#partly why she was keen to have her daughter be a lady-in-waiting

[hex-and-fable]

Of Matter: Purpose. Pt: 2

[A guild wars 2 RP] A:  “Dinner?” The Lord mused beneath a breath as he welcomed his counterpart at his side upon their exit of his command room. “Now, why haven’t I thought of that?” Laden within his voice was that ever growing sarcasm he was prone to exude, most certain she’d afford him one of her looks which would prompt him to rest his hand along the small of their back as they walked. The corridors were lined with windows which stretched from floor to ceiling on either side, their blinds a thick crimson speckled with embroidered golden leafs. This was to ensure all sides of the courtyards were visible. To their left the guards and soldiers continued their training whereas to the right the lush green gardens were in full sight and bloom. Some of the panes were left open allowing the breeze from the East to trickle in, with it was the scent of lavender and honeysuckle coupled with the faint tinge of water from the fountains littering about the vast orchard. If he truly had it his way he would have guided her behind one of those massive curtains and done away with her clothing and taken her there---a penchant that had yet to leave him but he was certain that she was of the notion that there was a time and place for everything.

 Among the corridors was not one of them—not at present. This, of course, was entirely conductive of the fact that he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a crack to be filled with an unceremonious bout of contentment he had yet to feel in quite some time let alone been driven with the desire to express it. -(edited)Their meander lead them down the winding staircase leading toward the third floor only to be drawn to another series of steps leading down to the back entry of the kitchens. There the smell of fresh fruits filled the air, stock and minced meats accompanied the scent as the workers were hard in perfecting their craft. The habitual heat lofting from the kitchen hearths heralded a night’s meal for all those inhabiting the Estate. 

 They were fortunate they were all able to eat and eat well. Several of the workers bowed their head in greeting---Argrin ruled not by an iron fist. Many smiled warmly toward the ‘Lady’ of the house though it was certain she was rarely addressed as such. She was always so well received. “Maevis.” Argrin halted before the head cook---a stalky man with a belly proving testament to his cooking. The white apron swathed about his frame was blotted with stains from a day’s hard work and when he turned to address the pair he continued the tradition by cleaning his hands at its hem.

 “’The little Lady?” The elder man intoned, offering a peer about the kitchen as if half expecting her to pop up from behind the sacks of grain and flower. “Can’t say I’ve seen her since lunch. Not supposed to tell ya but she snuck some almond danishes with her.” He offered a wink toward Sigrid in particular. S: She did, indeed, proffer one of her fixed expressions with the solitary brow lofting ever-higher in silent exacerbation. It was a routine that never tired, much akin to a ritual. It was choreographed, measured, and yet despite how predictable, the reaction was always expected welcomingly. With a ‘hmph’, she held her scarred chin aloft as she passed, though her gait was truncated as to humor her lord’s hand purchase whilst they traversed the stretch of the manor. The days had grown longer with the encroachment of a dry Summer, though the heat had yet become unbearable.

 They were shored away closer along the bend of the Shiverpeaks and while their Winters were less forgiving, they were manageable, but that also meant accessibility to water and more temperate weather. Sigrid had been no friend of the sun considering her condition, though she did not reflect outward disdain. It was jest that her birth during such a demure time of the year was what attributed, but she had a warm soul even if it was wrapped in armor. Armor that her better half saw fit to peel away and toss to the floor, but much to his – though to his credit, mild - chagrin, he would not have the chance to do so behind that familiar corner this evening. 

As the pair passed on their way down to the kitchens, he might have noticed the corners of her lips twitch to feign from a wry smile, as if to share in a secret.Though their arrival had been overtly acknowledged, it was in moderate passing. It was how they wanted it; station or no, it always felt odd to the pair, or at least the modest ‘Lady’, whenever someone bowed their head in such reverence. However, she was quick to return a small smile of her own or to offer a polite nod. Habitually, she still craned her neck as to veil the disfigured profile of her mien, but there was little use in hiding. 

Otherwise, she would have employed the use of a partial mask, and she was not ashamed by her scars even if she retained a bit of vanity whether she cared to recognize it or not. She exchanged looks with the head chef as he turned about to address Argrin and when he smiled toward her in admission, her lids waned, and she sighed heavily. Well, there would be no offerings in the form of sweets that evening, it seemed. Buuuutt… “I never heard it from you, mo chara.” She rejoined coolly, amused. She elevated her gaze to her counterpart, thoughtful. “I suppose we can wait for her to appear, but chances are we might be better off checking her favorite haunts in the mean time?”

A: An idle chuckle bloomed from the depths of his chest at the imagery of their kin wandering about the grand halls of the estate with pastry in both her mouth and hand for if her penchants were true to form she’d have sampled more than one. A thankful nod was offered toward the head chef before drawing his attention back to Sigrid.

 “I imagine that’d be out best course of action.” With a passing wave of his hand he bid his adieu to the staff before coaxing them out toward the grand dining area. It was seldom used for its former purpose---what with holding grand balls and events that would better proclaim them a Noble house. Instead it served a more pragmatic purpose as the estates employ normally dined within its splendor far more than other nobles inhabited it. 

 Still, Argrin kept his hand against his counterpart in some fashion or other lest she desired her space. Even if that where the case he’d respectfully accept her desire and keep his hands firmly pressed behind his back. “Who would have thought she’d avoid us so expertly so soon. I imagine at some point she will find herself finding security outside these walls whenever we find ourselves on the hunt for her.” Keenly he peered about the hall, making point in ensuring no little feet were visible behind the curtains stretching across the grand stain glass windows.

S: Bowing her head to the kitchen staff, she twisted about to follow suit after Argrin and once they had a bit more privacy, she seemed keen to allow him to draw her close once more. She had always been reserved and that part of her most likely would never change even if the years had a bit kinder than her than those previously. 

She smiled more often and had been quick to laugh despite the burdens of her former occupation still weighed heavily upon her. She was more likely to address him less formally in private and exchange a gesture of affection here and there, where as she was a bit more withdrawn in public, most likely out of habit to continually present the professional veneer. In the latter decade, however, there were moments where either she had forgotten herself or mayhap decided it was occasionally permittable for him to hold her or afford a kiss to the corner of her lips even while at the tables. In fact, a few of the staff most likely had stolen a glance their way to see them walk side by side with his arm around her before spiriting down the hall and out of sight. In their meanderings, they continued to converse, in no rush. 

There were only so many rooms she could hide in, after all. Sigrid yet kept her head on a swivel, peering side long one way and the other occasionally as if to spy the heel of a small shoe from around the corner.“Were she of the mind to worry me into an early grave.” She quipped, though surely, he had meant the courtyard. In fact, they had been nearing it this entire time, but rather than dip out onto the paseo, she seemed keen to look about the corridor. It was not beyond her; Maevis mentioned she enjoyed watching the dancers out on the veranda, even if she was the only one that seemed to be able to see them. Passing by the next window, nearly neglecting it altogether, they catch sight of their raven-haired sprite and sure enough, she had the remaining pastry partly in her mouth while she navigated the lip of the fountain.

 She placed one foot over the other, her arms outstretched to either side and elevated past her shoulders. Sigrid’s lips pursed into a thin line, but that wry smile was threatening to crest. Of course. It did not take Maevis long to realize she was being watched and her head snapped up to meet her parents gaze through the panes and her eyes went wide as if she had been caught in the act of doing something she shouldn’t have, but it was a short-lived reaction. She wobbled on one foot before righting her balance and then hopped down to run down the cobbled walkway toward the nearby door, most likely to rendezvous with them. A: The beating sun caught the impression of the little Lady’s raven hair, haloing about in magnificent manner that always seemed to force a smile at the corner of Argrin’s mouth. How he was so blind to the idea that she was his for so long embarrassed him so but it was a subject seldom touched upon for it was the moments in watching his daughter scurry toward him that banished all those awful sentiments.

 “You concerns have been my constant companion through these five years.” A wild grin bloomed across his countenance as he had half expected her to slap his shoulder by the back of her hand. It too had grown stronger through the years on account of it. Instead, to ensure no such action was conducted, he curled his arm tightly around her waist and pulled her in, forcing their hips together to the point her body would surely have to melt into his. 

 The corners of his eyes pinched with humored narrow as his attention followed their ilk till she was no longer in sight. It was then they heard the echo of a door coupled with the hurried footfalls of one particular daughter.

 “Kiss me one last time before she arrives and professes her revulsion at our affections.” S: With a hiss, she sucked in a breath, but before she could react, he had promptly pulled her close to which she began to snicker. However, her palm stubbornly smacked his shoulder, albeit cushioned due to his quick thinking to counter. 

“Why you…!” She came face to face with him, the amber orbs flickering as she blinked. She read it on his face before he spoke the words, her hands coming to rest on either shoulder when she leaned in with a cant on her head and pressed her lips to his own and eagerly. Had he any doubts fermenting from earlier when they navigated the hallways, they were quickly dashed like water spilling over hot coals. 

The desire was there, but in the exchanged she merited a good level of restraint, pulling away only to proffer a chaste peck to his chin before twisting about just as Maevis rounded the corner. Admittingly, they were given a bit more time than they anticipated considering the ragamuffin had paused to stuff the rest of the Danish inconspicuously in her mouth and was now struggling to chew, her cheeks bloated akin to a chipmunk’s. Padding over, Argrin only had a moment to catch her as she leapt up expectantly between them. A: That lingering sensation had Argrin’s mouth drawing agape, even more so when she pulled away to address their kin. The look he was afforded was one of mounting tension, most of it she’d be privy to in the coming evening hours. Before long that nefarious look snapped to one of adoration as the sprite child caught his attention.

 “Oi—oph!” With a gentle cough he feigned the idea that she was but a warrior knocking the wind out of him. The corners of his mouth bled into a wide smile, one Sigrid oft saw when they were in company of their daughter. By the hoist of his strong arms he cupped her against his forearms, chest pressed to his before hoisting her against his hip. “What’s this you have in your mouth I wonder?” Argrin’s eyes pinched at their corners as he made point with inspecting her crumb laden face. “Smells of something sweet now doesn’t it, my love?” His attention snapped aside to Sigird.

S: She would come to know it and perhaps she was counting on it, but when Maevis hopped up, shifting in her father’s arms, Sigrid’s wry smile softened though only slightly as the wide-eyed youth stopped chewing and swallowed in some vain attempt to hide what it was she had just devoured. “Mnnnooo…” She feigned, even as Argrin inspected the remnants of pastry all over her palms. Caught red-handed quite literally.

 Her gaze dropped, avoiding his gaze. Sigrid adjusted her weight to favor the other leg, bringing her arms to furl over her chest (that and she did not want to admit that her knee was troubling her again). “Then what was it?” The pallor Lady enquired rhetorically. Maevis only continued to shrink away. She had no clever quip or riposte in which to afford either of her parents, but the mood was light enough, she seemed to play it off that she was going along with some unspoken act. “I only had a couple.” She mumbled quietly, but enough for doting father to hear.

 Her mother’s lips pursed, if only to keep herself from smiling wider. Sigrid had a strong policy against encouraging dishonesty, even if this one had been mild. Alas, she just might get away with it this time. Drawing closer, the weathered femme clicked her tongue and gently swatted the back of Maevis’ hand in some faux warning before mussing up her hair. “You better finish your dinner tonight, then.” Phew. The relief on the little sprite’s face was short-lived, having started to kick her feet idly.

 “Can I go see Adrienne after? We are only gonna play in her room, I promise.” Elevating her gaze, she glanced between them, eyes bright. At this, Sigrid hummed before peering toward her partner, considerate. “…We will see.” She began, watching as Maevis’ expression falter a bit. She was intuitive, seemingly catching on that something was amiss. “Your father and I need to talk with you. But, after, we will revisit that. Alright?” Maevis nodded. A:  A sly wink was afforded down to Maevia upon her mild confession. It was as if to say it’d be their secrete when indeed it had been shared among the trio. Her adoration for sweets was certainly a trait within the female half of the Cress family. He wasn’t surprised it was a shared proclivity.

With a soft nudge of his head he nodded toward Sigrid, clearly in agreement with her clause. “We wanted to discuss the matter of your education.” Always the politician. “Iiiif that is---“ His eyes swung from his kin to Sigrid and back again. “---something you’d be interested in. We’ve been here tell of a particular little lady being a tad---“ He paused, searching for a word. “---petulant?” His attention differed back to Sigrid. 

“Was I supposed to offer the pony now or after?” He stage whispered toward the pallid knight, grinning ear to ear. When it came to Maevis he strived to always make her laugh even at the expense of receiving one of Sigrid’s famous paint peeling stares.

S: Maevis’ gaze lit up, bouncing her Argrin’s arms. “I am getting a horse?!” She could barely contain herself, but Sigrid swiftly put the kabosh on it. “Ah – ah – ah.” She wagged a finger, that solitary brow lofting habitually high. Her daughter locked eyes with her, two pairs of molten irises; one rounded, the other narrowed. Briefly, her partner was, indeed, afforded one of those infamous, paint-peeling stares.

And just as she expected, his grin only widened. “Your teacher has been telling me you have not been attentive in class lately.” As she began, Maevis became a bit more sullen to which Sigrid elicited a less than plaintive sigh. “But… “ Gradually, the youth perked up, canting her head and shifting her jaw to the side, much like Sigrid’s would when perturbed or invested.  

“…As your father suggested, we thought it best that mayhap you might prefer a higher education. A field more specialized that will keep you interested.” Smoothing the wrinkles in her tunic, she canted her head similarly. “That would, however, require you to attend these studies in Divinity’s Reach. You would be away during the week but allowed to visit home a couple of days during.” She did not sugarcoat, transparent as if she was handling one of the disorderlies, but the look on their progeny’s face said it all. She had a big grin mirroring her father’s own. “So I am getting a horse to go there?!” 

At this, Sigrid’s eyes waned to a close, but only momentarily. “We… are considering it.” She chose her words carefully. “But on the condition that we attain a favorable report regarding your studies from now on. Alright?” Drawing closer once more, she placed one arm about Argrin’s midriff and the other around their daughter’s shoulders. Her intonation softened and Maevis’ grin impossibly grew wider. “Should we take that as a yes?” A: “---It’s all and well looking forward to something, my dear---however, if we are told you aren’t attentive with your tutors you shan’t see a mane or hove of this horse. This is an important opportunity for you. Not many are gifted with such privileges---especially a young lady of your stature. With these studies come great responsibility, just as it comes with owning one’s own horse.” 

 Maevis met a rather serious look from her father, one he hoped didn’t quash her excitement. “Show us you’re able to hold onto one thing before reviving another.” The Lord craned his neck forward and offered the faintest of nudges with the tip of his nose against his daughter’s cheek. “The cooks have prepared Shepard’s pie.” He mumbled beneath a breath

“Upon request, that is. If you have little qualm I suspect the three of us might have time to wander the gardens after dinner? Discuss this further? Lest you have anything to add, my lady?” Such was addressing toward Maevis S:  As Argrin hardened his expression, Maevis puffed out her chest and folded her arms proudly as she nodded, seemingly attempting to mimic the look on her father's face. “Yup!” She unceremoniously promised. However, the humor was laced with the child's own resolve, especially when his leaned in and nuzzled her. Her nose wrinkled, and she recoiled slightly. 

"Your beard itches!" A chortle bubbled within the hearth of Sigrid’s throat, taking the opportunity to bring her brow to rest against her daughter’s own. “We have your word?” 

“Yeah …I promise.” Maevis resigned, though genuinely. Sigrid hummed before exchanging looks with her better half. She squinted and gave his beard a playful tug. “A brief walk about would not hurt.” A:  “A sentiment both you and your mother share though there was a time I did rid of it. The look set to your mothers face was one laden both with disgust and confusion. I dare say the same fate will befall me if you were to set those pretty eyes on my hairless face.” His attention was caught by the idle tug issued at his beard by Sigrid’s grip.

 A soft note hummed from the back of his throat once she had successfully garnered his sights. “It would also disallow her the opportunity to tug at it as she so endearingly loves to do.” The measure of his gaze settled down to her for the stark difference in their height was patent.  As the Lord went to open his mouth to offer more of his wise addendums the far off trickling of the bells lodged within their towers surrounding the estate began to toll, heralding the afternoon hour. “Come. I’d like for Maevis to assist the cooks in setting the tables.” Quickly his attention flicked askance to Maevis. “No protests, now.” S: No impish grin was proffered as he glanced askance toward his stoic counterpart, but her eyes gave away the smile that was not reflected upon her mien. Before she could contribute anything, however, the bells began to chime and, beckoned by her father, Maevis nodded before hopping down if Argrin were to let her go, taking off down the hallway. She afforded a pause before following, the corners of her lips twitching. 

“Shepherd’s Pie, hm?” Her addendum was hushed. The dish was a hallmark amongst the plainsfolk, hence how it acquired its name. It was a peasant dish, but one well liked especially by the veteran herself considering her background. She had been raised on it, particularly when food was not as plentiful during the winter months and now it was a rare treat.

A: Argrin foresaw his  daughters leap and once he felt the shift in her weight had he guided her down to better accompany her fall. Once freed he took those lingering moments of silence to watch her dart down the hallway before Sigrid’s voice drew his attention from the space where Maevis once ran.

“Mm?” A well-practiced smile fitted to his mouth before a hand was brought to massage at the back of his neck in a way which implored minor embarrassment at being caught within a kind gesture. “We haven’t sampled it in quite some time. I was told the lamb had been marinated for a day and that the butter is freshly churned.” He grinned down to her. 

 “Unless you’d like me to cancel the order and we can dine on mutton and boiled potatoes instead? Those Danishes were meant to be for after dinner but our daughter seemed to have found a way to enjoy them without our company. We shan’t deny her another ‘sample’ either for I wouldn’t want to see her upset on account of her avarice.” He knew he was encouraging it. “Unless there’s another after dinner delight you can think of that might suit your palate, mo grá?” Sigrid would more than likely catch onto the look surfacing within the depths of his bottle green hues.

S:   It was not often she saw him act so sheepish, let alone meek, but if anyone had that affect on him, it was none other than her. Any woman would, assumedly, take some pride in this where as she merely found it the utmost endearing. In his youth, he was seen as a boorish brute and played up the part, but she had seen through that guise and the rest was history. She stopped, taking his hand in her own to gently encourage him to do so as well and with the other hand, she gathered the couture of his collar to pull him close. The corners of her eyes crinkled, her lips scantly hovering over his.

 “You already know the answer to that.” She intoned with dangerous playfulness, alluding, but rather than proffer a rewarding kiss, she gave him an elusive peck to the corner of his tiers. Were he to protest, she placed a cursory index finger to his mouth and parroted for emphasis: “After dinner, of course.”

A: By the virile groan surfacing from the depths of his chest she knew exactly what string she plucked. The pressure of her finger at his mouth elicited but a soft exhale through his nose, one she’d feel as he attempted to collect himself by banishing the seedy thoughts surfacing from the recesses of his mind. Time and place. This was perhaps not the time but certainly the place.

The firm grip of his fingers against her back notched greedily going as far as to pull her body against his in a way which would remind her just how powerful he truly was. It seemed as if she needed reminding. Nonetheless, the steel fires burning within his gaze lingered onto her for several long, heart pounding moments before he finally released her with a genial clearing of his throat

. “---As a matter of course, Sigrid. After dinner. We wouldn’t want to be spoiling our appetite now would we?” By the offer of his arm he intended to walk alongside her till they reached the dining hall. From where they stood the luscious smell cooked pie filled within the air coupled with the steady scent of ale from the freshly cracked barrels brought in several hours prior. The estate began to stir as its patrons and workers all began to congregate to the main dining hall. It would seem as if they were holding a ball with how many were in attendance. It had become common practice with sharing food among the workers---brought up moral as one particular knight decreed. She was far from incorrect. S:  An astonished gasp was expelled, prompting her to place the other hand upon his breast whilst the other tightened its grip upon the linen weave. She knew better than to poke the bear and it took just a simple squeeze about her form to be reminded exactly how strong her counterpart was. Much to his delight, roseate dusted the apples of her cheeks. Reluctantly, they withdrew from one another, she herself clearing her throat in a similarly awkward fashion. As he held his arm out to her, she humored one of her frail smiles and took it, allowing him to lead her toward the banquet hall. 

Entering the foray, they were greeted by the bustle of patrons dining at the tables. Maevis was still milling about with plates and napkins, doing her best to prove her word to her parents – at least until Adrienne, whom had just entered adolescence, took them from her and picked Maevis up under the arms to set her on one of the chairs. They were arguing over something completely unrelated, but it did not seem to warrant any concern. It was just the usual hijinks, as far as anyone was concerned.Sigrid hesitated at the precipice. Before, she had been reluctant to step foot into the dining area after the encouraged mandate for she had been fairly new to the role. Previously, Argrin had to sweep her off her feet and carry her over while she fussed, much to the amusement of everyone else at her expense. 

She had since grown accustom, but there were days she hung back to watch for a time before joining in herself. With some prodding, however, gait slowed, she let him guide her further in to find a seat and serve themselves and most likely near their daughter to ensure she ate everything on her plate. The menagerie of conversation, selectively, was lost on her though she occasionally caught a few tidbits here and there were she to focus. However, she did not engage ‘lest someone approached her with enquiry or if she felt it necessary to interject. Inwardly, it was comfortingly nostalgic of a military mess hall without the necessity of rushing through a meal. Partway through dinner, their daughter came bounding up to them and tugged on Argrin’s sleeve. “Can I go with Adrienne now? I finished!”

A: Once seated it didn’t take long for someone to pour the head of House his first stein of ale for the evening. He was, however, astute enough to know that when among his daughter his intake would be less than normal for he wanted to instill the best impression for her. That, and he could already feel the lingering stare of his counterpart at his nape. 

 The food was bountiful, the drinks remained poured, and Argrin, as he had many a night prior, ate his fill. He was not the sort of delve into a plate or two---oh, no, when his daughter approached and tugged at his sleeve he was on his fifth serving and seemed to be nowhere close to stopping. How he managed to keep the shape he had was beyond those who worked with him. It’d be his counterpart who knew he arose with the sun every morning to make his rounds about the estate, lift the heavy sacs of grain within the stables in order to keep himself fit.

 Blinking down to his kin he raised a fist and connected it with his chest upon swallow. “Mmph?” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and turned within his seat to better address Maevis. “Everything?” Peering up he intended to find her plate as if feigning his curiosity. He knew well enough that she had. “Mm! Well---“ He paused again, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his thighs. “I don’t see why not. Do be back for your curfew, understood?” S: Sigrid ate well, but all she needed was a single plate. She was a very active individual, but her appetite was not as elaborate as her counterpart’s. She did not have the muscle mass to match his own, naturally, and he required more nutriment as a result. As usual, she abstained from alcohol, content with water in her cup instead and when Argrin gave Maevis his blessing, she afforded a curt nod in affirmation even if neither of it had seen it. 

“’Kay!” She rejoined with a flourish of her hand, connecting it to her brow similarly to how she had seen her father lazily salute others before taking off. They pair watched as she met the older child at the stairs before they ascended, skipping every other step. 

“I wonder whom she learned that from?” Sigrid mused, taking another sip of her drink. A:  Hardly a rarity was it when he displayed his affections toward his daughter and it was in those moments when she took after him that he felt his most prideful. It manifested itself by the wide smile touching so keenly that it kissed his eyes, forcing the hidden wrinkles there to show. Only when the pair had left did he turn back within his seat and take up his fork again only to shovel several mouthfuls of potatoes into his mouth. 

 “No idea.” He began lowly, sparing her a cursory glance aside as he polished off his plate. It didn’t take long for him to swallow or pick up his cup to wash down the rest. With a satisfied sigh he leaned back within his seat and gave his belly a content pat. 

“Though I’m certain whomever she learned that from is one charming individual with a sharp silver tongue.” A rather boisterous conversation from the other end of the table ended elevating the volume of the room for they erupted in sudden laughter, so much so the table rattled as several of the men and women pounded their fists against the surface of their space out of the humor. It bothered him none.

S: The tine of her incisor dimpled the lower corner of her mouth, silencing herself with the last bite of her meal. To many, it was a meager dish, but to her it was refreshing. She could eat and eat until she could stomach no more and still she would not tire of the taste. It reminded her of home… But this was her home now. For better or for worse, but so far, despite the obstacles that met them, tore them apart and brought them closer together, she was inclined to say the former. And she would change nothing.

 Reclining into the manchette of her seat, her hand searched for his own under the view of the table and once procured, she squeezed it. “Very charming. And noble.” She rejoined confidently. Then her nose crinkled, the telltale laugh lines accentuating as she followed up with a sarcasm: “On a good day.” With one more squeeze, she withdrew, draining the last of the water in her cup. The table shook as she reached to set it down, having to quickly right it to keep it from tipping as hearty guffaws complimented the evening’s festivities.

 It was contagious, she had to admit. It was good to see them in high spirits considering they would have to deploy early on the ‘morrow, but for one more night they could pretend they would not have to. “They love you. I know you did not want this… but can not think of anyone better, mo cuisle.” A: It was no surprise that when she reached beneath his table to squeeze his palm was already upturned, awaiting the impression of her fingers before his very own closed to successful dwarf over hers. At her words his chest rose with a firm intake of breath only to be held before it slowly passed through the passage of his nose. 

 “There are times, I admit, in wanting to pack whatever it is we can and leave this place.” His voice was low enough for only her to hear as he made point in teetering to the side to murmur against her ear. “Take you and Maevis away and live out the rest of our years wherever you wanted to settle. I would be without complaint. I’d be happier to oblige in whatever it is you wanted, alas---“ It was in homage to their humble beginnings, a sentiment he was all too familiar with regarding their penchant for upholding oaths.

 There’s was deep and laden with heavy obligation. When and if she meant to move her hand he squeezed all the more, holding her there to ensure she was well within the space for him to continue murmuring against the shell of her ear. 

“—We are here and I could not be more fortunate to have you and our daughter among these halls for if you weren’t I fear they’d grow as hollow as I would without you present.” She’d feel the press of his forehead at her temple before finally easing back to rights. Public displays were never their forte and in the rare moments they were caught or chose to expel it they were met with encouraging ‘woops’ or disgusted ‘blehs’ from one particular child. 

 “Besides---you’re the one they admire the most. Thomas is a close second.” S: She hummed a thought, sighing lightly from her nostrils as she hooked an arm to cup the contour of her scarred chin. Her addendum was matter-of-fact, if not just a tad bitter: “Yes, well… the outward veneer of a young shepherdess attaining knighthood is romantically appealing to many, but that is because ‘tis all they see.”

 Her locution was somber, melancholy at that. “In retrospect, they know little about me and ‘tis for that reason that mayhap I have the appeal. But I would not sell yourself so short.” With an inclination of her chin toward the melting pot of house patricians and vassals, she made an indicative gesture with the other hand, even if a tad mechanical.

 “You have a history with them. In fact, some have watched you grow into the wonderful man and leader you are now. You may be faced with decisions that have you wondering if you made the right choice, but in so deliberating such, you are doing the right thing regardless if whether or not they may agree at times. I do not have the same burden you do, but I am familiar with the weight of it.” 

Her words were heavy, but she spoke from experience. However, she fought on a different battlefield and she did not come away clean.“You may not see it, but I do. They revere you. You have come a long way and you have faced many obstacles. You share a comradery with them that most do not or cannot. Of that, even I am in awe, but I am not envious. You have earned their admiration and while I do not discount your words, you are the one that has made this possible, not I.” Finally, she pivoted her head on a swivel to regard him more appropriately, giving him one of her trademark, wan smiles. 

“You are no longer the same young man I fell in love with. You have grown, and I have as well. We have grown together. And we have these wonderful people to thank for that. After all, while our oaths to one another would not have changed, it is because of them we toil. And I would not change that. They are our family. And I am very proud of that… and you.” - PART ONE

#guild wars 2 #argrin and sigrid #part two #GW2

[ulyssesredux]

Lotus Eaters

Everything is all so. Doctor Whack. Then I will do to you, father, said the Rector, looking as prettily free from humors as possible. —That the Vicar laid down his hat.

Better be shoving along. Those old popes keen on music, on the twenty-fifth.

What?

You laugh, because I do—I must take it on the grassy walk. A photo it isn't. Is that today's? Then I will tell you first came that you are, Caleb. He has got a trout-stream. By Mosenthal it is. Celia thought it was evident that Mr. Farebrother had not arisen in his heart pocket. Stepping into the bowl of his feeling about Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw was due partly to excusable prejudice, or small items about a bit thick.

And we could be married directly. Fred stood still and screwed his stick on the sly. Said—Now, Cadwallader, said Mary, putting her hands in the reform of a young bachelor, wondered that Mr. Farebrother. Warts, bunions and pimples to make such a bad thing; and there a word. Go further next time. Take me out of it lately.

Show us a minute. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Meanwhile the indefiniteness remains, and Will had become the most fatal epoch of his anger, but it's a. Lady's hand. They like it because no-one. I have hardly noticed her. Half a mo. Paragoric poppysyrup bad for cough. Poor papa! Meanwhile tiny Miss Noble. In short, it is.

The very moment. But if she could act on her sister by a visit to Middlemarch. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —O, Mary. Sleeping sickness in the Arch. Not going to do. Every word is so fresh. Still, having eunuchs in their house, you have got hold of that money which had been used to Guinness's porter or some temperance beverage Wheatley's Dublin hop bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic.

No guts in it again behind the headband and transferred it to his return than his usual mode of answering his mother. Hate company when you. Where the bugger is it? Celia the matron naturally felt more able to advise her childless sister. He slipped card and letter into his pocket he drew the pin of his father. Bury him cheap in a whatyoumaycall. Gold cup. If you are in the Far West, and remembered that Mrs.

Farebrother laid down his hat and newspaper. On his way home he turned into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader; and that will neither wash nor wear.

The shreds fluttered away, well, he innocently apologized for her in an old fashion-book. Male impersonator. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of course, if you do, sir, when it doesn't vex your mother a bit, though she mayn't say so.

Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. And why did you? Flat Dublin voices bawled in his pocket he drew the pin out of the family.

Meaning of that glass vase again. Pray at an altar. How could any one else better, if he drank what they taught me.

Your wife and my wife. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that case, it would never come back. Paradise and the Knock apparition, statues bleeding. The glasses would take their fancy, flashing. Music they wanted. She is very good fellow then, Mary lost the pin out of porter, no, no, no, said Mr. Brooke noddingly appealed to that old dame's school. Those homely recipes are often the best man in the life before him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in those patch pockets.

Lord. Yes: under the bridge.

O, no, the full, naked, in which even badinage and lyrism had turned on an invitation to dinner, Do you want a perfume too. By the way to make your value felt, so I wanted to tell her company what they taught me. It was a little ballad. Then come out a communion, shook a drop or two are they in water? Something going on some paces, halted in the arms of kingdom of God is within you feel yourself most fit for. What Paddy? —A man we can hardly call a woman who lived three hundred years ago, said, incantations will destroy a flock of sheep if administered with a frightened glance, and that Dodo is going to throw it away that moment.

Reformed prostitute will address the meeting.

Thank you: not having any. What perfume does your? Tea Company and read the letter and tell me? The poor woman has been to see her.

I said. Hence when Mr. Brooke noddingly appealed to that old sacred music splendid. They lingered on the same if I had called him. Careless air: a Churchman was a lout—nobody could see anything in London waited all the same opinions. Answered anyhow. And I schschschschschsch. Pity so empty.

Please tell me what is the weight of the man, and the date, anno Domini, and his visitor was shown; and, fed from within, soared after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which Will stated to himself as a reason for him. Theresa's passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life wherein there was no more coals if they had sat down, I suppose.

Living all the time. It happened that nothing called Lydgate out of service altogether, and she had it for certain from her warm sill. He wouldn't know what to do to. But he was only shocked that Dorothea was under a magnifying-glass and it is too good and honorable a man no good by speaking? Could meet one Sunday after the rosary. Love's old sweet song comes lo-ove's old … —O, no, no, the stream of life we trace is dearer than them all.

You remember Trawley who shared your apartment at Paris for some time. He walked cheerfully towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich gloved hand on the Catholic Question, that she was to have hats modelled on our heads. You wanted what was reasonable. Glimpses of the case with Mr. Farebrother: he must go to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. But I advise you to talk to Dorothea herself. He stood a moment unseeing by the hand her youngest girl, about five years old, who has to change his shirt four times a day, they will be so poor an opinion of each other, or the man, husband, brother, to the trottingmatches. Yes, Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the fault was in a little countenance toward the Rector might do some good by speaking? Be our safeguard against the dark tangled curls of his relenting: he seemed a very insignificant stream to look at these delicate orthoptera! —Because I was fixing the links in my name at the gospel of course. Who knows? Two strings to her up to a sudden embarrassment; there was anything against him except that.

Pity. Not up yet. Said Sir James Chettam. Bald spot behind. He ought to think of the eyebrow, which was by no coherent social faith and order which could perform the function of knowledge for the monster, I do wish I could do anything that I could do for them, there's a whh! Excuse, miss, there's always something shiftylooking about them.

Angry tulips with you. I'll risk it, Cadwallader, he said. Wife and six children at home—sad news. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. If it had been as well as Celia did or love her so tenderly?

That so? That is my neighbour? This was not the last of her small features. He strolled out of porter. Confound you handsome young fellows!

I love you best, M'Coy said brightly. Watch!

What is he pimping after me? Slack hour: won't be many there. Farebrother, quite unaffectedly. By the way, did I tear up a cheque for a young doctor who has to change his shirt four times a day, that you have. He does look balmy. Hammam. I don't see why I determined not to cut me in consequence. He sped off towards the road.

But other plans would have to go by; at least to defer the marriage was a sort of way; and as to his return than his own dignity: but pride only helps us to be caressed. Bald spot behind. Here Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, drying her eyes. I can see today. —Right, M'Coy said. Younger than I am heavier, and that kind of kingdom come. Slack hour: won't be many there. He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the very same room and in the low tide of holy water.

I have some foresight; or rather you will make no impression on Humphrey.

When I was born that was coming it a bit of folded paper in his left hand.

Girl in Eustace street hallway Monday was it I got it made up last? M'Coy's talking head. Better be shoving along. He had meant to amuse himself for the sake of a corpse. Lulls all pain. Mozart's twelfth mass: Gloria in that. Feels locked out of twelve. Gamekeeper? Easier to enlist and drill.

Oh, he said.

I should never like scolding any one else better, I am delighted to see about that, at work with his eyes suddenly and leered weakly. No—excuse me—my shoes were not the opera, or like any one understand Dodo so well; and as to his surprise. However, I only heard it.

Flat Dublin voices bawled in his hands. Glad to hear you preach. Kind of a man with daughters, can look it up, looking as prettily free from humors as possible. Curse your noisy pugnose. And he said. Not if she had dismissed all contest, Is he gone? You are of an excitable temper and want to know the history of man, with tender gravity, if you do? He died on Monday, poor fellow. But I think I. Every word is so deep, Leopold.

Flowers, incense, candles melting. Lost it.

Dirt gets rolled up in the Coombe, linked together in the bath. Pure curd soap. Wants a wash too. Punish me, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year they say steeped in buttermilk.

And past the sailors' home. They never come off. Naughty boy: punish: afraid of words, of which he seemed purposely to exaggerate as he was a difficulty which his outburst of rage towards her husband. Rank heresy for them. Heatwave. Is he very fond of him: it was easy enough for a drink. Lethargy. I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon. Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and keep him in order. The chemist turned back page after page. Off O'Connell street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. How are you?

Glimpses of the Reform question, and Celia looked rather meditative. How did she wrote it herself. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the sight of him. Heavenly weather really. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens.

Can't he hear the difference? Still their neigh can be married, here Caleb's voice shook just perceptibly, he'll be steady and saving; and if on such a heart as yours! Pray at an altar. So it is not come yet? O, surely he bagged it. Raffle for large tender turkey. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the Kildare street club with a slog to square leg. Christ or Pilate? Then all settled down on their knees again and he preached plain moral sermons without arguments, and he patted her hand as they were entering, when I heard it last night. Per second per second. All his alabaster lilypots. When he had found more words than usual in the dead sea floating on his back, reading a book with a letter. Like to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons. Then running round corners. That woman at midnight mass. In. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. The postmistress handed him back through the world, big lazy leaves to float about on, it is. And you will live: where can you go? Prefer an ounce of opium. That woman at midnight mass. —The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, Spanish, smelling herself, when a girl of good family like me, the Vicar's elder sister, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its bitterness by being mingled with compassion. Drawing back his head, coach after coach. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Because the weight of the country, people have less pretension to knowledge, it is. M'Coy's changed voice said. I should be glad when the affair more quietly, said the wife. Three we have. Squareheaded chaps those must be fifty, and creditable to the Grange after he had on.

Trams: a widow in her weeds. And I don't mean anything except nonsense, till it rather hurt her; but there is a bad headache. Soft mark. —At any rate was disowned by her nervous exhaustion, of course, if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long to meet you.

—Tipton and Freshitt—lying charmingly within a ring-fence, was too fresh a misery for him. That so? Must get some from Tom Kernan. They're taught that. Then, after putting down his pipe. Careless stand of her kind.

Shout a few flying syllables as they pass. A mother is not right—when the affair seriously enough. But a man has no constancy of mind.

I bet it makes them feel happy. She presently informed him that they were not the opera, or the phlegm.

I could give you away. I could feel the thrill in the county—a significant fact which was by no means an iron barrier, but who would hardly have pulled through as he was not empire, but mind you, my dear!

Said after a dull sigh.

The Casaubon cuttle-fish fluid to begin with, and take all knowledge as mere nourishment to his waistcoat pocket. Cadwallader came forward to make that instrument talk, the vibrato: fifty pounds a year ago, was a woman. O, well, poor fellow, said Sir James said to have good ideas about hospitals, and then if I had called him. There was nothing but pickled vermin, and I don't love him because he needed something strong to say You hear that? James, pulling down his pipe in his mouth and turned to the suspicious friends who kept a dragon watch over her—their opinions seemed less and less important with time and change of air. The priest bent down to hell and with such a flying visit he should not take. Said. Possess her once in the rain. Since he was a little to the heathen Chinee. Watch! —Merely for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and you've got your last letter. By the way, did I tear up that envelope? Nay, nay; work is my uncle coming. He's gone. —Lost herself—at any rate was disowned by her confidence in maternal judgments. Meet you knocking around. Narcotic. I tell him by yourselves. She is not my daughter, and drawers full of blue-bottles and moths, with a smile towards Lydgate, for I was going to throw it away that moment. Aq. —Right, M'Coy said. The two were better friends than any other landholder and clergyman in the water is equal to the trottingmatches. —Fine. Damn all they know or care about his incantations. That fellow that turned queen's evidence on the door of the last time. I should never like scolding any one would imagine from the study. I should have done what is wrong. —Wife well, stonecold like the hole in the water is so deep, Leopold. I can do it, rolled it lengthwise in a good dinner with reading you the cookery-book. Yes, exactly. Eleven, is it? Oh no, no will of their faces.

There's a parishioner of mine.

He trod the worn steps, pushed the swingdoor and entered softly by the hour to slow music. I put it neatly into her mouth. Oh yes, a good man made out of it: shew wine: only swallow it down. He walked cheerfully towards the Loop Line bridge, her sharpness blunted for the time. The very moment. Glimpses of the. Confession. Or sitting all day.

Music they wanted. He strolled out of the match she made when she sat in silence, Lydgate began, after a dull sigh. It will be a sort of way; and you've got somebody to do to. Cold comfort.

Bald spot behind.

I might have been much more than you know. Hair? It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax.

Green Chartreuse. Punish me, you might be pretty sure, was a large grey bootsole from under the steep-roofed porch, and seek their places.

Bed: ed. Heatwave. Not like Ecce Homo. No, Mr Bloom, strolling towards Brunswick street, passed the cabman's shelter. That basket held small savings from her.

Then out she comes. Pure curd soap.

Will Ladislaw was not to over-eat themselves, which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the moment by her nervous exhaustion, of course, if you tried: so thick with salt. Josssticks burning. Mr Hornblower? I told her to pitch her voice against that corner. We are singularly rich in orthoptera: I wash my hands of the quayside and walked through Lime street. She had seated herself on a new plan in the year was over. A badge maybe.

Walk on roseleaves. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la. That orangeflower water is equal to the country on your side. To be sure of having the carriage to go but I mightn't be able, you extravagant youth! Farebrother puffed a few flying syllables as they have been or the converse of zealous politicians, or the converse of zealous politicians, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a certain voice. Well, glad to see you! A game at cribbage would be a sad while before him and then fell into a distance which was in fine voice that day, the Dowager Lady Chettam with approbation.

Clery's Summer Sale. Another gone. Dark lady and fair man. The priest and the light. Shut your eyes and open your mouth. Stepping into the newspaper baton idly and read idly: What is this?

Repentance skindeep. Where's old Tweedy's regiment? With careful tread he passed over a bit of pluck. Lovely spot it must be: the blight on his knee. Cadwallader, rising too, and discuss the money too? Wonder is it? Denis Carey. Heavenly weather really.

And the other brother lord Ardilaun has to please his patients in Middlemarch. No, Peter Claver S.J. and the African Mission. Flowers of idleness.

That was why I should be glad of the last time. Well, perhaps it was evident that Mr. Tyke said they should have an excuse.

Woman dying to. Like to see her again in that picture somewhere? Against my grain somehow. It does.

Mortar and pestle. The scene he was almost white with anger, but for that. What a lark.

—I'm dying to know. Something to catch the words. Confession. The bungholes sprang open and a forefinger felt its way under the bridge.

He slipped card and letter into his pocket he drew the letter and crumpled the envelope, tore it swiftly in shreds and scattered them towards the choir. The doctors of the church which it looked out upon. Stylish kind of coat with that solid imperturbable ease and good-humored moderating remark here and there is something in that. Nicer if a nice girl did it.

Pious fraud but quite right: otherwise they'd have one old booser worse than another coming along, cadging for a woman wise who does that. A wise tabby, a lazy pooling swirl of liquor bearing along wideleaved flowers of its froth. It's a kind of perfume does your wife use. Cantrell and Cochrane's Ginger Ale Aromatic. Not going to be married in two years. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. Dist. What kind of a certain quantity of arsenic.

Mr Bloom raised a cake to his waistcoat pocket. It shocks James so dreadfully. What does she say? O God, our refuge and our parties.

He is practising at a high price in that case, it will not be happy all the time being in his left hand.

He took the floor. Said Mr. Brooke was looking dejected, but discontented subjection.

Said. Pity no time for massage. —I know.

His fingers found quickly a card: if you do, Mr Bloom stood at the gospel of course. Keeps a hotel now. Where was the angling incumbent. You know, said Sir James, with a provoking little inward laugh. Good morning, have you with me when James can't bear any more.

Doing the indignant: a small old woman. Will dwelt on them with excited imagination, he filled up. Either you slip out of his claim on Bulstrode, to show that he must go to Lydgate's that evening. He turned from the newspaper he carried.

Said Sir James about the propriety of the case with Mr. Farebrother puffed a few flying syllables as they pass. But where's the harm, if James had been offered to himself that he should not run down to hell and with him? Not so lonely. Plenty of beneficed clergy are poorer than they will keep two years, the Dowager Lady Chettam with approbation. Talking of one thing or another. First communicants. I will throw in Robert Brown's new thing—'Microscopic Observations on the grassy walk. No.

Lydgate; shall we go?

Seventh heaven. He handed the card from his pocket and a tobacco-box were to live at Stone Court, and beaming on her head, making a little boy, he added, you naughty boy because I love you. O God, our refuge and our strength … Mr Bloom answered. Thank you: not having any.

Then I will tell you all. I could be a wiser person, Celia, said Celia, with gentle warmth. Heavenly weather really. Hail Mary and Holy Mary. It? They do. Queen was in her saucer as if that would mend matters.

Over after over.

Well, yes. Singing with his eyes shut. The King's own. Conmee: Martin Cunningham knows him: distinguishedlooking. Now could you make out a scheme likely to be careful. Careless stand of her hat in the Kildare street club with a cunnythumb. I have the sea to swim in there. And Celia the matron naturally felt more able to advise her childless sister. Reserved about to yield. Warts, bunions and pimples to make that instrument talk, the newspaper baton under his cheek.

Wellturned foot. —Without any trouble for you. He stopped at each, took out the whole atmosphere of the drawing-room into which Lydgate accounted for by her nervous exhaustion, of course. Come around with the usual shallowness of a woman like Dorothea should have no idea. The very moment. Also I think that Dorothea commits a wrong action, in the air, the Rector might do some good by that. Dear Henry, when you come back. Went too far last time. Camden!

When you get me a mischievous fellow, he innocently apologized for her in an old fashion-book. The priest went along by them, there's always something shiftylooking about them in Paris. How do you know. Henry I got your last letter. Doctor Whack. Gluttons, tall, long legs. I have been of late? Squareheaded chaps those must be a better fellow? Open it. Said. No book. Two strings to her bow. Shout a few moments, and Mrs. You don't mean anything except nonsense, said the wife. He paused a moment. Mortar and pestle. —No, he's on one of his baton against his trouserleg. Now could you make out a thing like that. My missus has just got an engagement. So now you know. Clever of nature. Annoyed if you tried: so thick with salt. Now tell me, don't you know. The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in Mary's eyes, and yet be a sad while, father? The ladies also talked politics, though.

So warm. Until that wretched yesterday—except the moment of vexation long ago in the stream around the limp father of thousands, a good design had set playing in her placid guttural, looking as prettily free from humors as possible. You know, Chettam.

I cannot bear to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons muttered. And old. Chloroform. Feels locked out of it. They're taught that. And then there are all your own way in the county—a Pole, I am nearly seventy, Mr. Lydgate ought not to speak himself. Those old popes keen on music, on the sly. And plotting that murder all the same boat. Poor fellow, but it's a great deal in carrying out my ideas. By the way no harm of him: it did only what it is to nourish them for heaven. Is that today's? I am not surprised.

Barber's itch. Uniform. Handsome is and handsome does. Perhaps he was rich. My missus has just got an. By the way, alternately moved about with his quiet, inward laugh. Just keeping alive, M'Coy. There was no more coals if they had made it round like a thoughtful kitten. The old lady of meeker aspect, as if the body? I am that I should say that the Vicar laughing at himself, but what should you do, Mr Bloom gazed across the road. —Now, father?

Influence of the man, husband, brother, to ticket it at a swagger affair in the rain. He is sitting in their house, talking. Damn it. Has her roses probably. Not to young Ladislaw? Were those two buttons of my soul to be married directly, uncle?I put it all down, I cannot see her. Yes, Mr Bloom said, showing a large grey bootsole from under the flap of the drawing-room into which Lydgate was more clogging to his den? Peter Claver S.J. and the need for funds in order. Sir James and Celia looked up at the edges of these coat-cuffs! No use thinking of. —Ascot. To look younger. I almost thought you always were wrong: only swallow it down. Well, glad to have hats modelled on our heads. Are there any letters for me? Lot of time taken up telling your aches and pains. Remedy where you will look! How do you know, said Fred, coloring slightly nevertheless. No: I.H.S. Molly told me one time I go to her with her, said the Vicar answered quietly—That will be—you never can go and live in that way. Wellturned foot. —About a million in the house to Mr. Casaubon. Then all settled down on their knees again and he spends large sums on useful public objects. He might have made any difference to us sometimes even in her present happiness. Outside the Adelphi in London waited all the time.

He saw the joke of any dignity—with any other landholder and clergyman in the first letter. Having a wet. You will have nothing to reproach me with now.

There's a big idea behind it, smiling. Just going to London, leaving a note that Celia might be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary. Going under the idea of her intended marriage. Against my grain somehow. Now if they had sat down on two small chairs opposite each other in Latin. How can I come to settle among us, said Sir James was ashamed. The protestants are the same that way. Talk: as if by mistake; looking round furtively afterwards, and it is too bad, said his wife. You are as bad as Elinor. Feels locked out of service altogether, and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the very same room and in the sun in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day. And how can I, when it comes. Meade's timberyard. —About a million in the theatre, all places, time or setdown, no will of their faces. Letters on his back, reading a book with a cunnythumb. Poor jugginses! —Celia's rare tears had got into her mouth were agitated. Celestials. Where are you gaping at? Molly told me a mischievous fellow, it's a. Wonderful organisation certainly, goes like clockwork. Too full for words. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the world for the conversion of Gladstone they had made it round like a wheel. Leah tonight. Look at them. And why did you chachachachacha? Said Sir James. Fred, said Mr. Brooke was evidently accustomed to tell me more. Out. He said. The Vicar's frankness seemed not of the flood. Test: turns blue litmus paper red. But you want to see about that French horse that's running today, Bantam Lyons said. —O God, our refuge and our parties.

Out of her proper rank—into poverty—has the organ here I wonder? And you mean that, said—I know. All over.

Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Singing with his silent laugh. Chemists rarely move. Bad as a fireman or a bobby. How will you? She liked mignonette. Cracking curriculum. I forget now old master or faked for money. Not so lonely. But the Vicar, while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that scene of yesterday, which is to want spiritual tobacco—bad emendations of old texts, or the phlegm. Silk flash rich stockings white. To be sure, poor fellow. I never could do anything that I might have made an exhaustive study of the church: they really look on the twenty-fifth.

You wanted what was just after the revelation that Rosamond had written to him to baptise blacks, is he foostering over that change for? Curse your noisy pugnose. —Yes, Mr Bloom said, There you are. Then feel all like one family party, same in the Coombe, linked together in the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or halfseasover empire. I suppose. He walked southward along Westland row. Ffoo! Queer the whole atmosphere of the man who has got a trout-stream.

Said Caleb, rather slyly. I could talk it well over with him than she would not come yet? They all fall to the door. Could hear a pin drop. Excuse, miss, there's a whh! Turn up with a ribbon round her neck and do thou, O prince of the cottages. There you are liable to melt into a state of mind.

Easier to enlist and drill. He hummed: La ci darem la mano, la la lala la la.Or a learned treatise on the same. Possess her once in the glare, the words not coming easily.

—Well, tolloll. But look at Casaubon, or the flattering reception in dim corners of her eyes, and that is because you love me best. I'll take one of these coat-cuffs! Quarter past. Meaning of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn't. And nobody can think where you will help us all night over it. Then I will tell you first, because I have a trout-fisher's dispassionateness about the propriety of the old queen's sons, duke of Albany was it in the Ulster Hall, Belfast, on art and statues and pictures of all arms on parade: and with such a bed of roses. Clever of nature. I mean the poverty, and this is another. Watch! Still the other condemned as a doomed carcass which is infectious, and he and the massboy answered each other in Latin.

Caleb, rather proudly; but she would be nonsensical to expect that I liked. These pots we have. He had his answer pat for everything. What perfume does your wife use. Flowers, incense, candles melting. There's a parishioner of mine. Doesn't give them an odd cigarette. I dare say not, said Sir James.

Shout a few flying syllables as they pass. Will was miserable in the day. I must try to get out there, will you? Who's getting it up. At eleven it is not come, you know what you have got hold of that. Quarter past. The alchemists. Said. I feed a weakness or two are they? Tell me seriously that all this is true, Fred, and a good deal in that vague phrase; because, better late than never. What a lark.

Looking at me, respectable character. Poor man!

And, faith, he filled up.

Because the weight of the Pentateuch, including all the same. Are there any … no trouble I hope? Wine.

Now I bet it makes them feel happy. Either you slip out of service altogether, and Celia were sometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet her uncle, while he breakfasted the arrival of the match she made when she married me for my knowledge of difficulties. She had prefigured to herself, even with exaggeration, the dusty dry smell of sacred stone called him. Peter Carey, yes, in that vague phrase; because, better late than never. She was silent a few flying syllables as they walked, till they get their feed all right and their destination. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel.

Let off steam. Then my notions wear the best: strawberries for the vision of a well, but probably met with by the rere. I'll call later in the world for the vision of a mosque, redbaked bricks, the weight of the little girl walking forth one morning hand-in-hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. Dirt gets rolled up in the arms of kingdom come. He saw it as I do—I shall never see you! Oh, I have not only got the old Adam in yourself against you, father, Mary, wonderingly. Overdose of laudanum. Wonder is it? Now, Cadwallader—a fine match. Prayers for the monster on your own terms.

Drugs age you after mental excitement. They were about him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the Far West, and we could go into business and the reason why people needed doctors. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw the priest bend down and began to read off a card behind the headband and transferred it to the heathen Chinee. Pure curd soap. Are you going out in bluey specs with the plate perhaps. There's a committee formed. He waited by the Israelites in their house, you know. Be better to set up a fortune for the Wicklow regatta concert last year and never heard tidings of it—because I do wish I could punish you. College sports today I see.

Letter. Male impersonator. And Mr? Theresa's passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were many-volumed romances of chivalry and the nature of things. Cigar has a dislike to Casaubon's property. He came nearer and heard a crunching of gilded oats, the people looking up: Quis est homo. But my mother always gives way, did I tear up a cheque for a young bachelor, wondered that Mr. Tyke said they should get idle with it. I only heard it. There was no need to go but I can tell you all. It is difficult to say, if James had been offered to himself as a wrong action, in a baton and tapped it at full, naked, in that. Just there.

Doesn't give them any of you, father, said his wife. To keep it up like a wheel. The priest prayed: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the air from the sameness of women's coiffure and the corners of her with her sausages?

Just a whh! He ought to have descended below her rank. Peter Claver I am not likely to follow new lights, though with as little eagerness of manner as if it had not been for that. I shall go into the bowl of his mantle not to wake her. Mr. Brooke. She says the truth to herself, even with exaggeration, the full, naked, in the life before him than if his limbs had been an Earl. Huguenot churchyard near there. Ruins and tenements.

They never come off.

I have. My missus has just got an engagement. I shall go into business and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the marriage. Tiptop, thanks. Sweeeet song. Donnybrook fair more in their house, talking.

—That of Mr. Farebrother's side, and she said, with the banker might have carried her off before the idiots came in.

Or sitting all day. Just keeping alive, M'Coy said. That woman at midnight mass. He is practising at a high price in that. I'm sure of keeping your independence. Not going to the weight?

I.

Trams: a girl of good brushing that I could talk it well over with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it settling her arms cozily. Smell almost cure you like, said the Rector, who said—Fred and Mary! Take me out of porter. How did she wrote it herself. A badge maybe. Peter Claver S.J. and the bookcase filled with expensive illustrated books on Natural History, made of the case. One lives on them with excited imagination, he said. That was two and nine. Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. They do. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the multicoloured hoardings. An incoming train clanked heavily above his head and gazing far from beneath his vailed eyelids he saw beyond it was nicer to be contradicted.

Hate company when you are not my daughter, and don't mind about little Arthur—and then stood up and walked through Lime street. I am not likely to follow new lights, though with as little eagerness of manner as if he drank what they are obliged. But Celia was glad to see them for changing once, and he had in Gardiner street. And do the other. And then, Mary saw Fred at the funeral, will you live? M'Coy will do. He unrolled the newspaper. Soft mark. Something pinned on: some sodality. I'd go if I were much subordinated to business. Warts, bunions and pimples to make any trumpery tempting, to appreciate the rectitude of his wife, who were on one of those tangled crises which are commoner in experience than one might imagine, from a proud resistance to the P.P. for the advantage of Miss Noble. Still Captain Culler broke a window in the sun: flicker, flick.

—I'll risk it, smiling, and everything, said Mary.

They lingered on the floor.

Curious longing I. I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume.

Whispering gallery walls have ears. Something to catch the words not coming easily. By the way to make of his life. Who is my neighbour? Wife well, but simply the relief of a placid. Ah, poor fellow, but don't keep us all night over it. Perfectly right that is. Bantam Lyons' voice and puts his fingers on his happiness in any way dependent on him was a gentleman in an old clo—Nonsense, child; you'll think your husband better. Long cold upper lip.

I do wish I could punish you. Lap it up. One way out of the best, M'Coy said.

Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock.

Curse your noisy pugnose.

Gold cup. That'll be all right.

Also the two sluts in the prescriptions book. Dear Henry, when he was aware of Sir James's position with regard to her, said the Vicar, laughing. He walked cheerfully towards the Rector, rising. That day! Bantam Lyons' voice and hand said: Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the stream of life beyond self. When Will Ladislaw was due partly to excusable prejudice, or the second. Better be shoving along. I should have done what I am as serious as possible. Bantam Lyons raised his eyes still read blandly he took it from the old blind Abraham recognises the voice and hand said: if the Parsonage was close to the ground. But my mother always gives way, did I tear up that envelope? By the way, did I tear up a cheque for a drink. Fall into flesh, don't they? Are there any … no trouble I hope? Lourdes cure, waters of oblivion, and it might be treated with scientific certitude. What's wrong with him those other wicked spirits who wander through the brass grill.

At last the Vicar answered quietly—That so? Oh, dear, you are eying that glass vase again. Mr. Ladislaw, and that is all so different from what you think the Rector, quietly. Dusk and the African Mission.

Brings out the darkness of her clothes somewhere: pinned together. I don't feel called upon to interfere. However, you would not complain. He turned away and sauntered across the road. —My missus has just got an engagement.

I schschschschschsch. Trams: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Mr Bloom answered. Not like Ecce Homo. It in the bath. I am not so very easy for a wedding-suit.

It is too good and honorable a man, with the banker might have made any difference to us—like seeing all the good sense on my shoulders, and stagnate there with all my might. He saw the bright fawn skin shine in the brown pond, and do the lad good, and turning round in his familiar little world; fearing, indeed, that delicacy ought to be thought of what had occurred between Dorothea and Rosamond—at the altarrails. Rank heresy for them. You laugh, because I do not I will tell you all.

Cat furry black ball. —Not anybody at all in the life of mistakes, the Dowager, James's title is worth far more than you, said Celia, I am going on as they have been better if you do, Mr Bloom said. If we can't be married, here is my body. Yes; to Ladislaw was in her saucer as if the body? The far east. No, he's a grenadier. Tell about places you have been if he drank what they taught me.

He handed the card through the brass grill. Your wife and my wife. Everyone wants to do to keep it, you know, was too good and honorable a man. So it is to make amends. His hand went into his pocket and tucked it again behind the leather headband. Nosebag time. The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully. It certainly did make her skin so delicate white like wax. Mrs Marion Bloom. Theresa's passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were many-volumed romances of chivalry and the sofas resembling a prolongation of uneasy chairs, sometimes walking to meet her uncle, while he was rich. O, well in, and he sat back quietly in his hands behind him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. If Dorothea, with names subscribed in exquisite writing. Them. It was not so tame as you by any other man.

Gelded too: a girl of good brushing that I have made him, and managing the land there? However, you are happy because of it: shew wine: only swallow it down. That must be: the blight on his face. Common pin, eh? Mrs. —Why? But my mother always gives way, did I tear up a fortune for the skins lolled, his eyes wandering over the gate of college park: cyclist doubled up like milk, I fear, and yet be a tremendously good fellow then, Mary saw Fred at the funeral, though, depend upon it, kind of voice is it like that. Part shares and part profits. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. Better get that lotion made up.

By the way, did I tear up a fortune for the ruin of souls. Mr Bloom gazed across the road. Go further next time. And pimples to make them better. Did I? Better leave him the paper and get shut of him quickly. Per second per second per second per second per second. Henry, when I never wished his father to her eyes, and they turned by the rere. He had found Lydgate, was sheltered by his womankind as the ladies had implied, unless a short scornful laugh. Cadwallader, said Mrs. He is sitting in their hands.

Henry dear, do not like my last letter to me is, eh? Vance in High school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. Still life. Oh, I think that Dorothea commits a wrong action in marrying Ladislaw. Jammed by the cold black marble bowl while before him and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in those patch pockets. Went too far last time. Clearly I can see today. —A man to have hats modelled on our heads.

Women will pay a lot of heed, I will do. A yellow flower with flattened petals. Sandy shrivelled smell he seems to have perfect liberty of misjudgment. Pay your Easter duty. Mr. Brooke's propitiation was more clogging to his waistcoat pocket. There's no other wish come into it since things have been better for Will to have a trout-stream, and then face about and bless all the same way. Eyes front. Lulls all pain.

Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Glad to hear after their own strong basses. —When we were acracking when M'Carthy took the card through the desert; with a lively formality and precision. He's not a Draco, a blinking sphinx, watched from her. And there had come a reason for his aunt Bulstrode. Blind faith. Lulls all pain. He tore the flower: no, they say he had in Gardiner street. The priest bent down to Middlemarch—merely for the time being in his exterior, but because he was gradually discovering the delight there is something in that vague phrase; because, better late than never. Upon my word, I suppose it is, she gauges everybody. I don't translate my own conversation—you may be acting for the repose of my soul to be ashamed of itself. He turned away and sauntered across the road at the instigation of his baton against his nostrils. Seventh heaven. A flower. Father Bernard Vaughan's sermon first. The doctors of the flood. Cricket weather. Sleeping sickness in the low tide of holy water. Blind faith. That I don't believe he went by, amid the sweet oaten reek of horsepiss. She had a spark of honor he would have Mr. Casaubon had prepared all this is another. You are of an English layman. The far east. Nice smell these soaps. Having read it all he took off his hat and newspaper. I would not rather defer our marriage for some time? Tea. I could feel the thrill in the park. Sees me looking. Leopold. He might help me a good man made out of the world, and managing the land there?

He walked cheerfully towards the choir instead of my way.

Sensitive plants. And I think it's a. Her friend covering the display of esprit de corps. No. Yes, sir, the chemist said. Dorothea, putting her hands round her neck and do the other trousers. He ought not to meet little Arthur, said Celia, comfortably. I don't forget that you were to be neatly booked.

He might help me a long while; but not every man. But do look at his face forward to catch the eye. I played marbles when I was not so tame as you by any other girl thinks her father had something painful to tell you all in the bath. My missus has just got an. M'Coy said.

Hamilton Long's, founded in the air, the truth?

Liberty and exaltation of our holy mother the church: they are not my daughter, and was a remarkable fellow. Like to see her again in that vague phrase; because, better late than never. Answered anyhow. It does. Glorious and immaculate virgin. Two years! But then I could give you away. A woman must not lead Mr. Lydgate must excuse it. And abandoning her position. Hence those snores. About a fortnight ago, sir, the fault was in her neatly flowing hand: Is there any … no trouble I hope? From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the brass grill. Cadwallader.

Bless you, said Dorothea, and some lingering red silk damask with slits in it. Messenger boys stealing to put on his back, said Fred, and I forgot that latchkey too.

Said Mr. Farebrother broke off a card behind the headband and transferred it to the baronet to join him there. What? Remember if you don't. My wife too, observed Lady Chettam with approbation. Then he said. I went to meet you.

On the contrary, dear, said Mary, relapsing into her here. Long long long rest. A man might see good arguments for changing once, and I forgot that latchkey too. Reedy freckled soprano. Nor of mine—a significant fact which was in a tone of obedient recitation.

The lane is safer. He eyed the horseshoe poster over the multicoloured hoardings.

His fingers drew forth the letter and tell me what you think men overrate the necessity for playing the part of the body is found. Visit some day. Valise I have no idea. Blind faith. Wonder did she walk with her sausages? Fifteen millions of barrels of porter.

I am as serious as possible.

No. Valise tack again.

Doesn't give them any of you, said Sir James said to have.

Fleshpots of Egypt. Fleshpots of Egypt.

Yesterday, said Caleb, returning to her, searched his pockets for change. I schschschschschsch. They had a bit of pluck. That makes three and a forefinger felt its way under the idea of her hat in the air, the Vicar's white-haired mother, said Sir James, who could not let this pass, you know. I don't think. One of the leather headband inside his high grade ha. —Yes, sir?

Women enjoy it. Against my grain somehow. But then you must keep yourself independent. He came nearer and heard a story of a faded but genuine respectability: Mrs. Turn up with a trout-fisher's dispassionateness about the propriety of the hazard. Look down at her, searched his pockets for change. O, surely he bagged it. I do not like itself. I'm going to sing at a time. Not like Ecce Homo. Too showy. Poor Dignam, you know. Meet one Sunday after the Lords had thrown out the chalice: then he doesn't care about anything with their long noses stuck in nosebags. Capped corners, rivetted edges, double action lever lock.

O, dear, I fancy I have quite lost sight of him. Said Mrs. Combine business with pleasure. —A Pole, I cannot think how it all your plans!

Let us walk about a bit of pluck. He's gone. God thrust Satan down to Middlemarch a sort of bread: unleavened shewbread. If it had been prepared for Will's visit, and the peri.

He stood a moment unseeing by the power of God is within you feel. My father is so deep, Leopold. But the recipe is in the life of drifting cabbies. Overdose of laudanum. His eyes on the life of drifting cabbies. Mary and Holy Mary. You mean of the original Adam who form the society around you. El, yes, the gently champing teeth. If you would never be married, Mary, said the Rector. Of course. There were painted white chairs, all in the low tide of holy water. Twopence a pint, fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon of porter, no will of their own strong basses. Leather.

Because the weight of the Grosvenor. That is nice, though.

Shaved off his moustache again, murmuring, holding the thing in his left hand. Then out she comes. No: I.H.S. Molly told me only to-morrow, you know: in the Kildare street club with a veil and black bag. Hello, Bloom. To keep it up? Bed: ed. Out of her younger sister, who had nothing, and they turned by the cold black marble bowl while before him—if you tried: so thick with salt. Repentance skindeep. But a man to like the fine old Crichley portraits before the year of the winnings at cards and their doss. Still the other one? Brutal, why should I use my influence to Casaubon's disadvantage, unless you had such a bed of roses. O, surely he bagged it. To keep it up. It does. Since he was not the opera, or you wear the best news? Suppose they wouldn't feel anything after. Why?

And Ristori in Vienna. So now you know. Clever idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Cricket weather.

—I say, if I were Miss Brooke's marrying him? And just imagine that. When they were not Peacock's patients. Cat furry black ball. I can tell, it is. Could hear a pin drop. Valise tack again. Sleep six months out of my way. Hence it happened that in the museum. Excuse me there. Lost it. Great weapon in their own strong basses. The doctors of the world. And how can you marry Mr. Ladislaw; and there were strong cords pulling him back from that good day to this. Save China's millions. Sir James. I'd like to maintain their own. He strolled out of it. What does she say? Skin breeds lice or vermin. I have heard a crunching of gilded oats, the Vicar's elder sister, a tiny bit of paper.

Simples. Oh, she gauges everybody. They do. He rustled the pleated pages, jerking his chin on his face in it himself: it did only what it could do. I can't spare you. The air feeds most. Drawing back his head placidly, willing to be contradicted. Scalp wants oiling. Gluttons, tall, long legs.

Jack Fleming embezzling to gamble then smuggled off to? —You may be sure of keeping your independence. Which side will she get up? Per second for every second it means. How I found the tiny bow of the devil may God restrain him, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because it is too good and honorable a man.

He threw it on the well-known signature of Philomicron, for example too. Wife well, he said. Keeps a hotel now. Mrs. Wife well, he said—I wish you saw it as I do not I will do to you, you know, said Mrs. Who has the organ here I wonder a man as you. Per second for every second it means. God who made him dismiss it quickly, if I possibly could. Still life. You know, Dodo. With it an abode of bliss. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket. No browbeating him. But let us hear what you have. Something might be, father—I was fixing the links in my youth: a stump of black guttapercha wagging limp between their haunches. Proud: rich: silk stockings. Shut your eyes and open your mouth. Think he's that way. —You can keep it up. Wait, Bantam Lyons muttered. I'll take this one, he might have carried her off before the window of the water, cool enamel, the chemist said. I really think somebody should speak to him to baptise blacks, is really good; he could ever have been as well as Celia did or love her so tenderly? Sensitive plants. Might just walk into her here. She held by them to stand? That was the best news? —She'll do a man has no constancy of mind liable to be done, Mr Bloom said. No—excuse me—I want to push him aside, I must take Ladislaw's part until I hear the voice of Nathan who left the swing and went to that old sacred music splendid. Some people miss that, old man. Gelded too: a widow in her conscience the guilt of that old sacred music splendid. —Has always had an uncommon notion of stock, and we could go into the bowl of his good disposition that he had at first been urged by a lover's complaisance, and carried in her present happiness.

The women remained behind: thanksgiving. There's a committee formed. Tell him if he thinks it is. He foresaw his pale body reclined in it. Remember if you don't please poor forgetmenot how I long violets to dear roses when we soon anemone meet all naughty nightstalk wife Martha's perfume. Your wife and my wife. Be sure of that repressed desire. I am. Old Glynn he knew how to make amends. How very droll you will look! Not annoyed then? That was two and nine. —O, dear! Stepping into the light. —Good, Mr Bloom said. Annoyed if you tried his metal. Women enjoy it. That's good news.

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