would have stretched a man senseless on the floor. But with a lithe twist of her torso, Tascela avoided the blow and caught the pirate's wrist. The next instant Valeria's left hand was imprisoned, and holding her wrists together with one hand, Tascela calmly bound them with a cord she drew from her girdle. Valeria thought she had tasted the ultimate in humiliation already that night, but her shame at being manhandled by Olmec was nothing to the sensations that now shook her supple frame. Valeria had always been inclined to despise the other members of her sex; and it was overwhelming to encounter another woman who could handle her like a child. She scarcely resisted at all when Tascela forced her into a chair and drawing her bound wrists down between her knees, fastened them to the chair.

Casually stepping over Olmec, Tascela walked to the bronze door and shot the bolt and threw it open, revealing a hallway without.

"Opening upon this hall," she remarked, speaking to her feminine captive for the first time, "there is a chamber which in old times was used as a torture room. When we retired into Tecuhltli, we brought most of the apparatus with us, but there was one piece too heavy to move. It is still in working order. I think it will be quite convenient now."

An understanding flame of terror rose in Olmec's eyes. Tascela strode back to him, bent and gripped him by the hair.

"He is only paralyzed temporarily," she remarked conversationally. "He can hear, think, and feel—aye, he can feel very well indeed!"

With which sinister observation she started toward the door, dragging the giant bulk with an ease that made the pirate's eyes dilate. She passed into the hall and moved down it without hesitation, presently disappearing with her captive into a chamber that opened into it,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivory, James (1792-1866)

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


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Rh and whence shortly thereafter issued the clank of iron.

Valeria swore softly and tugged vainly, with her legs braced against the chair. The cords that confined her were apparently unbreakable.

Tascela presently returned alone; behind her a muffled groaning issued from the chamber. She closed the door but did not bolt it. Tascela was beyond the grip of habit, as she was beyond the touch of other human instincts and emotions.

Valeria sat dumbly, watching the woman in whose slim hands, the pirate realized, her destiny now rested.

Tascela grasped her yellow locks and forced back her head, looking impersonally down into her face. But the glitter in her dark eyes was not impersonal.

"I have chosen you for a great honor," she said, "You shall restore the youth of Tascela. Oh, you stare at that! My appearance is that of youth, but through my veins creeps the sluggish chill of approaching age, as I have felt it a thousand times before. I am old, so old I do not remember my childhood. But I was a girl once, and a priest of Stygia loved me, and gave me the secret of immortality and youth everlasting. He died, then—some said by poison. But I dwelt in my palace by the shores of Lake Zuad and the passing years touched me not. So at last a king of Stygia desired me, and my people rebelled and brought me to this land. Olmec called me a princess. I am not of royal blood. I am greater than a princess. I am Tascela, whose youth your own glorious youth shall restore."

Valeria's tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She sensed here a mystery darker than the degeneracy she had anticipated.

The taller woman unbound the Aquilonian's wrists and pulled her to her feet. It was not fear of the dominant strength that lurked in the princess" limbs that made Valeria a helpless, quivering captive in her hands. It was the burning, hypnotic, terrible eyes of Tascela.

ELL, I'm a Kushite!"

Conan glared down at the man on the iron rack.

"What the devil are you doing on that thing?"

Incoherent sounds issued from behind the gag and Conan bent and tore it away, evoking a bellow of fear from the captive; for his action caused the iron ball to lurch down until it nearly touched the broad breast.

"Be careful, for Set's sake!" begged Olmec.

"What for?" demanded Conan, "Do you think I care what happens to you? I only wish I had time to stay here and watch that chunk of iron grind your guts out. But I'm in a hurry. Where's Valeria?"

"Loose me!" urged Olmec, "I will tell you all!"

"Tell me first."

"Never!" The prince's heavy jaws set stubbornly.

"All right." Conan seated himself on a near-by bench. "I'll find her myself, after you've been reduced to a jelly. I believe I can speed up that process by twisting my sword-point around in your ear," he added, extending the weapon experimentally.

"Wait!" Words came in a rush from the captive's ashy lips. "Tascela took her from me. I've never been anything but a puppet in Tascela's hands."

"Tascela?" snorted Conan, and spat. "Why, the filthy——"

"No, no!" panted Olmec. "It's worse than you think. Tascela is old—centuries old. She renews her life and her youth by the sacrifice of beautiful young


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348 men. That's one thing that has reduced the clan to its present state. She will draw the essence of Valeria's life into her own body, and bloom with fresh vigor and beauty."

"Are the doors locked?" asked Conan, thumbing his sword edge.

"Aye! But I know a way to get into Tecuhltli. Only Tascela and I know, and she thinks me helpless and you slain. Free me and I swear I will help you rescue Valeria. Without my help you cannot win into Techultli; for even if you tortured me into revealing the secret, you couldn't work it. Let me go, and we will steal on Tascela and kill her before she can work magic—before she can fix her eyes on us. A knife thrown from behind will do the work. I should have killed her thus long ago, but I feared that without her to aid us the Xotalancas would overcome us. She needed my help, too; that's the only reason she let me live this long. Now neither needs the other, and one must die. I swear that when we have slain the witch, you and Valeria shall go free without harm. My people will obey me when Tascela is dead."

Conan stooped and cut the ropes that held the prince, and Olmec slid cautiously from under the great ball and rose, shaking his head like a bull and muttering imprecations as he fingered his lacerated scalp. Standing shoulder to shoulder the two men presented a formidable picture of primitive power. Olmec was as tall as Conan, and heavier; but there was something repellent about the Tlazitlan, something abysmal and monstrous that contrasted unfavorably with the clean-cut, compact hardness of the Cimmerian. Conan had discarded the remnants of his tattered, blood-soaked shirt, and stood with his remarkable muscular development impressively revealed. His great shoulders were as broad as those of Olmec, and more cleanly outlined, and his huge breast arched with a more impressive sweep to a hard waist that lacked the paunchy thickness of Olmec's midsection. He might have been an image of primal strength cut out of bronze. Olmec was darker, but not from the burning of the sun. If Conan was a figure out of the dawn of Time, Olmec was a shambling, somber shape from the darkness of Time's pre-dawn.

"Lead on," demanded Conan. "And keep ahead of me. I don't trust you any farther than I can throw a bull by the tail."

Olmec turned and stalked on ahead of him, one hand twitching slightly as it plucked at his matted beard.

LMEC did not lead Conan back to the bronze door, which the prince naturally supposed Tascela had locked, but to a certain chamber on the border of Tecuhltli.

"This secret has been guarded for half a century," he said. "Not even our own clan knew of it, and the Xotalancas never learned. Tecuhltli himself built this secret entrance, afterward slaying the slaves who did the work; for he feared that he might find himself locked out of his own kingdom some day because of the spite of Tascela, whose passion for him soon changed to hate. But she discovered the secret, and barred the hidden door against him one day as he fled back from an unsuccessful raid, and the Xotalancas took him and flayed him. But once, spying upon her, I saw her enter Tecuhltli by this route, and so learned the secret."

He pressed upon a gold ornament in the wall, and a panel swung inward, disclosing an ivory stair leading upward.

"This stair is built within the wall," said Olmec. "It leads up to a tower upon the roof, and thence other stairs wind down to the various chambers. Hasten!"

"After you, comrade!" retorted Conan


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivory, Thomas (1709-1779)


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Rh satirically, swaying his broadsword as he spoke, and Olmec shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the staircase. Conan instantly followed him, and the door shut behind them. Far above a cluster of fire-jewels made the staircase a well of dusky dragon-light.

They mounted until Conan estimated that they were above the level of the fourth floor, and then came out into a cylindrical tower, in the domed roof of which was set the bunch of fire-jewels that lighted the stair. Through gold-barred windows, set with unbreakable crystal panes, the first windows he had seen in Xuchotl, Conan got a glimpse of high ridges, domes and more towers, looming darkly against the stars. He was looking across the roofs of Xuchotl.

Olmec did not look through the windows. He hurried down one of the several stairs that wound down from the tower, and when they had descended a few feet, this stair changed into a narrow corridor that wound tortuously on for some distance. It ceased at a steep flight of steps leading downward. There Olmec paused.

Up from below, muffled, but unmistakable, welled a woman's scream, edged with fright, fury and shame. And Conan recognized Valeria's voice.

In the swift rage roused by that cry, and the amazement of wondering what peril could wring such a shriek from Valeria's reckless lips, Conan forgot Olmec. He pushed past the prince and started down the stair. Awakening instinct brought him about again, just as Olmec struck with his great mallet-like fist. The blow, fierce and silent, was aimed at the base of Conan's brain. But the Cimmerian wheeled in time to receive the buffet on the side of his neck instead. The impact would have snapped the vertebræ of a lesser man. As it was, Conan swayed backward, but even as he reeled he dropped his sword, useless at such close quarters, and grasped Olmec's extended arm, dragging the prince with him as he fell. Headlong they went down the steps together, in a revolving whirl of limbs and heads and bodies. And as they went Conan's iron fingers found and locked in Olmec's bull-throat.

The barbarian's neck and shoulder felt numb from the sledge-like impact of Olmec's huge fist, which had carried all the strength of the massive forearm, thick triceps and great shoulder. But this did not affect his ferocity to any appreciable extent. Like a bulldog he hung on grimly, shaken and battered and beaten against the steps as they rolled, until at last they struck an ivory panel-door at the bottom with such an impact that they splintered it its full length and crashed through its ruins, But Olmec was already dead, for those iron fingers had crushed out his life and broken his neck as they fell.

ONAN rose, shaking the splinters from his great shoulder, blinking blood and dust out of his eyes.

He was in the great throneroom. There were fifteen people in that room besides himself. The first person he saw was Valeria. A curious black altar stood before the throne-dais. Ranged about it, seven black candles in golden candlesticks sent up oozing spirals of thick green smoke, disturbingly scented. These spirals united in a cloud near the ceiling, forming a smoky arch above the altar. On that altar lay Valeria, stark naked, her white flesh gleaming in shocking contrast to the glistening ebon stone. She was not bound. She lay at full length, her arms stretched out above her head to their fullest extent. At the head of the altar knelt a young man, holding her wrists firmly. A young woman knelt at the other end of the altar, grasping her ankles. Between them she could neither rise nor move.


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550 Eleven men and women of Tecuhltli knelt dumbly in a semicircle, watching the scene with hot, lustful eyes.

On the ivory throne-seat Tascela lolled. Bronze bowls of incense rolled their spirals about her; the wisps of smoke curled about her naked limbs like caressing fingers. She could not sit still; she squirmed and shifted about with sensuous abandon, as if finding pleasure in the contact of the smooth ivory with her sleek flesh.

The crash of the door as it broke beneath the impact of the hurtling bodies caused no change in the scene. The kneeling men and women merely glanced incuriously at the corpse of their prince and at the man who rose from the ruins of the door, then swung their eyes greedily back to the writhing white shape on the black altar. Tascela looked insolently at him, and sprawled back on her seat, laughing mockingly.

"Slut!" Conan saw red. His hands clenched into iron hammers as he started for her. With his first step something clanged loudly and steel bit savagely into his leg. He stumbled and almost fell, checked in his headlong stride. The jaws of an iron trap had closed on his leg, with teeth that sank deep and held. Only the ridged muscles of his calf saved the bone from being splintered. The accursed thing had sprung out of the smoldering floor without warning. He saw the slots now, in the floor where the jaws had lain, perfectly camouflaged.

"Fool!" laughed Tascela. "Did you think I would not guard against your possible return? Every door in this chamber is guarded by such traps. Stand there and watch now, while I fulfill the destiny of your handsome friend! Then I will decide your own."

Conan's hand instinctively sought his belt, only to encounter an empty scabbard. His sword was on the stair behind him. His poniard was lying back in the forest, where the dragon had torn it from his jaw. The steel teeth in his leg were like burning coals, but the pain was not as savage as the fury that seethed in his soul. He was trapped, like a wolf. If he had had his sword he would have hewn off his leg and crawled across the floor to slay Tascela. Valeria's eyes rolled toward him with mute appeal, and his own helplessness sent red waves of madness surging through his brain.

Dropping on the knee of his free leg, he strove to get his fingers between the jaws of the trap, to tear them apart by sheer strength. Blood started from beneath his finger nails, but the jaws fitted close about his leg in a circle whose segments jointed perfectly, contracted until there was no space between his mangled flesh and the fanged iron. The sight of Valeria's naked body added flame to the fire of his rage.

Tascela ignored him. Rising languidly from her seat she swept the ranks of her subjects with a searching glance, and asked: "Where are Xamec, Zlanath and Tachic?"

"They did not return from the catacombs, princess," answered a man. "Like the rest of us, they bore the bodies of the slain into the crypts, but they have not returned. Perhaps the ghost of Tolkemec took them."

"Be silent, fool!" she ordered harshly, "The ghost is a myth."

She came down from her dais, playing with a thin gold-hilted dagger. Her eyes burned like nothing on the hither side of hell. She paused beside the altar and spoke in the tense stillness.

"Your life shall make me young, white woman!" she said. "I shall lean upon your bosom and place my lips over yours, and slowly—ah, slowly!—sink this blade through your heart, so that your life, fleeing your stiffening body, shall enter mine,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budd, Henry


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Rh making me bloom again with youth and with life everlasting!"

Slowly, like a serpent arching toward its victim, she bent down through the writhing smoke, closer and closer over the now motionless woman who stared up into her glowing dark eyes—eyes that grew larger and deeper, blazing like black moons in the swirling smoke.

The kneeling people gripped their hands and held their breath, tense for the bloody climax, and the only sound was Conan's fierce panting as he strove to tear his leg from the trap.

All eyes were glued on the altar and the white figure there; the crash of a thunderbolt could hardly have broken the spell, yet it was only a low cry that shattered the fixity of the scene and brought all whirling about—a low cry, yet one to make the hair stand up stiffly on the scalp. They looked, and they saw.

Framed in the door to the left of the dais stood a nightmare figure. It was a man, with a tangle of white hair and a matted white beard that fell over his breast. Rags only partly covered his gaunt frame, revealing half-naked limbs strangely unnatural in appearance. The skin was not like that of a normal human. There was a suggestion of scaliness about it, as if the owner had dwelt long under conditions almost antithetical to those conditions under which human life ordinarily thrives. And there was nothing at all human about the eyes that blazed from the tangle of white hair. They were great gleaming disks that stared unwinkingly, luminous, whitish, and without a hint of normal emotion or sanity. The mouth gaped, but no coherent words issued—only a high-pitched tittering.

OLKEMEC!" whispered Tascela, livid, while the others crouched in speechless horror. "No myth, then, no ghost! Set! You have dwelt for twelve years in darkness! Twelve years among the bones of the dead! What grisly food did you find? What mad travesty of life did you live, in the stark blackness of that eternal night? I see now why Xamec and Zlanath and Tachic did not return from the catacombs—and never will return. But why have you waited so long to strike? Were you seeking something, in the pits? Some secret weapon you knew was hidden there? And have you found it at last?"

That hideous tittering was Tolkemec's only reply, as he bounded into the room with a long leap that carried him over the secret trap before the door—by chance, or by some faint recollection of the ways of Xuchotl. He was not mad, as a man is mad. He had dwelt apart from humanity so long that he was no longer human. Only an unbroken thread of memory embodied in hate and the urge for vengeance had connected him with the humanity from which he had been cut off, and held him lurking near the people he hated. Only that thin string had kept him from racing and prancing off for ever into the black corridors and realms of the subterranean world he had discovered, long ago.

"You sought something hidden!" whispered Tascela, cringing back. "And you have found it! You remember the feud! After all these years of blackness, you remember!"

For in the lean hand of Tolkemec now waved a curious jade-hued wand, on the end of which glowed a knob of crimson shaped like a pomegranate. She sprang aside as he thrust it out like a spear, and a beam of crimson fire lanced from the pomegranate. It missed Tascela, but the woman holding Valeria's ankles was in the way. It smote between her shoulders. There was a sharp crackling sound and the ray of fire flashed from her bosom and struck the black altar, with a


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352  of blue sparks. The woman toppled sidewise, shriveling and withering like a mummy even as she fell.

Valeria rolled from the altar on the other side, and started for the opposite wall on all fours. For hell had burst loose in the throneroom of dead Olmec.

The man who had held Valeria's hands was the next to die. He turned to run, but before he had taken half a dozen steps, Tolkemec, with an agility appalling in such a frame, bounded around to a position that placed the man between him and the altar. Again the red fire-beam flashed and the Tecuhltli rolled lifeless to the floor, as the beam completed its course with a burst of blue sparks against the altar.

Then began slaughter. Screaming insanely the people rushed about the chamber, caroming from one another, stumbling and falling. And among them Tolkemec capered and pranced, dealing death. They could not escape by the doors; for apparently the metal of the portals served like the metal-veined stone altar to complete the circuit for whatever hellish power flashed like thunderbolts from the witch-wand the ancient waved in his hand. When he caught a man or a woman between him and a door or the altar, that one died instantly. He chose no special victim. He took them as they came, with his rags flapping about his wildly gyrating limbs, and the gusty echoes of his tittering sweeping the room above the screams. And bodies fell like falling leaves about the altar and at the doors. One warrior in desperation rushed at him, lifting a dagger, only to fall before he could strike. But the rest were like crazed cattle, with no thought for resistance, and no chance of escape.

The last Tecuhltli except Tascela had fallen when the princess reached the Cimmerian and the girl who had taken refuge beside him, Tascela beat and touched the floor, pressing a design upon it. Instantly the iron jaws released the bleeding limb and sank back into the floor.

"Slay him if you can!" she panted, and pressed a heavy knife into his hand. "I have no magic to withstand him!"

With a grunt he sprang before the women, not heeding his lacerated leg in the heat of the fighting-lust. Tolkemec was coming toward him, his weird eyes ablaze, but he hesitated at the gleam of the knife in Conan's hand. Then began a grim game, as Tolkemec sought to circle about Conan and get the barbarian between him and the altar or a metal door, while Conan sought to avoid this and drive home his knife. The women watched tensely, holding their breath.

There was no sound except the rustle and scrape of quick-shifting feet. Tolkemec pranced and capered no more. He realized that grimmer game confronted him than the people who had died screaming and fleeing. In the elemental blaze of the barbarian's eyes he read an intent deadly as his own. Back and forth they weaved, and when one moved the other moved as if invisible threads bound them together. But all the time Conan was getting closer and closer to his enemy. Already the coiled muscles of his thighs were beginning to flex for a spring, when Valeria cried out. For a fleeting instant a bronze door was in line with Conan's moving body. The red line leaped, searing Conan's flank as he twisted aside, and even as he shifted he hurled the knife. Old Tolkemec went down, truly slain at last, the hilt vibrating on his breast. Tascela sprang—not toward Conan, but toward the wand where it shimmered like a live thing on the floor. But as she leaped, so did Valeria, with a dagger snatched from a dead man, and the W. T.—6


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budd, Richard


text: Weird Tales/Volume 28/Issue 3/Red Nails

title: Weird Tales/Volume 28/Issue 3/Red Nails


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budd, William


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292 For the last six months of his life, he was making ready for his son." There was an odd sort of pride in Carrier's voice.

I remembered now that my father had written for my measurements. I had thought he meant to make me a present, but when time passed and I heard nothing, the incident had slipped from my mind. I looked at Wrexler, expecting to see some sign of amusement on his face, but he stood quietly looking at the tapestry that hung half-way up the grand stairway. There was a dreamy, far-away expression in his eyes.

"May I speak before your friend?" Carrier asked.

I nodded. The servants had already disappeared with our luggage. I threw myself down on a long, low bench, and Carrier sat opposite me.

"You understood the terms of your father's will, of course," Carrier began, "that you must live here six months, but you did not know that you must live here, as he did, in the past. If you do not, then Rougemont goes to your father's steward, with the same conditions—to be kept always as it is; with only a small sum set aside for you."

I said nothing. Driving along the road from Paris, it would have seemed fantastic, but here—under the spell of Rougemont—it seemed as though anything else would be impossible.

went on, "You will be Grand Seigneur—Lord of the Manor, in the old style. You may have your guests if you like, but they too must conform with the rules." Here he glanced at Wrexler, who still stood as though he were in a trance. "The other six months you are free to do as you please, spend what you like of the money not needed for Rougemont—that is, if you want to go anywhere else."

Evidently he had finished his speech. At the time I did not recognize the significance of his last words. "I am willing to submit to the conditions; only"—a sudden thought struck me—"I don't want to lose all touch with the outside world. Can I go to Vichy—to get papers and so forth? I don't suppose they had papers in Francis First's time."

Monsieur de Carrier smiled. "My dear boy, your father didn't wish to make a prisoner of you. You may go to Vichy if you like. But you must not be away from Rougemont more than twenty-four consecutive hours during the six months you are in residence.

"So far as the papers, etc., are concerned, they will be at the lodge. There is also a telephone, and your own clothes will be kept there. After tonight, nothing of 1935 must come within these halls, but you are free to go to the lodge any time you want to. You can get in touch with me also, if you desire further information, De Lacy, the steward, will look out for you. He knows your father's ways. Now permit me to congratulate you and say au revoir, my young friend."

Monsieur de Carrier got up on his stubby fat legs, made a little bow to me, another to Wrexler which went unheeded.

I too arose. "It will seem strange, but I'll do my best."

"One other thing," Monsieur de Carrier was all of a sudden very grave. "In two weeks' time you will be given a key. It unlocks a casket you will find in the library. In it you will find a message from your father, Adieu, my boy, I wish you well."

With a click of the heels and a friendly smile, he was gone.

I turned to Wrexler. "What do you think of it?" I asked.

Wrexler did not answer. He still stood gazing up at the stairway. The


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Rh wide, marble steps curved upward. Along the sides, the intricate carving was beautiful in its lacy delicateness.

At that moment, however, I was alarmed for my friend. His attitude was rigid, and his eyes were glassy. I put my hand on his shoulder. "Wrexler!"

My action galvanized him to life. "Another minute and she would have reached the last step! Now she is gone."

This was madness! There had been no one there. I said as much.

Wrexler turned and faced me. "But there was," he said eagerly, "the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, all done up in some old costume: great, wide skirts, little waist, and a high lace collar. She had bronze curls, great blue eyes and the loveliest face! I saw her immediately we came in. She looked at both of us, but she smiled at me!"

I was in a quandary. Until now I had not given the staircase more than a perfunctory glance. For all I knew, she might have been one of the servants, peeping to see her new master. To Wrexler, impressionable, strange creature that he was, the one glance might have so registered on his mind that he kept on seeing her; for certainly she had not been there when I looked. It seemed best to make light of the whole matter.

"Anyway, she's gone now, At least I can explain the costume. I take it you didn't hear Carrier's announcements?"

Wrexler shook his head. I proceeded to enlighten him.

Instead of teasing me about the strange conditions my father's will had imposed upon me, he was enthusiastic about the idea. "It's the one period in history that has always interested me! Jim, we're in luck! Imagine stepping back into Medici France for six months, shutting out the world! Who knows but that Catherine herself may have stayed here, or Marguerite de Valois—the Marguerite of Marguerites! Beautiful, but no more beautiful than that girl on the stairs. I can hardly wait to see her again."

I heartily hoped that he would see her, and that she was not entirely a creature of his imagination. If she was real, I too was eager to meet her.

Wrexler interrupted my thoughts.

"I feel as though I had come home," he said. "I'm crazy to explore. Let's go shed these ugly things and begin to really live. Why, it's been this I've been waiting for! It's lucky we're the same size."

of his irrelevance, I gathered the trend of his thought. "I wonder where we go," I began.

Almost as though he had heard my words, a tall, commanding figure stepped into the hall. He was attired richly in damask of a lovely, soft blue with the same slashes of crimson that the servant livery had shown, but in this case of finer material. He was a handsome man of about thirty-four. His beard was pointed and he had a small mustache. His long legs were encased in silken hose and he wore a dagger thrust through his belt.

"De Lacy, at your service, my lord," he announced as he made a deep bow.

I extended my hand, somewhat at a loss to know how to greet my father's steward, who was clearly a man of some importance and who, but for me, would be owner of Rougemont.

Instead of shaking hands, he dropped on one knee and kissed my hand—a proceeding which embarrassed me very much.

On my motioning him to rise, he did so with a lithe grace; "I suppose you want to change your strange clothes, my lord, and see your quarters?"

I nodded and introduced Wrexler. De Lacy bowed, "Monsieur Wrexler would like to be near you?" Then he added,


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294 "We have some twenty or thirty suites, my lord."

Wrexler said he would prefer to be close at hand, and together we followed de Lacy up the marble stairway into a new world.

Wrexler was at ease immediately in his doublet and hose. The rich, embroidered garments seemed to suit him as modern clothes never did. He looked handsomer than ever. He also told me that the costume of the Medici was becoming to me, and truly when I caught a glimpse of myself mirrored in the pond—for the château did not possess a large mirror—I was not ill pleased with the result. But, by the end of the week, I still felt strange in my new attire, whereas Wrexler from the beginning wore his as if to the manor born.

But I anticipate. That first night we donned two of the outfits which the valet whom de Lacy introduced to me had put out. Our own clothes disappeared, and much to my annoyance, with them my cigarettes.

dinner in state, upon a raised dais at one end of a great hall. At either side below us were long, narrow tables filled with people. Dressed also in keeping with the period, they made a wonderful picture and comprised, I supposed, my court or retinue. De Lacy presented me to them with a flourish, and they all filed by and kissed my hand, then went to their places.

When Wrexler and I were seated, they too sat down. When I began to talk, they filled the hall with gay chattering. From a minstrel gallery at the other end of the room came soft strains of music.

De Lacy stood behind me pouring my wine. One thing I noticed was that in the whole room—and there must have been two hundred people at least—there were no older men or women. In fact, de Lacy was the oldest of the lot; the others ranged from about sixteen to thirty.

"How did my father get all these people together?" I asked de Lacy.

"Most of them, my lord, were born at Rougemont. Still others were adopted and brought here almost as soon as they were born. None of us has ever been outside Rougemont gates." De Lacy was quite matter-of-fact as he made his statement.

Wrexler was searching the hall with his eyes, as he listened to my steward.

"And you?" I looked at de Lacy.

"I, too, my lord, know nothing of your outside world, nor do I want to. Why should I, who am happy here? My family live down at the farm, but his Highness, your father, became interested in me. He brought me into the château, had me educated, and looked after me, himself. Eventually he made me steward of Rougemont. It is a great honor he conferred upon me and I shall do my best to help you, my lord,"

Of a sudden I saw what my father's life-work had been: to rear a court to people Rougemont, My father had been twenty-five at my mother's death. He had died at fifty-eight. He had had thirty-three years to make his dream come true.

"Where are the parents of the ones who were born at Rougemont?"

"At their own places, or the farms, my lord. Rougemont has over a thousand acres and several manors upon it, where people whom his Highness your father advanced over others, live. They all serve their ruler in some way, in return for what is given them. Only the people of the lodge are in touch with the Outside, which we have been taught to look upon with scorn. Here we have everything, and to be taken to the château itself is the ambition of everyone on the estate."


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Page:Dictionary of spoken Russian (1945).djvu/451

 □ ваше назначение ещё не проведено приказом. Your appointment has not as yet been approved.

приказание command. ваше приказание будет исполнено. Your command will be carried out. • order. Это приказание моего начальника. This order came from higher up.

приказать (-кажу, -кажет; pct of приказывать) to order. Нам приказано выехать на рассвете. We were ordered to leave at dawn. • to instruct. Мне приказали позаботиться о том, чтобы вас хорошо устроили. I was instructed to see to it that you get good accommodations. □ (no dur) Что прикажете делать, когда каждый день приходят новые распоряжения? What can you do when new orders keep coming every day? • *Он приказал долго жить. He died.

приказывать (dur of приказать) to give orders. Никто вам этого не приказывал. Nobody gave you any such orders.

прикладной. □ прикладное искусство applied arts. прикладные науки applied sciences.

прикладывать (dur of приложить) to apply. Прикладывайте к глазу холодные примочки. Apply cold compresses to your eyes.

приклеивать (dur of приклеить).

приклеить (-клею, клеит; pct of приклеивать) to paste, to glue. Приклейте на двери вашу визитную карточку. Paste your visiting card on the door.

приключение adventure. В дороге у нас была масса приключений. We had a lot of adventures on the trip. — Дайте мне какой-нибудь роман приключений. Give me some kind of adventure story.

прикрепить (pct of прикреплять) to fasten. Не забудьте прикрепить рекомендательное письмо к вашему заявлению. Be sure to fasten your letter of recommendation to your application. • to tack up. Прикрепите объявление кнопкой. Tack the poster up. □ Мы вас прикрепим к нашему распределителю. Well arrange for you to get goods from our store.

прикреплять (dur of прикрепить).

прикрою See прикрыть.

прикрывать (dur of прикрыть) to cover up. Он прикрывает своё невежество общими фразами. He covers up his ignorance with generalizations. • to put a cover on. Прикрывайте кастрюлю крышкой, когда варите овощи. Put a cover on the pan when you cook vegetables.

прикрыть (-крою, -кроет; ppp -крытый; pct of прикрывать) to cover. Я его прикрыл ещё одним одеялом. I covered him with another blanket. • to close. Прикройте дверь, пожалуйста. Close the door, please.

прикуривать (dur of прикурить).

прикурить (-курю, -курит; pct of прикуривать). □ Не тушите спички, дайте прикурить. Don't put out your match; give me a light. • Разрешите прикурить? May I have a light from your cigarette?

прилавок (-вка) counter. На прилавке лежали разные товары. There were all kinds of goods lying on the counter. □ Он работник прилавка. He's a salesclerk.

прилагательное (AN) adjective.

прилагать (dur of приложить) to enclose. Прилагаю вашу расписку. I'm enclosing your receipt.

прилежание diligence. Его прилежание меня просто поражает. His diligence amazes me. □ Он мальчик способный, но вот с прилежанием — беда. He's a capable boy but just doesn't apply himself.

прилежный hard-working. Какой прилежный ученик! What a hard-working student! □ прилежно very hard. Он прилежно изучает русский язык. He's studying Russian very hard.

прилетать (dur of прилететь) to arrive (by air). Когда прилетает самолёт из Москвы? When does the plane from Moscow arrive?

прилететь (-лечу, -летит; pct of прилетать) to fly in. Мы прилетели сегодня. We flew in today. □ Жаворонки прилетели! The skylarks are back!

прилечу See прилететь.

прилечь (-лягу, -ляжет; imv -ляг; p -лёг, -легла, -о, -и; pct) to lie down. Он прилёг отдохнуть. He lay down for a rest.

приличный decent. Мы можем ему гарантировать приличный заработок. We can guarantee him a decent income. • clean. Не бойтесь — анекдот совершенно приличный. Don't worry; this story is completely clean. □ вполне прилично pretty well. Работа сделана вполне прилично. The work's been done pretty well. прилично proper. Прилично уйти не попрощавшись? Is it proper to leave without saying good-by? □ Пальто, по-моему, ещё совсем приличное. This coat, in my opinion, is still in quite good shape.

приложение supplement. Мы выписываем этот журнал главным образом из-за приложений. We're taking this magazine mainly because of the supplements you get. • appendix. Это слово помещено в приложении к словарю. This word is in the Appendix of the dictionary. приложить (-ложу, -ложит; pct of прилагать and прикладывать) to put on. Приложите компресс к больному месту. Put a compress on the sore spot. • to put. Надо ещё приложить печать. You still have to put your seal on it. — Боюсь, что вашу теорию трудно будет приложить на практике. I'm afraid that it'll be difficult to put your theory into practice. • to enclose. Приложите к заявлению ваш диплом и справку с места прежней работы. Enclose your diploma and a reference from your last place of employment with your application. □ приложить старания to do one's best. Я приложу все старания чтобы уладить это дело. I'll do my best to settle this matter. □ Он приложил пуку к козырьку. He saluted.

прилягу See прилечь.

приляжешь See прилечь.

применить (-меню, -менит; pct of применять) to make use of. Тут вы сможете применить ваше знание языков. You can make use of your knowledge of languages here. • to apply. Это правило здесь не применимо. This rule can't be applied here.

применять (dur of применить) to put. Мы этот метод применяем на практике. We're putting this system into practice.

пример example. Не берите с него примера! Don't follow his example. — Я вам это объясню на примере. I'll explain this to you with an example. — Этот пример оказался заразительным. This example was catching. □ к примеру for instance. Взять к примеру хотя бы моего племянника. Take my nephew, for instance. не в пример (or невпример) unlike. Не в пример многим


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budgell, Eustace


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budgett, Samuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Budworth, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bugg, Francis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Buissière, Paul


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Buist, George


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Buite


title: User:Carter946


title: User:Carter721


title: User:Cecil92419


text:
More motions filed in al Nashiri case

April 13, 2012

=More motions filed in Al Mashiri case=

 * By Jim Garamone
 * American Forces Press Service

FORT MEADE, Md. – A military judge ruled Tuesday that a defendant in the USS Cole bombing may meet with his defense attorneys unfettered.

Army Col. James L. Pohl deferred several other defense motions in the case of Abd al Rahim Hussein Mohammed Abdu al-Nashiri at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

The ruling made moot testimony from Nashiri on the effects he felt from his imprisonment prior to arriving at the detention facility in Cuba. That testimony could have contained classified information.

Lawyers also argued on constitutional motions, with the defense arguing that neither terrorism nor conspiracy is a crime under accepted international law. They said Nashiri – who is alleged to have masterminded the plot that killed 17 sailors aboard the USS Cole during an act of terror in Aden, Yemen, in 2000 – cannot be charged with those crimes because they don’t exist.

Pohl indicated he would rule on these motions later.

Nashiri is charged with perfidy, murder in violation of the law of war, attempted murder in violation of the law of war, terrorism, conspiracy, intentionally causing serious bodily injury, attacking civilians, attacking civilian objects and hazarding a vessel.

This is a capital case.

The charges arise out of an attempted attack on the USS The Sullivans in January 2000, the actual attack on the USS Cole in October 2000, and an attack on the motor vessel Limburg in October 2002.

Nashiri is a Saudi-born member of alQaida. U.S. officials allege he was under the personal supervision of Osama bin Laden, and that bin Laden personally approved the attacks on the U.S. Navy ships.

New York lawyer David Schultz also spoke to the court today, arguing that the peoples’ right to know trumped security concerns in this trial. Schultz, who represented 10 media organizations including the New York Times, the Washington Post, Fox News, NPR and the Miami Herald, based his argument on the 1st Amendment to the Constitution.

He noted that lead prosecutor Army Brig. Gen. Mark Martins has been explaining to audiences around the United States how the reformed military commissions system is the best way to advance the rule of law in these cases. Under U.S. law, public attendance of criminal prosecutions is imperative to fairness, he said.

He reached back to the trial of the Lincoln assassination conspirators in 1865 and the Nuremberg trials after World War II to show that military commissions also honored this idea.

He admitted the government had a right to not reveal classified data during a trial, but argued that there are ways to ensure openness while still protecting the information.

Schultz’ testimony was the first time outside lawyers have argued in front of the panel at Guantanamo.

Pohl did not disagree with Schultz. He maintained that the default setting in his court is a public hearing. He said proceedings should be closed only when the least restrictive measures cannot be imposed.

title: More motions filed in al Nashiri case


text:
User:Majash2020

Hey, Today is July 29, 2024.

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title: User:Majash2020


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title: User talk:208.108.81.40


text:
Page:A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges.djvu/43

Rh recension gives us confidence that he left intact those features of his original which are of chief interest and importance for us, proving that in the invasion the tribes acted singly, or as they were allied by older ties or common interest; and that Israelite supremacy in Canaan was not achieved by one irresistible wave of conquest, but only after an obstinate struggle lasting for generations. Fragments of the same source, some of which are a welcome supplement to the narrative in Judges 1, are preserved in the Book of Joshua.

On the Minor Judges, see above, p. xxviii f.

If the results of the critical analysis outlined in § 4 and 5 are substantially correct, the genesis of the book may be conceived in some such way as the following:

Early in the 9th century, the traditions of the invasion and settlement of Western Palestine, of the subsequent conflicts in various parts of the land with the native population or with new invaders, and of the heroic deeds of Israel's leaders and champions in these struggles, were collected and fixed in writing, probably as part of a historical work which included the patriarchal age, the migration from Egypt, and the history of Israel under the kingdom down to the author's own time (J).

Perhaps a century later, another book of similar character and scope was written, containing in part the same stories, but in a form adhering less closely to historical reality (E). A second recension of this work (E2) bears very distinctly the impress of the prophetic movement of the 8th century, and specifically of Hosea's teaching, and may be assigned to the end of the 8th or the beginning of the 7th century. The author's religious


text: Talk:More motions filed in al Nashiri case


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Page:A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges.djvu/44

xxxiv interpretation and judgement of the history in the spirit of prophecy is the beginning of the treatment so generally adopted by later writers; history with a moral soon becoming history for the moral.

As in the Hexateuch and in Samuel, J and E (E2) were the chief sources of the great prophetic historical work, JE. Where the author of this work found in his sources variants of the same story, he combined them, sometimes interweaving them so closely as to make the strands almost inextricable, sometimes doing little more than transcribe paragraphs of J and E alternately; adapting his method to the material before him. In many cases he found it necessary, in order to bring his sources into harmony or to preserve the connexion, to insert something of his own; in some places he added with a freer hand. The Book of Judges in JE seems to have begun with the death of Joshua, and to have closed with the great discourse of Samuel, 1 S. 12, a division which certainly existed in E. It probably contained all the stories in our Judges except that of Othniel; and in view of the character of the succeeding redactions, Rje may, with greater justice than D, be regarded as the true author of the book. JE is a work of the 7th century, but antedates the reforms of Josiah (621 B.C.) and the dominant influence of Jeremiah and the Deuteronomy.

Early in the 6th century, an author belonging to the Deuteronomic school took this work as the basis of his own. As the traces of his hand do not extend to 1 S. 1-12 nor to Jud. 11–25 17–21, we infer that D's book included only Jud. 26–1631 (or perhaps 1520). Eli and Samuel not unnaturally presented themselves to his mind in the character of priest and prophet rather than of judges; and, if historical considerations weighed with him, he may very well have thought that the life of Samuel, from which that of Eli is inseparable, belonged to the history of the founding of the kingdom, rather than to the preceding period. Besides Jud. 17–21, it is certain that D excluded the story of Abimelech, which did not readily lend itself to his moral purpose; 833–35 is his brief substitute for the omitted narrative. He may also have


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Page:A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges.djvu/45

Rh omitted the Minor Judges, possibly also ch. 16, the tragic end of Samson; this would account for the premature closing formula, 1520. On the other hand, he added the deliverance of Israel from Cushan-rishathaim by Othniel (37–11), as a typical exemplification of the theory set forth in the introduction (26–36), and perhaps with the additional motive of giving a judge to Judah, which in the older book was almost the only tribe that furnished none. The system of chronology is Deuteronomic, as appears from its relation to the system of the Books of Kings, but whether in its present form it is the work of D is less certain; see § 7.

Upon the general introduction, 26–36, as well as upon the introductions to the stories of the several judges, D impressed the unmistakable Deuteronomic stamp. In his judgement of the history he had been anticipated by E2 and JE, but his more rigorous pragmatism and his distinctive style can in most cases be distinguished with sufficient certainty from the work of his predecessors. In 26–36, especially in 26–19, the Deuteronomic element is very closely combined with the older text. Budde, whose opinion I have followed in the commentary, thinks that D did not, in this somewhat awkward way, intrude his own point of view into the introduction of JE, but substituted a new introduction for JE's; the two were united, to their mutual detriment, by the final, post-exilic redactor. The other hypothesis has, however, the advantage of simplicity, and the considerations which weigh against it are perhaps overestimated.

The Deuteronomic Judges did not supplant the older work upon which it was founded; JE's history was in, existence long after the exile. In the 5th or 4th century B.C., an editor united the two books, and produced the present Book of Judges. In doing so, he naturally included those parts of JE which D had omitted, Jud. 11–25 9 17 18 19–21; possibly also the Minor Judges, 101–5 128–15. The secondary version of the war with Benjamin in ch. 19–21 is perhaps his work; and in other parts of the book traces of his hand may be discerned in minor glosses; some of these may, however, be of still later date.


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Page:A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Judges.djvu/46

xxxvi On the critical problems discussed in §§ 3–6, see in general Studer, Richter, 1835. p. 425 ff.; Schrader in DeWette, Einleitung8, 1869, p. 327–333; Wellhausen in Bleek, Einl.4, 1878, p. 181–203 = Composition d. Hexateuchs, u. s. v., 1889, p. 213–238, cf. 353–357; v. Doorninck, Bijdrage tot de tekstkritiek van Richteren i.–xvi., 1879, p. 123–128; Bertheau, Richter und Ruth2, 1883; Kuenen, Historisch-critisch Onderzoek, i. p. 338–367 (1887); Budde, Richter und Samuel, 1890, p. 1–166; Driver, Literature of the Old Testament, 1891, p. 151–162; Kittel, "Die pentateuchischen Urkunden in den Büchern Richter und Samuel," ''Stud. u. Krit., 1892, p. 44 ff.; Gesch. der Hebräer, i. 2. 1892, p. 1–22; Kalkoff, Zur Quellenkritik des Richterbuchs'', 1893 (Gymnas. Progr.)°.

The theory of the origin of the Book of Judges set forth in the preceding paragraphs is in all essential features that of Budde, whose thorough investigation of the critical problems of the book has been of the greatest value to me throughout. The reader of the commentary will, I trust, discover that I have not accepted Budde's results without a careful re-examination of the whole question; and in many particulars I have been led to form a different opinion. Of other hypotheses concerning the composition of the book, it will be sufficient to mention those of Kuenen and Kittel. The former thinks that Jud. 26–1631 is a part of a Deuteronomic Book of Judges the end of which is contained in 1 S. 7–12. This book contained all the stories that are now found in the chapters named, with the solitary exception of 331 (Shamgar). The introduction, 26-36, is, as a whole, the work of the Deuteronomic writer, who is the author of the religious pragmatism of the book. He used as the basis of his work a pre-Deuteronomic Book of Judges, in which Othniel as well as Shamgar was not included, while Abimelech was reckoned as one of the twelve judges, whose number was completed by Samuel, or, more probably, by some name which we cannot now recover. This older book was quite different in character from the Deuteronomic work; it knew nothing of a regular alternation of apostasy, punishment, and deliverance; it was a series of portraits of the leaders and heroes of Israel in the period before the establishment of the kingdom; but the unity of Israel was already erroneously antedated, and its deliverance frotn the hand of its foes represented as Yahweh's answer to its prayer. The author drew a large part of his material from older writings, some of them of Ephraimite origin, which were among the earliest products of Israelite historiography; but the book itself can hardly have been compiled before the first half of the 7th century. Jud. 11–25 preserves fragments of a very ancient account of the conquest of Canaan by the Israelite tribes; ch. 17, 18, is also a very old story, which has been considerably interpolated; in ch. 19–21 the old narrative has been thoroughly worked over in the spirit of post-exilic Judaism. These chapters were united with 26–1631 by the last


text:
Author:Charles Edmund Maurice

Works

 * (ed.) Life of Octavia Hill as told in her letters

title: Author:Charles Edmund Maurice


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Page:Aboriginesofvictoria01.djvu/29

Rh The Australian mother has no great reason to rejoice when a babe is born. As soon as she can move about—perhaps after the lapse of twenty-four hours or more—she is obliged to resume her duties in the camp. She is the servant of her husband; and sometimes she is compelled to carry, as well as her baby, heavy loads, and to march with the tribe as it seeks fresh hunting-grounds or repairs to old-established cooking-places.

The Australian child is precocious. It begins to look about for food almost as soon as the young of the kangaroo. A child has a little stick placed in its hands, and it follows the example of older children, and digs out small roots and the larvae of insects.

Its education begins at an early age. Like the natives of Africa, of Fiji, of Borneo, and other parts where civilization, as regards some of the tribes, is yet unknown, games of skill, so contrived as to exercise the children in useful arts, are played. The males amongst the Australians are taught to throw the spear and to use the shield; and the females are instructed in the art of weaving cord and making baskets.

That the children are sometimes neglected is true, but as a rule they are kindly treated.

The parents do not use any of those contrivances for producing distortion which are common in other countries.

When, for reasons that are satisfactory to themselves, they decide to kill a newly-born infant, they are often unnecessarily cruel; and though infanticide amongst savages is probably a custom which has its origin in the peculiarity of the conditions under which they exist, and not in its nature a crime as it is in civilized communities, yet the details which are given by various observers make one forget this, and regard their deeds with the same abhorrence as those so constantly presented to notice in the daily records of the life of races that possess all the advantages of culture and refinement.

Young mothers kill the first-born child because it is a burden, because it is weakly, perhaps because it is deformed. She has to find food, to build her husband's miam, to fetch water, and to be ready at all times to obey the commands of her protector; and the temptation to follow the custom of her tribe would not always be overcome by the maternal instinct.

In the laws known to her, infanticide is a necessary practice, and one which, if disregarded, would, under certain circumstances, be disapproved of; and the disapproval would be marked by punishment, not so degrading perhaps, but nearly as severe as that inflicted by the lower class of whites when their wives displease them. Instead of the hob-nailed shoe, the Australian uses a weapon of war—a waddy.

It is curious to find that the ancient custom of naming a child from some slight circumstance that occurs at its birth is common throughout Australia. Like the nomadic Arabs and the Kaffirs of Africa, they look for a sign; and the appearance at the time of birth of a kangaroo, or an emu, or the event happening near some particular spot, or under the shelter of a tree, decides by what name the infant shall be called. This name is not the one by which a man will be known in after-life. Another is given on his initiation to rank in the

title: Page:Aboriginesofvictoria01.djvu/29


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Page:Indiscretions of Archie.djvu/231

HE lobby of the Cosmopolis Hotel was a favourite stamping-ground of Mr. Daniel Brewster, its proprietor. He liked to wander about there, keeping a paternal eye on things, rather in the manner of the Jolly Innkeeper (hereinafter to be referred to as Mine Host) of the old-fashioned novel. Customers who, hurrying in to dinner, tripped over Mr. Brewster, were apt to mistake him for the hotel detective—for his eye was keen and his aspect a trifle austere—but, nevertheless, he was being as jolly an innkeeper as he knew how. His presence in the lobby supplied a personal touch to the Cosmopolis which other New York hotels lacked, and it undeniably made the girl at the book-stall extraordinarily civil to her clients, which was all to the good.

Most of the time Mr. Brewster stood in one spot and just looked thoughtful; but now and again he would wander to the marble slab behind which he kept the desk-clerk and run his eye over the register, to see who had booked rooms—like a child examining the stocking on Christmas morning to ascertain what Santa Claus had brought him.

As a rule, Mr. Brewster concluded this performance by shoving the book back across the marble slab and resuming his meditations. But one night a week or two after the Sausage Chappie's sudden restoration to the

title: Page:Indiscretions of Archie.djvu/231


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Page:Indiscretions of Archie.djvu/232

228 normal, he varied this procedure by starting rather violently, turning purple, and uttering an exclamation which was manifestly an exclamation of chagrin. He turned abruptly and cannoned into Archie, who, in company with Lucille, happened to be crossing the lobby at the moment on his way to dine in their suite.

Mr. Brewster apologised gruffly; then, recognising his victim, seemed to regret having done so.

"Oh, it's you! Why can't you look where you're going?" he demanded. He had suffered much from his son-in-law.

"Frightfully sorry," said Archie, amiably, "Never thought you were going to fox-trot backwards all over the fairway."

"You mustn't bully Archie," said Lucille, severely, attaching herself to her father's back hair and giving it a punitive tug, "because he's an angel, and I love him, and you must learn to love him, too."

"Give you lessons at a reasonable rate," murmured Archie.

Mr. Brewster regarded his young relative with a lowering eye.

"What's the matter, father darling?" asked Lucille. "You seem upset."

"I am upset!" Mr. Brewster snorted. "Some people have got a nerve!" He glowered forbiddingly at an inoffensive young man in a light overcoat who had just entered, and the young man, though his conscience was quite clear and Mr. Brewster an entire stranger to him, stopped dead, blushed, and went out again—to dine elsewhere. "Some people have got the nerve of an army mule!"

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Rh "Why, what's happened?"

"Those darned McCalls have registered here!"

"Bit beyond me, this," said Archie, insinuating himself into the conversation. "Deep waters and what not! Who are the McCalls?"

"Some people father dislikes," said Lucille. "And they've chosen his hotel to stop at. But, father dear, you mustn't mind. It's really a compliment. They've come because they know it's the best hotel in New York."

"Absolutely!" said Archie. "Good accommodation for man and beast! All the comforts of home! Look on the bright side, old bean. No good getting the wind up. Cherrio, old companion!"

"Don't call me old companion!"

"Eh, what? Oh, right-o!"

Lucille steered her husband out of the danger zone, and they entered the lift

"Poor father!" she said, as they went to their suite, "it's a shame. They must have done it to annoy him. This man McCall has a place next to some property father bought in Westchester, and he's bringing a law-suit against father about a bit of land which he claims belongs to him. He might have had the tact to go to another hotel. But, after all, I don't suppose it was the poor little fellow's fault. He does whatever his wife tells him to."

"We all do that," said Archie the married man.

Lucille eyed him fondly.

"Isn't it a shame, precious, that all husbands haven't nice wives like me?"

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230 "When I think of you, by Jove," said Archie, fervently, "I want to babble, absolutely babble!"

"Oh, I was telling you about the McCalls. Mr. McCall is one of those little, meek men, and his wife's one of those big, bullying women. It was she who started all the trouble with father. Father and Mr. McCall were very fond of each other till she made him begin the suit. I feel sure she made him come to this hotel just to annoy father. Still, they've probably taken the most expensive suite in the place, which is something."

Archie was at the telephone. His mood was now one of quiet peace. Of all the happenings which went to make up existence in New York, he liked best the cosy tête-à-tête dinners with Lucille in their suite, which, owing to their engagements—for Lucille was a popular girl, with many friends—occurred all too seldom.

"Touching now the question of browsing and sluicing," he said. "I'll be getting them to send along a waiter."

"Oh, good gracious!"

"What's the matter?"

"I've just remembered. I promised faithfully I would go and see Jane Murchison to-day. And I clean forgot. I must rush."

"But light of my soul, we are about to eat. Pop round and see her after dinner."

"I can't. She's going to a theatre to-night."

"Give her the jolly old miss-in-baulk, then, for the nonce, and spring round to-morrow."

"She's sailing for England to-morrow morning, early.

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Rh No, I must go and see her now. What a shame! She's sure to make me stop to dinner. I tell you what. Order something for me, and, if I'm not back in half an hour, start."

"Jane Murchison," said Archie, "is a bally nuisance."

"Yes. But I've known her since she was eight."

"If her parents had had any proper feeling," said Archie, "they would have drowned her long before that."

He unhooked the receiver, and asked despondently to be connected with Room Service. He thought bitterly of the exigent Jane, whom he recollected dimly as a tall female with teeth. He half thought of going down to the grill-room on the chance of finding a friend there, but the waiter was on his way to the room. He decided that he might as well stay where he was.

The waiter arrived, booked the order, and departed. Archie had just completed his toilet after a shower-bath when a musical clinking without announced the advent of the meal. He opened the door. The waiter was there with a table congested with things under covers, from which escaped a savoury and appetising odour. In spite of his depression, Archie's soul perked up a trifle.

Suddenly he became aware that he was not the only person present who was deriving enjoyment from the scent of the meal. Standing beside the waiter and gazing wistfully at the foodstuffs was a long, thin boy of about sixteen. He was one of those boys who seem all legs and knuckles. He had pale red hair, sandy eyelashes, and a long neck; and his eyes, as he removed them from the

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xxii tribe; and if his career should be marked by any striking event, he will then receive a fitting designation, and his old name will be perhaps forgotten. Or, if he has had conferred on him, on arriving at manhood, a name similar in sound to that of any one who dies, it is changed by his tribe.

There is no kind of formality used when a child is named. Up to the age of two or three years it is called "child," or "girl," and then, when it can walk, the name that has lived in the memory of the father or mother, or the people of the tribe, is given to it.

The Rev. Mr. Taplin refers to a curious custom. It appears that in some families it is usual for the father or mother to bear the name of a child, and in such cases the termination arni for father, or annike for mother, is added.

Nick-names are given; and the natives are often peculiarly happy in choosing designations that aptly describe eccentricities, peculiarities of face, or ways of walking or speaking.

As soon as the whites settled in Victoria, the Aborigines gave nick-names to the invaders, and some of these have been preserved. It is said that in Gippsland the word Bungil is one of respect, and is equivalent to "Mister." It is borne only by the old men.

The ceremonies attending the coming of age of young men and young women are in Victoria simple, and easy to be borne, compared to those which young persons have to submit to in other parts of the continent. The mysteries of Tib-but and Mur-rum Tur-uk ur-uk one can regard as merely painless follies, after perusing Mr. Schürmann's descriptions of the rites as practised by the Parnkalla—where a youth of the age of fourteen or fifteen enters the first degree, and is enrolled amongst the Warrara; after the lapse of one or two years the second, when he is circumcised, and becomes a Pardnapa; and the last when his skin is scarred, and he is named afresh, and made a Wilyalkinje.

Mr. Samuel Gason's accounts of the tortures that have to be endured by the rising generation at Cooper's Creek would lead the reader to suppose that the Aboriginal race in that area must soon become extinct. They are horrible; and greatly contrast the comparatively harmless exercises of the natives of Gippsland when a youth is made Jerryale.

The interesting descriptions given of these ceremonies, as practised in the central parts of Australia, near the mouth of the Murray, in various parts of New South Wales, near Sydney, and on the Macleay and Nambucca Rivers, are exceedingly valuable. The practices are different not merely in details, but in essentials.

Women are not allowed to witness the savage scenes attendant on these ceremonies; and if one intruded on the occasion of initiating youths to manhood, she would probably be killed at once. They are forbidden to see or hear anything connected with the events, and indeed it would be impossible for the men to continue the tortures if women were present. Warriors shed tears, and evince pity at certain stages; and women would, by their weeping and wailing,

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 table and raised them to Archie's, had a hungry look. He reminded Archie of a half-grown, half-starved hound.

"That smells good!" said the long boy. He inhaled deeply. "Yes, sir," he continued, as one whose mind is definitely made up, "that smells good!"

Before Archie could reply, the telephone bell rang. It was Lucille, confirming her prophecy that the pest Jane would insist on her staying to dine.

"Jane," said Archie, into the telephone, "is a pot of poison. The waiter is here now, setting out a rich banquet, and I shall have to eat two of everything by myself."

He hung up the receiver, and, turning, met the pale eye of the long boy, who had propped himself up in the doorway.

"Were you expecting somebody to dinner?" asked the boy.

"Why, yes, old friend, I was."

"I wish"

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing."

The waiter left. The long boy hitched his back more firmly against the doorpost, and returned to his original theme.

"That surely does smell good!" He basked a moment in the aroma. "Yes, sir! I'll tell the world it does!"

Archie was not an abnormally rapid thinker, but he began at this point to get a clearly defined impression that this lad, if invited, would waive the formalities and consent to join his meal. Indeed, the idea Archie got was that, if he were not invited pretty soon, he would invite himself.

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Rh "Yes," he agreed. "It doesn't smell bad, what!"

"It smells good!" said the boy. "Oh, doesn't it! Wake me up in the night and ask me if it doesn't!"

"Poulet en casserole," said Archie.

"Golly!" said the boy, reverently.

There was a pause. The situation began to seem to Archie a trifle difficult. He wanted to start his meal, but it began to appear that he must either do so under the penetrating gaze of his new friend or else eject the latter forcibly. The boy showed no signs of ever wanting to leave the doorway.

"You've dined, I suppose, what?" said Archie.

"I never dine."

"What!"

"Not really dine, I mean. I only get vegetables and nuts and things."

"Dieting?"

"Mother is."

"I don't absolutely catch the drift, old bean," said Archie. The boy sniffed with half-closed eyes as a wave of perfume from the poulet en casserole floated past him. He seemed to be anxious to intercept as much of it as possible before it got through the door.

"Mother's a food-reformer," he vouchsafed. "She lectures on it. She makes pop and me live on vegetables and nuts and things."

Archie was shocked. It was like listening to a tale from the abyss.

"My dear old chap, you must suffer agonies—absolute shooting pains!" He had no hesitation now. Common

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234 humanity pointed out his course. "Would you care to join me in a bite now?"

"Would I!" The boy smiled a wan smile. "Would I! Just stop me on the street and ask me!"

"Come on in, then," said Archie, rightly taking this peculiar phrase for a formal acceptance. "And close the door. The fatted calf is getting cold."

Archie was not a man with a wide visiting-list among people with families, and it was so long since he had seen a growing boy in action at the table that he had forgotten what sixteen is capable of doing with a knife and fork, when it really squares its elbows, takes a deep breath, and gets going. The spectacle which he witnessed was consequently at first a little unnerving. The long boy's idea of trifling with a meal appeared to be to swallow it whole and reach out for more. He ate like a starving Eskimo. Archie, in the time he had spent in the trenches making the world safe for the working-man to strike in, had occasionally been quite peckish, but he sat dazed before this majestic hunger. This was real eating.

There was little conversation. The growing boy evidently did not believe in table-talk when he could use his mouth for more practical purposes. It was not until the final roll had been devoured to its last crumb that the guest found leisure to address his host. Then he leaned back with a contented sigh.

"Mother," said the human python, "says you ought to chew every mouthful thirty-three times.…

"Yes, sir! Thirty-three times!" He sighed again. "I haven't ever had a meal like that."

"All right, was it, what?"

"Was it! Was it! Call me up on the 'phone and ask

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Rh me! Yes, sir! Mother's tipped off these darned waiters not to serve me anything but vegetables and nuts and things, darn it!"

"The mater seems to have drastic ideas about the good old feed-bag, what!"

"I'll say she has! Pop hates it as much as me, but he's scared to kick. Mother says vegetables contain all the proteids you want. Mother says, if you eat meat, your blood-pressure goes all blooey. Do you think it does?"

"Mine seems pretty well in the pink."

"She's great on talking," conceded the boy. "She's out to-night somewhere, giving a lecture on Rational Eating to some ginks. I'll have to be slipping up to our suite before she gets back." He rose, sluggishly. "That isn't a bit of roll under that napkin, is it?" he asked, anxiously,

Archie raised the napkin.

"No. Nothing of that species."

"Oh, well!" said the boy, resignedly. "Then I believe I'll be going. Thanks very much for the dinner."

"Not a bit, old top. Come again if you're ever trickling round in this direction."

The long boy removed himself slowly, loath to leave. At the door he cast an affectionate glance back at the table.

"Some meal!" he said, devoutly. "Considerable meal!"

Archie lit a cigarette. He felt like a Boy Scout who has done his day's Act of Kindness.

On the following morning it chanced that Archie needed a fresh supply of tobacco. It was his custom,

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236 when this happened, to repair to a small shop on Sixth Avenue which he had discovered accidentally in the course of his rambles about the great city. His relations with Jno. Blake, the proprietor, were friendly and intimate. The discovery that Mr. Blake was English and had, indeed, until a few years back maintained an establishment only a dozen doors or so from Archie's London club, had served as a bond.

To-day he found Mr. Blake in a depressed mood. The tobacconist was a hearty, red-faced man, who looked like an English sporting publican—the kind of man who wears a fawn-coloured top-coat and drives to the Derby in a dog-cart; and usually there seemed to be nothing on his mind except the vagaries of the weather, concerning which he was a great conversationalist. But now moodiness had claimed him for its own. After a short and melancholy "Good morning," he turned to the task of measuring out the tobacco in silence.

Archie's sympathetic nature was perturbed.

"What's the matter, laddie?" he enquired. "You would seem to be feeling a bit of an onion this bright morning, what, yes, no? I can see it with the naked eye."

Mr. Blake grunted sorrowfully.

"I've had a knock, Mr. Moffam."

"Tell me all, friend of my youth."

Mr. Blake, with a jerk of his thumb, indicated a poster which hung on the wall behind the counter. Archie had noticed it as he came in, for it was designed to attract the eye. It was printed in black letters on a yellow ground, and ran as follows:

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Archie examined this document gravely. It conveyed nothing to him except—what he had long suspected—that his sporting-looking friend had sporting blood as well as that kind of exterior. He expressed a kindly hope that the other's Unknown would bring home the bacon.

Mr. Blake laughed one of those hollow, mirthless laughs.

"There ain't any blooming Unknown," he said, bitterly. This man had plainly suffered. "Yesterday, yes, but not now."

Archie sighed.

"In the midst of life Dead?" he enquired, delicately.

"As good as," replied the stricken tobacconist. He cast aside his artificial restraint and became voluble. Archie was one of those sympathetic souls in whom even strangers readily confided their most intimate troubles. He was to those in travail of spirit very much what catnip is to a cat. "It's 'ard, sir, it's blooming 'ard! I'd got the event all sewed up in a parcel, and now this young feller-me-lad 'as to give me the knock. This lad of

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 of cousin 'e is; comes from London, like you and me—'as always 'ad, ever since he landed in this country, a most amazing knack of stowing away grub. 'E'd been a bit underfed these last two or three years over in the old country, what with food restrictions and all, and 'e took to the food over 'ere amazing. I'd 'ave backed 'im against a ruddy orstridge! Orstridge! I'd 'ave backed 'im against 'arff a dozen orstridges—take 'em on one after the other in the same ring on the same evening—and given 'em a handicap, too! 'E was a jewel, that boy. I've seen him polish off four pounds of steak and mealy potatoes and then look round kind of wolfish, as much as to ask when dinner was going to begin! That's the kind of a lad 'e was till this very morning. 'E would have out-swallowed this 'ere O'Dowd without turning a hair, as a relish before 'is tea! I'd got a couple of 'undred dollars on 'im, and thought myself lucky to get the odds. And now"

Mr. Blake relapsed into a tortured silence.

"But what's the matter with the blighter? Why can't he go over the top? Has he got indigestion?"

"Indigestion?" Mr. Blake laughed another of his hollow laughs. "You couldn't give that boy indigestion if you fed 'im in on safety-razor blades. Religion's more like what 'e's got."

"Religion?"

"Well, you can call it that. Seems last night, instead of goin' and resting 'is mind at a picture-palace like I told him to, 'e sneaked off to some sort of a lecture down on Eighth Avenue. 'E said 'e'd seen a piece about it in the papers, and it was about Rational Eating, and that kind of attracted 'im. 'E sort of thought 'e might pick

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 up a few hints, like. 'E didn't know what rational eating was, but it sounded to 'im as if it must be something to do with food, and 'e didn't want to miss it. 'E came in here just now," said Mr. Blake, dully, "and 'e was a changed lad! Scared to death 'e was! Said the way 'e'd been goin' on in the past, it was a wonder 'e'd got any stummick left! It was a lady that give the lecture, and this boy said it was amazing what she told 'em about blood-pressure and things 'e didn't even know 'e 'ad. She showed 'em pictures, coloured pictures, of what 'appens inside the injudicious eater's stummick who doesn't chew his food, and it was like a battlefield! 'E said 'e would no more think of eatin' a lot of pie than 'e would of shootin' 'imself, and anyhow eating pie would be a quicker death. I reasoned with 'im, Mr. Moffam, with tears in my eyes. I asked 'im was he goin' to chuck away fame and wealth just because a woman who didn't know what she was talking about had shown him a lot of faked pictures. But there wasn't any doin' anything with him. 'E give me the knock and 'opped it down the street to buy nuts." Mr. Blake moaned. "Two 'undred dollars and more gone pop, not to talk of the fifty dollars 'e would have won and me to get twenty-five of!"

Archie took his tobacco and walked pensively back to the hotel. He was fond of Jno. Blake, and grieved for the trouble that had come upon him. It was odd, he felt, how things seemed to link themselves up together. The woman who had delivered the fateful lecture to injudicious eaters could not be other than the mother of his young guest of last night. An uncomfortable woman! Not content with starving her own family

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240 Archie stopped in his tracks. A pedestrian, walking behind him, charged into his back, but Archie paid no attention. He had had one of those sudden, luminous ideas, which help a man who does not do much thinking as a rule to restore his average. He stood there for a moment, almost dizzy at the brilliance of his thoughts; then hurried on. Napoleon, he mused as he walked, must have felt rather like this after thinking up a hot one to spring on the enemy.

As if Destiny were suiting her plans to his, one of the first persons he saw as he entered the lobby of the Cosmopolis was the long boy. He was standing at the bookstall, reading as much of a morning paper as could be read free under the vigilant eyes of the presiding girl. Both he and she were observing the unwritten rules which govern these affairs—to wit, that you may read without interference as much as can be read without touching the paper. If you touch the paper, you lose, and have to buy.

"Well, well, well!" said Archie. "Here we are again, what!" He prodded the boy amiably in the lower ribs. "You're just the chap I was looking for. Got anything on for the time being?"

The boy said he had no engagements.

"Then I want you to stagger round with me to a chappie I know on Sixth Avenue. It's only a couple of blocks away. I think I can do you a bit of good. Put you on to something tolerably ripe, if you know what I mean. Trickle along, laddie. You don't need a hat."

They found Mr. Blake brooding over his troubles in an empty shop.

"Cheer up, old thing!" said Archie. "The relief

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Rh has arrived." He directed his companion's gaze to the poster. "Cast your eye over that. How does that strike you?"

The long boy scanned the poster. A gleam appeared in his rather dull eye.

"Well?"

"Some people have all the luck!" said the long boy, feelingly.

"Would you like to compete, what?"

The boy smiled a sad smile.

"Would I! Would I! Say!…"

"I know," interrupted Archie. "Wake you up in the night and ask you! I knew I could rely on you, old thing." He turned to Mr. Blake. "Here's the fellow you've been wanting to meet. The finest left-and-right-hand eater east of the Rockies! He'll fight the good fight for you."

Mr. Blake's English training had not been wholly overcome by residence in New York. He still retained a nice eye for the distinctions of class.

"But this young gentleman's a young gentleman," he urged, doubtfully, yet with hope shining in his eye. "He wouldn't do it."

"Of course, he would. Don't be ridic, old thing."

"Wouldn't do what?" asked the boy.

"Why, save the old homestead by taking on the champion. Dashed sad case, between ourselves! This poor egg's nominee has given him the raspberry at the eleventh hour, and only you can save him. And you owe it to him to do something, you know, because it was your jolly old mater's lecture last night that made the nominee quit. You must charge in and take his place. Sort of

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242 poetic justice, don't you know, and what not!" He turned to Mr. Blake. "When is the conflict supposed to start? Two-thirty? You haven't any important engagement for two-thirty, have you?"

"No. Mother's lunching at some ladies' club, and giving a lecture afterwards. I can slip away."

Archie patted his head.

"Then leg it where glory waits you, old bean!"

The long boy was gazing earnestly at the poster. It seemed to fascinate him.

"Pie!" he said in a hushed voice.

The word was like a battle-cry.

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text: Indiscretions of Archie/Chapter 21

title: Indiscretions of Archie/Chapter 21


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Rh He swallowed convulsively. He had never thought to hear these words from Daniel Brewster.

"How would it be, old thing," he said almost brokenly, "if you and I trickled down to the bar and had a spot of sherbet?"

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text:
Author talk:Charles Edmund Maurice

FreeBMD
Births Sep 1843 MAURICE	 Charles Edmund	 	 S Olaves	 4	457

Marriages Sep 1872  (>99%) Maurice	 Charles Edmund	 	 Marylebone	 1a	911

Marriages Sep 1872  (>99%) HILL	 Emily Southwood	 	 Marylebone	 1a	911 (sister of Octavia Hill)

Deaths Mar 1927  (>99%) Maurice	 Charles E	 83	 Hampstead	 1a	909

Death notice
Deaths. The Times (london, England), Friday, Jan 07, 1927; pg. 1; Issue 44473.

MAURICE—On Jan. 5, 1927,, younger son of the late , aged 83. Memorial service at Christ Church, Hampstead (near Hampstead Tube Statiom), on Tuesday, Jan. 11, at 2.30 p.m. Inquiries of Mills and Sons, 31, Cambridge-place, W.2 (Paddington 1585).

Baptism
p. 46, 30 July 1843, John Frederick Denison Clerk, Guy's Hospital) and Anna Eleanor Stewart
 * Southwark > Southwark St Thomas > 1843

title: Author talk:Charles Edmund Maurice


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 LIFE OF OCTAVIA HILL


text:
Page:Dictionary of spoken Russian (1945).djvu/452

 матерям, она знает недостатки своего сына. Unlike many mothers, she knows her son's faults.

примеривать (dur of примерить).

примерить (pct of примерять and примеривать) to try on. Примерьте эту пару ботинок. Try on this pair of shoes.

примерять (dur of примерить) to try on. Он пошёл к портному примерять костюм. He went to the tailor to try on his suit.

примечание notes. Все примечания помещены в конце книги. All the notes are at the end of the book. • footnote. Это указано в примечании. That's indicated in the footnote.

примирить (pct of мирить and примирять) to reconcile. Я не знаю, как примирить эти две точки зрения. I just don't know how to reconcile these two points of view.

-ся to reconcile oneself. Я никак не могу примириться с этой мыслью. I just can't reconcile myself to this idea.

примирять (dur of примирить).

примочка application. Делайте горячие примочки, и ваша опухоль скоро пройдёт. Apply hot applications and your swelling will soon disappear. □ Есть у вас глазная примочка? Do you have any eyewash?

приму See принять.

примус (/P -а, -ов/) primus (kind of kerosene stove). Мы уже который год стряпаем на примусе. We've been cooking on a primus stove for many years.

принадлежать (-жу, -жит; dur) to belong. Этот луг принадлежит соседнему колхозу. This meadow belongs to the next kolkhoz. — К какому профсоюзу вы принадлежите? What union do you belong to? □ Я не принадлежу к числу поклонников этого актёра. I'm not one of this actor's admirers.

принёс See принести.

принести (-несу, -сёт; p -нёс, -несла, -о -и; pct of приносить) to bring. Вам принесли пакет. They brought you a package. — Принесите мне, пожалуйста, мыло и полотенце. Bring me some soap and a towel, please. □ принести в жертву to sacrifice. Я всё готов был принести в жертву ради этого. I'm ready to sacrifice everything for that. □ Это вам принесёт большую пользу. It will do you a lot of good. • *Принесла его нелёгкая! Why the devil did he have to show up?

принесу See принести.

принимать (dur of принять) to receive. Меня повсюду очень радушно принимали. I was received very graciously everywhere. — Когда консул принимает (посетителей)? When does the consul receive visitors? • to assume. Всю ответственность я принимаю на себя. I assume all responsibility for this. • to take. Мы принимали присягу. We took an oath. — Не принимайте этого так близко к сердцу. Don't take it so to heart. — Принимайте лекарство акуратно. Take the medicine regularly. • to accept. Письма и пакеты принимают в этом окошке. Letters and packages are accepted at this window. □ принимать больных to see patients. Доктор принимает (больных) в амбулатории от девяти до двенадцати. The doctor sees patients in the clinic from nine to twelve. принимать дела to take over. Новый начальник сегодня принимает дела. The new chief is taking over today. принимать участие to take part. Вы принимали участие в соревновании? Did you take part in the competition?

приносить (-ношу, -носит; dur of принести) to deliver. Здесь приносят молоко на дом? Do they deliver milk (to your house)? • to offer. Приношу вам мою глубокую благодарность. I offer you my heartfelt thanks. □ приносить доход to net a profit. Молочная ферма приносит нашему колхозу большой доход. The dairy farm nets a good profit for the kolkhoz. приносить плоды to bear fruit. Наше воспитание начинает приносить плоды. Our education is beginning to bear fruit.

приношу See приносить.

принудительный compulsory. Заём не принудительный, — хотите, подписывайтесь, хотите, нет. This is not a compulsory bond sale; you buy only if you want to.

принудить (ppp -нуждённый; pct of принуждать) to compel. Обстоятельства меня к этому принудили. Circumstances compelled me to do that. □ Как мне ни неприятно, я принуждён вам это сказать. As unpleasant as it is to me, I've got to tell you that.

принуждать (dur of принудить) to force. Вас никто не принуждает туда ехать. Nobody is forcing you to go there.

принужу See принудить.

принять (приму, примет; p принял, приняла, приняло, -и; принялся, -лась, -лось, лись; ppp принятый, sh F -нята; pct of принимать) to accept. Я не могу принять такого дорогого подарка. I can't accept such an expensive gift. — Кто тут может принять заказное письмо? Who can accept a registered letter here? — Неужели он не принял этого назначения? Didn't he really accept this position? • to take. Хотите принять ванну? Do you want to take a bath? — Я бы вас никогда не принял за иностранца. I would never have taken you for a foreigner. — Примите эту пилюлю. Take this pill. — Нужно принять все меры предосторожности. We have to take every precaution. — Его болезнь приняла дурной оборот. His illness took a turn for the worse. — Он принял ваше замечание всерьёз. He took your remark seriously. — Я отлично знаю: вы приняли на себя чужую вину. You took the blame for somebody else. I know it very well. • to adopt. Его предложение было принято. His motion was adopted. • to admit. Вас примут в вуз, если вы выдержите экзамен. You'll be admitted to college if you pass the exams. • to see. Главный инженер вас сейчас примет. The chief engineer will see you immediately. • to make. Если он принял решение, его не переубедишь. Once he's made a decision, you can't talk him out of it. • to take on. Сегодня наш город принял праздничный вид. Today our town took on a holiday atmosphere. □ принять во внимание to take into consideration. Примите во внимание, что он не совсем здоров. Take into consideration the fact that he's not quite well. принять к сведению to take notice. Примите к сведению, что правила теперь изменены. Take notice of the fact that the rules have been changed. □ Мы приняли мебель по списку. We took over the furniture as it was listed. • Его приняли на работу. He was hired. • Примем за правило — не обижаться! Let's make it a point never to take offense. • *Она это приняла на свой счёт. She thought they meant her.

приобрести (-рету, -тёт; p -рёл, -рела, -о, -и; pap -рёвший;


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 MacLaren, Charles Edward, M.A. Exeter Coll., Oxon (B.A. 1876), a student of Lincoln's Inn 8 Nov., 1873 (then aged 21), called to the bar 13 June, 1877 (2nd son of Henry MacLaren, late of Manchester, merchant, dec.); born, 1852.
 * 23, Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Maclaren, James Joseph, M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1867, a student of Lincoln's Inn 27 April, 1864 (then aged 21), called to the bar 11 June, 1867 (eldest son of James Maclaren, of Lincoln's Inn, bar.-at-law); born, 1843.
 * 2, Old Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Maclean, Francis William, M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1871, from Westminster School, a student of the Inner Temple 1 Nov., 1864 (then aged 19), called to the bar 30 April, 1868 (3rd son of Alexander Maclean, Esq., of Barrow Hedges, Carshalton, Surrey); born 13 Dec., 1844; married 10 Aug., 1869, Mattie, 2nd dau. of John Sowerby, Esq., of Benwell Tower, Northumberland.
 * 9, Southwell Gardens, S.W.; 6, Stone Buildings, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

Howard-McLean, John Robert, B.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1883, a student of the Inner Temple 6 Nov., 1880 (then aged 20), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1884 (eldest son of John Howard McLean, of Aston Hall, Shifnal, Salop); born, 1860.
 * Aston Hall, Shifnal; 2, Dr. Johnson's Buildings, Temple, E.C

McLean, Robert Donald Douglas, a student of the Middle Temple 25 Jan., 1879, called to the bar 3 May, 1882 (only son of late Sir Donald McLean, formerly member executive council New Zealand); born,.
 * Napier, New Zealand.

Macleay, Oswell Sullivan, M.A. Balliol Coll., Oxon, a student of the Inner Temple 11 Nov., 1874 (then aged 22), called to the bar 15 May, 1878 (youngest son of James Robert Macleay, Esq., of Tetton House, Somerset); born, 1852.
 * Tetton House, Taunton; 3, Elm Court, Temple, E.C.; Conservative Club, S.W.

Maclennan, Donald, M.A. Aberdeen Univ., a student of the Inner Temple 10 Nov., 1858 (then aged 25), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1864 (3rd son of John Maclennan, of Whitehouse, Inverness, N.B.); born, 1833.
 * 2, Vicarage Gardens, Campden Hill, Kensington, W.; 1, Hare Court, Temple, E.C.

Macleod, Donald Grant, M.A., LL.M., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1882, LL.B. 1865, B.A. 1866, judge at Moulmein, British Burmah, a student of the Inner Temple 23 Nov., 1861 (then aged 19), called to the bar 9 June, 1865 (eldest son of Donald Macleod, of Rangoon, Burmah, Government advocate); born, 1842.
 * Moulmein, British Burmah.

Macleod, Edward George, practises before the High Court at Calcutta, a student of the Middle Temple 10 June, 1879, called to the bar 3 May, 1882 (2nd son of John Sinclair Macleod, of Kote, Chandpore, Jessore, Bengal, banker and merchant); born,.
 * Calcutta.

Macleod, Henry Dunning, F.S.S., M.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1863, a member of the Midland circuit, J.P., D.L. co. Cromarty, a student of the Inner Temple 5 May, 1843 (then aged 22), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1849 (2nd son of Roderick Macleod, Esq., M.P., late of Cadbole, co. Cromarty, dec.); born, 1821; married 18 Aug., 1853, Elizabeth Mackenzie, eldest dau. of Hugh J. Cameron, Esq., of London.
 * 17, Gloucester Terrace, Campden Hill, W.

Macleod, Simon John Fraser, LL.B. London Univ., a member of the Western circuit, a student of the Middle Temple 14 May, 1878, studentship jurisprudence and Roman law Jan., 1880, 1st class studentship in international and constitutional law June, 1880, called to the bar 26 Jan., 1881 (2nd son of William Macleod, M.D., C.B., R.N., inspector-general of hospitals and fleets); born 29 Aug., 1857.
 * 4, Brick Court, Temple, E.C.

McMahon, Lionel, late 58th regt. of foot, a student of the Inner Temple 10 March, 1880 (then aged 23), called to the bar 26 Jan., 1883 (youngest son of late Sir Beresford Burston McMahon, Bart.); born 30 June, 1856 (see Foster's Baronetage).
 * St. Stephen's Club, S.W.

McMaster, John George, M.A., LL.B. Trin. Coll., Dublin, a student of the Inner Temple 9 May, 1870 (then aged 19), called to the bar 17 Nov., 1873 (3rd son of John Walsh McMaster, of Gilford, co. Down, merchant); born, 1851.
 * Gilford, co. Down.

Macmeikan, John Alexander, M.A. (late scholar), St. John's Coll., Camb., 1876, B.A. (1st class classics) 1871, a student of Lincoln's Inn 9 May, 1870 (then aged 21), called to the bar 7 June, 1873 (only son of John Macmeikan, Esq., of Bickerton House, Cheshire); born, 1849; married 3 June, 1874, Helena Ruddiman, 3rd dau. of James E. McConnell, of Great Missenden, Bucks, J.P. etc.
 * 45, Leamington Road Villas, W.; Chapel Staircase, Lincoln's Inn, W.C.

McMicking, Alexander, B.A., Trin. Coll., Camb., 1879, a member of the Oxford circuit, a student of the Middle Temple 14 June, 1876, called to the bar 17 Nov., 1880 (2nd son of Gilbert McMicking, of London, merchant); born 17 Jan., 1857 (see Foster's Lancashire Collection).
 * 55, Prince's Gate, S.W.; 3, Temple Gardens E.C.; New University Club, S.W.

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