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.
He was a strange, inconsequent mixture of courage and timidity. You and
I are consistent in character; we are either one thing or the other but
Denry Machin had no consistency.
For three days he hesitated, and then, secretly trembling, he slipped
into Shillitoe's, the young tailor who had recently set up, and who was
gathering together the _jeunesse dorée_ of the town.
"I want a dress-suit," he said.
Shillitoe, who knew that Denry only earned eighteen shillings a week,
replied with only superficial politeness that a dress-suit was out of
the question; he had already taken more orders than he could execute
without killing himself. The whole town had uprisen as one man and
demanded a dress-suit.
"So you're going to the ball, are you?" said Shillitoe, trying to
condescend, but, in fact, slightly impressed.
"Yes," said Denry; "are you?"
Shillitoe started and then shook his head. "No time for balls," said he.
"I can get you an invitation, if you like," said Denry, glancing at the
door precisely as he had glanced at the door before adding 2 to 7.
"Oh!" Shillitoe cocked his ears. He was not a native of the town, and
had no alderman to protect his legitimate interests.
To cut a shameful story short, in a week Denry was being tried on.
Shillitoe allowed him two years' credit.
The prospect of the ball gave an immense impetus to the study of the art
of dancing in Bursley, and so put quite a nice sum of money info the
pocket of Miss Earp, a young mistress in that art. She was the daughter
of a furniture dealer with a passion for the Bankruptcy Court. Miss
Earp's evening classes were attended by Denry, but none of his money
went into her pocket. She was compensated by an expression of the
Countess's desire for the pleasure of her company at the ball.
The Countess had aroused Denry's interest in women as a sex; Ruth Earp
quickened the interest. She was plain, but she was only twenty-four, and
very graceful on her feet. Denry had one or two strictly private lessons
from her in reversing. She said to him one evening, when he was
practising reversing and they were entwined in the attitude prescribed
by the latest fashion: "Never mind me! Think about yourself. It's the
same in dancing as it is in life--the woman's duty is to adapt herself
to the man." He did think about himself. He was thinking about himself
in the middle of the night, and about her too. There had been something
in her tone... her eye... At the final lesson he inquired if she would
give him the first waltz at the ball. She paused, then said yes.
V
On the evening of the ball, Denry spent at least two hours in the
operation which was necessary before he could give the Countess the
pleasure of his company. This operation took place in his minute bedroom
at the back of the cottage in Brougham Street, and it was of a complex
nature. Three weeks ago he had innocently thought that you had only to
order a dress-suit and there you were! He now knew that a dress-suit is
merely the beginning of anxiety. Shirt! Collar! Tie! Studs! Cuff-links!
Gloves! Handkerchief! (He was very glad to learn authoritatively from
Shillitoe that handkerchiefs were no longer worn in the waistcoat
opening, and that men who so wore them were barbarians and the truth was
not in them. Thus, an everyday handkerchief would do.) Boots!... Boots
were the rock on which he had struck. Shillitoe, in addition to being a
tailor was a hosier, but by some flaw in the scheme of the universe
hosiers do not sell boots. Except boots, Denry could get all he needed
on credit; boots he could not get on credit, and he could not pay cash
for them. Eventually he decided that his church boots must be dazzled up
to the level of this great secular occasion. The pity was that he
forgot--not
|
said
|
How many times does the word 'said' appear in the text?
| 6
|
open the door, and they were
within the hall. A cloud of tobacco smoke almost hid the stage and the
opposite side of the theater. In the spacious foyer which led to the
circular promenade, brilliantly dressed women mingled with black-coated
men.
Forestier forced his way rapidly through the throng and accosted an
usher.
"Box 17?"
"This way, sir."
The friends were shown into a tiny box, hung and carpeted in red, with
four chairs upholstered in the same color. They seated themselves. To
their right and left were similar boxes. On the stage three men were
performing on trapezes. But Duroy paid no heed to them, his eyes
finding more to interest them in the grand promenade. Forestier
remarked upon the motley appearance of the throng, but Duroy did not
listen to him. A woman, leaning her arms upon the edge of her loge, was
staring at him. She was a tall, voluptuous brunette, her face whitened
with enamel, her black eyes penciled, and her lips painted. With a
movement of her head, she summoned a friend who was passing, a blonde
with auburn hair, likewise inclined to embonpoint, and said to her in a
whisper intended to be heard; "There is a nice fellow!"
Forestier heard it, and said to Duroy with a smile: "You are lucky, my
dear boy. My congratulations!"
The ci-devant soldier blushed and mechanically fingered the two pieces
of gold in his pocket.
The curtain fell--the orchestra played a valse--and Duroy said:
"Shall we walk around the gallery?"
"If you like."
Soon they were carried along in the current of promenaders. Duroy drank
in with delight the air, vitiated as it was by tobacco and cheap
perfume, but Forestier perspired, panted, and coughed.
"Let us go into the garden," he said. Turning to the left, they entered
a kind of covered garden in which two large fountains were playing.
Under the yews, men and women sat at tables drinking.
"Another glass of beer?" asked Forestier.
"Gladly."
They took their seats and watched the promenaders. Occasionally a woman
would stop and ask with a coarse smile: "What have you to offer, sir?"
Forestier's invariable answer was: "A glass of water from the
fountain." And the woman would mutter, "Go along," and walk away.
At last the brunette reappeared, arm-in-arm with the blonde. They made
a handsome couple. The former smiled on perceiving Duroy, and taking a
chair she calmly seated herself in front of him, and said in a clear
voice: "Waiter, two glasses."
In astonishment, Forestier exclaimed: "You are not at all bashful!"
She replied: "Your friend has bewitched me; he is such a fine fellow. I
believe he has turned my head."
Duroy said nothing.
The waiter brought the beer, which the women swallowed rapidly; then
they rose, and the brunette, nodding her head and tapping Duroy's arm
with her fan, said to him: "Thank you, my dear! However, you are not
very talkative."
As they disappeared, Forestier laughed and said: "Tell, me, old man,
did you know that you had a charm for the weaker sex? You must be
careful."
Without replying, Duroy smiled. His friend asked: "Shall you remain any
longer? I am going; I have had enough."
Georges murmured: "Yes, I will stay a little longer: it is not late."
Forestier arose: "Very well, then, good-bye until to-morrow. Do not
forget: 17 Rue Fontaine at seven thirty."
"I shall not forget. Thank you."
The friends shook hands and the journalist left Duroy to his own
devices.
Forestier once out of sight, Duroy felt free, and again he joyously
touched the gold pieces in his pocket; then rising, he mingled
|
fellow
|
How many times does the word 'fellow' appear in the text?
| 1
|
darkness. He has intelligent eyes set in an exhausted,
good-looking face.
Then he notices the blood dripping from his nose. Max wipes
it.
Max's voiceover begins:
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Monday, September first.
Six-fifteen.
<b> INT. BATHROOM - DAWN
</b>
A pull-string light flips on. Max examines his bloody nose in
the mirror.
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> The alchemist awakes.
(Imitating)
"Turn lead into gold, Max,
lead into gold." Today, I find it.
<b> TIGHT ON
</b>
Max's hand as three unmarked, circular pills hit his palm.
Then, he slams the pills into the back of his mouth.
Max replaces the cap on a plastic bottle of unmarked
prescription drugs. He drinks from the sink and splashes a
generous amount of water onto his head and face, cleaning his
nose.
He wipes his nose and examines the last remnants of blood on
his fingertip. Then, he dips his finger under the tap.
<b> INT. MAX'S APARTMENT - MAIN ROOM - DAY
</b>
Max's room is constantly dark because the windows are blacked
out. He flips on his desk lamp.
A tiny ANT crawls across his desk. He looks at it for a moment
before getting angry and squashing it.
Sitting on the desk are three computer monitors, which Max
flips on.
Then he pops on more lights and more switches. We pull back
revealing that Max's apartment looks more like the inside of a
computer than a human's home.
The room is knee-high in computer parts of all shapes and
sizes. The walls are covered with circuit boards. Cables hang
from the ceiling like vines in a Brazilian rain forest. They
all seem to be wired together forming a monstrous homemade
computer.
This is EUCLID, Max's creation. The computer is alive with
sounds and lights.
Max works on Euclid with his solder and drill. He cares for
the machine as if it were his dream car
<b> MAX (V.O.)
</b> Heat's been getting
to Euclid. Feel it most in
the afternoon when I run the
set. Have to keep the fans on
all night from now on.
Otherwise, everything is
running topnotch. The stack
of 286's is now faster than
Columbia's computer science
department. I spent a couple
hundred dollars. Columbia's
cost? Half a million?
(Small snicker)
Ha...
<b>
</b> Max checks the peephole on His front door. No one is there. He
unbolts the five lock and slides into the hall.
<b> INT. APARTMENJ HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
As he secures his apartment, a Young girl named JENNA runs up
to him. Her MOM, down the hall, looks apologetic.
Jenna's eyes light up and she pulls out her Fisher Price
calculator.
<b> JENNA
</b> Max, Max! Can we do one?
<b>
</b><b> MOM
</b> (Over and over again)
Jenna! Jenna!
<b>
</b><b> MAX
</b> Oh, no.
<b>
</b><b> JENNA
</b> What's three hundred
|
jenna
|
How many times does the word 'jenna' appear in the text?
| 5
|
> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. NARITA AIRPORT - NIGHT
</b>
We hear the sound of a plane landing over black.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CHARLOTTE'S ROOM - NIGHT
</b>
The back of a GIRL in pink underwear, she leans at a big
window, looking out over Tokyo.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
Melodramatic music swells over the Girl's butt in pink sheer
underwear as she lies on the bed.
<b> TITLE CARDS OVER IMAGE.
</b>
<b> LOST IN TRANSLATION
</b>
<b> INT. CAR - NIGHT
</b>
POV from a car window - the colors and lights of Tokyo neon
at night blur by.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
In the backseat of a Presidential limousine, BOB (late-
forties), tired and depressed, leans against a little doily,
staring out the window.
P.O.V. from car window- We see buildings covered in bright
signs, a billboard of Brad Pitt selling jeans, another of
Bob in black & white,looking distinguished with a bottle of
whiskey in a Suntory ad... more signs, a huge TV with perky
Japanese pop stars singing.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. PARK HYATT - NIGHT
</b>
Bob's black Presidential (looks like a 60's diplomat's car)
pulls up at the entrance
|
night
|
How many times does the word 'night' appear in the text?
| 4
|
always DID like a good horse. Well, I WA'N'T exactly a college
graduate, and I went to school odd times. I got to driving the stage
after while, and by and by I BOUGHT the stage and run the business
myself. Then I hired the tavern-stand, and--well to make a long story
short, then I got married. Yes," said Lapham, with pride, "I married
the school-teacher. We did pretty well with the hotel, and my wife she
was always at me to paint up. Well, I put it off, and PUT it off, as a
man will, till one day I give in, and says I, 'Well, let's paint up.
Why, Pert,'--m'wife's name's Persis,--'I've got a whole paint-mine out
on the farm. Let's go out and look at it.' So we drove out. I'd let
the place for seventy-five dollars a year to a shif'less kind of a
Kanuck that had come down that way; and I'd hated to see the house with
him in it; but we drove out one Saturday afternoon, and we brought back
about a bushel of the stuff in the buggy-seat, and I tried it crude,
and I tried it burnt; and I liked it. M'wife she liked it too. There
wa'n't any painter by trade in the village, and I mixed it myself.
Well, sir, that tavern's got that coat of paint on it yet, and it
hain't ever had any other, and I don't know's it ever will. Well, you
know, I felt as if it was a kind of harumscarum experiment, all the
while; and I presume I shouldn't have tried it but I kind of liked to
do it because father'd always set so much store by his paint-mine. And
when I'd got the first coat on,"--Lapham called it CUT,--"I presume I
must have set as much as half an hour; looking at it and thinking how
he would have enjoyed it. I've had my share of luck in this world, and
I ain't a-going to complain on my OWN account, but I've noticed that
most things get along too late for most people. It made me feel bad,
and it took all the pride out my success with the paint, thinking of
father. Seemed to me I might 'a taken more interest in it when he was
by to see; but we've got to live and learn. Well, I called my wife
out,--I'd tried it on the back of the house, you know,--and she left
her dishes,--I can remember she came out with her sleeves rolled up and
set down alongside of me on the trestle,--and says I, 'What do you
think, Persis?' And says she, 'Well, you hain't got a paint-mine, Silas
Lapham; you've got a GOLD-mine.' She always was just so enthusiastic
about things. Well, it was just after two or three boats had burnt up
out West, and a lot of lives lost, and there was a great cry about
non-inflammable paint, and I guess that was what was in her mind.
'Well, I guess it ain't any gold-mine, Persis,' says I; 'but I guess it
IS a paint-mine. I'm going to have it analysed, and if it turns out
what I think it is, I'm going to work it. And if father hadn't had
such a long name, I should call it the Nehemiah Lapham Mineral Paint.
But, any rate, every barrel of it, and every keg, and every bottle, and
every package, big or little, has got to have the initials and figures
N.L.f. 1835, S.L.t. 1855, on it. Father found it in 1835, and I tried
it in 1855.'"
"'S.T.--1860--X.' business," said Bartley.
"Yes," said Lapham, "but I hadn't heard of Plantation Bitters then, and
I hadn't seen any of the fellow's labels. I set to work and I got a
man down from Boston; and I carried him out to the
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 5
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
hole
|
How many times does the word 'hole' appear in the text?
| 2
|
bad between the new-married
couple; for in the course of the day the lady deserted her quarters,
and returned to her father's house in Glasgow, after having been a
night on the road; stage-coaches and steam-boats having then no
existence in that quarter.
Though Baillie Orde had acquiesced in his wife's asseveration regarding
the likeness of their only daughter to her father, he never loved or
admired her greatly; therefore this behaviour nothing astounded him. He
questioned her strictly as to the grievous offence committed against
her, and could discover nothing that warranted a procedure so fraught
with disagreeable consequences. So, after mature deliberation, the
baillie addressed her as follows:
"Aye, aye, Raby! An' sae I find that Dalcastle has actually refused to
say prayers with you when you ordered him; an' has guidit you in a rude
indelicate manner, outstepping the respect due to my daughter--as my
daughter. But, wi' regard to what is due to his own wife, of that he's
a better judge nor me. However, since he has behaved in that manner to
MY DAUGHTER, I shall be revenged on him for aince; for I shall return
the obligation to ane nearer to him: that is, I shall take pennyworths
of his wife--an' let him lick at that."
"What do you mean, Sir?" said the astonished damsel.
"I mean to be revenged on that villain Dalcastle," said he, "for what
he has done to my daughter. Come hither, Mrs. Colwan, you shall pay for
this."
So saying, the baillie began to inflict corporal punishment on the
runaway wife. His strokes were not indeed very deadly, but he made a
mighty flourish in the infliction, pretending to be in a great rage
only at the Laird of Dalcastle. "Villain that he is!" exclaimed he, "I
shall teach him to behave in such a manner to a child of mine, be she
as she may; since I cannot get at himself, I shall lounder her that is
nearest to him in life. Take you that, and that, Mrs. Colwan, for your
husband's impertinence!"
The poor afflicted woman wept and prayed, but the baillie would not
abate aught of his severity. After fuming and beating her with many
stripes, far drawn, and lightly laid down, he took her up to her
chamber, five stories high, locked her in, and there he fed her on
bread and water, all to be revenged on the presumptuous Laird of
Dalcastle; but ever and anon, as the baillie came down the stair from
carrying his daughter's meal, he said to himself: "I shall make the
sight of the laird the blithest she ever saw in her life."
Lady Dalcastle got plenty of time to read, and pray, and meditate; but
she was at a great loss for one to dispute with about religious tenets;
for she found that, without this advantage, about which there was a
perfect rage at that time, the reading and learning of Scripture texts,
and sentences of intricate doctrine, availed her naught; so she was
often driven to sit at her casement and look out for the approach of
the heathenish Laird of Dalcastle.
That hero, after a considerable lapse of time, at length made his
appearance. Matters were not hard to adjust; for his lady found that
there was no refuge for her in her father's house; and so, after some
sighs and tears, she accompanied her husband home. For all that had
passed, things went on no better. She WOULD convert the laird in spite
of his teeth: the laird would not be converted. She WOULD have the
laird to say family prayers, both morning and evening: the laird would
neither pray morning nor evening. He would not even sing psalms, and
kneel beside her while she performed the exercise; neither would he
converse at all times, and in all places, about the sacred mysteries of
religion, although his lady took occasion to contradict flatly every
assertion that he made, in order that she might spiritualize him by
drawing him into argument.
The laird kept
|
lady
|
How many times does the word 'lady' appear in the text?
| 3
|
<b> CARD 1
</b><b> AT 600 KM ABOVE PLANET EARTH THE
</b><b> TEMPERATURE FLUCTUATES BETWEEN 120 AND
</b><b> -100 DEGREES CELSIUS.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 2
</b><b> THERE IS NOTHING TO CARRY SOUND, NO
</b><b> OXYGEN, AND NO AIR PRESSURE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> CARD 3
</b><b> LIFE HERE IS IMPOSSIBLE.
</b>
<b> SILENCE.
</b>
<b> TITLE-
</b>
<b> GRAVITY
</b>
<b> BLACK-
</b>
<b> OUTER SPACE, 600 KILOMETERS ABOVE-
</b>
<b> PLANET EARTH.
</b>
Like all images of Earth seen from space, this image of our
planet is mythical and majestic.
|
earth
|
How many times does the word 'earth' appear in the text?
| 2
|
residing as stated, a rich country gentleman. He is
sure--'confidence' was as near as he could get to 'confident'--that it
is pressing. There is our result--and a very workmanlike little bit of
analysis it was!"
Holmes had the impersonal joy of the true artist in his better work,
even as he mourned darkly when it fell below the high level to which he
aspired. He was still chuckling over his success when Billy swung open
the door and Inspector MacDonald of Scotland Yard was ushered into the
room.
Those were the early days at the end of the '80's, when Alec MacDonald
was far from having attained the national fame which he has now
achieved. He was a young but trusted member of the detective force, who
had distinguished himself in several cases which had been intrusted
to him. His tall, bony figure gave promise of exceptional physical
strength, while his great cranium and deep-set, lustrous eyes spoke no
less clearly of the keen intelligence which twinkled out from behind his
bushy eyebrows. He was a silent, precise man with a dour nature and a
hard Aberdonian accent.
Twice already in his career had Holmes helped him to attain success,
his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem. For
this reason the affection and respect of the Scotchman for his amateur
colleague were profound, and he showed them by the frankness with which
he consulted Holmes in every difficulty. Mediocrity knows nothing higher
than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius, and MacDonald had
talent enough for his profession to enable him to perceive that there
was no humiliation in seeking the assistance of one who already stood
alone in Europe, both in his gifts and in his experience. Holmes was
not prone to friendship, but he was tolerant of the big Scotchman, and
smiled at the sight of him.
"You are an early bird, Mr. Mac," said he. "I wish you luck with your
worm. I fear this means that there is some mischief afoot."
"If you said 'hope' instead of 'fear,' it would be nearer the truth,
I'm thinking, Mr. Holmes," the inspector answered, with a knowing grin.
"Well, maybe a wee nip would keep out the raw morning chill. No, I won't
smoke, I thank you. I'll have to be pushing on my way; for the early
hours of a case are the precious ones, as no man knows better than your
own self. But--but--"
The inspector had stopped suddenly, and was staring with a look of
absolute amazement at a paper upon the table. It was the sheet upon
which I had scrawled the enigmatic message.
"Douglas!" he stammered. "Birlstone! What's this, Mr. Holmes? Man, it's
witchcraft! Where in the name of all that is wonderful did you get those
names?"
"It is a cipher that Dr. Watson and I have had occasion to solve. But
why--what's amiss with the names?"
The inspector looked from one to the other of us in dazed astonishment.
"Just this," said he, "that Mr. Douglas of Birlstone Manor House was
horribly murdered last night!"
Chapter 2--Sherlock Holmes Discourses
It was one of those dramatic moments for which my friend existed. It
would be an overstatement to say that he was shocked or even excited
by the amazing announcement. Without having a tinge of cruelty in
his singular composition, he was undoubtedly callous from long
overstimulation. Yet, if his emotions were dulled, his intellectual
perceptions were exceedingly active. There was no trace then of the
horror which I had myself felt at this curt declaration; but his face
showed rather the quiet and interested composure of the chemist who sees
the crystals falling into position from his oversaturated solution.
"Remarkable!" said he. "Remarkable!"
"You don't seem surprised."
"Interested, Mr. Mac, but hardly surprised. Why should I be surprised?
I receive an anonymous communication from a quarter which I know to be
important, warning me that danger threatens a certain person. Within
an hour I learn that this danger has actually materialized and that
the person is dead. I am interested; but, as you observe, I am not
surprised."
In a
|
holmes
|
How many times does the word 'holmes' appear in the text?
| 6
|
April 4, 1985
<b>
</b> Registered, WGAw.
<b>
</b> NOTE: Aerial dialogue in CAPS is UHF radio;
plane to plane, plane to carrier.
<b>
</b> Aerial dialogue in small case is ICS;
an inter-cockpit system; a live mike,
heard by pilot and RIO only.
<b>
</b><b> TG1 REVISED 04APR85 .
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 1. EXT. NIGHT. - THE PACIFIC IS ANYTHING BUT
</b><b>
</b> WINDS HOWL. Rain drives horizontal. The sea surges up,
nearly to the flight deck of the Aircraft Carrier USS Kitty
Hawk. The carrier plunges, driving its bow into a wall of
grey water. The deck pitches forward and back, rolls left to
right, and yaws in a corkscrew motion. The entire 93,000 ton
behemoth rises and falls in the TYPHOON-DRIVEN SWELL.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2. SOMETHING DROPS DOWN OUT OF THE NIGHT
</b><b>
</b> A ROAR. Silver wings flash by, a cockpit, fiery jet
exhausts. A forty ton monster drops at 120 knots into an area
the size of a tennis court in a CONTROLLED CRASH.
<b>
</b> 2A. A SHOWER OF SPARKS, A SCREECH OF RUBBER AND METAL as
the gear hits the deck. The hook catches the 3 wire and the
F-14 TOMCAT is slammed to a halt. It's the scariest thing
you've ever seen, the most dangerous maneuver in aviation and
just another day at the office for a Naval Aviator.
<b>
</b><b> TITLES OVER
</b><b>
</b><b> HARD DRIVING ROCK AND ROLL - THE CARS - RIDE ME HIGH
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 3. FLIGHT DECK - THE LANDING SIGNAL OFFICER - (LSO)
</b><b>
</b> Leans almost horizontal into the winds. He holds the pickle,
controlling the landing lights and speaks into a mike. His
calm, professional commands belie the extreme conditions.
<b>
</b><b> LSO
</b><b> POWER, POWER...DON'T CLIMB...
</b><b> OKAY, HOLD WHAT YOU GOT.
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 4. ANOTHER TOMCAT FLIES OVER THE RAMP
</b><b>
</b> It slams in. The pilot hits full power, catches the wire, slams
to a stop, cuts his engines.
<b>
</b><b> 5. OMITTED
</b><b>
</b><b> 6. AIR OPS - BELOW DECK
</b><b>
</b> Lots of scopes and electronic gear. The CARRIER CONTROL APPROACH
OFFICER (CCA) watches a blip on radar, reaches for his mike key.
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 7. EXT. THE TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING - (AERIAL)
</b><b>
</b> We float like gods, above the storm, above the cloud cover,
looking down. From
|
carrier
|
How many times does the word 'carrier' appear in the text?
| 3
|
active, managing women, was not gifted with very active daughters: for
this reasonâthat being so clever and diligent herself, she was never
tempted to trust her affairs to a deputy, but, on the contrary, was
willing to act and think for others as well as for number one; and
whatever was the business in hand, she was apt to think that no one could
do it so well as herself: so that whenever I offered to assist her, I
received such an answer asââNo, love, you cannot indeedâthereâs nothing
here you can do. Go and help your sister, or get her to take a walk with
youâtell her she must not sit so much, and stay so constantly in the
house as she doesâshe may well look thin and dejected.â
âMary, mamma says Iâm to help you; or get you to take a walk with me; she
says you may well look thin and dejected, if you sit so constantly in the
house.â
âHelp me you cannot, Agnes; and I cannot go out with _you_âI have far too
much to do.â
âThen let me help you.â
âYou cannot, indeed, dear child. Go and practise your music, or play
with the kitten.â
There was always plenty of sewing on hand; but I had not been taught to
cut out a single garment, and except plain hemming and seaming, there was
little I could do, even in that line; for they both asserted that it was
far easier to do the work themselves than to prepare it for me: and
besides, they liked better to see me prosecuting my studies, or amusing
myselfâit was time enough for me to sit bending over my work, like a
grave matron, when my favourite little pussy was become a steady old cat.
Under such circumstances, although I was not many degrees more useful
than the kitten, my idleness was not entirely without excuse.
Through all our troubles, I never but once heard my mother complain of
our want of money. As summer was coming on she observed to Mary and me,
âWhat a desirable thing it would be for your papa to spend a few weeks at
a watering-place. I am convinced the sea-air and the change of scene
would be of incalculable service to him. But then, you see, thereâs no
money,â she added, with a sigh. We both wished exceedingly that the
thing might be done, and lamented greatly that it could not. âWell,
well!â said she, âitâs no use complaining. Possibly something might be
done to further the project after all. Mary, you are a beautiful drawer.
What do you say to doing a few more pictures in your best style, and
getting them framed, with the water-coloured drawings you have already
done, and trying to dispose of them to some liberal picture-dealer, who
has the sense to discern their merits?â
âMamma, I should be delighted if you think they _could_ be sold; and for
anything worth while.â
âItâs worth while trying, however, my dear: do you procure the drawings,
and Iâll endeavour to find a purchaser.â
âI wish _I_ could do something,â said I.
âYou, Agnes! well, who knows? You draw pretty well, too: if you choose
some simple piece for your subject, I daresay you will be able to produce
something we shall all be proud to exhibit.â
âBut I have another scheme in my head, mamma, and have had long, only I
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 0
|
handsome
settlement on my son, he was not averse to the match; so both families
lived together in all that harmony which generally precedes an expected
alliance. Being convinced by experience that the days of courtship
are the most happy of our lives, I was willing enough to lengthen the
period; and the various amusements which the young couple every day
shared in each other's company, seemed to encrease their passion. We
were generally awaked in the morning by music, and on fine days rode a
hunting. The hours between breakfast and dinner the ladies devoted to
dress and study: they usually read a page, and then gazed at themselves
in the glass, which even philosophers might own often presented the page
of greatest beauty. At dinner my wife took the lead; for as she always
insisted upon carving every thing herself, it being her mother's way,
she gave us upon these occasions the history of every dish. When we had
dined, to prevent the ladies leaving us, I generally ordered the table
to be removed; and sometimes, with the music master's assistance, the
girls would give us a very agreeable concert. Walking out, drinking tea,
country dances, and forfeits, shortened the rest of the day, without the
assistance of cards, as I hated all manner of gaming, except backgammon,
at which my old friend and I sometimes took a two-penny hit. Nor can I
here pass over an ominous circumstance that happened the last time we
played together: I only wanted to fling a quatre, and yet I threw deuce
ace five times running. Some months were elapsed in this manner, till
at last it was thought convenient to fix a day for the nuptials of the
young couple, who seemed earnestly to desire it. During the preparations
for the wedding, I need not describe the busy importance of my wife,
nor the sly looks of my daughters: in fact, my attention was fixed
on another object, the completing a tract which I intended shortly to
publish in defence of my favourite principle. As I looked upon this as a
master-piece both for argument and style, I could not in the pride of my
heart avoid shewing it to my old friend Mr Wilmot, as I made no doubt
of receiving his approbation; but not till too late I discovered that
he was most violently attached to the contrary opinion, and with good
reason; for he was at that time actually courting a fourth wife. This,
as may be expected, produced a dispute attended with some acrimony,
which threatened to interrupt our intended alliance: but on the day
before that appointed for the ceremony, we agreed to discuss the subject
at large. It was managed with proper spirit on both sides: he asserted
that I was heterodox, I retorted the charge: he replied, and I rejoined.
In the mean time, while the controversy was hottest, I was called out by
one of my relations, who, with a face of concern, advised me to give up
the dispute, at least till my son's wedding was over. 'How,' cried
I, 'relinquish the cause of truth, and let him be an husband, already
driven to the very verge of absurdity. You might as well advise me to
give up my fortune as my argument.' 'Your fortune,' returned my friend,
'I am now sorry to inform you, is almost nothing. The merchant in town,
in whose hands your money was lodged, has gone off, to avoid a statute
of bankruptcy, and is thought not to have left a shilling in the pound.
I was unwilling to shock you or the family with the account till
after the wedding: but now it may serve to moderate your warmth in the
argument; for, I suppose, your own prudence will enforce the necessity
of dissembling at least till your son has the young lady's fortune
secure.'--'Well,' returned I, 'if what you tell me be true, and if I am
to be a beggar, it shall never make me a rascal, or induce me to
disavow my principles. I'll go this moment and inform the company of my
circumstances; and as for the argument, I even here retract my former
concessions in the old gentleman's favour, nor will I allow him now to
be an husband in any sense of the expression.'
It would be endless to describe the different sensations of both
families when I divulged the news of our misfortune; but what others
felt
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other
|
How many times does the word 'other' appear in the text?
| 0
|
Shooting Script
<b>
</b>
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> CLOSE ON A MASSIVE STEEL HEAD
</b>
Our first thought: DR. DOOM? But it's not moving. A
welder's torch sparks into frame in the hands of a sculptor
on scaffolding. This is art, an epic 20 foot statue going up
of a business mogul (VICTOR VON DOOM) in whose generously
extended hands sit two intertwined columns of DNA. His face
is chiseled, angular, perfect (too perfect). Past sparks, we
MOVE down to pick up...
<b> EXT. STREET/VON DOOM INDUSTRIES TOWER - DAY
</b>
REED RICHARDS and BEN GRIMM head toward the soaring glass-box
atrium of VDI Headquarters. Designed to inspire awe, it
does.
<b> REED
</b> High open space, exposed structural
elements. Obviously aimed at first
time visitors to create feelings of...
smallness, inadequacy.
Ben glances at Reed, who looks a little nervous.
<b> BEN
</b> Good thing it ain't workin... Reed,
what are we doing here? This guy's
fast-food, strip-mall science --
<b> REED
</b> This wasn't our first stop, in case
you forgot NASA. And Victor's not
that bad. He's just a little...
(seeing the statue)
Larger than life.
|
doom
|
How many times does the word 'doom' appear in the text?
| 2
|
MIKAHIL, GORBACHEV AS WELL AS
</b>
<b> POLITBURO MEMBERS YAVOLEV,
</b>
<b> MENDVENDEV AND BIRKOVO.
</b>
<b> DEFENSE MINISTER ULINOV ASSUMED
</b>
<b> THE ROLE OF CHAIRMAN. KGB HEAD
</b>
<b> LIGACHEV BECAME PREMIER VOWING
</b>
<b> "A RESTORATION OF DISCIPLINE."
</b>
<b> WESTERN LEADERS BRACED FOR
</b>
<b> A NEW ROUND OF COLD WAR.
</b>
<b> FOUR MONTHS LATER...
</b>
<b> FADE IN
</b>
<b> A BARREN LANDSCAPE
</b> beneath slate-grey sky. Frigid rock and stunted trees fall to an
ice-choked coast. Congealed sea on a desolate beach.
<b> MARKO ALEXANDROVICH RAMIUS
</b> bare-headed in cold wind, studies the inclement coast. Bottomless
eyes move slowly across the landscape, missing nothing.
<b> SUPER: POLWARNY INLET
</b> Soviet Submarine Base on the Barents Sea
500 mi north of Murmansk
Ramius wears a tar black winter uniform of Captain First Rank in
the Soviet Navy. Behind him, out of sight, someone SPEAKS:
<b> VOICE (OS)
</b> Cold this morning, Captain.
Ramius shivers. When he replies, he speaks not about the weather,
but of the land:
<b> RAMIUS
</b> It is cold.
<b> (BEAT)-
</b> And hard.
Turning his back on the icy coast, Ramius smi-I fondly at the man
who just spoke to him
<b> CAPTAIN SECOND., RANK VASILY BORODIN
</b> Ramius' executive officer, also in black uniform. Borodin's rigged
with a mike. , Brass .buttons gambol in his Nubian cap like money.
<b> RAMIUS (CONT'D)
|
cold
|
How many times does the word 'cold' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Silence reigned for a moment; then, as if the bone of contention was
forgotten in the pleasant recollections called up by familiar objects,
Nan said suddenly:
'What fun we used to have in that wood! Do you remember how you tumbled
out of the big nut-tree and nearly broke your collar-bones?'
'Don't I! and how you steeped me in wormwood till I was a fine mahogany
colour, and Aunt Jo wailed over my spoilt jacket,' laughed Tom, a boy
again in a minute.
'And how you set the house afire?'
'And you ran off for your band-box?'
'Do you ever say "Thunder-turtles" now?'
'Do people ever call you "Giddy-gaddy"?'
'Daisy does. Dear thing, I haven't seen her for a week.'
'I saw Demi this morning, and he said she was keeping house for Mother
Bhaer.'
'She always does when Aunt Jo gets into a vortex. Daisy is a model
housekeeper; and you couldn't do better than make your bow to her, if
you can't go to work and wait till you are grown up before you begin
lovering.'
'Nat would break his fiddle over my head if I suggested such a thing.
No, thank you. Another name is engraved upon my heart as indelibly
as the blue anchor on my arm. "Hope" is my motto, and "No surrender",
yours; see who will hold out longest.'
'You silly boys think we must pair off as we did when children; but we
shall do nothing of the kind. How well Parnassus looks from here!' said
Nan, abruptly changing the conversation again.
'It is a fine house; but I love old Plum best. Wouldn't Aunt March stare
if she could see the changes here?' answered Tom, as they both paused at
the great gate to look at the pleasant landscape before them.
A sudden whoop startled them, as a long boy with a wild yellow head came
leaping over a hedge like a kangaroo, followed by a slender girl, who
stuck in the hawthorn, and sat there laughing like a witch. A pretty
little lass she was, with curly dark hair, bright eyes, and a very
expressive face. Her hat was at her back, and her skirts a good deal the
worse for the brooks she had crossed, the trees she had climbed, and the
last leap, which added several fine rents.
'Take me down, Nan, please. Tom, hold Ted; he's got my book, and I
will have it,' called Josie from her perch, not at all daunted by the
appearance of her friends.
Tom promptly collared the thief, while Nan picked Josie from among the
thorns and set her on her feet without a word of reproof; for having
been a romp in her own girlhood, she was very indulgent to like tastes
in others. 'What's the matter, dear?' she asked, pinning up the longest
rip, while Josie examined the scratches on her hands. 'I was studying my
part in the willow, and Ted came slyly up and poked the book out of my
hands with his rod. It fell in the brook, and before I could scrabble
down he was off. You wretch, give it back this moment or I'll box your
ears,' cried Josie, laughing and scolding in the same breath.
Escaping from Tom, Ted struck a sentimental attitude, and with tender
glances at the wet, torn young person before him, delivered Claude
Melnotte's famous speech in a lackadaisical way that was irresistibly
funny, ending with 'Dost like the picture, love?' as he made an object
of himself by tying his long legs in a knot and distorting his face
horribly.
The sound of applause from the piazza put a stop to these antics, and
the young folks went up the avenue together very much in the old style
when Tom drove four in hand and Nan was the best horse in the team.
Rosy, breathless, and merry, they greeted the ladies and sat down on
the steps to rest, Aunt Meg sewing up her daughter's rags while Mrs
Jo smoothed the Lion's mane, and rescued the book. Daisy
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long
|
How many times does the word 'long' appear in the text?
| 1
|
Call trans opt: received.
2-19-96 13:24:18 REC:Log>
<b> WOMAN (V.O.)
</b> I'm inside. Anything to report?
We listen to the phone conversation as though we were on
a third line. The man's name is CYPHER. The woman,
<b> TRINITY.
</b>
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Let's see. Target left work at
<b> 5:01 PM.
</b>
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace program: running.
The entire screen fills with racing columns of numbers.
Shimmering like green-electric rivets, they rush at a 10-
digit phone number in the top corner.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> He caught the northbound Howard
line. Got off at Sheridan.
Stopped at 7-11. Purchased six-
pack of beer and a box of Captain
Crunch. Returned home.
The area code is identified. The first three numbers
suddenly fixed, leaving only seven flowing columns.
We begin MOVING TOWARD the screen, CLOSING IN as each
digit is matched, one by one, snapping into place like
the wheels of a slot machine.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> All right, you're relieved. Use
the usual exit.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Do you know when we're going to
make contact?
<b> TRINITY
</b> Soon.
Only two thin digits left.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Just between you and me, you don't
believe it, do you? You don't
believe this guy is the one?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus believes he is.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> I know. But what about you?
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I think Morpheus knows things that
I don't.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, but if he's wrong --
The final number pops into place --
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Did you hear that?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Hear what?
<b> SCREEN
</b> Trace complete. Call origin:
<b> #312-555-0690
</b>
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> Are you sure this line is clean?
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah, course I'm sure.
We MOVE STILL CLOSER, the ELECTRIC HUM of the green
numbers GROWING INTO an OMINOUS ROAR.
<b> TRINITY (V.O.)
</b> I better go.
<b> CYPHER (V.O.)
</b> Yeah. Right. See you on the other side
|
screen
|
How many times does the word 'screen' appear in the text?
| 3
|
that man had somehow induced a corresponding state in myself. It was
very quietly that I remarked:
"You must be a good swimmer."
"Yes. I've been in the water practically since nine o'clock. The
question for me now is whether I am to let go this ladder and go on
swimming till I sink from exhaustion, or--to come on board here."
I felt this was no mere formula of desperate speech, but a real
alternative in the view of a strong soul. I should have gathered from
this that he was young; indeed, it is only the young who are ever
confronted by such clear issues. But at the time it was pure intuition
on my part. A mysterious communication was established already between
us two--in the face of that silent, darkened tropical sea. I was
young, too; young enough to make no comment. The man in the water began
suddenly to climb up the ladder, and I hastened away from the rail to
fetch some clothes.
Before entering the cabin I stood still, listening in the lobby at the
foot of the stairs. A faint snore came through the closed door of the
chief mate's room. The second mate's door was on the hook, but the
darkness in there was absolutely soundless. He, too, was young and could
sleep like a stone. Remained the steward, but he was not likely to
wake up before he was called. I got a sleeping suit out of my room and,
coming back on deck, saw the naked man from the sea sitting on the main
hatch, glimmering white in the darkness, his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands. In a moment he had concealed his damp body in a
sleeping suit of the same gray-stripe pattern as the one I was wearing
and followed me like my double on the poop. Together we moved right aft,
barefooted, silent.
"What is it?" I asked in a deadened voice, taking the lighted lamp out
of the binnacle, and raising it to his face.
"An ugly business."
He had rather regular features; a good mouth; light eyes under somewhat
heavy, dark eyebrows; a smooth, square forehead; no growth on his
cheeks; a small, brown mustache, and a well-shaped, round chin. His
expression was concentrated, meditative, under the inspecting light of
the lamp I held up to his face; such as a man thinking hard in solitude
might wear. My sleeping suit was just right for his size. A well-knit
young fellow of twenty-five at most. He caught his lower lip with the
edge of white, even teeth.
"Yes," I said, replacing the lamp in the binnacle. The warm, heavy
tropical night closed upon his head again.
"There's a ship over there," he murmured.
"Yes, I know. The Sephora. Did you know of us?"
"Hadn't the slightest idea. I am the mate of her--" He paused and
corrected himself. "I should say I _was_."
"Aha! Something wrong?"
"Yes. Very wrong indeed. I've killed a man."
"What do you mean? Just now?"
"No, on the passage. Weeks ago. Thirty-nine south. When I say a man--"
"Fit of temper," I suggested, confidently.
The shadowy, dark head, like mine, seemed to nod imperceptibly above the
ghostly gray of my sleeping suit. It was, in the night, as though I had
been faced by my own reflection in the depths of a somber and immense
mirror.
"A pretty thing to have to own up to for a Conway boy," murmured my
double, distinctly.
"You're a Conway boy?"
"I am," he said, as if startled. Then, slowly... "Perhaps you too--"
It was so; but being a couple of years older I had left before he
joined. After a quick interchange of dates a silence fell; and I thought
suddenly of my absurd mate with his terrific whiskers and the "Bless my
soul--you don't say so" type of intellect. My double gave me an inkling
of his thoughts by saying: "My father's a parson in Norfolk. Do you see
me before a judge and jury on that charge? For myself I
|
young
|
How many times does the word 'young' appear in the text?
| 5
|
b> EXT. DESERT - DAWN
</b>
FULL SHOT. The sun, spinning up from behind the dark rim of
eastern hills, is bleaching the cloudless, morning sky. This
is volcanic country, barren, desolate, forbidding. There is
no sign of life, no sound. Then on a distant hill, a man
appears, to be followed by two others. They walk steadily
forward.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. NARROW CANYON - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT. A dry watercourse threads its way through the cut
in the treeless hills. The sun is not high enough as yet to
drive night from the canyon. A man appears around a bend;
another and still another. They are McCall, Peters and Lednov,
clad in prison clothes, hatless, their heads closely cropped.
As Lednov's face comes into a closeup,
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. HILL - DAWN
</b>
LONG SHOT - DOWN ANGLE. A narrow valley lies below. Through
it runs a cottonwood-bordered stream. Smoke curls up out of
the trees. Horses graze in a small meadow near the creek.
From O.O. comes the SOUND of heavy boots crunching across
the dry, eroded earth. The three men file past camera to
stop in the immediate F.g. and look down into the valley.
They exchange glances and start down.
<b> DISSOLVE
</b>
<b> EXT. FORSTER CAMP - DAWN
</b>
MED. SHOT - ANGLED THROUGH willows. A bearded man, Cal
Forster, and two young fellows in their late teens squat
|
heavy
|
How many times does the word 'heavy' appear in the text?
| 0
|
the start, spoken to a nobleman in her life, and these
convictions were but a matter of extravagant theory. They were the
fruit, in part, of the perusal of various Ultramontane works of
fiction--the only ones admitted to the convent library--in which the
hero was always a Legitimist vicomte who fought duels by the dozen but
went twice a month to confession; and in part of the strong social scent
of the gossip of her companions, many of them filles de haut lieu who,
in the convent-garden, after Sundays at home, depicted their brothers
and cousins as Prince Charmings and young Paladins. Euphemia listened
and said nothing; she shrouded her visions of matrimony under a coronet
in the silence that mostly surrounds all ecstatic faith. She was not
of that type of young lady who is easily induced to declare that her
husband must be six feet high and a little near-sighted, part his hair
in the middle and have amber lights in his beard. To her companions her
flights of fancy seemed short, rather, and poor and untutored; and
even the fact that she was a sprig of the transatlantic democracy never
sufficiently explained her apathy on social questions. She had a mental
image of that son of the Crusaders who was to suffer her to adore him,
but like many an artist who has produced a masterpiece of idealisation
she shrank from exposing it to public criticism. It was the portrait of
a gentleman rather ugly than handsome and rather poor than rich. But his
ugliness was to be nobly expressive and his poverty delicately proud.
She had a fortune of her own which, at the proper time, after fixing on
her in eloquent silence those fine eyes that were to soften the feudal
severity of his visage, he was to accept with a world of stifled
protestations. One condition alone she was to make--that he should have
"race" in a state as documented as it was possible to have it. On this
she would stake her happiness; and it was so to happen that several
accidents conspired to give convincing colour to this artless
philosophy.
Inclined to long pauses and slow approaches herself, Euphemia was
a great sitter at the feet of breathless volubility, and there were
moments when she fairly hung upon the lips of Mademoiselle Marie de
Mauves. Her intimacy with this chosen schoolmate was founded on the
perception--all her own--that their differences were just the right
ones. Mademoiselle de Mauves was very positive, very shrewd,
very ironical, very French--everything that Euphemia felt herself
unpardonable for not being. During her Sundays en ville she had examined
the world and judged it, and she imparted her impressions to our
attentive heroine with an agreeable mixture of enthusiasm and
scepticism. She was moreover a handsome and well-grown person, on whom
Euphemia's ribbons and trinkets had a trick of looking better than on
their slender proprietress. She had finally the supreme merit of being
a rigorous example of the virtue of exalted birth, having, as she did,
ancestors honourably mentioned by Joinville and Commines, and a stately
grandmother with a hooked nose who came up with her after the holidays
from a veritable castel in Auvergne. It seemed to our own young woman
that these attributes made her friend more at home in the world than if
she had been the daughter of even the most prosperous grocer. A certain
aristocratic impudence Mademoiselle de Mauves abundantly possessed,
and her raids among her friend's finery were quite in the spirit of her
baronial ancestors in the twelfth century--a spirit regarded by
Euphemia but as a large way of understanding friendship, a freedom from
conformities without style, and one that would sooner or later express
itself in acts of surprising magnanimity. There doubtless prevailed
in the breast of Mademoiselle de Mauves herself a dimmer vision of the
large securities that Euphemia envied her. She was to become later in
life so accomplished a schemer that her sense of having further heights
to scale might well have waked up early. The especially fine appearance
made by our heroine's ribbons and trinkets as her friend wore them
ministered to pleasure on both sides, and the spell was not of a nature
|
their
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How many times does the word 'their' appear in the text?
| 2
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be, they
cannot see it, but will still continue to hug it to their bosoms as a
divinely-revealed truth. No facts or evidence can prove an overmatch for
the inherited convictions of a thousand generations. In this respect the
Mahomedan, the Hindoo and the Christian all stand upon a level. It is
about as easy to convince one as the other of their easily demonstrated
errors.
RELIGION OF NATURAL ORIGIN.
Among the numerous errors traceable in the history of every religious
sect, commemorated in the annals of the world, none possesses a
more serious character, or has been attended with more deplorable
consequences, than that of assigning a wrong origin to religion. Every
bible, every sect, every creed, every catechism, and every orthodox
sermon teaches that "religion is the gift of God," that "it is infused
into the soul by the spirit and power of the Lord." Never was a greater
mistake ever committed. Every student of anthropology, every person who
has read any of the numerous modern works on mental science, and tested
their easily-demonstrated facts, knows that religion is of _natural_ and
not _supernatural_ origin; that it is a natural element of the
_human mind_, and not a "_direct gift from God_;" that it grows as
spontaneously out of the soul as flowers spring out of the ground. It is
as natural as eating, sleeping or breathing. This conclusion is not the
offspring of mere imagination. It is no hastily-concocted theory, but an
oft-demonstrated and scientifically-established fact, which any person
can test the truth of for himself.
And this modern discovery will, at no distant day, revolutionize
all systems of religious faith in existence, and either dissolve and
dissipate them, or modify and establish them upon a more natural and
enduring basis, expurgated of their dogmatic errors.
Let us, then, labor to banish the wide-spread delusion believed and
taught by a thousand systems of worship--Jew, Pagan and Christian--that
"religion is of supernatural or divine origin," and the many ruinous
errors; senseless dogmas and deplorable soul-crushing superstitions
so thoroughly inwrought into the Christian system will vanish like fog
before the morning sun, and be replaced by a religion which sensible,
intelligent and scientific men and women can accept, and will delight to
honor and practice.
ADDRESS TO THE CLERGY.
FRIENDS and brethren--teachers of the Christian faith: Will you believe
us when we tell you the divine claims of your religion are
gone--all swept away by the "logic of history," and nullified by the
demonstrations of science?
The recently opened fountains of historic law, many of whose potent
facts will be found interspersed through the pages of this work, sweep
away the last inch of ground on which can be predicated the least show
for either the divine origin of the Christian religion, or the divinity
of Jesus Christ.
For these facts demonstrate beyond all cavil and criticism, and with
a logical force which can leave not the vestige of a doubt upon any
unbiased mind, that all its doctrines are an outgrowth from older
heathen systems. Several systems of religion essentially the same in
character and spirit as that religion now known as Christianity, and
setting forth the same doctrines, principles and precepts, and several
personages filling a chapter in history almost identical with that of
Jesus Christ, it is now known to those who are up with the discoveries
and intelligence of the age, were venerated in the East centuries before
a religion called Christian, or a personage called Jesus Christ were
known to history.
Will you not, then, give it up that your religion is merely a human
production, reconstructed from heathen materials--from oriental systems
several thousand years older than yours--or will you continue, in spite
of the unanimous and unalterable verdict of history, science, facts and
logic, to proclaim to the world the now historically demonstrated
error which you have so long preached, that God is the author of your
religion, and Jesus Christ a Deity-begotten Messiah? Though you may have
heretofore honestly believed these doctrines to be true, you can now no
longer plead ignorance as an excuse for propagating such gigantic
and serious
|
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How many times does the word 'natural' appear in the text?
| 3
|
. "How very mild and balmy is this
country air!"
"Ah, Coverdale, don't laugh at what little enthusiasm you have left!"
said one of my companions. "I maintain that this nitrous atmosphere is
really exhilarating; and, at any rate, we can never call ourselves
regenerated men till a February northeaster shall be as grateful to us
as the softest breeze of June!"
So we all of us took courage, riding fleetly and merrily along, by
stone fences that were half buried in the wave-like drifts; and through
patches of woodland, where the tree-trunks opposed a snow-incrusted
side towards the northeast; and within ken of deserted villas, with no
footprints in their avenues; and passed scattered dwellings, whence
puffed the smoke of country fires, strongly impregnated with the
pungent aroma of burning peat. Sometimes, encountering a traveller, we
shouted a friendly greeting; and he, unmuffling his ears to the bluster
and the snow-spray, and listening eagerly, appeared to think our
courtesy worth less than the trouble which it cost him. The churl! He
understood the shrill whistle of the blast, but had no intelligence for
our blithe tones of brotherhood. This lack of faith in our cordial
sympathy, on the traveller's part, was one among the innumerable tokens
how difficult a task we had in hand for the reformation of the world.
We rode on, however, with still unflagging spirits, and made such good
companionship with the tempest that, at our journey's end, we professed
ourselves almost loath to bid the rude blusterer good-by. But, to own
the truth, I was little better than an icicle, and began to be
suspicious that I had caught a fearful cold.
And now we were seated by the brisk fireside of the old farmhouse, the
same fire that glimmers so faintly among my reminiscences at the
beginning of this chapter. There we sat, with the snow melting out of
our hair and beards, and our faces all ablaze, what with the past
inclemency and present warmth. It was, indeed, a right good fire that
we found awaiting us, built up of great, rough logs, and knotty limbs,
and splintered fragments of an oak-tree, such as farmers are wont to
keep for their own hearths, since these crooked and unmanageable boughs
could never be measured into merchantable cords for the market. A
family of the old Pilgrims might have swung their kettle over precisely
such a fire as this, only, no doubt, a bigger one; and, contrasting it
with my coal-grate, I felt so much the more that we had transported
ourselves a world-wide distance from the system of society that
shackled us at breakfast-time.
Good, comfortable Mrs. Foster (the wife of stout Silas Foster, who was
to manage the farm at a fair stipend, and be our tutor in the art of
husbandry) bade us a hearty welcome. At her back--a back of generous
breadth--appeared two young women, smiling most hospitably, but looking
rather awkward withal, as not well knowing what was to be their
position in our new arrangement of the world. We shook hands
affectionately all round, and congratulated ourselves that the blessed
state of brotherhood and sisterhood, at which we aimed, might fairly be
dated from this moment. Our greetings were hardly concluded when the
door opened, and Zenobia--whom I had never before seen, important as
was her place in our enterprise--Zenobia entered the parlor.
This (as the reader, if at all acquainted with our literary biography,
need scarcely be told) was not her real name. She had assumed it, in
the first instance, as her magazine signature; and, as it accorded well
with something imperial which her friends attributed to this lady's
figure and deportment, they half-laughingly adopted it in their
familiar intercourse with her. She took the appellation in good part,
and even encouraged its constant use; which, in fact, was thus far
appropriate, that our Zenobia, however humble looked her new
philosophy, had as much native pride as any queen would have known
|
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How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
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the dust in the
town is really extraordinary to-day," he wound up.
"Maman, maman," cried a pretty little girl of eleven running into the
room, "Vladimir Nikolaitch is coming on horseback!"
Marya Dmitrievna got up; Sergei Petrovitch also rose and made a bow.
"Our humble respects to Elena Mihalovna," he said, and turning aside
into a corner for good manners, he began blowing his long straight nose.
"What a splendid horse he has!" continued the little girl. "He was at
the gate just now, he told Lisa and me he would dismount at the steps."
The sound of hoofs was heard; and a graceful young man, riding a
beautiful bay horse, was seen in the street, and stopped at the open
window.
Chapter III
"How do you do, Marya Dmitrievna?" cried the young man in a pleasant,
ringing voice. "How do you like my new purchase?"
Marya Dmitrievna went up to the window.
"How do you do, Woldemar! Ah, what a splendid horse! Where did you buy
it?"
"I bought it from the army contractor.... He made me pay for it too, the
brigand!"
"What's its name?"
"Orlando.... But it's a stupid name; I want to change.... Eh bien, eh
bien, mon garcon.... What a restless beast it is!" The horse snorted,
pawed the ground, and shook the foam off the bit.
"Lenotchka, stroke him, don't be afraid."
The little girl stretched her hand out of the window, but Orlando
suddenly reared and started. The rider with perfect self-possession gave
it a cut with the whip across the neck, and keeping a tight grip with
his legs forced it in spite of its opposition, to stand still again at
the window.
"Prenez garde, prenez garde," Marya Dmitrievna kept repeating.
"Lenotchka, pat him," said the young man, "I won't let him be perverse."
The little girl again stretched out her hand and timidly patted the
quivering nostrils of the horse, who kept fidgeting and champing the
bit.
"Bravo!" cried Marya Dmitrievna, "but now get off and come in to us."
The rider adroitly turned his horse, gave him a touch of the spur, and
galloping down the street soon reached the courtyard. A minute later
he ran into the drawing-room by the door from the hall, flourishing his
whip; at the same moment there appeared in the other doorway a tall,
slender dark-haired girl of nineteen, Marya Dmitrievna's eldest
daughter, Lisa.
Chapter IV
The name of the young man whom we have just introduced to the reader
was Vladimir Nikolaitch Panshin. He served in Petersburg on special
commissions in the department of internal affairs. He had come to the
town of O---- to carry out some temporary government commissions,
and was in attendance on the Governor-General Zonnenberg, to whom he
happened to be distantly related. Panshin's father, a retired cavalry
officer and a notorious gambler, was a man with insinuating eyes, a
battered countenance, and a nervous twitch about the mouth. He spent his
whole life hanging about the aristocratic world; frequented the English
clubs of both capitals, and had the reputation of a smart, not very
trustworthy, but jolly good-natured fellow. In spite of his smartness,
he was almost always on the brink of ruin, and the property he left his
son was small and heavily-encumbered. To make up for that, however,
he did exert himself, after his own fashion, over his son's education.
Vladimir Nikolaitch spoke French very well, English well, and German
badly; that is the proper thing; fashionable people would be ashamed
to speak German well; but to utter an occasional--generally a
humorous--phrase in German is quite correct, c'est meme tres chic,
as the Parisians of Petersburg express themselves. By the time he
was fifteen, Vladimir knew how to enter any drawing-room without
|
marya
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How many times does the word 'marya' appear in the text?
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father was a solicitor with a good deal of company
business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven
man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair,
gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the
crown of his head. His name was Peter. He had had five children at
irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as
a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and
inattentive; and he called her his "little Vee," and patted her
unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of
any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. The City worried him a good
deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game
he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic
petrography.
He "went in" for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as
his "hobby." A birthday present of a microscope had turned his mind to
technical microscopy when he was eighteen, and a chance friendship with
a Holborn microscope dealer had confirmed that bent. He had remarkably
skilful fingers and a love of detailed processes, and he had become one
of the most dexterous amateur makers of rock sections in the world.
He spent a good deal more money and time than he could afford upon the
little room at the top of the house, in producing new lapidary apparatus
and new microscopic accessories and in rubbing down slices of rock to
a transparent thinness and mounting them in a beautiful and dignified
manner. He did it, he said, "to distract his mind." His chief successes
he exhibited to the Lowndean Microscopical Society, where their high
technical merit never failed to excite admiration. Their scientific
value was less considerable, since he chose rocks entirely with a
view to their difficulty of handling or their attractiveness at
conversaziones when done. He had a great contempt for the sections the
"theorizers" produced. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they
were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Yet an indiscriminating,
wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions....
He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with
chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also
in order "to distract his mind." He read it in winter in the evening
after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to
monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin
slippers across the fender. She wondered occasionally why his mind
needed so much distraction. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which
he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and
carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home.
It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was
younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the
impression of its predecessor. But she certainly remembered that when
she was a little girl he sometimes wore tennis flannels, and also rode a
bicycle very dexterously in through the gates to the front door. And
in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and
hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to
the scullery wall.
It had been Ann Veronica's lot as the youngest child to live in a home
that became less animated and various as she grew up. Her mother had
died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married
off--one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone
out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could
of her father. But he was not a father one could make much of.
His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest
quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern
vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure
and good for life. He made this simple classification of a large and
various sex to the exclusion of all intermediate kinds; he held that
the two classes had to be kept apart even in thought and remote from one
another. Women are made like the potter's vessels--either for
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ortunes that flow from engagements with them; on the
other hand she made her sensible, what tranquillity attends the life of
a virtuous woman, and what lustre modesty gives to a person who
possesses birth and beauty; at the same time she informed her, how
difficult it was to preserve this virtue, except by an extreme distrust
of one's self, and by a constant attachment to the only thing which
constitutes a woman's happiness, to love and to be loved by her husband.
This heiress was, at that time, one of the greatest matches in France,
and though she was very young several marriages had been proposed to
her mother; but Madam de Chartres being ambitious, hardly thought
anything worthy of her daughter, and when she was sixteen years of age
she brought her to Court. The Viscount of Chartres, who went to meet
her, was with reason surprised at the beauty of the young lady; her
fine hair and lovely complexion gave her a lustre that was peculiar to
herself; all her features were regular, and her whole person was full
of grace.
The day after her arrival, she went to choose some jewels at a famous
Italian's; this man came from Florence with the Queen, and had acquired
such immense riches by his trade, that his house seemed rather fit for
a Prince than a merchant; while she was there, the Prince of Cleves
came in, and was so touched with her beauty, that he could not
dissemble his surprise, nor could Mademoiselle de Chartres forbear
blushing upon observing the astonishment he was in; nevertheless, she
recollected herself, without taking any further notice of him than she
was obliged to do in civility to a person of his seeming rank; the
Prince of Cleves viewed her with admiration, and could not comprehend
who that fine lady was, whom he did not know. He found by her air, and
her retinue, that she was of the first quality; by her youth he should
have taken her to be a maid, but not seeing her mother, and hearing the
Italian call her madam, he did not know what to think; and all the
while he kept his eyes fixed upon her, he found that his behaviour
embarrassed her, unlike to most young ladies, who always behold with
pleasure the effect of their beauty; he found too, that he had made her
impatient to be going, and in truth she went away immediately: the
Prince of Cleves was not uneasy at himself on having lost the view of
her, in hopes of being informed who she was; but when he found she was
not known, he was under the utmost surprise; her beauty, and the modest
air he had observed in her actions, affected him so, that from that
moment he entertained a passion for her. In the evening he waited on
his Majesty's sister.
This Princess was in great consideration by reason of her interest with
the King her brother; and her authority was so great, that the King, on
concluding the peace, consented to restore Piemont, in order to marry
her with the Duke of Savoy. Though she had always had a disposition to
marry, yet would she never accept of anything beneath a sovereign, and
for this reason she refused the King of Navarre, when he was Duke of
Vendome, and always had a liking for the Duke of Savoy; which
inclination for him she had preserved ever since she saw him at Nice,
at the interview between Francis I, and Pope Paul III. As she had a
great deal of wit, and a fine taste of polite learning, men of
ingenuity were always about her, and at certain times the whole Court
resorted to her apartments.
The Prince of Cleves went there according to his custom; he was so
touched with the wit and beauty of Mademoiselle de Chartres, that he
could talk of nothing else; he related his adventure aloud, and was
never tired with the praises of this lady, whom he had seen, but did
not know; Madame told him, that there was nobody like her he described,
and that if there were, she would be known by the whole world. Madam
de Dampiere, one of the Princess's ladies of honour, and a friend of
Madam de Chartres, overhearing the conversation, came up to her
Highness, and whispered her in the ear, that it was certainly
Mad
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| 2
|
no
lack. The nymphs searched the forest for bell-udders, which grow upon
the goa-tree and when opened are found to be filled with sweet milk.
And the soft-eyed does willingly gave a share of their milk to support
the little stranger, while Shiegra, the lioness, often crept stealthily
into Necile's bower and purred softly as she lay beside the babe and
fed it.
So the little one flourished and grew big and sturdy day by day, while
Necile taught him to speak and to walk and to play.
His thoughts and words were sweet and gentle, for the nymphs knew no
evil and their hearts were pure and loving. He became the pet of the
forest, for Ak's decree had forbidden beast or reptile to molest him,
and he walked fearlessly wherever his will guided him.
Presently the news reached the other immortals that the nymphs of
Burzee had adopted a human infant, and that the act had been sanctioned
by the great Ak. Therefore many of them came to visit the little
stranger, looking upon him with much interest. First the Ryls, who are
first cousins to the wood-nymphs, although so differently formed. For
the Ryls are required to watch over the flowers and plants, as the
nymphs watch over the forest trees. They search the wide world for the
food required by the roots of the flowering plants, while the brilliant
colors possessed by the full-blown flowers are due to the dyes placed
in the soil by the Ryls, which are drawn through the little veins in
the roots and the body of the plants, as they reach maturity. The Ryls
are a busy people, for their flowers bloom and fade continually, but
they are merry and light-hearted and are very popular with the other
immortals.
Next came the Knooks, whose duty it is to watch over the beasts of the
world, both gentle and wild. The Knooks have a hard time of it, since
many of the beasts are ungovernable and rebel against restraint. But
they know how to manage them, after all, and you will find that certain
laws of the Knooks are obeyed by even the most ferocious animals.
Their anxieties make the Knooks look old and worn and crooked, and
their natures are a bit rough from associating with wild creatures
continually; yet they are most useful to humanity and to the world in
general, as their laws are the only laws the forest beasts recognize
except those of the Master Woodsman.
Then there were the Fairies, the guardians of mankind, who were much
interested in the adoption of Claus because their own laws forbade them
to become familiar with their human charges. There are instances on
record where the Fairies have shown themselves to human beings, and
have even conversed with them; but they are supposed to guard the lives
of mankind unseen and unknown, and if they favor some people more than
others it is because these have won such distinction fairly, as the
Fairies are very just and impartial. But the idea of adopting a child
of men had never occurred to them because it was in every way opposed
to their laws; so their curiosity was intense to behold the little
stranger adopted by Necile and her sister nymphs.
Claus looked upon the immortals who thronged around him with fearless
eyes and smiling lips. He rode laughingly upon the shoulders of the
merry Ryls; he mischievously pulled the gray beards of the low-browed
Knooks; he rested his curly head confidently upon the dainty bosom of
the Fairy Queen herself. And the Ryls loved the sound of his laughter;
the Knooks loved his courage; the Fairies loved his innocence.
The boy made friends of them all, and learned to know their laws
intimately. No forest flower was trampled beneath his feet, lest the
friendly Ryls should be grieved. He never interfered with the beasts
of the forest, lest his friends the Knooks should become angry. The
Fairies he loved dearly, but, knowing nothing of mankind, he could not
understand that he was the only one of his race admitted to friendly
intercourse with them.
Indeed, Claus came to consider that he alone, of all the forest people,
had no like
|
over
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| 2
|
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b> Second Draft
February 19th, 2008
<b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> OVER BLACK
</b><b>
</b> We listen to the immortal music of Mozart's Adagio of the
Clarinet Concerto in A.
<b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. THE SOLAR SYSTEM
</b><b>
</b> Space, infinite and empty.
<b>
</b> But then, slowly all nine planets of our Solar System move
into frame and align.
<b>
</b> The last of them is the giant, burning sphere of the sun.
<b>
</b> Just as the sun enters frame, a solar storm of gigantic
proportion unfolds. The eruptions shoot thousands of miles
into the blackness of space.
<b>
</b><b> FADE TO BLACK
</b><b>
</b><b> 2009
</b><b>
</b><b> FADE UP
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> EXT. COUNTRY SIDE/INDIA - SUNSET
</b
|
fade
|
How many times does the word 'fade' appear in the text?
| 2
|
irurgeon in
London," replied Baldred. "If I can manage to transport you to his
lodgings, he will speedily heal your wounds."
"Do not delay, then," replied Auriol faintly; "for though I am free from
pain, I feel that my life is ebbing fast away."
"Press this handkerchief to your side, and lean on me," said Baldred.
"Doctor Lamb's dwelling is but a step from the gateway--in fact, the
first house on the bridge. By the way, the doctor declares he is your
kinsman."
"It is the first I ever heard of him," replied Auriol faintly; "but take
me to him quickly, or it will be too late."
In another moment they were at the doctor's door. Baldred tapped against
it, and the summons was instantly answered by a diminutive personage,
clad in a jerkin of coarse grey serge, and having a leathern apron tied
round his waist. This was Flapdragon.
Blear-eyed, smoke-begrimed, lantern-jawed, the poor dwarf seemed as if
his whole life had been spent over the furnace. And so, in fact, it had
been. He had become little better than a pair of human bellows. In his
hand he held the halberd with which Auriol had been wounded.
"So you have been playing the leech, Flapdragon, eh?" cried Baldred.
"Ay, marry have I," replied the dwarf, with a wild grin, and displaying
a wolfish set of teeth. "My master ordered me to smear the halberd with
the sympathetic ointment. I obeyed him: rubbed the steel point, first on
one side, then on the other; next wiped it; and then smeared it again."
"Whereby you put the patient to exquisite pain," replied Baldred; "but
help me to transport him to the laboratory."
"I know not if the doctor will care to be disturbed," said Flapdragon.
"He is busily engaged on a grand operation."
"I will take the risk on myself," said Baldred. "The youth will die if
he remains here. See, he has fainted already!"
Thus urged, the dwarf laid down the halberd, and between the two, Auriol
was speedily conveyed up a wide oaken staircase to the laboratory.
Doctor Lamb was plying the bellows at the furnace, on which a large
alembic was placed, and he was so engrossed by his task that he scarcely
noticed the entrance of the others.
"Place the youth on the ground, and rear his head against the chair," he
cried, hastily, to the dwarf. "Bathe his brows with the decoction in
that crucible. I will attend to him anon. Come to me on the morrow,
Baldred, and I will repay thee for thy trouble. I am busy now."
"These relics, doctor," cried the gatekeeper, glancing at the bag, which
was lying on the ground, and from which a bald head protruded--"I ought
to take them back with me."
"Heed them not--they will be safe in my keeping," cried Doctor Lamb
impatiently; "to-morrow--to-morrow."
Casting a furtive glance round the laboratory, and shrugging his
shoulders, Baldred departed; and Flapdragon having bathed the sufferer's
temples with the decoction, in obedience to his master's injunctions,
turned to inquire what he should do next.
"Begone!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that the dwarf darted out of the
room, clapping the door after him.
Doctor Lamb then applied himself to his task with renewed ardour, and in
a few seconds became wholly insensible of the presence of a stranger.
Revived by the stimulant, Auriol presently opened his eyes, and gazing
round the room, thought he must be dreaming, so strange and fantastical
did all appear. The floor was covered with the implements used by the
adept--bolt-heads, crucibles, cucurbites, and retorts, scattered about
without any attempt at arrangement. In one corner was a large
terrestrial sphere: near it was an astrolabe, and near that a
heap of disused glass vessels.
|
then
|
How many times does the word 'then' appear in the text?
| 3
|
The very evening before my expected departure, as I was walking with
my friend, whose name was Tiberge, we saw the Arras diligence arrive,
and sauntered after it to the inn, at which these coaches stop. We had
no other motive than curiosity. Some worn men alighted, and
immediately retired into the inn. One remained behind: she was very
young, and stood by herself in the court, while a man of advanced age,
who appeared to have charge of her, was busy in getting her luggage
from the vehicle. She struck me as being so extremely beautiful, that
I, who had never before thought of the difference between the sexes, or
looked on woman with the slightest attention--I, whose conduct had been
hitherto the theme of universal admiration, felt myself, on the
instant, deprived of my reason and self-control. I had been always
excessively timid, and easily disconcerted; but now, instead of meeting
with any impediment from this weakness, I advanced without the
slightest reserve towards her, who had thus become, in a moment, the
mistress of my heart.
"Although younger than myself, she received my civilities without
embarrassment. I asked the cause of her journey to Amiens, and whether
she had any acquaintances in the town. She ingenuously told me that
she had been sent there by her parents, to commence her novitiate for
taking the veil. Love had so quickened my perception, even in the
short moment it had been enthroned, that I saw in this announcement a
death-blow to my hopes. I spoke to her in a way that made her at once
understand what was passing in my mind; for she had more experience
than myself. It was against her consent that she was consigned to a
convent, doubtless to repress that inclination for pleasure which had
already become too manifest, and which caused, in the sequel, all her
misfortunes and mine. I combated the cruel intention of her parents
with all the arguments that my new-born passion and schoolboy eloquence
could suggest. She affected neither austerity nor reserve. She told
me, after a moment's silence, that she foresaw too clearly, what her
unhappy fate must be; but that it was, apparently, the will of Heaven,
since there were no means left her to avert it. The sweetness of her
look, the air of sorrow with which she pronounced these words, or
rather perhaps the controlling destiny which led me on to ruin, allowed
me not an instant to weigh my answer. I assured her that if she would
place reliance on my honour, and on the tender interest with which she
had already inspired me, I would sacrifice my life to deliver her from
the tyranny of her parents, and to render her happy. I have since been
a thousand times astonished in reflecting upon it, to think how I could
have expressed myself with so much boldness and facility; but love
could never have become a divinity, if he had not often worked miracles.
"I made many other pressing and tender speeches; and my unknown fair
one was perfectly aware that mine was not the age for deceit. She
confessed to me that if I could see but a reasonable hope of being able
to effect her enfranchisement, she should deem herself indebted for my
kindness in more than life itself could pay. I repeated that I was
ready to attempt anything in her behalf; but, not having sufficient
experience at once to imagine any reasonable plan of serving her, I did
not go beyond this general assurance, from which indeed little good
could arise either to her or to myself. Her old guardian having by
this time joined us, my hopes would have been blighted, but that she
had tact enough to make amends for my stupidity. I was surprised, on
his approaching us, to hear her call me her cousin, and say, without
being in the slightest degree disconcerted, that as she had been so
fortunate as to fall in with me at Amiens, she would not go into the
convent until the next morning, in order to have the pleasure of
meeting me at supper. Innocent as I was, I at once comprehended the
meaning of this ruse; and proposed that she should lodge for the night
at the house of an innkeeper, who, after being many years my father
|
reason
|
How many times does the word 'reason' appear in the text?
| 0
|
s cards printed at once, please,â
which is manifestly part of an Editorâs duty; and every dissolute
ruffian that ever tramped the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business to
ask for employment as a proof-reader. And, all the time, the
telephone-bell is ringing madly, and Kings are being killed on the
Continent, and Empires are saying, âYouâre another,â and Mister
Gladstone is calling down brimstone upon the British Dominions, and the
little black copy-boys are whining, âkaa-pi chayha-yehâ (copy
wanted) like tired bees, and most of the paper is as blank as
Modredâs shield.
But that is the amusing part of the year. There are other six months
wherein none ever come to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch
up to the top of the glass, and the office is darkened to just above
reading light, and the press machines are red-hot of touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or
obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because
it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew
intimately, and the prickly-heat covers you as with a garment, and you
sit down and write:ââA slight increase of sickness is reported from
the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in its
nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District
authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret
we record the death, etc.â
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and
reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires
and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and
the foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in
twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the
middle of their amusements say:ââGood gracious! Why canât the
paper be sparkling? Iâm sure thereâs plenty going on up here.â
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say,
âmust be experienced to be appreciated.â
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper
began running the last issue of the week on Saturday night, which is to
say Sunday morning, after the custom of a London paper. This was a
great convenience, for immediately after the paper was put to bed, the
dawn would lower the thermometer from 96° to almost 84° for almost
half an hour, and in that chillâyou have no idea how cold is 84° on
the grass until you begin to pray for itâa very tired man could set
off to sleep ere the heat roused him.
One Saturday night it was my pleasant duty to put the paper to bed
alone. A King or courtier or a courtesan or a community was going to
die or get a new Constitution, or do something that was important on
the other side of the world, and the paper was to be held open till the
latest possible minute in order to catch the telegram. It was a pitchy
black night, as stifling as a June night can be, and the loo, the
red-hot wind from the westward, was booming among the tinder-dry trees
and pretending that the rain was on its heels. Now and again a spot of
almost boiling water would fall on the dust with the flop of a frog,
but all our weary world knew that was only pretence. It was a shade
cooler in the press-room than the office, so I sat there, while the
type ticked and clicked, and the night-jars hooted at the windows, and
the all but naked compositors wiped the sweat from their foreheads and
called for water. The thing that was keeping us back, whatever it was,
would not come off
|
paper
|
How many times does the word 'paper' appear in the text?
| 7
|
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b>
<b> (SINGING)
</b> Winds in the East
Mist coming in--
<b> FADE IN:
</b> A whoosh of wind spins us around in a blue sky, spinning,
spinning until we slow to a stop and find ourselves amongst
white fluffy clouds. A shadow (oddly shaped like an umbrella)
dances amongst the nimbus.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Like something is brewing,
about to begin--
The shadow's direction becomes purposeful - taking us down
through the clouds, whipping us on the wind towards a small
town in the distance.
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --Can't put me finger on what lies
<b> IN STORE--
</b> Downwards and downwards until it skittishly circles a large,
bustling park and then swoops us into the lavish gardens.
There, a ten-year-old girl plays in the lush grass; she puts
the finishing touches to a miniature version of the large
park she sits in - benches made from twigs, trees from
flowers, picnic cups from acorns - and gives a satisfied nod.
She wraps her arms tightly around her chest, lifts her face
to the sky, a half-smile threatening to break across her
concentrated face. This is the young P.L. TRAVERS (whom we
will also know as GINTY.)
<b> TRAVERS (V.O.)
</b> --But I feel what's to happen, all
<b> HAPPENED BEFORE--
</b> Her little brow is furrowed with imagination and then, all of
a sudden, the smile breaks free as something in her mind
becomes real.
<b> INT. SHAWFIELD ST - PAMELA'S OFFICE - LONDON - MORNING (1961)
</b>
P.L. TRAVERS sits in her rocking chair (in the same position
as above) arms clasped tightly around her body, face to the
sky. Older, beautiful; striking blue eyes aid her air of
stiff and steely determination.
Her office is a canvas of a life well travelled. Buddha
smiles from every corner
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 3
|
> AND TAUGHT HIM HOW TO PRAY.
</b><b> AND AS I SEARCHED FOR BETTER WAYS HIS GUIDE AND HELP TO BE...
</b><b> I FOUND, AS WE WALKED HAND IN HAND, THAT HE WAS LEADING ME.
</b><b> "THE DAY THE CLOWN CRIED"
</b>
<b> COLD OPENING
</b>
<b> EXT. PARIS CIRCUS - NIGHT
</b>
The normal activity and excitement of showtime around the
circus is in evidence where we see the half dark street and
alley directly adjacent to the circus tent which (in Paris
is an enclosure)... the animals, the midgets, the people and
the roustabouts moving with a fixed speed and getting faster
as we now know showtime is momentarily due.
We MOVE TOWARD the action, slowly but definitely picking up
SOUNDS and actions of the busy people as we go.
<b> STRAIGHT CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. CIRCUS - FRONT OF CIRCUS - PEOPLE ENTERING - NIGHT
</b>
We see barkers, children, people, pushing... buying tickets,
hats, candy... SOUNDS of children laughing, MUSIC playing
from o.s. within the tent area... and we...
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BACK OF CIRCUS - NIGHT
</b>
A continuation of the animals, trainers, clowns INTERCUT
with the action of the circus customers jamming the
entranceway to get in... (complimented CUTS from backstage
to out front... building to the final crescendo... as we see
the alley empty and clear out vs. the front area clearing
and also becoming empty.)
<b> DISSOLVE TO:
</b>
<b> INT. CIRCUS PROPER - NIGHT
</b>
The fully dressed orchestra playing the oncoming people to
their respective seats as we PAN ALONG the happy faces and
excited children... DOWN and BACK within the circus backstage
and SLOWLY COME TO A STOP OUTSIDE: "CLOWN ALLEY".
<b> CLOWN ALLEY - NIGHT
</b>
The heartbeat of any circus... The long row of unkempt, yet
beautifully neat trunks where the clowns make up, with many
of the clowns just coming in and setting their clothes and
things around their own little areas... midgets running and
playing, like the little children they are about to
entertain... MUSIC is in the deep background... as we COME
TO A STOP at the large trunk with the letters clearly printed
<b> ...'GUSTAV - EUROPE'S PREMIER CLOWN."
</b>
We PULL BACK and AWAY from the lettering on the trunk and
REVEAL the face of a gentle but drawn man, a man whose body
and movements indicate he has been at this for a long time.
As he sits, the little midgets run close to see what they
can do to help; one pulls the chair for him to sit on; another
brings a hot cup of coffee; another takes his coat and hangs
in on the hattree, adjacent to his trunk... as we PUSH PAST
HIM to introduce the other clowns... some half made up, others
finishing their make-up... and some just sitting and rapping
together, smoking, drinking coffee, waiting for showtime...
and in the very distant b.g., almost against the wall of
clown alley, we see the trunk and the body of a "CLOWN" in
silhouette... we CRAWL TOWARDS the body and the trunk... and
COME TO
|
body
|
How many times does the word 'body' appear in the text?
| 2
|
(Second Draft - 8/29/1952)
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> EXT. QUADRANGLE - DAY
</b>
<b> LONG SHOT
</b> The quadrangle of Army buildings is quiet and deserted. A
broken-down taxi drives in at one corner and slowly makes its
way around the quadrangle. SUPERIMPOSED over shot is the
<b> LEGEND:
</b>
<b> HAWAII, 1941
</b><b> SIX MONTHS BEFORE
</b><b> PEARL HARBOR
</b>
The taxi pulls up across the street from camera. A soldier
gets out, pulls two heavily loaded barracks bags after him.
He pays the driver, hoists the bags to his back, moves toward
camera. The taxi drives away slowly. The soldier walks toward
steps leading to a low building. He is PREWITT (called "PREW"
for short), 22 years old, well-built, good-looking. He wears
an enlisted man's uniform and on the sleeves are marks where
chevrons have been removed. He pauses, looks up over the
door. CAMERA PANS UP to sign which reads: ORDERLY ROOM - G
<b> COMPANY, 219TH REGIMENT.
</b>
<b> MEDIUM SHOT
</b> A small thin soldier in an undershirt and fatigue pants backs
out of the screen door and into shot. He is wielding a frayed
broom. This is PRIVATE ANGELO MAGGIO. He is violent and funny
and sour and friendly. He sees Prewitt's legs but not his
face, speaks as he sweeps a cloud of dust off the porch.
<b>
|
slowly
|
How many times does the word 'slowly' appear in the text?
| 1
|
that I cannot
even physically be forced to it by the elective will of others.
Another may indeed force me to do something which is not my end (but
only means to the end of another), but he cannot force me to make it
my own end, and yet I can have no end except of my own making. The
latter supposition would be a contradiction- an act of freedom which
yet at the same time would not be free. But there is no
contradiction in setting before one's self an end which is also a
duty: for in this case I constrain myself, and this is quite
consistent with freedom. * But how is such an end possible? That is
now the question. For the possibility of the notion of the thing
(viz., that it is not self-contradictory) is not enough to prove the
possibility of the thing itself (the objective reality of the notion).
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 15}
* The less a man can be physically forced, and the more he can be
morally forced (by the mere idea of duty), so much the freer he is.
The man, for example, who is of sufficiently firm resolution and
strong mind not to give up an enjoyment which he has resolved on,
however much loss is shown as resulting therefrom, and who yet desists
from his purpose unhesitatingly, though very reluctantly, when he
finds that it would cause him to neglect an official duty or a sick
father; this man proves his freedom in the highest degree by this very
thing, that he cannot resist the voice of duty.
II. Exposition of the Notion of an End which is also a Duty
We can conceive the relation of end to duty in two ways; either
starting from the end to find the maxim of the dutiful actions; or
conversely, setting out from this to find the end which is also
duty. Jurisprudence proceeds in the former way. It is left to
everyone's free elective will what end he will choose for his
action. But its maxim is determined a priori; namely, that the freedom
of the agent must be consistent with the freedom of every other
according to a universal law.
{INTRODUCTION ^paragraph 20}
Ethics, however, proceeds in the opposite way. It cannot start
from the ends which the man may propose to himself, and hence give
directions as to the maxims he should adopt, that is, as to his
duty; for that would be to take empirical principles of maxims, and
these could not give any notion of duty; since this, the categorical
ought, has its root in pure reason alone. Indeed, if the maxims were
to be adopted in accordance with those ends (which are all selfish),
we could not properly speak of the notion of duty at all. Hence in
ethics the notion of duty must lead to ends, and must on moral
principles give the foundation of maxims with respect to the ends
which we ought to propose to ourselves.
Setting aside the question what sort of end that is which is in
itself a duty, and how such an end is possible, it is here only
necessary to show that a duty of this kind is called a duty of virtue,
and why it is so called.
To every duty corresponds a right of action (facultas moralis
generatim), but all duties do not imply a corresponding right
(facultas juridica) of another to compel anyone, but only the
duties called legal duties. Similarly to all ethical obligation
corresponds the notion of virtue, but it does not follow that all
ethical duties are duties of virtue. Those, in fact, are not so
which do not concern so much a certain end (matter, object of the
elective will), but merely that which is formal in the moral
determination of the will (e.g., that the dutiful action must also
be done from duty). It is only an end which is also duty that can be
called a duty
|
maxims
|
How many times does the word 'maxims' appear in the text?
| 3
|
les the
tin cup between the entrance bar.
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
The inmates stir, rubbing their dirty faces and trying to sit
up. The camera dollies slowly down the narrow hallway of the
block which has three cells: Two small ones side by side, and
one bigger cell that faces the block entrance. The sound of
scribbling and business dealing can be heard from inside the
cell. It is AZUL jottin ginto a business ledger while
chatting on his cellular phone. His cell is equipped with a
small desk and a refridgerator. He hangs up the phone and
continues writing.
<b>INT. JAIL LOBBY - DAY
</b>
The Officer with the tin cup sits in a couch across from his
partner, who is now eating, and reads a magazine.
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul picks up his phone and makes another call. He talks
business. In the other cell, prisoners are getting up and
looking around. Azul hangs up the phone and writes.
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
A gorgeous, bikini-clad BABE struts slowly into a tighly
framed glamour shot. She pauses, takes a deep breath, then
dives a 'perfect ten' dive into a house-side moat. She swims
long, slow motion strokes around the moat as the camera
tracks alonside her, lovingly admiring her tan lines and
hydrodynamic build. She slides out of the water and walks up
a cobble stone walk, dripping as she passes a seated
GENTLEMAN in a white suit. His face is unrevealed. As she
enters the house, he sets his drink down by a phone. He lifts
up the receiver and dials.
<b>
</b><b> 2.
</b>
<b>INT. JAIL CELLS - DAY
</b>
Azul's phone rings. He looks up at it, startled, as if no one
has ever called him before. He glances at his watch, and then
back at the phone, hesitating to answer it. He looks around
the cell block as if someone might be playing a trick on him.
Finally he answers it, pausing before saying hello. It is El
Moco.
<b> MOCO (V.O.)
</b> Good morning, Azul. Do you know who this
is?
<b> AZUL
</b> (into phone)
Moco... What the hell do you want after
all these years?
<b>EXT. EL MOCO'S RANCH - DAY
</b>
MOCO is sitting on his porch drinking tequila.
<b> MOCO
</b> (into phone)
We've got a lot to talk about. I'm just a
few town away with a whole new gang. I
heard you were nearby so I thought I'd
give you a call, amigo.
<b> AZUL (V.O)
</b> That's sweet of you, asshole. I don't
|
cell
|
How many times does the word 'cell' appear in the text?
| 4
|
PS of this luxurious patchwork of
brilliant greens:
<b> A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
soaked lawn.
<b> FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.
<b> GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
At the bottom of a water hazard.
<b> PALM FRONDS
</b>
After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that
surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the
air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt
Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the
palms to
<b> A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers
moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips
it out. The trousers walk out after it.
<b> HANDS
</b>
Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a
golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are
gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.
<b> YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot
journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the
putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball
rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards
and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green
and into the hole.
<b> THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather
golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the
bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing
out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer.
The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot
firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the
face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.
We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with
him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course,
another green is barely visible through groves of trees and
rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view.
One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He
could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.
<b> MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second
later in the distance, the
<b> RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His
body crumples to the green.
<b> MARTIN
</b>
Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to
the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers
absently...
<b> MARTIN
</b> Hooked it.
<b> INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf
club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between
a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like
peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.
<b> CLUB MEMBER #1
</b> I'd come to the
|
golf
|
How many times does the word 'golf' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Neil and three in San Quentin. He got out and
hit the street in 1987. Four of the McNeil years were
spent in the hole. Neil's voice is street, but his language
is precise like an engineer's. He's very careful and very
good. Neil runs a professional crew that pulls down high
line, high number scores and does it anyway the score has
to be taken down: if on the prowl (a burglary), that's
fine; if they have to go in strong (armed), that's fine
too. And if you get in their way, that's got to be your
problem. His lifestyle is obsessively functional. There's
no steady woman or any encumbrance. Neil McCauley keeps
it so there's nothing he couldn't walk from in 30 seconds
flat.
<b>ANGLE
</b>
Right now, he enters the big double doors and pulls a white
intern's coat from his paper bag.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>INT. CEDARS-SINAI CORRIDOR - TRAVELING TWO SHOT - DAY
</b>
We DOLLY on Neil as he crosses through the long crowded
corridor. Patients, nurses, interns and doctors pass by.
A P.A. broadcasts occasional messages.
<b>PROFILE
</b>
Nail crosses under an "EMERGENCY" sign and keeps going
towards the exit doors.
<b>TRAVELING - FRONTAL
</b>
Neil APPROACHES THE CAMERA. From the other direction two
ambulance attendants wheel an old man under oxygen and
pass by Neil.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>WIDE REAR SHOT
</b>
Without breaking his stride from the moment he got off the
bus, Neil exits through the doors, examines four ambulances
parked in the slots, climbs into one and drives off. Maybe
he's stolen it. We don't know.
<b> CUT TO:
</b><b>
</b> Converted to PDF by www.screentalk.org 2.
<b>EXT. R & C CONSTRUCTION SUPPLIES - ON CHRIS - DAY
</b>
CHRIS SHIHERLIS crosses past stacks of gravel and cement
with a white-coated BLACK CLERK. Chris wears a hard hat
over a mongol cut, Levi's, black boots and a sleeveless
sweat shirt and carries on one shoulder a 150 lb., red,
Milwaukee Tool Company case. He looks like a construction
worker by day who by night hits L.A's slams, jams and raves.
He's 29, from Austin, Texas. Chris is also a highline
pro: a boxman who knows five ways to open any safe made.
Right now he's buying a hollow core drill. He and McCauley
were cellmates in San Quentin Penitentiary from 1984 to
1987. Chris hit the streets in 1988. He's a hot dog and
spends money as fast as he makes it. Right now, he and
the Clerk exit to the sales counter.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b>EXT. SALES COUNTER - TWO SHOT
</b>
As they approach, the Clerk goes behind it.
<b>
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 5
|
.
Unfortunately. I'm really sorry.
<b> OLD WOMAN
</b> Would you just try him? You never know.
As long as I'm here. You never know.
<b> RECEPTIONIST
</b> Of course. Please have a seat.
The old woman smiles and sits, the bulky manuscript on her
lap. She stares politely straight ahead.
<b> RECEPTIONIST (CONT'D)
</b> (quietly into headset)
It's her -- I know, but couldn't you just
-- Yes, I know, but -- I know, but she's
old and it would be a nice -- Yes, sorry.
(to old woman)
I'm sorry, ma'am, he's not in right now.
It's a crazy time of year for us.
The receptionist gestures toward a Christmas tree in the
corner. Its ornaments are holograms.
<b> OLD WOMAN
</b> This book -- It's essential that people
read it because --
(gravely, patting the
manuscript)
-- It's the truth. And only I know it.
<b> RECEPTIONIST
</b> (nodding sympathetically)
Maybe after the holidays then.
<b>INT. TILED HALLWAY - DAY
</b>
The old woman carries her manuscript haltingly down a subway
hall. She stops to catch her breath, then continues and
passes several archway with letters printed above them. When
she arrives at one topped by an LL, she slips a card in a
slot. A plastic molded chair drops into the archway. She
sits in the chair; it rises.
<b>INT. TUBE -DAY
</b>
The woman is still in the chair as it slips gracefully into a
line of chairs shooting through a glass tube. The other
chairs are peopled with commuters. We stay with the woman as
she and the others travel over New York City in the tube.
There are hundreds of these commuter tubes crisscrossing the
skyline. The woman glances at the manuscript in her lap.
It's called:
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
This serves as the movie's opening title. The other credits
follow, as the old woman studies commuters in passing tubes.
Their faces are variously harsh and sad and lonely and blank.
<b>INT. WAITING ROOM - DAY
</b>
<b>SUBTITLED: FIFTY YEARS EARLIER
</b>
Every doctor's office waiting room: chairs against the wall,
magazines on end tables, a sad-looking potted plant, generic
seascape paintings on the walls. The receptionist, Mary, 25,
can be seen typing in the reception area. Behind her are
shelves and shelves of medical files. The door opens and
Clementine enters. She's in her early thirties, zaftig in a
faux fur winter coat over an orange hooded sweatshirt. She's
decidedly funky and has blue hair. Mary looks up.
<b> MARY
</b> May I help you?
<b> CLEMENTINE
</b> (approaching reception area)
Yeah, hi, I have a one o'clock with Dr.
Mierzwiak. Clementine Kruczynski.
<b> MARY
</b> Yes, please have a seat. He'll be right
with you.
Clementine sits. She looks tired, maybe hungover. She picks
up a magazine at random and thumbs without interest.
<b>INT. INNER OFFICE AREA - CONTINUOUS
</b>
Mary pads down the hallway. She knocks on a closed door.
<b> MIERZWIAK (O.S.)
</b> Yes?
Mary opens the door, peeks in. Howard Mierzwiak, 40's,
professional, dry, sits behind his desk studying
|
woman
|
How many times does the word 'woman' appear in the text?
| 8
|
, seeing as he does that the known libertines of his parish are
visibly suffering much less from intemperance than many of the married
people who stigmatize them as monsters of vice.
A FORGOTTEN CONFERENCE OF MARRIED MEN
The late Hugh Price Hughes, an eminent Methodist divine, once organized
in London a conference of respectable men to consider the subject.
Nothing came of it (nor indeed could have come of it in the absence of
women); but it had its value as giving the young sociologists present,
of whom I was one, an authentic notion of what a picked audience
of respectable men understood by married life. It was certainly a
staggering revelation. Peter the Great would have been shocked; Byron
would have been horrified; Don Juan would have fled from the conference
into a monastery. The respectable men all regarded the marriage ceremony
as a rite which absolved them from the laws of health and temperance;
inaugurated a life-long honeymoon; and placed their pleasures on exactly
the same footing as their prayers. It seemed entirely proper and natural
to them that out of every twenty-four hours of their lives they should
pass eight shut up in one room with their wives alone, and this, not
birdlike, for the mating season, but all the year round and every year.
How they settled even such minor questions as to which party should
decide whether and how much the window should be open and how many
blankets should be on the bed, and at what hour they should go to
bed and get up so as to avoid disturbing one another's sleep, seemed
insoluble questions to me. But the members of the conference did not
seem to mind. They were content to have the whole national housing
problem treated on a basis of one room for two people. That was the
essence of marriage for them.
Please remember, too, that there was nothing in their circumstances to
check intemperance. They were men of business: that is, men for the most
part engaged in routine work which exercized neither their minds nor
their bodies to the full pitch of their capacities. Compared with
statesmen, first-rate professional men, artists, and even with laborers
and artisans as far as muscular exertion goes, they were underworked,
and could spare the fine edge of their faculties and the last few inches
of their chests without being any the less fit for their daily routine.
If I had adopted their habits, a startling deterioration would have
appeared in my writing before the end of a fortnight, and frightened me
back to what they would have considered an impossible asceticism. But
they paid no penalty of which they were conscious. They had as much
health as they wanted: that is, they did not feel the need of a doctor.
They enjoyed their smokes, their meals, their respectable clothes,
their affectionate games with their children, their prospects of larger
profits or higher salaries, their Saturday half holidays and Sunday
walks, and the rest of it. They did less than two hours work a day and
took from seven to nine office hours to do it in. And they were no good
for any mortal purpose except to go on doing it. They were respectable
only by the standard they themselves had set. Considered seriously
as electors governing an empire through their votes, and choosing and
maintaining its religious and moral institutions by their powers of
social persecution, they were a black-coated army of calamity. They were
incapable of comprehending the industries they were engaged in, the
laws under which they lived, or the relation of their country to other
countries. They lived the lives of old men contentedly. They were
timidly conservative at the age at which every healthy human being ought
to be obstreperously revolutionary. And their wives went through the
routine of the kitchen, nursery, and drawing-room just as they went
through the routine of the office. They had all, as they called it,
settled down, like balloons that had lost their lifting margin of gas;
and it was evident that the process of settling down would go on until
they settled into their graves. They read old-fashioned newspapers
with effort, and were just taking with avidity to a new sort of paper,
costing a halfpenny, which they believed to be extraordinarily bright
and attractive, and which never really succeeded until it became
extremely dull, discarding all serious news and replacing it by vapid
tittle-tattle, and substituting
|
would
|
How many times does the word 'would' appear in the text?
| 5
|
"You are spies!" he cried in a passion. "You have come to spy out the
weakness of the land. What is your calling? Who are your friends?"
The ten Hebrews could scarcely speak for terror. They had heard
terrible stories of how these fierce Egyptians never allowed spies to
get out of their country alive.
"No, my lord; thy servants have come to buy food," said one. "We are
all one man's sons," cried another. "We are honest men; thy servants
are no spies," pleaded a third.
But the great Egyptian only listened with a frown to their whining
voices. "No," he replied firmly; "you have come to spy out the
weakness of Egypt. Is your father alive? Have you another brother?"
Why was this man so angry with them? they wondered.
"We belong to one family of twelve brothers," Judah replied. "We have
a father, an old man, and another brother, the child of his old age,
and he alone is left of his mother's children, and his father loves him
much. We are the sons of one man in Canaan, and truly the youngest is
now with our father, and one other is dead."
Was he still angry? They lifted their dark eyes to the stern face of
the young Egyptian.
"I see you are spies," was the harsh reply, but his voice was softer.
"In this way I will prove you. By the king's life, you shall not go
back unless your younger brother is brought here to me. Send one among
you to bring him, and the rest of you shall be kept in prison until he
returns. So shall I prove whether what you say is true. If you will
not do this, then by the king's life you are spies indeed!" He waved
them away with his hand, and the Egyptian soldiers pushed them out at
the door, telling them that they must come away at once to prison.
As they sat on the earthen floor of the prison looking at each other in
silence, they felt amazed and full of sorrow, thinking that they would
never see their tents and their little ones again. For they did not
know that the king's officer was their own brother Joseph, and that
instead of being angry, he was really filled with joy at seeing them
after twenty years of separation. As for his angry words, he was only
trying them, and meant nothing but kindness, as we shall see.
II.
Joseph's brothers were to be kept in prison until they settled who
should ride back in haste to Hebron to bring Benjamin down into Egypt;
but Joseph's heart was tender, and after a while he began to think that
perhaps he had been too harsh with them.
One man, he told himself, could not carry enough corn to feed all the
starving families in Hebron, and it might be dangerous for him to ride
back alone. His old father, too, would be anxious. So he sent word to
the prison that the brothers might all go home but Simeon, who must
stay in prison until the rest came back with their young brother.
He also gave orders that they were to have their corn-sacks filled, and
that each man's money was to be secretly tied up again in the mouth of
his sack.
All the brothers were glad but Simeon, who begged them to come back as
quickly as they could; and riding on their high camels, with their
well-laden asses tied to each other in a long line, they left the
Egyptian city, thankful to get away, and went back to their old father
in Hebron.
Jacob was glad to see them again, but he would not believe their story
about Simeon being left behind; and he refused to let them have
Benjamin, for he said that Joseph was once taken and never came back,
and that the same fate would befall the other son of his old age.
When they said that the Egyptian ruler had ordered them to bring their
young brother down, their old father only asked, with flashing eyes,
why they told the Egyptian that they had another brother. They replied
quite truly that he asked them the question. Jacob did not believe
them, and this made him all the more determined not to trust Benjamin
with them.
But the corn which they had
|
with
|
How many times does the word 'with' appear in the text?
| 9
|
and brooding, too, this night and he barely listened
to Dennerman's complaints about not being able to get good phone
service or his wife's comments on the disgusting variety of television
commercials they had these days.
Burckhardt was well on the way to setting an all-time record for
continuous abstraction when, around midnight, with a suddenness that
surprised him--he was strangely _aware_ of it happening--he turned
over in his bed and, quickly and completely, fell asleep.
II
On the morning of June 15th, Burckhardt woke up screaming.
[Illustration]
It was more real than any dream he had ever had in his life. He could
still hear the explosion, feel the blast that crushed him against a
wall. It did not seem right that he should be sitting bolt upright in
bed in an undisturbed room.
His wife came pattering up the stairs. "Darling!" she cried. "What's
the matter?"
He mumbled, "Nothing. Bad dream."
She relaxed, hand on heart. In an angry tone, she started to say: "You
gave me such a shock--"
But a noise from outside interrupted her. There was a wail of sirens
and a clang of bells; it was loud and shocking.
The Burckhardts stared at each other for a heartbeat, then hurried
fearfully to the window.
There were no rumbling fire engines in the street, only a small panel
truck, cruising slowly along. Flaring loudspeaker horns crowned its
top. From them issued the screaming sound of sirens, growing in
intensity, mixed with the rumble of heavy-duty engines and the sound
of bells. It was a perfect record of fire engines arriving at a
four-alarm blaze.
Burckhardt said in amazement, "Mary, that's against the law! Do you
know what they're doing? They're playing records of a fire. What are
they up to?"
"Maybe it's a practical joke," his wife offered.
"Joke? Waking up the whole neighborhood at six o'clock in the
morning?" He shook his head. "The police will be here in ten minutes,"
he predicted. "Wait and see."
But the police weren't--not in ten minutes, or at all. Whoever the
pranksters in the car were, they apparently had a police permit for
their games.
The car took a position in the middle of the block and stood silent
for a few minutes. Then there was a crackle from the speaker, and a
giant voice chanted:
"Feckle Freezers!
Feckle Freezers!
Gotta have a
Feckle Freezer!
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle,
Feckle, Feckle, Feckle--"
It went on and on. Every house on the block had faces staring out of
windows by then. The voice was not merely loud; it was nearly
deafening.
Burckhardt shouted to his wife, over the uproar, "What the hell is a
Feckle Freezer?"
"Some kind of a freezer, I guess, dear," she shrieked back
unhelpfully.
* * * * *
Abruptly the noise stopped and the truck stood silent. It was still
misty morning; the Sun's rays came horizontally across the rooftops.
It was impossible to believe that, a moment ago, the silent block had
been bellowing the name of a freezer.
"A crazy advertising trick," Burckhardt said bitterly. He yawned and
turned away from the window. "Might as well get dressed. I guess
that's the end of--"
The bellow caught him from behind; it was almost like a hard slap on
the ears. A harsh, sneering voice, louder than the arch-angel's
trumpet, howled:
"Have you got a freezer? _It stinks!_ If it isn't a Feckle Freezer,
_it stinks_! If it's a last year's Feckle Freezer, _it stinks_! Only
this year's Feckle Freezer is any
|
fire
|
How many times does the word 'fire' appear in the text?
| 2
|
see poor bodies
coming to him for charity continually; and they say that his sermons at
Holy Cross are excellent."
Sheffield said he liked people to be natural, and hated that donnish
manner. What good could it do? and what did it mean?
"That is what I call bigotry," answered Charles; "I am for taking every
one for what he is, and not for what he is not: one has this excellence,
another that; no one is everything. Why should we not drop what we don't
like, and admire what we like? This is the only way of getting through
life, the only true wisdom, and surely our duty into the bargain."
Sheffield thought this regular prose, and unreal. "We must," he said,
"have a standard of things, else one good thing is as good as another.
But I can't stand here all day," he continued, "when we ought to be
walking." And he took off Charles's cap, and, placing his hat on him
instead, said, "Come, let us be going."
"Then must I give up my meadow?" said Charles.
"Of course you must," answered Sheffield; "you must take a beaver walk.
I want you to go as far as Oxley, a village some little way out, all
the vicars of which, sooner or later, are made bishops. Perhaps even
walking there may do us some good."
The friends set out, from hat to boot in the most approved Oxford
bandbox-cut of trimness and prettiness. Sheffield was turning into the
High Street, when Reding stopped him: "It always annoys me," he said,
"to go down High Street in a beaver; one is sure to meet a proctor."
"All those University dresses are great fudge," answered Sheffield; "how
are we the better for them? They are mere outside, and nothing else.
Besides, our gown is so hideously ugly."
"Well, I don't go along with your sweeping condemnation," answered
Charles; "this is a great place, and should have a dress. I declare,
when I first saw the procession of Heads at St. Mary's, it was quite
moving. First----"
"Of course the pokers," interrupted Sheffield.
"First the organ, and every one rising; then the Vice-Chancellor in red,
and his bow to the preacher, who turns to the pulpit; then all the Heads
in order; and lastly the Proctors. Meanwhile, you see the head of the
preacher slowly mounting up the steps; when he gets in, he shuts-to the
door, looks at the organ-loft to catch the psalm, and the voices strike
up."
Sheffield laughed, and then said, "Well, I confess I agree with you in
your instance. The preacher is, or is supposed to be, a person of
talent; he is about to hold forth; the divines, the students of a great
University, are all there to listen. The pageant does but fitly
represent the great moral fact which is before us; I understand _this_.
I don't call _this_ fudge; what I mean by fudge is, outside without
inside. Now I must say, the sermon itself, and not the least of all the
prayer before it--what do they call it?"
"The bidding prayer," said Reding.
"Well, both sermon and prayer are often arrant fudge. I don't often go
to University sermons, but I have gone often enough not to go again
without compulsion. The last preacher I heard was from the country. Oh,
it was wonderful! He began at the pitch of his voice, 'Ye shall pray.'
What stuff! 'Ye shall _pray_;' because old Latimer or Jewell said, 'Ye
shall praie,' therefore we must not say, 'Let us pray.' Presently he
brought out," continued Sheffield, assuming a pompous and up-and-down
tone, "'especially for that pure and apostolic branch of it
_established_,'--here the man rose on his toes, '_established_ in these
dominions.' Next came, 'for our Sovereign Lady Victoria, Queen, Defender
of the Faith, in all causes and over all persons, ecclesiastical as well
as civil, within these her dominions, _supreme_'--an awful
|
what
|
How many times does the word 'what' appear in the text?
| 9
|
FADE IN
</b>
<b> EXT. QUARRY OUTSKIRTS - DAY 1
</b>
A narrow dirt road totally surrounded by thick vegetation.
Here and there we see a huge block of stone blocking the
road. The sun is shining but it has a hard time making it
through the foliage. In the distance we see four guys
walking TOWARD the CAMERA. There is a swagger to their
walk. MII� is singing. The others are humming along. The
melody of the song of "0 Bury Me Not On the Lone Prairie"
but it's a loose version.
<b> MIME
</b>
<b> AND WHEN I DIE...WON'T YOU BURY ME
</b>
<b> ON THE"PARKING LOT OF THE A AND P
</b>
<b> BLOW OUT THE CANDLES AND BLOW OUT TIE LAMPS
</b>
<b> AND LIGHT MY PYRE WITH MY TRADING STAMPS
</b>
<b> I HAD TWO BOOKS BUT I NEEDED THREE R
</b>
<b> TO DELIVER ME FROM THE A AND P.
</b>
<b> I HAD THREE BOOKS BUT I NEEDED FOUR
</b>
<b> TO GO TO HEAVEN AND REDEEM MY SOUL.
</b> By this time the four are in front of the CAMERA. Mike is
handsome and well built. CYRIL is tall and skinny. MOOCHER
is very short. DAVE, hanging back a little, is carrying a
large trophy.
<b> DAVE
</b> Bravo, Mike! Bravo! Bellisimot
<b> CYRIL
</b> Did you really make all that up?
They pass.
<b> ANOTHER ANGLE
</b> The presence of the quarry is felt much stronger now. More
and more blocks of cut stone appear. The guys are dwarfed
by them. They have to climb over some.
<b> MIKE
</b> I sent away for this stuff from
Wyoming. It'll tell you everything.
Since you don't believe me maybe
you'll believe it when you see it.
<b> CYRIL
</b> And we'd work on the same ranch
and sleep in the
|
cyril
|
How many times does the word 'cyril' appear in the text?
| 2
|
me in a dream, and to
love me, and so on; but I can't help my husband having disagreeable
relatives, can I?
HE [brightening up] Ah, of course they are your husband's relatives: I
forgot that. Forgive me, Aurora. [He takes her hand from his shoulder
and kisses it. She sits down on the stool. He remains near the table,
with his back to it, smiling fatuously down at her].
SHE. The fact is, Teddy's got nothing but relatives. He has eight
sisters and six half-sisters, and ever so many brothers--but I don't
mind his brothers. Now if you only knew the least little thing about
the world, Henry, you'd know that in a large family, though the sisters
quarrel with one another like mad all the time, yet let one of the
brothers marry, and they all turn on their unfortunate sister-in-law and
devote the rest of their lives with perfect unanimity to persuading
him that his wife is unworthy of him. They can do it to her very face
without her knowing it, because there are always a lot of stupid low
family jokes that nobody understands but themselves. Half the time you
can't tell what they're talking about: it just drives you wild. There
ought to be a law against a man's sister ever entering his house after
he's married. I'm as certain as that I'm sitting here that Georgina
stole those poems out of my workbox.
HE. She will not understand them, I think.
SHE. Oh, won't she! She'll understand them only too well. She'll
understand more harm than ever was in them: nasty vulgar-minded cat!
HE [going to her] Oh don't, don't think of people in that way. Don't
think of her at all. [He takes her hand and sits down on the carpet at
her feet]. Aurora: do you remember the evening when I sat here at your
feet and read you those poems for the first time?
SHE. I shouldn't have let you: I see that now. When I think of Georgina
sitting there at Teddy's feet and reading them to him for the first
time, I feel I shall just go distracted.
HE. Yes, you are right. It will be a profanation.
SHE. Oh, I don't care about the profanation; but what will Teddy think?
what will he do? [Suddenly throwing his head away from her knee]. You
don't seem to think a bit about Teddy. [She jumps up, more and more
agitated].
HE [supine on the floor; for she has thrown him off his balance] To me
Teddy is nothing, and Georgina less than nothing.
SHE. You'll soon find out how much less than nothing she is. If you
think a woman can't do any harm because she's only a scandalmongering
dowdy ragbag, you're greatly mistaken. [She flounces about the room. He
gets up slowly and dusts his hands. Suddenly she runs to him and throws
herself into his arms]. Henry: help me. Find a way out of this for me;
and I'll bless you as long as you live. Oh, how wretched I am! [She sobs
on his breast].
HE. And oh! how happy I am!
SHE [whisking herself abruptly away] Don't be selfish.
HE [humbly] Yes: I deserve that. I think if I were going to the stake
with you, I should still be so happy with you that I could hardly feel
your danger more than my own.
SHE [relenting and patting his hand fondly] Oh, you are a dear darling
boy, Henry; but [throwing his hand away fretfully] you're no use. I want
somebody to tell me what to do.
HE [with quiet conviction] Your heart will tell you at the right time. I
have thought deeply over this; and I know what we two must do, sooner or
later.
SHE. No, Henry. I will do nothing improper, nothing dishonorable. [She
sits down plump on the stool and looks inflexible].
HE. If you did, you would no longer be Aurora. Our course is perfectly
simple, perfectly straightforward, perfectly stainless and
|
forgive
|
How many times does the word 'forgive' appear in the text?
| 0
|
appears over a black
screen.
Every blade of grass has its Angel
that bends over it and whispers,
"Grow, grow."
The Talmud
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> 1987
</b>
<b>1 EXT HARLEM STREET DAY 1
</b>
A COLD WIND blows a bright red scarf tangled high on a street
lamp.
An iron waste bin is blown sideways into an intersection. A
stray dog investigates it briefly, urinates and then moves on.
A book bag drops onto the pavement.
Visible from the waist down, a LARGE YOUNG WOMAN in a
disintegrating leather jacket turns the waste bin upright and
then maneuvers it onto the sidewalk.
Once finished, her thick hands wipe each other until they
stop abruptly.
Here, for the first time, we see her PLUMP, YOUTHFUL, VACANT
AFRICAN AMERICAN FACE. It is 16-YEAR-OLD PRECIOUS JONES.
Something inside the bin has caught her attention.
Precious gazes down upon a soiled and tattered paperback book
as the breath from her nostrils steams. The title of the book
staring back up at her is unintelligible.
She pushes debris aside to get to it.
The book plunges deeper into the trash, as if trying to flee.
The sound of an ONCOMING CAR approaches.
Precious pins the book against the bottom of the bin as the
sounds of the oncoming car close in.
Precious finally comes up with the book. Its title is still
unintelligible. When she flips it over, however, the letters
on the cover, which are facing us now, make sense. They read
<b> CRYSTAL STAIR: SELECTED WORKS BY LANGSTON HUGHES.
</b>
<b> (CONTINUED)
</b><b>
</b><b>
</b><b> 2.
</b><b>1 CONTINUED: 1
</b> The car sounds incredibly close.
Precious looks sharply to her left.
AN EERIE SKID precedes an eerier THUD! Precious, almost hit,
falls back on to the pavement as her book skips across the
intersection and down into a drain.
She lays on the sidewalk pressed against the base of the
street lamp with her eyes closed
|
book
|
How many times does the word 'book' appear in the text?
| 6
|
hes.â
These tales, detached, but strung together by artificial
meansâpearls with a thread drawn through themâare manifest
precursors of the Decamerone, or Ten Days. A modern Italian critic
describes the now classical fiction as a collection of one hundred
of those novels which Boccaccio is believed to have read out at the
court of Queen Joanna of Naples, and which later in life were by him
assorted together by a most simple and ingenious contrivance. But
the great Florentine invented neither his stories nor his âplot,â if
we may so call it. He wrote in the middle of the fourteenth century
(1344-8) when the West had borrowed many things from the East,
rhymes[8] and romance, lutes and drums, alchemy and knight-errantry.
Many of the âNovelleâ are, as Orientalists well know, to this day
sung and recited almost textually by the wandering tale-tellers,
bards, and rhapsodists of Persia and Central Asia.
[8] I do not mean that rhymes were not known before the days of
El Islam, but that the Arabs popularised assonance and consonance
in Southern Europe.
The great kshatriya (soldier) king Vikramaditya,[9] or Vikramarka,
meaning the âSun of Heroism,â plays in India the part of King
Arthur, and of Harun El Rashid further West. He is a semi-historical
personage. The son of Gandharba-Sena the donkey and the daughter of
the King of Dhara, he was promised by his father the strength of a
thousand male elephants. When his sire died, his grandfather, the
deity Indra, resolved that the babe should not be born, upon which
his mother stabbed herself. But the tragic event duly happening
during the ninth month, Vikram came into the world by himself, and
was carried to Indra, who pitied and adopted him, and gave him a good
education.
[9] âVikramaâ means âvalourâ or âprowess.â
The circumstances of his accession to the throne, as will presently
appear, are differently told. Once, however, made King of Malaya, the
modern Malwa, a province of Western Upper India, he so distinguished
himself that the Hindu fabulists, with their usual brave kind of
speaking, have made him âbring the whole earth under the shadow of
one umbrella.â
The last ruler of the race of Mayúra, which reigned 318 years, was
Rája-pál. He reigned 25 years, but giving himself up to effeminacy,
his country was invaded by Shakáditya, a king from the highlands
of Kumaon. Vikramaditya, in the fourteenth year of his reign,
pretended to espouse the cause of Rája-pál, attacked and destroyed
Shakáditya, and ascended the throne of Delhi. His capital was Avanti,
or Ujjayani, the modern Ujjain. It was 13 kos (26 miles) long by
18 miles wide, an area of 468 square miles, but a trifle in Indian
history. He obtained the title of Shakári, âfoe of the Shakas,â the
Sacæ or Scythians, by his victories over that redoubtable race.
In the Kali Yug, or Iron Age, he stands highest amongst the Hindu
kings as the patron of learning. Nine persons under his patronage,
popularly known as the âNine Gems of Science,â hold in India the
honourable position of the Seven Wise Men of Greece.
These learned persons wrote works in the eighteen original dialects
from which, say the Hindus, all the languages of the earth have
been derived.[
|
king
|
How many times does the word 'king' appear in the text?
| 4
|
STAL LAKE.
We continue to drift towards it, hearing the faint sound
of seductive music and an occasional giggle. A small
HOUSEBOAT floats into our foreground, its interior light
flickering as TWO BODIES move around inside.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
A teenage boy and girl, JIM and SUZY, are slow-dancing.
Jim's lips softly touch her lissome shoulders.
<b> JIM
</b> Well...how do you feel?
<b> SUZY
</b> Ask me in about five minutes.
She bites his ear, giggles, then kisses him fully..
<b> JIM
</b> I'm talking about graduation. Being
totally free to do whatever we want
now.
Her hands slip inside his Pendleton shirt. He sighs.
<b> SUZY
</b> It feels excellent.
Her mouth finds his again. After a long kiss, he gently
pulls away from her with a teasing smile.
<b> JIM
</b> Gotta throw the anchor over.
He leaves the cabin. She slips under the bed sheets.
<b> EXT. HOUSEBOAT DECK - NIGHT
</b>
as Jim tosses a small anchor overboard.
<b> TIGHT ON WATER SURFACE
</b>
as the weighty object splashes, sinking into black
oblivion, pulling its cable down with it.
<b> JIM
</b>
glances at the lake, at their eerie surroundings. He
feels a chill, heading back inside.
<b> EXT. UNDERWATER - NIGHT (TANK)
</b>
as the anchor drifts to the lake bottom, dropping a few
feet from a THICK POWER CABLE which rests in the lake
silt.
<b> INT. HOUSEBOAT - NIGHT
</b>
as Jim returns with an uneasy expression. He crawls on
top of the bed, kissing her again, but not with the same
enthusiasm as before.
<b> SUZY
</b> What's wrong?
<b> JIM
</b> Nothing.
He starts to pull off his shirt and join her. She senses
his anxiety.
<b> SUZY
</b> C'mon, Jimmy. Something's bothering
you.
Jim pauses, turning off the mood music.
<b> JIM
</b> It's just that we're right around that
old summer camp where all those
murders took place.
The boat creaks. She's instantly nervous.
<b> SUZY
</b> What murders?
<b> JIM
</b> Never mind, you don't want to know
about it.
<b> SUZY
</b> Tell me.
<b> JIM
</b> There's nothing to worry about, Suzy.
The guy's dead now, somewhere at the
bottom of this lake...if you believe
the stories.
(beat)
Let's drop it, okay?
He starts to kiss her again. She stops him.
<b> SUZY
</b> What stories?
He doesn't want to go into it but Suzy's face insists.
<b> JIM
</b> There was this boy named Jason
Voorhees who drowned in Crystal
Lake...
<b> FLASHBACK
</b>
Eight year old JASON
|
night
|
How many times does the word 'night' appear in the text?
| 3
|
Grissom One,
Request final descent vector.
<b>REVERSE ANGLE
</b>
<b>EXT.-MARS
</b>
A row of giant red mountains and beneath, on the planet's surface, the
spires of A MINING BASE. Illuminated landing crosshairs alight a
landing pad, beckoning the ship.
<b> CONTROLLER (OVER)
</b>
Roger, Grissom One, this is Mars
Mining, You are cleared to land. Hope
you got some Partagas in that rust
bucket, Sal.
<b>EXT.-EDGE OF SPACE
</b>
THE CARGO SHIP changes attitude, landing thrusters FIRING as the
vessel begins to penetrate the atmosphere.
<b> PILOT
</b>
I brought you the most amazing...
Amazing, what, we'll never know. The CARGO SHIP begins to EXPLODE, the
bubble bridge BLOWING out into space in a ball of fire.
<b>EXT.- MARS
</b>
LOW ANGLE from the planet's surface-. Two shapes BLAST through FRAME,
BUBBLE FIGHTERS, single pilot, transparent globes, racing up towards
the sudden star of the cargo ship at impossible speed.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
POV of the burning Cargo Ship, coming towards us incredibly fast.
Speed, trajectory and tactical readouts flash.
<b>EXT.-CARGO SHIP
</b>
The pulse lasers are still hammering the ravaged hull.
<b>WIDER
</b>
Two sinister ATTACK SHIPS, their lasers locked onto the Cargo Ship,
FIRE away as they BLAST overhead. The nuclear core of the Cargo Ship
overloads, the craft finally EXPLODING in a storm of fire.
A BUBBLE FIGHTER ROARS through the hurling world of flame. PUSH IN.
<b>INT.-BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
A lone FIGURE stands in a gyroscopic harness, working a heads-up
holographic display, command controls spinning 360 degrees with the
pilot's Comas the fighter SCREAMS after the fleeing raider.
The harness spins, the pilot coming clearly into view. Handsome,
intense, reckless eyes. MAJOR DON WEST.
<b> WEST
</b>
Sino-Jordanian Raiders. They're
claiming the cargo ship violated
their air-space.
<b>INT.-SECOND BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
Another pilot (JEB WALKER) commands an identical craft, ROCKETING
towards the assault craft just below West's.
<b> JEB
</b>
This cold war's heating up. Where did
they come from?
<b>INT.-WEST'S BUBBLE FIGHTER
</b>
<b> WEST
</b>
Hell. And we're going to send them
back screaming.
West activates his targeting computer.
<b> WEST
</b>
Last one to kill a bad guy buys the
|
planet
|
How many times does the word 'planet' appear in the text?
| 1
|
FROM BLACK, VOICES EMERGE--
</b> We hear the actual recorded emergency calls made by World
Trade Center office workers to police and fire departments
after the planes struck on 9/11, just before the buildings
collapsed.
<b> TITLE OVER: SEPTEMBER 11, 2001
</b> We listen to fragments from a number of these calls...starting
with pleas for help, building to a panic, ending with the
caller's grim acceptance that help will not arrive, that the
situation is hopeless, that they are about to die.
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> TITLE OVER: TWO YEARS LATER
</b>
<b> INT. BLACK SITE - INTERROGATION ROOM
</b>
<b> DANIEL
</b> I own you, Ammar. You belong to me.
Look at me.
This is DANIEL STANTON, the CIA's man in Islamabad - a big
American, late 30's, with a long, anarchical beard snaking
down to his tattooed neck. He looks like a paramilitary
hipster, a punk rocker with a Glock.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> (explaining the rules)
If you don't look at me when I talk
to you, I hurt you. If you step off
this mat, I hurt you. If you lie to
me, I'm gonna hurt you. Now, Look
at me.
His prisoner, AMMAR, stands on a decaying gym mat, surrounded
by four GUARDS whose faces are covered in ski masks.
Ammar looks down. Instantly: the guards rush Ammar, punching
and kicking.
<b> DANIEL (CONT'D)
</b> Look at me, Ammar.
Notably, one of the GUARDS wearing a ski mask does not take
part in the beating.
<b> 2.
</b>
<b> EXT. BLACK SITE - LATER
</b>
Daniel and the masked figures emerge from the interrogation
room into the light of day. They remove their
|
emerge
|
How many times does the word 'emerge' appear in the text?
| 1
|
was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd,
practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this
document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end
as did eventually overtake him."
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon
his knee. "You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s
and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix
the date."
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At
the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below in large, scrawling
figures: "1742."
"It appears to be a statement of some sort."
"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the
Baskerville family."
"But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon
which you wish to consult me?"
"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided
within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately
connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and
closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the
manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following
curious, old-world narrative:
"Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there
have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct
line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from
my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down
with all belief that it occurred even as is here set
forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the
same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously
forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer
and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this
story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to
be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions
whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not
again be loosed to our undoing.
"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most
earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of
Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be
gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless
man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,
seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,
but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour
which made his name a by-word through the West. It
chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark
a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter
of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,
would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So
it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five
or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon
the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and
brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had
brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 11
|
FINAL MOVIE SCRIPT
</b>
** Resized to fit on minimal number of pages**
[Showing Pictures of City Life]
<b> NARRATOR
</b>
No one would have believed in the early
years of the21st century, that our world
was being watched by intelligences greater
than our own. That as men busied themselves
about their various concerns, they observed
and studied. Like the way a man with
a microscope might scrutinize the creatures
that swarm and multiply in a drop of
water. With infinite complacency men
went to and fro about the globe, confident
of our empire over this world. Yet,
across the gulf of space, intellects,
vast and cool and unsympathetic regarded
our plant with envious eyes. And slowly
and surely, drew their plans against
us.
<b>
</b><b> EXT. DOCK - CARGO BAY - DAWN
</b>
Ray (in his 30s, short hair, rough groomed, almost always wears
his New York baseball cap, raggedly dressed, looks like he hasn't
slept in days) is moving cargo boxes from the ship to ground
loading brackets. Shots show him inside the control room operating
the levers. As the last car is loaded, he is seen walking down
the stairs.
<b>
</b><b> SAL
</b>
Ray!! Ferrier! Whoa!
Ray turns away and laughs because he already knows what he is
|
water
|
How many times does the word 'water' appear in the text?
| 0
|
saddle in the grass,
with his dying voice, still cheering his men in the fray. This was
Saddle-Meadows, a name likewise extended to the mansion and the
village. Far beyond these plains, a day's walk for Pierre, rose the
storied heights, where in the Revolutionary War his grandfather had for
several months defended a rude but all-important stockaded fort, against
the repeated combined assaults of Indians, Tories, and Regulars. From
before that fort, the gentlemanly, but murderous half-breed, Brandt, had
fled, but had survived to dine with General Glendinning, in the amicable
times which followed that vindictive war. All the associations of
Saddle-Meadows were full of pride to Pierre. The Glendinning deeds by
which their estate had so long been held, bore the cyphers of three
Indian kings, the aboriginal and only conveyancers of those noble woods
and plains. Thus loftily, in the days of his circumscribed youth, did
Pierre glance along the background of his race; little recking of that
maturer and larger interior development, which should forever deprive
these things of their full power of pride in his soul.
But the breeding of Pierre would have been unwisely contracted, had his
youth been unintermittingly passed in these rural scenes. At a very
early period he had begun to accompany his father and mother--and
afterwards his mother alone--in their annual visits to the city; where
naturally mingling in a large and polished society, Pierre had
insensibly formed himself in the airier graces of life, without
enfeebling the vigor derived from a martial race, and fostered in the
country's clarion air.
Nor while thus liberally developed in person and manners, was Pierre
deficient in a still better and finer culture. Not in vain had he spent
long summer afternoons in the deep recesses of his father's fastidiously
picked and decorous library; where the Spenserian nymphs had early led
him into many a maze of all-bewildering beauty. Thus, with a graceful
glow on his limbs, and soft, imaginative flames in his heart, did this
Pierre glide toward maturity, thoughtless of that period of remorseless
insight, when all these delicate warmths should seem frigid to him, and
he should madly demand more ardent fires.
Nor had that pride and love which had so bountifully provided for the
youthful nurture of Pierre, neglected his culture in the deepest element
of all. It had been a maxim with the father of Pierre, that all
gentlemanhood was vain; all claims to it preposterous and absurd, unless
the primeval gentleness and golden humanities of religion had been so
thoroughly wrought into the complete texture of the character, that he
who pronounced himself gentleman, could also rightfully assume the meek,
but kingly style of Christian. At the age of sixteen, Pierre partook
with his mother of the Holy Sacraments.
It were needless, and more difficult, perhaps, to trace out precisely
the absolute motives which prompted these youthful vows. Enough, that as
to Pierre had descended the numerous other noble qualities of his
ancestors; and as he now stood heir to their forests and farms; so by
the same insensible sliding process, he seemed to have inherited their
docile homage to a venerable Faith, which the first Glendinning had
brought over sea, from beneath the shadow of an English minister. Thus
in Pierre was the complete polished steel of the gentleman, girded with
Religion's silken sash; and his great-grandfather's soldierly fate had
taught him that the generous sash should, in the last bitter trial,
furnish its wearer with Glory's shroud; so that what through life had
been worn for Grace's sake, in death might safely hold the man. But
while thus all alive to the beauty and poesy of his father's faith,
Pierre little foresaw that this world hath a secret deeper than beauty,
and Life some burdens heavier than death.
So perfect to Pierre had long seemed the illuminated scroll of his life
thus far, that only one hiatus was discoverable by him in that
sweetly-writ manuscript. A sister had been omitted from the text. He
mourned that so delicious a feeling as fraternal love had been denied
him. Nor could the fictitious title, which he so often
|
from
|
How many times does the word 'from' appear in the text?
| 3
|
? But when the cake came to be mauled like that--oh,
heavens! So the men who had quarrelled agreed to quarrel no more,
and it was decided that there should be an end of mismanagement and
idleness, and that this horrid sight of the weak pretending to be
strong, or the weak receiving the reward of strength, should be
brought to an end. Then came a great fight, in the last agonies of
which the cake was sliced manfully. All the world knew how the fight
would go; but in the meantime lord-lieutenancies were arranged; very
ancient judges retired upon pensions; vice-royal Governors were sent
out in the last gasp of the failing battle; great places were filled
by tens, and little places by twenties; private secretaries were
established here and there; and the hay was still made even after the
sun had gone down.
In consequence of all this the circumstances of the election of 18--
were peculiar. Mr. Daubeny had dissolved the House, not probably
with any idea that he could thus retrieve his fortunes, but feeling
that in doing so he was occupying the last normal position of a
properly-fought Constitutional battle. His enemies were resolved,
more firmly than they were resolved before, to knock him altogether
on the head at the general election which he had himself called
into existence. He had been disgracefully out-voted in the House of
Commons on various subjects. On the last occasion he had gone into
his lobby with a minority of 37, upon a motion brought forward by Mr.
Palliser, the late Liberal Chancellor of the Exchequer, respecting
decimal coinage. No politician, not even Mr. Palliser himself, had
expected that he would carry his Bill in the present session. It
was brought forward as a trial of strength; and for such a purpose
decimal coinage was as good a subject as any other. It was Mr.
Palliser's hobby, and he was gratified at having this further
opportunity of ventilating it. When in power, he had not succeeded
in carrying his measure, awed, and at last absolutely beaten, by the
infinite difficulty encountered in arranging its details. But his
mind was still set upon it, and it was allowed by the whole party
to be as good as anything else for the purpose then required. The
Conservative Government was beaten for the third or fourth time, and
Mr. Daubeny dissolved the House.
The whole world said that he might as well have resigned at once. It
was already the end of July, and there must be an autumn Session with
the new members. It was known to be impossible that he should find
himself supported by a majority after a fresh election. He had been
treated with manifest forbearance; the cake had been left in his
hands for twelve months; the House was barely two years old; he
had no "cry" with which to meet the country; the dissolution was
factious, dishonest, and unconstitutional. So said all the Liberals,
and it was deduced also that the Conservatives were in their hearts
as angry as were their opponents. What was to be gained but the poor
interval of three months? There were clever men who suggested that
Mr. Daubeny had a scheme in his head--some sharp trick of political
conjuring, some "hocus-pocus presto" sleight of hand, by which he
might be able to retain power, let the elections go as they would.
But, if so, he certainly did not make his scheme known to his own
party.
He had no cry with which to meet the country, nor, indeed, had
the leaders of the Opposition. Retrenchment, army reform, navy
excellence, Mr. Palliser's decimal coinage, and general good
government gave to all the old-Whig moderate Liberals plenty of
matter for speeches to their future constituents. Those who were more
advanced could promise the Ballot, and suggest the disestablishment
of the Church. But the Government of the day was to be turned out
on the score of general incompetence. They were to be made to go,
because they could not command majorities. But there ought to have
been no dissolution, and Mr. Daubeny was regarded by his opponents,
and indeed by very many of his followers also, with an enmity that
was almost ferocious. A seat in Parliament, if it be for five or six
years, is a blessing;
|
been
|
How many times does the word 'been' appear in the text?
| 3
|
January 21, 1997
1202 West Washington Blvd.
Culver City, CA 90232
<b> FADE IN:
</b>
<b> MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE -- BLACK
</b>
<b> INTERCUT -- QUICK FLASH-FORWARDS
</b>
INSIDE A STEAMY SHOWER -- A wet naked woman and man wrapped
around each other in ecstasy -- legs, arms, hair, mouths.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
Moonlight reflects on a vehicle's shiny surface. FISTS THUD into
flesh. O.S. -- a man slams of the hood, rebounds away.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
LOVERS -- caught in FREEZE-FRAMES of green neon -- off, on, off,
on -- like a strobe's instant-images -- of gasping, tough sex.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
ON A GLEAMING POOL DECK of black-and-white tile -- two women in
soaked, clinging clothes -- fight -- hands squeeze a throat.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
A SCREAM -- a sickening hollow THWACK -- an arc of blood, two
teeth fall on dark stone.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
GUNSHOTS -- Blood sprays across the glass of a picture frame --
obscures the photo inside.
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
THE SURFACE OF A SPARKLING SEA -- a distant emerald island. A
40-foot sloop APPEARS -- shapes on deck -- we are about to SEE --
BLACK -- MORE TITLES -- then
SHARKS -- underwater -- rip something into a bloody cloud.
<b> END MAIN TITLES.
</b>
<b> FADE TO:
</b>
<b> EXT. BLUE BAY SCHOOL - DAY
</b>
A place of money and privilege. White coral buildings surround
an open yard. Tile roofs rise among banyan trees and banana
palms, shimmering before a blue blaze of sky.
Beyond the yard is the school's playing field and beyond that the
waters of Biscayne Bay, dappled in sunlight where the sloops of
the school's sailing class bob at their moorings.
For a moment all is quiet. Then, faintly, the HUM of many
VOICES, rising and falling, LAUGHTER.
The CAMERA PANS to the open windows of a building somewhat larger
than the others. The SOUNDS grow louder.
<b> INT. BLUE BAY AUDITORIUM - DAY
</b>
A hundred high school kids sit before a raised, hardwood stage.
The students are not unlike the campus, radiant, well-tended -- a
veritable sea of adolescent sexuality -- bronze boys who seem to
have just come from the boats or tennis courts -- girls in tight
shorts riding high up shapely thighs, as...
SAM LOMBARDO strolls out onto the stage. The man is thirtyish,
drop-dead handsome. Dressed not that differently from the kids,
in an Izod polo shirt, khakis and boat shoes.
His entrance has an effect upon the audience, particularly upon
the girls.
|
school
|
How many times does the word 'school' appear in the text?
| 3
|
September 1992 Draft
<b>
</b>
<b> BLACK
</b>
No image. A bleak WIND MOANS. HOLD.
With a STINGING CHORD we --
<b> CUT TO:
</b>
<b> CITY SKYLINE - NIGHT (CIRCA 1958)
</b>
Lights twinkle. Snow falls. The WIND MOANS.
After a beat, the voice of an elderly black man:
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> The's right... New York.
We are TRACKING HIGH THROUGH the night sky. From the streets
far below we hear the sounds of TRAFFIC muffled by the falling
snow, and the DISTANT sound of many VOICES SINGING.
We are DRIFTING AMONG the buildings; the tops of skyscrapers
slip by left and right.
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> It's 1958 -- anyway, for a few mo'
minutes it is. Come midnight it's
gonna be 1959. A whole 'nother
feelin'. The New Year. The future...
The SINGING, a little MORE AUDIBLE, but still not close, is
"Auld Lang Syne."
<b> NARRATOR (V.O.)
</b> ...Yeah ole daddy Earth fixin' to
start one mo' trip 'round the sun,
an' evvybody hopin' this ride 'round
be a little mo' giddy, a little mo'
|
narrator
|
How many times does the word 'narrator' appear in the text?
| 2
|
Final Draft
<b>
</b>
<b> IN BLACK AND WHITE:
</b>
TRAIN WHEELS grinding against track, slowing. FOLDING TABLE
LEGS scissoring open. The LEVER of a train door being pulled.
NAMES on lists on clipboards held by clerks moving alongside
the tracks.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...Rossen... Lieberman... Wachsberg...
BEWILDERED RURAL FACES coming down off the passenger train.
FORMS being set out on the folding tables. HANDS straightening
pens and pencils and ink pads and stamps.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...When your name is called go over
there... take this over to that
table...
TYPEWRITER KEYS rapping a name onto a list. A FACE. KEYS
typing another name. Another FACE.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...youre in the wrong line, wait
over there... you, come over here...
A MAN is taken from one long line and led to the back of
another. A HAND hammers a rubber stamp at a form. Tight on a
FACE. KEYS type another NAME. Another FACE. Another NAME.
<b> CLERKS (V.O.)
</b> ...Biberman... Steinberg...
Chilowitz...
As a hand comes down stamping a GRAY STRIPE across a
registration card, there is absolute silence... then MUSIC,
the Hungarian love song, "Gloomy Sunday," distant... and the
|
type
|
How many times does the word 'type' appear in the text?
| 0
|
an attitude and proceeds in his most tragic
vein:
"Declare with speed what spot you claim by birth.
Or with this club fall stricken to the earth!
This club hath ofttimes slaughtered haughty kings!
Why mumble unintelligible things?
What land, what tribe produced that shaking head?
Declare it! On my journey when I sped
Far to the Kingdom of the triple King,
And from the Main Hesperian did bring
The goodly cattle to the Argive town,
There I beheld a mountain looking down
Upon two rivers: this the Sun espies
Right opposite each day he doth arise.
Hence, mighty Rhone, thy rapid torrents flow,
And Arar, much in doubt which way to go,
Ripples along the banks with shallow roll.
Say, is this land the nurse that bred thy soul?"
These lines he delivered with much spirit and a bold front. All the same,
he was not quite master of his wits, and had some fear of a blow from
the fool. Claudius, seeing a mighty man before him, saw things looked
serious and understood that here he had not quite the same pre-eminence
as at Rome, where no one was his equal: the Gallic cock was worth most on
his own dunghill. So this is what he was thought to say, as far as could
be made out: "I did hope, Hercules, bravest of all the gods, that you
would take my part with the rest, and if I should need a voucher, I meant
to name you who know me so well. Do but call it to mind, how it was I used
to sit in judgment before your temple whole days together during July and
August. You know what miseries I endured there, in hearing the lawyers
plead day and night. If you had fallen amongst these, you may think
yourself very strong, but you would have found it worse than the sewers of
Augeas: I drained out more filth than you did. But since I want..."
(Some pages have fallen out, in which Hercules must have been persuaded.
The gods are now discussing what Hercules tells them).
"No wonder you have forced your way into the 8
Senate House: no bars or bolts can hold against you. Only do say what
species of god you want the fellow to be made. An Epicurean god he cannot
be: for they have no troubles and cause none. A Stoic, then? How can he be
globular, as Varro says, without a head or any other projection? There is
in him something of the Stoic god, as I can see now: he has neither heart
nor head. Upon my word, if he had asked this boon from Saturn, he would not
have got it, though he kept up Saturn's feast all the year round, a truly
Saturnalian prince. A likely thing he will get it from Jove, whom he
condemned for incest as far as in him lay: for he killed his son-in-law
Silanus, because Silanus had a sister, a most charming girl, called Venus
by all the world, and he preferred to call her Juno. Why, says he, I want
to know why, his own sister? Read your books, stupid: you may go half-way
at Athens, the whole way at Alexandria. Because the mice lick meal at Rome,
you say. Is this creature to mend our crooked ways? What goes on in his own
closet he knows not;[Footnote: Perhaps alluding to a mock marriage of
Silius and Messalina.] and now he searches the regions of the sky, wants to
be a god. Is it not enough that he has a temple in Britain, that savages
worship him and pray to him as a god, so that they may find a fool
[Footnote: Again [GREEK: morou] for [GREEK: theou] as in ch. 6.] to have
mercy upon them?"
At last it came into Jove's head, that while strangers 9
were in the House it was not lawful to speak or debate. "My lords and
gentlemen
|
fool
|
How many times does the word 'fool' appear in the text?
| 1
|
between fields of dry, uncut grass, in a serene isolated
valley.
TWO MEN tack together a broken fence that encloses an
overgrown paddock.
THREE WOMEN work in a vegetable garden.
TWO WOMEN hang wet clothes on a clothes line.
TWO MEN work in a cluttered garage on an old car.
FOUR WOMEN sit in a circle on a broken down, buckling
front porch. One woman breast feeds a new born. The
others knit a large blanket.
TWO WOMEN and TWO MEN swim naked in a swimming hole.
A MAN in his forties sits alone in a room reading.
A MAN chops wood.
A bare foot TODDLER plays alone in the driveway.
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE - DAY
</b>
A large room with unfinished wood walls has several
blankets and pillows laid out like beds on the floor.
TWO WOMEN are in the kitchen preparing food.
MARTHA, sets a table for eight. Martha is beautiful but
appears run down. She is 24 years old but her weathered
face makes her look older. A bell rings off screen.
<b> INT. FARM HOUSE DINING ROOM - EVENING
</b>
The men sit around a table eating dinner.
One man sits at the head of the table, this is PATRICK.
Patrick is older
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room
|
How many times does the word 'room' appear in the text?
| 2
|
room
<b>
</b>
<b> EXT. A SAVANNAH STREET - DAY (1981)
</b>
A feather floats through the air. The falling feather.
A city, Savannah, is revealed in the background. The feather
floats down toward the city below. The feather drops down
toward the street below, as people walk past and cars drive
by, and nearly lands on a man's shoulder.
He walks across the street, causing the feather to be whisked
back on its journey. The feather floats above a stopped car.
The car drives off right as the feather floats down toward
the street.
The feather floats under a passing car, then is sent flying
back up in the air. A MAN sits on a bus bench. The feather
floats above the ground and finally lands on the man's
mudsoaked shoe.
The man reached down and picks up the feather. His name is
FORREST GUMP. He looks at the feather oddly, moves aside a
box of chocolates from an old suitcase, then opens the case.
Inside the old suitcase are an assortment of clothes, a
pingpong paddle, toothpaste and other personal items.
Forrest pulls out a book titled "Curious George," then places
the feather inside the book. Forrest closes the suitcase.
Something in his eyes reveals that Forrest may not be all
there.
Forrest looks right as the sound of an arriving bus is heard.
A bus pulls up. Forrest remains on the bus bench as the bus
continues on.
A BLACK WOMAN in a nurse's outfit steps up and sits down at
the bus bench next to Forrest. The nurse begins to read a
magazine as Forrest looks at her.
<b> FORREST
</b> Hello. My name's Forrest Gump.
He opens a box of chocolates and holds it out for the nurse.
<b> FORREST
</b>
|
book
|
How many times does the word 'book' appear in the text?
| 1
|
etelly, 1887; Taras Bulba,
trans. by B. C. Baskerville, London, Scott, 1907; The Inspector: a
Comedy, Calcutta, 1890; The Inspector-General, trans. by A. A. Sykes,
London, Scott, 1892; Revizor, trans. for the Yale Dramatic Association
by Max S. Mandell, New Haven, Conn., 1908; Home Life in Russia
(adaptation of Dead Souls), London, Hurst, 1854; Tchitchikoff's
Journey's; or Dead Souls, trans. by Isabel F. Hapgood, New York,
Crowell, 1886; Dead Souls, London, Vizetelly, 1887; Dead Souls, London,
Maxwell 1887; Meditations on the Divine Liturgy, trans. by L. Alexeieff,
London, A. R. Mowbray and Co., 1913.
LIVES, etc.: (Russian) Kotlyarevsky (N. A.), 1903; Shenrok (V. I.),
Materials for a Biography, 1892; (French) Leger (L.), Nicholas Gogol,
1914.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE FIRST PORTION OF THIS WORK
Second Edition published in 1846
From the Author to the Reader
Reader, whosoever or wheresoever you be, and whatsoever be your
station--whether that of a member of the higher ranks of society or that
of a member of the plainer walks of life--I beg of you, if God shall
have given you any skill in letters, and my book shall fall into your
hands, to extend to me your assistance.
For in the book which lies before you, and which, probably, you have
read in its first edition, there is portrayed a man who is a type taken
from our Russian Empire. This man travels about the Russian land and
meets with folk of every condition--from the nobly-born to the humble
toiler. Him I have taken as a type to show forth the vices and the
failings, rather than the merits and the virtues, of the commonplace
Russian individual; and the characters which revolve around him have
also been selected for the purpose of demonstrating our national
weaknesses and shortcomings. As for men and women of the better sort, I
propose to portray them in subsequent volumes. Probably much of what I
have described is improbable and does not happen as things customarily
happen in Russia; and the reason for that is that for me to learn all
that I have wished to do has been impossible, in that human life is not
sufficiently long to become acquainted with even a hundredth part
of what takes place within the borders of the Russian Empire. Also,
carelessness, inexperience, and lack of time have led to my perpetrating
numerous errors and inaccuracies of detail; with the result that in
every line of the book there is something which calls for correction.
For these reasons I beg of you, my reader, to act also as my corrector.
Do not despise the task, for, however superior be your education, and
however lofty your station, and however insignificant, in your eyes,
my book, and however trifling the apparent labour of correcting and
commenting upon that book, I implore you to do as I have said. And you
too, O reader of lowly education and simple status, I beseech you not to
look upon yourself as too ignorant to be able in some fashion, however
small, to help me. Every man who has lived in the world and mixed with
his fellow men will have remarked something which has remained hidden
from the eyes of others; and therefore I beg of you not to deprive me
of your comments, seeing that it cannot be that, should you read my book
with attention, you will have NOTHING to say at some point therein.
For example, how excellent it would be if some reader who is
sufficiently rich in experience and the knowledge of life to be
acquainted with the sort of characters which I have described herein
would annotate in detail the book, without missing a single page, and
undertake to read it precisely as though, laying pen and paper before
him, he were first to peruse a few pages of the work, and then to recall
his own life, and the lives of folk with whom he has come in contact,
and everything which he has seen with his own eyes or
|
that
|
How many times does the word 'that' appear in the text?
| 9
|
's got a pouch for a racquet but no racquet in it.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> What color hair does he have?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Black hair. Paul Michael Glaser.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Making Hutch David Soul?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Right. The blond guy.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> OK. That's wrong.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> Dignan, it's --
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Plus where's Huggie Bear?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> He's not there. Huggie Bear isn't
in every single episode.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> I think you might of dreamed this
one, Anthony.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> No. It's a real episode. The killer
is leading him across the city by
calling different pay phones.
They climb over a high wooden fence.
<b>EXT. BACKYARD. DAY
</b>
They walk through somebody's backyard.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> Why?
<b> ANTHONY
</b> As part of his plan. I don't know
why.
<b> DIGNAN
</b> See, that's what I'm saying. It has
the logic of a dream.
<b> ANTHONY
</b> The point is the killer always
goes, May I speak to Starsky? He
says his name.
<b> DIGN
|
anthony
|
How many times does the word 'anthony' appear in the text?
| 7
|
he's his universe, his hero;
He's lost in constant admiration, quotes him
On all occasions, takes his trifling acts
For wonders, and his words for oracles.
The fellow knows his dupe, and makes the most on't,
He fools him with a hundred masks of virtue,
Gets money from him all the time by canting,
And takes upon himself to carp at us.
Even his silly coxcomb of a lackey
Makes it his business to instruct us too;
He comes with rolling eyes to preach at us,
And throws away our ribbons, rouge, and patches.
The wretch, the other day, tore up a kerchief
That he had found, pressed in the _Golden Legend_,
Calling it a horrid crime for us to mingle
The devil's finery with holy things.
[Footnote 1: Referring to the rebellion called La Fronde, during the
minority of Louis XIV.]
[Footnote 2: Moliere's note, inserted in the text of all the old
editions. It is a curious illustration of the desire for uniformity
and dignity of style in dramatic verse of the seventeenth century,
that Moliere feels called on to apologize for a touch of realism like
this. Indeed, these lines were even omitted when the play was given.]
SCENE III
ELMIRE, MARIANE, DAMIS, CLEANTE, DORINE
ELMIRE (to Cleante)
You're very lucky to have missed the speech
She gave us at the door. I see my husband
Is home again. He hasn't seen me yet,
So I'll go up and wait till he comes in.
CLEANTE
And I, to save time, will await him here;
I'll merely say good-morning, and be gone.
SCENE IV
CLEANTE, DAMIS, DORINE
DAMIS
I wish you'd say a word to him about
My sister's marriage; I suspect Tartuffe
Opposes it, and puts my father up
To all these wretched shifts. You know, besides,
How nearly I'm concerned in it myself;
If love unites my sister and Valere,
I love his sister too; and if this marriage
Were to ...
DORINE
He's coming.
SCENE V
ORGON, CLEANTE, DORINE
ORGON
Ah! Good morning, brother.
CLEANTE
I was just going, but am glad to greet you.
Things are not far advanced yet, in the country?
ORGON
Dorine ...
(To Cleante)
Just wait a bit, please, brother-in-law.
Let me allay my first anxiety
By asking news about the family.
(To Dorine)
Has everything gone well these last two days?
What's happening? And how is everybody?
DORINE
Madam had fever, and a splitting headache
Day before yesterday, all day and evening.
ORGON
And how about Tartuffe?
DORINE
Tartuffe? He's well;
He's mighty well; stout, fat, fair, rosy-lipped.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
At evening she had nausea
And couldn't touch a single thing for supper,
Her headache still was so severe.
ORGON
And how
About Tartuffe?
DORINE
He supped alone, before her,
And unctuously ate up two partridges,
As well as half a leg o' mutton, deviled.
ORGON
Poor man!
DORINE
All night she couldn't get a wink
Of sleep, the fever racked her so; and we
Had to sit up with her till daylight.
ORGON
How
About Tartuffe?
DORINE
Gently inclined to slumber,
He left the table, went into his room,
Got himself straight into a good warm bed,
And slept quite undisturbed until next
|
damis
|
How many times does the word 'damis' appear in the text?
| 2
|
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