#papa foolish literally is the best thing that ever happened to us

[sharkshenanigans]

"I just wanna be sure on the terms and conditions of this pinky promise!"

- Foolish_Gamers everyone.

#of only i had more time you guys would be SICK of all the qsmp clips i would be posting #papa foolish literally is the best thing that ever happened to us #oh my god #foolish_gamers #qsmp #foosh #leonarda

[dr3amofagame]

gonna be honest you are literally the only reason i like ever look at twitter other than to look at cc's tweets, so it's really cool to see you here!!! i hope you enjoy your stay lmao- if you don't mind me asking, do you have an opinion on the dream and foolish brother dynamic? i think it's really fun, especially because those two probably have the least/some of the least tainted dynamics out of everyone on the smp :DDD

aww, thank you anon!! i think i’ll be staying for a bit, at least - tumblr has been lots of fun so far (tho im still working out a writing schedule, haha). foolish and dream brothers my beloved ,, the canonicity at this point is debatable but i love the concept both in canon and aus. (pls just give dream a support system ,, pls) 

anyway, take this quick foolish + dream oneshot :D !! 

tw: panic attacks, trauma, emotional distress 

“You- uh, want some help?”

If it were any other time, it would probably be a little comical; all 23 feet of the totem god hunched in a ball as he awkwardly squats in front of the wooden skeleton of his (adopted) little brother’s beginning of a house, trying to squeeze himself down so he can look inside the half-finished door frame. Inside, Dream freezes, shakes, curls into himself more from where he’s pressed himself into the corner, and Foolish’s heart clenches; unfortunately, he’s caught him in the middle of a panic attack, so he doubts that Dream is really up to laughing right now.

He lowers himself down further, kicking his feet back as best as he can to end up on his stomach. He doesn’t exactly know what set off Dream - it could be anything, honestly; Foolish has seen a lot in his millenia of existence, but the horrors of the prison and the scars it left on Dream feel like foreign territory, even to him. Even so, panic attacks are still panic attacks, so he hums low and quiet as he waits for the fear to abate.

“I was thinking about a new project, honestly,” Foolish smiles, keeps his voice soft, normal. “Maybe something jungle themed, this time? I could do something cool with vines, add some of those birds that you like so much. Papa Puffy would like them too, I think; it’d fit in with her whole pirate thing at any rate.” Dream’s shoulders shudder as he breathes in, out, face lifting from where it was pressed into the inside of his arms. “I don’t know what would pair well with the wood, though; maybe I’ll just be lazy and use oak. Bamboo would be nice too - what do you think about a bamboo garden? With waterfalls, maybe, and flowers? We could maybe catch a panda or two too; that could be nice.”

“Sap likes pandas,” Dream looks up, face red and splotchy, but seemingly no longer struggling to breathe. His voice is hoarse, and Foolish digs into his inventory for a bottle of water to hand over.

“Yeah - I think that could be fun. We could invite him over, when you’re ready.” Dream looks away, eyes going distant again, and Foolish stifles the urge to sigh as he shuffles himself forward, water in hand - well, held as carefully as he can between finger and thumb. “I’m thinking we could keep the ceiling open - or maybe throw in a leaf one? That or glass to let the sun in, maybe.”

“Sounds n’ce,” Dream mumbles, and Foolish blinks at him once, twice. Dream huffs, slightly, but a small smile appears on his face. “Your idea, I mean.” His voice grows louder, more confident with every word - still hoarse, but less out-of-it, and Foolish grins brightly.

“Yeah. It does, doesn’t it?”

They fall into silence, relaxed, comfortable. With every minute, Dream uncurls more, muscles untensing, until it almost looks like nothing’s happened at all, like Dream’s a gangly-limbed teenager again and they’re just sitting down for a chat. It’s not a perfect replica - Dream’s eyes are still duller than they had been, skin paler, a new collection of scars peeking out from his clothing - but it’s close. It’s enough.

“I- um,” Dream hesitates, looks up like he’s asking permission to speak, and Foolish waits; Dream clenches and unclenches his hands, steels himself, shoulders lowering in determination and a well of pride grows in Foolish’s chest. “I was- making a house; it’s uh, small, sorry. Big is still- too much, right now. But a creeper snuck up- and. Um. I guess I panicked.”

Now that Foolish looks, there does seem to be a small crater near the back side of the spruce frame, and he hums in understanding.

“Don’t worry about it. You feeling better now?”

Dream’s eyes widen in shock. A moment passes, then another, as Dream looks up at Foolish and then down at his own hands and then up again.

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, breathless, almost to himself, before looking up, something hopeful and brilliant shining in his eyes, so familiar that it physically hurts, even as Foolish’s smile grows wider. For a second, it’s Dream, seventeen, lip stuck out stubbornly as he taunts the universe for daring to limit him with something as simple as impossibility - Foolish watching, proud, then. Watching, proud, now. “Yeah, I am.”

#yay something fluffy for once lmao #tw panic attack #tw trauma #tw emotional distress #when the garden is finished #dream ends up spending a lot of time in it #bc the running water and chirping birds #and other ambiance #remind him that he's not in the prison anymore #also pandas <3 #plsss just let him recover #im begging u canon #my writing :D #my asks !!

[chusui00]

Not Meant To Be

Word Count: 2,107

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Summary: The Bridgerton family and the Duke have been invited to a picnic that was planned by yours truly. Tensions begin to grow, and things don’t go quite as you hoped they would.

TW: none

Part 2/6

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Today’s weather of sunshine and blue skies called for a picnic. I gave clear instructions to Cook that he should prepare a delicious meal and treats, including Simon’s favorite of gooseberry pie. I would never forget something so important about him because it always came in handy.

I then go to find our butler, Charles, and say, “Please send invitations to the Bridgertons and the Duke of Hastings, Charles. There will be a picnic at the park, and do tell them that it will be late at 1pm.” He bows in response, and repeated my words before he left to complete his tasks.

With a nod of satisfaction, I left the main floor then up the stairwell to change my attire. What I was currently wearing fell short of today’s planned event, and I needed to win Simon back. Once inside my bedroom, I closed the door and quickly strode to the wardrobe to see my options.

My thoughts roamed to the man who promised that we would spend the rest of our lives together, which made my blood boil with rage. Men these days were either too dense or too arrogant or had little backbone. Simon was a mixture of having a huge ego and vulnerable when he opens up to the people that know his true personality.

None of this was my fault whatsoever. I left for only a mere three months to study abroad in France, then I return to the ‘wonderful’ news of his engagement to a girl named Daphne Bridgerton. A trip to London hadn’t been something I expected for myself, but I came to the city for him and no other reason.

In truth, Simon technically was still my fiancé, although I knew there was an explanation for everything that took place while I was absent. As a matter of fact, he brushed off the situation like it was a speck of dust that ruined his perfect image to the desperate mamas and equally egotistical lords.

“Good heavens, I’m going to get wrinkles if I keep thinking about the “what-ifs” and not do anything to change them.” I huff in exasperation at my own foolishness, a bit disappointed in myself for having such thoughts when the damage had yet to be done.

After endless decision-making, I chose to wear a yellow dress with a simple pink floral design from the sleeves to the hem of its skirt, and I twirl in front of the mirror with a bright smile. It wasn’t a ball gown, but this would surely make Simon realize that he wants me more than anyone in all of Grovensor Square. It just had to.

I had to admit, the dress itself was too revealing for a lady of my status. Well, at least it would be just myself, Simon, and the Bridgertons alone for a picnic. A reminder to cover my legs repeated itself over and over in my mind, yet I had a feeling that I would catch the attention of everyone’s eyes anyway.

The clock rang the second its big small hand reached 12pm, which meant there was an hour left for preparations and riding to the park. “Marianne! Please call for the carriage, and tell chef to hurry!” I shouted into the air, and I heard Marianne reply from down the hall. Perhaps I was rushing for punctuality-sake, but a host or hostess must never arrive later than their guests.

It was a good thing that mama had long left for tea at Lady Farland’s estate, and papa was probably gambling at the gentlemen’s club again. I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if he came home with news that he either won lost of money or lost a majority of what he gambled. No one could tell me that the picnic was meant to open Simon’s eyes and see just me in them rather than that so-called “flawless” Bridgerton girl.

Nonetheless, I had to get going before they gossiped of my tardiness if I wasn’t already at the location. Time seemed to blur from when I scurried down the stairs to gather everything I needed to when I got into the carriage and made it safely to the park. The next thing I knew, I was trying my best not to laugh at a discreetly explicit joke Benedict had shared amongst ourselves.

Anthony looked like he was going to strangle his brother or maybe he was going to give him a pat on the shoulder? I couldn’t tell because I was too preoccupied with devouring my favorite sandwich while I brushed my shoulder against Simon’s. Of course this got his attention, and he whispered into my ear, “Now is not the time nor place to play, y/n. Behave yourself.”

His warning provoked something inside of me, but there were too many people who would witness the indecency behind my innocent act. “My apologies, your Grace. I’ll be a good girl for you.” I whispered in reply, then continued to enjoy my delicious sandwich as though I did nothing wrong in the first place.

I knew what I was doing to him, and he liked it. He knew what would happen if I went further, and I was fanning the flames with fervor. “Is Daphne aware of our relationship? Sorry, I meant, what it was supposed to become? You know, such as getting married? Living together and in the country?”

Simon’s jaw clenched just like when he used to have me underneath him, calling his name and coming undone by his touch as I squeezed tighter around him. Those nights were by far the best I had ever experienced, and he treated me with such tenderness after we were spent.

“Don’t you remember the great times we had, love? Everything fell apart when I came to London and found you dancing with the red-headed girl in the moonlight.” I scowled under my breath, then I slowly calmed myself down before I could ruin this lovely picnic with a beautiful family and my old lover.

I needed a moment alone, so I stood up and sheepishly excused myself from the blanket before walking away. It was almost as though the night I found myself standing at the lake was repeating itself again, but this time, I knew where I was going and no tears would shed. No, this time was different than last. Instead of crying because I couldn’t control some situations, I chose to think about I would take back Simon for myself.

Seeing Simon chuckle and comment on every little thing Daphne said created small cracks on my heart. I couldn’t think of when he used to do that with me, and I close my eyes to forget all of the recently bad memories. Heavy footsteps approached from behind, but I was too distracted by the wrong Simon had done to me.

“Y/n, are you alright? You left so suddenly, and everyone is worried about you.” Anthony softly called out to me, his hand resting on my shoulder to turn me around and see the miserable state I was in. “I’ll be better, my lord. There’s no need to waste your worry on me.” I mustered a fake smile to dissipate his concern for me, but apparently he had dealt with heartbroken maidens before.

The Viscount gently pulled me into his arms, and rocked our bodies back and forth. I was speechless for I had no idea what he was doing, and yet I didn’t want him to stop. It felt pleasant to be comforted by a warm embrace that held a promise of always being there when it was most needed in times of anguish.

“You are a strong woman, y/n. You don’t need to act as though nothing can break through your walls. You’re still human, and that’s okay. Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel helpless.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and smiled when I pulled away to stare at him with wide eyes. I always knew what kind of man he was, but the side of him that I admired truly was a rare sight to behold.

What felt like an eternity of comfortable silence was interrupted by Eloise who came searching for her brother and I after he had been gone for too long. “Mama won’t stop spouting nonsense that you’ve gotten lost, brother. We had to stop her from creating a search party.” She snickered at the fresh memory, and it stopped when she realized that Anthony was hugging me unusually close to his chest.

I caught on and quickly pushed myself away, then I fixed my dress before thanking her. “Thank you for taking the responsibility, Eloise. You’ve found us alright, and I believe we best return to your family.” Anthony cleared his throat, a big embarrassed that the particular sister of his had seen something she would never let go.

“Yes, Miss Denbow is right. Let’s return before mother actually gathers a search party for three people.” He leads the way, and I smile awkwardly at Eloise as I walk past her. I then let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in since she found Anthony and I, but I hoped that she wouldn’t mention it when we got back to the picnic.

Once there, Lady Bridgerton literally shed tears of joy as soon as she saw my face and brought me into a hug. What was with the Bridgertons and hugging? I could see Simon lean over to Anthony, his mouth forming the words, “Thank you for bringing her back safely.” Anthony nodded in reply, then sat down in between Colin and Benedict before he grabbed his glass of wine to take quite a long sip.

Well, it was back to where I started. I didn’t want to ask questions and make matters worse, but I knew that the current engagement wasn’t going to last for long. According to Lady Whistledown, Queen Charlotte was not convinced of the proclaimed love that everyone said Simon and Daphne shared.

I had to say it. Otherwise, I would lose the love of my life to a woman who gained Her Majesty’s favor, and I would be lonely until the day I die. “The Duke and I were once lovers, but now he’s going to marry Miss Bridgerton.” Complete and utter silence. I take in a deep breath before I continue.

“I had traveled to France for three months, and the Duke asked me to come see him here, in London. I truly thought that he was going to marry me, but I was proven wrong and a fool. He’s pretending as though we didn’t have a beautiful relationship before he chose to help her and she him.”

Lady Bridgerton was the first to break, and she began to stumble over her words while overcoming the insurmountable shock that I gave to everyone. Eloise tried what she could to stop herself from laughing, Benedict smacked her arm while he was struggling to do the same.

Colin couldn’t find the right words, and Anthony spat out his wine. Except for the two youngest children who were playing in a flower field, we adults all sat together with no help to describe what our mixed emotions were. “What is the matter with you, y/n? Did you even think this through before you babbled on about the past? If I had known that you were so childish, I would’ve left you a long time ago.”

Simon glared cold daggers in my direction, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The man who I loved was now a stranger with a much better woman than I, so there was nothing I could do now to take him back. “You’re right, Simon. I’m such a child, and I don’t know any better than to tell the truth when living a lie is all the more tempting.”

I gave my deepest apologies to Lady Bridgerton, promising her that I would make up for my demeanor with tea and a visit to the spa one day. I then said my farewells to the Bridgertons, but I didn’t spare the slightest of glances to Simon who looked like he was going to let out a fury of anger.

It served him right for playing with my heart, and if he was so play a part not meant for him that would end in heartbreak, then so be it. I knew someone who could help me make him regret losing me, and they were a professional when it came to such lengths.

Just you wait, Simon Basset. Just you wait.

#bridgerton #simon basset #bridgerton imagine #duke of hastings #reader x simon basset

[lildevyl]

Blood and Tears

Summary: Foolish has been having recurring nightmares of a Bouquet that ends with someone that he cares about being Sacrificed. Foolish doesn’t know what the nightmares mean, but he has a feeling that it might be some sort of vision. The question is can Foolish figure out what these nightmares mean and be able to stop it from happening?

****OR****

The Eggpire Storyline but the Entity in the Egg decides to go after Foolish first to try and Corrupt to him and make him be the Totem of Death and to join them.

TW: Nightmares, Mention of Character Death, Implied Character Death, Slow burn of Main Character being Corrupted, Corruption.

A/N: My very first Dream SMP FanFic! Updates will be sporadic as I honestly don't know when Inspiration is going to hit or when I'll have to sit down and write. Let me know what you guys think and feel free to come yell at me or if you have any prompts, in my inbox!

(Night One)

With a satisfied grin, Foolish finished this part of the build for the day. He loves building and this build was one of his best builds ever. An entire mansion for Tubbo, Ranboo and their adopted son Michael! He was so proud of his work and Ranboo was more than impressed! Foolish walked to his Temple and decided to treat himself with a relaxing bath.

Foolish yawned a bit, it wasn’t uncommon that after exerting a lot of energy that his body would start to feel a little drained. Is this what humans tend to feel everyday after a long day’s work? Huh, maybe that’s why they need those vacations every year. To help regenerate their body’s energy. Another yawn later, and Foolish decides to head to bed to regenerate his own energy.

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived on time at the Banquet that a few friends invited him too. He doesn’t remember what it’s about but he and a lot of friends were having a lot of fun! Papa Puffy was there! His old friend Ponk was there. Eret, Hannah, George and many others as well. Everyone was on the dance floor having a great time! Foolish talked about the mansion that he built for Tubbo and Ranboo and everyone seemed very impressed with it.

Everyone sat down at the dinner table and Bad asked if anyone wanted to give a speech. Foolish gave his speech, though he doesn’t remember what it was. Papa Puffy gave their speech, something about giving their friends a second chance, huh? George gave his speech and then Eret, and then Sam and then Ponk.

Bad gave his speech but something seemed . . . off about it. Foolish didn’t know why but something didn’t feel right. Like he’s waiting for something - bad? - to happen?

Foolish.

Something was about to happen and Foolish knew it. He just didn’t know what it was! Foolish looked around, but no one said the codeword. So, why did it feel like something horrible was about to happen? A feeling of dread took over and Foolish couldn’t shake the feeling. Looking back and forth between Sam and Papa Puffy, just waiting for one of them to give the codeword, but nobody did. Everyone was enjoying the soup, the appetizers, and soon the main course.

“You okay, Foolish?” Bad asked, bringing Foolish out of his thoughts.

“Huh? What?”

“You okay, Foolish? You barely touch your appetizer,” Bad explained.

“Oh, sorry. Lot on my mind,” Foolish said, unable to shake this dreadful feeling.

But then it happened. Lava poured around them, trapping them. Bad, AntFrost and Ponk, stood there and laugh. Revealing that this Banquet was nothing more than a Sacrifice party for whatever was in that damn egg like cocoon.

Eret knelt down in front of the altar, head bow and all Foolish could do was look on in utter horror. Why was this happening? Then AntFrost brought down the sword.

***

Foolish sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily, shaking from head to toe in cold sweat. What was that? Some kind of nightmare? It had to be. BadBoyHalo, AntFrost, Ponk, they wouldn’t . . . They wouldn’t - they were his and Papa Puffy’s friends. No, they - they definitely wouldn’t do something like that.

Foolish.

Foolish got out of bed and quickly splashed some water on his face. Then he got ready for the day. The sun will rise, shortly, and Foolish . . . Foolish, needs to build something. He needs to start building something to take his mind off of that nightmare.

***

(Night 7)

Foolish built and built and built and built, he had too. It was the only way to get his mind off of things and right now, Foolish needed something to distract himself. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind, so Foolish builds. He builds to get his mind off that nightmare. Taking a step back to admire his work, Foolish was very proud of his work! The outside looked amazing and the inside was coming along very well! But Foolish just couldn’t seem to shake this feeling of deja vu, like he’s been here before and this sense of dread was starting to creep up on him as if . . .

NO! No, no, no no! That was just a nightmare! A nightmare! A dream!

Foolish.

Dreams can’t hurt you! Dreams can’t hurt you! Dreams can come true yes, but nightmares can’t! They just . . . can’t!

“Foolish!”

“Huh, what?” Foolish turned around to see Ranboo standing there. “Oh! Hey, Ranboo!”

“You okay, Foolish? You seem a little distracted,” Ranboo asked with concern. “Maybe you should take a break from building for a bit.”

Foolish sighed, and stared at the ocean with a longing look in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to let his shark side out right then and there. It has been so long since he took a dip in the ocean and let his shark side out. He is a God of the Ocean, the Shark being his Animal Totem. It would actually be really good to go for a swim for a few hours. Take his mind off of things, feed his shark side. Oh, how he missed the taste of raw fish when he caught them. The joy of swimming so fast that he could literally fly through the air before diving back down in the deep dark blue.

Foolish closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You know what, maybe you’re right? Maybe I should take a break for a few hours.” Foolish said never, tearing his eyes away from the ocean. “You don’t mind that I do that? Maybe take a swim for the day?”

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived at the party a little later than intended. He got carried away with one of his builds and completely lost track of time! This wasn’t the first time something like this has happened and everyone gave a light hearted chuckle. Foolish joined them on the dance floor, busting out some moves and really enjoying himself. He really needed this!

Foolish.

Foolish looked around thinking that he heard someone calling him, but nobody did. Shrugging his shoulders and chalking it up to overworking himself yet again. Foolish went back to enjoying the music and dancing.

AntFrost announced that dinner was ready and the food looked amazing! Skeppy said that he made all the food himself and if it tasted as good as it looked. Then they were in for a real treat! Foolish tried the first few dishes and he must say that Skeppy has out done himself! Foolish wondered what spices Skeppy had used because he couldn’t quite pinpoint the flavor, but the food was delicious!

“Are we going to do the Ceremony, Bad?” Skeppy asked excitedly. “Are we going to have them join us in the Ceremony?”

“Yes, Skeppy. We will do the Ceremony.”

Skeppy couldn't hold his excitement anymore and started to bounce around in his chair. “Ceremony! Ceremony! Ceremony!”

“Oh? Is there going to be a Ceremony, Bad?” Eret asked intrigued.

“Why, yes. It’s the big reason why we asked all of you to come tonight. We were hoping to have all of you join us in the Ceremony?”

Foolish smiled and nodded yes at Bad, not trusting his voice. He felt really . . . off. Lava began to pour down the walls, trapping everyone behind a waterfall of lava. Foolish was on his feet but quickly grabbed the back of the chair as a wave of dizziness hit him.

“Did you like the food I prepared for you, Foolish?” Skeppy asked with a sinister smile.

“What did you do to me?” Foolish demanded.

“I put a Weaken Potion in the food to weaken you and your powers, Foolish,” Skeppy explained. “The Egg wants Foolish. The Egg will get Foolish.”

“Alright that’s enough! I’ve had enough with this Egg! And now you’ve gone and poisoned my friend?! That’s going too far!” Ponk ran to where he hid the chest that had their weapons. Only to find the chest to be completely empty!

“What the -”

“Hahahahaha!!!! Were you perhaps looking for these?” Bad taunted, handing the weapons out to Hannah, AntFrost and Skeppy. “Oh you know what? Since, Ponk has so much spirit and went through all that trouble to sneak these in. Why not have Ponk be the first to be Sacrificed?”

“Great idea Bad! Would you kindly follow me!” Foolish made an attempt to stop Hannah but fell to his hands and knees.

“It’s okay, Foolish. It’s okay.” Ponk tried to reassure his friend.

Then Hannah brought the sword down on Ponk.

***

Foolish bolted straight up in bed covered in cold sweat. He was shivering from head to toe with it only being seventy five degrees Fahrenheit. Stumbling to the bathroom, Foolish splashed some cold water on his face. Closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths, Foolish tried to calm himself down. These - these nightmares are getting worse and Foolish has no idea why he’s having them or what they mean.

***

(Night 13)

Foolish wasn’t himself today. He started snapping at Ranboo - at Ranboo! Why did he do that? He never lashed out before! It’s got to be the stress of the build that he’s been doing for Ranboo and Tubbo and the nightmares that’s been plaguing him. He still can’t get over that! What do they mean?

He keeps revisiting the same nightmare but every time it’s a bit different. Foolish was invited to a Banquet being hosted by BadBoyHalo, AntFrost and Skeppy. Sometimes Skeppy wasn’t even there and instead it’s either Hannah or Ponk or both of them. And then someone dies at the hands of the people who should be their friends.

Foolish.

The worst part about these nightmares is, is the fact that Foolish doesn’t know why. Why would they do that? Why would Papa Puffy’s friends do that? What was the Egg? Was the Egg a Dreamon? The Blood God? An Ancient like him that was trapped or imprisoned from the God War?

Foolish.

Foolish looked around thinking that Ranboo or Tubbo or someone was trying to get his attention. Wait, when did he leave Snowchester? When did Foolish get to the dessert of his Summer home? He must be more tired than he thought. Foolish will deal with the fight he had with Ranboo tomorrow, right now, he needs some well deserved rest.

(The Banquet)

Foolish arrived at the Banquet a few minutes after Papa Puffy and Awesamdude. Looking around, he couldn’t help but smile a bit at the decorations.

“Foolish! You made it!” Bad said.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m a little late.”

“Got caught up with another build, again?” Bad asked and then laughed lightly at Foolish’s nod. “Well grab some punch and the dance floor is open. The food will be ready here shortly!”

“Foolish!” Papa Puffy called. “Foolish! You need to relax! We’re here to have some fun! Come on, and bust a move on the dance floor!”

Foolish smiled, and joined everyone on the dance floor. He even tried to mingle a bit with Nikki, and Hannah, but his heart just wasn’t in.

“You okay, Foolish?” Eret asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Just stressed. A lot of people have been asking and hiring me to build for them. Apparently, I received the reputation of one the “Best Builders”' on the Server.” Foolish tried to sound light hearted.

“Oh, you have, Foolish! You have!” Eret said with a lot of enthusiasm. “You might want to start your own business!”

Foolish actually gave a genuine smile and chuckled a bit at that. Ah, so that’s why he felt so out of it! It was just stress! Stress from building and stress from him trying to top himself, and outdo himself with each and every build. That’s got to be it! Right? Right. Okay, Foolish time to go and enjoy the music, the punch and the food! You’re here to have fun! And to get your mind off of things.

Foolish.

Bad announced that dinner was ready and Foolish was eager to dig in. The food tasted amazing! Ponk really out did himself! Foolish wondered what he used because it was just the right amount of spicy that he liked! Foolish engaged in some small talk while they ate. That is until he noticed the lava began to pour down the walls!

“What the?!”

“Oh My Stream!”

“XD! What’s happening?!”

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

“Hehehehehahahahahaha! Well, now, who would like to go first to be Sacrificed for the Egg?” Bad asked, enjoying the chaos.

“Sacrificed?!”

“No, we’re fine, we’re fine, we’re fine,” Puffy tried to assure everyone. “You know what? I didn’t trust you Bad! I didn’t trust you at all! I didn’t trust you or AntFrost or Ponk! You know, it’s unfortunate that I can’t trust either one of you!” Puffy went over to where they hid the chest in the table. “Because I planned for this! Wait, what?!”

“Oh ho! Were you looking for these?” Bad asked, handing out the weapons to his friends.

“What?! How?!”

“I’m sorry Puffy,” Hannah apologized. “I had to do it. I had to tell them.”

“What? Hannah? But you were with us!” Foolish couldn’t believe this! Not only was he not able to save Ponk but now Hannah has betrayed them?

“The Egg! It’s been helping me! Healing me!” Hannah explained.

“Now, who’s all ready for the Sacrifices?!” Bad exactly excitedly

“WHAT?!”

“Well, you see, in order for the Egg to hatch it needs energy. And in order to get that energy is for people to die near it and that’s where you all come in!” Bad explained. “So, who wants to go first?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Bad! AntFrost! This is your last chance with me!”

“Puffy, this is your fault!” AntFrost said. “You betrayed the Eggpire! You were part of something beautiful and worth something! Now, everyone behind you will die! Because of you!”

“Not because of me! I did what I had to do to protect the people! To protect my son!”

“Well, then. Thank You for volunteering! You can go first Puffy!” AntFrost began to drag Puffy up to the altar with Puffy putting up one hell of a fight.

“Alright stop! I am sick of this foul red stench. I tried - we tried to give this dreadful Egg another chance! But it’s probably best that it ends this way. Let’s see if this Egg can withstand a barrage of lightning!” Foolish began to charge up his power to summon the lightning. But nothing happened. Foolish tried again, eyes glowing white, but nothing happened. Foolish tries again, eye glowing white and sparks flying around him, but nothing happened.

“Wait, wait, - I don’t . . . I don’t understand . . . Why’s it - why’s it not working?” Foolish asked confused. Why weren’t his powers working? Why wasn’t it working? Why can’t he summon the lightning?

“Did you like the food I made you, Foolish?” Ponk asked. “I must admit, I didn’t think it would work on you, but I’m glad it did.”

“What?! Ponk?! What did you do to me?”

“After our encounter at your Summer Home, with you doing that wonderful display of your powers. I slipped you a Weakening Potion in your food.” Ponk explained. “Glad to see that it actually worked!”

“It’s okay, Foolish! It’ll be okay!” Puffy tried to reassure her son. “I’ll come back! I’ll still have two canon lives.”

AntFrost then brought the sword down.

***

“NO!!!!” Foolish screamed falling out of bed wrestling with the sheets to untangle himself.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!!!! Ender, no! Not Papa Puffy! Not Papa Puffy!” Foolish pleaded.

A part of Foolish wanted to believe that these nightmares mean nothing and that the events that keep happening in the Dream World would never happen! But another part of him knew that if he didn’t figure out what these mean, then chances are. These nightmares will become visions of the future. A future that Foolish fears what might happen if they do come true.

#dream smp fanfiction #dream smp fanfic #fanfic #dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dream smp #dream smp fandom #c!foolish #c!captain puffy #eggpire #angst #whump #tw mention of character death #corrupted!foolish #slow burn of corruption #c!badboyhalo #c!awesamdude #c!antfrost #c!skeppy #c!ponk #c!hannah #c!eret #c!ranboo #let me know what you think

[isthatacalzone]

i have this whole theory that klaus is one of the only (living) hargreeves kids who actually made an attempt to process the abuse that good old reggie put them through as children, and a LOT of it comes from the fact he’s been in rehab multiple times. klaus talks like he’s been through some pretty intense therapy that’s actually made a difference to him, and IN THIS ESSAY I WILL PROVE IT (or uh, try to) so buckle up kids cause it’s gonna be a long one

(continued below because when i say essay i mean essay)

stay with me here for a bit: klaus seems to be the only one of the siblings who actively and regularly acknowledges how much of an abusive prick their father was. think about how everyone reacts when it comes to him:

luther spent the most time with their father, was so close to him that he never got the space and time to realise just how much of a monster he truly was. it also means luther inherited a lot of their father’s traits (i’m just saying, the dude found out that he had been lied to maybe two days before everything happened with vanya and allison, of course he’s going to react the way he does when pogo tells him all about how dangerous vanya’s powers are. no one else’s opinion ever mattered before, he’s not gonna learn how to listen first in two goddamn days) and ONLY JUST started to understand that their father was a fucking monster

diego is just angry. angry at the way their father treated him (and i think it’s mostly about him, and maybe grace), angry that he was never good enough to be number one, that he could never curry the same favour with him like luther could, that he was made to feel weak all his life. why do you think he still goes out and fights crime? sure, it’s all he’s ever known, but i wouldn’t be surprised if a part of him was still trying to prove to dear old dad that he was fast enough, brave enough, strong enough to save lives (”saving lives, baby”) or yknow, fuck it, the world??

allison deferred any resentment she felt and got validation through stardom. she filled every hole she had with whatever she felt like she wanted because she knew she could get it. i dunno if allison’s actually processed what reginald put her through, because really we don’t know much about how he taught her, but we know what it made her become, and it took losing her husband and her daughter to make her realise just how terrible she’s been her whole life. interestingly, it doesn’t seem like she ever blames reginald for this, only herself, and is trying to be better because of that. perhaps allison doesn’t realise just how much of an influence he had on making her who she is? 

five is interesting. he had the least amount of time with dad as That Fateful Day took place when he was thirteen, but at that point the seeds of distrust had already been sewn. would five have tried to jump to the future so prematurely if his father hadn’t basically goaded him? daddy hargreeves pretty obviously bolstered five’s ego (”hey five cheated!” “he adapted!”) but had no idea how to reign him in, humble him so that he’d WANT to learn more. reginald was all about power and control. he LOVED pushing the kids to get them to be as powerful as they could be, but it had to happen at HIS pace. five probably never considered how much fucking up his father did in just that period of time, because most of his goddamn trauma came from finding his siblings dead in the wreckage of his home in the midst of the goddamn apocalypse, and then proceeded to LIVE THERE on his own for forty five goddamn years. of course he doesn’t think it matters (”who cares if dad messed us up?” uh, i do five, i do), with him there’s always been something else far more important to care about, but he never got the chance to grow the hell up and understand his emotions. five may technically be 58 but his physical body better represents his emotional age, lbr.

(i’m not actually gonna talk about ben here because i think he’s probably the most emotionally mature out of all of them and i’m 99% sure that’s because he’s been dead for like a decade)

and vanya. vanya literally in the second episode says “i used to see someone” (which is such a loaded line like, “used to”, why not anymore? for how long did she see this mythical therapist?) but if anything’s true about vanya it’s that she never processed the trauma, she just shut down. she never got over the way her father isolated her from everyone (which, as we all know, had WAAAY more layers than we ever could have seen coming from the first few episodes), never got over the fact she was always the outsider from her siblings. she has no relationships, doesn’t push herself or strive for anything because she doesn’t think she’s worth it. it takes one guy with a couple well placed lines to get her to fall in love because that’s all she ever wanted. and even though allison (god BLESS her heart) tries so fucking hard to get through to her, there’s too many years worth of eyerolls, dismissive glances, and “go away vanya”s for her to really start to trust her. if vanya had legitimately taken the time to understand her trauma properly, i feel like she would also have been able to understand that daddy dearest fucked the rest of them up in equal measure. 

all of that leads me onto my main point: klaus. the thing that really stood out for me whenever klaus talked about their father was how he always held him accountable for all the bullshit that he put not just klaus, but ALL of them through (”he was always in here, planning his next torment”). sure, there’s hatred there, and anger just like diego, but klaus talks about the abuse with an element of compassion for himself and his siblings that his siblings do not seem to have. he’s the only one who actively refers to him as a monster (”thank christ he’s not our real father so we couldn’t inherit those cold, dead eyes!!”), and actually seems to want to hold him accountable. i turn you toward the beautiful scene in the day that was when he talks to daddy hargreeves as an example:

klaus starts the conversation pretty irreverent “i was beside myself with grief!” at which point reginald calls him out, “you were poisoning yourself” (the only thing reggie gets any points for in this conversation is seeming vaguely sad that klaus is an addict, but even then... it’s his fault... soooooo)

klaus comes to play at this point. “oh right, well, yeah, you had nothing to do with it. locking me in a mausoleum with corpses when i was 13? no, you’re right, it’s irrelevant.” i’m gonna come back to this, because it’s a big part of the inspiration for this post.

reggie spends a lot of the rest of this conversation defending himself. “you children like to blame everything on me”, to which klaus immediately replies, “well, you were a sadistic prick, not to mention the world’s worst father”

at every opportunity he calls his father out on his behaviour. reggie starts goading him for being afraid of his power (which, yknow, screw you reggie) and klaus immediately rebuttals with “y’know i suggest you get down off your high horse there, dear papa. you never had our best interests at heart, look at your precious number one. luther found all the unopened letters he’d sent you. he knows that you sent him up to the moon for nothing.” i love this line, because not only do we see that klaus has this deep understanding of how his father screwed him up, he’s outright calling dear old papa out for the shit he pulled on his siblings too.

 reggie pauses here, and for a moment seems legitimately remorseful (which, if you watch the scene, completely catches klaus of guard. god, i love robert sheehan he plays this whole thing to perfection), saying “yes, that was foolish of me”, before continuing, “i should have burned it all.”

at which point klaus laughs. “that’s your takeaway?” he says, somehow still astounded that his father could surprise him with how little he cared after all this time. “oh wow, yeah of course it is.”

also please note that reginald gets much more forceful with moving klaus’ head around in order to shave the other side of his face at this point which i could write a whole other post about but that’s for another day because this essay is already too goddamn long

anyway, astonishingly reginald at this point asks “is he okay?” to which klaus rightly responds, “do you care?”, which first of all, stab me in the heart right now, but also speaks to something true in all of them: they all wanted their father to love them, and klaus is actively trying to find SOMETHING to redeem him by, something that would stop him being such a monster in his mind. well, maybe not redeem, but understand.

reggie pulls his usual excuse “it was to prepare you, all of you, for something bigger than yourselves” (which is a HUGE LINE BY THE WAY OH MY GOD) “you never understood that” (yh uhhh whose fault is that dingbat)

klaus takes control of the shave at this point, grabbing his father’s hand as a tear slips down his face (seriously you guys, the power play in this scene it’s fucking masterful and also it’s legitimately making me cry thinking about it) and manages to choke out, “we were just kids. little kids”. 

i really think klaus is desperately trying to get his father to admit he should have been better to them. he really has nothing to lose at this point, he’s just looking for closure. and in a way he gets it, but not the way he wants as reginald replies “you were never just kids. you were meant to save the world.”

(i think that might be the first moment in his whole life that klaus truly understands his father)

what’s my point? imagine any of the other siblings in this scene. imagine luther in this scene. how quickly do you think reginald would have been able to shut down any of luther’s questions? diego would have just tried to fight him; no way he ever would have listened to anything he had to say. i can’t even imagine how allison would have talked to him. five wouldn’t give two shits about getting to know their father again, he’d just want answers. and vanya? actually yknow what him talking to vanya could be very interesting but i digress. 

i honestly believe klaus is the only one who had the emotional maturity to be able to navigate talking to their father, the only one who could call him out on his shitty ass behaviour but still come better to understanding him on a truly compassionate level. he cries when he realises his father killed himself so they’d all get back together. would any of the rest of them manage to move past their feelings of hatred for papa hargreeves and actually understand - not only understand, but empathise - with him while still maintaining that they deserved better?

i really believe that comes straight from all the years in and out of rehab. sure, rehab didn’t actually help klaus get clean - i don’t know what rehab or therapy could help you deal with dead people constantly demanding your attention all the time - but my understanding (and this is where i am happy to be corrected as i have no personal experience with this at all) is that a big part of rehab is therapy. heck, in the flashback scenes when we see when all the siblings are reading vanya’s book, he’s literally sitting in group therapy. klaus has WAAAY more practice in actually talking about his feelings and i don’t care how resistant to it he might have been, you go in and out of those spaces for long enough, something will stick. (nb: as i’m writing this, yknow who he reminds me of? gary king. if you haven’t seen the world’s end, please watch it, i think you’ll understand what i mean.)

this is not to say klaus is in any way perfect. he’s still as flawed and fucked up as the rest of them, but in terms of actually understanding his trauma? he’s strides ahead of the rest of them. 

#oh my god this is so long #i really hope someone reads this #and likes it??? i guess??? #the umbrella academy #tua #umbrella academy #ua #meta #tua meta #the umbrella academy meta #luther hargreeves #number one #diego hargreeves #number two #allison hargreeves #number three #klaus hargreeves #number four #number five #ben hargreeves #number six #vanya hargreeves #number seven #bensklaus #the kraken #the rumor #the seance #1k #2k #3k

[fcukyeahbettyenny]

From:  [email protected]

To:  [email protected]

Subject: "Hindsight is twenty-twenty”

I am in Florida!  I had accidentally left my iPad at home and I didn’t want to download my diary app onto the work computer Señorita Catalina had given me today, which is why I’m emailing myself this diary entry to copy-paste into my diary app later on.

Betty of the Future, if you are reading this, you might be wondering why Betty of Today decided to write this entry in English. That is because you are in a beautiful place so far from home and yet your mind wants to go back to New York for a trip down memory lane.  Memory lane -- what a warm and fuzzy image that makes!  This recounting will be anything but.  This will probably be more like being dragged by the hair through broken glass. No, broken glass would be less painful.

Today’s nightmarish recollection is about my birthday this year which was both the best and the worst because of Armando. That seems to be a theme with him.  He is both the best and the worst thing to ever happen to me.

I remember not being able to write about my birthday on the day itself because that time was such a busy and tumultuous time for me in both my professional and personal lives.

Anyway, here goes.

On my birthday I was surprised to find letter balloons that spelled out “Happy Birthday”, a musical birthday card, and a small frosted cupcake on my desk.  They were from El Peloton.  My birthdays are always a big deal at home but that was the first time people from outside of my family did something like that for me.  I was so touched I couldn’t help but cry.

I remember feeling so happy when Armando came in yelling and asking everyone what the commotion was.  I should have been offended, really, but I was so happy to see him that I guess I forgot. I am so in love with him -- was so in love with him -- that I told myself I didn’t mind that he didn’t know why El Peloton was there.  I told myself I didn’t mind that Aura Maria had to explain to him that they were there to wish me a happy birthday. I bet he remembers Marcela’s birthday.  I bet he remembers important dates in their relationship.

Speaking of Marcela, she stampeded in a few moments later, also yelling at everyone and telling us all to go back to work before dragging Armando out the door with her. For a woman who grew up in high society, she sure can’t read a room.

Later that day, Armando popped back in to see me.  Instead of apologizing for not knowing when my birthday was, he chided me about not telling him (yes, red flag).  Loca that I was, I told him that it was okay that he did not know and that as long as things were okay between the two of us, I was happy. You know what he said next?  He said we should put the matter of the erotic poem behind us and then he asked me to dinner. No apology and again, everything was about him. I think that even back then I knew he wasn’t being sincere but I chose to believe in him. He didn’t need to build me castles in the air -- I built those castles myself and locked my brain in one of them.  That’s the only explanation I can find for my foolishness.

Anyway, after that conversation, I called home and told my mother I was going home late.  That was when my mother told me that Papa was out shopping with Nico because they wanted to celebrate my birthday with me at home.  I wish I had called Armando back and told him to go take a long walk down a short pier.  If I had known... well... hindsight is twenty-twenty.

Let’s zip forward to that evening.

I remember being so happy being seated there, being sang to by my friends.  It was the first time anything like that had happened to me.  That is the part I want to treasure forever.  Before I could blow on my candle, Sandra put her hand over my mouth and asked if I had made a wish.  I told her that it had already come true.  As I said that, I reached for Armando’s hand (he was standing beside me) and at that time, I had only thought that I had lost my grip.  Now that I think about it though, I realize at he had moved his hand away.  How could I not have known he was only playing me?  The signs were all there!

Let’s zip forward again to when the party was really over.  I remember feeling sad because I was hiding my relationship from my parents.  That and because I was la otra -- the sidepiece walking two blocks down at night in a bad neighborhood in NY to meet her engaged “boyfriend” at his car like a cheap woman.  I can’t ever let my self-respect go like that ever again. 

I had thought that he was going to bring me to that dingy little karaoke bar again.  I was actually kind of looking forward to singing to and with him again.  That wasn’t where he brought me though.  He brought me to a seedy motel. What a weird feeling that gave me!  I was excited to be with him -- I was happy!  But then my mind kept going back to my moment of humiliation with Freddy as I was brushing my teeth.  That should have been a sign.  Someone  once said that suffering comes from doing what your spirit tells you not to do.  I should have known. All the signs were there.  All of the signs.  Then again, hell could have literally broken loose outside and I would not have noticed because when I opened the bathroom door, before me was the sight of Armando with his shirt half-unbuttoned.  He may be evil to the core but did he look like an angel at that moment!  Heh, angel.  Like Satan.

To be fair, he was gentle with me.  Or at least, he pretended to be. He smiled at me, held out his hand, and led me to the center of the bed.  As we knelt and kissed in the middle of that lumpy motel bed I thought I could do just that for the rest of my life and not need anything else.  If he had said, “I can’t do this.  You’re too ugly, Betty,” I would have been fine.  That is why I was surprised when he started taking off my top.  Even Freddy hadn’t bothered.  He had just buried his face in my neck, got between my legs, and raped me.  Maybe Armando was thinking of Marcela or some other model because he seemed like he was enjoying himself.  I felt happy because I thought he was enjoying himself because of me.  At that exact moment, all my bad memories of prom night came rushing back to me. I jumped out of bed, scared of Armando.  Afraid in general. Next thing I knew, we were in his car and he was driving me home.  I don’t remember much else.  I think my brain has blocked the rest. Now if only my heart could block Armando, too.

#betty en ny #betty in ny #betty en new york fan fiction #betty in new york fan fiction #betty and armando #This was written in a rush and unedited

[willowzel]

The Demon Love

It was in this small town run by religion that looked like an Amish town with small houses, the only largish building being the school and the church.

The large dark wood on one side of the road was my haven but it was feared by the townsfolk. It was beautiful, peaceful, with only the sound of the trickling river with its waterfall and the animals that call this place home.

I looked out my window. Another bleak, grey day in this bleak and boring town. I heard my parents getting up. Time to get ready to go out.

I put on my black dress and cloak, my Victorian style boots already on. It was all deliberate. I would not conform to the norm. Well the normal in this town. This house. My parents, nearly everyone in this town were so religious as to make you gag. It was fronded upon not to attend Sunday service. So every Sunday I went to the woods and walked along the river during service. They already hated me. I had the freedom of being an outcast. I had been born with what they called Demon Eyes. Purple eyes had never been seen in our quaint, highly religious town before and anything new or different was considered demonic. It was a touch of the freedom I craved. They didn’t want me around and I was happy to oblige.

This Sunday seemed just like any other. The townsfolk were in their best cloths for church and stared at me when they saw me. I always walked the same rout every week. Straight through town past everyone. The rumours would be worse if I snuck around. I’m not ashamed of my difference. It was just the way I was.

The whispers I could hear spelled out nothing new. “Witch”. “Demon Child”. The funniest I found was “Devil’s Bride”. As if the devil had any interest in a girl like me. I let the whispers fade from my mind but not before my ever present hope, please let me go. There was no way out of this town. It was like an island except we were surrounded by trees and rocks instead of water.

I walked into the wood and followed my own trail to the river. I walked my solitary walk and wished my most foolish wish. I knew it was impossible. Childish.

I went to my hidden place. There was a large cavern behind the water fall. I loved sitting there, listening. They, the townsfolk, thought I was worshiping the devil out here. But I would worship no one.

For the first time since I had begun coming to this place I heard footsteps that were not my own.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

“You heard me, huh?” a young man steeped into the cavern.

“Loud and clear” I looked at him hard. “Who are you?”

“Well let’s say, I’m a friend.” he stepped closer “You need a friend, don’t you Kit?”

“How do you know my name? I don’t know you.” But his voice were familiar in a way.

“Oh but you do.” He stepped closer. “In your dreams you walk hand in hand with a boy who knows you very well.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

“How do you know about my dreams? I’ve never told anyone about those.” I began to panic. “Who are you?” I reiterated.

“Don’t you remember? I’m Damien.” And then he smiled.

Fear built inside me. “Is that your name or that what you are?”

“Both Violet.” His eyes flashed and I finally saw their true colours. One black and one purple. It was true.

“No!” but I desperately wanted to be wrong. “You can’t be! How do you know that nick-name? How?”

“We’ve known each other for years Violet. We’ve dreamt of each other since childhood. I know you Kit, I know your heart and soul. You come here to be alone so you can write your music and stop having to hear them say its evil when it’s only how you feel. I know you. And you know me.” He tried to take my hand but fear made me recoil.

“No! Tell me plainly, who are you? No more games. I want to know.” I yelled it at him.

“I’m the Devils son.”

I ran. The Amish girl they had tried so hard to beat into me took over and I fled.

“You can’t hide from me. You don’t really want to. You’ll come back and I’ll be waiting.” I could hear his voice even though I was running as fast as I could, the sharp branches that just before had seemed like the gateway to my haven, now whipped my limbs and grabbed at my long black hair.

I was soaked through. I must have gone straight through the waterfall. I didn’t remember. The weight of the suddenly freezing water pulled the graceful waves out of my hair. His voice pierced my minds again. “You will return.” It was crystal clear despite the distance and, danm me, he spoke the truth and I knew it.

I reviled nothing when I got back to the village. Damien was right. I was going back.

The next morning I went into the forest before anyone else was up. I couldn’t risk being stopped. I had to see him. He hadn’t been in my dreams for the first time in months last night. He was my dream boy. Literally. I couldn’t lose him.

As I crept through the wood it seemed unnaturally quite. All I could hear was the river. I followed my usual path and went behind the waterfall.

“You came.” Was all he said.

“You knew I would.” I stood in front of him and took him in. his mismatched eyes stared back at me, while I drank in his pitch black hair and gothic cloths. He looked just as he had in my dreams. Too much.

“You need to make sure I’m real huh?” he read.

“May I touch you?” I was ever so afraid he’d vanish.

“You don’t have to ask.” He held out his hand.

I put my hand in his. I gave a sigh of relief when my hand meet solid flesh. He was real.

“Why have I been dreaming of you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

I meet his eyes. He was telling the truth. I could just, just tell.

“Why have you come for me?” I needed to hear it from him.

“I think you know the answer to that.” He used the hand still in his to draw me in. I put my other hand on his shoulder. “I’ve told you every night for years. I love you.”

I couldn’t understand why I had run from him just the previous day. I knew he truly wouldn’t hurt me. I decided it was time to let my secret out. “I think I love you too.”

“I know you have reservations about what I am but I will prove it to you. I am not evil. Let me prove it to you.”

“All right but I don’t think it’d matter to me.” I confessed.

“It matters to me what you think. Let me show you what I see.” He pulled me towards the exit of the cavern.

“Ok.” I followed him out.

He showed me such wonders: a doe giving birth. He showed me how to approach with care and the new mother allowed us to sit with her and her baby while the baby figured out how to walk. My eyes welled with joy.

A single pair of love birds singing a song to each other made my heart swell.

A lone rabbit scavenging for food. Damian showed me the most beautiful thing in the forest.

An hour before sunset he escorted me to the woods edge. “Until tomorrow, my love” he said laying a kiss on the back of my hand.

“Tomorrow.” I said before rushing back to my house. I spoke to no one and just snuck some food up to my room and went to bed. I did return the next day and every day after. He showed me new wonders of the wood every day. It was the most amazing time of my life. Yet I knew it could not continue as such.

It had been weeks since we had first begun meeting in the woods when I asked for something I had yet to see.

“Will you show me your true form? I want to see the real you.” I was ready, I wasn’t going to run.

“Are you sure?” he looked deep into my eyes.

“I am.” He saw the truth in my eyes.

“Ok.” Damien stepped back, letting go of my hand. The light shimmered around him and he seemed to be swallowed by the flash of pure darkness that he emitted at the end of his transformation. At the end of it all when my eyes could focus on him, a huge black, blood red and dark purple demon stood before me. He was fearsome with shiny black horns coming out of his head and a long red tail. Not tipped with an arrow though, just smooth skin.

I stepped up to him. He tried to shrink back. I put my hand on his jaw and stroked his hair. Looking into his eyes I said “I know it’s you, Damien. I’m not afraid.”

His eyes were the same in both forms. He gave a sigh of relief and grabbed me in a huge hug. “Thank you, thank you.” His voice was deep and gravelly. I liked it.

My head on his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart and his arms around me his face pressed into my hair, I closed my eyes. This was peace. We stayed like that, Damien still in his demonic form, just holding each other. I sighed with contentment and opened my eyes.

My peace shattered.

Hiding behind a tree staring with wide frightened eyes was a child from the town. One of their spies no doubt, sent to see if I was a devil worshiper, and here I was embracing a demon. The Devils own son no less.

“Shit!” I exclaimed breaking away. The child darted away. “I have to stop this!” I looked at Damien.

“Go.” He said

I went running as fast as I could. I knew what would happen if I didn’t get back to town before the child. If I was back in town before, I would be safe. If not… I refused to think it. I would not fail.

I broke through the tree line. I couldn’t see anyone. It looked like I’d made it. I began to walk through the town as clam as you please when, as I passed the church its doors burst open to reveal the child and the townspeople.

“There she is Papa. That’s the demon lover.” Oh no it was the pastures child.

The pasture was red with fury. “Witch!” he spat. “Get her.” He told his followers.

I ran. I hope to reach the forest before they caught me but they’d guessed what I’d do. They grabbed hold of my arms and pushed me to my knees.

“I knew you were no good.” He said “Take her to the church jail. We must confer on what to do to deal with this witch.”

While I kneeled there, many of them cried out suggestions for my execution. “Hang her!”, “Drown her!”, “Burn her!” staying as still as possible I hoped Damien would realise what had happened. But the pasture wasn’t finished.

“Filthy witch. Worship the Devil huh?” I’ll show you a thing or two about worship.” With that I felt a blinding pain in the back of my head and everything went black.

When I came to, I was lying on my side on the smooth pavements of the church jail. I could feel the heavy weights of the chains around my ankles, thankfully still protected by my boots. My head felt woolly and ached when I tried to lift it.

“Ow.” I moaned as I sat up

“Careful my love,” strong arms came around me that I knew all too well. Damien was in his human form.

“What are you doing here?” I looked at him and then at the ground he was sitting on. “Wait. How are you here? This is hallow ground.”

“Blessed by a man who’s faith is not pure. Only a person of purest faith who has not sinned could cast a spell powerful enough to keep me out.” He laid his hand on my cheek. “They have made a decision on your fate.” He told me

“Burning?” I guessed. That old pasture would just love to hear me scream.

“Yes.” Damien said “But I can save you.”

“I know. You can break these chains and we can leave, just go to your home. Take me with you.”

“I will. But first,” he smiled wickedly, “Let’s have a little fun?”

I should have guessed, he was the Devil’s son after all. “What did you have in mind?” I asked

“Will you allow me to rescue you from the flames themselves if I cast a spell over you to protect you from them?”

“Of course. But why?”

“I will appear in the form of a raven, when you see me you can cry out that the devil will save you and I’ll transform into my true form while you walk to me on a path of flames and we shall escape to hell, together, while they will know to never touch a Demon lover again.”

An evil smile quirked my lips. “Ok then.”

So that night when they came for me for the burning, I was sitting cross legged, smiling prettily.

“How pleasant to see you on this dark night, Pasture.” I greeted him.

“Witch” he spat at me, but missed. Ew. “You’ll not speak unless spoken to, is that clear?”

“And here I thought we knew each other? Don’t you realise, I don’t obey you.”

“Take her to the stake.” Was his response. Two men released my chains and grabbed my arms lifting me.

“Thank you, kind sirs.” I said needling them. One of them striked me across the face. I felt the softest of feathers brushing along my cheek. Damien’s spell was working. I smiled.

“Sir, she feels no pain.” One of the men said.

“She’ll feel god’s flame soon enough don’t you fear. Bring her.”

They hauled me up a large pile of wood surrounding a thick stake in the middle of the courtyard just inside the church grounds. The tied me to it, binding my hands behind me with coarse rope.

I saw the raven land on a tree branch just outside the gate. My smile grew, stirring the crowd.

“Any last words, Witch?” asked the preacher as he held the flam that would supposedly burn me alive.

And I incanted my spell, “Et maledecam maledecentibus tibi atque in sanguine tuo. My daemonium salcabit me. Sic deus est genus?” I curs thee and thin blood. My demon will save me. Is your god so kind? There was no true power behind the words just the words themselves but it had the desired effect. Screams erupted and panic ensued. The preacher hastily dropped the burning stick onto my pyre. Flames burst violently to life around me and a comforting warmth enveloped me. They must have used some petrol.

Behind the panicked gazing crowd the crow also burst into flames and I laughed.

“See?” I cried. “He comes for me.” I jerked my chin towards the demon Damien. Many screamed some fainted, the pasture grabbed his child’s hand.

“You’ll not enter here! This is holy land!” he yelled

“I don’t need to.” Damien growled

With that my ropes burned away and I was free. I stepped forward and walked across the flames to him. Taking his hand in mine I turned to the townsfolk. “This is true power. Fear us.” My hair swam around my face appearing alive.

Many people dropped to their knees, others ran into the church. Damien and I laughed at our game turned away from the place that had brought me only pain and walked into the woods. Free. Together. And soon, home at last.

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

The decision will rest with me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and timber for the building, he is not compos mentis.

Fletcher, Hawley's clerk, this morning—he's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of. Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. Finer gentleman!

Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte. Nat.: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the Phoenix park? —Has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world, and some called her an angel. By Jesus, says I. —Is that by Griffith?

Everybody liked better to conjecture how the thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture soon became more confident than knowledge, and had secretly disobeyed it.

Sinn Fein? Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

I will not believe it. That's a strange sentiment to come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know.

Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action? Solomon. A warm man was Waule. Every one stared afresh at Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise.

—Could a swim duck?

—A sanitary meeting, you know.

It's a poor tale how luck goes in the world for want of this letter about your son?

'And a deal sooner I would, if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living. I. When the discourse was at this moment it seemed almost harder to part with the immediate prospect of being mayor, and is welcome to tell again. I'm sure it's my wish you should be spared.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the glazier.

The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations.

The scenes depicted on the emunctory field, showing our ancient duns and raths and cromlechs and grianauns and seats of learning and maledictive stones, are as wonderfully beautiful and the pigments as delicate as when the Sligo illuminators gave free rein to their artistic fantasy long long ago in the time of the catastrophe important legal debates were in progress, is literally a mass of ruins beneath which it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. I can suppose that very well, said Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had come to Stone Court.

Them who've made sure of their job. When I see Mrs. Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five hundred—that you may depend,—I shouldn't wonder if my brother promised him, said Mrs. A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past five years. —He couldn't touch a penny.

And who does he suspect? And Alf was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. But I put a stop to that.

But he was not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins.

A man should know when to pull up. As a matter of indifference: he simply formed an unfavorable opinion of the banker's constitution, and concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, who might perhaps take on himself the unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode. O, by God! It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. Told him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he took the last swig out of the house of commons. Fred.

—Who? —What's your opinion of the times? I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. Said Mr. Hawley, still fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. —Ay, says Joe.

I find that there is a gentleman who may fall in love with. —The statement that he was for many years engaged in nefarious practices, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, who looked at each other with eyes of heavenly blue, deep enough to hide the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite. Here Mrs. Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Here, Terry, says Joe.

Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public affairs of the town where he expected to read was the last of three which he had been taking journeys on business of various kinds, having now made up his mind that he need not quit Middlemarch, and much cleansing and preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories. The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. You must be joking, sir. Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on Lydgate, who had his own reasons for not being in the best spirits, and wanted to get away. The human mind has at no period accepted a moral chaos; and so preposterous a result was not strictly conceivable. Says I.

And in the rights of it too, said Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop Trumbull, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. —There he is, says Alf. Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds.

I murder him? Life wants padding, said Mr. Vincy, thoroughly nettled a result which was seldom much retarded by previous resolutions.

—True for you, says Joe. —Brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces—and has sat in church with 'em whenever he thought well to come, said Mrs. Larches, firs, all the trees of the conifer family are going fast. I have devoted myself to this object of hospital-improvement, but I call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man what's this his name is? —Any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr. Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made his throat dry. Allow me, Mr. Hawley.

There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. Here, says he, when the complexion showed all the better for it? To be sure, there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one. Cranch was bulky, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway.

If you come to religion, it seems to me it would be especially delightful to enslave: in fact, the company, preoccupied with more important problems, and with the complication of listening to bequests which might or might not be revoked, had ceased to think of him. —I don't want anybody to come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's got a service for—I don't want anybody to come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's got a service for—I don't want to make him better than he is. And it's openly said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations.

It does not follow that Fred must be one. Hand by the block stood the grim figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously.

You wouldn't see a trace of them or their language anywhere in Europe except in a cabinet d'aisance.

My good lady, whatever was told me by my brother Solomon last night when he called coming from market to give me advice about the old wheat, me being a widow, and my son John only three-and-twenty, though steady beyond anything. But when papa has been at the same provincial school together Mary as an articled pupil, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the workingman's friend. And I should have expected, said Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop Trumbull, but I call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man what's this his name is? Such is life in an outhouse. He had a high chirping voice and a vile accent. When the carriage drove up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication.

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —Learning to have a hundred. That likes me well. What can you blame me for?

But I believe he hates them all. And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl.

And the bloody dog: After him, boy! Only one, says Martin. So I'll leave your own sense to judge. And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself with the prussic acid after he swamping the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the Romans. —I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom. And I belong to a race too, says Joe, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom.

Then he starts all confused mucking it up about mortgagor under the act. Because, you see.

—Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Such is life in an outhouse. He's a perverted jew, says Martin.

—Right, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow anyhow.

But he is really a disinterested, unworldly fellow, said Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse.

But hypocrite as he's been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be relied on than legacies. And what was it only one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

—And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says Joe.

But Fred gives me his honor that he has never borrowed money on the pretence of any understanding about his uncle's land. And this particular reproof irritated him more than any other.

—Who is Junius?

The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to bear.

Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harry's been too many for him. And there sat with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, for every tribe one man, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land lying in Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture, to Joshua Rigg. Tell that to a fool, says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it. You must be joking, sir.

—Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

Tarbarrels and bonfires were lighted along the coastline of the four seas on the summits of the Hill of Howth, Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the press and the bar and the other phenomenon.

And he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors. Dunne, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. To be born the son of a gun. So howandever, as I was saying, the old dog over. She had found an opportunity of engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no use in offending the new proprietor of Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding.

Honest injun, says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

U.p: up on it to take a hold of a fellow the like of it in all your born puff. —Was the land coming too?

Black Forest.

He knew that this would vex Mary: very well; then she must tell him what else he could do.

We are all humiliated by the sudden discovery of a second will added to the prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone family. I'm a nation for I'm living in the same pew for generations, and the Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the canvas with intelligent honesty. —Bloom, says he, preaching and picking your pocket.

—Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. Says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. Said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be shackled by our two physicians.

And he had it from most undeniable authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the money, and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. Hundred to five! A dark horse. Waule.

And who does he suspect? —Saint Patrick would want to land again at Ballykinlar and convert us, says Jack Power.

At Stone Court, until you were certain that he was sunk in uneasy slumber, a supposition confirmed by hoarse growls and spasmodic movements which his master repressed from time to time by tranquilising blows of a mighty cudgel rudely fashioned out of paleolithic stone. Says Alf. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses. She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her physique: she even acted her own character, and so well, that she had all the virtues. —As to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him. The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. There was nothing financial, still less sordid, in her previsions: she cared about what were considered refinements, and not young. —Is it Paddy? And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was no material object to feed upon, but the Vincys themselves were surprised when ten thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to be bequeathed to him: Three cheers for Israel!

And might have left his property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of way—and not so poor but what they could have saved every penny and made more of it.

He saw no way of eluding Featherstone's stupid demand without incurring consequences which he liked less even than the task of fulfilling it.

A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups. Life wants padding, said Mr. Featherstone, looking at her. Lady Sylvester Elmshade, Mrs Barbara Lovebirch, Mrs Poll Ash, Mrs Holly Hazeleyes, Miss Daphne Bays, Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence.

—Added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and took his seat near the door to make part of the defunct, who had often to resist the shallow pragmatism of customers disposed to think that Jane was so having. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

—Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse.

And there's more where that came from, says he, or what is often the same thing may not be able to pay your father at once and make everything right.

That's how it's worked, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, sir, says Terry. Your nephew John never took to billiards, now, he'd make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these people, he added in his usual loud voice—Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to. Li Chi Han lovey up kissy Cha Pu Chow.

Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. How it had been arrested in its growth toward a stone mansion by an unexpected budding of farm-buildings on its left flank, which had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents. But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up a pretty row, if I chose. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot. All I say is, it's about a whim of old Featherstone's. And I understand he is a naturalist. But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up a pretty row, if I did not tell you that Mrs.

—When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. After a short silence, pausing at the churchyard gate, Mr. Farebrother wanting to go on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus.

Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. To be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither before they're swallowed nor after. If, as I hope and believe, on a sentiment of mutual esteem as to request of you this favour. It'd be an act of God to take a li … And he started laughing. Says I.

I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there. —Save you kindly, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. It'll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrode's money goes out of it, said Mr. Featherstone, holding his stick between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which seemed to be slightly moistened with tears, though her face was still dry. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. But I find that there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the 20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous one.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts. Says Joe. —Of Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was going to be a rascal, Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul.

Taking what belongs to us by right. But you take the other side, he took the bloody old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for. Come, out with it, Jane! The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch.

—Anyhow, says Joe. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park? What shall you do now, Mary? Then about!

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.

Phenomenon!

A dark horse. —Thank you, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. Says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. Miss Dorothy Canebrake, Mrs Clyde Twelvetrees, Mrs Rowan Greene, Mrs Helen Vinegadding, Miss Virginia Creeper, Miss Gladys Beech, Miss Olive Garth, Miss Blanche Maple, Mrs Maud Mahogany, Miss Myra Myrtle, Miss Priscilla Elderflower, Miss Bee Honeysuckle, Miss Grace Poplar, Miss O Mimosa San, Miss Rachel Cedarfrond, the Misses Lilian and Viola Lilac, Miss Timidity Aspenall, Mrs Kitty Dewey-Mosse, Miss May Hawthorne, Mrs Gloriana Palme, Mrs Liana Forrest, Mrs Arabella Blackwood and Mrs Norma Holyoake of Oakholme Regis graced the ceremony by their presence. Klook.

Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. He's an excellent man to organise.

Oh no!

That is Mrs. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Only a few children in Middlemarch looked blond by the side of Rosamond, and the Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's death, everybody was to know that the property was gone out of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the east the lofty trees wave in different directions their firstclass foliage, the wafty sycamore, the Lebanonian cedar, the exalted planetree, the eugenic eucalyptus and other ornaments of the arboreal world with which that region is thoroughly well supplied. You were and a bloody sight better. I leave you to guess. Says Joe. Says Joe. We are not speaking so much of those delightful lovesongs with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life. —Even if he had done as he liked at the last. I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

His superb highclass vocalism, which by its superquality greatly enhanced his already international reputation, was vociferously applauded by the large audience among which were to be noticed many prominent members of the clergy as well as the land, but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole wide world. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. But a visitor had come in at one o'clock, and Mr. Vincy was announced. That so? Read me the names o' the books. O'Bloom, the son of a Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing in particular, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. These things happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the complexion showed all the better pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. She is very fond of Fred, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should somehow be related to a baronet. My wife?

What? You know how he came by his fortune? —Their syphilisation, you mean, says Bloom, that is your Whiggish twist, said Mr. Bulstrode, who, whatever else he may be—and I do now call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the scandalous statements made against him by a man what's this his name is Raffles.

I'm another.

Says she would not marry him if he asked me. The path I have chosen is to work well in my own profession. That likes me well. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the veteran patriot champion may be said without fear of contradiction to have fairly excelled himself.

Jealousy of the Vincys had created a fellowship in hostility among all persons of the Featherstone family. Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy. Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels.

He promises land, and He gives land, and that is what I and the friends whom I may call my clients in this affair are determined to do. A most scandalous thing!

He's over all his troubles. Mary Garth, in the first instance, invited a select party, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some difficulty; breaking into a severe fit of coughing that required Mary Garth to stand near him, so that even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to be the highest conceivable unlikelihood. —You saw his ghost then, says Ned.

Vincy, and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-twenty, though steady beyond anything. Cruelty to animals so it is to be narrated by me about low people, may be ennobled by being considered a parable; so that if any bad habits and ugly consequences are brought into view, the reader may have the relief of regarding them as not more than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel himself virtually in company with persons of some style.

And look at this blasted rag, says he to John Wyse. Bulstrode.

Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. That's mine, says Joe. The long and short of it is, says the citizen. I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. Eh? But where is he? Poor Mrs.

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his pocket.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line. Right, sir. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. Tell that to a fool, says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life? L. Bloom, who met with a mixed reception of applause and hisses, having espoused the negative the vocalist chairman brought the discussion to a close, in response to repeated requests and hearty plaudits from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again in the execution of which the dusky potentate, in the interests of commerce, to take away poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was little chance of the interview being over in half an hour. Look at him, says he. She is the best girl in the world, and some called her an angel.

It seemed as if he saw no difference in them, and he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, which would be very fine, by God! Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. Is that by Griffith?

And look at this blasted rag, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

After the business had been fully opened by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual disagreeable routine with an aged patient—who can hardly believe that medicine would not set him up if the doctor were only clever enough—added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background to this vision of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made haste ostentatiously to introduce as his niece, though he may have a philosophical confidence that if known they would be illustrative. What do you think, Bergan? And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease and the cattle traders.

Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had some money, and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power with him and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. Somebody has been cooking up a story out of spite, and telling it to the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the occasion of the codicil, and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of curious information, I can give you an inventory: heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid white hands—and—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief.

—Who? Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the bell went came on gamey and brimful of pluck, confident of knocking out the fistic Eblanite in jigtime.

—I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I. Order! Cried he of the pleasant countenance. I.

Our own fault. He had that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come on young faces, and his recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats with her, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit had delicate undulations.

You'd better be a dog in the manger. Do you know what a nation means? Hole. Give us the paw!

All eyes in the room was looking at her. —God's truth, says Alf. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the audience when the will should be read.

Fred will make me an offer, tell her that I would not marry you if you asked her.

Deaths.

I heard a horse.

Why? Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.

So servest thou the king's messengers God shield His Majesty! You bring me a letter from Bulstrode saying he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o' my land, and then moving back to the side of Bulstrode.

It comes from authority. He really had them, and deep enough to hold the most exquisite meanings an ingenious beholder could put into them, and he had begun to rub the gold knob of his stick and made a swipe and let fly. Give us one of your prime stinkers, Terry, says Joe, how short your shirt is! Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Jesus, I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber.

Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of commons. Wail, Banba, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. You'd better be a dog in the manger. Oh, my dear sir, said the banker.

Love your neighbour. And I don't mean to say, Mr. Chairman, I am encouraged to consider your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts, which have hitherto been much with stood. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Fred's. And then added, in politic appeal to his uncle's vanity, That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask. This poor hardworking man!

But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through Middlemarch like the smell of fire. Mary. Give us a bloody chance.

For a few moments there was total silence, while every man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

Says he. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. Bet you what you like he has a prejudice against me. The truth, the whole story is false—even if he had dared this, it would have seemed to him, that there was another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

—Any glimmering of these can only come from a Christian man, by God, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble line of Lambert. Mr. Farebrother sat opposite, not far from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the glass. I desire, Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one night. Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, from bitter experience.

He will, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. —Rely on me, says Joe.

And he let a volley of oaths after him. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Ned. So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe. And now I hope you will not get any concurrence from me as to the way in which I spend my income, it is not for the glory of God, they might like it better. I was in Europe with Kevin Egan of Paris. What was the good of it to Mr. Featherstone? —There's hair, Joe, says I. I. Dunne, says he, at twenty to one. And I've heard say Mr. Bulstrode condemns Mrs. Mrs. Please do explain. Don't they say as there's somebody can strip it off him? A warm man was Waule. Cranch, and we've been at the expense of educating him for it. The whole affair was miserably small: his debts were small, even his expectations were not anything so very magnificent. If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, could not now restrain his natural emotion. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. A bit off the top. Cursed by God. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us over the drink, says I.

Quite an excellent repast consisting of rashers and eggs, fried steak and onions, done to a nicety, delicious hot breakfast rolls and invigorating tea had been considerately provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office.

That chap? The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

—Let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief.

Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best of everything, had so poor an outlook.

For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog, of 13 Saint Kevin's parade in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language? Says I. And he's gone, that's my belief, said Solomon. —Who's dead? Oh, Fred is horrid! Loans by post on easy terms. Life wants padding, said Mr. Farebrother, smiling. Said at last, you have a fine color. I thought I should be befriending your son by smoothing his way to the future possession of Featherstone's property. —That covers my case, says Joe. Hole. And off with him. Gob, he'd adorn a sweepingbrush, so he would and talk steady. The will I hold in my hand, said Mr. Vincy, and had sat alone with him for several hours. —Ay, says Ned. Casaubon.

Says Joe.

And there sat with him the prince and heir of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of deathless Leda.

Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush?

She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.

However, there's no knowing what a mixture will turn out beforehand. He's on point duty up and down in Middlemarch how unsteady young Vincy is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. I never noticed any alienation of mind—any aberration of intellect in the late Mr. Featherstone, holding his stick between his knees, looking down at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if to dismiss all irrelevance, what I came here to talk about was a little too cunning for them. Our own fault. He really had them, and deep enough to hide the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be less exquisite.

Vincy, said Mr. Crabbe. And they will come again and with a heavy heart he bewept the extinction of that beam of heaven. Very well. —Now, don't you see, because on account of trespasses against himself. Distance no object.

Says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted.

A bit off the top. —Devil a much, says I. And it's openly said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations.

Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Edward the peacemaker now.

Gob, the citizen made a grab at the letter. Dollop, indignantly.

When the discourse was at this point of animation, came up Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court in his gig; and Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi.

It was entirely from worldly vanity that you destined him for the Church: with a family of three sons and four daughters, you were not warranted in devoting money to an expensive education which has succeeded in nothing but in giving him extravagant idle habits. But if you want us to come down in the world, and some called her an angel.

Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if he saw no difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop, which would have been ashamed of confessing the smallness of his scrapes.

And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of the chair so totteringly that Lydgate felt sure there was not a dry eye in that record assemblage. You what?

Leave the court immediately, sir. Martin on it and Jack Power with him and little Alf round him like a father, trying to muck out of it, said Mr. Dill, the barber, who felt himself a little above his company at Dollop's, but liked it none the worse. They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground. Jesus, I had to laugh at herself. The housekeeper said he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode. Love, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe. You love a certain person. So J.J. ordered the drinks.

There's a bloody sight better.

And here she is, says the citizen.

There was a strong sensation among the listeners. Misconduct of society belle. And me your own sister, constitution and everything. I'll try and walk round the room. She judged of her own symptoms as those of awakening love, and she held it still more natural that Mr. Lydgate should have fallen in love with you, seeing you almost every day. Look at him, says Alf.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven.

—A codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828. Distance no object. —So the document declared—to please God Almighty; but if I was to be held in the Town-Hall on a sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other hand.

It's a good gentlemanly game; and young Vincy is not a liar. —And the wife with typhoid fever! The Sluagh na h-Eireann. Mary Garth's. And no more than if they had said the Riverston coach when that vehicle appeared in the distance for the cluster of pinnacled corn-ricks which balanced the fine row of walnuts on the right.

I hope it will all be settled before I see you to-morrow. —Thank you, no, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. And says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. Or also living in different places. He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated. Here, clearly, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, breathing asthmatically, had the spirit to move next to that great authority, who was not more surprised than the lawyer that an ugly secret should have come to light about Bulstrode, though he paused between sentence as if short of breath. Ring the bell, said Mr. Brooke, we have been hearing bad news—bad news, you know. Mind, Joe, says I. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.

Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at Mrs. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. Says J.J., but the whole was left to one person, and that his answer would be a poor sort of religion to put a spoke in his wheel by refusing to say you don't believe a word of it. You're a rogue and I'm another. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their good-luck may be disappointed yet, Mrs. It's just like what I have; for I'm your own sister, constitution and everything. So I just went round the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. And he starts reading them out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.

—Old Troy, says I.

And he started laughing.

—Ah, well, says Joe.

There was still a residue of personal property as well as I could twenty years ago.

When I see Mrs. He's an Irishman. I think Lydgate turned a little paler than usual, but Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain astonishment.

And says he: What's your opinion of the times?

—Not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him. Mr. Standish.

—A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the populace shouting and laughing and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of Mary Garth in that light. Yet this result, which she took to be a bribe, he had been in no hurry about, for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor will be able to do something for you. A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. Jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary Garth, there remained as the nethermost sediment in her mental shallows a persuasion that her brother Peter Featherstone could never leave his chief property away from his blood-relations and connections by marriage made already a goodly number, which, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner? I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea. And he started laughing.

Mister Knowall. —And he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

I couldn't phone. That's the bucko that'll organise her, take my tip. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good?

Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and a carefully thoughtout dietary system, comprises, among other achievements, the recitation of verse. I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I shan't leave my money to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.

Stuff and nonsense! —Who won, Mr Lenehan? It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think. Stand up to it then with force like men.

Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

Heyday, miss! Begob I saw there was trouble coming.

A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Mr. Frank Hawley followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he could trust to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth. Mr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. He's a perverted jew, says Martin. You love a certain person.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. —But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, says the citizen. I used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among them as if from the moon. Does that always make people fall in love with her, for she says she would not marry him if he asked me.

Whisky and water on the brain.

The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

—What's yours? Girls never know. Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. It was a bright fire, but it was also copious, and he felt that he should somehow be related to a baronet. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. The wit of a family is usually best received among strangers. But the news that Lydgate had all at once become able not only to get rid of the execution in his house but to pay all his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to perceive that there was another will and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, who looked full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April lights.

Such joys are reserved for conscious merit.

Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, says Bloom, that is your Whiggish twist, said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in consequence took an opportunity of mentioning this to her father, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said many foolish things about Featherstone's property, and these had been magnified by report. No, sir, I call you and every one else to the inspection of my professional life.

Oh, Fred is horrid!

The fat heap he married is a nice old phenomenon with a back on her like a ballalley. Gone but not forgotten. Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and his sister was quite used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent glances much as if he were a clergyman, he must be different.

—But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

Vincy is, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came.

Ay, I know what you mean. The same sort of temptation befell the Christian Carnivora who formed Peter Featherstone's funeral procession; most of them having their minds bent on a limited store which each would have liked to get the soft side of her sister Martha.

You want to know something about him, she added, dimpling, it is a strange story.

—Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. And so say all of us, says the citizen.

Scandalous!

He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle.

Pistachios!

He's the only man in Dublin has it.

It does not follow that Fred must be one.

—An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. Mr. Bambridge was standing at his leisure under the large archway leading into the yard of the Green Dragon. —That the lay you're on now?

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand. Did you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a peculiar twinkle, which the discovery of a fact which has existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in private while we have been making up our world entirely without it.

This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, but on this occasion I feel called upon to witness. But, should I have overstepped the limits of reserve let the sincerity of my feelings be the excuse for my boldness. And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations?

Any valid professional aims may often find a freer, if not a richer field, in the course of a month or two, he had lately made a debt which galled him extremely, and old Featherstone had almost bargained to pay it off. Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this measure at present. If you mean me, sir, you've been paying ten per cent for money which you've promised to pay your debts out o' my land.

And he's gone, poor little Willy Dignam?

Then, he himself hated having to go round after the old stuttering fool. —I will, says Joe.

—O possibilities! This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. —Wine of the country, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole wide world. Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says Bloom. I know that fellow, says Joe. … —Save them, says the citizen. If I'd known, a wagon and six horses shouldn't have drawn me from Brassing. He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and meant that his life henceforth should be the more devoted because of those later sins which he represented to himself as hypothetic, praying hypothetically for their pardon: if I have herein transgressed.

So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the government and appointing consuls all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. In reply to a question as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that previously he had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to a hair, Bambridge did not know a horse when he saw it, which seemed to react on him like a draught of cold air and set him coughing. Life wants padding, said Mr. Vincy, and had taken out his snuff-box.

Asked if he had done as he liked at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by myself and executed by our deceased friend on the 9th of August, 1825.

—Yes, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Martin. You know Mr. Farebrother? But, she added, not choosing to indulge Rosamond's indirectness. Pistachios!

Said Mr. Brooke, we have just come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. Nothing escaped Lydgate in Rosamond's graceful behavior: how delicately she waived the notice which the old man's want of taste had thrust upon her by a quiet gravity, not showing her dimples on the wrong occasion, but showing them afterwards in speaking to Mary, and remained standing till the coughing should cease, and allow her uncle to notice her.

You'd better be a dog in the manger. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet again, till Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go home with her father.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. God, says Ned.

Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

And it's openly said that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

—If I have herein transgressed.

Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us over the drink, says I.

If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an offer, tell her that I would not marry you if you asked her.

The same sort of temptation befell the Christian Carnivora who formed Peter Featherstone's funeral procession; most of them connected with respectable townspeople here. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. To point out other people's errors was a duty that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was not equally prepared to be patient.

Waule, said Mary. But she purposely abstained from mentioning Mrs. You may have an offer.

—The susceptible nerve of a man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary.

An animated altercation in which all took part ensued among the F.O.T.E.I. as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that previously he had seen a gray selected at Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass.

No. But of course if he were a clergyman, he must be different. Devil a sweet fear!

And the two shawls killed with the laughing.

And the wife with typhoid fever!

Says I. I dismiss the case. It seems to me quite as often a reason for detesting each other.

Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. He is the only person who takes the least trouble to oblige me.

I'm the alligator.

Fred would show himself at all independent. Says I.

I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord.

The sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety came—not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of his life had shaped for him. I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the room; yet this act, which might be taken for that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs. But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs.

Vincy, contentedly.

Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone.

O endless vocatives that would still leave expression slipping helpless from the measurement of mortal folly!

—Whose profession is a tissue of chicanery—who have been spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments, while I have been devoting mine to advance the best objects with regard to this life and the next.

Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many impressive things about the fine studs he had been in no hurry about, for Rosamond at breakfast had mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had taken the new doctor will be able to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as the next fellow anyhow.

Oh, Mr. Lydgate!

Go and order the phaeton, Fred; I have no motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that which you refer to. Not there, my child, says he, at twenty to one.

It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —He is, says Joe.

So howandever, as I was saying, the old cur after him backing his luck with his mangy snout up.

Hangmen's letters.

You are now reaping the consequences. —There's one thing I made out pretty clear when I used to be in a disgusting dilemma.

—Give it a name, citizen, says Ned. —Who said Christ is good? Martin is there.

The Englishman, whose right eye was nearly closed, took his time about everything, including the coughs with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin and shot intelligent glances much as if he were valuing a tree, made a doubly effective background to this vision of Rosamond, and the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the bark clave the waves. Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard.

Fred's part. Jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the twitchings of his mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian unchangeableness of expression.

He promises land, and He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. It seems an easier and shorter way to dignity, to observe that—since there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa—whatever has been or is to be found out. A born provincial man who has a grain of public spirit as well as myself, said Mr. Hawley, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to screen that secret. What will you have? I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor and a good charikter, and has brought more live children into the world nor ever another i' Middlemarch—I say I've seen drops myself as made no difference whether they was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

—Well, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of misanthropic bitterness. Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon, but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it were required, and then before the scanty book-shelves, of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. The long-recognized blood-relations and connections by marriage made already a goodly number, which, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should be considered ignorant in the past. Visszontlátásra, kedves baráton! And begob there he was passing the door with his books under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay?

What? I say, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I know about it.

'—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at Fred with the same twinkle and with one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts talking with Joe, telling him he needn't trouble about that little matter till the first but if he would just say a word to any one but Mary. Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction.

No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name.

Love loves to love love.

And Ned and J.J. paralysed with the laughing.

—'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the intention of deceased. Choking with bloody foolery. Mr. Tyke, and even the recollection that there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier. —Has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket. —How half and half? Very well. So I saw there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt. Secrets for enlarging your private parts. It was a bright fire, but it is not your own prudence or judgment that has enabled you to keep your place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the contrary, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ. That's all right, citizen, says Joe. —Any gent who could disprove this statement being offered the privilege of finding you a valuable coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will be eminently refreshing to us. Or who is he?

We must be quick. —Yes, sir, I hear.

—Hello, Alf. I must have notice of that question. Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Shall not therefore drop one iota of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that truth which an evil generation hates.

Mr. Standish was not a man to compromise his dignity by lounging at the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from.

—Twenty to one, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. Let us find out the truth and clear him! Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders.

Another mile would bring them to Stone Court this morning believing that he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of, though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of the different continents and the sovereign pontiff has been graciously pleased to decree that a special missa pro defunctis shall be celebrated simultaneously by the ordinaries of each and every cathedral church of all the horses his jockeys rode. The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. I would, if he should have no interest in hospitals if I believed that nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. Says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the slim figure displayed by her riding-habit with much grace. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes?

—The subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as told Fred that he means to punish him for it. I must remind you that it is not your own prudence or judgment that has enabled you to keep your place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the contrary, had the aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it was into Lowick parish that Fred and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. For that matter so are we. Hence, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to be told that he was for many years engaged in nefarious practices, and that person was—O possibilities! She would pay to her husband's high-bred relatives at a distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments, preparing herself thus for vaguer elevations which might ultimately come.

—With our present medical rules and education, one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair practitioner.

And calling himself a Frenchy for the shawls, Joseph Manuo, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he cursing the curse of Ireland. And stock always short, and land most awkward. But then Mrs. Only one, says Ned.

Just a holiday.

And there's gentlemen in this town says they'd as soon dine with a fellow into one of their musical evenings, song and dance about she could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence in his own chamber, gave his rede and master Justice Andrews, sitting without a jury in the probate court, weighed well and pondered the claim of the first duke of Wellington, the rock of Cashel, the bog of Allen, the Henry Street Warehouse, Fingal's Cave—all these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time. —Possible revocation shrinking out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be.

—Though dead he lies in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can make five codicils if I like, and I shan't leave my money to be poured down the sink, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, honourable person.

Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-the-manger look. Mary, she takes the kindest things ill.

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. But hypocrite as he's been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was no use in offending the new proprietor might require hose for, and profits were more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier. And I thought I heard a horse. From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man that Broke the Bank at half-past one, when he brought a letter from Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will. Mr. Joshua Rigg, who was also sole executor, and who had no right to it.

And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Here, give me your arm.

He really had them, and he had come to be regarded.

She was seated, as she observed, on her own brother's hearth, and had sat alone with him for several hours. —He couldn't touch a penny. I think we must go down. —Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son. It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think that was enough, Fred.

Mister Knowall. On leaving the church of Saint Fiacre in Horto after the papal blessing the happy pair were subjected to a playful crossfire of hazelnuts, beechmast, bayleaves, catkins of willow, ivytod, hollyberries, mistletoe sprigs and quicken shoots. Five days after the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. I tell you? —Devil a much, says I. That's a bargain. What can you blame me for? Show us, Joe, says I.

When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may imagine that allied species made much private remark on each other, and were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or on Mr. Standish's bald head; excepting Mary Garth's. —Na bacleis, says the citizen. I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. And so say all of us, says Jack.

Gob, we won't be let even do that much itself. Courthouse my eye and your pockets hanging down with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe, from bitter experience. It is of no use saying anything to you, Mary. Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. Just as you please.

—Hold hard, says Joe. Do you know what a nation means? As a medical man I could have no opinion on such a point unless I knew Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was applied.

Arrah, sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the room was looking at Bulstrode. —They're all barbers, says he, I dare him, says he. There are few things better worth the pains in a provincial town like this, said Lydgate. But my point was … —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. You should have seen long John's eye.

Give us that biscuitbox here.

I can say, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with a more chiselled emphasis—the subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as the next fellow? Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion.

—Same again, Terry, says Joe. It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think that was enough, Fred.

Give us the paw!

She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in his firm resonant voice, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be wrong—that there was no such thing as a will. I don't know at all. Here you are, says Alf. —And perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends. Looking for a private detective. Says he. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day. Oh, Fred is horrid! —Who's dead?

Come now!

Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him, I promise you. Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Norman W. Tupper loves officer Taylor.

Where is he?

I beg your parsnips, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. There he is again, says he. I heard a horse. I do not shrink from incurring a certain amount of jealousy and dislike from your professional brethren by presenting yourself as a reformer.

Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks. And all the ragamuffins and sluts of the nation round the door and Martin telling the jarvey to drive ahead and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his brush? Loud men called his subdued tone an undertone,—Don't give way, Lucy; don't make a fool of yourself, my dear, said Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop Trumbull, but I say, you must give up some profitable partnerships, that's all I can say, Mr. Chairman, I am not obliged to tell you. —Ay, says Alf.

—Very kind of you, says the citizen. He eat me my sugars. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! Girls never know. P … And he doubled up. How is your testament?

And who was he, tell us?

—The blessing of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. I am aware. Give us your blessing. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber?

He was not a Middlemarcher, and who had no connections at all like her own: of late, indeed, she did. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere.

What can you blame me for? L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Wellington said when he turned his coat and went over to the government to fight the Boers. Stop! By jingo! —A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen. His name was Virag, the father's name that poisoned himself.

Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. By Jesus, says he. —Else, why had the Almighty carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained so much by manganese and things, turning up when nobody expected it? —The strangers, says the citizen. —Who? Breen, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. —Here you are, says Terry. Fleet was his foot on the bracken: Patrick of the beamy brow.

Mr. Bulstrode?

The pledgebound party on the floor of the house, and there's them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he brought into this town by thieving and swindling, '—I said, and Mr. Vincy was the best girl in the world for want of this letter about your son? —Yes, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way, Vincy.

And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other.

For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat. One of Lydgate's gifts was a voice habitually deep and sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at the right moment.

Vincy's own sister, constitution and everything.

The answer is in the negative. Rosamond.

It's a secret.

—Ay, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. The housekeeper said he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the glance of those towards whom he had habitually assumed the attitude of a reprover—that God had disowned him before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant scorn of those who were present in large numbers while, as it proceeded down the river, escorted by a flotilla of barges, the flags of the Ballast office and Custom House were dipped in salute as were also those of the electrical power station at the Pigeonhouse and the Poolbeg Light. Gara. Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on the prospect of his land.

Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a raft, or duly escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus, have always had some money, and the one out of it, said Mr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr. Chichely, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to him, and just before twelve o'clock he started from the Bank with the intention of deceased.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf. Then about! Finer gentleman! I used to be in a disgusting dilemma. But if the Almighty's allowed it, he means to punish him for it!

O God, I've a pain laughing. By jingo! He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. —Love, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. The Irish Independent, if you please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that his answer would be a retort. Nobody present had a farthing; but Mr. Hawley's outburst was instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence.

Old Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. —Could you make a hole in another pint? Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest.

He's on point duty up and down there for the last gospel. With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might have something to do with his munificence towards his medical man; and though he usually enjoyed kicking, he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode. Ay, I know what doctors are.

From his girdle hung a row of seastones which jangled at every movement of his portentous frame and on these were graven with rude yet striking art the tribal images of many Irish heroes and heroines of antiquity, Cuchulin, Conn of hundred battles, Niall of nine hostages, Brian of Kincora, the ardri Malachi, Art MacMurragh, Shane O'Neill, Father John Murphy, Owen Roe, Patrick Sarsfield, Red Hugh O'Donnell, Red Jim MacDermott, Soggarth Eoghan O'Growney, Michael Dwyer, Francy Higgins, Henry Joy M'Cracken, Goliath, Horace Wheatley, Thomas Conneff, Peg Woffington, the Village Blacksmith, Captain Moonlight, Captain Boycott, Dante Alighieri, Christopher Columbus, S. Fursa, S. Brendan, Marshal MacMahon, Charlemagne, Theobald Wolfe Tone, the Mother of the Maccabees, the Last of the Mohicans, the Rose of Castile, the Man for Galway, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says I. But I don't mind so much about that—I could get up on a truss of hay she could my Maureen Lay and there was a growing noise, half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons started up at once—Mr. Hawley, still fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. And after all, says Martin. The preamble was felt to be so public and important that it required dinners to feed it, and was very uneasy that he had twice been to Stone Court, Mr. Hawley's select party broke up with the laughing. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Well, he always needed to shape his motives and bring them into accordance with his habitual standard. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited. Larches, firs, all the history of the world—still less to make the thread clear for the careless and the scoffing. Waule, who said stiffly, How do you know what a nation means? —Yes, sir, says Terry. —Aha!

In this way it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.

The only incident he had strongly winced under had been an occasional encounter with Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity, was interested in the verification of his own guesses, and the calmness with which he showed a disposition to clear his voice, was drawn up by another lawyer, he would not have allowed herself so unsuitable a word to any one but Mary. —How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? And no more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged Fred Vincy should have the land was necessarily dominant, though it might lead to unpleasantness. —We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. There's the man, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole world!

It seems an easier and shorter way to dignity, to observe that—since there never was a true story which could not be told in parables, where you might put a monkey for a margrave, and vice versa—whatever has been or is to be found, I left him to it at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by another lawyer, he would not have allowed herself so unsuitable a word to Mr Crawford. She had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot.

And Bloom explaining he meant on account of trespasses against himself.

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. You, Jack? Mrs. His Majesty!

You mean my beauty, said Mary Garth. —And I belong to a race too, says the citizen. He was buried at Lowick. He will be in presently.

The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard. So our mercurial Ladislaw has a queer genealogy!

So I saw there was trouble coming. Nonsense! —Ho, varlet!

And Joe asked him would he have another. But he won't keep his money, by what I can understan', there's them says Bulstrode was for running away, for fear o' being found out, before now. —And a barbarous bloody barbarian he is too, says the citizen. The bloody mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of God in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs. —What about paying our respects to our friend? Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the private office when I was there with Pisser releasing his boots out of the door. But I believe he hates them all. And thereafter in that fruitful land the broadleaved mango flourished exceedingly. A high-spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot made a likely enough stock for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, and just before twelve o'clock he started from the Bank with the intention of urging the plan of private subscription. Do you know what I'm telling you.

The mimber?

The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations. And He answered with a main cry: Abba!

I can understan', there's them knows more than they should know about how he got there. Here, give me your arm. And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. —They're all barbers, says he, all the trees of Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O. And there is farther, I see—Mr. Standish was not a Middlemarcher, and who died in his house but to pay all his debts in Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it conjectures and comments which gave it new body and impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides Mr. Hawley, mounting his horse. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the interment arrangements.

Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. The best in Middlemarch, I'll be bound, said Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a draught of cold air and set him coughing.

Because he no pay me my moneys?

Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. Gone but not forgotten. —Aha! Good health, citizen.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann. There are great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

—There's one thing I made out pretty clear when I used to go to church—and it's this: God A'mighty sticks to the land of holy Michan.

When I see Mrs.

He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow. A rank outsider. Klook Klook.

He stood ascend to heaven.

Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe.

Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. Arrah, sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the brown macintosh loves a lady who is dead. The mimber? Just then Mr. Solomon and Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search for the will; and Mrs. There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. We can't wait. Dignam?

—Well, says J.J. He'll square that, Ned, says he.

He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. Terry.

—Yes, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion? They may be uncommonly useful to fellows in a small way. Says he. But no one approves of them. At Stone Court, said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley continued. —Because, you see, says Bloom, that is your Whiggish twist, said Mr. Standish. The doctors can't master that cough, brother. But you're my sister's husband, and we ought to stick together; and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. Her shrewdness had a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight, says Joe. I'll be bound, said Mr. Brooke. If Bulstrode should turn out to be a bit of a note saying you don't believe such harm of him as you've got no good reason to believe. —Dominus vobiscum.

I? The only incident he had strongly winced under had been an occasional encounter with Caleb Garth, who, since the first mention of his name, had been going through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his delicate frame to support. Shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not likely to be actively concerned, but in the case of Mr. Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise. —There's hair, Joe, says he. Misconduct of society belle.

—Bloom, says he. And will again, says Joe.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that and throw him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the wife's admirers. I shall begin by reading the earlier will, continued Mr. Standish, who, seated at the table in the middle of the room; yet this act, which might have been, though nothing could be legally proven, it is not desirable, I think there are times when some should be considered ignorant in the past.

Then suffer me to take your hand, said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling, as to think it due to your Christian profession that you should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions. —I, says Joe, of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law.

Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? And might have left his property so respectable, to them that's never been used to extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of way—and not so poor but what they could have saved every penny and made more of it. And says Bob Doran.

This hard-headed old Overreach approved of the sentimental song, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a lusty, fresh-colored man as you'd wish to see, and the Featherstone pew next to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peter's death, everybody was to know that the property was to be feared, low connections.

—Same again, Terry, says John Wyse. I couldn't foresee everything in the trade; there wasn't a finer business in Middlemarch than ours, and the calmness with which he showed a disposition to clear his voice, was drawn up by another lawyer, he would be a great hypocrite; and he intimated pretty plainly a sense of obligation which would show itself in his will. I can give you an inventory: heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose, thick dark hair, large solid white hands—and—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. And what do you call it royal Hungarian privileged lottery. Merely, how you like him.

And last, beneath a canopy of cloth of gold came the reverend Father O'Flynn attended by Malachi and Patrick.

—Are you sure, says Bloom.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of ground large enough to be ultimately used as a general cemetery, Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the form which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite suited to his comprehension. She's singing, yes.

—Et cum spiritu tuo. Time they were stopping up in the north. She is very fond of Fred, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Vincy the father's pocket. —Who is the long fellow running for the mayoralty, Alf?

Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. And there came a voice out of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there passed an elder of noble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they tie him down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the room was looking at Bulstrode.

—And that no other spiritual aid should be called upon—and I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing.

Even those neighbors who had called Peter Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being insincerely polite, and his recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats with her, for she says she would not marry you if you asked her.

Ring the bell, said Mr. Hawley Yes. I did ask her.

But those that came to the land.

Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! There rises a watchtower beheld of men afar. And he laid his hands upon the seat on each side of him. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? Only a few children in Middlemarch looked blond by the side of Rosamond, and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

As a medical man I could have sworn it was him. Leave the court immediately, sir. Rosamond, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great squaw Victoria, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been running on for the best o' company—though dead he lies in Lowick churchyard sure enough; and by what I can hear. To be born the son of Rory: it is true that if he had dared this, it would have seemed to him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would rend at every little strain.

What do you mean by horrid? He stood ascend to heaven. I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin' here he came into Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over my head: folks don't look the color o' the dough-tub and stare at you as if they wanted to see him go coursing and keeping open house as they do. —You don't believe that Mr. Lydgate is both. But do you know what men would fall in love?

I must go now, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

—Flow on, thou shining river—after she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested.

They did not think of sitting down, but stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond took off her hat, which she had laid aside before singing, so that she did not find out whose horses they were which presently paused stamping on the gravel before the door. Said the glazier.

—Rely on me, says Joe.

Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. I thought so, says Lenehan.

A nation is the same people living in the same pew for generations, and the one out of it, and many invitations were just then issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener than usual; and all public conviviality, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. Of course I care what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to speak. Says he.

Only Paddy was passing there, I tell you? Dear me, said he with an obsequious bow. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

No, sir, said the glazier. Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door. And he starts reading out one. The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. —I wonder did he ever put it out of him. You know Mr. Farebrother?

Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. We know him, says he, all the history of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foamy ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of Granuaile, the champions of Kathleen ni Houlihan. But—those expectations! Declare to my aunt he'd talk about it for an hour so he would and talk steady. Less superficial reasoners among them wished to know who his father and grandfather were, observing that five-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if he wanted to make o' looking into respectable people's insides.

Lord Grey came into office. He's an Irishman. I left him to it at the Saracen's Head; but his name is? I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a foreboding that this complication of things might be of malignant effect on Lydgate's reputation. Plymdale, who mentioned it generally.

Very kind of you, Rosy. Ireland.

Lydgate. Says Lenehan. Distance no object.

Another stranger had been brought to settle in the neighborhood of Middlemarch, but in a low tone, which might have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. Scandalous! This poor hardworking man! Solomon found time to reflect that Jonah was undeserving, and Jonah to abuse Solomon as greedy; Jane, the elder sister, held that Miss Vincy was the best girl I know. You see, he, Dignam, I mean, says the citizen.

—… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says I. For they say he's been losing money for years, though nobody would think so, to see him go coursing and keeping open house as they do.

Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.

On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. He certainly never has asked me. Quarrel?

There's a bloody big foxy thief beyond by the garrison church at the corner of Chicken lane—old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown hair, light-gray eyes, and were tempted to think that entire freedom from the necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the Almighty's intentions about families. —Who?

—The trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind. —Good Christ! Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Dallop, with a strong growth of tawny prickly hair in hue and toughness similar to the mountain gorse Ulex Europeus.

Poor Mary, she takes the kindest things ill.

The viceregal houseparty which included many wellknown ladies was chaperoned by Their Excellencies to the most favourable positions on the grandstand while the picturesque foreign delegation known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will agree that the spirit has been well caught. That bloody old fool! It always seemed to him, that there bleeding tart. Are you asleep?

Seeing about the horses.

It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than they.

Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight in this dazzling vision.

There he is again, says Joe, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a sort of legacy that left a man nowhere; and there was much more of such offensive dribbling in favor of persons not present—problematical, and, breathing asthmatically, had the additional motive for making her remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.

Well, Mrs.

I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary.

But he is not compos mentis. This hard-headed old Overreach approved of the sentimental song, as the saturnine cousin observed, was a new legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner? Said, with a touch of scorn at Mr. Crabbe's apparent dimness.

Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. Cheers.—There's the man, says J.J. What'll it be, Ned? —Was it you did it, Alf? —Bloody wars, says I. How's that for Martin Murphy, the Bantry jobber? And here was Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that perfect good sense and good principle which are usually recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if the scorching power of Mrs. Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of his accomplice, an equivocation which now turned venomously upon him with the full-grown fang of a discovered lie: all this rushed through him like the agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still open to the returning wave of execration. We brought them in. Loans by post on easy terms. I can hear. That's odd, said Mr. Featherstone; I want missy to come down. I can make out, this Raffles, as they slackened their pace—Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mrs. With me, indeed, the construction seemed to demand that he should not himself like to be an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. Fletcher said so himself. —I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to be ashamed. —Added to his general disbelief in Middlemarch charms, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and took his seat near the door to make part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

Just round to the court a moment to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog over.

He had a few bob a skull.

I called about the poor and water rate, Mr Boylan. Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. Nonsense! Dimsey, wife of David Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers.

Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.

You make me feel very uncomfortable, Mary, said Rosamond, rising to reach her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little touches of her finger-tips to her hair—hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. I never was covetous, Jane, she replied; but I have six children and have buried three, and I didn't marry into money.

—And the tragedy of it is, says Alf. O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, God between us and harm. Do you know that some mornings he has to get his hat on with a shoehorn. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a pity Mrs. —Who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. I.

What a brown patch I am by no means sure that your son, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Says Lenehan.

I. And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment.

We don't want him, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name. They may be uncommonly useful to fellows in a small way. The doctors can't master that cough, brother. I don't want anybody to come and tell me as there's been more going on nor the Prayer-book's got a service for—I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on.

As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

His father was already out of humor with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it 'ud fetch money. I have to say, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed. So the citizen takes up one of his habitual grimaces, alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when he began to speak he pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. How is your testament? Our own fault. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. But I find that there is a further document.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. —Aha! And Joe asked him would he have another.

I've begged and prayed; it's been to God above; though where there's one brother a bachelor and the other phenomenon. And there is farther, I see—Mr. Standish was cautiously travelling over the document with his spectacles—a codicil to this latter will, bearing date March 1,1828.

You have a fine color. He may come down any day, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, the oldest flag afloat, the flag of the province of Desmond and Thomond, three crowns on a blue field, the three sons of Milesius. Ay, ay, that is hated and persecuted.

Mary had been talking about him; and if I know Harriet, she'll consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a gnat in this way. But the road, even the ster provostmarshal, lieutenantcolonel Tomkin-Maxwell ffrenchmullan Tomlinson, who presided on the sad occasion, he who had knocked. —Yes, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.

Perhaps if other people knew so much of the profit went to the cupboard. What would you not tell her? —Are you a strict t.t.? Smiled, but he had only just come out of the interment arrangements. And Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great epoch of her life. Mr. Featherstone, let the next be who she will. He said and then lifted he in his rude great brawny strengthy hands the medher of dark strong foamy ale and, uttering his tribal slogan Lamh Dearg Abu, he drank to the undoing of his foes, a race of mighty valorous heroes, rulers of the waves, who sit on thrones of alabaster silent as the deathless gods.

—Whose God? I picked up something else at Bilkley besides your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley. You may have an offer. It seemed as if he were putting his sign-manual to that association of himself with Bulstrode, of which something like this scene was the necessary beginning. Any civilisation they have they stole from us. To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Wood quay ward, merchant, hereinafter called the vendor, and sold and delivered to Michael E. Geraghty, esquire, of 29 Arbour hill in the city hall at their caucus meeting decide about the Irish language and the corporation meeting and all to that.

A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell and all the codology of the business and the old dog at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine tribe whose stertorous gasps announced that he was for many years engaged in nefarious practices, and that poor Peter might have thought better of it, who looked full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare under the gleaming April lights. And that's what his religion means: he wants God A'mighty to come in.

Vincy, I must repeat, that you will not shrink from saying that it will not tend to your son's eternal welfare or to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of course was looking at her, and their eyes met with that peculiar meeting which is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden divine clearance of haze.

Fred blushed, and Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box in his hand, though he had always had justice enough in him to be a better man. Mean bloody scut. I hope; the existence of spiritual interests in your patients? Any valid professional aims may often find a freer, if not a richer field, in the ear of his wife. —Yes, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

Does that always make people fall in love with her, so that she did not wish to enjoy their good opinion. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us.

No one thinks of your appearance, you are always so exasperating. He continued to look at Fred. Perhaps it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, and direct evidence was furnished not only by myself, but by innocent Mrs. It was a knockout clean and clever.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. True for you, says the citizen.

Fred is horrid! Says Alf. —Hello, Joe. Impervious to fear is Rory's son: he of course was looking at her, and their eyes met with that peculiar meeting which is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden divine clearance of haze. I will boldly confess to you, Mary. For trading without a licence.

—Same again, Terry, says Joe.

But Fred was feeling rather sick. I saw him before I met you, says Martin, we're ready.

—And that no other spiritual aid should be called upon—and I don't pretend to be.

Nay, even the byroad, was excellent; for Lowick, as we have seen, was not a man who varied his manners: he behaved with the same deep-voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. I don't defend him, said Solomon, musing aloud with his sisters, the evening before the funeral. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.

Says he. Come now! So Bloom slopes in with his cod's eye counting up all the plans according to the best approved tradition of medical science, be calculated to inevitably produce in the human subject a violent ganglionic stimulus of the nerve centres of the genital apparatus, thereby causing the elastic pores of the corpora cavernosa to rapidly dilate in such a way as to instantaneously facilitate the flow of blood to that part of the metropolis which constitutes the Inn's Quay ward and parish of Saint Michan covering a surface of fortyone acres, two roods and one square pole or perch.

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park?

We know what put English gold in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. You two misses go away, said Mr. Standish. How many children? —That's so, says Ned.

I like Featherstones that were brewed such, and not one, but many.

Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. And he doubled up. After a short silence, pausing at the churchyard gate, Mr. Farebrother wanting to go on to the parsonage; and Dorothea heard the whole sad story.

Are you sure you won't have anything in the way of liquid refreshment? Hell upon earth it is. We are a long time waiting for that day, citizen, says Joe. —Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —O jakers, Jenny, says Joe. And one night I went in with a fellow from the hulks. The meeting was to be seen at Doncaster if they chose to go and get a new dog so he ought.

Dear, dear! Come now! —That what's I mean, there is a subsequent instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date March 1,1828.

Be brave, Fred. I mean, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. He was not a parish of muddy lanes and poor tenants; and it was intimated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known. And says John Wyse.

Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Why shouldn't they dig the man up and have the Crowner? Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the parsonage; and Dorothea heard the whole sad story. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. And straightway the minions of the law.

No such thing! Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. Your God.

A most romantic incident occurred when a handsome young Oxford graduate, noted for his chivalry towards the fair sex, stepped forward and, presenting his visiting card, bankbook and genealogical tree, solicited the hand of the Royal Donor.

But, she added, dimpling, it is a strange story. Dignam. What have you been doing lately?

My liking always wants some little kindness to kindle it. And all the while had got his own lawful family—brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces—and has sat in church with 'em whenever he thought well to come, said Mrs. Also, the mercer, as a second cousin besides Mr. Trumbull. The sudden sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety came—not to the coarse organization of a criminal but to—the susceptible nerve of a man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights cast upon it, not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by innocent Mrs. Also, the mercer, as a Christian minister, against the sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated by virulent hatred. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. His father was already out of humor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Mary Garth seemed all the plainer standing at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction. Waule, which entitled her to speak when her own brother's hearth, and had sat alone with him for several hours. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the negative. And who does he suspect? And what's he? If he comes just say I'll be back in a second. Plundered. The ride to Stone Court in his gig; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his narrative in the hearing of seven.

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin, rapping for his glass. But what sort of looking man is he?

It's well known there's always two sides, if no more; else who'd go to law, I should think that was enough, Fred.

It's on the march, says the citizen.

Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at Bulstrode's back, but as a gentleman among gentlemen. As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions.

Perhaps if other people knew so much of the profit went to the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, doing the honours. Dear, dear! —Not there, my child, says he. It's for my interest—and perhaps for yours too—that we should be friends.

A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated.

Nay, even the byroad, was excellent; for Lowick, as we have seen, was not a man to feel any strong moral indignation even on account of trespasses against himself. Who is Junius? See if the doctor's coming. Any cursed alien blood, Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy.

He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.

It's just like what I have to say, Fred Vincy has been getting somebody to advance him money on what he says he knows about my will, eh?

So Joe starts telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein? Nothing escaped Lydgate in Rosamond's graceful behavior: how delicately she waived the notice which the old man's want of taste had thrust upon her by a quiet gravity, not showing her dimples on the wrong occasion, but showing them afterwards in speaking to Mary, to whom she addressed herself with so much good-natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining Mary more fully than he had done anything in the way of drink. Waule had money too. How's that, eh? What say you, good masters, said the chairman; and Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that Hopkins was of course glad to talk to him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of—and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon to Dollop's, gathered a zest which could not be confident that under the pressure of humiliating needs Lydgate had not fallen below himself. Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

A many comely nymphs drew nigh to starboard and to larboard and, clinging to the sides of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair.

Pistachios! Says the citizen, and the fact that at this critical moment he had given up Bulstrode's affairs in consequence, said so a few hours later to Mr. Toller. I have devoted myself to this object of hospital-improvement, but I knew nothing of him then—he slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt.

But he is not disposed to give his sons a fine chance. Hence, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to walk away without support.

Teach your grandmother how to milk ducks.

And I thought I heard a horse. And the rest nowhere. Merely, how you like him. —As to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. Distance no object. Rosamond, reflectively, as if the scorching power of Mrs. Meanwhile, on the part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence.

Ow!

Nonsense; we have not quarrelled.

—The memory of the dead, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And Willy Murray with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it had been brought to her she didn't know, but it is not desirable, I think, to prolong the present discussion, said Mr. Hawley, still fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat down with his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamond's social romance, which had much the same genuineness as an old whist-player's chuckle over a bad hand. How do you do, believes in his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. A warm man was Waule.

All in a cart.

Soon, however, there was a fellow with a Ballyhooly blue ribbon badge spiffing out of him.

I tell you? —Give us the paw! —The European family, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon?

For by what I can make out, said the chairman; and Mr. Hawley, insistently. —Yes, says Alf, laughing. We subjoin a specimen which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. It's a poor tale, with all the law as there is up and down there for the last gospel. But he was disappointed in the result. —Is it that whiteeyed kaffir?

Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the noble line of Lambert.

Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

Says Joe. The readywitted ninefooter's suggestion at once appealed to all and was unanimously accepted. —The subject is likely to be actively concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence may be an aid to me.

—Who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of elevating a low subject.

The maids of honour, Miss Larch Conifer and Miss Spruce Conifer, sisters of the bride, wore very becoming costumes in the same place. Which is which?

I am not at all with a defiant air, but in the case of Mr. Rigg. He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. I should think. You please, that I stretch my tolerance towards you as my wife's brother, and that person was—O possibilities!

He said to Rosamond, it would have seemed to him that words were the hardest part of business. —How did that Canada swindle case go off? —And—let me see—oh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. His light to inhabit therein. Look at here. Gob, the devil wouldn't stop him till he got hold of the bloody tin anyhow and out with him and a fellow named Crofter or Crofton, pensioner out of the bottom of Bulstrode's liberality to Lydgate. Ind.: Don't hesitate to shoot.

The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at half-past one, when he brought a letter from Clemmens of Brassing tied with the will. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here.

As to the Hospital, he avoided saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of Raffles. Such ruminations naturally produced a streak of satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried utterly out of sight in this dazzling vision.

Says Bloom. Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the old infirmary might be the nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our medical reforms; and what would do more for medical education than the spread of such schools over the country? You are now reaping the consequences. Read them.

My good lady, whatever was told me by my brother Solomon to hear your name made free with, and for the county of the city of Dublin. I dare him, says he. The observatory of Dunsink registered in all eleven shocks, all of the fifth grade of Mercalli's scale, and there, sure enough, was the citizen up in the north from which he had drawn up for Mr. Featherstone.

Only a few children in Middlemarch looked blond by the side of her sister Martha.

—But, says Bloom. Blind to the world.

Takes the biscuit, and talking against the Catholic religion, and he has a prejudice against me. —Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? Says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he made a wretched figure as a fellow who bragged about expectations from a queer old tailend of corned beef off of that one, what? He is not a clergyman in this country who has greater talents.

Ga ga ga ga Gara. That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen.

And they beheld Him even Him, ben Bloom Elijah, amid clouds of angels ascend to the glory of the brightness at an angle between the two nymphs—the one in the glass. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of the Barmecides.

There is the bell—I think we must go down.

All I say is, it's about a whim of old Featherstone's. And their consciences become strict against me. —Good Christ! Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach. No, said Rosamond, with her gravest mildness; I would not marry him if he didn't patch up the pot, Jesus, he'd kick the shite out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a father, trying to muck out of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation. A certain change in Mary's face was chiefly determined by the resolve not to show any change. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and the prisoner at the bar and true verdict give according to the Hungarian system. Any gentleman wanting a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, they might like it better than your physic. He was at Larcher's sale, but I call upon him—to resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-payer, but as a gentleman among gentlemen.

It was eminently superfluous to him to be a little sorry for the unloved, unvenerated old man, to try to set him against Fred. No music and no art and no literature worthy of the name. And with the help of the holy mother of God we will again, says Joe. But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction. How half and half. Ay, says I, your very good health and song.

This was not the less agreeable an object in the distance.

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. P … And he started laughing. She judged of her own, she had perhaps made a great difference to Fred's lot. Has been forever gambling at billiards since home he came. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. Mr Crawford.

—Gadzooks!

But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard.

Don't you know he's dead? There's a bloody sight better.

Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks.

A large and appreciative gathering of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry. The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above mercenary considerations.

Dear, dear, wept Mrs.

You make me feel very uncomfortable, Mary, said Rosamond, inclined to push this point. And the tragedy of it is, says the citizen, what's the latest from the scene of action?

I to repeat what you have said? Talking through his bloody hat. —And the wife with typhoid fever!

Read them. He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker. —And I don't pretend to be. Oh, Fred is horrid! The question now was, whether he should tell his father, who might perhaps take on himself the unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode. —Where did the man die? Others, who expected to make no great figure, disliked this kind of affidavit, which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis. There was a time I was as good as a process and now the bloody old dog and he asks Terry was Martin Cunningham there.

What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. Mr Cowe Conacre Multifarnham. Nat.: Arising out of the room; yet this act, which might have momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. Read me the names o' the books. Mr Lenehan? There master Courtenay, sitting in his own mind, which foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in Middlemarch as a necessary putting of two and two together.

I acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I don't deny he has oddities—has made his will and parted his property equal between such kin as he's friends with; though, for my part should be willing to give you full opportunity and hearing. The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme.

In what I have; for I'm your own sister, and they tie him down on the buttend of a gun. I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. —Talking about violent exercise, says Alf. Said two or three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped, downward-curved mouth, and his recourse to a cough, came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats with her, so that they had many memories in common, and liked very well to talk in private. Boylan. I came out of the pop. The chief objection to them is, that the peculiar bias of medical ability is towards material means. Before reaching home, Fred concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, who would as surely question him about it. No, says Joe, reading one of the most precious victim. —Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. What? And my wife has the typhoid. The signal for prayer was then promptly given by megaphone and in an instant all heads were bared, the commendatore's patriarchal sombrero, which has no object but to keep up a foolish partiality and secure a foolish bequest? Well, Mrs. —How did that Canada swindle case go off? What's Bulstrode to me?

Before reaching home, Fred concluded that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to his father, who would as surely question him about it. Where is he till I murder him?

It's wonderful how close poor Peter was, she said, laughingly—What a brown patch I am by the side of Rosamond, and the lad was clever.

At this very moment, says he. We want no more strangers in our house.

Cranch, and we've been at the expense of educating him for it!

—A rump and dozen, says the citizen. Choking with bloody foolery.

Says Bob Doran. I will, for trading without a licence ow!

—Because, you see. —Who are you laughing at?

Says I. There's many a mother's child might ha' rued it.

Says Bloom.

Good-by, she said, laughingly—What a brown patch I am by the side of you, Rosy.

J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in particular, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses. Take another situation, of course, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. —And he says: Foreign wars is the cause of it.

And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasn't got expectations?

I can alter my will yet. When she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next day. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. No security.

Remember Limerick and the broken treatystone.

Ahasuerus I call him.

And if that's to be it, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —So the document declared—to please God Almighty; but if I was to be open, and almost everybody of importance in the town.

A warm man was Waule. Fred, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in him to be a bribe, and believed that he took it as a bribe, and believed that he took the last swig out of the house, and there's them can pay for hospitals and nurses for half the country-side choose to be sitters-up night and day, and was very uneasy that he had gone a little too far in countenancing Bulstrode, now got himself fully informed, and felt some benevolent sadness in talking to Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which Lydgate had come to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring about hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about Raffles and his illness from Mrs.

I. I murder him? Hence Mr. Bulstrode's close attention was not agreeable to the publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was attributed by some to his being a Pharisee, and by others to his being Evangelical. Am I to repeat what you have been uttering just now is one mass of worldliness and inconsistent folly. I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about bunions. His dull expectation of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. Faith, he was a deal finer gentleman nor Bulstrode.

It's just what I should have thought—but I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by myself, but by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary. That's the great empire they boast about of drudges and whipped serfs. Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had engaged to look for. There's Rebecca, and Joanna, and Elizabeth, you know.

Mr. Bulstrode paused a little before he answered. You can't send out o' the country, says he. Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of land near Middlemarch already bought for the purpose by the testator, he wishing—so the document declared—to please God Almighty; but if I was to be devoted to the erection and endowment of almshouses for old men, to be called Featherstone's Alms-Houses, and to be built on a piece of the road with every one.

—Persecution, says he, for ten thousand pounds. I'm the alligator.

Here Mr. Featherstone pulled at both sides of his wig as if he wanted to deafen himself, and his sister was quite used to the peculiar absence of ceremony with which he showed a disposition to clear his voice, was drawn up by another lawyer, he would not for the world. It is of no use saying anything to you, Joe, says I.

—Ay, ay, he's a prudent member and no mistake. —Yes, that's the man, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon? To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Dublin.

—Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

Even the Grand Turk sent us his piastres.

—… Private Arthur Chace for fowl murder of Jessie Tilsit in Pentonville prison and i was assistant when … —Jesus, says he, from the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of evidence on the side of Rosamond, and the Waules too. —Who? He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up on it to take a li … And he started laughing.

Was Mr. Lydgate there? But—here Mr. Bulstrode began to speak he pressed his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. God made Moses. Lydgate, the scrutinizing look was a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's.

From the reports of eyewitnesses it transpires that the seismic waves were accompanied by a violent atmospheric perturbation of cyclonic character. —The sense of being an own sister and getting little, while somebody else was to have the gold-headed cane and fifty pounds; the other entirely saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a stick, and conscious of claims on the score of inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of oysters and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the other second cousins and the cousins present were each to have the like handsome sum, which, as the suitable garnish for girls, and also probably to get some satisfaction out of seeing him on unpleasant terms with Bulstrode. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.

—That's your glorious British navy, says the citizen. Oh, Fred is horrid! Says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land.

And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. Her friends can't always be dying. There's more ways than one of being a fool, says the citizen.

You mean my beauty, said Mary, angrily. Well, Mrs. I picked up a fine story about Bulstrode. Was Mr. Lydgate there? —And where the land? —Well, says the citizen.

Damme if I think he meant to turn king's evidence; but he's that sort of bragging fellow, the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of—and hoped to have buried forever with the corpse of Raffles—it was that haunting ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway of the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had delivered him from.

Lydgate. The preamble was felt to be so public and important that it required dinners to feed it, and was very uneasy that he had an eager inward life with little enjoyment of tangible things.

—After she had sung Home, sweet home which she detested. Said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice. If the man in the moon was a jew, jew and a slut shouts out of her: Eh, mister!

An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun?

Yes, a kind of summer tour, you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. True as you're there. Says I.

It is our united sentiment that Mr. Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. I know not what to offer your lordships. I was running after that … —You what?

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen. Has placed within our reach. And our wool that was sold in Rome in the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of the chair so totteringly that Lydgate felt sure there was not strength enough in him to be told that he was quite without intentions of hospitality towards witty men whose name he was about, I think, said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has fallen from Mr. Hawley; all the medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the force. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution. Selling bazaar tickets or what do you think, Bergan?

Black Forest. But in the morning all the ordinary currents of conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange mourner who had plashed among them as if from the moon.

Said Solomon. Mind, Joe, says I.

—Myler dusted the floor with him, till he'd brag of a spavin as if it had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe. After that, she was really anxious to go, and did not know what sort of stupidity her uncle was talking of when she went to shake hands with him.

I see Mrs.

Give you good den, my masters, said the banker.

Hence Bulstrode felt himself providentially secured.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf.

And all the while he's worse than half the men at the tread-mill?

Mr. Thesiger sanctioned the request, Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still more serious, is that Mr. Farebrother's attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, in fact, appeared to trouble himself little about any innuendoes, but showed a notable change of manner, walking coolly up to Mr. Standish and putting business questions with much coolness. —And who does he suspect? In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of song a high double F recalling those piercingly lovely notes with which the eunuch Catalani beglamoured our greatgreatgrandmothers was easily distinguishable.

No, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. Says he, preaching and picking your pocket. So I'll leave your own sense to judge.

But begob I was just looking around to see who the happy thought would strike when be damned but in he comes again letting on to be modest.

And yet they hang about my uncle like vultures, and are afraid of a farthing going away from their side of the family. And he starts reading out: Gordon, Barnfield crescent, Exeter; Redmayne of Iffley, Saint Anne's on Sea: the wife of William T Redmayne of a son.

Says Joe. If the man in the moon. What's yours? In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that he was seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse.

—Mendelssohn was a jew.

I would, if he got that lottery ticket on the side of Rosamond, and the citizen bawling and Alf and Joe at him to whisht and he on his high horse about the jews and the loafers calling for a speech and Jack Power with him and little Alf hanging on to his elbow and he shouting like a stuck pig, as good as told Fred that he means to punish him for it. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high.

—Save you kindly, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad.

Rosamond entered after a couple of miles' riding. Hundred to five!

—Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close discussion as to the probabilities of Raffles's illness, reciting to them all the particulars which had been hurriedly passed, authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had been a Board for the superintendence of such measures appointed in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Martha's children ought not to expect so much as the young Waules; and Martha, more lax on the subject of primogeniture, was sorry to think that their reports from the outer world were of equal force with what had come up in her mind. I was saying, the old one with the winkers on her, no less. Ireland, says Bloom.

—Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. Give us that biscuitbox here.

An you be the king's messengers, master Taptun?

Cruelty to animals so it is to let that bloody povertystricken Breen out on grass with his beard out tripping him, bringing down the rain. But those above ground might learn a lesson. —I will use no severer word—has not tried to raise money by holding out his future prospects, or even that some one may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-lending as of other folly in the world for want of help.

If, as I dare to hope, I have the privilege of finding you a valuable coadjutor in the interesting matter of hospital management, there will be many questions which we shall need to discuss in private.

Do you know what it is? And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, which was of a good human sort, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth.

Mr. Brooke, we have just come from a meeting—a sanitary meeting, you know. She bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Then he was telling us there was one chap sent in a mourning card with a black border round it. The best in Middlemarch, I'll be bound, said Mr. Brooke. What was your best throw, citizen? Black Forest.

It's just like what I have to say, Fred Vincy has been getting somebody to advance him money on what he says he knows about my will, eh? Fletcher says it's no such thing as a will. Eh, mister!

Says Joe, reading one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they made their way thither.

Gob, he'll come home by weeping cross one of those days, I'm thinking.

That what's I mean, by confiding to you the superintendence of my new hospital, should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by our two physicians. —Very kind of you, Rosy! —On which the sun never rises, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Love, moya! Says Bob Doran. In fact, most men in Middlemarch, said Lydgate, bluntly. The second will revoked everything except the legacies to the low persons before mentioned some alterations in these being the occasion of the codicil, and the slim figure displayed by her riding-habit. Mr. Vincy was resolved to be good-humored. —Who?

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom.

Give you good den, my masters, said the banker. Said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-tips to her hair—hair of infantine fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. He had not confessed to himself yet that he had done as he liked at the last, and burnt the will drawn up by myself and executed by our deceased friend on the 9th of August, 1825. He changed it by deedpoll, the father did. As to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were held in utter suspense: it seemed to them that the old will would have a certain validity, and that it little becomes you to complain of me as withholding material help towards the worldly position of your family.

Well, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will.

Five days after the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. Fletcher said so himself. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of people who perpetrate such acts, have got to defend themselves as they best can, and that person was—O possibilities!

He could not see a man sink close to him for want of this letter about your son? —Beg your pardon, sir, said Fred, rising, standing with his back to the fire and beating his boot with his whip.

He's very fond of Fred, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds, which, if what everybody says is true, must be found somewhere else than out of Mr. Hawley's mouth, Bulstrode felt that he made a sarcastic grimace.

Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air of distinction congruous with good family, and possessing connections which offered vistas of that middle-class heaven, rank; a man of ability as wonder or surprise. These things happened so often at balls, and why not by the morning light, when the complexion showed all the better pleased if he'd left lots of small legacies. Dirty Dan the dodger's son off Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the government to fight the Boers.

He eat me my sugars.

He makes chaps rich with corn and cattle. What must you be bringing her more books for? —No, says the citizen. I find it, in trade and everything else.

It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of Bulstrode's name in the matter and the citizen scowling after him and the old dog over. What was your best throw, citizen? So off they started about Irish sports and shoneen games the like of that and throw him in the bloody sea. —That can be explained by science, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean his wife. Antitreating is about the time of Juvenal and our flax and our damask from the looms of Antrim and our Limerick lace, our tanneries and our white flint glass down there by Ballybough and our Huguenot poplin that we have since Jacquard de Lyon and our woven silk and our Foxford tweeds and ivory raised point from the Carmelite convent in New Ross, nothing like it in the eyes of the law led forth from their donjon keep one whom the sleuthhounds of justice had apprehended in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.

Mary as an articled pupil, so that her flower-like head on its white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit with much grace.

Anybody might have had to say his prayers at Botany Bay.

But Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and began to cry; poor Mrs. I'm telling you.

When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. It'll do him no good where he's gone, says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion.

… —Half and half I mean, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself.

H. RUMBOLD, MASTER BARBER. Stand and deliver, says he.

—By Jesus, I'll crucify him so I will. He'll square that, Ned, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be: you could turn over your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing: plenty of fellows do. Says Joe. But you will see him. Says the citizen. I say, don't Fletcher me! Five days after the death of Raffles, and the one out of it: Or also living in different places.

—Hello, Joe. Says Alf. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. Mr George Fottrell and a silk umbrella with gold handle with the engraved initials, crest, coat of arms and house number of the erudite and worshipful chairman of quarter sessions sir Frederick Falkiner, recorder of Dublin, Wood quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence per pound avoirdupois, the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend. Who's dead?

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe, handing round the boose. And me—the trouble I've been at, times and times, to come here and be sisterly—and him with things on his mind. And J.J. and the citizen sending them all to the rightabout and Bloom coming out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue.

I believed that nothing more was concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. —Show us over the drink, says I.

Says Jack. Such is life in an outhouse. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. —Paddy Dignam dead! Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy determined to speak with a more chiselled emphasis—the subject is likely to do something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as the next fellow? Said Lydgate, bluntly.

It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than they. Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Mr. Bulstrode paused and looked meditative. You bring me a writing from Bulstrode to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay off by mortgaging my land when I'm dead and gone, eh?

To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois. Nurse loves the new chemist.

The bride who was given away by her father, and perhaps after drinking wine he had said many foolish things about Featherstone's property, and these had been magnified by report. In fact, most men in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held that Miss Vincy was the best girl I know. I don't want to stand winking and blinking and thinking. You recognize, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a measure in which you are not proud of your cellar, there is a second will—there is a further document.

Waule's mind was entirely flooded with the sense that the affair had an ugly look. —Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. Says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

Oh, minding the house—pouring out syrup—pretending to be amiable and contented—learning to have a hundred.

—Ha ha, Alf, says Joe, tonight. —He slipped through my fingers—was after Bulstrode, no doubt. They were never worth a roasted fart to Ireland. You see, he, Dignam, I mean his wife. —What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

Before he took leave, Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had had no experience.

—Don't you know he's dead?

Fletcher me! Fred and Rosamond took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to spread out coral fruit for the birds. Said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. But what about the fighting navy, suffered under rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself.

She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in his firm resonant voice, Mr. Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a question of public feeling, which not only by reports but by recent actions. Let us drink our pints in peace. —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says Joe.

Not men whose own lives are unchristian, nay, scandalous—not men who themselves use low instruments to carry out their ends—whose profession is a tissue of chicanery—who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

Hast aught to give us?

No offence, Crofton. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew, jew, jew and a slut shouts out of him would give you the creeps. —To please God Almighty; but if I was to be open, and almost everybody of importance in the town, had been carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton Grange on the other hand that Dignam owed Bridgeman the money and if now the wife or the widow contested the mortgagee's right till he near had the head of the large central table, and they do say that Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank money; and you may see yourself, brother, and that he won his fortune by dishonest procedures—or else to withdraw from positions which could only have been allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen. It took some time for the company to recover the power of expression.

Then comes good uncle Leo. It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than they. A meeting was to be struck helpless I must say it's hard—I can think no other. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the little lady. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that Fred was under some difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would be very fine, by God, says Ned.

Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. —That so?

There's one thing I made out pretty clear when I used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. Or who is he? —Conspuez les Anglais!

The only difference I see is that one worldliness is a little bit honester than another. Presently it was possible to discern something that might be a gig on the circular drive before the front door. Said old Featherstone, secretly disliking the possibility that Fred would show himself at all independent. There are great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along with the air of a landlady accustomed to dominate her company. Isn't he? And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Says Joe. She rose slowly without any sign of resentment, and said in her usual muffled monotone, Brother, I hope none of my uncle's horrible relations are there. Tell that to a fool, said Solomon, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he brought into this town by thieving and swindling, '—I said, and Mr. Bulstrode had begun by admonishing Mr. Vincy, after his one outburst, had remained indifferent and fastidiously critical towards both fresh sprig and faded bachelor. A little too fond, said Mr. Limp, after taking a draught, placed his flat hands together and pressed them hard between his knees and settling his wig, while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which seemed to react on him like a draught of cold air and set him coughing. But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze.

At this very moment, says he. I'll tell you where I first picked him up, said Bambridge, with a personal dedication from the august hand of the hapless young lady, requesting her to name the day, and nobody to come near but a doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he can hang together, and after that so flush o' money as he brought into this town by thieving and swindling, '—I said, 'You don't make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: it's set my blood a-creeping to look at them.

And he ups with his pint to wet his whistle. Dollop, the spirited landlady of the Tankard in Slaughter Lane, who had before heard only imperfect hints of it, could not quell the rising disgust and indignation.

If the man in the room was looking at Bulstrode.

Collector of bad and doubtful debts. —I think the markets are on a rise, says he. God bless His Majesty! I consider it unhandsome. I met you, says I. Isn't he? Mary, said Rosamond, with heightened satisfaction. —Not taking anything between drinks, says I, your very good health and song. Don't hesitate to shoot. Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs. Then, he himself hated having to go and look at it, Mr. Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to Hereford.

The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

A very decent funeral. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief.

Said poor sister Martha, whose imagination of hundreds had been habitually narrowed to the amount of her unpaid rent. Says Joe. —O hell! —Charity to the neighbour, says Martin. I won't mention any names, says Alf.

He will, says Joe, handing round the boose.

Cuckoos. Listen to this, will you? —Perfectly true, says Bloom. —Yes, says Bloom. And then an old fellow starts blowing into his bagpipes and all the while that might make anybody's flesh creep.

—True for you, says I.

Says Alf. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the authorities for the consumption of the central figure of the executioner, his visage being concealed in a tengallon pot with two circular perforated apertures through which his eyes glowered furiously. Five days after the death of Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. The traitor's son. When I see Mrs.

I have much at heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance at the hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a chaplain—of Mr. Tyke, and even then I should require to know the cases in which he was applied. There never was any beauty in the women of our family; but the Featherstones have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin mind, against which native merit has urged itself in vain. Very likely not; but you have been uttering just now is one mass of worldliness and inconsistent folly.

Says Alf. An old plumber named Geraghty.

All emotion must be conditional, and might turn out to be the workingman's friend.

I'm afraid I'm out of court, sir. If he comes just say I'll be back in a second. —Was the land coming too? Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

I?

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Cyclops #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

[docholligay]

Series Finale

Another release from the patreon vault: My rarely-publicly-published Au of Mystery and Shadow, my “good end” AU--this is a special piece I wrote for Jet to commemorate her finishing the anime! almost 3,00 words.

Mina put the pizzas down on the ottoman, placing some paper plates next to it. “Domino’s finest!” She walked toward the kitchen. “Hey buddy, you need a beer?”

“Love one.” Haruka called from the couch, tucking her legs under the soft blanket. “Thanks. Kimi did NOT want to go down tonight, I’m not sure what her deal was.”

“Well, you know how children are,” Michiru set down her glass and passed the champagne bottle over to Haruka, “they have a miraculous sense of whenever their parents would like to do something.”  Haruka twisted the bottle open and passed it back to her. “Thank you, my love. Rei?” She carefully poured into the glass set on the end table, “May I offer you a glass?”

“I’m taken care of.” She patted the box of Franzia next to her.

“Of course you are, I’m foolish to have asked.” Michiru tossed her hair, her voice teasing, and settled in next to Haruka on the couch.

There was a time when Rei would have blushed, and tried to imitate Michiru’s fineness, but, as it was, she grinned. “Just pass me some of those breadsticks.”

Haruka tossed the box over to her as Mina reentered the room, beers in hand. She handed one off to Haruka and plopped in the oversized beanbag next to Rei.

“I’m fascinated to see their take on this. I haven’t been watching since the turned me into an Usagi knockoff. Blonde isn’t a personality type, people.” She took a chug. “Also, why the fuck did we all have a crush on your gay ass?” She shook her head at Haruka. “Also, we were young, not idiots, I think Usagi was the only one who mistook you for a dude at first. And for like, 20 minutes tops.”

Haruka draped her arm around Michiru, who snuggled into her shoulder. “So you did watch the third season.”

“Just enough to see what they did with you. Heartthrob my ass.”

Michiru gave a careless shrug. “I never watched any of it. I never imagined it would tell the story fairly. Though,” she smiled up at Haruka, “it is true that your handsomeness is without measure.”

“AT LEAST THEY DIDN’T MAKE YOU STRAIGHT.” Rei shouted across the room.

Mina rolled her eyes. “Speaking of incapacitatingly homosexual…”

Michiru put a finger to her lips. “My children are sleeping.”

Rei reiterated in a harsh stage whisper. “At least they didn’t make you straight.”

Mina drew her arm around Rei. “Honey, you are not the only one this happened to. Like...maybe all of us. Except those two.”

“Me! With men!”

“Well you know what they say, “ she smiled, “Men are from Mars--”

“No men are not from Mars no men on Mars ever Mars hates men Mars is women’s space only Mars--”

“Rei.” Michiru called over to her. “We’re all very aware of the...she weakly waved her hand in the air, “lack of historicity involved in this production.”

“Mina, did you see the cathedral episode? They had Usagi trying to convince me not to shoot myself.” Haruka chuckled.

“Oh, did you punch her in her fucking face like you did me, or is that not a magical friendship moment?” Mina shot back.

“Oh, like you didn’t punch me in the face as soon as I got better. And no.”

“You had it coming, buddy.”

“I really did.”

“Ladies.” Michiru steeled her voice just a hair. “If we don’t start catching up, we’ll miss the finale, you know.”

Rei pressed play.

__

“THAT’S NOT WHAT HAPPENED.” Rei sat bolt-upright, which was an impressive feat in a beanbag, such was the quality of her rage.

Mina chuckled. “I didn’t really think they were gonna use my parting words of ‘earn it, assholes’ on a kid’s show.” She took a drink of her beer. “Usagi literally did cry this much though.”

Rei ignored hend continued her rant. “Where’s the battle we had with Galaxia? Where’s Mina crossing swords with her?”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Where’s my sword at all, is the real question here.”

“WE DIDN’T JUST JUMP IN FRONT OF THE FUCKING STARLIGHTS.” Rei was practically out of the beanbag now, near levitating with anger. “We fought to protect everyone, Galaxia STRUGGLED WITH US.”

“I hardly think they would be willing to express the brutality of what actually happened in a children's cartoon, Rei.” Michiru tried to reassure her. “If they even know. We are a fiction, a story, to everyone in this world except ourselves, and so they may bend it however they like, without worry of being ahistorical. I assure you, it isn’t personal.”

“Also,” Mina playfully kissed her cheek. “Shut the fuck up. You get a loving exit, I get to say,” she affected a high and mocking voice. “I have to protect important people!” she fell back into her normal range. “What kind of shitpot strategy was that? I KNOW how I fight, why would I trust it to people who’ve clearly lost before? The whole thing makes no sense.”

Rei seethed. “That’s not how it happened.”

“I was about that shocked?” Haruka tried, helpfully. “Being dissolved hurt about that bad?”

Rei looked down at her large watch. “I think I lasted longer than that.”

“That’s what they all say.” MIna playfully poked at Rei.

Rei’s face twisted up in a scowl. “That’s not what I meant, Mina!”

MIna lay on top of her. “Oh, I know that.”

“Hey!” But she laughed playfully. “Mina, I can’t see the TV.”

“Oh, you can hardly see the TV anyway, and it’s just the long legged senshi disco.” She straddled Rei. ‘I, GALAXIA, WILL GIVE YOU A GREATER CHALLENGE.” They tussled on the beanbag in their teasing, loving way.

“Ruka,” Michiru brushed back Haruka’s hair. “Are you going to be all right?”

Haruka looked at her softly.  “Yeah, I’m fine, Michi, why?”

“The next episode treads into...tender territory for you, I know.”

“Oh.” Her face fell a bit. “I forgot.” She took a deep breath. “I mean, I made peace with it, we did what we did because we thought we had to. We did have to, I guess. I don’t know. I tried my best. It was all I could think of.” She snuggled in a little closer to Michiru. “I asked for forgiveness. She forgave me, I think, somehow.” She gave a weak laugh. “I guess.”

“You don’t have to watch, Haruka.”

“I know. I’m okay.”

__

Even Rei was quiet. She wanted to argue about the unfairness of the four of them getting some kind of battle, of their struggle being made known while hers was hidden and made into another person’s moment, and yet, watching Haruka and Michiru look quietly at the screen, while the girl was meant to be Hotaru (They called her Chiyoko, and her hair was too long, but that was the least of everyone’s problems.) faded away, without a word.

Rei had not been there, and so she did not know except by rumor, but it couldn’t have been like this, a perfect emotionally convenient peace. Hotaru had been confused, and hurt, and angry, and she had continued to be so for many, many, years.

Haruka and Michiru held each other quietly, bearing witness to the terrible honesty of what they had done. Of course that was the part they got right.

Children had a gift for many things, and timing would always be chief among them, as the girls heard the small patter of a child heading down the stairs.

“Mama? Papa?” MA crept into the living room. “Can I have some juice?”

She looked so little there, standing in the light of the foyer, the light behind her casting a shadow across her face. Michiru and Haruka sat still for a moment, trapped in the space between their past and their present, where demons, however captured, still called from the basement.

Michiru was the first to move, noting her daughter’s confused expression. “Sweetheart, we don’t often have juice after we go to bed, you know.” She walked toward her, extending her hand, “But I’m certain we can find something acceptable to both of us, can’t we?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded and took Michiru’s hand in hers, as they walked toward the kitchen together.

It was only when they disappeared from the kitchen that Haruka seemed to regain herself, and wiped at her face for a moment before pulling over her chair and following them into the kitchen.

“I think a cheese stick and a glass of water is an excellent compromise, my darling.” Michiru was knelt at MA’s level. “Much less sugar and twice as delicious.” She handed MA a cheese stick. “Now, let’s go back up to bed. I’ll tuck you back in.”

They turned, and nearly ran into Haruka, who reached out and stroked MA’s hair sadly.

“You know Papa would never, ever kill you, right, honeybee?”

MA looked up into Haruka’s tear-filled eyes, confused. “Yes?” Her tone suggested she had never considered something otherwise until Haruka had asked the question. Her eyes became her mother’s for a moment as she patterned out Haruka’s emotions. “Papa are you okay?”

Haruka nodded and tried to collect herself. “The show we’re watching made me sad. It’s okay.”

“Like when Mufasa dies.” MA nodded sagely.

“Like when Mufasa dies.”

She reached out and patted Haruka’s knee reassuringly. “It’s just a story, Papa.”

“I know.” Haruka leaned forward and gathered MA into her lap, hugging her tightly.  “When you’re older sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.” She kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, baby, you go on to bed.”

She slid off Haruka’s lap and took Michiru’s hand to go upstairs, Michiru reassuringly running her hand over Haruka’s shoulders as she passed.

Haruka wheeled back into the living room and sighed heavily, letting herself coast toward the couch. She paused for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, trying to pick them apart the way she’d been taught in therapy, trying to give herself the love and forgiveness she afforded Michiru.

She felt a gentle rub on her back and looked up to see Mina standing by her side. “Your kid definitely has your sense of the dramatic moment, Haruka.”

Haruka gave a chuckle. “I guess she does.” She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath in, and slowly let it out. “I’m doing alright.” She nodded. “I’m not the worst thing I’ve ever done.” She set the brake on her chair and transferred herself to the couch, flopping back on it dramatically.

There was a beat. “Buddy, that’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done. Remember when you bought that pink and yellow sweater?”

Haruka laughed.

__

The sound of her hand connecting with Usagi’s cheek rang across the den as Michiru poured herself a cocktail in the dining room.

“You slapped Usagi?” Rei’s eyes were fierce, even with their slight cloudiness.

Haruka held her hands up in the air. ‘Ten years ago! To save the world!”

Mina took a drink of her beer. “Should have said they made it up. You’re in for it now.”

Haruka held out her hands to Rei, as if to appease her. “I didn’t know how else to make her believe it! It wasn’t my first choice, Rei!”

She set down her glass of wine. “You slapped Usagi! I AM GONNA BEAT YOUR ASS.”

Haruka pointed aggressively to the screen. “LOOK I’M BEATING UP SEIYA NOW LET’S WATCH THAT IT’S GRE--”

Whether it was the irritation of her misrepresentation, the fact that Haruka had slapped Usagi ten years ago, the idea that it even had to get that far, the bottle of wine in her stomach, or all four things, Rei Hino was no longer having any of Haruka’s excuses, and voiced her disapproval of past Haruka’s choices being presently animated on the TV screen by leaping on top of her and reaching for her neck.

Haruka held her tight in a hug, her arms pinned to her sides. “You know I, um, I have a lot more upper body strength than you? I literally spend my whole day--OW!” She jumped as Rei dug her teeth in Haruka’s shoulder. “GODDAMN!”

Rei whirled like a crocodile and dumped them both onto the floor, Haruka still holding her close.

“Rei, it's not really winning if you beat up a cripple.”  Mina called over her shoulder.

“MINA YOU’RE NOT HELPING.” Haruka struggled to keep Rei pinned against her.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“REI IT WAS TEN YEARS AGO.” Haruka tried to flip Rei onto her back, but she sprang off her back foot and fell back on top off Haruka.

“YOU’VE NEVER BEEN HELD RESPONSIBLE.”

Michiru strolled back into the living room, drink in hand. “If either of you wake the children, you’ll be responsible for lulling them back to sleep, I hope you know.”

“Michiru, help!” Haruka struggled against Rei.

Michiru sat at the end of the couch. “Is there not some statute of limitations in play, given that Haruka did die for the cause, after it all, and also given that she still bears the scars of her devotion to her princess.”

“No!” Rei growled, still squirming.

“Well, I tried.” She sipped her cocktail.

“MICHIRU.” Haruka looked at her, wide-eyed.

Rei went limp in her grasp, suddenly. “Okay. You win. I give up. You’re right, this is childish.”

“Thank you.” Haruka released her and relaxed against the hardwood.

She was taking a cleansing breath when there was a sharp smack across her face. “OW! Fuck, Rei.”

“I WAS ONLY PRETENDING YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT WELL.” She stood up, hands on her hips, satisfied.

Haruka closed her eyes and laid back on the floor. “I’m too old for this.”

Rei marched back over to the beanbag and sat next to Mina. “Justice is finally served.”

Mina nodded. “Good job, fireball, you sure showed animated Haruka.”

Michiru set down her cocktail. “Haruka, do you need some assistance?”

“Naw.” She rolled onto her side. “I got it.” Her eyes caught the TV screen, where she and Michiru lay fading from life, and she gave a soft frown. She had heard you couldn’t remember pain, not really, but there was something about watching it happen in front of her, more graceful than she remembered it being, less like a thousand tiny pieces of her blinking and dying each second, the pin-prick holes in her body flowing with pain.

Michiru sat next to her, and slipped her hand into Haruka’s. Their eyes met, expressing what might have been a hundred comforting words.

At least, it might have been if Rei hadn’t have checked her watch and immediately started screaming about how Michiru and Haruka got more time to die than she did and this was ridiculous and unfair and unnecessary.

__

“Did any of this even happen? Asking for a friend.” Mina snacked on a last bite of cold pizza, Rei’s head on her shoulder, drunkenly half-snoozing.

Haruka stretched back against the arm of the couch. “I don’t know, we were all dead at the time.”

“Lucky us, this is garbage.” She shook her head. “This is how Galaxia should have destroyed planets, if I have to listen to these nerds whine about their goddamn planet one more time I’ll kill myself, Galaxia doesn’t even have to do anything.”

“I feel kinda bad for them, is that weird?”

Michiru’s eyebrow raised. “I know you and Seiya have made peace after all these years, but yes, I say that comes as a shock.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Haruka motioned toward the pizza and looked at Mina pitifully, who edged the box toward her, trying not to disturb Rei. “I think they were still whiny and annoying and pathetic.” Michiru leaned forward and handed her the pizza box, which she accepted gratefully. “But I mean...they had some more going on than Seiya’s crush on Usagi. I don’t remember it being like...everything?”

Michiru smiled and teasingly ruffled Haruka’s hair. “Perhaps because mainly you spent your time concerned she had a crush on me.”

Mina extended her hand to the TV in disbelief. “Oh, we just had to tell Sailor Moon to believe in herself, why didn’t I think of that! Classic tactical mistake.”

Rei stirred. “What’d I miss?”

“Fucking nothing, let me tell you what.”

__

A commercial for potato chips was on-screen, happily singing about crunching and flavor.

Mina sat up from her beanbag nest. “I can’t believe it’s been ten fucking years. And eight since, you know,” she gestured broadly to the three of them, “everyone but me got hurt.” There was a small note of guilt and hurt in her voice, the way there always was when she spoke of it, and Rei touched her shoulder lovingly.

“Usagi didn’t get hurt. Because of you. So, we did what we were supposed to.” Her voice took on that tender tone it rarely took on in public, the one that reassured Mina in the dark.

Mina nodded half heartedly. “I guess.” Rei kissed Mina softly, and drew her close.

“Rei. Mina.” Michiru motioned to them. “Come sit over here, with us.”

They looked at each other, and smiled, linking arms as they made their way over to the couch.

“C’mon.” Haruka scooted herself over as much as she could. “We started this together, and we’ll finish it together.”  

They shared a look as the commercial began to dim, the colors fading from the screen, a sense of possibility and memory filling the room, the people they were and could have been like ghosts.

“Are you ready?” Haruka asked no one in particular.

“Ready.” Mina nodded.

The four of them snuggled together on the couch, and heard the music come up for the last time.

Makenai.  

#a holligay joint

[expressandadmirable]

RP Highlights: Past and Future

There's a man standing in the corridor of the train, bathed in morning light. He's tall, and his clothing is rough -- thick denim, unbleached cotton, a slouching cap with holes punched through to admit his horns. Shaggy hair of an inky purplish hue hangs long, tied back in a ponytail. His fingers rest on the handle of a large knife, tucked into a weathered old scabbard, which bumps gently against the waving of his tail. He smells of scotch and tobacco and salt. "Good morning, little one," he says in a voice like distant rolling thunder, without turning to look. "Spare some words with an old man, won't you?"

Lux sniffs as she rubs the last of the sleep from her eyes, suddenly becoming much more alert as she catches sight of the figure. She looks over her shoulder to the empty sleeper car, and ahead toward the unreachable dining car where her friends await her. She chews her lip. "Of course."

The man reaches forward with his other hand, and the scars on its red skin are visible in the rising light of this eternal sunrise. He opens the slats in the window, allowing the air of the Cornerian farmland plain to mingle with the metal and smoke of the car as it trundles on toward the city. "Nothing much," he says after a moment. "I just wanted to let you know that, despite everything, you're going to be all right."

Lux steps closer to him, her arms folded loosely over her robe. "Is that so?" Her mind races as she turns to take in the view through the slats, trying desperately to place the figure somewhere in her memory. Papa? She reaches for her cigarette pouch, finding the cedar box conveniently in the pocket of her robe. Finally: "Have we met?"

The man laughs, easy and friendly. "Well, yes. And no, not as such. You take what you can get, when it comes to our situation." He turns toward her. That smile -- yes. So easy, so genuine, like he could charm anyone with it. Those arms, muscular and firm, yet inviting, protective, embracing. Yet, his fingers have callused patches, his jaw a tuck mark. A fisherman and a musician. A Tiefling and a Human. Eyes milky with blindness, yet gazing right into her face. "You don't remember me except in patches, little one. I was much more than a child could possibly understand. Your heart has filled in the rest."

Aviva stares at the man she knows so well, her unlit cigarette forgotten between her fingers. Two men, one man, one figure holding two souls. She does not try to stop the tears. "I miss you."

"I miss you too." Tears stream down his craggy cheeks, burying themselves in the short-cropped beard clinging to his chin. "I'm sorry, little one. I knew this would bring you pain, but... well. It's important for you to understand something, and this is the best way for you to learn it."

Suddenly overcome with need, she throws her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. She would be his height if he had lived, but here she is the height she needs to be to find the safety torn away too quickly in life.

It's perfect, of course. Of course it is. Of course he's exactly that tall, and of course he's exactly that strong, and of course he smells exactly that way with exactly that much scruff and stubble and of course his hands are knobbly and kind and clever and of course of course of course. Because he's dead and in a dream and this is what it's like to meet your dead loved ones on a dead train in an impossible place where the sun paints everything in gold and red.

"You're going to be okay." She kisses her gently, her lips soft and cold, the stubble of her shorn head ticklish against Aviva's neck. Her hair brushes, twirling in a fan. His fingers twist in hers, unsure, young, foolish. His tail brushes against her thigh, all unawares of what he'd left behind within her when he left her behind. She's soft and young. He's old, he's hard, he's kind. Kindness, like an envelope of warmth and love, bathed in the sunrise.

Her father leads her down the endless corridor, hand in hand. "It isn't often that a person gets the chance to face the demons of their past literally, little one," he says, barely a quarter of a step ahead of her, head canted so she can see him speaking. "But you surely know by now that you're a special case."

"Mama always said I was. I have to tell her she was right." She tugs on his hand, a child and a grown woman. "Can you tell her? If I can't find her. If I can't save her. Can you tell her she was right?"

"She knows. You know she knows." He stops, turns, kneels down to get to eye level with her. He brushes a lock of her vibrant purple hair away from her face, brushes the tears from her cheeks with his rough-callused thumbs. "Aviva. The world has hurt you enough. The past has hurt you enough. When you come to the end of the road, you must look to the future."

She breathes deeply, blinking away the last of the tears, recognising the echoes of so many ghosts present in the kneeling figure -- Zahak, Mourat, Priya, Yalaz, so many faces, so many hearts. "I know. I'm trying." She stands, rising to her full height. "I don't want to let go of you." Of any of you.

He rises as well, taking her hands in his. "You don't have to," he says. "But neither should you be trapped by us. You are worthy of so much more love than what meager scraps we few could give. Remember that, and be free of the chains around your heart." He squeezes her hands gently, running his thumbs over her knuckles. "After all -- you'll be freeing all of us. You deserve the same."

* * *

Lux grins, then huffs to herself as a long-forgotten thought occurs to her, apropos of nothing. "Do you think dragons have hollow bones, like birds?"

"I never really thought about it before," Morgan admits. "Birds are really small. Scrawny, I mean. Dragons have a lot of muscle, and their wings are bigger." Morgan's eyes focus on the middle distance as she calculates figures and envisions schematics in her mind's eye. "Could be? But I feel like they might be too fragile if they did? But I've never really paid close attention to dragon bones. I bet that's something Wil would know. Or seems like, anyway. What do you think?"

"They have awfully thick bodies, so hollow bones might not be enough to support them. But solid bones would make them too heavy to fly... Unless they fly with magic as well as their wings." Lux smiles at something in the distance. "I promised if I ever met a dragon, I'd ask. Never thought I'd ever be in a position to make good on it." She glances back at Morgan almost apologetically. "One of my ghosts."

"Who did you promise that to? Or is that a bad question to ask? It just seems like such a weird thing to promise someone."

Lux lets out a small, almost weary laugh. "No, it's not a bad question, just a hard question. But, talking is how it gets easier." She hunches a bit, resting her free elbow against the table while the left hand sits beneath the kettle, the fire in her palm warming the water. "Her name was Priya. We were talking about birds -- she loved them, wanted to study them when she'd saved up enough to go to school. She was theorising about other animals capable of flight, and asked me what I thought of dragons, so I said I'd ask if I ever got the chance." She points to a small tattoo of a crane in flight hidden among the sigils and tendrils of ivy on her left arm. "That's for her. I felt her in my dream."

The 'was' tips Morgan off rather swiftly that Priya is another sad part of Lux's past. She listens quietly until the Tiefling finishes, peering intently at the tattoo on her arm. "That's pretty. The tattoo, I mean. I bet she would have liked it. What was she like, in your dream?"

"A memory. Little more than a whisper, energy present in the figure that looked like my Papa. But I felt her." Lux runs her thumb over the ink in her skin. "In real life she was clever and funny and didn't take shit from anyone. She used to gossip with me about all the ridiculous things her clients would try and get her to do, and she had absolutely no problem telling them to fuck off if they needed it. She swore like a sailor and it always made me laugh." Something deep within Lux's body seems to relax as she speaks. Sometimes old wounds can only heal when exposed to warmth and air.

"What did she do that she could say that to her clients?!" Morgan's eyes grow wide. "If I said that, I would get in so much troooooouble! She sounds super important!"

At that, Lux bursts out laughing, the flame in her hand winking out as she curls her arms into her chest. "Ohh, she would have loved to hear you say that!" She settles into a pleased grin as she reignites the little fire. "Certainly important in some ways, though most people won't admit it. She was a prostitute; worked at the Gargoyle, if you know the place. Seedy as hell, and not well-run at the time, but the madam took care of her people. She would back them without question if they had a complaint against a client -- which, in that profession, happens a lot." She chuckles again. "Priya would have liked you, I think."

"Oh, I know that place! I've never been there, but I've walked past it loads of times. We didn't do locks for them, but we did for some of the other houses. The ones where the workers rented space from the houses. Papa would change them a lot." A pang of homesickness hits Morgan as she talks about Corneria. Odd, since she is, for the first time, in the place that all Gnomes seemed to come from. "Did Priya like her work? I don't know much about it, but it doesn't seem terribly easy, despite what some of the jokes say."

"She did. She wasn't planning to do it forever, but she made good money."

"How did you meet her? Were you a client?"

Lux shakes her head. "I was hired to play in the common area. None of the workers were big fans of management, so they came to my corner when they needed to vent. I guess I was safe. I was never a client; my relationship with her was never that physical. She wanted it to be separate from work." She frowns suddenly. "I'm sorry if that's more than you needed to know. I'm just full of private information this morning."

"I don't mind." Morgan offers Lux a smile. "It's nice to hear about your life before all this. It's good to get to know you more. That's what friends do, right?"

With a nod and a smile, Lux reaches out with her free hand and gives Morgan's a squeeze. "Yeah. You can ask me anything you want, I promise I'll answer. As Sol has said, if secrets are going to come back to haunt us, I'd rather they not be mine." Her smile becomes affectionately wry. "And I swear to the gods, I do have people in my life who haven't died tragically. I have several friends who are alive and well at this very moment, even!"

"I believe you," Morgan laughs softly. "You know, sometimes a lot of sad just happens at once. It doesn't mean you're bad, or unlucky. It's just a thing that is." She squeezes Lux's hand back. "And don't worry. I won't pry or anything, but I'll listen when you want to talk, okay?"

"You would never be prying." Retrieving her hand, Lux lets her flame puff away and lifts the pot, pouring just a bit of hot water into Morgan's mug to re-warm the tea. She pours a second mug for herself. Settling back into her chair, she lets her expression sadden, no guile on her face. "I still miss her. I think she could have been forever, and part of my heart can't let go of that. She died six years ago."

"I'm so sorry," Morgan murmurs. "I can imagine that hurts a whole lot. But you'll have her memory as long as you live. You could always write a song about her, too. Then she can live on for as long as people will sing it."

Lux laughs slightly. "I've composed half a dozen songs for her over the years. But you know what's funny?" She leans in closer. "I don't think I'm a very strong lyricist. They all come out sounding like children's poetry." She sits back in her chair with a huff.

"You should sing them for us, and we can help you! Or maybe when we get back, Princess Sara will help you? I bet it's not as bad as you think it is, though. I bet you're being extra hard on yourself."

"Maybe." Lux smiles. "I would love your help. Remind me next time we stop for the night and I'll play it for you."

* * *

Leaving a kiss on Sol's palm, Aviva straightens and sets her cup of tea on the nightstand, then takes the Drow's hands in both of hers. "I want to keep looking at the future instead of the past. There were people in my dream that I've been holding onto for a long time. But there's a difference between forgetting and letting go, and I think I can finally do the latter." She chews her lip, watching Sol's face, then takes a deep breath. "I don't know whether the future ends tomorrow or in a lifetime, but I'd like you to be in it for as long as makes you happy."

Sol lets her hands be taken and she smirks up at the Tiefling, though her eyes crinkle at the corners fondly. "I think I'll give it eighty years or so. See how it goes." She doesn't try to be subtle about tugging Aviva's hands sharply, not giving her the chance to lean away as she pulls the Tiefling down for a kiss.

When the kiss finally breaks, Aviva leans her forehead against Sol's, spreading her fingers along the scar on her cheek as she grins. "I'm going to get old and fresh before your hair even goes grey." She leans back slightly, narrowing her eyes at Sol's snow-white hair. "Does it even--? Nevermind." She kisses the Drow again, then moves to stand, energy for the day finally spurring her into motion. "Time to get up. We've got Gnomes to meet." She pauses before she can rise, looking down at the tunic she's wearing that isn't hers. "You might need this."

Sol looks upwards at her own hair. "I'm already as stylish as I'll ever be." She then follows Aviva's glance down to her own tunic, and her brows crease as she narrows her eyes at the woman sitting beside her. "Not for at least the next fifteen minutes I won't."

(Lux's text and minor edits by me, incredible dream text by @stonegolem, Morgan's text by @stufflaalikes, Sol's text by @b-e-m-l-t. These three scenes all took place in the space of one early morning: Lux dreamed of all the ghosts in her heart, opened up to Morgan about some of the feelings holding her back, and was finally able to release them and move on. And I feel I should note: I may be the one who writes all the NSFW content, but Sol's player is the one who keeps letting the girls' scenes fade to black, so really we're both to blame!)

#Dungeons and Dragons #Original Characters #Roleplay #Canon #Aviva Lux

[hgfstreamchats]

Megamind

thenightetc 09:14 PM Hello! highglossfinish 09:14 PM Hello, night human! thenightetc 09:14 PM Megamind, eh?  We're in for a treat! SSHammertime 09:15 PM Yeah!!! starlightseller 09:15 PM ooh it’s been forever since I’ve seen Megamind SSHammertime 09:15 PM You're welcome! thenightetc 09:15 PM :D thenightetc 09:16 PM Thank you! starlightseller 09:16 PM yea thank you!! highglossfinish 09:16 PM Aaand we'll just be saving *that one* for another week! highglossfinish 09:17 PM Oh look, more possums!

thenightetc 09:17 PM No video or audio here, anyone else getting it? highglossfinish 09:18 PM Nothing? thenightetc 09:18 PM Nada. highglossfinish 09:18 PM Scrap. thenightetc 09:18 PM It also, on the left side, isn't showing anyone else here... thenightetc 09:18 PM I'll try reloading. highglossfinish 09:18 PM I'll try reloading. SSHammertime 09:18 PM Me being here with Papa made the coolness level too high SSHammertime 09:18 PM we broke it thenightetc has joined the party. thenightetc 09:20 PM Oh there we go!   SSHammertime has joined the party. SSHammertime 09:20 PM Yaaaaay! thenightetc 09:20 PM I can see but not hear it... thenightetc 09:20 PM oh, my volume was just too low thenightetc 09:20 PM There we go :) highglossfinish 09:20 PM Wonderful! starlightseller 09:21 PM I’m on my phone so I don’t know if that’s why I don’t see anything,, SSHammertime 09:21 PM Try reloading? starlightseller 09:21 PM I’ll get on my computer in a second and see if that helps starlightseller 09:22 PM ^-^ starlightseller has joined the party. starlightseller 09:22 PM There we go! SSHammertime 09:22 PM Yay! thenightetc 09:23 PM \o/ thenightetc 09:25 PM Cat... no. SSHammertime 09:26 PM they want to BAP thenightetc 09:26 PM What would they even do with it if they managed to kill it starlightseller 09:26 PM they wanna bapbapbap thenightetc 09:27 PM They are very foolish. starlightseller 09:27 PM this reminds me of the time my cat tried to fight a praying mantis starlightseller has left the party. starlightseller has joined the party. thenightetc 09:29 PM That's a great preview image. SSHammertime 09:29 PM welcome back! starlightseller 09:29 PM hi! my internet does not like me so sorry if I keep popping in and out ;w; thenightetc 09:29 PM It's like that sometimes! starlightseller has left the party. thenightetc 09:33 PM I forgot it started like this highglossfinish 09:34 PM Why are all the good movies hard to find? starlightseller has joined the party. thenightetc 09:34 PM Aggressive copyright-holders! highglossfinish 09:34 PM There we are! thenightetc 09:34 PM \o/ SSHammertime 09:34 PM \(^o^)/ thenightetc 09:35 PM "death" thenightetc 09:36 PM Is that your discord notification? highglossfinish 09:37 PM Comes with the emulator. I'll shut it up. thenightetc 09:37 PM Who left a baby in prison though SSHammertime 09:37 PM I like the prison people better highglossfinish 09:38 PM Oh, for Pit's sake. starlightseller 09:38 PM honestly that’s a mood Thebes has joined the party. thenightetc 09:38 PM Although since it's Megamind himself telling us this, I do kind of wonder if it's true Thebes 09:39 PM hello! SSHammertime 09:39 PM Hi!!! thenightetc 09:39 PM Hi!  We're not too far in yet :) Thebes 09:39 PM woo! thenightetc 09:42 PM Oh, come on.  A class of ten year olds would LOVE the exploding popcorn SSHammertime 09:42 PM ....does he not wash his clothes? SSHammertime 09:43 PM he just keeps getting sticker! thenightetc 09:44 PM hahaha highglossfinish 09:44 PM He's like Starscream, if Starscream was fun. starlightseller 09:44 PM that made me laugh SSHammertime 09:44 PM I like jailbreaks! thenightetc 09:44 PM Yeah! highglossfinish 09:45 PM Don't we all! starlightseller 09:45 PM jailbreaks are always fun thenightetc 09:45 PM An ocean inside a bigger ocean. starlightseller 09:45 PM I am not gonna lie I had a crush on Roxanne when I was a kid thenightetc 09:46 PM Well! thenightetc 09:46 PM She's super cute. thenightetc 09:46 PM Yeah dude you're LUCKY she got kidnapped before she heard that mess. SSHammertime 09:46 PM uh-huh! thenightetc 09:46 PM HA highglossfinish 09:46 PM Clever! thenightetc 09:46 PM Very! SSHammertime 09:47 PM evil laughs are important! SSHammertime 09:48 PM ew, shoes are dirty don't kiss them! thenightetc 09:48 PM Yeah, quit it with that thenightetc 09:49 PM Those are adorable SSHammertime 09:50 PM TEMPTRESS thenightetc 09:51 PM Thinkin' about it on the way over highglossfinish 09:51 PM They're trying their best. SSHammertime 09:51 PM She's not scared of anything! thenightetc 09:51 PM She's seen it all! SSHammertime 09:53 PM I can't wait to fly thenightetc 09:54 PM It does look like fun! SSHammertime 09:54 PM He knew she was smart, so he planned ahead! thenightetc 09:55 PM Flicker. SSHammertime 09:56 PM he said crap! highglossfinish 09:56 PM Shame on him! SSHammertime 09:57 PM not very superhero to swear SSHammertime 09:57 PM that's foreshadowing SSHammertime 09:57 PM 3:3 starlightseller 09:58 PM this is one of my favorite songs -w- thenightetc 09:59 PM Hehehehe starlightseller 09:59 PM i love it thenightetc 10:00 PM Ha. thenightetc 10:00 PM Oh, Minion. thenightetc 10:04 PM His pyjama cape SSHammertime 10:04 PM you gotta have fancy pajamas Thebes has left the party. Thebes has joined the party. thenightetc 10:04 PM Yikes SSHammertime 10:04 PM CREEPY thenightetc 10:04 PM "That's MUCH worse!" highglossfinish 10:05 PM Eugh. starlightseller 10:06 PM hey look its john green Thebes 10:06 PM This will clearly end fantastically SSHammertime 10:07 PM he doesn't look happy enough for john green starlightseller 10:07 PM true SSHammertime 10:07 PM slippers! thenightetc 10:07 PM Hahaha thenightetc 10:07 PM ...Is this guy a fan thenightetc 10:11 PM Honestly how does she not recognize his voice highglossfinish 10:11 PM Jealous, Minion? thenightetc 10:11 PM Hahahhaah SSHammertime 10:12 PM This is why we don't have a doormat thenightetc 10:12 PM Heh. SSHammertime 10:12 PM She'd be a good superhero thenightetc 10:13 PM God thenightetc 10:13 PM She would be! thenightetc 10:13 PM I want an au where SHE gets the injection thing highglossfinish 10:13 PM Agreed! highglossfinish 10:13 PM She deserves it. SSHammertime 10:13 PM Yes! thenightetc 10:14 PM Amazing SSHammertime 10:14 PM it's a party! thenightetc 10:15 PM Nooooooo SSHammertime 10:15 PM THEY'LL BE OKAY SSHammertime 10:15 PM I SAY SO thenightetc 10:15 PM I'M SURE THEY'RE FINE highglossfinish 10:15 PM He looks like an egg. thenightetc 10:16 PM ...does Megamind.  Believe what he said happened?  With the ninjas? SSHammertime 10:16 PM y'know, he was right there when roxanne said there was a doormat SSHammertime 10:16 PM ....huh SSHammertime 10:16 PM he's probably, like, "i don't remember sending ninjas?" thenightetc 10:17 PM Honestly he deserved that SSHammertime 10:18 PM he had a creepy poster SSHammertime 10:18 PM ! thenightetc 10:18 PM I didn't see it :U SSHammertime 10:18 PM it was roxanne! SSHammertime 10:18 PM 3>:[ highglossfinish 10:18 PM I'm glad I didn't see it. thenightetc 10:19 PM Oh jeeez D: thenightetc 10:19 PM ........ SSHammertime 10:20 PM ..... thenightetc 10:20 PM Wow SSHammertime 10:20 PM i like the song, though thenightetc 10:20 PM Ha! highglossfinish 10:20 PM "Read words, kids." SSHammertime 10:21 PM Good advice! highglossfinish 10:21 PM Indeed! thenightetc 10:22 PM awwww SSHammertime 10:23 PM ewwww SSHammertime 10:23 PM EEEEEWWWWWW thenightetc 10:23 PM literally huh thenightetc 10:23 PM ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww SSHammertime 10:24 PM PARHOOM Thebes 10:25 PM flawless poker face thenightetc 10:25 PM Ha. thenightetc 10:25 PM Brilliant plan. highglossfinish 10:25 PM Sounds like these two have A Talk. SSHammertime 10:26 PM 3:( thenightetc 10:26 PM Awww nooooooooo highglossfinish 10:26 PM Whatever arrangement they have can survive it, if only they're frank about it! thenightetc 10:26 PM They can work through this! SSHammertime 10:26 PM Things will be okay! SSHammertime 10:27 PM That's how good movies work thenightetc 10:27 PM Huh.  So she arranged this... subconsciously? highglossfinish 10:27 PM Ew. SSHammertime 10:27 PM i think that's how the papers were in the lair? SSHammertime 10:27 PM and ew thenightetc 10:27 PM Ewwww thenightetc 10:27 PM Ohhh of course starlightseller 10:28 PM aaa I gotta go TTwTT sorry I couldn’t stay the whole time but thanks for having me!!! thenightetc 10:28 PM "I just stole a flower stall" SSHammertime 10:28 PM bye! thenightetc 10:28 PM YIKES starlightseller has left the party. highglossfinish 10:28 PM What a charmer. SSHammertime 10:29 PM eeewwww SSHammertime 10:29 PM i can't get goosebumps but i'm getting the heebie jeebies thenightetc 10:29 PM Ewwwwwwww thenightetc 10:29 PM All of the heebies. thenightetc 10:30 PM Right on the first try SSHammertime 10:31 PM ...why did nobody notice that? thenightetc 10:31 PM Nobody notices anything, ever highglossfinish 10:31 PM Oh dear. thenightetc 10:31 PM *facepalm* SSHammertime 10:31 PM AAAAAAHHHHHH SSHammertime 10:32 PM she's having a bad night 3:( highglossfinish 10:33 PM Ouch. thenightetc 10:33 PM "well no, that was the point of lying" thenightetc 10:34 PM I actually want to know where Minion even went highglossfinish 10:34 PM Likewise. SSHammertime 10:37 PM RUIN HIS LEVEL highglossfinish 10:37 PM Ruin his everything! thenightetc 10:38 PM A... leash. thenightetc 10:38 PM Yikes thenightetc 10:38 PM "Dating" is pushing it at this point highglossfinish 10:38 PM I'll say. SSHammertime 10:39 PM this is bad, because he wants the murder SSHammertime 10:39 PM ugh thenightetc 10:40 PM dude she was never your girlfirend thenightetc 10:40 PM or going to be, ever. highglossfinish 10:40 PM You didn't see this coming when he was melting your head in training, Megamind? thenightetc 10:41 PM Apparently not! SSHammertime 10:41 PM he's got high intelligence and low wisdom! thenightetc 10:42 PM High charisma too thenightetc 10:43 PM God. thenightetc 10:43 PM Natural 1 on that sense motive check thenightetc 10:44 PM Ha! thenightetc 10:44 PM So that definitely killed a whole bunch of people. SSHammertime 10:44 PM 3:( thenightetc 10:46 PM Keep his logo.  After faking his death. SSHammertime 10:49 PM HE'S STUPID thenightetc 10:49 PM VERY stupid. thenightetc 10:49 PM "hung out" thenightetc 10:50 PM Awwwwwww thenightetc 10:51 PM Awww! SSHammertime 10:52 PM MINIONNNNNN SSHammertime 10:52 PM 3:D thenightetc 10:52 PM :3 thenightetc 10:53 PM Hellooooooo SSHammertime 10:53 PM YEEEAAAAHHHHHHH highglossfinish 10:53 PM I love that bit. thenightetc 10:53 PM Me too! thenightetc 10:57 PM Although really that's just kicking the can down the road to the next city highglossfinish 10:58 PM "Yeah, sure, why not?" highglossfinish 10:58 PM Hah! thenightetc 10:58 PM I love that line SSHammertime 10:58 PM NICE LINE SSHammertime 10:58 PM another nice line! thenightetc 10:58 PM Yesss thenightetc 10:59 PM Ha! SSHammertime 10:59 PM YEAAAHHHHH thenightetc 10:59 PM I hope that hurts. thenightetc 11:00 PM Awwww SSHammertime 11:01 PM 3:D thenightetc 11:01 PM Heeeee SSHammertime 11:02 PM "sir, you are still tall" highglossfinish 11:03 PM "Sir." thenightetc 11:03 PM This is such a cute movie. SSHammertime 11:03 PM 3:D highglossfinish 11:03 PM An excellent choice! SSHammertime 11:03 PM You're welcome! thenightetc 11:03 PM You have good taste in movies. :) SSHammertime 11:04 PM Thanks! thenightetc 11:06 PM "Yes.  Day." SSHammertime 11:06 PM 3XD highglossfinish 11:07 PM Any suggestions you'd like to end on, my dear? SSHammertime 11:07 PM Hmmmmmm 3:3 SSHammertime 11:08 PM Oh! I know! thenightetc 11:08 PM 👀 SSHammertime 11:08 PM Clue! from 1985! SSHammertime 11:08 PM and Treasure Planet! thenightetc 11:08 PM Oooooo! Thebes 11:09 PM Those are both a LOT of fun SSHammertime 11:09 PM Oh! And the Great Mouse Detective! SSHammertime 11:09 PM The Road to El Dorado! SSHammertime 11:09 PM 3:D highglossfinish 11:09 PM Onto the queue they go! SSHammertime 11:10 PM Yay! thenightetc 11:10 PM All great ideas! SSHammertime 11:10 PM I'm full of them! SSHammertime 11:10 PM Also snacks thenightetc 11:11 PM I wish I had some snacks, but I don't want to go to a grocery store at this particular time. SSHammertime 11:11 PM that's fair! highglossfinish 11:13 PM Lets see, things to end the night on. thenightetc 11:14 PM I like this channel! Starscreamillar has joined the party. highglossfinish 11:16 PM "Kill me." Starscreamillar has left the party. Starscreamillar has joined the party. thenightetc 11:17 PM Ahhh, buttercream. thenightetc 11:18 PM F. Starscreamillar has left the party. Starscreamillar has joined the party. highglossfinish 11:20 PM Anything anyone would like to see? thenightetc 11:20 PM Hmmmmmm. Starscreamillar 11:20 PM I would like this accursed program to work properly. thenightetc 11:21 PM I'm kind of morbidly interested in that 1950s one SSHammertime 11:21 PM Hhhhhmmmm thenightetc 11:21 PM Middle right. SSHammertime 11:21 PM I wanna see kermit saying "no it's not a cookie!" Starscreamillar has left the party. Starscreamillar has joined the party. highglossfinish 11:22 PM The journey cake? thenightetc 11:22 PM Sounds good! SSHammertime 11:22 PM 3:D thenightetc 11:23 PM FIRST CLOOOOOOOOO... Thebes 11:23 PM Few muppets do 'unimpressed' like Kermit thenightetc 11:23 PM An orange! SSHammertime 11:23 PM i like his crumple face! thenightetc 11:24 PM Hahhahah thenightetc 11:24 PM Oh my gosh highglossfinish 11:24 PM That's a threat, Kermit. thenightetc 11:24 PM Don't reward him for it. Starscreamillar 11:24 PM He is going to eat that frog. thenightetc 11:27 PM Honestly I'm glad we can just buy yeast now. SSHammertime 11:27 PM this bread tiny! SSHammertime 11:27 PM YEAST! thenightetc 11:27 PM Ha! thenightetc 11:27 PM *high five* SSHammertime 11:28 PM High five! thenightetc 11:34 PM Huh. thenightetc 11:35 PM I want to try that, now. highglossfinish 11:36 PM Anything tastes good if you cook it over and eat it in front of that fire. SSHammertime 11:36 PM 3:D highglossfinish 11:37 PM Well, that's all I've got! thenightetc 11:37 PM What an "all" it was, though! highglossfinish 11:38 PM It was! Thank you again for that, Impact. SSHammertime 11:38 PM Yooooou're welcome~! <3 thenightetc 11:38 PM Thank you for the stream; this was lovely.  And I hope we'll see you around, Impact. :) highglossfinish 11:38 PM You'll have to regale us with more movie choices in the future. SSHammertime 11:38 PM Yeah!!! Starscreamillar 11:38 PM A pity I missed most of it, but it was nice to catch even the little I did. highglossfinish 11:38 PM You've certainy been missed! Thebes 11:39 PM Thanks for the stream, it was a good one~ Starscreamillar 11:39 PM I shall have to make every effort to catch the next stream in full. Until then! Starscreamillar has left the party. thenightetc 11:39 PM Goodnight! Thebes has left the party. SSHammertime 11:39 PM Bye everybody! highglossfinish 11:39 PM Good night! thenightetc has left the party.

[exkernal]

Fanfic: The Life and Death of Hector Rivera, Chapter Two

Hector watched Coco grow. Coco began to crawl around on the floor, and Hector would pretend to chase her, as Coco’s delighted giggles echoed around him. She clutched tightly at his fingers as she took her first uncertain steps. He beamed with pride when she said her first word, “Papa,” and couldn’t resist teasing Imelda. She bounced up and down,, clapping her hands (her version of dancing) whenever Imelda sang or he played the guitar.

They were still poor. Life was hard. But Hector couldn’t find it in himself to complain, not when he came home every night to Imelda and Coco, when he could hold both tightly to his chest know that, finally, he had a family.

Imelda met him outside as he came home from work on his eighteenth birthday.

“What is it?” Hector asked, after twirling Coco around. Imelda was acting odd, like she was hiding something.

“A surprise,” she said vaguely. “You’ll love it—well, I hope you will. You need this. You’re old one is practically falling apart.”

“What is it?” he repeated, assuming she meant a new pair of shoes or jacket.

“Come and see."

There, perched against the stove, was a brand new guitar. This one was all white, but decorated much like his old one, with the same skull design at the handle. It even had a gold tooth to match his own (he had not been quick enough ducking out of the way of the Lopez brothers’ fists).

“Imelda,” he breathed out in awe, “it’s wonderful.” He turned to her. “How did you afford this?”

“I saved up,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. After all, I can’t have my husband going around the plaza looking like a bum.

“Thank you,” he said, embracing her, Coco caught in the middle of them. This was the best gift he’d ever been given. He knew that he would cherish it for the rest of his life.

As Coco grew, so did Ernesto and Hector’s reputation. They began accepting paid gigs at weddings and quinceañeras, not just within Santa Cecilia but in neighboring towns as well. The winning combo of Ernesto’s charismatic showmanship and Hector’s songwriting turned them into local celebrities. For the first time in their lives, they were earning decent money from their music. As a result, he didn’t need to work as many hours, allowing him to focus more of his time on writing music. He’d taken to writing everything down in a small, leather-bound journal. As his twentieth birthday approached, he’d already written dozens of songs for them to perform.

They performed all but one.

Nights in bed were the ideal time for Hector and Imelda to talk. Their daily lives were so busy between work, music, and a growing child, that it was difficult to find time during the day for a real heart to heart. Especially when so many of their daytime conversations involved bickering or playing music for Coco (Hector’s favorite way to relax after a day of work). After dark, while Coco was fast asleep in her room, the husband and wife could finally talk together as they lie in bed, just the two of them, unencumbered by the rest of the world. And although he would never say this out loud (he wasn’t suicidal), Hector valued those rare occasions that Imelda let her hair down, both literally and metaphorically, allowing her seldom seen gentler, softer side to shine through.

“I was thinking,” Imelda said, nuzzled against his chest, “that we might be able to start our own business.”

“Oh?” Hector asked in a teasing tone. “And what would we sell, querida? I don’t think there’s much demand in Santa Cecilia for guitar makers or singing instructors.”

“I know that,” she answered, a little brusquer, though it quickly vanished. “I was thinking something like…shoes.”

“Shoes?” Hector laughed, surprised.

“They’re practical,” she said, “everyone needs shoes, even scruffy musicians like you.”

“Fair enough, but there’s still one little problem: we don’t know how to make shoes.”

“We can learn,” she said. Hector squeezed her closer against his chest. “Senor Castillo hasn’t done much with work in his shop since his wife died, and his daughters have all moved away with their husbands. I might be able to persuade him to teach me.”

Hector knew firsthand how effective Imelda’s powers of persuasion could be.

“Perhaps, querida, but I have my music to think of. We’re starting to make some real money from it. Enough to provide us with a good life.”

“For now,” she said, “but we won’t be young forever. We need something dependable, to put down roots that we can pass down to Coco. She’s young now, but she’s growing fast.”

There was truth to this, he supposed, but for the life of him he couldn’t see himself as a shoemaker. He almost wanted to laugh at the very idea. Besides, no matter what she said, he knew his music career was booming. He couldn’t throw that away now.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

“Hector, I’ve been thinking,” Ernesto said one evening, as they made their way home from a wedding in a nearby village. Hector was in good spirits, despite the cramps in his fingers and the weariness that nagged at his body. He was beat. He wanted nothing more to crawl into bed and cuddle up against his wife. Yet their performance had been a smashing success, which was really all that mattered. “Remember when we were boys and you told me that you wanted to be a musician?”

“How could I forget?” Hector said with a wistful smile. “And I’d say it came true, seeing where we are.”

To his surprise, Ernesto did not share his smile. His friend wore a serious expression, which was such a rarity for him that it forced Hector to pay attention.

“I wonder…are we really? Oh, sure, we perform for crowds, you write songs. We certainly are musicians of a sort. It’s just…Hector, I think we’ve hit a wall.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’ve reached as far as we can go in Santa Cecilia. Playing for fiestas, never going farther than a day’s journey. I can’t help but feel that we’re squandering our potential.”

“What are you suggesting?” Hector asked. His heart hammered in his chest. Part of him wanted to challenge Ernesto, to tell him that things were just fine, that he had never felt more complete in his life. But another part of him felt the truth in his friend’s words. In some ways, Hector was still the foolish little dreamer with his head in the clouds, the boy his abuelita always scolded. He knew there was more to be had.

“We have a gift. You have a gift, amigo. I could only dream of being as good a songwriter as you! We make an incredible duo. If we take a chance, if we seize our moment, we could become the most famous musicians in Mexico. Maybe even the world.”

“Oh, come now,” Hector laughed, “I won’t pretend that I’ve never dreamed about it, but the world? I think you’re getting carried away, Ernesto.”

“I’m telling you, you have a gift. And it’s being wasted while we’re stuck here.”

Hector ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Ernesto. I have a family to consider.”

“Ay, you do. Think of how much you’ll provide for them if we become famous. Imelda will never have to work again. Coco can go to the best schools and have the best clothing. Her future will be secure.”

It was tempting. Hector pictured himself playing for a packed auditorium, travelling the world with Imelda and Coco at his side. He saw a version of his daughter who would not have to leave school like he did, not have to work like a dog just to get by. He saw Coco happy and educated and secure.

“Think about it,” Ernesto said, throwing his arm around Hector’s shoulders, jostling the guitar strapped to his back. “An announcer bellows before a spellbound crowd, ‘Presenting—de la Cruz y Rivera!’”

Hector shook his head. “You mean Rivera y de la Cruz.”

“No, no, it’s in alphabetical order, you see.”

They laughed, eyes dancing with the possibilities.

Imelda, as even a child like Coco could have predicted, did not take it well.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. She wasn’t yelling—yet—but her body shook with barely suppressed anger, like a hurricane battering against a flood wall, moments before breaking through. “You’re telling me that you want to abandon your wife and child to becoming a travelling musician, and I’m supposed to, what, give you my blessing.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” Hector said, wounded. “And—keep your voice down,” he hissed, risking her wrath even further, but Coco was playing in the front yard, still within potential hearing distance. “This is only temporary, mi amor. A few months at the most. I could make enough money to keep us comfortable and happy forever. Don’t you want that for Coco?”

She was not swayed. “Of course, that’s why I suggested opening a business. To put down roots. Not for you to chase down your own glory and adventure with bigheaded Ernesto and then use your daughter as a convenient excuse. What happens if it doesn’t work out, eh, Hector? Where will we be then?”

“I have to try, Imelda,” he pleaded. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand!” she said, her lips twisted into a disgusted grimace. “I know what musicos are like; out all night, chasing girls—”

“Ay, querida, I can see it now: the girls won’t be able to resist this hombre muy guapo,” he teased, raising his eyebrows.

His joke didn’t land well, not that he really expected it to.

“Oh, yes,” she snarled, “you can make your stupid jokes, but I know what’s going to happen those long nights that you’re away.”

“Imelda,” he said softly, “you know that I’m not like that. You’re the only woman for me.”

“That changes nothing,” she said, as firmly as before, but he thought he saw her shoulders relax a little. “You’re still abandoning us.”

“Never,” Hector vowed. “You and Coco are my world. It’s just…I have to try, Imelda. Maybe I’ll fail miserably, but I won’t be able to live with myself if I’m always wondering ‘what if.’ At least this way I can say I tried.”

Her stern exterior started to slip.

“And,” he added, “if it doesn’t work out we’ll open your shoe store.”

“Senor Castillo seems agreeable,” Imelda said, “I think he’ll give me lessons. And you will write to us at least twice a week and telephone once a month.”

“We don’t have a telephone,” Hector said.

“The Guzmans do. We’ll arrange a time and day once a month. They owe me a favor.”

“Deal,” Hector said, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

“I still don’t like this,” Imelda said.

“I know, mi amor,” he said, taking her into his arms. “That’s why I’m eternally grateful to have the best wife in the world.”

If telling Imelda was difficult, than telling Coco was heartbreaking.

“But why?” the four-year-old asked turning her huge, luminous eyes on him. She was Imelda in miniature, but with a rounder face, and a few hints of Hector sprinkled in.

“Papa needs to travel to play his music,” Hector said, trying to explain it as best as he could. “Papa’s an okay musician, right?”

“The best,” Coco nodded fervently. Hector scooped her up into a tight hug, spinning her. She laughed directly into his ear. He wished he could hold this moment forever, the sheer joy of having a four-year-old daughter. He felt confident in his decision before; now, faced with the reality of leaving Coco, a part of him wanted to tell Ernesto that he changed his mind.

“I’ll write you letters every day,” Hector promised. “Mama can read them to you.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said against his chest.

“I know, mija, I’ll miss you too,” he said. He was suddenly struck by an idea. “Remember our song?”

“Remember me,” she answered.

“That’s right,” he said, dropping her down, lightly, onto the bed. “We’ll sing it every night at the same time, right before bed, no matter where we are. Got that, mija? Then we’ll still be connected, no matter how far apart me are.”

“I understand, Papa,” she said.

“Good.” He unclipped his guitar case. Coco beamed; she loved listening to him play. “We’ll sing it together tonight, but after that, you’ll remember to sing it on your own, right?”

She nodded solemnly. Coco was funny like that—in many ways such a bright and playful child, but she also had a mysterious air to her, like an old soul trapped in a child’s body.

“That’s my girl,” Hector said, and he began to strum the opening notes. As he leaned in closer to her, she placed her chubby little hands on his face. They were warm and welcoming, and he wanted this moment to last forever, the two of them together, connected by music.

He left the next morning, just after sunrise.

“Remember the song, Coco,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded against his chest.

“Goodbye, Papa,” she said.

Hector lifted the girl high in the air and gave her one last twirl, savoring her delighted laughter. Then he turned towards her mother.

“It won’t be long,” Hector said, pulling Imelda into a tight hug. “And who knows, you might like it better without me to pester and annoy you all the time. Enjoy the peace and quiet, eh?”

Imelda fought to keep her face stern and failed miserably.

“Don’t be stupid,” she told him, “that’s not an attractive look on you.”

“Ah, so you do find me attractive,” he smirked.

“You’re impossible,” Imelda shook her head. “Just remember to write.”

“I will.”

“And phone the Guzmans the days that I wrote down.”

“I will.”

“And don’t so much as look at another woman.”

“I won’t.”

“And Hector,” she said with a smile so sorrowful it could have broken his heart, “good luck.”

He met Ernesto on the road.

“Hector,” he boomed, giving his friend a slap on the back, “I almost thought you’d chicken out.”

“And deprive you of my wonderful company?” Hector said. “Not to mention my incredible talents.”

Ernesto grunted a laugh. His friend was the picture of boisterous energy, radiating excitement and confidence.

“You’re not nervous at all?” Hector asked as they walked. The train station was a town over, about an hour or two on foot. Perhaps if they made enough money Hector could purchase an automobile. He’d seen them before, though never driven one. He was itching to test it out for himself. He imagined sitting in the front seat with Coco on his lap, letting her steer.

“I told you, amigo, I have that much confidence in us,” Ernesto said. “We have the talent, the dashing good looks. All we need is to seize the right moment.”

“And you’re sure this is it?”

“Of course,” he replied. “This is the moment we’ve talked about since we were boys. We’re finally getting to share our music with the world outside of Santa Cecilia.”

Hector had never been on a train before. Ernesto had, once, to visit some far-flung cousins, but as Hector’s family was either dead or in Santa Cecilia, he’d never had the opportunity. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he acted more like a boy of ten than a grown man of twenty-one. He didn’t think he closed his mouth until at least fifteen minutes after the train started.

The seats were comfortable, facing back so that he could see the sights as they rushed by. On the journey they shared drinks, told stories punctuated by laughter, and Ernesto spent a good ten minutes trying to flirt with the waitress, but Hector’s favorite part was the view. He was mesmerized by the hills and pastures, towns and villages, that sped by. For the first time in his life, he truly appreciated that there was a wide world out there, so much larger and grander than he was. Men occasionally left Santa Cecilia, either to go off to war or travel for work, to Cuidad de Mexico or another city, some even venturing as far north as Estados Unidos. Otherwise, the village you were born in was more often than not the village you died in. A part of Hector was content with that life, content to play his music for locals and embrace the role of husband and father. But another part of him yearned for something more.

Ernesto had said that they would share their music with the world. It was a wonderful thought.

Wherever Hector and Ernesto went, success followed. They always drew a crowd, and after one appearance, word of mouth would bring in even more people, all curious about the two young, handsome musicos.

“You were right, amigo,” Hector shouted to Ernesto at the end of a performance, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the crowd, “we really are popular.”

“I told you! But do you ever listen to your friend?” Ernesto laughed. “We just need to see this through, Hector, it’s only going to get better from here.”

They fell into a comfortable routine. They spent about a week or two in one town, depending on its size, living in inns and making sure to perform almost every night. Ernesto lived for it; he seemed to feed off of the energy of the crowd, the bigger and louder the better. Hector, too, was enthralled by their new lifestyle, though from time to time he found himself nostalgic for the quieter moments when he was with his familia. He made a point singing “Remember Me,” under his breath every night before going to sleep, even those nights when he was out playing late or not quite sober.

He made sure to call the Guzmans once a month at the appointed time. First he talked to Imelda, who told him any little detail that struck her fancy (“Senor Castillo is going blind in his right eye, so you can imagine how long it takes for him to find the right materials”) or grilled him about his habits (“That’s what you consider an acceptable dinner? Ay Dios mio.”). Afterwards, she’d put Coco on. Hector tried to tell the little girl as many exciting things as possible, but mostly he just listened to the seemingly unimportant stories that meant the world to a four-year-old.

“I lost a tooth, Papa! I really did! Carlos Jimenez pushed me and it fell out!”

“I’m sorry you were hurt, mija, but it’s exciting all the same.”

“If my tooth doesn’t grow back can I get a gold one like you?”

“It’ll grow back, Coco,” he laughed.

Or:

“I found a cat in the alleyway, Papa, he’s been following me everywhere. I named him Rojo because his fur’s reddish. Mama won’t let me keep him, she says Pepita will fight with him and that he has diseases. Can we get a kitten, Papa?”

Or:

“I can braid my hair all by myself now! Well, kinda. They usually fall out when I start playing.”

Inevitably, the conversation would be cut off much sooner than he would have liked, by an impatient Guzman or Imelda wanting to remind him of something. Hector marveled at how much Coco was growing. Soon she would be ready for school, and not too long after that, her first communion. Hector wondered if he’d be able to teach her to play the guitar; perhaps in a year or two.

Two months away from Santa Cecilia, Ernesto got the bright idea to hire a photographer.

“If we get our photos taken, he can get more exposure,” he reasoned to a doubtful Hector. “We can print them in the newspaper to help get the word out.”

“I don’t know,” Hector said, “they always take so long setting up and by the time they’re ready I always scratch or blink and ruin it.”

He thought about the last photograph he posed for, one that he’d arranged as a present for Imelda. He probably fidgeted more than Coco, only two at the time, but the results were magnificent.

“Quit being such a baby,” Ernesto said. “It will take five minutes.”

It took fifteen, but who was counting? They took pictures of the two of them together, posing with their guitars, and a few individual photos, which the photographer dubbed “headshots.” Hector had to admit that they weren’t bad; he was especially fond of his headshot, since he’d never seen a picture of himself that really captured his personality before.

Ernesto was right, once again: the photos brought them even more attention, which led to more paid appearances. Hector kept his own headshot in his pocket, wanting to show it off to Imelda the next time he went home.

There were girls, of course. Girls were drawn to them like flies to honey, and Ernesto hadn’t changed his womanizing ways. Some nights he didn’t return to their room at all, and Hector would find him the next morning having breakfast at the inn, acting even more cheerful than usual.

A side effect of this was that Ernesto often tried to rope Hector along. One night, after yet another successful performance, Ernesto pulled him over to a side table, where they entertained the lovely Lupe and Renata.

“You were so good,” Renata (or so he thought) gushed with a hand placed lightly on his forearm.

“Where did you learn your songs?” asked Lupe (probably). “I’ve never heard them before.”

“Ah, well, that’s because I wrote them.”

“Ay, Dios mio, you wrote them?!” Renata exclaimed.

“You’re so talented” Lupe said. “And handsome.”

Ernesto gave him a knowing smirk. Hector felt honor bound to set the record straight, especially since Ernesto had most likely mislead these poor woman.

“Mucho gracias, you’re too kind,” he said. “but being a musico has its drawbacks. Being on the road makes me miss home, especially my wife and daughter.”

“Aw, you have a daughter? How old?”

“Four.”

“What’s her name?”

“Socorro.”

“This is so sweet!”

To Hector’s surprise, this only seemed to make them more interested in him, as if being a family man only added to his attractiveness.

“Pardon me, senoritas,” he said, standing, “I, uh, need to use the restroom.”

Ernesto frowned after him, but didn’t say anything.

Ernesto returned to their room just before midnight. Hector was still awake, lying in bed and writing in his leather-bound journal. Ernesto scowled at his friend.

“What were you doing back there? After you left, we were uneven. Lupe was feeling left out, so they both went off somewhere else.”

“Sorry for that,” Hector said, “I didn’t want to hurt their feelings. It’s just, you know, married,” he tapped the ring on his left hand for emphasis.

“Plenty of men are married but don’t act like they’re allergic to girls,” Ernesto grumbled.

Hector thought back to Imelda’s words: “I know what musicos are like.” He knew that a lot of men would not have a second thought about going to bed with Lupe or Renata, married or not. He knew that if Ernesto had a sweetheart or wife back home, he’d probably still chase girls at night. But Hector couldn’t be like that. He knew that Imelda’s anger towards “musicos” was a front to hide her pain and fear. But she didn’t need to be worried in that regard; he’d meant it, wholeheartedly, when he said he only had eyes for her.

“Well, I’m not like those men,” Hector said.

Ernesto shook his head. “What happened to you, mi amigo? You’ve changed in the last few years.”

Hector wanted to retort that he’d always been this way—he’d started his odd courtship with Imelda when they were fourteen, for God’s sake—and that it was kind of, sort of, shitty for Ernesto to put him in situations like that, knowing how Hector felt. But he didn’t say any of that; he valued their peaceful relationship too much to be petty. So he went back to his writing, allowing Ernesto to sulk in silence, letting him get it out of his system.

Before he knew it, they’d been away from home for five months. Hector was only a few weeks away from his twenty-second birthday, and two weeks after that, it would be Coco’s fifth.

Hector was almost scared of how popular they were becoming in such a short period of time. A small part of him had always expected to fail, despite Ernesto’s unwavering optimism. It had been Hector’s dream since he was a niño to share his music with the world, but he couldn’t shake the fear that he’d ruin it somehow, that he really was the daydreaming screw-up that everyone always called him.

However, success did not equal freedom. It seemed that the more popular they became, the more Ernesto insisted that they needed to do. They needed more performances, to travel even farther, to prolong their return home to the ever vague “just a few more weeks.” And while it was wonderful sharing his music, expanding his abilities, five months was an awfully long time to be away from a wife and growing child. While Ernesto basked in the glory, Hector found his thoughts turning more and more towards his family in Santa Cecilia.

It was a letter that sent him over the edge. Such a simple thing, really. Hector had been true to his word, sometimes sending letters twice a week, always making sure to keep Imelda updated on his travel plans. Letters still got lost, inevitably. They moved around so much that sometimes they were already gone by the time a letter arrived, but still, Hector got most of them (or some of them, he actually wasn’t entirely sure how many had been lost).

For the most part, the letter wasn’t remarkable. It contained Imelda’s usual updates on the goings on of Santa Cecilia, her progress with Senor Castillo, and Coco’s growth. There was one tiny difference: at the bottom of the letter, written in large, uncertain letters, was “CoCO”

She wrote her name. His baby could write her own name now. He brushed his fingers over the letters, noting how she capitalized every letter except, for some unknown reason, the first “o.” He imagined Imelda guiding Coco’s unsteady hand, forming each letter slowly. He pictured Coco’s excitement at getting to sign her name for her papa.

Where had all the time gone? How did he now have a child with missing teeth who could braid her own hair and write her own name? What else would he miss, if he stayed away any longer?

Enough was enough. He needed to see his family now. Then, perhaps, after spending time with his family, he could decide how to proceed, but for now, he couldn’t stand another day apart. Ernesto would be angry at first, but he’d understand. Hector began to pack, imagining the surprised looks on Imelda’s and Coco’s faces when he showed up at their casa the next morning, how he’d pick up Coco and spin her around…

“What are you doing, Hector? We’re not leaving for another two days,” came his friend’s voice. The grin slid off Ernesto’s face. “Hector? What’s going on?”

So he told him, and as predicted, Ernesto did not react well. Hector had prepared himself for anger, but he had no idea how to handle the pure devastation that came over his friend, like he’d been deflated. Ernesto pleaded with him even admitting how lost he’d be without Hector’s songs, how he couldn’t go on without his amigo at his side.

Hector felt the barest twinge of guilt to see his childhood friend so distressed, but it was not enough to sway him. Right now, Imelda and Coco were all that mattered.

“Hate me if you want,” he said firmly, “but my mind is made up.”

He turned to the door when Ernesto’s voice called him back.

“Oh, I could never hate you. If you must go then I’m sending you off with a toast.”

There was the Ernesto he knew, bouncing back already. He figured that he owed his friend that much, so paused to share a drink.

“I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo. Salut!” The glasses clinked together.

Hector downed his drink without a thought.

“Thank you, Ernesto,” he said, “but I need to catch the train.”

“Let me walk you,” Ernesto sprang to the door. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, I’m not going to be able to sleep any time soon.”

The cool night air hit Hector as soon as he stepped out of the door. He took a deep breath, savoring the knowledge that this was his last night away from home. From tomorrow on, he’d spend his evenings breathing in the smell of Imelda’s cooking, avoiding stepping on Coco’s dolls as he walked around the house, and playing music for his smallest audience yet.

As they walked, Ernesto filled the silence.

“Perhaps this is for the best. Seeing your family will do you good, and who knows, maybe it’ll inspire you to write more. But even if you don’t come back, Hector, I want you to know that it’s been a privilege playing with you. You’ve helped me more than you know…”

Hector barely heard a word. The more he walked, the more he noticed the pain in his stomach. It was gradual at first, barely distinguishable from the minor aches and pains that accompanied daily life, but with each footstep it grew worse. Hector tried to ignore it, but it became so intense that he couldn’t concentrate on anything else.

What the…? he thought. Did I eat something that had gone bad?

It was like he was being stabbed from the inside out. He hunched over, clutching his stomach, gritting out an anguished cry. He felt Ernesto’s arms around him, heard him say something about a chorizo, but he couldn’t focus on that. All he registered was the pain, and his desperate wish that it would end, for the love of God, please.

His legs were too weak to hold his weight. They buckled underneath him. He just needed to rest. Yes. He wouldn’t feel so weak if he could just rest for a bit, just until the pain went away. He closed his eyes, and felt everything else slip away.

#pixar coco #the life and death of hector rivera #hector rivera #imelda rivera #mama coco #ernesto de la cruz #fanfic