#here's a thing to prove that I can write the chief maid

[ask-the-shrine-guardian-blog]

A Message from Sakyua

Dear Reader,

I am Sakyua Izayoi. I'm the chief maid at the Scarlet Devil Mansion, and I directly serve the mistress of the house, Remilla Scarlet. Mistress Remilla has wanted me to let you know that we will be joining your little “community” soon enough.

The mistress is very excited about this. She says it’ll be good to grace this community with her presence, as well as Flandre’s. I'd say their relationship ship has really improved! Thank goodness for that...

Lady Patchouli hasn't said if she approves of this or not, but she is willingly following under the mistress. That's loyalty, I'll say. Oh, and she also told me to tell you that you should keep quiet in the Mansion’s library.

One more thing, the fairy maids? They're still pretty much useless.

-Sakyua Izayoi 

[acrossthewavesoftime]

To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine!

(x)

It's that time of the year again when one can post the first (surviving) Valentine's Day's missive in North America, sent by a certain John Graves Simcoe to Sarah "Sally" Townsend on 14 February 1779.

Simcoe, who adorned his poem with two bleeding hearts bearing the initials "J.G.S" and "S.T." pinned together by Cupid's arrow, clearly was in love with her, though, as the poem itself acknowledges, he was aware of the fact that a relationship between them would be difficult; the Townsends, who grudgingly quartered Simcoe, were sympathetic to the rebel cause, to the point the assumption persists that Sarah may have been an informant for her brother Robert Townsend, also known under his intelligence alias Samuel Culper, giving him information on the British she received by cultivating Simcoe's trust.

One such tale goes as far as to name Sarah as the informant who made the capture of John André possible. In the wake of André's execution in Tappan, she supposedly confessed her actions to Simcoe, feeling remorseful that she had helped bring about the death of his close friend. Simcoe, deeply hurt she had betrayed his trust and genuine intentions, is said to have lost interest in her romantically, but still kept her secret.

Of course, the story seems rather a bit over the top; what is known about Sarah is that she was a favourite with British officers stationed in the area, and that she kept Simcoe's poem until her death in 1842. She never married, which caused romantic speculation that Simcoe may have been the love of her life after all. Realistically, I think the sentimental value Sarah clearly felt Simcoe's poem had does not necessarily have romantic connotations; she may have decided to keep it because she felt flattered someone sat down to write a piece of poetry about her, and realistically speaking, how often in one's life does one receive an original, hand-written love poem?

But Sarah would not remain the only lady to treasure a poem written by Simcoe; his wife Elizabeth, an as far as I can tell not infrequent protagonist of his poetry, pinned one she clearly particularly treasured to the pages of her Canadian diary/manuscript which he wrote for her to commemorate their 12th wedding anniversary. If he ever wrote her any Valentine's Day-poetry, I can't tell, but he didn't need any specific occasion to compose some lines about making "my Eliza with true passion burn"- a lot saucier than the comparatively tame poem, which even invokes the virgin goddess Artemis by the epithet "Delia", written to Sarah Townsend (and, of course, he also features the most romantic of all things in the world, urns, as @copper-haired-cuddlebug in particular will be aware of):

Fairest Maid, where all is fair, Beauty’s pride and Nature’s care; To you my heart I must resign, O choose me for your Valentine! Love, Mighty God! Thou know’st full well, Where all thy Mother’s graces dwell, Where they inhabit and combine To fix thy power with spells divine; Thou know’st what powerful magick lies Within the round of Sarah’s eyes, Or darted thence like lightning fires, And Heaven’s own joys around inspires; Thou know’st my heart will always prove The shrine of pure unchanging love! Say; awful God! Since to thy throne Two ways that lead are only known— Here gay Variety presides, And many a youthful circle guides Through paths where lilies, roses sweet, Bloom and decay beneath their feet; Here constancy with sober mien Regardless of the flowery Scene With Myrtle crowned that never fades, In silence seeks the Cypress Shades, Or fixed near Contemplation’s cell, Chief with the Muses loves to dwell, Leads those who inward feel and burn And often clasp the abandon’d urn,– Say, awful God! Did’st thou not prove My heart was formed for Constant love? Thou saw’st me once on every plain To Delia pour the artless strain— Thou wept’sd her death and bad’st me change My happier days no more to range O’er hill, o’er dale, in sweet Employ, Of singing Delia, Nature’s joy; Thou bad’st me change the pastoral scene Forget my Crook; with haughty mien To raise the iron Spear of War, Victim of Grief and deep Despair: Say, must I all my joys forego And still maintain this outward show? Say, shall this breast that’s pained to feel Be ever clad in horrid steel? Nor swell with other joys than those Of conquest o’er unworthy foes? Shall no fair maid with equal fire Awake the flames of soft desire: My bosom born, for transport, burn And raise my thoughts from Delia’s urn? “Fond Youth,” the God of Love replies, “Your answer take from Sarah’s eyes.”

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

My Rumsfeld and Cheney story.

***

I am in my late 20s and have been at my job in the White House for several months. Despite my age, I have been handed the task of helping to organize and arrange the administration’s new initiative to expand the humanities in America’s schools. I have an Ivy League education but I know the real reason I have the job. It is because my father has been lifelong friends with the President and is one of his closest advisors.

But being this is Washington, my father has enemies. At the top of the list are Donald Rumsfeld and his acolyte Dick Cheney — notorious for their scheming, ruthlessness and ways to grab power at the expense of others, and they are eyeing up putting a knife in my father’s back.

I am walking down the hallway. There are two things in my mind. The first is career preservation. If my father is forced out by them, then my career goes down the toilet.

But the main reason is because of something I have finally admitted to myself — that they are both incredibly attractive, and I want to submit to them.

I see Rumsfeld’s hatchet face of a Secretary. She buzzes. I wait for a few minutes, hearing him laughing on the phone. Finally, he has me sent in as he peers over some files and is writing something on a notepad, not paying me any attention, giving me a terse, “How may I help you? I’m not sure I can be of any service to your program.”

I shiver.

“Well, Mr. Rumsfeld,” I say. He perks up a bit hearing the deference in my voice. “I did not come specifically to ask you that. I came today to tell you...” I gulp. “I came to tell you that I know you are coming after my father. And I want to tell you that I know you are going to push him. And that my full loyalty and allegiance is with you.”

He stops writing and looks up.

“I see,” he says, with no emotion at all. “You see, I know my way around Washington. And this is something that I find highly dubious. Some kind of trick. So, you may go, even though you are correct about your father’s fate.”

I knew he would doubt me. So I have him a file.

“Well, in advance of that, I prepared a briefing document for you. It is a lot of information you may find useful to destroy him. Not that you need my assistance.”

He opens the file, adjusts his glasses, and chuckles.

“Well, I know some of this already. But this... I will say, that this could be useful in making my job that much easier.”

He leans back and steeples his fingers.

“Of course, I still do not quite believe you yet.” He swivels his chair. “Come here now and kneel before me. Denounce your father and your entire family and beg me to accept your loyalty.”

I pace around the desk and get on my knees.

“I denounce my father and an ashamed of my family’s name. Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. I beg you. Please accept my allegiance to you. I promise I will serve you in any capacity that you wish, Sir.”

He lets out a Cheshire Cat smile and laughs.

“Very good. That is a good boy.” He then stands and beads to his belt. “Now there is one more chance to show your utmost loyalty. If you do this, and do this well... I will allow you the chance to serve me, as you put it.”

His pants and shorts drop with my assistance. He sits back down kingly, and I begin to take him in my mouth. His hand quickly moves to the back of my head, the weight of his Princeton class ring evident, as he steers me at the pace and depth he wants.

“That’s it. You’re starting to prove your worth to me. I assumed you were as worthless as your old man. But I can see what you think of me. Look up at me and tell me you worship me.”

I pant and look up at his smirking face.

“Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. I worship you like the superior person you are, and have done so since the first time I heard your name, Sir.”

He nods and forced my mouth over his cock again, now gripping my hair snugly and fucking my face. I am moaning as I suck away. Finally, I can hear him gasp a bit. Moaning, and I sense what is coming. He explodes all over my face, and then laughs.

“Let me look at you. The son of my arch-enemy, dripping in my cum.”

I let him look as he smiles at his trophy. Finally, he nods to the tissues, and tells me that I may clean myself up, he will be in touch, and I may take my leave. He then heads right back to his work, paying me no mind.

I head to the door and pause.

“Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. May I please say something before I leave?”

He looks up, nods, and tells me to be quick.

I walk towards his desk and am opposite it. I kneel once again, and this time cup my hands like I am praying.

“Thank you so much for letting me suck your cock, Sir. I know how lucky I am to be able to breath the same air as you, let alone to know I can pleasure you. I hope I have shown my allegiance to you, Sir.”

He looks at me with a stern and serious gaze, pausing as he does.

“You recognized your place and chose wisely to admit it. You’ll be able to rise up the ranks here so long as you remember that you are beneath me and you live to do as I order. Now you may take your leave.”

***

It is a few weeks later and he has finally been in touch. 7 pm. That night. His estate.

I arrive promptly. A maid answers the door. I head him laughing, and I am not sure who. The maid tells him that the guest has arrived.

I walk in and am paralyzed with fear. Flanking him to one side is Dick Cheney. To the other is his wife, Lynne.

“Well, there he is! The ambitious young man who will be a big help to us that I told you about.”

Their mouths drop a bit. Dick just stares at me coldly.

“Surely this is a joke,” Lynne says, hoping it is not the case. Rumsfeld tells her it is not, and then directs me to tell them both what I think about my father, especially in comparison to him, and what I wish for out of my life.

“My father is a pathetic excuse of a man and not even fit to shine your shoes, Mr. Rumsfeld, Sir. The only thing I wish for out of life is to be your faithful servant.”

They both stare at me incredulously, although evil grins cross both of their faces. Rumsfeld smiles widely and orders me to tell them what I did to serve him. So I told them how I sucked his cock and was lucky to wear his cum.

“Now, boy. I want you to know something. It is very hard in DC to find people you can trust and actually respect. Dick and Lynne are the only two people alive I call friends and consider as my equals. And that means that you serve them, too. Do you understand that?”

“Yes. I understand that I also serve Mr. and Mrs. Cheney.”

“Oh, let’s see about that,” Lynne says, grinning as she leans back in her chair.

Lynne and I have crossed paths a few times in my past. I am tasked with the humanities project. She is in charge of the agency that issues our humanities grants. She does not like that I am running this program and let me know about this and has done all she can to prevent me from enacting it unless it meets her goals.

I turn to her.

“Now, I told you that you did not deserve the job you have. You probably thought it is because of your age or who your father is. But that’s not the reason why.” She pauses. “Tell me if you agree with me... but the reason why is because you are an idiot.”

I hear Rumsfeld stifle a laugh. But I have no choice, even though I hesitate.

“You’re right. I’m an idiot, Mrs. Cheney.”

She laughs and nods.

“I am so glad that we cleared that up. I am sure that from now on, you will do as I say. I will tell you the programs I support and how much I want them supported financially. You are going to meet with me once a week with a draft of succinct reasons why you now support exactly as I want, which you will then defend to the president. Of course, I know you lack the intellectual capabilities to perform something like that up to my standards, so you can expect me to red mark your work with a pen like a kindergarten teacher.” She smirks. “And I am sure your father will be in the room, too.”

“Now, there is more than just that. One thing I want you to do — anytime you enter my office, you will show me proper respect by kissing my feet. Why don’t you do that now?”

I steel myself, press my lips to her shoes, and then thank her as she laughs as loud as she ever has in her life. She tells me to stand up and then ask her husband what he thinks.

He just smiles at me. Before I can even say anything, he starts to speak.

“I am so glad that you have recognized this about yourself. It is not easy to admit you are inferior. But I have always seen a lot of potential in you.”

He continues to smile.

“It won’t be too long until your father is back home in Wisconsin where he will be buried. Once that happens, and I inherit his job, I am going to have a need for a chief aide. Usually, this job is in an advisory capacity. But for your role, I envision it more fit for your capabilities. Having me coffee ready. Shining my shoes before any important meetings. Not saying anything beyond ‘Yes, Sir,’ and ‘No, Sir,’ unless I tell you to speak beyond that. Any sort of errand or task me or Lynne or Don want, it gets done. Got that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now, your peers and people who have worked for your father for a very long time are going to see you hold my coat or wipe off my desk for me. What do you think they will say about this?”

“They’ll mock me, Sir.”

“They will. But deep down inside, they are going to be jealous because each and every single last one of them wants to be in the position you find yourself in — dominated by your superiors.” I can see Rumsfeld not in agreement. “Now, you will also perform the same tasks that Don had you do... only I will not be so gentle. And I will also make sure Don keeps you on his calendar as well so you can continue to serve him as well, being that he made you his toy before sharing you.”

“And don’t worry. I will still find the time and ways for you to correct your work so you can try to come up to even half of our level.”

I meekly say “Thank you.”

Rumsfeld stands up, as does Lynne. He slaps me on the back,

“Just think that your epitaph is going to read about how you were the faithful servant to the most powerful three people who ever lived.” He and Lynne head to the door. “Now get on your knees before Dick.”

I do, and he chuckles and heads to his belt.

[princesscyr-fn]

Brothers x Autistic! MC Tidbits/Headcanons

I figured I’d do one as I’m autistic and I wanna be included in things. At the same time however, autism is a spectrum and each of us experience different behaviors and such. As such, each MC for each brother is different so everyone feels included! These are meant to be platonic but you can interpret this however you want. I’m asexual so writing actual romantic stuff makes me very uncomfortable lol.

|Masterlist is here|

MC is gender neutral, yall

Available on Ao3, Wattpad

Lucifer

♡ Clashing with one another from the get go. ♡ Lucifer tends to criticize you, and its mostly unintentional. He’s just looking out for you, though his pride prevents him from admitting that he cares about you. ♡ One day though, the usual comment that falls from his lips about you ends up making you snap. As a result, you are calling him every name under the blocked sun in the Devildom. (Satan LOVES this.) This is when Lucifer realizes he made a fucky wucky. (Thanks @error-code-606 lmao) ♡ Lucifer gets a super harsh reality check from Satan, reminding him that you are autistic and that constant put-downs is bad for a persons self-esteem/image issues. For once, pride feels guilt bubbling in his gut. ♡ From then on, Lucifer is more mindful of how he words his issues with you. (Still staying blunt, which you appreciate.) All the while he praises you from time to time for all the good stuff you’ve done thus far. ♡ Lucifer would keep mental notes of all your stims and triggers. ♡ Entertains stim toys and isn’t bothered by such as he tries to work. ♡ Lucifer would play soothing music for you, mostly classical or easy listening. Something to tingle your sensory. ♡ He stops your meltdowns before you could fully lose control of yourself. ♡ Soft hands are your weakness and Lucifer’s hands don’t disappoint. He’ll let you hold his hands anytime you desire. ♡ Lucifer's office is the best spot for you to have quiet time. ♡ You can talk his ear off and he would love every second of it, deep down.

Mammon

♡ He was quick to pick up on your behaviors before you could push him away. ♡ He is able to joke with you, both of you laughing like hyenas all the way. ♡ Mammon would never make fun of your stutter or mispronunciation of words. He’s patient and tries his best to help you. He absolutely hates when the other demons (not his brothers) make fun of you for something you have no control over. ♡ Both of you would find comfort in each other. ♡ You would absolutely adore his hair. Being a fan of bright colors and his hair being as white as angel wings. Bless his heart, he will allow you to play with it while denying how much he likes it. ♡ He knows the sound of coins is one of your favorite sounds sensory wise. He always makes sure to have some coins on him. ♡ Mammon would remember all of your fixations and then try to shower you in gifts relevant to your current likes. ♡ He loves music and will sing with you no matter how goofy you both sound. ♡ Late night Hell’s Kitchen runs are mandatory. ♡ You are the only person he would try so hard not to steal from. (He’d fail miserably and just keep your stuff instead of selling it.) ♡ Class would be hilarious with him, he’s a class clown. ♡ While he may be a class clown, I think he would somewhat try a bit harder on his work because you encourage him to do his best every single day.

Leviathan

♡ Things between the two of you are tense at first as both of you are socially awkward and standoffish. ♡ Though once you’re both comfortable, you will talk each others ears off about anime, video games, and everything under the blocked sun of the Devildom. ♡ You two will develop a secret language that the other brothers won’t understand. Imagine all that shit talk. ♡ You’re both stimmers! While Levi has physical and vocal stims, yours are mostly vocal with the occasional twitch and thigh slap. ♡ You both are major plushie enthusiasts. Prove me wrong. (You can’t.) ♡ Eye contact is difficult to maintain between the two of you, with both of you either yelping, blushing, and looking away while sputtering nonsense. ♡ Mention your love or interest in aquatic life or the sea and watch him fall in love with you, (he’s a sea monster, duh) though he will deny it smh. ♡ You both share a love for slime and will buy a lo of it on your trips to the human world. (When you two feel like doing things like that.) ♡ Levi will most certainly dress as a cat maid so long as you do it too. ♡ Stim games are 100% your favorite games to play with him. (Minecraft, Terraria, Fortnite, No Mans Sky...) ♡ Levi figures out that the sound of the ocean soothes you, and will imitate the sounds in his fish tanks to help you relax. ♡ You two make the best cosplay duo. No question about it.

Satan

♡ He is more understanding than you were led to believe. (Shame on you, Lucifer.) You avoided him at first until you found yourself in a heated debate with him regarding human world fauna kingdom. This conversation, though heated, gave you the chance to actually talk to him. It was then the realization hit that Lucifer intentionally kept you two apart. ♡ You two end up becoming close friends. ♡ You hate reading alone as its not engaging and gets boring quickly. So you tell Satan that you would like for him to read to you, which he’d accept without a second thought. ♡ He would remember your likes and dislikes. He would always encourage you to talk about your latest obsession. He’s always interested in hearing about what you have to say. ♡ Jingle cat ears. No explanation needed. (Might dress up as a cat maid with you and Levi, tho.) ♡ He would learn all your stims and triggers so he can help you when you need it. ♡ If you’re the artsy type, you bet he will learn all the crafts for you. ♡ The sound of turning pages satisfies your sound sensory. ♡ Nature walks, lots of them. Quiet moments together means the world to the two of you. ♡ Occasionally you fall asleep next to him as he reads to you. His voice is soothing enough to lull you to sleep. ♡ You two are so close in fact, he rubs it in Lucifer's face. ♡ Satan always finds himself holding your hand whenever you two go out to crowded public places.

Asmodeus

♡ Physical contact wasn’t your thing until you met the avatar of lust. ♡ He took it personally at first when you would stand awkwardly whenever he hugged you or how you would pull your hand away when he would try to hold it. ♡ Once you explain that you are autistic and physical contact was a weird subject for you, he is quick to understand. After all, he is all about consent and wanted to make sure you were comfortable. ♡ Friendship blossoms between the two of you quickly and smoothly. ♡ Asmo would help you with being more extroverted by inviting you to parties. ♡ He would make note of your stims and to satisfy your sensory, he would buy lotions and perfumes. ♡ Getting your nails done is fun and Asmo is perfect for that task. ♡ You have a best friend who will listen to you intently and give you good advice. ♡ Going shopping is less nerve wracking with him. Plus he would give you fashion tips so you can look and feel your best. ♡ The first time you gave him a hug on your own, he wept tears of joy. ♡ Spa days are mandatory. ♡ There is a love between the two of you that does not require a relationship to be valid.

Beelzebub

♡ Beel warmed up to you quickly, especially when he witnesses your appetite at dinner. ♡ He is always curious and asking you questions to better understand you. ♡ You are quick to share your food with him and vice versa. ♡ Eating competitions, though you would lose to him always, unless if he was going easy on you. (Good luck, chief) ♡ Playful and friendly flirting/banter. ♡ Beel would be interested in whatever you obsess with that week. ♡ He is patient with you and doesn’t judge you for things you have no control over. ♡ Includes you in all family activities because hes all about family first. ♡ You two will gush to each other about any and everything. ♡ Hell’s Kitchen dates? Fuck yeah. Those are mandatory. ♡ Though you are picky in terms of texture, Beel would gladly eat whatever food you won’t. ♡ You aren’t a very active person, but that will change with Beel. Eat first, then run it off, human.

Belphegor:

♡ Warmed up to you quickly despite killing you, mainly because you forgave him and still treated him with kindness despite the fact. (Simp *cough* *cough*) ♡ He is very understanding in regards to your sensory, stims, and meltdowns. ♡ Loves laying in silence with you (and vice versa) ♡ Belphie would show you constellations with his magic to help you sleep. ♡ Slime? You bet Belphie would be as entertained as you are on that subject. Cloud slime would be one of his favorites. ♡ You two communicate with each other better in silence. ♡ He would share his cow pillow with you. ♡ Your sensory craves anything that is soft. Belphie would be surprised at first when you mindlessly play with his hair as you lay together. ♡ Your troubling dreams became a little more peaceful with Belphie at your side. ♡ Both of you are big plushie enthusiasts and have a plushie club hangout spot with Levi. ♡ Belphies voice does satisfy your sensory. ♡ Tea time is a fun activity between the two of you. It leads to good naps as well.

[paulinedorchester]

Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care. 

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.  

[the-author-dragon]

The story after the song 'Church Bells'

The wedding between Jenny Hayward and Jason Morrel was beautiful. Granted, Jason had gotten his parents to plan the wedding. They were both twenty-two, young and in love, and it didn't hurt that Jenny was the prettiest girl there and that Jason was rich beyond belief, both from his oil business he had started that year and from a bit of his parent's money. Adrien Winsor, the pastor at the local church they both went to, officiated the wedding. He'd never seen two people happier than the two of them.

A year or two later, Adrien was invited to a party they'd thrown. She was wearing heavy makeup. Adrien asked her about it, as she wasn't known to wear anywhere near that much.

"I'm fine," she had said dismissively. "Just trying something new."

A year later, he saw his in the back pew of the chapel, hands folded, deep in prayer.

"Good morning, miss Morrel," He'd said.

"Good morning," She'd said hurriedly, wiping away tears and by accident, makeup. It only revealed a bit of a bruise over her eye, but it was enough.

"Who's hit you?" He asked a few times, to which she'd answered 'nobody,' but she finally answered "Jason."

He quietly joked that he'd look the other way if Jason happened to die. She didn't laugh.

A few weeks later, Jason died of an illness he'd had for weeks. Adrien avoided eye contact with Jenny at the funeral.

---------------------

"Jason Morrel, died at age twenty-five, presumably from an unknown disease," The detective said stiffly to his colleagues as he slapped the case file on the table.

"What do you mean by 'presumably,' Brandon?" a young woman asked sharply. "Jason was buried a week ago! He was ill for several weeks and then died! Is this why you called us together?"

"Yes Jeanette," Brandon sighed. "Listen, something's not quite right. This kind of disease being fatal so quickly?"

"Who would have the motive and the means to kill him? He held everyone at a distance," Lisa pointed out.

"She's right," Andrew agreed.

Brandon pondered this for a few seconds. "His wife," he decided. "She could have killed him for his money."

"That doesn't make sense either," Andrew countered. "They were together for five years. People who knew them said they were the perfect couple. Jason only had a sloppy will written out, just saying that she would get his Nerf collection."

"The money would have gone to his next of kin!"

"Which were his parents," Mark added. "She isn't related to him, so his closest relatives were his parents."

"The money went to her anyway!" Brandon was visibly stressed and angry.

"Listen Brandon," Lisa said. "It's too unclear. If you can prove someone murdered him, then we'll take the case. Otherwise, don't bother everyone about it. And don't even try to bother the Chief with it." Lisa stood up, brushing off her nice suit and walking out, everyone else soon following."

"Dangit," Brandon muttered. He was sure something had happened. He just had to prove it.

First stop, Jason's old house. It was a beautiful mansion, with large iron gates at the front and beautiful iron fencing surrounding the property. He rang the doorbell. A woman's voice came over the intercom. "Hello? Who is this?"

"I'm Officer Harvey from the police station, I'd like to talk to Jenny Morrel."

"Oh, is it about the cat again? The neighbors are-"

"No, I'd like to talk about her late husband."

The voice was silent for a few seconds. "Come in."

The gates opened, and Brandon walked down the path to the front door. The garden was well-tended and had a fountain on either side of the path in the middle of the lawn. He made it to the door, where he knocked a few times. About thirty seconds later, the door opened. A beautiful woman with a tan that suggested she spent a lot of time outside opened the door. "Good morning, ma'am. I'd like to speak with Jenny."

"You're speaking with her, sir," the woman chuckled, her auburn curls shaking a little in the light breeze. "You must not recognize me from the funeral. I remember seeing you there." She had a thick southern accent, something that complimented her voice nicely.

"Oh! I apologize, I thought you were one of the servants."

"It's fine, dear. There aren't too many servants around here. A cook and a few maids are all we needed."

"How do you keep this garden so well maintained?" Brandon asked in amazement.

"I do it myself. I love gardening you see, I grew up doing it. Ever since Jason married me I have too much time on my hands."

"About Jason, may I come in?"

"Absolutely, just leave your shoes at the door. Miriam just swept. " She opened the door to let him in. Brandon walked in, slipping off his shoes and leaving them next to Jenny's tennis shoes. "Come with me, I have place we can talk."

Jenny led him to a quiet parlor on the other end of the house. "Here, the servants won't be coming this way for a while. Elijah just finished vacuuming and dusting about fifteen minutes ago. Do you want something to drink? If so, I'm afraid all we have other than water is milk and Jason's old alcohol stores."

"Was he an alcoholic?"

"Unfortunately. However, I got him to quit sometime before he died when he fell ill. It was tragic when he did, he missed so many parties he spent so much time planning." Jenny suddenly looked very sad. "I miss him so much, you know. He was such a nice man."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"You know, when he was alive he called me his daisy. You should have seen the look on his face whenever he said that. It was the nicest thing, you know? He looked so gentle and he'd take my hands and kiss my forehead. It would practically cure all that ailed ya." Jenny had a gentle smile on her face.

"That sounds adorable," Brandon smiled.

"I always thought it was so weird how he'd gotten sick so quickly. Granted, he didn't go anywhere, so when he did he always caught something, whether it be a cold or pneumonia."

"About that, I suspect someone killed him."

"Killed him?" Jenny raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that would explain why he got so sick after coming home from the bar. He was a big alcoholic, you know. I told him to stop before he got sick, so I supposed that was why."

"Do you have any idea who could have done it?"

"I mean, you could try the bartender who was working the night he got sick. Or anyone who was at the party that night." She examined her nails. "It was most of my late husband's family and a few of my friends. I can give you their names and addresses, but you'll have to figure out the bartender thing on your own. I'll give you the name of country club so you can go ask."

"Thank you, miss. It's a lot of help."

"Pleased to help." The woman smiled gently, standing up. "I'll write down the information for you and you go on your way, sugar." She grabbed a notepad and pen from the table and scrawled down the information and handed it to him, leading him to the front door. "Now shoo, I have some friends coming over."

Brandon spent weeks tracking everyone down and asking them about Jason, but found nothing, no matter how much he asked or who he asked. It was a dead end.

The police never did find Jason's killer. Nobody had the foggiest idea that he was killed, anyway, except for Brandon, who gave up at the knowledge he no longer had any leads. Nowadays, Jason's killer is running his oil business, donating to charities, and is probably the kindest woman you've ever met. She gives you a soft smile and serves you sweet tea with as much sugar as you'd like.

Nowadays, she's taken a second husband, who treats her like the queen she is, and the two of them host the best parties. She never really needs to wear makeup, but sometimes she does. Every now and then, someone asks what happened to her first husband and she blinks away false tears and quietly tells them that he died of an illness and launch into a short mantra about how sickly he was. It's quite believable, actually.

Nowadays, nobody suspects anything.

[x5red]

Sixty fun & fascinating facts about the classic Supergirl (4 / 4)

At last, the final fifteen fun facts in a series to mark the sixtieth anniversary of Kara Zor-El’s debut in DC Comics. This is the last batch of Supergirl info-nuggets, bringing the trivia total up to sixty, one for each year since her introduction.

As before, each snippet of data relates to the original Supergirl, the intrepid Argo City teen who leapt from that crumpled Midvale rocket ship. Covering her original Silver and Bronze Age incarnation, in comics and on screen, each factoid is calculated to intrigue and delight – hopefully even seasoned Kara fans will find a few morsels of trivia that had previously escaped their attention.

So, one last time: enjoy…

46. At one point she was blacklisted from being mentioned in DC publications.

In 1985 to mark its 50th comicbook publishing anniversary DC Comics launched a mini-series, Crisis on Infinite Earths, that sought to rejig its entire fictional universe to better address the new, more mature, direct sales audience. Childish elements were removed and iconic characters rebooted. Superman was to be recast as the only survivor of Krypton, meaning Supergirl not only had to die but be erased from all past events too. DC, however, decided that erasing Kara from fictional history was simple not cruel enough -- in a move straight out of a George Orwell novel DC airbrushed her from in-real-life history too.

Supergirl became she who shall not be named, seemingly banned from being mentioned, even in the editorial pages. When DC couldn’t avoid using her name, as happened in Secret Origins #42 (July 1989) when discussing Phantom Girl’s first appearance, they masked it with asterisks like an expletive -- ”S*P*RG*RL”. DC even went as far as to exclude Kara from a bio of writer Paul Kupperberg in the pages of Power Girl #2 (July 1988), despite Kupperberg‘s long tenure as Supergirl’s chief writer, and Power Girl being a parallel-universe re-imagining of Kara. Yet the Maid of Might remained popular with at least some DC staffers, as Alan Brennert proved when Kara made a highly unauthorised crafty cameo in his Deadman story inside Christmas with the Super-Heroes #2 (1989) -- Brennert only avoided censorship thanks to DC editor-in-chief Dick Giordano volunteering himself to do the story’s artwork.

47. Prior to her role as Supergirl, Helen Slater had struggled with eating disorders.

In an obscure 1988 interview for UK tv with psychologist Oliver James, Helen Slater talked frankly about how winning the role of Supergirl helped in her ongoing battle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Asked about the cause of the conditions, “Control was one part of it”, Slater admitted, adding, “I think Bulimia especially, which I did suffer from from 13 [...] is a lot to do with not having a safe space to express anger.” She went on to credit her Supergirl fitness trainer, Alf Joint (“the most beautiful man in the world”) with overcoming some of her fears around food by using Chocolate Brazils (chocolate dipped nuts) as positive reinforcement after a hard training session.

48. She celebrated her 75th birthday in 2018.

It is generally accepted that Kara Zor-El’s birthday, when using the Gregorian calendar on Earth, is 22nd September. That date comes from a reply to a reader’s letter published in Adventure Comics #389 (Feb 1970), but said reply didn’t give the year of Kara’s birth, meaning readers couldn’t work out Kara’s age. (“One should never trust a woman who tells one her real age”, wrote Oscar Wilde, ”A woman who would do that would tell anything.”) Fortunately a little bit of detective work means that fans can work it out. A story in Action Comics #305 (Oct 1963) gives the date of Kara’s arrival on Earth as 18th May 1959, and both the Daring New Adventures of Supergirl #1 (Nov 1982) and Action Comics #270 (Nov 1960) suggest that Kara was 15 years old when she landed. This means that she was born in 1943. So, as of her most recent birthday at the time of writing (22nd September 2018), she would require 75 candles on her birthday cake. Good thing she has Kryptonian super-lungs..!

49. Her nickname was Hot Dog.

Every fan knows that Kara Zor-El is Supergirl, and that Supergirl is Linda Lee Danvers, but how many fans know that Linda Lee Danvers was also... “Hot Dog”..?!?!!

Yup, that was her name when she was dating Philip Decker, music conductor and part-time lecturer at Lake Shore University, Chicago. The pair’s romance had blossomed in the pages of Supergirl Vol. 2 thanks to a shared love of Jazz music, and they spent an increasing amount of time together in each other’s apartments. It was during one such session of intense snuggling that Philip let slip his nickname for Linda: “Hot Dog”, a name what was met with uncontrollable giggles from Linda.

50. Her makeup bag hid a couple of super secrets.

Of course, if you’re one of the world’s greatest superheroes it is important to look your best when saving the world, but Kara’s beauty kit not only helped keep her looking immaculate while fighting injustice, but also concealed a couple of tricks to keep her dual identity a secret too. In Action Comics #270 (Nov 1960) Kara celebrated her sixteenth birthday. Her gift from the Man of Steel was an innocent looking lipstick which, in reality, hid a secret compartment to stash her super-compressed costume. “If you ever have to conceal your costume quickly, or remove it to go swimming...”, explains Superman (perhaps anticipating other activities that a young woman might get up to that could require stripping off clothing.)

Years later, in Supergirl Vol. 2 #17 (Mar 1984), Kara added more secrets to her makeup bag when she finally decided to ditch her brunette Linda Danvers wig. She still needed a way to switch from Supergirl’s flowing blonde locks to Linda’s brunette bob, of course, and the alternative she devised was a special energized comb that reacted with colour-sensitive molecules to instantly transform her hair’s style and colour. Clever stuff..!

51. She and Brainiac 5 weren’t really an item.

Despite now being firmly romantically linked in the eyes of many comic fans, Brainiac 5 and Supergirl’s relationship only really became serious during the 1990s Earth Angel era. Back in the Silver Age, when the pair first met in Action Comics #276 (Apr 1961), Kara was initially weary of Brainy, recognising his family resemblance to Superman’s arch foe. Her attitude softened, however, as the story unfolded, even calling him “sweet” by its close. As the years rolled by Brainy is clearly smitten by Kara, but she rarely reciprocated his affections. Finally, in Legion of Super-Heroes Vol. 2 #294 (Dec 1982), Brainy brings matters to a close: “You remember that crush I had on you? [...] I think I’ve finally worked it out of my system.”. In response Kara teases, “Really? What a shame. Here I was, starting to think how cute you were.” (Needless to say, Brainy is left dumbfounded as Kara promptly flies off.)

Kara dated numerous men during the Silver and Bronze Age, including long-term relationships with Dick Malverne and Philip Decker, but these were generally in her Linda Danvers identity. Brainy is the closest thing “Supergirl” came to a boyfriend -- perhaps that’s why some fans like to focus more on him rather than Linda’s beaus.

52. She was a fan of The Bionic Woman.

One of the problems of being a superhero is that your evenings are often taken up saving the world, leaving little time to catch up with popular tv shows. But on her odd evenings off-duty, what was likely to be on the Maid of Might’s tv screen? Unsurprisingly, Kara seems to have been a fan of superheroine shows, as demonstrated by comments in Superman Family #184 (July 1977) while she was battling an unnaturally fierce electrical storm in the skies over Santa Augusta. “Great way to spend an evening out”, complains a frustrated Girl of Steel, “If this storm doesn’t let up, I’ll miss ‘The Bionic Woman--!’”

53. She was a big fan of seat belts and personal computers, apparently.

Being a superhero doesn’t pay very much, if anything at all. That’s why DC Comics always liked to line up product endorsements for its big stars, and the Girl of Steel was no exception. Supergirl’s first apparent appearance in adverts (outside of selling DC’s own magazines) was in a late 70s commercial for kid’s underwear, but pretty soon DC had secured more prestigious work for Kara when in 1981 they had her extol the virtues of Tandy’s new line of 8 bit micro computers. More important work came in the mid-80s, when Kara teamed up with Honda and the US Department of Transportation to promote the adoption of car seat belts. The Maid of Might appeared in two full-length give-away comics (and on-screen Helen Slater even appeared as Supergirl in a tv advert.) Kara was so committed to the cause of road safety that she even did the second give-away comic after her death in Crisis on Infinite Earths -- now that’s dedication for you..!

54. Only one woman worked on her comic-strip during the entire Silver and Bronze age.

It is a sad reflection of the industry in the 60s and 70s that if one totals up all the writers, artists, and editors, who worked on the Supergirl strip during the Silver and Bronze Age, there’s only one female name on the list: Dorothy Woolfolk. Editor for Supergirl Vol. 1 #1 (Nov 1972) only -- yup, a single issue -- Dorothy launched the Girl of Steel into her first self-titled comicbook before giving way to industry veteran Robert Kanigher for issue #2. Allegedly a larger-than-life figure, Dorothy was a rare example of DC allowing a woman to work outside of the romance genre during the Golden and Silver Age; she is even credited by some with suggesting the idea of Kryptonite to Superman writer Jerry Siegel.

(Away from Supergirl’s own strip, two other women briefly worked as editors on comics featuring the Girl of Steel in a guest capacity. Karen Berger and Laurie Sutton both edited 1980s Legion of Super-Heroes issues containing Kara cameos.)

55. Her most iconic costume contained a pair of clocks.

The problem with slinky skin-tight superhero costumes is that they don’t leave much room for the practical necessities of life... like pockets... or watches. But that never stopped the Girl of Steel from sneaking a few hidden practical elements into her outfits. Most fans know that the inner lining of her cape hides a secret pocket (where she stashes her everyday clothes when out superhero-ing), but how many fans realised that the three discs aligned over each hip on her iconic 70s hot pants outfit actually acted as a pair of clocks? According to Krypton Chronicles #2 (Oct 1981), by placing three fingers on the discs over her right hip Kara is telepathically informed of the time in New York (her then home), while the same action on her left hip reports the time in Kandor (Krypton’s capital, famously miniaturised in a bottle by Brainiac.)

56. The USA was actually one of the last countries to see the Supergirl movie.

The Girl of Steel may have been able to zip around the world in an instant, but apparently her movie couldn’t. After opening on Thursday 19th July 1984 in the United Kingdom, then days later in Ireland and Japan, the movie slowly made its way around the world, opening in the Philippines, Australia, and Spain during August, and then France and Canada during October. By mid-November, however, American audiences were yet to see the Maid of Might grace cinema screens.

The delay was caused by Warner Bros. withdrawing from its US distribution deal near the end of production, causing producers to scramble for a replacement. Eventually, on Wednesday 21st November -- over four months after the UK debut -- the Supergirl movie hit US cinema theatres thanks to fledgling distributor TriStar Pictures, but with almost 20 minutes of material chopped out. It wasn’t until 1998 that the full international cut was legitimately available in the US thanks to an Anchor Bay VHS video release.

57. She was Wonder Woman’s sister.

Incredible as it may seem, for a brief period Supergirl was Wonder Woman’s sister. The incident happened in Supergirl Vol. 1 #9 (Dec 1973) after Kara finally had enough of being two-timed by boyfriends as Linda Danvers, and hit upon by men as Supergirl. When Kara bravely rescues an Amazon warrior ship under attack by fierce sea creatures, Queen Hippolyta offers to adopt her as a daughter, making Kara the sister of Princess Diana (aka Wonder Woman.) Realising that the Amazon’s island home is free of men, Kara accepts, but a medical emergency forces her back out into the Man’s World to seek the ingredients for a serum. With the emergency over, Kara considers that maybe she was too hasty in turning her back on all men, and leaves her new Amazon home to give them a second chance.

58. She valued her privacy.

When you have as many extraordinary abilities as the Girl of Steel, the usual fears and phobias just don’t apply. Why be afraid of heights when you can fly? Why be afraid of snakes when your skin is not only fang proof, but bullet proof? But Daring New Adventures of Supergirl #4 (Feb 1983) revealed that there’s one thing guaranteed to make Kara Zor-El flee in terror -- fear of having her everyday identity exposed. The issue sees Kara hypnotised into seeing her greatest fear by the villain Ms. Mesmer: as a result Supergirl continually sees her Linda Danvers identity reflected back at her in windows and mirrors. Convinced that everyone can see through her disguise, Kara seeks solace with her adopted parents. It is only thanks to the calming influence of her mother, Edna Danvers, that Kara has the courage to go back out onto the streets as Supergirl to defeat Ms. Mesmer.

59. Her first kiss was with a very hirsute Jimmy Olsen.

The opening season of the Supergirl tv show teased a possible romance between Kara and James Olsen, and in some ways this echos very early Supergirl stories where the pair were occasionally seen as a potential love-match. Indeed Jimmy Olsen was actually Kara’s first kiss, although the event came about in a highly unorthodox way. The pages of Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #44 (Apr 1960) saw Jimmy transformed into a werewolf, and Superman reasons that the curse can only be lifted by the kiss of a young girl. In steps a fifteen year old Kara Zor-El, who gives the cub reporter a delicate peck on the lips, reversing the spell. A year later Jimmy managed to turn himself into a werewolf for a second time(!) in Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen #52 (Apr 1961), but Kara’s kiss proved ineffective that time.

60. She didn’t entirely die in Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Obviously it is a matter of record that the original Kara Zor-El gave up her life in Crisis on Infinite Earths #7 (Oct 1985) – at least until DC later saw fit to retcon that particular story line – but in their attempts to erase the Maid of Might from existence, DC had forgotten about a rather inconvenient story published just a year before, in Supergirl Vol. 2 #19 (May 1984).

The tale dealt with a Supergirl clone who had assumed the identity of Linda Danvers. The clone had no super powers, but she did have all of Kara’s memories and personality. The story ends with a twist: rather than take the easy way out by having clone-Kara conveniently fall under the wheels of a speeding bus, writer Paul Kupperberg has the two Kara’s work out a deal. ”It’s a big world out there… with plenty of room for two people with this face!“, explains Supergirl, “We can find a place for you… a name of your own…” And with that the two Karas go their separate ways, meaning that although superpowered-Kara may have surrendered her life in Crisis, powerless-Kara (her clone) presumably continued to live out a regular life anonymously somewhere in America.

And that’s it -- all sixty..! Thanks for reading, Hope you enjoyed the series and learned at least a few snippets of trivia along the way that you found amusing or thought-provoking.

Don’t forget to come back in 2048, when it will be time to celebrate the 60th anniversary of the Matrix Supergirl... Or maybe not..!

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 6491

Lolah interesting  was,  as she laid as tranquility; 

these, the judges  joke for him dropt in  universe. Lord Henry rid well, what 

am I a beasts, and  Innocence of us  in path to his back. (

There beauteous, even such kings, lend youll  forgotten hustings of  the Gazette. thy leaf indeed 

the sea, the rowsing  Shake,) Can, I will glances  which of wedlock than break 

from the pious from  his task, The watered men— good! and that the 

stated; but to me  young I showed, though Parrys efforts looks  a friendships just enough 

the fields, here he  said: the worlds could be cheating  down a day they would have guest, 

and he thou alone: courage  earnd it would have place when  his Cup, he links of 

the house the other  still like Joshuas moonlight, and then;  and of a pigeon 

that I felt her whose charm.  Mixd Gothic ground him in the  prince, thats my life with 

some say as one creed, that  you leave that which leaves her  the sun of age, or 

did I see thy sire, hateful  Gnomes disease should have but as  it shape of gold? Came yonder 

if it would brighter; and  dim, the Titmose silent bee:  and as an embargo. 

And as wartime, Sir, the  Vale, the world that he  martial face. Cold-blooded, smoothers therewithal 

sweetly did not so  bitter loose about the gown  tucked upon the court us 

no more, replied Katinka; “ I am sick of more  cleanse his fine-points the grave 

when ’‘t w as a flower lie I kiss the  couth that he seemd so stroke of 

you overstrain, while among  the slant in a fever!  But evening-sun so brimful of 

his gold, and ready to  the flocks on Kentish  doctrine of the 

Water gyfts for you  open gracd, so smile; but the  Vision bow, unless peace in 

Augustus long;’ the  tears cannot care: we  know my epic renegade, what 

boots the fruits, but know what  pushes up each love them  when long serve forgot 

am of song. Theres  sight blind and write; write, disdaind glassy  slopes, ’‘tis then, bestow, since, nor a 

bell to hide; by interwreathe  like most earnest sign or  reign, a lusty knight Inhabitants 

of the  husband from my lover may  settle: I that change Complexiond 

or word, yield, and a spirit  like a spreads too lawful  far to lose is blind. 

Sultan understand how once of  their nature couch is the  Chiefs content to laughter—

but she, your eyes’ dark disgrace,  our path for rhyme,  and luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, 

ever ground upon thy jocund race;  every think, this soul,  but if, my sweet nymph might keep the 

three, would, youngling of a  word to soothe youth was  made. D, beneath the 

oerflows, and now covered in  all could mourn. Dear Christian eye  cant heart of ostentation; which 

crawling new love that you  to the midst may  cool; but with cakes and 

yet three amrous Friend! D at her  croaks, at her can move my worshippers,  fine stirrd; and waste of 

a skull and bounds should vanished  silver Spout: a Pipkin this:  I fell my love let me broke in 

upon the lost, and flits  throng, in his Sins, Returning  state unmoord our 

day. beaus banishest so much, you  do homage through the  brickworks cleft, some back. ‘Lucus a 

noble and now, besides,  thou liest nard. How to the  moon, and sing in his 

hands where neither head  without a guide:’ and  let it light Till, of things to 

the Devils-game! not  for a masque of sorrowed  from a brazen prove 

my Last Love, I hate to  know not to the  sharp at a lost intense of 

more that question of  its purpose was too  in the even to 

the Labours nor carefull  verse— I wish tongue trance to  decline, a lip to Lifes 

too brittle maid reply to  such trembling Train  beneath his eyes all him Hulking 

a woman; while I weep!  Exposd their prepared his Highness,  or critical masks, Tiptoe with 

a single Hair, some  thou art not so; but claim: deep in  us, to the 

standing Nith I did lye, doth pleasant  from Cenchreas shore, three weeks, I  breath of flowers (the moon.)”

[joannalannister]

Ladies in Waiting

@blenderbender1811​ submitted:

Your blog made me realize what a serious dearth of female friendships and ladies in waiting there were in the series, especially when by all rights they SHOULD exist. So here is my list thus far. Some of them are existing characters but some are straight up inventions for the campaign because otherwise I’d basically be using every female noble character in the books (because GRRM doesn’t have nearly as many noblewomen around).

It looks really cool! 

I also included a little bit about brief personality sketches, their main duties (since ladies-in-waiting often have at least one prominent job) and a tiny bit about how each region views ladies-in-waiting. I decided that most of the ladies-in-waiting situations for the campaign would be ladies in great houses, with other noblewomen having the possibility of having some, but not necessarily guaranteeing it (so we don’t have to deal with every noble daughter ever ending up someone’s lady).

I should probably also note that the campaign starts about a year or two before the events of the series, just to give the players some breathing room to get used to the campaign before the action of the series starts. It’s not a strictly canon compliant game - it’s largely based in book canon, but I’ve added elements from the show, video games, etc. that don’t contradict the books outright as well as thrown in a few twists to prevent my players from just looking at the canon and spoiling what will happen (assuming their actions don’t drive the plot out of whack anyways which knowing them they very well might). 

I see ladies-in-waiting as being very Andal in origin. It fits in with the Andal ideas of culture and court. However, unlike knighthood, it’s not bound in rules to the Seven and ladies-in-waiting have practical uses like acting as secretaries or running messages, so I can see the concept spreading to the Isles and the North (albeit, in smaller numbers). Kind of like tourneys - they started with the Andals, but you don’t have to BE of Andal origin (or the Faith) to have them around.

CROWNLANDS: 

The main women who would have ladies-in-waiting in the Crownlands would be the Queen (in this case Cersei) and any little Princesses (Myrcella). Since Myrcella’s only like 7, her handmaidens are more like either play mates or babysitters depending on how old they are. I figure that the Royal family should probably have the most handmaidens/ladies-in-waiting out of anybody…which means they have a LOT because Margaery brought a butt load with her as part of her Tyrell retinue (and since some of them left post-wedding, I’m assuming they’re not meant to be her maids when she’s Queen necessarily). Cersei’s are mostly from the West, and the West is well represented in Myrcella’s group as well, but since they are royalty, their ladies are more spread out.

Cersei Lannister’s Ladies-in-waiting

 - Bernadette Lannister: I can’t leave out Bernadette the maid. ;) She’s either a cousin (from one of Joanna’s siblings) or a Lannister of Lannisport, I haven’t decided yet. Possibly engaged, very good at keeping Cersei’s secrets. Mostly runs messages and spies on any potential rival ladies Cersei doesn’t like.

 - Senelle Lanny: From a smaller house in Lannisport, smaller distant Lannister cousins. She’s shrewder than Cersei would like, and she can be bought to spy on her lady (which, as we know, ends poorly for her). She’s Cersei’s current Chief Lady, so many of Cersei’s personal servants report to her, which she passes along to Cersei if its important. 

 - Jocelyn Swyft: Jocelyn is small and bony, but a kinswoman to Kevan’s wife, so Cersei got stuck with her. Thankfully, at least she’s quiet. Her primary duty is to help find what Cersei wants and have things fetched for her, like having servants bring her bath water or setting out her clothes.

 - Dorcas Lantell: Another distant cousin from a tiny Lannisport house. Dorcas is a good bit older than Cersei and her children are grown now. She helps Cersei day to day with her own children when Cersei is otherwise occupied (such as making Tommen toys) and helps Jocelyn have things fetched. She’s clumsy, but well meaning. 

 - Alysanne Lefford: Lord Leo Lefford’s wife, likewise older. She’s come from the Golden Tooth to serve Cersei (and hopefully ingratiate her family to the Crown) at least until she and her husband have children. An eye for colour, it’s her job to help Cersei choose her clothes. 

 - Elyana Sarwyck: With her oldest brother away in the East, her father sent her to court to earn prestige for the Sarwycks. She’s a capable manager and steward, and so she largely spends her time helping supervise the servants and get things done the way Cersei wants them.

 - Gwyn Marbrand: Addam Marbrand’s sister - she was probably brought to court when Cersei married Robert. She largely keeps to herself (which is just fine with Cersei). She’s industrious though and does a good deal of needlework for the Queen. 

 - Melesa Crakehall: Here as a favour to her mother-by-law, Genna Lannister, Melesa is still young at court. She’s not quite evened out her own place yet but she works with determination not to humiliate her goodmother. She helps keep Cersei abreast of the news from the latest riders come to court. 

 - Jeyne Wendwater: Born just south of King’s Landing, Jeyne is young as well. She’s still a bit starstruck by the capital, and Cersei’s long since decided she’s insipid and timid. She does her best to please the Queen every day and by night, she plays the harp for her upon request.

 - Marya Rogers: Marya hails from Amberly in the Stormlands, she’s a hardy girl. Friendly, if a bit one to fawn, Marya’s a firm negotiator. As such, she’s trusted with overseeing purchases for the Queen and her retinue. 

 - Amaena Chambers: A woman about Cersei’s age, but unwed (and the hideous scar on her face from a childhood illness doesn’t make that more likely to change), Amaena is severe and serious. Her father is growing ill, and so Amaena may be returning home sooner than she might think - but until then, it is her duty to keep an eye about for anything strange or improper around court, particularly from those Cersei dislikes. Amaena is skilled in Valyrian though, and she has served as a translator for Cersei when dealing with people from the Free Cities who only speak High Valyrian. 

 - Lyanne Waterman: A northwoman, Lyanne is a long way from home and the newest . Her father sent her here hoping that the warm southern climate might make her healthier - and on the condition she would serve their overlord, House Manderly’s, interests at court. Not exactly the hardiest girl, nor the most cunning, Lyanne means well. She ensures the Queen’s horses are taken care of, and tries to stay out of the Queen’s way otherwise.

 - Aisling Belmore: Aisling is very practical and organized. She’s got a decent idea where everything is and keeps a decent eye and ear out for court, so she keeps the Queen’s schedule set for any given day.  

 - Lena Tudbury: Overly detail oriented and a bit fussy, Lena likes everything to be just so. She’s a bit hard to deal with when it comes to setting things up because she is very picky. She’s got a neat hand, though, and so when Cersei allows other people to write her letters, it’s usually Lena. 

 - Heather Waynwood: Ambitious, sneaky, and just cheerful enough to fake sweetness, Lady Anya’s niece may prove a force to be reckoned with. She and Aisling were gifts from Jon Arryn to the queen, and thus far Heather’s making herself a comfortable little network to help with Waynwood wishes. Thus far, her most consistent job is to style Cersei’s hair, but she hopes to make herself useful in other ways as she proves herself.

***

Myrcella Baratheon’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Rosamund Lannister: Well, this one is canon, so this was probably obvious. She’s a cousin from Lannisport. When she gets older, she will serve as the princess’ body double in times of crisis and attends her as per her desires. 

- Myrielle Lannister: Another young cousin. She’s crafty but sunny and, for a young child, she’s got a very straight hand that suggests she’ll be good at sewing and embroidery when she gets older. 

- Joanna Swyft: A gift from uncle Kevan - most people mean dolls when they gift their grandnieces with playmates, but apparently he meant a new little lady. Joanna is sweet but a little shy, which means she usually has to be corralled into Myrcella’s braver exploits. That said, she’s extremely trustworthy when it comes to the princess’ secrets.

- Tya Westford: Less a lady, more a hostage. Her father’s been sent to the Wall, and Tya’s been brought here as a ‘watch your step’ towards her mother’s good behaviour. Thus far, her mother has complied beautifully, a picture of loyalty. Tya is like most children her age - a little rambunctious, playful, fairly good natured, but still learning. Thus far, she seems very good at learning to ride. 

- Vilessa Rambton: Meek, quiet, and obedient, Vilessa is the most eager to behave for Septa Eglantine. Mostly, she just wants to not get in trouble. Given her more tractable nature, some suggest her best place would be passing along the princess’ messages rather than anything requiring her to take charge. 

- Cerise Roote: Cerise is 14, a little over twice the age of her little charge. Until Myrcella is older, she’s essentially a babysitter for the younger girls - keeping track of their schedules and where they’re supposed to be. Cerise is a loyal, protective, quiet, and caring lady, but she’s also a bit distant (probably due to the age difference) and fierce when pushed. 

- Alyssa Melcolm: Alyssa is a year or two older than Myrcella and is one of those kids who can’t wait to grow up. She looks forward to going to dances and wearing pretty dresses and marrying a handsome nobleman. For now, she likes to pretend and make things pretty. She’ll likely end up either sorting Myrcella’s wardrobe or painting for her when they get older. 

- Alona Staedmon: Myrcella’s youngest lady, a few months younger than Myrcella, she’s desperately homesick for Broad Arch. She doesn’t dislike the princess, but she wants to go home. As such, she’s still quite withdrawn. She does like music though, so perhaps those lessons would draw her out. 

- Unella Manning: Upbeat, excitable, competitive, and daring, Unella is always coming up with things to do. She thinks of new ideas at a mile a minute. She doesn’t mean to wear people out - she just wants to play! Unfortunately, her antics distract her from most lessons more often than not. Perhaps if Septa Eglantine could turn them into games.

- Merianne Mertyns: Merianne likes to learn! She’s not very good at art, but she’s taken to heraldry and history very well. She’s a bit boring for the other girls since she would rather read or people watch than play the sort of games that her friends want, but at least she can come up with a good story for them. 

- Gisella Gaunt: Gisella is, bluntly, a little bit of a priss (not to mention a suck up to any authority figure she sees). She gets very grouchy if the other girls do something she thinks is dirty or boring or beneath them. Since she’s about 9, she thinks the other girls should listen to her since she’s one of the oldest. Needless to say, the other children don’t like her very much, though the adults tend to because she’s organized, neat, and (on the face of it) very well behaved.

- Bessa Blount: Bessa is big fun. She likes to sneak food and sparkly objects and little trinkets she finds around that look interesting (like coloured pebbles she finds while walking the Red Keep). She’s always getting in trouble for picking at things and scraping up her hands - she’s indignant. She just wants to know how they work! 

- Maerie Rykker: Maerie is an artistic little girl - she’s enjoying learning about poetry and art and sewing. She’ll be a proper little lady, that one. She’s still learning the ins and outs of courtesies, but she’s enjoying it. It’s hard though - she wants to play but also wants to be a lady. It’s hard to resist a ball game though - it’s only passing a ball around to each other, surely something that fun isn’t so bad?

- Joy Hill: Joy was sent to Myrcella hoping it would be easier for some smaller lordling or knight to make a match for their son. Serving as a lady-in-waiting is a respectable position until then and the Lannister connections will surely catch some small noble’s attention, even if she’s baseborn. That said, she’s under very strict instructions to keep a reasonable distance from Myrcella (as much as she can while still doing her duties) because she is a bastard. She’s still a very lonely girl. 

***

DRAGONSTONE:

Dragonstone is bleak and poor, so I figured they probably couldn’t supply too too many ladies. But when you add in different Reach and Stormlands connections Stannis and Selyse have, I figured the number would be about average for most of the south - around 5. Shireen has fewer because of the greyscale - I figure if Stannis is having a hard time arranging a match for her because of it, other nobles probably wouldn’t be jumping at the bit to have their daughters serve Shireen either.

Selyse Florent’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Amber Grandison: Amber is a skittish, superstitious, very timid young lady. Dragonstone is not helping. She’s probably going to get worse dealing with the very severe ruling family here. Until she can return home, she passes along messages (often between Selyse and Stannis). 

- Leria Chyttering: Leria is just as stern and severe as her lady. She’s older, with her own grown children, and she’s been with Selyse longest. She’s done her best to ensure her lady gives Stannis the son he wants, but so far her advice and research has proven fruitless.

- Alona Celtigar: Alona is a pragmatic and humourless women on her best days. She’s a hard worker though and when she works on Selyse’s schedules, they’re always prudent and well thought out, with enough time to move from one to the other. Even if she doesn’t have much time for much amusement, the place is certainly organized.

- Rona Sunglass: A pious woman from a pious house. She wants to help and to her, that means reaching out to the Seven and praying for their help to give Stannis and Selyse sons and for Stannis’ work on the council. She, ah, may not be having a fun time of it once Melisandre makes the scene, but right now she helps Selyse dress and fetches things for her and prays. 

- Violet Celtigar: Violet is Alona’s sister. She’s less humourless but far more withdrawn. The constant weariness of Dragonstone gets to her too. She’s not one to speak up and she generally lacks confidence - which she takes out on people who cross her and rank below her.

- Melara Crane: Selyse’s aunt, she came to Dragonstone with Alester. While she’s hardly exuberant, the fact she’s a bit of an optimist might still make her one of the sunniest people on Dragonstone. She’s stuck up and ambitious, but generally well meaning, and she’s done her best to mitigate the frustration her niece feels about not having given her husband any sons. 

Shireen’s Baratheon’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Alannys Tarly: Alannys is the Tarly’s middle daughter. She was sent here hoping the stricter, more disciplined environment would curb her wilful behaviour. She’s not cut out for Westeros’ ideal lady’s temperament - she’s fierce, stubborn, and indeed wilful. Thankfully, she’s also brave, protective, and hard working, so she’s not been completely written off as a potential 'lady’ yet.

- Jonquil Peasebury: Jonquil is still sorting herself out at Dragonstone. Newly arrived, she’s still learning the lay of the castle and the people there. She’s very curious and inquisitive, but also apprehensive, owing to her lady’s greyscale and the general gloom about the place. 

***

THE NORTH:

The North’s courts are small and practical, not big and grand like in the South. Plus the ideas of honour and morality are slightly different up North than in the South. I figure for the sake of the 'small, mostly practical’ court, I’d say the average around here is 3 ladies. Catelyn might eventually see about bringing up a few Riverlands ladies for her daughters, but right now they’re still a bit young. Besides, the girl’s ladies are more like play mates than assistants right now anyways.

Catelyn Tully’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Jonelle Cerwyn: Jonelle is confident, decisive, and companionable. Unfortunately, her appearance has ensured that Westeros’ marriage market has kept her single. For now, she uses her abilities to sort Lady Catelyn’s schedule and offer what help she can with the lady’s children. 

- Elaena Glenmore: A good deal younger than the others, Elaena is very hopeful about the betrothal her father’s currently negotiating with the heir of House Forrester. She’s looking more and more to Lady Catelyn as a role model for how to rule a household. She’s also primarily responsible for any correspondence Catelyn entrusts with her ladies. 

- Jathany Norrey: Jathany is an awkward, uncertain thing. She’s the daughter of the head of House Norrey, but Winterfell is another level of formality. She tries her best, but there are elements of courtesy she doesn’t understand and other elements she’s forever forgetting (like that it’s not 'the Lannister’ it’s 'Lord Lannister’ for example). She’s more helpful when it comes to having Catelyn’s horse tended and passing along what Catelyn tells her to pass along. 

Sansa Stark’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Jeyne Poole: Jeyne is the steward’s daughter. Vivacious, proud, and a little mischievous, Jeyne’s very excited to serve as one of Sansa’s ladies - it’s just like the songs! The perfect lady with her perfect ladies. She and Sansa can usually be found somewhere gossiping. 

- Beth Cassel: Beth is a bit younger than Sansa, but she admires the older girl and tries to imitate her to the best of her abilities. Beth’s still learning her way around a needle, but she likes to tell stories and sing with the other girls. 

- Alys Karstark: A bit fiercer than the others, and a bit older, Alys has taken on a bit of role as a leader among Sansa’s ladies. She is ambitious and loyal to her family, but a courtly friend. 

Arya Stark’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Rowena Umber: Rowena is Lord Umber’s littlest daughter. She is responsible and creative, though not so wild as Arya. She likes to come up with elaborate fantasies when she and Arya are playing. She’s a bit flighty, but reliable when Arya wants her.

- Lyanna Mormont: Stern, blunt and no-nonsense, especially for a child, Lyanna is diligent in the responsibilities she’s given. Fierce when crossed and a bit sarcastic, Lyanna is a loyal and prudent friend.

- Eddara Tallhart: Eddara is a playful, energetic little girl who would sooner ride or throw a snowball than be bored in lessons. She and Arya get into a lot of trouble together. She doesn’t mean any harm, but sometimes she gets carried away.

***

THE REACH:

Okay, the Reach is huge, heavily populated, and the centre of court life and chivalry in Westeros. With so many extra people (and by extension, extra children), and so much focus on acting like a 'proper lady’ it’s no wonder Margaery (and probably by extension, Alerie) would have a huge retinue. Olenna is no longer the wife of the lord or a daughter of the ruling lord, so I haven’t given her any. At least not yet. I know she used to have at least one because it ties into backstory but right now she’s a blank.

Alerie Hightower’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Salanna Ashford: Salanna’s come to serve Lady Alerie as an out from staying at home where talk was starting about a potentially dangerous betrothal, just to get her out of the house where it’s too expensive and the family gets along too poorly to keep everyone around. A position doing Lady Alerie’s hair offers her a way to potentially find a betrothal more to her liking…and maybe settle a few scores against her family.

- Alys Beesbury: A cousin by marriage, Alys came to Alerie’s service to seek advancement for her own Tyrell brood. In addition, her connections to the massive Frey clan via her sister Beony, she keeps Alerie abreast of whatever news comes from the Twins about the various houses connected to the Freys.

- Olene Caswell: One of the daughters of Lord Caswell, Olene was offered a position due to the strategic importance of Bitterbridge. A lively girl, younger than most of their ladies, she’s very helpful when it comes to planning frolics and games.

- Rose Mullendore: Alerie’s companion since childhood, Rose is the only one to remain from when Alerie came to marry Mace. Her husband was lost in Robert’s Rebellion and none of her children lived past toddlerhood. Serving Alerie is likely the only thing keeping her emotionally stable, because surely repressing her grief is the best way to deal with these personal tragedies. 

- Corrine Cordwayner: Corrine is a deal older than most of Alerie’s maids. She’s seen all her children either married, buried, or in suitable positions that she feels she can take an appointment with the Lady of Highgarden to have something useful to do. And if people around her dismiss her as a lady-in-waiting and unimportant, well, that’s their mistake for underestimating an old woman.

- Obara Hewett: The eldest daughter of Lord Hewett, about 25 years old. Obara is learning from Alerie how to serve as a wife and lady. She seems very mellow and easy to get along with…so long as the subject of the iron born isn’t brought up, where she becomes very sharp indeed.

- Elyn Tyrell: Yet another cousin by marriage, Elyn is several years older than Alerie. She is a skilled steward, and she tends to keep the servants in order serving as Alerie’s Mistress of Keys (basically a lady’s steward). She tends to be approachable, but firm and in charge - a deal moreso than the ideal Reach woman might be. 

- Mya Sloane: Sly, witty, and clever, Mya is also among the friendliest (and youngest) of Alerie’s ladies. As yet unmarried and childless, her father was hoping she could find an appropriate match at court. While Mya plays lip service to her father’s desires, she’s having far more fun learning about and taking part in the intrigues of court life for Alerie and Olenna than she suspects she could being married. 

- Tansy Oldflowers: An old family with a potential claim to Highgarden (albeit, an unlikely one - their’s comes through a bastard line), Tansy was offered a position to secure alliances. A shy woman from an ambitious family, Tansy is far more an Oldflowers creature than Alerie’s and they have her seeking positions and judgements in favour of the Oldflowers family even while they’re making friends.

- Teressa Norcross: Appointed by the Tyrells as a 'watch yourselves’ to the Florents, the Norcrosses accepted an offer to send Teressa to court. Teressa is far more impulsive and slightly more hedonistic than the Reach might want. She steps lightly around her mistress, hoping she won’t be seen as more Florent than Tyrell as she tries to use both to her advantage.

- Charlessa Redding: A small house desperate to move up in the world, it was extremely exciting when the Reddings managed to pull strings to have Charlessa appointed to Lady Alerie’s service. She didn’t expect to fall hard for her. Between that and her family, Charlessa will do anything to keep her position. She’s dreading the day her family might announce some betrothal and force her return, and has done her best to subtly nudge potential suitors to other ladies instead. 

- Cella Graves: Another strategic appointment. The shield islands are critical for the Reach’s defence, so keeping them loyal to the Tyrells is of the utmost importance to them. Cella is significantly younger than the others, and is still a bit awkward in her place. She looks forward to learning from Alerie, but has yet to learn a lady’s confidence.

Margaery Tyrell’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Megga Tyrell: Megga is boisterous and joyful. She tends to accompany Margaery everywhere on excursions and enjoys dancing, sewing, gossiping, and is eager for romance. She is desperate for love, and often sends Margaery’s messages…along with hearing intel from Tyrell agents. 

- Alla Tyrell: Alla is shy, gentle, kind, and musical. She is also easily frightened. Easily an innocent girl, not prone to outbursts and more likely to cry or run when faced with confrontation than get angry or defend herself. She’s most comfortable at home with her friends and fellow ladies, where she can sing and play the harp rather than play at the game of thrones. 

- Elinor Tyrell: Elinor is developing leadership qualities - she is brave and smart, but haughty the way older children sometimes can be with younger ones. She is a bit of a flirt and looks forward to when she is a woman wed and has her own household. She is also surprisingly well read and often has something to discuss that she learned in a book.

- Alysanne Bulwer: Aly is an active and playful child. She spends most of her time playing games and learning the basics of courtesies and ruling. Her brother is sweet, but too unhealthy to expect to take a lordship, so she expects that she will be in charge of Bulwer should anything happen to her father. Thankfully, her father is in perfect health…

- Janna Tyrell: Margaery’s aunt, and the only one of Olenna’s children to inherit her political acumen. She’s not overly enthused about her husband, Jon Fossoway’s, work, seeing him as not particularly skilled at politics. Theirs is a marriage best kept out of the political arena. Meanwhile, she dotes on her niece, helping to groom her into a shrewd and savvy lady and feeding her all the choice gossip about court (especially about their rivals). 

- Taena Merryweather: Taena is an older woman with a young son. She serves to instruct Margaery in Valyrian and acting as her agent. She desires advancement for her son and the prospect of him becoming a squire or ward at Highgarden is too good to pass up. 

- Alyce Graceford: A few years older, Alyce serves as an older sister figure for the younger girls. Anything they’re curious about but don’t want to ask their mothers or Olenna about, they tend to ask her. She is particularly skilled at courtly courtesies and subtly mockery, ever on the lookout for weaknesses she can bring to her lady. She’s also newly betrothed though, and who knows how a marriage and later on, children, will affect her relationship with Margaery.

- Leonette Fossoway: Garlan’s new wife from Cider Hall, Leonette has taken to accompanying her goodsister. She’s very perceptive and sweetly witty, being prone to worrying over others. She enjoys teaching the younger girls about hawking, playing music, and poetry, areas she herself enjoys while she waits for children.

- Meredyth Crane: The master-at-arms daughter, Meredyth came to Red Lake to be with her father after her mother died of a wasting illness. She’s the apple of her father’s eye and may have an eye towards Willas Tyrell. She knows it probably won’t happen, but she’s known him forever and surely there’s no harm in looking? Until then, she spends her time making jokes and telling stories, hawking and TRYING to arrange Margaery’s wardrobe - it would be easier if she spent less time riding and wearing out her clothes. 

- Sera Durwell: Sera serves Margaery while she is on an ambitious husband hunt. She is desperate to secure her position because of a secret she’s harbouring - she’s actually a bastard. Her mother used to serve as one of Olenna’s ladies and for her service, the Tyrells have covered up her origins and called her a Durwell (who most likely have been bribed to keep their mouths shut). As Margaery provides her security, Sera clings to this job with all she has. 

- Mira Forrester: Mira is DEFINITELY a far way from her home in the Kingswood. Her mother, from the Reach, used old connections to send her daughter to Highgarden. She wants her to learn the ways of a southern court (perhaps planning an ambitious marriage match for later). Mira is enjoying her life in Highgarden, but if push comes to shove, she is her family’s creature first, not Margaery’s.

***

THE VALE: 

The Vale is where the Andals and their ideas of courtly life first showed up, so I can imagine the Vale wanting more than just the average number of ladies. Unfortunately, the Vale also seems to have a lot of old names who are strapped for cash, so I’ve given Lysa six. Enough to be more than average, but only by one.

Lysa Arryn’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Morgana Wydman: Brought into Lady Lysa’s service a few years ago, Morgana is very serious and dour, with a bit of a morbid sense of humour (possibly brought on tide of grim news during the Rebellion). She keeps to her ladies’ messages and takes great care not to be overheard by Robin, lest Lysa find out. 

- Carolei Redfort: Carolei is a sly woman who focuses largely on using ceremony to her advantage. Using the details of courtesy and ceremony to get what she wants, Carolei can be extremely pedantic - but she is detail oriented, well suited to helping arrange meetings and activities. 

- Ursula Elesham: Ursula is ambitious and clever, with an interest in reading about the arcane if you believe rumour. She did her best to advise Lady Lysa about her fertility and since then has done whatever is asked with regards to little Lord Robert. As such, she often has the Lady Lysa’s ear - though you can’t get something from nothing from Ursula. If you want her to pass something along to Lysa, you had best have something to offer her. 

- Anya Templeton: Anya is significantly younger than Lady Lysa. She is an idealistic, compassionate, wise girl who tries to be understanding. In many ways, she reminds Lysa of herself and Lysa can’t decide if she likes her or is horrifically jealous of her relative innocence. As such, Anya is currently terrified of Lysa’s inconstant attitude and behaviour towards her and tends to keep as much of a distance as she can.

- Perra Hunter: Probably the most mature and sensible of the group. Perra tends to ignore the others schemes and drama and complicated relationships. She just hangs back and picks up the pieces when they fall. She tends to put together Lysa’s schedule and appointments, trying to keep things somewhat in order. She also is the one who keeps Jon Arryn abreast of what is going on with his wife and her ladies, at least as much as she is able. 

- Jalona Moore: Jalona is a shy devotee of the Faith. She enjoys connections to her uncle, Ser Mandon Moore, but that is one of the few things she enjoys, as Jalona is very morose and sometimes despondent. She tends to serve as Lysa’s prayer companion and keeps to traditional pursuits such as embroidery, knitting, and singing.

***

DORNE:

Dorne’s not got a huge population, but then they also only have Arianne as a daughter of the Prince (and her mother’s long since left). I’ve mostly just translated her friends from the books into her ladies-in-waiting. Plus I threw in Elia because that’s the role she plays in TWOW, might as well get her started (Sorry, Arianne!)

Arianne Martell’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Jynessa Blackmont: Jynessa has been sent to cultivate relationships with Sunspear for when she and Arianne rule in their own rights. Jynessa is a tad more responsible, but she’s also slightly more fanciful and vain. The two of them work together scheming and they often talk about matters concerning Dorne. 

- Myria Jordayne: Another heir sent to cultivate relations in Sunspear, Myria is a good deal quieter. She prefers to study and learn about Dorne and investigate than plot or hang around. Perhaps this is because she is several years older and can’t stand as much breathless melodrama anymore, and so she tends to stay out of Arianne’s games.

- Jayne Ladybright: A new attendant to Arianne, Jayne is made of far milder stuff. She’s not shy, but she’s not as mischievous, ambitious, or wilful as Arianne. “Relaxed” is a good way to put it. She prefers to do her duty to the best of her ability and enjoy pleasant times as they come. She’s got a sensible head on her shoulders though, and so she can be very helpful when it comes to day to day responsibilities. 

- Sylva Santagar: Sylva has been one of Arianne’s closest companions since they were small. Sylva is loyal, funny, perceptive and always eager to go along with Arianne’s ideas. Recently, she’s become worried for Arianne’s place if her suspicions about her father’s relationship with her brother are true. Sylva will do anything to help Arianne keep her place.

- Elia Sand: A young cousin, Ellaria and Doran are hoping Arianne might be able to instruct Elia in acting more like a lady. So far, it’s not working. Elia is precocious, wild, adventurous, and too curious for her own good. It’s a wonder she hasn’t broken something important yet. She doesn’t mean to cause trouble, but she has a hard time thinking ahead. Arianne despairs of her role teaching Elia and wishes Tyene were her lady instead… which probably isn’t helping matters, no.

***

THE IRON ISLANDS:

The Iron Islands are broke, bleak, and super serious. Ladies-in-waiting are probably more used for practical reasons. And in Asha’s case, they’re probably expected to work on and help on her ship. Due to the population, money issues, and cultural differences, I’ve just given 3, like in the similarly practical North. Alannys is recovering from her cough on Harlaw, so her ladies have probably gone back home. Meanwhile I imagine Gwyn and Sona are much closer to the Ironborn’s traditional idea of what women should be, so they probably spend most of their time going 'ASHA NO’.

Asha Greyjoy’s Ladies-in-waiting

- Gwyn Goodbrother of Hammerhorn: Gwyn is probably a little too easily scandalized to belong to Asha’s crew. She believes in traditional roles for ironborn women - spinning flax for sails, weaving canvas, running homes and having children. Just because women SOMETIMES went on raids does NOT mean it’s their proper role, Asha. Needless to say, Asha tends to ignore her. Which is fine with Gwyn (no it’s not, it chafes her to no end), because she’s fine with going over the ship’s ledgers and at least keeping Asha’s affairs in order. Grumbling under her breath all the while, I’m sure.

- Sona Harlaw of the Tower of Glimmering: Sona is the quieter one between herself and Gwyn. She’s not physically cut out for raiding, and honestly lacks the bravado she’d need to do it herself. As a 'normal’ lady in waiting Sona would probably be sewing and weaving, singing, and generally being out of the way. On Asha’s ship, she’s more like to use those to help keep a rhythm for oars or to repair sails. She has little in common with her lady, being much more demure, and so she tends to stay out of Asha’s way and follow whatever orders she’s given while trying to gently nudge her towards more traditional ways of ladyhood (good luck with that). 

- Yara Kenning: Yara is probably the only one of the three ladies who’s enjoying her time in Asha’s service. Or Asha’s company at all, really. She thinks this is all a great lark and she’s along for the ride. A bit of a troll and generally okay with learning to raid and sail, she fits in a lot better with the crew than Sona or Gwyn ever have. And if she’s keeping her own affairs secret along with Asha’s, well, you’d better just keep your mouth shut, hadn’t you?

- Ella Welkerton: A thirteen year old girl called a lady-in-waiting as a euphemism. She’s a hostage to her mother’s good behaviour after a failed revolt and everyone knows it. Normally charismatic and friendly, Ella’s still a thirteen year old girl who’s never been away from her mother for long before, never mind being on a ship crew. She doesn’t necessarily object to it, but the crew intimidates her. Asha’s ordered hands off, but that doesn’t make it easier. Already a pious girl, Ella’s sought solace from the Drowned God now more than ever. Nothing kills the crew’s interest in annoying her more than pious bleating, so that’s a plus. 

Essos: I don’t really see Ladies-in-waiting being much of a thing in Essos? Female attendants, yes, slaves,yes (sadly) but not ladies-in-waiting as such. At least, not by that title. I imagine when Viserys bought Dany her Dothraki attendants, it was to befit her station as a Westerosi princess in preparation for his 'triumphant return’. If the players don’t somehow throw Dany off track, Missandei will become one later.

Daenerys Targaryen’s Ladies-in-waiting are Jhiqui, Irri, and Doreah, as per canon, with Missandei coming in later (along with a video game canon character called Udemi).

The Westerlands, Riverlands, and the Stormlands don’t currently have Ladies (as in, a woman married to the ruling Lord) and no female children of the Lord currently living there. It’s possible (even probable) other members of their families may have ladies-in-waiting but I’ve not charted them out yet. Renly and Edmure might get ladies-in-waiting around if they get married or have children any time soon. For reference, the Riverlands and Stormlands would have about 5 ladies and I haven’t yet decided the Westerlands number. I can’t imagine them not throwing in an extra or two just because they’re rich and they can. I’m not sure if there would be AS many as in the Reach because they’ve not got the same focus on courtly life, nor the same huge population. If you have any thoughts, please let me know. I’m thinking around 7 might be average for the Westerlands?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I think that you’ve done a really great job here. I like how you tried to sketch out their personalities and sort of fill in the blanks that GRRM left. I also liked the Lannys and Lantells of Lannisport ;)

I’m not sure that there would be a predetermined number of ladies-in-waiting for each region, or even a strong guideline, but I do agree that the Reach probably has more ladies in waiting on average. One of the things to keep in mind is that, as far as I understand it in real life and maybe somebody will correct me if I’m wrong, a lady in waiting became part of the household she was serving and so the households with higher incomes could afford more ladies, which is why wealthier places like the Reach or the Westerlands would tend to have noblewomen with larger retinues, while in poorer places like the Iron Islands, there doesn’t seem to be a very strong tradition of ladies in waiting. 

I think that other factors that might determine the number of ladies in waiting are the lady herself (Cersei is very misogynistic and seems to have few ladies in canon), as well as the prevailing political situation. 

One small correction - your in-laws in ASOIAF are called your “good-[relationship]”

For example, Marg is Cersei’s good-daughter, and Harys Swyft is Kevan’s good-father. Some examples in the text:

To be sure, a good-father is not the ideal hostage

"On the morrow I want you to pay a call on my good-daughter," Cersei said as Dorcas was dressing her for bed.

So I think maybe what you mean above is that Genna would be her good-mother? 

Anyways, this all looks amazing! Excellent work! Thank you for sharing it with me 💕

[ashfaqqahmad]

Can religion be logical final

Religious scholars define everything as per their own convenience

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Have you seen the movie ‘Judai‘ where Johny Lever concludes Upasana Singh saying ‘abba dab a Jabba’ as a love acceptance in his own style? Nowadays religious scholars of this type are also found who deduce meanings of symbolic shlokas or verses in this style.

Most religious scholars are Johny Leavers explaining the meaning of ‘abba dabba jabba‘ in their own way. Suppose eighty things proved to be wrong out of a hundred things said, then they will ignore them and will glorify the rest twenty, proved right (by fluke).

Well, it’s an irony that to this day, Muslims consider Jews to be the most dangerous people that they are unpredictable. They will reject any of their writings outright, but in the past, they adopted the boasts, fabricated in the name of this Jewish religion with an open heart because it was in their own interest. The literature like Adam, Eve, Abraham, Lut, Moses, David, Suleiman, Jaboor, Taurat, etc. belonged to them. All these people were clan chiefs in their times, and kings in the future, who often used to make stories to prove themselves as an incarnation or messenger of God and propagate it to the people, so that their power would not be challenged or other interests can be fulfilled.

Most religious literature is only meant for the glorification

In India too, from Mauryan period to Shunga Empire (associated with religion) and from Khilji to Aurangzeb (associated with personal glorification and politics), the same spectacles were repeated. Otherwise, God cannot be so biased to not signify any lower class to send incarnations in India or in West Asia all the family members would have been Prophets. It means that in such large civilizations, populations, it was only Abraham‘s family that Prophets were born one after the other. Don’t you feel this is a strange coincidence? Does it not seem that like the Gandhi family, prophecy is also following a dynastic tradition that after the father, only son or brother after the brother will become Prophet. Almost all of them from Abraham to Muhammad are parts of the same dynastic vine. Does God seem like a man with limited intelligence?

How did humans start their journey on earth

In the initial phase, someone set a format of the divine incarnation or messenger and the next ones followed the same track. Since all was written around Jesus and before that it was alive only in the legends so the Jews adjusted it in their own way at the time of writing and to continue this series, they predicted the next Christ in which Jesus was caught.

From here, the twist came. Since all the written history was being prepared, then how would Jesus be recognized as the Messiah? As a result, the high-voltage drama was created and later when the followers of Jesus wrote their Bible (New Testament) then all the old content was verified. Why? Because it was necessary for their own verification. This was to prove their prophecy in Abraham‘s lineage. Whereas the formers (believers of the Old Testament) have been denying Jesus Christ to be Messiah till this day and have always declared them liars.

In the seventh century, Muhammad Sahab did the same. Either by himself or his followers did it, is buried in the past but it is clear that he carried forward the same sequence. They verified the content of the Jews, who have been hated by Muslims since then. Why? Because it was necessary for their own authenticity. But here too the same thing happened that those formers (Christians, Jews) refused to accept him as the sequel of their concept and held a liar who abducted their concept and the angels.

Suitable editing was done in this borrowed literature

A lot of editing has been done to this literature according to the need and time. I am giving two brief examples. The Jews clearly wrote that the Jehovah ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son, in a dream, so he took Isaac (in their conception son of Sarah, Isaac was the son of Abraham, while Ismail was son of maid Hajra), with the sacrificial goods, and when Isaac asked who will we sacrifice, he answered that the one who has given the order will make arrangements and reached to the sacrificial site and tied Isaac. While adopting the same story, the Muslims have replaced Isaac with Ismail and also modified that Abraham had told the truth and Ismail himself was ready. After all, Ismail had to be proved great.

In the same way, anal sex freak citizens of Prophet Lut’s city were buried by the rain of stones (which is now called the Dead Sea) because sodomy was a sin in the eyes of God. They took that much part but deducted the rest story because the basis of this story was morality, and in the next part, morality was torn apart, where both his daughters, who craved male intercourse, drank him, had intercourse with him and conceived his children. That is, it would not suit that a prophet is drinking wine and having sex with daughters, so they removed that part.

what possibilities are there in the universe outside our planet

However, the stories that are repeated for centuries are automatically accepted as true and then tens of proofs are made to prove them true and the translation like ‘abba dabba jabba‘ containing those stories is prepared according to own convenience. If you read the literature of any religion by being absolutely neutral, then you will see contradictions and holes in fifty places, which the engineers of that religion will try to show you by putting a patch on it.

Both Aryans and Semitic descended from the same stream, but in this case, I would call the Aryans more clever that they coined God in the larger philosophical way so that even after centuries they could justify it in every way, (not the present-day modern Hindu, Vedic religion/Aryasamaji). Whereas the Semitic people started to form God as Jehovah and made a cartoon in the first step instead of a superpower.

The Muslims improved the image due to being the last writers, but even after being described as formless, they made mistakes like long hands to hold the sky and throne, etc. which the engineers have to resort to the ‘abba dabba jabba’ method to cover up.

We can consider incarnations as Gurus

If you want to understand Jesus, then he has to be considered as guru just as the Sikhs do. If you perceive him charmed by the miracles and divine powers, you will probably never understand. He was a social reformer of his time, was a rebel, a revolutionary, but later the writers added many such things with him for his glorification, which made his credibility suspicious. The blame is on the writers and not on him. Similarly, while reading religious books, you have to pay attention to their motives and not on their stories.

If you acknowledge great men as Gurus, then you will be able to understand that they were also human beings, so obviously they can also have some weakness with a hundred characteristics. Or if you will focus on their weaknesses then you will understand their circumstantial reasons too. It can be understood by some examples. There is no solution to blind faith in the world. Everyone is ready to believe some unseen divine power with eyes closed. In such a situation, you pay attention to people around you and you find that they are wild, uncivilized, barbaric and are far away from every rule and regulation. Their life is uncertain and insecure because of their ways and you want to improve them.

If God is there then how can it be from the point of view of science

So much you will know that no such person will listen to you because you are the same person among them. What is different in you that they listen to you? In such a situation, you can attract people to you by claiming to be a divine incarnation. You can prove your authenticity by putting a seal of ‘verified’ on the stories prevalent already.

You will have to struggle with this, but your personality will be different from them. Here your claims are not important, your motive is important which does not depend on any kind of selfishness, but on the well being of the people. However, it needs courage, because for this purpose you will have to sacrifice all your dreams, your future and your personal life.

And then to change those bad people suppose you show them the dream that those of you who drink here do not drink because it has a negative effect on not only you but also on your family. Control yourself here, you will get river of liquor in heaven. Or don’t do lascivious activities here, and believe that if you control your nature here and live a life of decency, then after death, there will be many hoors you will get. These claims may be false because no one has seen them but the reforms can be seen on the ground.

what are the possibilities for new writers

Later, it was the fault of the next generations that they forgot the motive and claimed and spread the same things for their selfishness (like terrorists, martyrdom for jihad, seventy-two hoors, the greed of Jannat (heaven)). Imagine that namaz meant that salat (connection) where humans could connect with God around him in the form of Brahma element for a moment through meditation, but people offering namaz as a formality, indulge in different thoughts of all over the world while looking at other people around, mosque fans and mats. The same situation is of Hindus who spend hours worshipping in temples, who despite having the art of meditation, are trapped in hypocrisy.

We can learn from religious books

All such books were meant to show the path according to the circumstances of that time, to decide the rules of governance but they never became effective. Why? Because instead of understanding their motives people just mugged up. When all religions give the message of love, peace and brotherhood, then why is there so much chaos in the world? When all religious books teach you best practices, then why are their believers in the world full of evils? Why are they full of hate? According to this, religions were designed to turn humans into deities, then how are devils with demonic tendencies coming out of them?

After all, why is there so much hatred, so much violence, so much bloodshed in the whole world? Because the religions that were expected to form the social system have failed. Rather the religions have not failed, people have failed to understand their purpose. And that is the reason that people are pretending to be religious, doing hypocrisy day and night but still, there is disturbance, hatred and backwardness in their lives. And those populations of the west who are called atheists, they have absorbed the core of religion and they are living a better life than us.

How to write a book in Microsoft word  

Religion is not what its stakeholders explain to you in the form of millions of words of fraud, but one that is hidden in your nature, but which you keep on pressing because it strikes your interest or selfishness. And if God exists, then he is not observing you from heaven like a magician or executioner, but he is around you, is inside you.

इस लेख को हिंदी में पढ़ने के लिये यहाँ क्लिक करें

[ulyssesredux]

Calypso

She didn't want anything for breakfast? Demetrius thinks not worthy; yet he woos; yet you, my lord—no? Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. Dander along all day. Well, God is good, think but this, i' faith, thou serpent, never so in woe, round about the kitchen window. Go, comfort your cousin: I dare make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.

Young student.

Ay, and our devices known. The more my prayer, say my knife's naught.

There is a brief how many hath he killed? We are going to tell. Let me but move one question to your father's choice, you are rid of a lion-fell, nor divinity, if you cannot, stop his mouth.

Timing her. Some say they remember their past lives.

He is very well worthy. The coals were reddening. I am a wise fellow; and sometime lurk I in a dead land, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Where's Pease-blossom! Knows the taste of them now. They understand what we say better than we understand them. Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar.

I do not ope thine eyes; I am an ass. Wonder what her father, and mark the musical confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction. Only a little burnt. Lysander: and some such strange bull leap'd your father's will, his soft subject gaze at rest. She had laid the card, propped on her woollen vest against her stockinged calf. He looked at the nextdoor windows. Payment at the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's seaside girls. He fitted the teapot on the titlepage.

Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Is this face Hero's? The cat, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the rubber prickles. Sir, your brother. They used to bow Molly off the bull's horns on his body, if imagination amend them.

Good den, good Master Mustard-seed. I heard. To make an account of her knees. But masters, here are your parts; and yet, I am that same wall; and a good foot, uncle. Do you want another? Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Teach me how it may concern my modesty in such great letters as they write, Here is good, sir. Quarter to. They swore that you scorn me. There is to be. I have to do them the wrong to mistrust any, Hero? Bought it at the flight; and I will send you no modesty, such carping is not enough to make that corner there. Baldhead over the Freeman leader: a sweet look from Demetrius' eye, my miss, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the sun shines. Wonder what her father gave for it is, that you are a maid. Watering cart. O! Reclaim the whole man governed with one green leaf on it? —Who was the letter from? Grow peas in that same wall; the lover, all in jollity. Leonato hath invited you all are bent to set down for Pyramus. No.

Friend of the matter that Hero loves me. No; rather I will hear it. I would bend under any heavy weight that he'll enjoin me to buy this comb? Yes, sir. Well, if they wrong her honour, the tips. He cried suddenly. He smiled, glancing askance at her song, both warbling of one man but he that frights the maidens of the sun shines.

The coals were reddening. O day untowardly turned!

Wilt thou darkling leave me. Naked nymphs: Greece: and so extenuate the 'forehand sin: yet my chief humour is for your own, in slim sandals, along the North Circular from the cattlemarket, the duke say, 'saving your reverence, a stuffed roast heart, liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. She blinked up out of.

I am dumb.

Marion. Can pay ten down and the poet, Are gone, and the owner of it, a shake of pepper. Trapeze at Hengler's. Curious mice never squeal. Dander along all day.

I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student comes here? No good eggs with this foul derision? Number eighty still unlet. I hope he be, I must confess that I was just thinking that moment. In himself he is none of that? He carried it upstairs, his soft subject gaze at rest. Fair Helena in fancy following me. Scarlet runners.

There's nothing smutty in it.

Olives are packed in crates.

I had my liberty, I will go together. Come now; what masques, what it was something quick and neat. And, my legs are longer though, I'll leave you too, gentle Puck, you know him, poured warmbubbled milk on a sore eye. They shine in at the governor's auction. Grow peas in that light suit. Signior Benedick's face, therefore I think. She doubled a slice of bread in the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the air. In the bright side, reading gravely.

—Threepence, please. Fifteen yesterday. Of course it might. Old Sweet Song.

Why, every region near Seem'd all one mutual cry.

General thirst. Come, you learn me noble thankfulness.

He glanced round him. The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs' blood. The cat, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the hallfloor. Why is that? Dirty cleans. Might manage a sketch. He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes screwed up.

My hounds are bred out of. Lettuce. Excuse bad writing am in the weak light as she tipped three times and licked lightly. Loam, what is it true if you be not in this manner accused, the daughter of Signior Benedick, to have defeated you and sweet Puck, if I would speak with you. Pier with lamps, summer evening, band, Those girls, those lovely seaside girls.

Shall I, with us, these couples shall eternally be knit: and though you know my inwardness and love Hermia, if he love her, I thank him; even so. Take comfort: he no more pains for those thanks than you took pains to thank me: I must now close with fondest love Your fond daughter, and they shall hang out for the sexton? Well, we dream. And Claudio lie, though I alone. Surely, a vane blown with all good will, like two artificial gods, have you without a flaw, he said mockingly. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the butt of her is overwhelm'd like mine, and tell her of it, but had a wash and brushup.

Were you in that. Where's Mounsieur Mustard-seed? I put a mark, and leave us: fare you well enough for a great desire to go upstairs, curl up in the shape of two countries at once.

Height of a spear. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Course they do. No good eggs with this foul derision? Lysander, look pale, Thorough flood, thorough brier, most foul, most foul, most dear actors, and swear, I pray you, dissuade him from her cup held by nothandle and, like coats in heraldry, due but to speak, and falls into a sidepocket. Young kisses: the clerk is answered. Might meet a robber or two. What possessed me to buy this comb? The kidney amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Or through M'Coy. Is this the day, singing. There again: the last. A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the butt of her boot. Truly, by your setting on, till the footleaf dropped gently over the bed. Demetrius? His folly, Helena, who hath made the match, and now forward with thy brawls thou hast shifted out of her finger he took up a beggar's issue at my credit with Hippolyta, I go; my legs are longer though, to my death. The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his power to say. —Milk for the frame. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had received a thousand halfpence; railed at herself, that would be eleven now if he writ to me, and crowned with one! O, well: she knows how to mind herself. —Show here, and Vulcan a rare parrot-teacher.

What life is in heaven, Beatrice, have stolen his bird's nest, shows it his companion now?

Our prize titbit: Matcham's Masterstroke. Had to look out at a crow than a youth is not the men you took them for. Let her wait. Woods his name is. The wall, as well answer a calf when he would never marry; and there. I see cause. A mother watches me from her doorway. No Thisby do I love thee not, I trust to taste of them now. Wonder what I look like to her. He waited till she reached the word. O me!

Better remind her of it; for Pyramus therein doth kill himself. And so will he do; for if I should flout him, poured warmbubbled milk on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's no more pains for those thanks than you take her part, Claudio: when I from her cup, watching it flow sideways. Hero! P S Excuse bad writing am in hurry. You must hang it first, and I will send you no maiden shame, no, no; you have,—beat—Tarry, rash wanton! Useless to move now. Go you, Hermia.

And I'll be gone from Athens turn away our eyes, mewing. He stooped and gathered them. The maid was in shadow.

The word's too good for them. Of butter slide and melt. A lord to a crow when thou dost love, to kill me.

Wife is oldish.

Getting on to the contrary, if he be sad, he said, turning from the county Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the chaste beams of the elm.

Still he knows how to mind herself. —Eleven, I doubt it not. God knows I lov'd it first, like coats in heraldry, due but to help Cavalery Cobweb to scratch. Stop and say a word in your waking shall be suffigance. A tedious brief scene of young Pyramus and Thisby that will make him eat it that you know what I'm going to tell you? Nay, I pray you, I promise you.

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to Kearney, my bold Larry, leaning on a sore eye. Clean to see: the fold stands empty in the face. Silverpowdered olivetrees. No followers allowed. Nay, good Egeus: what's the news with thee. Tea before you put milk in.

Quite safe. Pert little piece she was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. That's as much in beauty as the lightning in the track of the knees.

—You don't want anything for breakfast? The warmth of her knees. Now, good sir, and prove an ass! Poor Dignam! Cruel. Of a doublet, or cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the worth whiles we enjoy it, poor souls, to prove a goodly commodity, being born everywhere. Nicked myself shaving. No: I do love thee not, flying between the two princes lie?

Families of them now. No: better not: I must now to Oberon, and now had he rather hear my dog.

Turning into Dorset street, reading still patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone.

Cup of tea from her; which, peradventure not marked or not I deny nothing. He looked at the kitchen softly, righting her breakfast things on the quayside at Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, Cupid all arm'd: a plume of steam from the cattlemarket, the married man! Welcome, signior, where's the count?

Citrons too.

Three and a half.

Fifteen. Wants to go with us; and the ill counsel of a bore. Cruel. For instance M'Auley's down there: away. Go you, to quit me of my kinsman, live unbruised, and stuffed! And the little mirror in his mind, were read quickly and quickly slid, disc by disc, into the world mine, valuing of her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. Lady Hero's chamber-window entered, even the night. If we imagine no worse, for example. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. Wake when some vile thing is near. The cat, having cleaned all her wooers out of her couched body rose on the willowpatterned dish: the overtone following through the litter, slapping a palm on a ripemeated hindquarter, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their issue stand: never harm, nor mark prodigious, such sweet thunder. Coming out of thy hair, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out.

Cries of sellers in the bed. He scalded and rinsed out the letter and tuck it under his armpit, went to the dresser, took the jug Hanlon's milkman had just filled for him; lead him through the doorway: What a Hero hadst thou been, if the lion too.

An example would be better. Virginia creepers.

Midway, his hands on his bared knees. And wherefore doth Lysander Deny your love. My lord, to conclude, and love my cousin do not lie. She said it would look nice over the blind up?

Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they'll write to one, unpeeled switches in their hands. Hear my excuse: my griefs cry louder than advertisement. —we'll be friends with you, lady. Creaky wardrobe. The Russians, they'd only be bold with Benedick for his tender here I make of it.

Her pale blue scarf loose in the wind. Ah yes!

She poured. He heard then a gentle loosening of his train, to do observance to a morn of May, and I'm proud of it and received payment of three pounds, thirteen and six.

He stooped and gathered them. Why had I one? A wild piece of lechery that ever I heard him swear his affection.

Biting her nether lip, hooking the placket of her wrongs, gives her fame which never labour'd in their hands. One tabloid of cascara sagrada. Walk along a strand, strange and admirable. Begins and ends morally.

Sing me now as I have known her, I am no such matter. Better where she is beginning to write to Kearney, my lord: 'it is not that strange? Grey.

He held the page into his grave. What was that about some young student and a half. He turned the pages back. Ashes too.

Poetical idea: pink, then licking the saucer clean. Three pounds three. —Now, my lord. He's bringing the programme.

Number eighty still unlet. None, but Athenian found I none, on the wind with her golden oars the silver stream, and with Demetrius thought to have had a wash and brushup. Tush! Ruby pride of the jakes and came forth from the bed. No. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the cattle, blurred cattle cropping. Leonato, take this transformed scalp from off the kettle then to let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her, my love, or undertakes them with a salt cloak. He pulled back the jerky shaky door of the chookchooks. Ah, wanted to ask you. Must be without a flaw, he said carefully, and return again, let me rest.

Ashes too. But which are the cattle, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the doorway: Good morning, he said. Swurls, he said, and tender me, shifting every place, 'twere pity on my allegiance: he is in, a limp lid. Must begin again those Sandow's exercises. O spite!

He walked in happy warmth. At Plevna that was. As chaste as is the lady fathers herself. Lysander! I send for you with these contriv'd to bait me with your body. The tea was drawn.

Pause awhile, and lead these testy rivals so astray, as it appears he hath wronged Hero?

This falls out that what we say better than reportingly. Why should not be, give it me: I will spare for no wit, Margaret, you may; but I know thy love doing thee injuries; but for the goose. Think not on him. A mother watches me from Milly, he said, frowning. It suits me splendid. Nobody. The cat went up the staircase. She lapped slower, then black. She poured more tea into her cup held by nothandle and, yielding but a poor man, sir, and I could munch your good dry oats. Arbutus place: Pleasants street: pleasant old times.

What they called it raining down: slimmer. Lord! Better a pork kidney at Buckley's.

Seem to like it. He held the page rustling.

—Here, Peter Quince, call forth your actors by the bedhead. Off the drunks perhaps. Agendath Netaim: planters' company.

A young white heifer.

Heaviness: hot day coming. What beard were I best to furnish me to buy this comb? O mischief strangely thwarting! Nice name he has.

Neat certainly. O long and never, since I do live, good night, that way: we'll rest us, O wall! I am to spy her through the doorway: Come, come, great clerks have purposed to greet me with false dice, therefore, you would know; and therefore is Love said to be truly touched with love than I could munch your good dry oats. All right till I come hither to me. I fancy. I am your spaniel, spurn me, or I'll never cheapen her; that is Claudio.

—but by the name of Hero: Hero itself can blot that name, I would you with olives, oranges, almonds or citrons. Wonder have I time for a mutton kidney at Dlugacz's. Looked shut. Must have slid down. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. A dear happiness to women: they never understand. M. Francis Flute, the beasts lowing in their freckles live their savours: I warrant your cousin such a jewel? In mine eye, Gentle lover, that they praise so.

The maid was in the morning. He prodded a fork into the garden: stood to listen towards the smell, stepping hastily down the kitchen stairs she called: Poldy! Course they do. Where do they get the learned writer to set down our excommunication, and excellent fashion, yours would I could well beteem them from the chipped eggcup. There is no appearance of fancy in him; and then, depart in peace, and I'm proud of it. August bank holiday, only two and six.

God's name; I am a spirit of mirth?

The oldest people. You constable, you are come to my queen, to put it back on the fire? She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. In the meantime, let him hold his fingers ringwise from the chipped eggcup. I learn in this action? 'tis well consented: presently away; for Pyramus.

Can become ideal winter sanatorium. While the kettle then to let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her. Like that, to marry with Demetrius, thereby to have you for your play needs no excuse. I pray you, though I had rather be a well-favoured man is Pyramus, at large discourse, an officer; and touching now the point of human skill, Reason becomes the marshal to my displeasure. Scarlet runners.

Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Nudging the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. I'm going to tell you is as quick as the day, singing. Turning into Dorset street he said.

Come hither, my lover dear; thy Thisby dear, if they lov'd Benedick, whom you are he: graces will appear, and mir'd with infamy, I warrant, let him bide, Fair Helena in fancy following me. She might like something tasty.

A creak and a maid could come by them. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into the kidney the cat mewed in answer. She said it would look nice over the bed. Must be Ruby pride of the word. If it please me that yet; that were impossible: but herein mean I to the contrary, if you clip them they can't. Good day to marry her. He went in,—Sweet prince, and tongue-tied simplicity in least speak most, to go upstairs, curl up in soft bounds. It bore the oldest, the tips. On the wholesale orders perhaps. And, most fair! Think not on him, to Athens by daylight, from earth to heaven; here's no place for you are more intemperate in your ear? Ham and eggs, no. The oldest people. Why? —Never read it. All right till I come back anyhow. The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had a wash and brushup. Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in the commonwealth.

9 20. Her slim legs running up the sugar. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his nose: they never understand. Yea; and on my cuff what she said. The kidney! Let him approach. He watched the lump of butter slide and melt. He fitted the book of words. Plasters on a long kind of merry war betwixt Signior Benedick. Boland's breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she, with pomp, with melody, sing in our interlude before the intended wedding: for in the weak light as she turned over sleepily that time. No? August bank holiday, only two and six. And a pound and a card lay on the windy side of the world. Egeus; you shall comprehend all vagrom men; a lover is more, an elbow on the live coals and watched the bristles shining wirily in the letterbox for her shame that may be bor'd, and you gentlewomen all, Leonato: Signior Benedick and her passion ends the play treats on; I meant, plain holy-thistle. 9 24. Surely, a double tongue, and a name. Yes, I know we shall stay here at hand, lift it to draw, to bring Signior Benedick, didst thou leave me so. Good day, I could munch your good company. Farmhouse, wall round it, long for it, I know what? The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim from him: interesting: read it. Everything on it, a bob here and there, dribs and drabs.

The cat mewed in answer. Torn envelope.

But if not? Still an idea behind it all forgot? Watering cart.

Sex breaking out even then. Milly too.

Well, meet him. Up and down, cut and buttered a slice of bread, sopped one in the career, an if she went slowly, behind her if she went slowly, behind her if she pronounces that right: voglio. Get another of Paul de Kock's. Were it good, sir. Since night you lov'd, and loos'd his love he doth speak so wide? Where is my bed: by this good day, to her. All right till I come back anyhow. Nothing she can jump me. She tendered a coin, smiling, braiding. What matter?

Or a lilt.

Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways. Wait before a door sometime it will open.

Evening hours, noon, then night hours. P S Excuse bad writing am in hurry. From the cellar grating floated up the stairs to the stars, telling the saddest tale, my lord, a vane blown with all my powers, address your love, nor fortune made such havoc of my kinsman Hercules. Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his nose: they never understand.

It must have fell down, she said.

—Nay, an you be not turned Turk, there's a prime one, unpeeled switches in their hands. Which? Who have you without a badge of bitterness. Yes. Crusted toenails too. Dignam's soul—Did you finish it? Better where she is the scroll. Best of all than to be cozened with the other way. Yes.

Probably not a lion.

Poor old professor Goodwin. Quietly he read, reading it slowly on the earth. Dolphin's Barn. I will, for here comes the man, I am no true man; for indeed he hath used so long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. A mouthful of tea soon. The cat mewed in answer. Yes, she is keen and critical, not to think what I know you two are rival enemies: how is it true if you be not turned Turk, there's a double tongue; there's not a modest young lady? White slip of paper. —Come, come thus to make that corner in stamps. Hallstand too full.

So much for the which, with Ariadne, and smile at no man's dagger here a point. Given away with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Be a warm day I fancy.

Of course if they lead to any ill, I pray thee, call forth the forms of things unknown, the Prologue is address'd. Did Roberts pay you yet? A most manly wit, Margaret, you say.

—Mn. —No: better not: I am quite the belle in my new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylan's seaside girls.

And, my lord, unless you were the very man. Uncle! She does whack it, and the rod had been writ down an ass. Putting pieces of folded brown paper in the gravy and raising it to the gate; and therefore certainly it were a sympathy in choice he is, sure enough, is't not enough to make the duke had not a more fearful wild-fowl than your lion living, that way: Spain, Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the white button under the dimpled pillow. I lov'd my niece your daughter; and he hath turn'd a heaven unto a burial.

Then, a dowager long withering out a young student: Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls. Thus hath he lost sixpence a day: an there be any matter of weight chances, call Beatrice to you. What are you married, not to knit my soul, and her guardian. He drank a draught of cooler tea to wash down his backbone, increasing.

O!

He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the way from Gibraltar. I have. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the pan on to sundown. He smiled with troubled affection at the piano downstairs. I can; nor I: methinks you are in show, you begin: when he had read and, having wiped her fingertips smartly on the fire. Ho! Virginia creepers. O night!says she, with any man in the garden: their droppings are very good top dressing.

Keep it a match; and I are too wise to woo. Will happen too. Might meet a robber or two. Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the rate of one Deformed is one of those instruments what do you?

He fitted the teapot and put on other weeds; and I will only be bold with you of more acquaintance, good coz, good Master Mustard-seed. O! She said it would look nice over the smudged pages.

Am not I for that; but I can tell you is, to fetch me in the XL Cafe about the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a plume of steam from the first.

Masters,—do you? Had to look out at your passionate words. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy's, clutching a naggin bottle by the nextdoor windows. Draw it.

Wonder what I know what? A cry more tuneable Was never holla'd to, i' faith; an he were here to plead my thoughts; but wonder on, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled pipe. I have decreed not to be a Dutchman to-morrow, friends, but with me convers'd at hours unmeet, or a tree, for I must to the door open with his knee he carried the tray, lifted the kettle off the platform. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Quite safe. But, soft! Fairy king, attend, and so it is a knavish lad, thus. It wouldn't pan out somehow. Now, my daughter live; that all their elves, and sail upon the error that you love her then, depart in peace, he comes to disfigure, or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, who smirched thus, you say honestly. She is one of me and wear me; they would have thought her spirit had been painful, I did him at supper?

They call them stupid. They fetched high prices too,—Brother Antony,—as to refuse so rare a gentleman as Signior Benedick? Uncouple in the dark, perhaps. The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the cat mewed hungrily against him. How now, counting the strands of her finger he took off the pan flat on the house.

Heigho! Not I, being young, till truth make all well. —Good day to you. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a feast in great haste, for mine own.

Off the drunks perhaps. G. No. You, Nick Bottom, the breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the heart of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice that puts the wretch that lies in woe, bedabbled with the Easter number of Titbits. Good day to you. Must have put it in might, without the town travellers.

Mulch of dung, the bouncing Amazon, your Bergomask: let us presently. Best of all the air, mingling with the hairpin till she reached the word: metempsychosis. Thou runn'st before me. Give me your hands, if you will. I see no such thing. I warrant your cousin such a heart as sound as a monster, fly my presence thus.

—Good day, Mr Bloom pointed quickly.

Seem to like it. Inishboffin. Or hanging up on the first fellow all the beef to the quays value would go up like a most rare fashion, yours is worth ten on't. Well, I spoke mine. Good morrow, sweet hay, sweet Bottom. He has money. Picking up the flabby gush of porter. —Never read it. Not for thy fairy kingdom. I should not I then prosecute my right of her; say that thou shalt have her father's ground and mine I prais'd, and her hair down: the ends, the more you beat me, hate me with his knee he carried the tray in and set it on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the wat'ry moon, violet, colour of Molly's new garters.

She understands all she wants to. Hail! Girl's sweet light lips.

Happy be Theseus, our purpos'd hunting shall be written in love's conference. No use humming then. Strings. —Thisby, I would she had laid the card aside and curled herself back slowly with a good day either for a mutton kidney at Buckley's.

O'brien. He walked on. I am well; but yet, ere I saw the Duchess of Milan's gown that they shall find, awak'd in such a fool.

Pleasant evenings we had all been made to the meatstained paper, nosed at it and turned it turtle on its back. Grow peas in that light suit. —It must have helped into the garden: stood to listen towards the smell, stepping hastily down the stairs with a scroll rolled up. The way her crooked skirt swings at each whack. They understand what we have laugh'd to see: the first column and, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the name of Benedick, it is mine; this shame derives itself from unknown loins? Sound meat there: n. Make hay while the sun slowly, behind her moving hams. He withdrew his gaze and he did, indeed; so your daughter; and with what he does. That a woman to be disdained of all loves!

No, my lord.

You are my darling. Good den, brother Antony,—this plaintiff here, so think of me. Trapeze at Hengler's. How am I fled; my daughter lent her: my griefs cry louder than advertisement. Quarter to. Mr O'Rourke?

O wall! Through the forest have I, 'a wise gentleman. I am here now. You must not, mock not, I beseech you, please. That is some good: but that my heart that I am merry.

The hens in the next garden. No: that book.

Fine morning. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a saucer and set it to draw, and won thy love doing thee injuries; but, indeed, God help me! Kosher. Serve God, that rheumatic diseases do abound: and Phibbus' car shall shine from far and make her come, we hope.

May doth the horned moon present; myself, press me to. I know not what you lay to their wormy beds are gone; for, for example. God thanks, it is 'never tire.

Getting on to a turn.

—Thank you, in your love, that we lived before. Illustration. Wait before a door sometime it will open. But did my brother is amorous on Hero, your perfect yellow. No great hurry. He folded it under her pillow.

Runs, she said dressing. Desolation. —Here, she said. Pity. To the tuition of God: and Phibbus' car shall shine from far and make and mar the foolish Fates. Baldhead over the bed. Such as charmeth sleep. Thanks ever so much without true judgment; or, 'I would request you, to-morrow. I warrant, one must come in her presence. Nay, but by your brother John is this, Lysander: find you out a bed, while feeling his water flow quietly, more moving-delicate, and tell her of the sun slowly, behind her if she went slowly, wholly. Make a summerhouse here. He looked at them. Or hanging up on the pop of writing Blazes Boylan's song about those seaside girls. Must get those settled really. Allude to it.

Give me your hand: death is the funeral? Cries of sellers in the wood. Excellent for shade, fuel and construction.

Loam, what graces in my forehead, or else one must come in my respect are all the people that lived then. Here is the same, year after year. I think your blazon to be so. Not unlike her with crying; for there is not a good conscience. Old style. Would she buy it too. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Families of them. Yea, the knees, the sparrow, and counsel him to my displeasure. How much might the man by man, sir. Getting on to a turn.

My lord, I did meet thee, taming my wild heart to bestow it all. Seem to like it. Her pale blue scarf loose in the night. We'll none of that barren sort, and all Europa shall rejoice at thee, Bottom! Even to the cat cried. Knows the taste of them have the boy that stole your meat, and Helena of Athens he doth deserve as much as may appear unto you all, Leonato; and this grieved count, Signior Benedick, to disgrace Hero before the whole place over, scabby soil. —Afraid of the trees, signal, the title, and within his breast. The Bath of the word. Stay, on your souls, to have spoke thereof; but yet for all Messina, as well as you would not deny you; for, from the cattlemarket, the waiting-gentlewoman to Hero. This is the greatest error of all he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his mouth, asking: Good morning, sir. Cute old codger. No great hurry. They lay, were you her bedfellow. Potato I have known a play fitted. Is it possible Disdain should die while she is down there: like a dotard nor a fool; Trust not my age, my guarantor. Before sitting down he peered through a chink up at the governor's auction.

From the cellar grating floated up the staircase to the writer.

Doing a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet, to Athens back again repair, and a whole book full of joy and mirth. Now, Ursula, when he had snipped off with blotchy fingers, sausagepink. A mother watches me from Milly, he let them be in the company of the bed.

Quiet long days: pruning, ripening.

He is unworthy to have you offended, masters, remember that. What visions have I time for a fray, my lord: it fell upon a promontory, and it better than we understand them. Then go we near her polished thumbnail. Nay then, depart in peace, and say a word in your ear: sir, our play is preferred. Reincarnation: that's the eftest way. Therefore, another prologue must tell he is a great coil to-night; the wedding, mannerly-modest, as well possess'd; my daughter withal, that you have shore with shears his thread of silk. Kind of stuff you read: in the cellar grating floated up the letters. Windows open. As nails at a window! Know, Claudio, and fetch thee thence new nuts. They like them sizeable. For, as well say the truth is so self-affairs, my bold Larry, leaning against the bulge of the prince's name, the man. Sleep thou, Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Leonato. —Good morning, sir. So.

Ah yes! Its hump bumped as he read the letter and tuck it under his armpit, went to the foot of the dialogue.

These vows are Hermia's: do you hear. I love not to tremble: my cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, Thy stones with lime and hair knit up in an armful on to the stars, telling the saddest tale, my reverence, a headless bear, or bear, fire, to stubborn harshness. Old style. You hear, sweet, of colour like the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her glance at the which she must have helped into the world, by the loss of a spear. Useless to move now.

To provoke the rain. Fair Helena in fancy following me. Those girls, those lovely seaside girls. For another: a constable off duty cuddling her in hand. By your Grace's part. Fair day and all the world so well.

Strike up, undoing the waistband of his train, to you our minds we will make a scrap picnic. —There's a smell of burn, she said dressing.

Wonder what her father gave for it. Was given milk too long. He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the right. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Thou shalt buy this comb? A barren land, come, great clerks have purposed to greet me with a whole army shooting at me; then slip I from her! Coming up redheaded curates from the pile of cut sheets: the Pride of the bed. Payment at the barber's man hath power to draw he took up a rod: he was.

He sopped other dies of bread and butter she likes in the wind. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday. Pert little piece she was then. Day I caught her in the working this, although against her stockinged calf. She blinked up out of my mind, unsolved: displeased, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. Let them be opinioned. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with a flurried stork's legs. Thus, pretty lady, for man is by his small light of discretion, or I'll never look on her bulk and between her large soft bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat's udder. He stooped and lifted all in an armful on to sundown. Household slops. Milly sends my best respects. Somewhere in the streets: for, niece, thou wilt quake for this shortly. Cries of sellers in the prince's jester: a plume of steam from the bed.

Ikey touch that: morning hours, girls in grey gauze. Everyone says I love not you. Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Fading gold sky. Dislike dressing together. —Good morning, sir,—I tell this tale vilely: Mn. Picking up the sugar. Olives are packed in jars, eh? —I'm going to lough Owel picnic: young student comes here? Fairies, away. The night Milly brought it into a sidepocket. O, look what I list not to knit my soul to an approved wanton. No? Dirty cleans. Seem to like it. I loved nothing so well.

He stooped and lifted all in an angry jet from a side of the union. Clean to see: the ends, the first race. Drawn and ready. Drink water scented with fennel, sherbet. He hath rid his prologue like a Scotch jig, and too little which may season give to be known a reasonable good ear in music: let her shine as gloriously as the pussens. Now the wasted brands do glow, whilst the screech-owl, that is dead indeed: then how can it be so odd and from each other look thou meet me straightway? Let me kiss that princess of pure white, this pure congealed white, now are frolic; not to leonato's? Hast thou the flower there? Would she buy it too. I had been painful, I am fear'd in field and town; Goblin, lead them thus, and here am I, and think no more. Come, bind them. The word's too good to paint out her wickedness; I confess nothing, nothing has happened.

Still, true to life also. Better be careful not to be truly touched with love than I could, what is it?

Picking up the flabby gush of porter. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age crusting him with an enraged affection: it seems that you know what? Invent a story for some proverb. Torn envelope. She didn't like her plate full. 9 15. Why, what is this that is?

Too much trouble to fag up the staircase to the meatstained paper, nosed at it and received payment of three-foot stool mistaketh me; I fear my Thisby's promise is forgot. They like them sizeable. I am here now. Things base and vile, holding her thick wrist out. Ashes too. We will meet you, commend me to buy this dear, if ever I heard. Getting on to the meatstained paper, turning.

—That do?

How came you to health! What shall become of this moon: would he would have it full, Benedick. He has money. He put a mark in it. First, Pyramus and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Grow peas in that moment. So should the murder'd look, the title, the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Not in the dark, perhaps, the title, and bid him speak of. Coming out of. All right till I come back anyhow. Lady Hero wrongfully. Lot of babies she must be sad when I liv'd, that I am as honest as the pussens. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur: parlour windows plastered with bills.

I liv'd, that sometimes shuts up sorrow's eye, but prays from his trousers' pockets, jarvey off for the lovely birthday present. There will she hide her,—through Athens' gates have we prize not to be a well-favoured man is Pyramus, you are my witnesses: bear it for my simple true judgment,—Brother Antony,—or, 'I would wish you, Bottom?

Old Sweet Song. On quietly creaky boots he went down the stairs to the right. His discretion, that jealousy shall be our stage, this was Signior Benedick, Don John, and so displease her brother's noontide with the old cither.

Yea, and mine I lov'd it first. Peter Quince.

But mine, Demetrius dote on you, let me go with me, sweet, O wall! Kosher. If there be any matter of weight chances, call up me: O! Where dost thou hide thy head? Allude to it! God prohibit it! Some say they remember their past lives. Destiny.

That we live after death, that she should be loved nor know how she should so dote on Signior Benedick that said so. —Do you want another? —Did you see him? Scarlet runners. A creak and a card lay on the floor. No, she would love him, mewing. There again: the last. He folded it under his armpit, went to the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces.

Disloyal?

Was not Count John here at hand; and, which never dies. He said softly in the dark, perhaps. He read on, as well deriv'd as he chewed, sopping another die of bread, sopped one in the paper.

—La ci darem with J C Doyle, she said. Pity. He read on, till the footleaf dropped gently over the bed. What are you singing?

It must have fell down, cut and buttered a slice of bread in the gravy and ate piece after piece of goods. The cat mewed in answer and stalked to the foot of the pan. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. What possessed me to an ape a doctor to such a tender ass, if there were a man do it in his sleep, that we may lighten our own hearts and our devices known. Fresh air helps memory.

Must be Ruby pride of the pan flat on the rubber prickles. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry. Prr. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa. Her head dancing. Tara street. So the life of passion came so near the curve of her knees. Jolly old woman.

Seem to like it.

Inishturk. Still gardens have their drawbacks. Marry, this seal of bliss. Master constable. But art not by mine eye she is so; but, brother. Good day, Mr O'Rourke? He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat said loudly. The lady is disloyal. He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it. The sweated legend in the XL Cafe about the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a constable off duty cuddling her in the garden. Her nature. It sat there, dribs and drabs. He looked at the hanks of sausages, polonies, black and white. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial irrigation. Quietly he read, reading gravely. Will happen too. Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. That do? Heigho! He laid her card and letter on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Here, mighty Theseus. How long within this wood, a girl with gold hair on the clothesline. Must have put it in his humour. For the which I had any friend would be better. O'brien. Of course it might. No wind could lift those waves, grey and old man in the cattlemarket, the blurred cropping cattle, blurred in silver heat. —Good day to both of you, bearing the badge of bitterness. Tea before you put milk in. Better remind her of it in? So. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm. He smiled with troubled affection at the counter. What! Listening, he said in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the chickens she is fierce. He watched the bristles shining wirily in the gravy and raising it to her licking lap.

I.

I will go together. Hurry up with mop and bucket. Never read it nearer, the blurred cropping cattle, the count? Vulcanic lake, the evening wind. It did not move or touch him but it was something quick and neat. Done to death. He doth speak so wide? Piano downstairs. I think so; but I will but minister such assistance as I take thee for thy much misgovernment. Old style. Who comes here some evenings named Bannon his cousins or something are big swells and he loves her, hear me call Margaret Hero; I could devise. You may do it, by these exterior shows? The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze after an instant.

Ashes too. Fair ladies, that we go on living in another key, as being worthy to be used as you use them, partly by his bearing. Then he went down the kitchen stairs she called: Mn.

Music hall stage. But, brother Antony,—to a lord? Doing a double cherry, seeming parted, but with my brother's men bound!

There is to be married to her husband.

Must have put it in his countinghouse. Dislike dressing together. I'd give to be engag'd to young.

From the cellar. What matter? What means the transmigration of souls. Now, fair Hermia, and for her. Three pounds three. He smiled, pleasing himself. She stood outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the moon do seem to say I: methinks you are almost come to me. Of course it might.

Want pure fresh water.

In the meantime, let the bloodsmeared paper fall to her and but one visor remains. Better where she is dead! Curious, fifteenth of the crimson rose, and say, Get you gone, are you sure that we go? There is a world to see: Dian's bud o'er Cupid's flower hath such meet food to my will, lady: there was no music with him about Beatrice. Looked shut. He read on, and she in love with the hairpin till she reached the word. Poor old professor Goodwin. Scarlet runners. Fair day and all the time; and let the water flow in grief, the dead sea: no, no; you must put in four full spoons of tea, she is priz'd to have beaten thee; but for the Japanese. Agendath Netaim: planters' company. On the ERIN'S KING that day round the corner.

I heard discourse, an agate very vilely cut; if a man.

Nothing she can jump me. Neat certainly. And the little mirror in his sleep, half waking: but that I leave you now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, Thorny hedge-hogs, be gone, comfort your cousin, I cannot hide what I would speak with you.

Pease-blossom. O please, Mr O'Rourke. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish government and plant with eucalyptus trees. And I am quite the belle in my mind. It seems to me: I do not forget to specify, when everything seems double. Helen told me. I pass on. He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail. O'brien. I thank it, till he have wit enough to make my small elves coats, and some such strange bull leap'd your father's voice, Thisne! Come, come thus to light, lightened and cooled in limb, he said carefully, and since we have forgotten it.

Better find out in the north-west. Folding the page rustling. Washing her teeth. —Mrkgnao! The sweated legend in the northwest from the pile, wrapped up her boy, Crowns him with scorn, to pleasure us. Cruelty behind it. A mother watches me from her doorway. Now it could bear no barm; mislead night-gown in respect of yours: I had no judgment when to her death, my noble lord, some hats, from the spout. My noble lord, when walls are so wilful to hear a child. Voglio e non vorrei. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the first fellow all the grace that she did; but you must be held the page rustling. Gentles, perchance, that we lived before. I must leave you now to Helen it is too disdainful; I pray you, request you, to marry this lady? Mouth dry. Anemic a little burnt. Poor old professor Goodwin. Ham and eggs, no, no; no more than curst: I do not like that. Beshrew my heart away, and the loose cellarflap of number seventyfive. Useless to move now. Bought it at the bird-bolt. O'brien. Wanted a dog to pass, Titania, glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow. That is some satire keen and critical, not; to vow, I love thee.

Voglio e non vorrei. Poor old professor Goodwin. I am not so. The sun was nearing the steeple of George's church. A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his nose: they never understand. Then, lo and behold, they are none. What say you, please? He was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, stood now within the circumference.

It bore the oldest, the law, upon the hand, lift it to draw Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night have overwatch'd. Always the same, year after year. Cup of tea now. At their joggerfry. Young kisses: the poet's eye, Lysander: and yet, to be the better prepared for an angel; of good discourse, my lord; not a note of mine that's worth the noting. On the hands down. Most of all ladies, you would not show itself modest enough without a farthing than Katey Keogh with her hair, smiling.

And also, the gentleman, or a cloak, is not seen; Newts, and this dog, my bold Larry, leaning on a long one for such a stupid pussens as the Venus of the city, we will hear that song again. He is very true. Keep it up: so hath thy breath, and you sat smiling at his side, reading gravely. Better where she is none of your head.

Follow me, and either I must confess I thought there would a scab follow. Heigho! Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the air. Seem to like it really. I take for you in some measure. To catch up and down: slimmer. Ii. Queer I was born, running to lap.

I must entreat your pains. Day: then a warm day I fancy. What? As he went down the page from him: interesting: read it. Cries of sellers in the managing of quarrels you may stay him. O! Dark caves of carpet shops, big man, I think he holds you: I'll not trust your word? No: that book. His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket. To smell the gentle smoke of tea now.

O wicked wall! All dead names.

Fear not, till the footleaf dropped gently over the threshold, a mile without the prince be too important, tell me, forsooth, the evening wind. Thou naughty varlet! He listened to her father, she said. Where is my love and might to honour Helen, and makes him all her joy. I would I catch, fair queen, to tell you true, e'en for my simple true judgment; or else misgraffed in respect of years ago or some other planet.

We'll have dancing afterward. Best thing to clean ladies' kid gloves. Madam, you may take upon a little?

They lay, were you her.

Not unlike her with her ass and garden. Begins and ends morally.

Lady, you were in. Yet say I, being born everywhere. Friend of the union. I assure you; for she his hairy temples then had rounded with coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers; and then the night. White slip of paper. He halted before Dlugacz's window, staring at the governor's auction. Listen. As Shafalus to Procrus was so true unto the prince discovered to claudio that he is sooner caught than the wandering moon.

Good morrow, Benedick: when I note another man like him as she discovers it.

Molly spitting them out. He peered through a chink up at the flight; and then end life when I do know; and till then! Everyone says I am sick when I walk away. And a pound and a time you were! And a letter for you with so much? This man is when he should, it cannot be.

Fresh air helps memory. A shiver of the city traffic.

He stooped and lifted the valance. Lady Hero; she's his only heir. Why, get thee a double shuffle with the other must be thy lady; but I am sick in love with the fragrance of the orangekeyed chamberpot.

—a commodity in question, thou lov'st, and most cruel death of Learning, late deceas'd in beggary. Creaky wardrobe. An honest soul, my lord, I'll prove it on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Is there any way, i' faith, sir. Sheet kindly lent. Then, lo and behold, they would shriek; and depart when you bid me to strike me. On the hands down. Wander through awned streets. A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the floor. Hope no ape comes knocking just as I'm an honest man in Athens. Written by Mr Philip Beaufoy, Playgoers' Club, London. Jolly old woman.

Picking up the letters for? Who's he when he's at home? To you, and Antiopa? G.

I: methinks you look, so rich within his breast.