text:
Page:Holy Bible Berean Standard Bible.pdf/130

'''122 the altar, an offering made by fire, a pleasing aroma to the LORD. The remainder of the grain offering shall belong to Aaron and his sons; it is a most holy part of the offerings made by fire to the LORD.

Now if you bring an offering of grain baked in an oven, it must consist of fine flour, either unleavened cakes mixed with oil or unleavened wafers coated with oil.

If your offering is a grain offering prepared on a griddle, it must be unleavened bread made of fine flour mixed with oil. Crumble it and pour oil on it; it is a grain offering.

If your offering is a grain offering cooked in a pan, it must consist of fine flour with oil.

When you bring to the LORD the grain offering made in any of these ways, it is to be presented to the priest, and he shall take it to the altar. The priest is to remove the memorial portion from the grain offering and burn it on the altar as an offering made by fire, a pleasing aroma to the LORD. But the remainder of the grain offering shall belong to Aaron and his sons; it is a most holy part of the offerings made by fire to the LORD.

No grain offering that you present to the LORD may be made with leaven, for you are not to burn any leaven or honey as an offering made by fire to the LORD. You may bring them to the LORD as an offering of firstfruits, but they are not to be offered on the altar as a pleasing aroma. And you shall season each of your grain offerings with salt. You must not leave the salt of the covenant of your God out of your grain offering; you are to add salt to each of your offerings.

If you bring a grain offering of firstfruits to the LORD, you shall offer crushed heads of new grain roasted on the fire. And you are to put oil and frankincense on it; it is a grain offering. The priest shall then burn the memorial portion of the crushed grain and the oil, together with all its frankincense, as an offering made by fire to the LORD. Laws for Peace Offerings (Leviticus 7:11–21)

“If one’s offering is a peace offering and he offers an animal from the herd, whether male or female, he must present it without blemish before the LORD. He is to lay his hand on the head of the offering and slaughter it at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting. Then Aaron’s sons the priests shall sprinkle the blood on all sides of the altar.

From the peace offering he is to bring an offering made by fire to the LORD: the fat that covers the entrails, all the fat that is on them, both kidneys with the fat on them near the loins, and the lobe of the liver, which he is to remove with the kidneys. Then Aaron’s sons are to burn it on the altar atop the burnt offering that is on the burning wood, as an offering made by fire, a pleasing aroma to the LORD.

If, however, one’s peace offering to the LORD is from the flock, he must present a male or female without blemish.

If he is presenting a lamb for his offering, he must present it before the LORD. He is to lay his hand on the head of his offering and slaughter it in front of the Tent of Meeting. Then Aaron’s sons shall sprinkle its blood on all sides of the altar.

And from the peace offering he shall bring an offering made by fire to the LORD consisting of its fat: the entire fat tail cut off close to the backbone, the fat that covers the entrails, all the fat that is on them, both kidneys with the fat on them near the loins, and the lobe of


text:
Page:Papuan Campaign; The Buna-Sanananda Operation - Armed Forces in Action (1944).djvu/59

 had been reorganized in all echelons; and most important, the troops had learned much from hard experience and were becoming battle-wise.

The enemy situation, on the other hand, had deteriorated considerably, though our soldiers were not yet aware of the fact. Each of our attacks had added to his casualties, the failure of long-promised reinforcements to arrive had sapped morale, and our aerial superiority had prevented supply except by parachute and by small coastal boats. After the last delivery by parachute on 10 December, the enemy supply situation grew ever more critical. His morale began slowly to crack. One Japanese soldier wrote in his diary:

44

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


text: Page:Papuan Campaign; The Buna-Sanananda Operation - Armed Forces in Action (1944).djvu/60


text:
Page:Papuan Campaign; The Buna-Sanananda Operation - Armed Forces in Action (1944).djvu/61

 Map No. 5

Drawn in the Cartographic Section, Diss Unit by J. R. Hogan


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/236

 the convention that the thing to do was to get married at twenty-one and go to work immediately, regardless of one’s equipment or inclination or aptitude. But now they grow up into the convention that youth, that being under thirty years of age, is a protracted sophomore course without lectures, in which one must spend one’s entire time dressed like a caricature, drinking homemade booze and pawing at the opposite sex in the intervals of being arrested by traffic policemen.

“A few years ago a so called commercial artist (groan, damn you) named John Held began to caricature college life, cloistered and otherwise, in the magazines; ever since then college life, cloistered and otherwise, has been busy caricaturing John Held. It is expected of them by their elders, you see. And the young people humor them: young people are far more tolerant of the inexplicable and dangerous vagaries of their elders than the elders ever were or ever will be of the natural and harmless foibles of their children But perhaps they both enjoy it.”

“I don’t know,” Fairchild said. “Not even the old folks would like to be surrounded by people making such a drama of existence. And the young folks wouldn’t like it, either: young people have so many other things to do, you know. I think ?” His voice ceased, died into darkness and a faint lapping sound of water. The moon had swum up out of the east again, that waning moon of decay, worn and affable and cold. It was a magic on the water, a magic of pallid and fleshless things. The red eye of Mark Frost’s cigarette arced slow and lateral in his invisible hand, returned to its station twelve inches above the deck, and glowed and faded like a pulse. “You see,” Fairchild added like an apology, “I believe in young love in the spring, and things like that. I guess I’m a hopeless sentimentalist.”

The Semitic man grunted. Mark Frost said: “Virtue through

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/236


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/181

 “But don’t you know which way it is? Isn’t there any way you could tell?” She bent and whipped her legs with the broken branch.

“Well, the lake is over yonder, and we were west of Mandeville last night—”

“You're just guessing,” she interrupted harshly.

“Yes,” he answered. “I guess you are right.”

“Well, we’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t stand here.” She twitched her shoulders, writhing her body beneath her dress. “Which way, then?”

“Well, we w—”

She turned abruptly in the direction she had chosen. “Come on, I’ll die here.” She strode on ahead.

She was trying to explain it to Pete. The sun had risen sinister and hot, climbing into a drowsy haze, and up from a low vague region neither water nor sky clouds like fat little girls in starched frocks marched solemnly.

“It’s a thing they join at that place he’s going to. Only they have to work to join it, and sometimes you don’t even get to join it then. And the ones that do join it don’t get anything except a little button or something.”

“Pipe down and try it again,” Pete told her, leaning with his elbows and one heel hooked backward on the rail, his hat slanted across his reckless dark face, squinting his eyes against the smoke of his cigarette. “What’re you talking about?”

“There’s something in the water,” Jenny remarked with placid astonishment, creasing her belly over the rail and staring downward into the faintly rippled water while the land breeze molded her little green dress. “It must of fell off the boatOh, I’m talking about that college he’s going to. You

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/181


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/182

 work to join things there. You work three years, she says. And then maybe you—”

“What college?”

“I forgot. It’s the one where they have big football games in the papers every year. He’s—”

“Yale and Harvard?”

“Uhuh, that’s the one she said. He’s—”

“Which one? Yale, or Harvard?”

“Uhuh. And so he—’

“Come on, baby. You're talking about two colleges. Was it Yale she said, or Harvard? or Sing Sing or what?”

“Oh,” Jenny said. “It was Yale. Yes, that’s the one she said. And he’ll have to work three years to join it. And even then maybe he won’t.”

“Well, what about it? Suppose he does work three years: what about it?”

“Why, if he does, he won’t get anything except a little button or something, even if he does join it, I mean.” Jenny brooded softly, creasing herself upon the rail. “He’s going to have to work for it,” she recurred again in a dull soft amazement. “He'll have to work three years for it, and even then he may not—”

“Don’t be dumb all your life, kid,” Pete told her.

Wind and sun were in Jenny’s drowsing hair. The deck swept trimly forward, deserted. The others were gathered on the deck above. Occasionally they could hear voices, and a pair of masculine feet were crossed innocently upon the rail directly over Pete’s head. A half-smoked cigarette spun in a small twinkling arc astern. Jenny watched it drop lightly onto the water, where it floated amid the other rubbish that had caught her attention. Pete spun his own cigarette backward over his shoulder, but this one sank immediately, to her placid surprise.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/182


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/183

 “Let the boy join his club, if he wants,” Pete added. “What kind of a club is it? What do they do?”

“I don’t know. They just join it. You work for it three years, she said. Three years Gee, by that time you’d be too old to do anything if you got to join it. Three years. My Lord.”

“Sit down and give your wooden leg a rest,” Pete said. “Don’t be a dumbbell forever.” He examined the deck a moment, then without changing his position against the rail he turned his head toward Jenny. “Give papa a kiss.”

Jenny also glanced briefly up the deck. Then she came with a sort of wary docility, raising her ineffable face presently Pete withdrew his face. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“The matter with what?” said Jenny innocently.

Pete unhooked his heel and he put his arm around Jenny. Their faces merged again and Jenny became an impersonal softness against his mouth and a single blue eye and a drowsing aura of hair.

The swamp did not seem to end, ever. On either side of the road it brooded, fetid and timeless, somber and hushed and dreadful. The road went on and on through a bearded tunnel, beneath the sinister brass sky. The dew was long departed and dust puffed listlessly to her fierce striding. David tramped behind her, watching two splotches of dead blood on her stockings. Abruptly there were three of them and he drew abreast of her. She looked over her shoulder, showing him her wrung face.

“Don’t come near me!” she cried. “Don’t you see you make ’em worse?”

He dropped behind again and she stopped suddenly, drop-

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/183


text:
Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/31

Heraldic items for Army organizations ref1ect history, tradition, ideals, mission, and accomplishments. Shoulder sleeve insignia and distinctive unit insignia have been designed so that each is distinctive to the organzation for which approved. Both serve as identifying devices and contribute to unit cohesiveness.

While the custom of bearing various symbols on shields, helmets, and flags existed in antiquity, heraldry was not introduced until the Middle Ages. The use of heraldic devices became more prevalent with the increased use of armor and the requirements for insignia to assist in distinguishing friend from foe on the battlefield. The designs included mythological beasts, symbols commemorative of incidents of valor, and other identifying marks to which specific symbolism was ascribed. Gradually a formal system of heraldry evolved, complete with rules for design, use, and display.

The currently authorized embroidered shoulder sleeve insignia had their origin during World War I. They serve the same purpose as the corps of symbols (badges) in use during the Civil War and the War with Spain. The corps badges were of simple design; most could be cut from a single piece of cloth, e.g., a four-leaf clover, a heart, a star, a winged horsefoot, a caltrop, and a spearhead. Such devices were easily remembered and readily identified. Not only were they worn by the soldiers on their headgear, but also they were incorporated in the organizations' flags.

The first shoulder sleeve insignia is believed to have been worn by the men of the 81st Division during World War I. On their voyage to France they adopted as their insignia the figure of a wildcat that was in use as a distinctive marking for the division's equipment. Wear of the insignia was officially approved October 19, 1918, by a telegram from the Adjutant General, American Expeditionary Forces, to the division's commanding general. Insignia for other organizations of the American Expeditionary Forces were later authorized and designs were officially approved. Designs varied greatly. Many had their origin in designs already in use for organizational and equipment markings; others were based on monograms and geometric figures alluding to designations. Symbols associated with tradition s, geographical locations, and missions of the organizations were also in some designs.

Since World War I, the authorization of shoulder sleeve insignia has expanded along with organizational and other changes within the Army. Most soldiers now wear shoulder sleeve insignia. Many designs are more elaborate than those of World War I. The more complex designs came into being because of an increase in the number of authorized insignia and the availabil-


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/184

 ping the broken branch and extending her arms. “David,” she said. He went to her awkwardly, and she clung to him, whimpering. She raised her face, staring at him. “Can’t you do something? They hurt me, David.” But he only looked at her with his unutterable dumb longing.

She tightened her arms, released him quickly. “We’ll be out soon.” She picked up the branch again. “It'll be different then. Look! There’s another big butterfly!” Her squeal of delight became again a thin whimpering sound. She strode on.

Jenny found Mrs. Wiseman in their room, changing her dress.

“Mr. Ta—Talliaferro,” Jenny began. Then she said: “He’s an awful refined man, I guess. Don’t you think so?”

“Refined?” the other repeated. “Exactly that. Ernest invented that word.”

“He did?” Jenny went to the mirror and looked at herself a while. “Her brother’s refined, too, ain’t he?”

“Whose brother, honey?” Mrs. Wiseman paused and watched Jenny curiously.

“The one with that saw.”

“Oh. Yes, fairly so. He seems to be too busy to be anything else. Why?”

“And that popeyed man. All English men are refined, though. There was one in a movie I saw. He was awful refined.” Jenny looked at her reflected face, timelessly and completely entertained. Mrs. Wiseman gazed at Jenny’s fine minted hair, at her sleazy little dress revealing the divine inevitability of her soft body.

“Come here, Jenny,” she said.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/184


text:
Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/32

16 ity of embroidery machinery for production of various types of textile insignia. During the Vietnam era the policy governing the wear of subdued insignia as well as full-color items was established.

Distinctive insignia of metal and enamel are authorized for separate battalions and higher echelons. These insignia may be traced to the use of metal and enamel badges authorized to be worn instead of the cloth badges during the War with Spain. The type of distinctive insignia currently in use was first authorized during the 1920s for regiments and some other units. As in the case of shoulder sleeve insignia the authorization was expanded as changes in organization of the Army took place. The designs are based on symbols reflecting the organization's lineage, battle honors, traditions, and mission. Usually they incorporate the organization's motto, which is often of an idealistic nature.

Shoulder sleeve and distinctive insignia worn on the uniform and the distinguishing flags are highly visible items of identification. They are significant factors in Army esprit de corps.


text:
Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/33

The distinctive insignia is an adaptation of the shield, crest, and motto of the coat of arms.


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/34


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/185

When he reached her she sat huddled in the road, crouching bonelessly upon herself, huddling her head in her crossed thin arms. He stood beside her, and presently he spoke her name. She rocked back and forth, then wrung her body in an ecstasy. “They hurt me, they hurt me,” she wailed, crouching again in that impossible spasm of agony. David knelt beside her and spoke her name again, and she sat up.

“Look,” she said wildly, “on my legs—look, look,” staring with a sort of fascination at a score of great gray specks hovering about her blood-flecked stockings, making no effort to brush them away. She raised her wild face again. “Do you see them? They are everywhere on me—my back, my back, where I can’t reach.” She lay suddenly flat, writhing her back in the dust, clutching his hand. Then she sat up again and against his knees she turned wringing her body from the hips, trying to draw her bloody legs beneath her brief skirt. He held her while she writhed in his grasp, staring her wild bloodless face up at him. “I must get in water,” she panted. “I must get in water. Mud, anything. I’m dying, I tell you.”

“Yes, yes: I’ll get you some water. You wait here. Will you wait here?”

“You'll get me some water? You will? You promise?”

“Yes, yes,” he repeated. “I’ll get you some. You wait here. You wait here, see?” he repeated idiotically. She bent again inward upon herself, moaning and writhing in the dust, and he plunged down the bank, stripping his shirt off and dipped it into the foul warm ditch. She had dragged her dress up about her shoulders, revealing her startling white bathing suit between her knickers and the satin band binding

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/185


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/186

 her breasts. “On my back,” she moaned, bending forward again, “quick! quick!”

He laid the wet shirt on her back and she caught the ends of it and drew it around her, and presently she leaned back against his knees with a long shuddering sigh. “I want a drink. Can’t I have a drink of water, David?”

“Soon,” he promised with despair. “You can have one soon as we get out of the swamp.”

She moaned again, a long whimpering sound, lowering her head between her arms. They crouched together in the dusty road. The road went on shimmering before them, endless beneath bearded watching trees, crossing the implacable swamp with a puerile bravado like a thin voice cursing in a cathedral. Needles of fire darted about them, about his bare shoulders and arms. After a while she said:

“Wet it again, please, David.”

He did so, and returned, scrambling up the steep rank levee side.

“Now, bathe my face, David.” She raised her face and closed her eyes and he bathed her face and throat and brushed her damp coarse hair back from her brow.

“Let’s put the shirt on you,” he suggested.

“No,” she demurred against his arm, without opening her eyes, drowsily. “They’ll eat you alive without it.”

“They don’t bother me like they do you. Come on, put it on.” She demurred again and he tried awkwardly to draw the shirt over her head. “I don’t need it,” he repeated.

“No Keep it, David You ought to keep it. Besides, I’d rather have it underneath Oooo, it feels so good. You're sure you don’t need it?” She opened her eyes, watching him with that sober gravity of hers. He insisted and she sat up and slipped her dress over her head. He helped her to don the shirt, then she slipped her dress on again.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/186


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/35


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/187

 “I wouldn’t take it, only they hurt me so damn bad. I’ll do something for you some day, David. I swear I will.”

“Sure,” he repeated. “I don’t need it.”

He rose, and she came to her feet in a single motion, before he could offer to help her. “I swear I wouldn’t take it if they didn’t hurt me so much, David,” she persisted, putting her hand on his shoulder and raising her tanned serious face.

“Sure, I know.”

“I’ll pay you back somehow. Come on: let’s get out of here.”

Mrs. Wiseman and Miss Jameson drove Mrs. Maurier moaning and wringing her hands, from the galley and prepared lunch—grapefruit again, disguised thinly.

“We have so many of them,” the hostess apologized helplessly. “And the steward gone We are aground, too, you see,” she explained.

“Oh, we can stand a little hardship, I guess,” Fairchild reassured her jovially. “The race hasn’t degenerated that far. In a book, now, it would be kind of terrible; if you forced characters in a book to eat as much grapefruit as we do, both the art boys and the humanitarians would stand on their hindlegs and howl. But in real life— In life, anything might happen; in actual life people will do anything. It’s only in books that people must function according to arbitrary rules of conduct and probability; it’s only in books that events must never flout credulity.”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Wiseman agreed. “People’s characters, when writers delineate them by revealing their likings and dislikings, always appear so perfect, so inevitably consistent, but in li—”

“That’s why literature is art and biology isn’t,” her brother

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/187


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/36


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/91


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/188

 interrupted. “A character in a book must be consistent in all things, while man is consistent in one thing only: he is consistently vain. It’s his vanity alone which keeps his particles damp and adhering one to another, instead of like any other handful of dust which any wind that passes can disseminate.”

“In other words, he is consistently inconsistent,” Mark Frost recapitulated.

“I guess so,” the Semitic man replied. “Whatever that means But what were you saying, Eva?”

“I was thinking of how book people, when you find them in real life, have such a perverse and disconcerting way of liking and disliking the wrong things. For instance, Dorothy here. Suppose you were drawing Dorothy’s character in a novel, Dawson. Any writer would give her a liking for blue jewelry: white gold, and platinum, and sapphires in dull silver—you know. Wouldn’t you do that?”

“Why, yes, so I would,” Fairchild agreed with interest. “She would like blue things, sure enough.”

“And then,” the other continued, “music. You’d say she would like Grieg, and those other cold mad northern people with icewater in their veins, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Fairchild agreed again, thinking immediately of Ibsen and the Peer Gynt legend and remembering a sonnet of Siegfried Sassoon’s about Sibelius that he had once read in a magazine. “That’s what she would like.”

“Should like,” Mrs. Wiseman corrected. “For the sake of esthetic consistency. But I bet you are wrong. Isn’t he, Dorothy?”

“Why, yes,” Miss Jameson replied. “I always liked Chopin.”

Mrs. Wiseman shrugged: a graceful dark gesture. “And there you are. That’s what makes art so discouraging. You come to expect anything associated with and dependent on the actions of man to be discouraging. But it always shocks

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/188


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/92


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/141

" read the letter through in silence. His face turned a dull angry crimson. The men watching him saw the veins start out on his forehead, and his big hands clench themselves unconsciously. He handed back the letter without a word. M. Carrège was looking with close attention at his desk, M. Caux's eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, and M. Hercule Poirot was tenderly brushing a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. With the greatest tact they none of them looked at Van Aldin.

It was M. Carrège, mindful of his status and his duties, who tackled the unpleasant subject.

"Perhaps, Monsieur," he murmured, "you are aware by whomerthis letter was written?"

"Yes, I know," said Van Aldin heavily.

"Ah?" said the Magistrate inquiringly.

"A scoundrel who calls himself the Comte de la Roche."

There was a pause; then M. Poirot leaned forward, straightened a ruler on the judge's desk, and addressed the millionaire directly.

"M. Van Aldin, we are all sensible, deeply sensible, of the pain it must give you to speak of these matters, but believe me. Monsieur, it is not the time for concealments. If justice is to be done, we must know every-


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/235

 much. But it’s kind of nice, being young in this generation.”

“Surely. We all think that, when our arteries begin to harden,” the Semitic man rejoined. “Not only are most of our sins vicarious, but most of our pleasures are too. Look at our books, our stage, the movies. Who supports ’em? Not the young folks. They’d rather walk around or just sit and hold each other’s hands.”

“It’s a substitute,” Fairchild said. “Don’t you see?”

“Substitute for what? When you are young and in love yesterday and out to-day and in again to-morrow, do you know anything about love? Is it anything to you except a rather dreadful mixture of jealousy and thwarted desires and interference with that man’s world which after all, we all prefer, and nagging and maybe a little pleasure like a drug? It’s not the women you sleep with that you remember, you know.”

“No, thank God,” Fairchild said. The other continued:

“It’s the old problem of the aristocracy over and over: a natural envy of that minority which is at liberty to commit all the sins which the majority cannot stop earning a living long enough to commit.” He lit his cigar again. “Young people always shape their lives as the preceding generation requires of them. I don’t mean exactly that they go to church when they are told to, for instance, because their elders expect it of them—though God only knows what other reason they could possibly have for going to church as it is conducted nowadays, with a warden to patrol the building in the urban localities and in the rural districts squads of K.K.K.’s beating the surrounding copses and all those traditional retreats that in the olden days enabled the church to produce a soul for every one it saved. But youth in general lives unquestioningly according to the arbitrary precepts of its elders.

“For instance, a generation ago higher education was not considered so essential, and young people grew up at home into

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/235


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/37


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/142

 thing. If you will reflect a little minute you will realize the truth of that clearly for yourself."

Van Aldin was silent for a moment or two, then almost reluctantly he nodded his head in agreement.

"You are quite right, M. Poirot," he said. "Painful as it is, I have no right to keep anything back."

The Commissary gave a sigh of relief, and the Examining Magistrate leaned back in his chair and adjusted a pince-nez on his long thin nose.

"Perhaps you will tell us in your own words, M. Van Aldin," he said, "all that you know of this gentleman."

"It began eleven or twelve years agoin Paris. My daughter was a young girl then, full of foolish, romantic notions, like all young girls are. Unknown to me, she made the acquaintance of this Comte de la Roche. You have heard of him, perhaps?"

The Commissary and Poirot nodded in assent.

"He calls himself the Comte de la Roche," continued Van Aldin, "but I doubt if he has any right to the title."

"You would not have found his name in the Almanac de Gotha," agreed the Commissary.

"I discovered as much," said Van Aldin. "The man was a good-looking, plausible scoundrel, with a fatal fascination for women. Ruth was infatuated with him, but I soon put a stop to the whole affair. The man was no better than a common swindler."

"You are quite right," said the Commissary. "The Comte de la Roche is well known to us. If it were possible, we should have laid him by the heels before now, but ma foi! it is not easy; the fellow is cunning, his affairs are always conducted with ladies of high


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/234

 out of hand. But people do not die of love. That’s the reason love and death in conjunction have such an undying appeal in books: they are never very closely associated anywhere else.

“But as for a broken heart in this day of general literacy and facilities for disseminating the printed word—” he made a sound of disparagement. “Lucky he who believes that his heart is broken: he can immediately write a book and so take revenge (what is more terrible than the knowledge that the man you just knocked down discovered a coin in the gutter while getting up?) on him or her who damaged his or her ventricles. Besides cleaning up in the movies and magazines. No, no,” he repeated, “you don’t commit suicide when you are disappointed in love. You write a book.”

“I don’t know about that,” repeated Fairchild stubbornly. “People will do anything. But I suppose it takes a fool to believe that and act on that principle.” Beyond the eastern horizon was a rumor of pale silver, pallid and chill and faint, and they sat for a while in silence, thinking of love and death. The red eye of a cigarette twelve inches from the deck: this was Mark Frost. Fairchild broke the silence.

“The way she went off with Da— the steward. It was kind of nice, wasn’t it? And came back. No excuses, no explanations—‘think no evil’ you know. That’s what these postwar young folks have taught us. Only old folks like Julius and me would ever see evil in what people, young people, do. But then, I guess folks growing up into the manner of looking at life that we inherited, would find evil in anything where inclination wasn’t subservient to duty. We were taught to believe that duty is infallible, or it wouldn’t be duty, and if it were just unpleasant enough, you got a mark in heaven, sure But maybe it ain’t so different, taken one generation by another. Most of our sins are vicarious, anyhow. I guess when you are young you have too much fun just being, to sin very

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/234


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/233

 had forgotten anything even, and so she just lay and looked up at the other’s dark slender head against the unshaded light.

“Poor child, you have had a hard day, haven’t you?” She put her hand on Jenny’s brow, smoothing back the fine hushed gold of Jenny’s hair, stroking her hand along Jenny’s cheek. Jenny lay quiet under the hand, drowsing her eyes like a stroked kitten, and then she knew she could cry all right, whenever she wanted to. Only it was almost as much fun just lying here and knowing you could cry whenever you got ready to, as the crying itself would be. She opened her blue ineffable eyes.

“Do you suppose he’s really drownded?” she asked. Mrs. Wiseman’s hand stroked Jenny’s cheek, pushing her hair upward and away from her brow.

“I don’t know, darling,” she answered soberly. “He’s a luckless man. And anything may happen to a luckless man. But don’t you think about that any more. Do you hear?” She leaned her face down to Jenny’s. “Do you hear?” she said again.

“No,” Fairchild said, “he ain’t the sort to get drowned. Some people just ain’t that sort I wonder,” he broke off suddenly and gazed at his companions. “Say, do you suppose he went off because he thought that girl was gone for good?”

“Drowned himself for love?” Mark Frost said. “Not in this day and time. People suicide because of money and disease: not for love.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fairchild objected. “They used to die because of love. And human nature don’t change. Its actions achieve different results under different conditions, but human nature don’t change.”

“Mark is right,” the Semitic man said. “People in the old books died of heartbreak also, which was probably merely some ailment that any modern surgeon or veterinarian could cure

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/233


text:
Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/93

None approved.

Constituted 30 March 1967 in the Regular Army as Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 1st Military Police Command. Activated 10 May 1967 at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland. Inactivated 15 May 1970 at Fort George G. Meade, Maryland.

None.

None. 21


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/232

 glass she passed her comb through the drowsing miniature Golconda of her hair, then she got her naked body placidly into bed, as was her habit since three nights.

But she didn’t turn out the light. She lay in her berth, gazing up at the smug glare of light upon the painted unbroken sweep of the ceiling. Time passed while she lay rosy and motionless, measured away by the small boneless hands of water lapping against the hull beyond the port; and she could hear feet also, and people moving about and making sounds.

She didn’t know what it was she wanted, except it was something. So she lay on her back rosy and quiet beneath the unshaded glare of the inadequate light, and after a while she thought that maybe she was going to cry. Maybe that was it, so she lay naked and rosy and passive on her back, waiting to begin.

She could still hear people moving about: voices and feet, and she kept waiting for that first taste of crying that comes into your throat before you really get started—that feeling that there are two little salty canals just under your ears when you feel sorry for yourself, and that other kind of feeling you have at the base of your nose. Only my nose don’t get red when I cry, she thought, in a placid imminent misery of sadness and meaningless despair, waiting passive and still and without dread for it to begin. But before it began, Mrs. Wiseman entered the room.

She came over to Jenny and Jenny looked up and saw the other’s dark small head, like a deer’s head, against the light, and that dark intent way the other had of looking at her; and presently Mrs. Wiseman said:

“What is it, Jenny? What’s the matter?”

But she had forgotten what it was, almost: all she could remember was that there had been something; but now that the other had come Jenny could hardly remember that she

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/232


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/143

 social position. If he obtains money from them under false pretences or as the fruit of blackmail, eh bien! naturally they will not prosecute. To look foolish in the eyes of the world, oh no, that would never do, and he has an extraordinary power over women."

"That is so," said the millionaire heavily. "Well, as I told you, I broke the affair up pretty sharply. I told Ruth exactly what he was, and she had, perforce, to believe me. About a year afterwards, she met her present husband and married him. As far as I knew, that was the end of the matter; but only a week ago, I discovered, to my amazement, that my daughter had resumed her acquaintance with the Comte de la Roche. She had been meeting him frequently in London and Paris. I remonstrated with her on her imprudence, for I may tell you gentlemen, that, on my insistence, she was preparing to bring a suit for divorce against her husband."

"That is interesting," murmured Poirot softly, his eyes on the ceiling.

Van Aldin looked at him sharply, and then went on.

"I pointed out to her the folly of continuing to see the Comte under the circumstances. I thought she agreed with me."

The Examining Magistrate coughed delicately.

"But according to this letter" he began, and then stopped.

Van Aidin’s jaw set itself squarely.

"I know. It's no good mincing matters. However unpleasant, we have got to face facts. It seems clear that Ruth had arranged to go to Paris and meet de la Roche there. After my warnings to her, however,


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/231

 the boat started and went away and now that redheaded man and She says he’s drowned

Jenny gazed into the dark water, thinking of death, of being helpless in that terrible suffocating resilience of water, feeling again that utter and dreadful helpfulness of terror and fear. So when Mr. Talliaferro was suddenly and silently beside her, touching her, she recognized him by instinct. And feeling again her world become unstable and shifting beneath her, feeling all familiar solid things fall away from under her and seeing familiar faces and objects arc swooping away from her as she plunged from glaring sunlight through a timeless interval into Fear like a green lambence straying to receive her, she was stark and tranced. But at last she could move again, screaming.

“You scared me so bad,” she gasped piteously, shrinking from him. She turned and ran, ran toward light, toward the security of walls.

The room was dark: no sound within it, and after the dim spaciousness of the deck it seemed close and hot. But here were comfortable walls and Jenny snapped on the light and entered, entered into an atmosphere of familiarity. Here was a vague ghost of the scent she liked and with which she had happily been impregnated when she came aboard and which had not yet completely died away, and the thin sharp odor of lilacs which she had come to associate with Mrs. Wiseman and which lingered also in the room, and the other’s clothing, and her own comb on the dressing table and the bright metal cylinder of her lipstick beside it.

Jenny looked at her face in the mirror for a while. Then she removed a garment and returned to gaze at her stainless pink-and-whiteness, ineffable, unmarred by any thought at all. Then she removed the rest of her clothes, and again before the

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/231


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/144

 she must have written to the Count suggesting a change of rendezvous."

"The Isles d'Or," said the Commissary thoughtfully, "are situated just opposite Hyères, a remote and idyllic spot."

Van Aldin nodded.

"My God! How could Ruth be such a fool?" he exclaimed bitterly. "All this talk about writing a book on jewels! Why, he must have been after the rubies from the first."

"There are some very famous rubies," said Poirot, "originally part of the Crown jewels of Russia; they are unique in character, and their value is almost fabulous. There has been a rumour that they have lately passed into the possession of an American. Are we right in concluding, Monsieur, that you were the purchaser?"

"Yes," said Van Aldin. "They came into my possession in Paris about ten days ago."

"Pardon me. Monsieur, but you have been negotiating for their purchase for some time?"

"A little over two months. Why?"

"These things become known," said Poirot. "There is always a pretty formidable crowd on the track of jewels such as these."

A spasm distorted the other's face.

"I remember," he said brokenly, "a joke I made to Ruth when I gave them to her. I told her not to take them to the Riviera with her, as I could not afford to have her robbed and murdered for the sake of the jewels. My God! the things one saysnever dreaming or knowing they will come true."


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/230

 “To-night? Can we get there to-night? It’s kind of late, ain’t it? How’ll we get there?”

“Like those people who went this morning did. There’s a tram or a bus, isn’t there? Or a train at the nearest village?”

“I don’t know. They come back in a boat.”

“Oh, a boat.” Major Ayers considered a moment. “Well, no matter: we’ll wait until to-morrow, then. We’ll go to-morrow, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Jenny repeated tirelessly, passive and rife, projecting her emanation. Once more Major Ayers looked about him. Then he moved his hand from the rail and as Jenny, seeing the movement, turned to him with a slow unreluctance, he chucked her under the chin.

“Right, then,” he said briskly, moving away. “To-morrow it is.” Jenny gazed after him in passive astonishment and he turned and came back to her, and giving her an intimate inviting glare he chucked her again under her soft surprised chin. Then he departed permanently.

Jenny gazed after his tweedclad dissolving shape, watching him out of sight. He sure is a foreigner, she told herself. She sighed.

The water lapped at the hull of the yacht with little sounds, little hushed sounds like boneless hands might make, and she leaned again over the rail, gazing downward into the dark water.

He would be refined as anybody, she mused to herself. Being her brother more refined, because she had been away all day with that waiter in the dining room But maybe the waiter was refined, too. Except I never found many boys thatI guess her aunt must have jumped on her. I wonder what she’d ’a’ done when they come back, if we’d got

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/230


text: United States patent 1682572

title: United States patent 1682572


text:
Page:The story of the flute (IA storyofflute1914fitz).djvu/70

 of the main facts without entering into minute technical details, referring those of my readers who desire further information to Mr. Charles Welch's exhaustive treatise on the subject.

Nothing is known of Gordon's early life. It is not even certain whether his Christian name, whatever it was, began with a W (probably William) or a J. He was a Swiss by birth, though his surname points to an English or Scottish origin, and held a commission as captain in the Swiss Guards of Charles X. He was passionately fond of music, to which he devoted all his spare time; and as his regiment was quartered in Paris, he took lessons from Drouet and also from Tulou (the latter, by the way, does not seem to have attached any importance to Gordon's inventions, and describes the tone of his flute as "thin"). He would appear to have been a very good amateur flautist, and a modest, kind-hearted, and ingenious gentleman, possessed of little or no mechanical skill or training, and having no special knowledge of acoustics.

In 1826 Gordon tried to improve the flute by developing the open-keyed system, and he had several flutes made under his direction by French workmen and by a Swiss watchmaker. What the changes he introduced were is not now known precisely, but his widow stated in 1838 that he aimed at perfect accuracy of intonation, combined with easier execution and a more extended compass. Charles X. lost his throne by the Revolution of 1830, and on July 29th Gordon's regiment, which was guarding the Louvre,


text: Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/94


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/189

 me to learn that art also depends on population, on the herd instinct just as much as manufacturing automobiles or stockings does—”

“Only they can’t advertise art by means of women’s legs yet,” Mark Frost interrupted.

“Don’t be silly, Mark,” Mrs. Wiseman said sharply. “That’s exactly how art came to the attention of the ninety-nine who don’t produce it and so have any possible reason for buying it—postcards and lithographs barely esoteric enough to escape police persecution. Ask any man on the street what he understands by the word art: he'll tell you it means a picture. Won’t he?” she appealed to Fairchild.

“That’s so,” he agreed. “And it’s a wrong impression. Art means anything consciously done well, to my notion. Living, or building a good lawn mower, or playing poker. I don’t like this modern idea of restricting the word to painting, at all.”

“The art of Life, of a beautiful and complete existence of the Soul,” Mrs. Maurier put in. “Don’t you think that is Art’s greatest function, Mr. Gordon?”

“Of course you don’t, child,” Mrs. Wiseman told Fairchild, ignoring Mrs. Maurier. “As rabidly American as you are, you can’t stand that, can you? And there’s the seat of your bewilderment, Dawson—your belief that the function of creating art depends on geography.”

“It does. You can’t grow corn without something to plant it in.”

“But you don’t plant corn in geography: you plant it in soil. It not only does not matter where that soil is, you can even move the soil from one place to another—around the world, if you like—and it will still grow corn.”

“You’d have a different kind of corn, though—Russian corn, or Latin or Anglo-Saxon corn.”

“All corn is the same to the belly,” the Semitic man said.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/189


text:
Page:Robert K. Wright - Military Police - CMH Pub 60-9-1.pdf/95

LINEAGES AND HERALDIC DATA

Constituted 16 April 1959 in the Army Reserve as Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 300th Military Police Prisoner of War Command, and assigned to the Fifth United States Army. Activated 1 May 1959 at Royal Oak, Michigan. Location changed 1 July 1959 to Dearborn, Michigan; on 7 April 1966 to Livonia, Michigan; on 3 November 1980 to Inkster, Michigan. Reorganized and redesignated 16 June 1982 as Headquarters and Headquarters Company, 300th Military Police Command. Relieved 1 October 1984 from assignment to the Fifth United States Army and assigned to the Fourth United States Army.

Home Area: Fourth Un ited States Army

None.

None.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/145

 There was a sympathetic silence, and then Poirot spoke in a detached manner.

"Let us arrange our facts with order and precision. According to our present theory, this is how they run. The Comte de la Roche knows of your purchase of these jewels. By an easy stratagem he induces Madame Kettering to bring the stones with her. He, then, is the man Mason saw in the train at Paris."

The other three nodded in agreement.

"Madame is surprised to see him, but she deals with the situation promptly. Mason is got out of the way; a dinner basket is ordered. We know from the conductor that he made up the berth for the first compartment, but he did not go into the second compartment, and that a man could quite well have been concealed from him. So far the Comte could have been hidden to a marvel. No one knows of his presence on the train except Madame; he has been careful that the maid did not see his face. All that she could say is that he was tall and dark. It is all most conveniently vague. They are aloneand the train rushes through the night. There would be no outcry, no struggle, for the man is, so she thinks, her lover."

He turned gently to Van Aldin.

"Death, Monseiur, must have been almost instantaneous. We will pass over that quickly. The Comte takes the jewel-case which lies ready to his hand. Shortly afterwards the train draws into Lyons."

M. Carrège nodded his approval.

"Precisely. The conductor without descends. It would be easy for our man to leave the train unseen;


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/190

 “Julius!” exclaimed Mrs. Maurier. “The Soul’s hunger: that is the true purpose of Art. There are so many things to satisfy the grosser appetites. Don’t you think so, Mr. Talliaferro?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Wiseman took her brother up. “Dawson clings to his conviction for the old reason: it’s good enough to live with and comfortable to die with—like a belief in immortality. Insurance against doubt or alarm.”

“And laziness,” her brother added. Mrs. Maurier exclaimed “Julius” again. “Clinging spiritually to one little spot of the earth’s surface, so much of his labor is performed for him. Details of dress and habit and speech which entail no hardship in the assimilation and which, piled one on another, become quite as imposing as any single startling stroke of originality, as trivialities in quantities will. Don’t you agree? But then, I suppose that all poets in their hearts consider prosewriters shirkers, don’t they?”

“Yes,” his sister agreed. “We do think they are lazy—just a little. Not mentally, but that theirnot hearts—” “Souls?” her brother suggested. “I hate that word, but it’s the nearest thing” She met her brother’s sad quizzical eyes and exclaimed: “Oh, Julius! I could kill you, at times. He’s laughing at me, Dawson.”

“He’s laughing at us both,” Fairchild said. “But let him have his fun, poor fellow.” He chuckled, and lit a cigarette. “Let him laugh. I always did want to be one of those old time eunuchs, for one night. They must have just laughed themselves to death when those sultans and things would come visiting.”

“Mister Fairchild! Whatever in the world!” exclaimed Mrs. Maurier.

“It’s a good thing there’s some one to see something amusing

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/190


text: Page:The Hind and the Panther - Dryden (1687).djvu/86


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/191

 in that process,” the other rejoined. “The husbands, the active participants, never seem to.”

“That’s a provision of nature’s for racial survival,” Fairchild said. “If the husbands ever saw the comic aspect of it But they never do, even when they have the opportunity, no matter how white and delicate the hand that decorates their brows.”

“It’s not lovely ladies nor dashing strangers,” the Semitic man said, “it’s the marriage ceremony that disfigures our foreheads.”

Fairchild grunted. Then he chuckled again. “There’d sure be a decline in population if a man were twins and had to stand around and watch himself making love.”

“Mister Fairchild!”

“Chopin,” Mrs. Wiseman interrupted. “Really, Dorothy, I’m disappointed in you.” She shrugged again, flashing her hands. Mrs. Maurier said with relief:

“How much Chopin has meant to me in my sorrows”—she looked about in tragic confiding astonishment—“no one will ever know.”

“Surely,” agreed Mrs. Wiseman, “he always does.” She turned to Miss Jameson. “Just think how much better Dawson would have done you than God did. With all deference to Mrs. Maurier, so many people find comfort in Chopin. It’s like having a pain that aspirin will cure, you know. I could have forgiven you even Verdi, but Chopin! Chopin,” she repeated, then with happy inspiration: “Snow rotting under a dead moon.”

Mark Frost sat staring at his hands on his lap, beneath the edge of the table, moving his lips slightly. Fairchild said:

“What music do you like, Eva?”

“Oh—Debussy, George Gershwin, Berlioz perhaps—why not?”

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/191


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/146

 it would be easy to catch a train back to Paris or anywhere he pleases. And the crime would be put down as an ordinary train robbery. But for the letter found in Madame's bag, the Comte would not have been mentioned."

"It was an oversight on his part not to search that bag," declared the Commissary.

"Without doubt he thought she had destroyed that letter. It waspardon me, Monsieurit was an indiscretion of the first water to keep it."

"And yet," murmured Poirot, "it was an indiscretion the Comte might have foreseen."

"You mean?"

"I mean we are all agreed on one point, and that is that the Comte de la Roche knows one subject à fond: Women. How was it that, knowing women as he does, he did not foresee that Madame would have kept that letter?"

"Yesyes," said the Examining Magistrate doubtfully, "there is something in what you say. But at such times, you understand, a man is not master of himself. He does not reason calmly. Mon Dieu!” he added, with feeling, "if our criminals kept their heads and acted with intelligence, how should we capture them?"

Poirot smiled to himself.

"It seems to me a clear case," said the other, "but a difficult one to prove. The Comte is a slippery customer, and unless the maid can identify him"

"Which is most unlikely," said Poirot.

"True, true." The Examining Magistrate rubbed his chin. "It is going to be difficult."


text:
Page:Egyptian Literature (1901).djvu/239

 hold they are with you, seize the ships of the men of the city of Arāda which they have made in the land of Egypt. Again behold Khaiya laments for you do not  and as for us we  by the land of the Amorites.”

45 B. M., a broken letter with passages of interest as follows:

“Moreover, now this city of Gula is afflicted. The region behold of the city of Gula is for the King my Lord. Cannot you do what we desire? But he has done as his heart (desired) with all the lands of the King. Behold this sin which Aziru with the King; (he has slain) the King of the land of Ammiya and (the King of Ar) data: and the King of the Land of Ni (has slain?) a Paka (‘chief’) of the King my Lord and the King knows his faithful servant, and he has despatched a garrison from his city, thirty men and fifty chariots, to the city of Gebal. I have been right. He had turned, O King, his heart from everything that Aziru orders him. For everything that he orders, the messages are unanswered. But every governor of the King he has ordered to be slain. I am forgotten. Behold Aziru has cursed the King my Lord.”

158 B.—The greater part of this letter is too broken to read, but refers to Abdasherah, and appears to be written to Yankhamu. The city of Simyra is mentioned, and the city Arpad, and the palace or fortress of the former, with certain men therein. The soldiers of a city Sekhlali are also noticed, but it is not clear where this place is to be sought.

47 B.—“Ribadda of the city of Gebal (Gubla) to his Lord the King of many lands, the prosperous King. Baalath of


text:
Page:Journal of the Optical Society of America, volume 30, number 12.pdf/57

 zontal dimension represents hue while the perpendicular dimension represents chroma. The dimensions of a similar form used with the constant-hue charts represent value and chroma. On these forms each observer’s estimate of the deviations of the particular color in respect to two of the attributes in question have been recorded by inserting his initials in the appropriate place. A total of 800 record sheets were required to summarize the color. judgments, roughly three million in number.

The summarization forms are so similar that only the form for use with the data from the constant-value charts need be described in detail. Each vertical third contains data secured from the observations against a different background. In any third, entries falling in the central vertical column represent judgments that the Munsell hue notation is correct, while entries in parallel columns to the left or right represent, respectively, estimates of hue deviations in the counter-clockwise or clockwise direction around the hue circle. The recording unit of estimate is one Munsell hue-step. Similarly, the middle horizontal column represents the judgment that the Munsell chroma notation is correct, while the parallel columns above and below include respective estimates of “too strong” and “too weak.” The recorder’s unit of estimate is here 0.4 chroma-step. Of course, entries falling in the central rectangle, formed by the intersection of the central columns, represent judgments of correctness for both attributes. Preliminary estimates (encircled initials) by the $$R$$ method, and final or check estimates (unencircled initials) by the $$R'$$ method, were made on each of the three grounds. Consequently the initials of a given observer usually appear several times on the summary sheet for a given color. Inspection of Fig. 6 shows at once that the particular color sample, G 5/6, was judged on the average to have a chroma higher than /6 and hue corresponding closely to the Munsell notation, regardless of background.

The summarization process varied somewhat with the attribute. In case of hue, it will be recalled, the final instructions called for an unmasked inspection of the general spacing of the several hue radii in the constant-value charts, and the assignment of tangential vectors when adjacent hue radii, considered as wholes, seemed too close together or too far apart. The hue-shifts represented by such general radial adjustments were individually added to the results of the preliminary hue adjustments of the colors concerned. Incidentally, it may be noted, that only a minority of the subjects made any general adjustments.

In case of value, an analogous type of treatment was required. The instructions had called for an unmasked inspection of the spacings of the successive value rows in the constant-hue charts, and the indication of departures from perceptual uniformity by direct numerical estimates in terms of the standard value-step unit. The given observer estimated the eight spacings between values 1/ and 9/, and the results were added to his preliminary value estimates. If the


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/192

 “Berlioz,” repeated Miss Jameson mimicking the other’s tone: “Swedenborg on a French holiday.” Mark Frost stared at his hands on his lap, moving his lips slightly.

“Forget your notebook, Mark?” Fairchild asked quizzically.

“It’s very sad,” the Semitic man said. “Man gets along quite well until that unhappy day on which some one else discovers him thinking. After that, God help him: he doesn’t dare leave home without a notebook. It’s very sad.”

“Mark’s not such an accomplished buccaneer as you and Dawson,” his sister answered quickly. “At least he requires a notebook.”

“My dear girl,” the Semitic man murmured in his lazy voice, “you flatter yourself.”

“So do I,” Fairchild said. “I always—”

“Whom?” the Semitic man asked. “Yourself, or me?”

“What?” said Fairchild, staring at him.

“Nothing. Excuse me: you were saying—?”

“I was saying that I always carry my portfolio with me because it’s the only comfortable thing I ever found to sit on.”

Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words. It seemed endless, as though it might go on forever. Ideas, thoughts, became mere sounds to be bandied about until they were dead.

Noon was oppressive as a hand, as the ceaseless blow of a brass hand: a brass blow neither struck nor withheld; brass rushing wings that would not pass. The deck blistered with it, the rail was too hot to touch and the patches of shadow about the deck were heavy and heat soaked as sodden blankets. The water was an unbearable glitter, the forest was a bronze wall cast at a fearful heat and not yet cooled, and no breeze was anywhere under the world’s heaven.

But the unbearable hiatus of noon passed at last and the

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/192


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/147

 "If he did indeed commit the crime" began Poirot. M. Caux interrupted.

“Ifyou say if."

"Yes, Monseiur le Juge, I say if."

The other looked at him sharply. "You are right," he said at last, "we go too fast. It is possible that the Comte may have an alibi. Then we should look foolish."

"Ah, ça par exemple," replied Poirot, "that is of no importance whatever. Naturally, if he committed the crime he will have an alibi. A man with the Comte's experience does not neglect to take precautions. No, I said if for a very different reason."

"And what was that?"

Poirot wagged an emphatic forefinger. "The psychology."

"Eh?" said the Commissary.

"The psychology is at fault. The Comte is a scoundrelyes. The Comte is a swindleryes. The Comte preys upon womenyes. He proposes to steal Madame's jewelsagain yes. Is he the kind of man to commit murder? I say no! A man of the type of the Comte is always a coward; he takes no risks. He plays the safe, the mean, what the English call the low-down game; but murder, a hundred times no!" He shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

The Examining Magistrate, however, did not seem disposed to agree with him.

"The day always comes when such gentry lose their heads and go too far," he observed sagely. “Doubtless that is the case here. Without wishing to disagree with you, M. Poirot"


text:
Author:Carl W. Keuffel

Works

 * A Simple Spectrometer, Journal of the Optical Society of America, Volume 12 (1926)
 * A Trichromatic Additive Colorimeter, Journal of the Optical Society of America, Volume 12 (1926)

title: Author:Carl W. Keuffel


text:
Page:Egyptian Literature (1901).djvu/240

 Gebal she hath given power to the King my Lord. At the feet of the King my Lord my Sun seven times seven times I bow.

Behold this it will grieve me  our city my foes  the chief  watches O King  no men of garrison  were given to the King’s chiefs, or preservation by the King against him, and this I (say) is not defended, and the King has not preserved me; and being angry Pakhura has gathered and has despatched men of the land Umuti (Hamath). They have slain a chief servant; and three chiefs (he has bound?) without appeal to the land of Egypt; and he has made gifts seducing the city against me; and woe to the place, she has become ungrateful: the city which was not base in old times is base to us. But the King shall hear the message of his servant and you shall give orders to the chiefs. Do not you this sin they do? my destruction is before me, and is it not my order that chiefs in the sight of the King should my destruction. Behold now since I shall gather to and (perchance I shall repel this?).”

46 B.—The salutation, as in the preceding letter, is peculiar to Ribadda. “Lo! the King is sending to me Irimaia : maybe, he will arrive to gladden us from before thee: he has not come before me. The King sends to me the most distinguished of thy great men, the chiefest of the city of the King that thou hast, who shall defend me mighty before my foes: Now they will make a government: the city they rule shall be smitten like as (is smitten?) a dog, and none that breathes shall be left behind him, for what they have done to us. I am laid waste (by foes?) by men of blood: thus on account of this slave there was no help from the King for me. (But?) my free men of the lands have fought for me. If the heart of the King is toward the guarding of his city, and of his servant, thou wilt order men to guard, and thou shalt defend the city, thou shalt guard my made prosperous

18 B. M.—The salutation as in the first letter (47 B.). “Again behold thy faithful city of Gebal. Abdasherah was coming out against me aforetime and I sent to thy father who ordered soldiers of the King (bitati) to speed, and I went


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/148

 "It was only an opinion," Poirot hastened to explain. "The case is, of course, in your hands, and you will do what seems fit to you."

"I am satisfied in my own mind that the Comte de la Roche is the man we need to get hold of," said M. Carrège. "You agree with me. Monsieur le Commissaire?

"Perfectly."

"And you, M. Van Aldin?"

"Yes," said the millionaire. "Yes; the man is a thorough-paced villain, no doubt about it."

"It will be difficult to lay hands on him, I am afraid," said the Magistrate, "but we will do our best. Telegraphed instructions shall go out at once."

"Permit me to assist you," said Poirot. "There need be no difficulty."

"Eh?"

The others stared at him. The little man smiled beamingly back at them.

"It is my business to know things." he explained. "The Comte is a man of intelligence. He is at present at a villa he has leased, the Villa Marina at Antibes."


text: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 15


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/193

 soundless brazen wings rushed westward. The deck was deserted as it had been on that first afternoon when he had caught her in midflight like a damp swallow, a swallow hard and passionate with flight; and it was as though he yet saw upon the deck the wet and simple prints of her naked feet, and he seemed to feel about him like an odor that young hard graveness of hers. No wonder she was gone out of it: she who here was as a flame among stale ashes, a little tanned flame; who, gone, was as a pipe blown thinly and far away, as a remembered surf on a rocky coast at dawnay ay strangle your heart o israfel winged with loneliness feathered bitter with pride.

Dust spun from their feet, swirling sluggish and lazy in the brooding dreadful noon. Beside them always and always those eternal bearded trees, bearded and brooding, older and stiller than eternity. The road ran on like a hypnotism: a dull and endless progression from which there was no escape.

After a while he missed her from her position at his shoulder and he stopped and looked back. She was kneeling beside the foul ditch. He watched her stupidly, then he suddenly realized what she was about and he ran back to her, grasping her by the shoulder. “Here, you can’t do that! That stuff is poison: you can’t drink it!”

“I can’t help it! I’ve got to have some water, I’ve got to!” She strained against his hands. “Please, David. Just one mouthful. Please, David. Please, David.”

He got his hands under her arms, but his feet slid in the rank sloping grass and he went up to his knees in thick reluctant water. She twisted in his hands. “Please, oh, please! Just enough to wet my mouth. Look at my mouth.” She

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/193


text:
Page:Poetical works of William Cullen Bryant (IA poeticalworksof00brya).pdf/81

Rh 4


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/194

 raised her face: her broad pale lips were parched, rough. “Please, David.”

But he held her. “Put your feet in it, like mine. That'll help some,” he said through his own dry harsh throat. “Here, let me take off your shoes.”

She sat whimpering like a dog while he removed her slippers. Then she slid her legs into the water and moaned with partial relief. The sunlight was beginning to slant at last, slanting westward like a rushing of unheard golden wings across the sky; though the somber twilight under the trees was unchanged—somber and soundless, brooding, and filled with a vicious darting of invisible fire.

“I must have water,” she said at last. “You'll have to find me some water, David.”

“Yes.” He climbed heavily out of the hot ooze, out of the mud and slime. He bent and slid his hands under her arms. “Get up. We must go on.”

Jenny yawned, frankly, then she did something to the front of her dress, drawing it away from her to peer down into her bosom. It seemed to be all right, and she settled her dress again with a preening motion, lifting her shoulders and smoothing it over her hips. She went upstairs and presently she saw them, sitting around like always. Mrs. Maurier wasn’t there.

She drifted over to the rail and laxed herself against it and stood there, placidly waiting until Mr. Talliaferro became aware of her presence.

“I was watching these things in the water,” she said when he came to her like a tack to a magnet, volitionless and verbose.

“Where?” He also stared overside.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/194


text:
Page:Egyptian Literature (1901).djvu/241

 up over all his land. No allies marched to Abdasherah. But behold this: Aziru has chosen all the men of blood and has said to them: ‘If the city of Gebal is not he has come  then Yankhamu is with thee, and  if I am not obedient to his wishes. Thou art deceived; Abdasherah has marched without stopping to but he has watched the city of the King his Lord obediently. So now as to Paia and is it not heard from the messages of Kha  their father, as he desires  This Khaib gave to the city Simyra. Lo! I lament that the King is not able to do this (for) the Paka (general) when behold it has been asked. And Bikhura has not marched from the city Cumidi (Kamid). I have been friends with all the men of thy Government Lo whereas I was upright to the King and he makes no sign (to me?) Despatch soldiers: thou shalt march with every  Five thousand men and 3,000  fifty chariots, 1,000  the bitati soldiers, and cause (them) to take captive  the land.’”

13 B. M.—The usual salutation, as given in the first letter. “Does the King know? Behold Aziru has fought my chiefs, and has taken twelve of my chiefs, and has insisted on receiving at our expense fifty talents; and the chiefs whom I despatched to the city Simyra he has caused to be seized in the city. Both the city Beruta (Beirût) and the city Ziduna (Sidon) are sending ships to the city Simyra. All who are in the land of the Amorites have gathered themselves. I am to be attacked; and behold this: Yapaaddu has fought for me with Aziru, but afterward behold he was entangled in the midst of the enemy when my ships were taken. And the King sees as to his city and his servant, and I need men to save the rebellion of this land if you will not come up to save from the hands of my enemies (or destroyers). Send me back a message, and know the deed that they have done. Now as they send to thee concerning the city Simyra he now marches. But (give?) me soldiers for and these shall deliver her  they have tried but  now.”

61 B.—The usual salutation precedes, here much broken. “Does the King my Lord know? Lo! we know that he has fought mightily. Lo! they tell of us in thy presence what the city Simyra has done to the King. Know O King boldly march


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/195

 “That stuff there,” she answered, looking forward to the group of chairs.

“Why, that’s just refuse from the galley,” Mr. Talliaferro said with surprise.

“Is it? It’s kind of funny looking There’s some more of it down here a ways.” Mr. Talliaferro followed her, intrigued and curious. She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder and beyond him: Mr. Talliaferro aped her but saw no living thing except Mark Frost on the edge of the group. The others were out of sight beyond the deckhouse. “It’s farther on,” Jenny said.

Further along she stopped again and again she looked forward. “Where?” Mr. Talliaferro asked.

“Here.” Jenny stared at the lake a moment. Then she examined the deck again. Mr. Talliaferro was thoroughly puzzled now, even a trifle alarmed. “It was right here, that funny thing I saw. I guess it’s gone, though.”

“What was it you saw?”

“Some kind of a funny thing,” she answered with detachment “The sun is hot here.” Jenny moved away and went to where an angle of the deckhouse wall formed a shallow niche. Mr. Talliaferro followed her in amazement. Again Jenny peered around him, examining that part of the deck which was in sight and the immediate approaches to it. Then she became utterly static beside him and without moving at all she seemed to envelop him, giving him to think of himself surrounded, enclosed by the sweet cloudy fire of her thighs, as young girls can.

Mr. Talliaferro saw her as through a blonde mist. A lightness was moving down his members, a lightness so exquisite as to be almost unbearable, while above it all he listened to the dry interminable incoherence of his own voice. That unbearable lightness moved down his arms to his hands, and

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/195


text: Page:The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems - Longfellow (1846).djvu/40


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/197

 head. She closed her eyes against the implacable sky, but opened them immediately and struggled to rise. “No, no: I mustn’t stay here. I want to get up again. Help me up.”

He did so, and had to hold her on her feet. “I must go on,” she repeated. “Make me go on, David. I don’t want to die here. Make me go on, I tell you.” Her face was flushed: he could see blood pumping in her throat, and holding her so he knew sharp and utter terror. “What must I do?” she was saying. “You ought to know. Don’t you know what to do? I’m sick, I tell you. They’ve given me hydrophobia or something.”

She closed her eyes and all her muscles relaxed at once and she slipped to the ground and he knelt again beside her in terror and despair. “Raise my head a little,” she muttered and he sat and drew her across his legs and raised her head against his breast, smoothing her damp hair from her forehead. “That’s right.” She opened her eyes. “Cheer up, David I told you once about looking at me like that.” Then she closed her eyes again.

“If we were only afloat,” Mrs. Maurier moaned for the twelfth time. “They can’t be further than Mandeville: I know they can’t. What will Henry say to me!”

“Why don’t they start her up and try to get off again?” Fairchild asked. “Maybe the sand has settled or something by now,” he added vaguely.

“The captain says they can’t, that we’ll have to wait for the tug. They sent for the tug yesterday, and it hasn’t come yet,” she added in a sort of stubborn astonishment. She rose and went to the rail and stared up the lake toward Mandeville.

“You wouldn’t think it’d take a tug to pull us off,” Fair-

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/197


text: Page:The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems - Longfellow (1846).djvu/41


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/198

 child remarked. “She ain’t such a big boat, you know. Seems like any sort of a boat would pull us off. I’ve seen little launches hauling bigger boats than this around. And a river tug can haul six or eight of these steel barges, upstream, too.”

Mrs. Maurier returned hopefully. “It really doesn’t seem necessary to have a tug to move this yacht, does it? You’d think that sailors could think of some way, something with ropes and things,” she added, also vaguely.

“What would they stand on while they pulled the ropes?” Mark Frost wanted to know. “They couldn’t pull from the shore. That isn’t the way we want to go.”

“They might row out in the tender and anchor,” the Semitic man offered as his mite.

“Why, yes,” Mrs. Maurier agreed, brightening. “If they could just anchor the tender securely, they might if there were something to pull the rope with. The men themselves. Do you suppose the sailors themselves could move a boat like this by hand?”

“I’ve seen a single river tug not much bigger than a Ford hauling a whole string of loaded steel barges up the river,” Fairchild repeated. He sat and stared from one to another of his companions and a strange light came into his eyes. “Say,” he said suddenly, “I bet that if all of us were to ”

The Semitic man and Mark Frost groaned in simultaneous alarm, and Pete sitting on the outskirt of the group rose hastily and unostentatiously and headed for the companionway. He ducked into his room and stood listening.

Yes, they were really going to try it. He could hear Fairchild’s burly voice calling for all the men, and also one or two voices raised in protest; and above all of them the voice of the old woman in an indistinguishable senseless excitement. Jesus Christ, he whispered, clutching his hat.

People descending the stairs alarmed him and he sprang

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/198


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/199

 behind the open door. It was Fairchild and the fat Jew, but they passed his door and entered the room next to his, from which he heard immediately sounds of activity that culminated in a thin concussion of glass and glass.

“My God, man’—the fat Jew’s voice—“what have you done? Do you really think we can move this boat?”

“Naw. I just want to stir em up a little. Life’s getting altogether too tame on this boat: nothing’s happened at all to-day. I did it principally to see Talliaferro and Mark Frost sweat some.” Fairchild laughed. His laughter died into chuckles, heavily. “But I have seen a little river tug no bigger than a Ford hauling a st—”

“Good Lord,” the other man said again. “Finish your drink. O immaculate cherubim,” he said, going on down the passage. Fairchild followed. Pete heard their feet on the stairs, then crossing the deck. He returned to the port.

Yes, sir, they were going to try it, sure as hell. They were now embarking in the tender: he could hear them, thumping and banging around and talking; a thin shriek of momentary alarm. Women, too (Damn to hell, I bet Jenny’s with ’em, Pete whispered to himself). And somebody that didn’t want to go at all.

Voices without; alarums and excursions, etc:

Come on, Mark, you’ve got to go. All the men will be needed, hey, Mrs. Maurier?

Yes, indeed; indeed, yes. All the men must help.

Sure: all you brave strong men have got to go.

I’m a poet, not an oarsman. I can’t—

So is Eva: look at her, she’s going.

Shelley could row a boat.

Yes, and remember what happened to him, too.

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/199


text:
Page:Characteristicks of men, manners, opinions, times Vol 3.djvu/353

 Potiores ærumnas credat, sævosque Labores, Et Venere, et cœnis, et pluma. Juv. Sat. 10.


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/200

 I’m going to keep you all from drowning, Jenny. That’s (Damn to hell, Pete whispered) why I’m going.

Aw, come on, Mark; earn your board and keep

Oooo, hold the boat still, Dawson.

Come on, come on. Say, where’s Pete?

Pete!

Pete! (Feet on the deck.)

Pete! Oh, Pete! (At the companionway.) Pete! (Jesus Christ, Pete whispered, making no sound.)

Never mind, Eva. We’ve got a boatload now. If anybody else comes, they’ll have to walk.

There’s somebody missing yet. Who is it?

Ah, we’ve got enough. Come on.

But somebody ain’t here. I don’t guess he fell overboard while we were not looking, do you?

Oh, come on and let’s go. Shove off, you Talliaferro (a scream).

Look out, there: catch her! Y’all right, Jenny? Let’s go, then. Careful, now.

Ooooooo!

“Damn to hell, she’s with ’em,” Pete whispered again, trying to see through the port. More thumping, and presently the tender came jerkily and lethargically into sight, loaded to the gunwales like a nigger excursion. Yes, Jenny was in it, and Mrs. Wiseman and five men, including Mr. Talliaferro. Mrs. Maurier leaned over the rail above Pete’s head, waving her handkerchief and shrieking at them as the tender drew uncertainly away, trailing a rope behind it. Almost every one had an oar: the small boat bristled with oars beating the water vainly, so that it resembled a tarantula with palsy and no knee joints. But they finally began to get the knack of it and gradually the boat began to assume something like a

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/200


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/201

 definite direction. As Pete watched it there came again feet on the stairs and a voice said guardedly:

“Ed.”

An indistinguishable response from the captain’s room and the voice added mysteriously: “Come up on deck a minute.”

Then the footsteps withdrew, accompanied.

The tender evinced a maddening inclination to progress in any fashion save that for which it was built. Fairchild turned his head and glanced comprehensively about his small congested island enclosed with an unrhythmic clashing of blades. The oars clashed against each other, jabbing and scuttering at the tortured water until the tender resembled an ancient stiffjointed horse in a state of mad unreasoning alarm.

“Weve got too many rowers,” Fairchild decided. Mark Frost drew in his oar immediately, striking the Semitic man across the knuckles with it. “No, no: not you,” Fairchild said. “Julius, you quit: you ain’t doing any good, anyhow; you're the one that’s holding us back. Gordon, and Mark, and Talliaferro and me—”

“I want to row,” Mrs. Wiseman said. “Let me have Julius’ oar. Ernest will have to help Jenny watch the rope.”

“Take mine,” Mark Frost offered quickly, extending his oar and clashing it against some one else’s. The boat rocked alarmingly. Jenny squealed.

“Look out,” Fairchild exclaimed. “Do you want to have us all in the water? Julius, pass your oar along—that’s it. Now, you folks sit still back there. Dammit, Mark, if you hit anybody else with that thing, we’ll throw you out. Shelley could swim, too, you know.”

Mrs. Wiseman got fixed at last with her oar, and at last the tender became comparatively docile. Jenny and Mr. Talliaferro sat in the stern, paying out the line. “Now,” Fairchild

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/201


text:
Page:Journal of the Optical Society of America, volume 30, number 12.pdf/58

 spacing-estimates did not total eight, they were proportionally adjusted before application to the preliminary data.

''Average value determinations derived from the estimates of general value spacing, exclusive of the preliminary estimates. The observations were made for samples of each value on white, gray, and black grounds.''

All of the observers of the constant-hue charts made the general spacing-estimates just referred to, and these modified the preliminary value estimates so substantially that it seemed well to provide some means of recovering the preliminary adjustments in case they should ever be wanted separately. This can be accomplished easily by subtracting out the grosser effects of the final step. The necessary constants for this purpose are supplied in. Munsell value is indicated in the top row across the table while in the several columns below are presented mean spacing estimates corresponding to sample hue and background. To determine the magnitude of a preliminary adjustment, given the total estimate, all that is necessary is to find the difference between the total estimate recorded in and the corresponding partial estimate in. Thus, for instance, in the case of G 5/6 on the white ground, the total estimate is found in to be 4.7; the corresponding figure for the final step in  is 4.6; and the difference, 0.1, represents the amount of the preliminary adjustment required. The averages for all hues given in the bottom row of Table I may be taken as approximate lightness estimates of the Munsell neutral samples.

Unlike hue and value, there was in the case of chroma no special problem in arriving at the summarized estimates, but only a simple averaging operation which will be mentioned presently.

(b) The other principal step in the averaging procedure was to enter the summarized final estimates (unencircled initials) as numerical frequencies in averaging sheets of the form shown at the bottom of. The arithmetical means of the estimates of the given color on


text:
Page:History of the Literature of the Scandinavian North.djvu/372

HE development of Swedish poetry in the direction described in the preceding chapter attained its climax during the reign of Gustav III. Under the restrictions of the rigorously observed æsthetieal rules, the language, applied chiefly to empty forms, acquired a rare suppleness and flexibility, and it only needed great poets to unfold it in all its magnificence. The poets were not long in coming. The grandly gifted king, whose great ambition it was to shine prominently in the world of thought, gathered around him such a galaxy of brilliant talents that his epoch was compared with the age of Augustus. In this circle he was himself one of the leading spirits, and hence it was unavoidable that the king, whose taste had been developed in the French school, and who was absolutely devoted to its tenets, should by his example exercise a decided influence on the character of the literature which was produced under his leadership and patronage. The light, flippant style and the frivolous, playful manner, which essentially characterize the French literature of the eighteenth century, gradually monopolized the literary field, as did also the negative, revolutionary tendency which likewise hailed from France. But at the same time elements of a totally different character asserted their influence. In consequence of the political revolution (coup d'état) of 1772, by which the power was wrested from the nobility and placed in the hands of the king, an act


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/202

 glanced about at his crew and gave the command: “Let’s go.”

“Give way, all,” Mrs. Wiseman corrected with inspiration. They dipped their oars anew. Mark Frost drew his oar in once more, clashing it against Gordon’s.

“Let me get my handkerchief,” he said. “My hands are tender.”

“That’s what I want, too,” Mrs. Wiseman decided. “Gimme your handkerchief, Ernest.”

Mark Frost released his oar and it leapt quickly overboard. “Catch that paddle!” Fairchild shouted. Mrs. Wiseman and Mr. Talliaferro both reached for it and Gordon and the Semitic man trimmed the boat at the ultimate instant. It became stable presently and Jenny closed her mouth upon her soundless scream.

The oar swam away and stopped just beyond reach, raising and falling on the faint swells. “Well have to row over and get it,” Mrs. Wiseman said. So they did, but just before they reached it the oar swam on again, slowly and maddeningly. The rowers clashed and churned. Mr. Talliaferro sat in a taut diffident alarm.

“I really think,” he said, “we’d better return to the yacht. The ladies, you know.” But they didn’t heed him.

“Now, Ernest,” Mrs. Wiseman directed sharply, “reach out and grab it.” But it eluded them again, and Fairchild said:

“Let’s let the damn thing go. We’ve got enough left to row with, anyway.” But at that moment the oar, rocking sedately, swung slowly around and swam docilely up alongside.

“Grab it! grab it!” Mrs. Wiseman cried.

“I really think—” Mr. Talliaferro offered again. Mark Frost grabbed it and it came meekly and unresistingly out of the water.

“I’ve got it,” he said, and as he spoke it leapt viciously at

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/202


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/111

 rightly know as how she’d like me coming here after her it might look like spying. And it wasn’t that. (He stops nervously.) You see well, I brought her umbrella.

(at a loss) : Yes?

She’s come home in the car every day this week and it does give the neighbours something to talk about. I did suggest she might stop it at the corner just for the look of the thing. But she didn’t like to ask the chauffeur. Shy-like you know.

(puzzled) : I see.

Why did you come?

(With a sudden boldness) Might I speak to you, miss?

Won’t you sit down?

[He sits, nursing his hat.


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/203

 him and struck him upon the mouth. Then it became docile again.

They got started again, finally; and after a few false attempts they acquired a vague sort of rhythm though Mark Frost, favoring his hands, caught a crab at every stroke for a while, liberally wetting Mr. Talliaferro and Jenny where they sat tensely in the stern. Jenny’s eyes were quite round and her mouth was a small red O: a continuous soundless squeal. Mr. Talliaferro’s expression was that of a haggard anticipatory alarm. He said again: “I really think—”

“I suspect we had better try to go another way,” the Semitic man suggested without emphasis from the bows, “or we'll be aground ourselves.”

They all scuttered their oars upon the water, craning their necks. The shore was only a few yards away and immediately, as though they had heard the Semitic man speak, needles of fire assailed the crew with fierce joy.

They bent to their oars again, flapping their spare frantic hands about their heads, and after a few minutes of violent commotion the tender acquiesced and crept slowly and terrifically seaward again. But their presence was now known, the original scouting party was reënforced and offing could not help them.

“I really think,” Mr. Talliaferro said, “for the ladies’ sake, that we’d better return.”

“So do I,” Mark Frost abetted quickly.

“Don’t lose your nerve, Mark,? Mrs. Wiseman told him.

“Just a little more and we can take a nice long boatride this afternoon.”

“I’ve had enough boatriding in the last half hour to do me a long time,” the poet answered. “Let’s go back. How about it, you fellows back there? How about it, Jenny? Don’t you want to go back?”

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/203


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/112

 : Well, you see  it’s like this. I’m worried. She she isn’t likely to come in and find me here, talking to you?

(with a glance at the window) : No not just yet.

But I had to come. You see I’m worried.

There’s something going on and I don’t know what it is. And she isn’t happy. And that’s the truth of it.

What Margaret likes to tell me she tells me, and what she doesn’t’s no business of mine. And I trust her, see?

I don’t know what she comes up here for every afternoon—and I don’t want to know, see? She told me an old friend of hers had been wounded, and that’s enough for me. I take it she comes up here to see him.

It’s my cousin, Captain Baldry.

(fiercely) : I wasn’t asking for no names! (Subsiding) I beg your pardon, miss, for


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/204

 Jenny answered “Yes, sir,” in a small frightened voice, clutching the seat with both hands. Her green dress was splotched and stained with water from Mark Frost’s oar. Mrs. Wiseman released one hand and patted Jenny’s knee.

“Shut up, Mark. Jenny’s all right. Aren’t you, darling? It'll be such a good joke if we really were to get the yacht afloat. Look sharp, Ernest. Isn’t that rope almost tight?”

It was nearly taut, sliding away into the water in a lovely slender arc and rising again to the bow of the yacht. Mrs. Maurier stood at the rail, waving her handkerchief at intervals. On the farther wall sat three people in attitudes studiedly casual: these were the captain, the helmsman and the deckhand.

“Now,” Fairchild said, “let’s all get started at the same time. Talliaferro, you keep the rope straight, and Julius—” he glanced over his shoulder, sweating, marshaling his crew. “Durn that shore,” he exclaimed in an annoyed tone, “there it is again.” They were nearly ashore a second time. Commotion, and more sweat and a virulent invisible fire; and after a while the tender acquiesced reluctantly and again they attained the necessary offing.

“Give way, all!” Mrs. Wiseman cried. They dug their oars anew.

“Mine hurts my hands,” Mark Frost complained. “Is it moving, Ernest?” The tender was off the yacht’s quarter: the bows of the yacht pointed inshore of them. Mr. Talliaferro rose cautiously and knelt on the seat, putting his hand on Jenny’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Not yet,” he replied.

“Pull all you know, men,” Fairchild panted, releasing one hand momentarily and batting it madly about his face. The crew pulled and sweated, goaded unto madness with invisible needles of fire, clashing one another’s fingers with their oars,

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/204


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/113

 flaring out like that. I didn’t mean it, but the truth is, it’s getting on my nerves, the whole thing seeing her like that  waking up and hearing her crying in the night and pretending it was nothing. I’m fond of her. She’s been a good wife to me, and I can’t bear to see her unhappy.

What is it? Is he dying—is that it?

In fact, he’s getting better. There was a doctor here this afternoon. He says he’ll be all right quite soon.

Does Margaret know that?

The doctor told her just now.

I’m glad of that. Margaret will be glad.

I don’t suppose she'll be coming any more now.

I’m glad. Oh, it’s not that I mind her coming. Don’t


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/205

 and presently the tender acquired a motion reminiscent of the rocking horses of childhood.

“The rope’s becoming loose,” Mr. Talliaferro called in a warning tone.

“Pull,” Fairchild urged them, gritting his teeth. Mark Frost groaned dismally and released one hand to fan it across his face.

“Its still loose,” Mr. Talliaferro said after a time.

“She must be moving then,” Fairchild panted.

“Maybe it’s because we aren’t singing,” Mrs. Wiseman suggested presently, resting on her oar. “Don’t you know any deep sea chanteys, Dawson?”

“Let Julius sing: he ain’t doing anything,” Fairchild answered. “Pull, you devils!”

Mr. Talliaferro shrieked suddenly: “She’s moving! She’s moving!”

They all ceased rowing to stare at the yacht. Sure enough, she was swinging slowly across their stern. “She’s moving!” Mr. Talliaferro screamed again, waving his arms. Mrs. Maurier responded madly from the deck of the yacht with her handkerchief; beyond her, the three men sat motionless and casual. “Why don’t the fools start the engine?” Fairchild gasped. “Pull!” he roared.

They dipped their oars with new life, flailing the water like mad. The yacht swung slowly; soon she was pointing her prow seaward of them, and continued to swing slowly around. “She’s coming off, she’s coming off,” Mr. Talliaferro chanted in a thin falsetto, his voice breaking, fairly dancing up and down. Mrs. Maurier was shrieking also, waving her handkerchief. “She’s coming off,” Mr. Talliaferro chanted, standing erect and clutching Jenny’s shoulder. “Pull! Pull!”

“All together,” Fairchild gasped and the crew repeated it, flailing the water. The yacht was almost broadside to

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/205


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/114

 think that, miss, please. But she’s had a hard time and I’m not strong myself, and  well, it was getting so that I didn’t know what to do. But if he’s getting better, then it’ll be all right now. (Growing cheerful) She’s a great one with invalids, is Margaret. Many’s the time she’s had to nurse me up all night, too, often as not  and never a word that wasn’t a kind one. But she’s tender-hearted, you know; takes things to heart. You should see her with animals. And children she’s that fond of children.

[He looks at the toys on the floor.

You’ve children here, I see. All them toys

(unable to bear it another moment) : Mr. Grey, your wife may be coming back at any minute.

If you'd like to wait in another room

Still, there’s the umbrella. Lucky she left it behind gave me a chance to come. I hope you’ll forgive the liberty.

(going to the door) : It’s quite all right, Mr. Grey.

It’s quite relieved my mind, I tell you.


text:
Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/206

 them, now. “She’s coming!” Mr. Talliaferro screamed in an ecstasy. “She’s co—”

A faint abrupt shock. The tender stopped immediately. They saw the sweet blonde entirety of Jenny’s legs and the pink seat of her ribboned undergarment as with a wild despairing cry Mr. Talliaferro plunged overboard, taking Jenny with him, and vanished beneath the waves.

All but his buttocks, that is. They didn’t quite vanish, and presently all of Mr. Talliaferro rose in eighteen inches of water and stared in shocked amazement at the branch of a tree directly over his head. Jenny, yet prone in the water, was an indistinguishable turmoil of blondeness and green crêpe and fright. She rose, slipped and fell again, then the Semitic man stepped into the water and picked her up bodily and set her in the boat where she sat and gazed at them with abject beseeching eyes, strangling.

Only Mrs. Wiseman had presence of mind to thump her between the shoulders, and after a dreadful trancelike interval during which they sat clutching their oars and gazing at her while she beseeched them with her eyes, she caught her breath, wailing. Mrs. Wiseman mothered her, holding her draggled unhappy wetness while Jenny wept dreadfully. “He—he sc-scared me so bad,” Jenny gasped after a time, shuddering and crying again, utterly abject, making no effort to hide her face.

Mrs. Wiseman made meaningless comforting sounds, holding Jenny in her arms. She borrowed a handkerchief and wiped Jenny’s streaming face. Mr. Talliaferro stood in the lake and dripped disconsolately, peering his harried face across Mrs. Wiseman’s shoulder. The others sat motionless, holding their oars.

Jenny raised her little wet hands futilely about her face. Then she remarked her hand and she held it before her

title: Page:Mosquitos (Faulkner).pdf/206


text:
Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/115

 (opening door R.) : If you wouldn’t mind waiting in the library  the first door on the left. I’ll call you when she’s ready.

(as he goes) : Thank you, miss. And you won’t say anything to her? You see, I shouldn’t like her to think

I quite understand.

[He goes out. ''closes the door behind him and returns to the window. She sees something, and shrinks back to the settee, where she stands, waiting. Outside, approaches the window. She comes in. She is pale and trembling a little. She stands on the steps''.

[She comes down the steps.

He knows her. He knows everything now.

[She catches at the arm of the settee.

Do you mind if I sit down  just for a minute? I feel a bit faint-like.

( sits.) How is he? How was it?


text:
Page:Papuan Campaign; The Buna-Sanananda Operation - Armed Forces in Action (1944).djvu/47

 ready to push through and swing west. The frontage of the 3d Battalion, which made the main push on the coast, was about 400 yards; that of the 1st Battalion on the left was 800 yards; company fronts varied from 125 to 600 yards, depending on the opposition expected.

The attack of the 26th was the first in which the artillery could furnish real support. When the initial plans were made shipping had not been available for the transportation of artillery by sea; moving it by land over the mountains was obviously impossible; but by almost single-handed exertions, Brig. Gen. (now Maj. Gen.) Albert W. Waldron, Divisional Artillery Officer, managed to work some pieces forward by water and by air. On 26 November the following artillery had arrived:

The artillery was divided between the east flank, on the coast north of Hariko, and the west flank in the vicinity of Ango, but the area of operations was so small that the fire of all guns could be concentrated at any point on the front. At first, however, the artillery was handicapped by inadequate maps and lack of ground observation. The flight of Australian Wirraway observation planes which had been brought up to Dobodura to meet this difficulty, did good work throughout the campaign in adjusting artillery fire. The pilots of the Wirraways were fearless in their hazardous job of hovering over enemy positions; one pilot even crept up on an unsuspecting Zero and downed it by one short burst.

Shortage of ammunition was also a problem. The original ammunition supply plan had to be given up by 7 December because of difficulties in transportation. Supply in predetermined quantities and types was then tried but abandoned on 17 December, partly because of frequent changes in requirements. Thenceforth ammunition was supplied through requisition by rounds of specific types, but always had to be used with the greatest economy. On 26 December the Australian 1st Mountain Battery ran out of ammunition and took no further part in the operation. 32