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His wife dressed his wounds. They were not deep. The backs of his hands had suffered most, and his wrists. Had he not worn a cap they would have reached his head. As to the gannet . . . the gannet could have split his skull. The children were crying,
Mr. Pan was worried about his mother. He had been worried about her when she was in China, and now he was worried about her in New York although he had thought that once he got her out of his ancestral village in the province of Szechuen and safely a
He went on thinking, and next morning when Evie had gone out he went to his club and up to the library. There he looked up recent numbers of The Times Literary Supplement, the New Statesman, and the Spectator. Presently he found reviews of Evies book
I am telling this story in the first person, though I am in no way connected with it, because I do not want to pretend to the reader that I know more about it than I really do. The facts are as I state them, but the reasons for them I can only guess,
Part One Morrison was waiting for someone who was hung up in the air traffic jam over Kennedy International when he saw a familiar face at the end of the bar and walked down. 'Jimmy? Jimmy McCann?' It was. A little heavier than when Morrison had seen
Narrated by Frank Muller It was forty miles from Horlicks University in Pittsburgh to Cascade Lake, and although dark comes early to that part of the world in October and although they didn't get going until six o'clock, there was still a little ligh
I The vicars wife came round the corner of the vicarage with her arms full of chrysanthemums. A good deal of rich garden soil was attached to her strong brogue shoes and a few fragments of earth were adhering to her nose, but of that fact she was per
Narrated by John Glover It was time to do it. Talking was done. I let myself think of Marcia one last time, her light-brown hair, her wide grey eyes, her lovely body, and then put her out of my mind for good. No more looking down, either. It would ha
J.P. gets real quiet again. I mean, he's hardly breathing. I toss my cigarette into the coal bucket and look hard at J.P., who scoots farther down in his chair. J.P. pulls up his collar. What the hell's going on, I wonder. Frank Martin uncrosses his
You had to get out of them occasionally, those Illinois towns with the funny names: Paris, Oblong, Normal. Once, when the Dow Jones dipped two hundred points, a local paper boasted the banner headline NORMAL MAN MARRIES OBLONG WOMAN. They knew what w
MR. JAMES DUFFY lived in Chapelizod because he wished to live as far as possible from the city of which he was a citizen and because he found all the other suburbs of Dublin mean, modern and pretentious. He lived in an old sombre house and from his w
It was Sunday--not a day, but rather a gap between two other days. Behind, for all of them, lay sets and sequences, the long waits under the crane that swung the microphone, the hundred miles a day by automobiles to and fro across a county, the strug
There's a great future in the dry-goods business, Roger Button was saying. He was not a spiritual man--his aesthetic sense was rudimentary. Old fellows like me can't learn new tricks, he observed profoundly. It's you youngsters with energy and vitali
CHAPTER V Mr. Merton was a good deal distressed at the second postponement of the marriage, and Lady Julia, who had already ordered her dress for the wedding, did all in her power to make Sybil break off the match. Dearly, however, as Sybil loved her
CHAPTER I It was Lady Windermeres last reception before Easter, and Bentinck House was even more crowded than usual. Six Cabinet Ministers had come on from the Speakers Levee in their stars and ribands, all the pretty women wore their smartest dresse
I And wheres Mr. Campbell? Charlie asked. Gone to Switzerland. Mr. Campbells a pretty sick man, Mr. Wales. Im sorry to hear that. And George Hardt? Charlie inquired. Back in America, gone to work. And where is the Snow Bird? He was in here last week.
I MET HER NEAR the end of September. It had been raining that day from morning to nightthe kind of soft, monotonous, misty rain that often falls at that time of year, washing away bit by bit the memories of summer burned into the earth. Coursing down
[Part 3] V It was Father Sergys sixth year as a hermit, and he was now forty-nine. His life in solitude was hard, not on account of the fasts and the prayers (they were no hardship to him) but on account of an inner conflict he had not at all anticip
[Part 5] It was in spring, on the eve of the mid-Pentecostal feast. Father Sergy was officiating at the vigil service in his hermitage church, where the congregation was as large as the little church could hold, about twenty people. They were all wel
I turned and began walking as fast as I could, limping a littleId pulled muscles in both legs, and when I got out of bed the next morning I was so sore I could barely walk. I didnt notice those things then, though. I just kept looking over my shoulde