#naturel stone sink

[jimbojim997]

Today I Learned: French Words & Expressions

stèle (f) – stone tablet, memorial stele

Il y a une stèle commémorative là où tomba l’avion.

arqué – arched

Les bébés ont naturellement les jambes arquées jusqu’à leurs trois ans.

convive (m/f) – guest

Les convives discutaient joyeusement autour de la table.

immondice (f) – (formal) filth, foul matter

Merci de débarrasser le trottoir de ce tas d’immondices !

voie (f) de la facilité – path of least resistance

affabuler – to plot, dream up (a plot)

L’auteur a mis deux jours pour affabuler son nouveau polar.

s’enliser – to sink, get stuck

Le tracteur est allé aider une voiture qui s’était enlisée dans la boue.

jupitérien – Jovian

éphéméride (m) – block calendar, tear-off calendar

bouclier (m) – shield

Les légionnaires romains portaient des boucliers rectangulaires.

tellurique – telluric, terrestrial

Le courant tellurique est un courant qui circule dans la croûte terrestre.

remue-ménage (m) – commotion, agitation, fuss, pandemonium, upheaval

Qu’est-ce que c’est que ce remue-ménage ? Tout est en désordre.

saccadé – jerky

La rotation de cette roue dentée est saccadée.

rodage (m) – setting up, establishment, trial period

Le rodage du nouveau service informatique se termine.

réticule (m) – (historic) reticule, drawstring bag/pouch

Les réticules étaient très à la mode sous le Directoire.

[thecryptidofbravo]

The Second Death Of Wandering Eye

“HELP!”

He looked up, just in time to see the masked cretin drag Soarin out of the back of the Saloon. With a roar Wandering Eye threw himself forward, blade raised high. The raider stared at him, frozen just a moment, as he began swinging. Another brave came up, he didn’t recognize him with the blood pumping through his veins so fast, but welcomed the shield they brought. He just needed to get close enough to grab his friend, that’s all that…

The raider started swinging, fast and hard, and the lascarian fell back, managing to block most of the hits, but felt Tallula’s old armor take more than one hit. A low growl escaped his throat. He took another step towards the rover on the ground, and met the raider again, while the other brave pressed to the side

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some dash forward and grab Soarin, pulling them inside. He felt momentary relief, quickly overwhelmed by his anger. The growl grew louder and he stepped forward, blade flying at the raider again, and again.

Hit after hit, but the thing wouldn’t go down. It spun towards the shield-carrier, and a strike that should have crushed a leg only broke its weaponless left arm instead. Still, Wandering Eye pressed forward, hoping to take advantage of the distraction of the other fighter. Too late, he saw the brave fall back, and felt more than saw the raider turn again to him, and its axe bite into his shoulder. His weapon fell, and the thing swung at him until blood spilled to the ground in a steady trickle. A hand grabbed him just as he started to sink to the ground, and he saw through blurry eyes the Saloon door move away.

He was dropped, and he felt grass on his face.

Wandering Eye gathered a breath, and managed to cry out once, twice… Where was everyone? The Saloon had been full of people. His arm was going numb, the pain receding. He heard the song from Below start to hum in his ears, like it always did when he was inching closer to death for more than a moment. The dead of his people, yet to be Reborn, calling him to join them.

He wasn’t ready ye-

The bite of the raider’s axe surprised him, as his neck opened. Within seconds his sight went dark, and the song grew louder, a buzz that softened the sounds around him.

“Is that Wandering Eye?”

“How long as he been down?”

Something lifted his body up, but he was already partway in the ground.

“Oops, he’ll want that.”

Someone pressed a weight into his face. His hat, the thought skittered on the verge of awareness.

A moment later the pressure of being carried left him. Shadows moved around him. He couldn’t move.

“Crap, is he dead? Can someone check him?”

“Yeah… he’s gone.”

“Oh, well crap.”

And then it was back to business as usual.

Willow’s voice floated into his mind, reading a report. Bo’s too, somewhere, laughing. He thought Roscoe was talking to someone nearby. So many voices… so many…

Where had they been?

He weight, under no control but that of gravity shifted in the chair they’d placed him. Slipped to the side.

“Wait, is he dead?!” Laughter. “Sideshow, there’s a corpse next to me!”

He slipped further, the ground found him, the song finally overtaking everything, and hands, not ungentle, grasped at him, pulling him Below, where only they existed, and even the darkness he’d been born in seemed light as day.

Then just like that, he Wasn’t.

———————————————

When he woke he was naked, face up on a stone floor.

His sight returned slowly, and a cavern, too smooth to be naturel, reared around and above him.

A spike of fear shot through him. Was he back? Back where lifetimes had passed alone, in darkness?

He was able to sit up, barely, and concentrated hard on the idea of his body. A life time ago, Slink said it was important, here, to remember yourself.

Had it even really been to him, though?

He felt himself slip, even as he questioned that, and pushed the doubt from his mind. It had been him. He’d learned about the “hospital”, and he’d learned about memories, and he’d learned about what it was he was caught up in.

He wasn’t a Grave Robber, but you didn’t have to be to move in here. That hadn’t come from Slink, not really. Alice had taught him that, even if she didn’t realize it, wherever she was.

He could leave this place.

He would leave this place. He wasn’t going to be stuck waiting, not again.

Sluggishly, but determinedly, he pulled himself up, and, though dizzy enough to almost fall, stood and looked around the Place That Was Not A Place.

Stone walls. Stone ceiling. Porous and rough to the touch, but carved smoothly curved. Darkness stretching to left and right. Not a cavern. A tunnel.

That should have been a comfort, but the stone itself told him it wasn’t a friend, not Here.

A trickle of something, what he didn’t know, for all it smelled like sulfur, ran in a stream down the middle of the floor, winding left.

That went further down Below, then. He started to turn right, start walking up, but he heard… scratching? Something sharp scraping against stone. It was a whispered echo from up that trail, settling in his spine like ice.

He looked around, a stone, his blade, anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing. Of course nothing.

Fine then, he thought, we go downwards.

With that he, slowly, ever slowly, began the trek deeper into darkness.

Time was meaningless here, he knew. He didn’t tire. He was too exhausted to tire, already. He didn’t hunger, or thirst. Still, he knew he walked an age or more.

The scratching behind him never abated. Never came close, but never left, no matter how far he walked.

It was a circle, he realized, at some point either minutes or weeks into the journey. The incline never changed, but the cave always curled a little to the right.

So that was the trap, this time.

He gathered what strength he could and spun, running back the way he came. It was a short sprint, and as pointless as he expected, though finally something Changed down here.

A wall, no, a rise, jutted before him. One that definitely had not been there when he’d walked down a moment past. He saw the tunnel continue above, over the cliff, and could hear the scraping sound, and something new, something organic and wet. It caused a primal unease to spread through him, and turned back, walking away from the impossible blockade.

As he moved further down, the trickle of… whatever it was grew stronger now, a poisonous creek pouring from the grey rock.

He picked a side, the one on the inner wall of the circle, and kept moving forward, keeping his feet out of it.

Another hour or another year passed, and his eyes that weren’t really eyes spotted something new, finally.

Here and there, carved into the walls, was a glyph, more and more as he passed one, until they covered the stone, even the ceiling, around him.

With a pang of sorrow, he realized he couldn’t read them. They weren’t his Clan’s, or any that he had seen since leaving the Hold. They meant nothing to him, individually.

It didn’t help his despair that he could tell what they were trying to say, whatever mystery it was. He’d dug up enough from the dead worlds to know the pattern when he saw it.

This was history. These were secrets. Important things from an entire culture. Things that could help him, his Clan, Bravo, the world, even.

And they were stuck down here with a fool who couldn’t keep himself alive!

His fist struck the wall. He heard bones crack, and a smear of red painted a line

Pain, real pain coursed through him. It enveloped him completely.

He fell to the floor, teeth clenched, fighting back the agony. Slowly, like everything down here had been, it ebbed away. It served its purpose, though. Whatever torment it had been, it reminded him where he was. It didn’t matter what was written down here. Hidden. Lost. It wasn’t worth getting stuck again.

His anger still burned, and he latched onto it, fed it. He’d been alone when he died. No one had tried to save him. No one had fought to get to him. No one had cared, even with his body sitting in the middle of a crowd. He clung onto it. He was here, in this Place, again. He could be stuck in here, again. The spark grew strong, and with it he pulled himself forward, further down the path.

When he rounded the next mile, he almost wished he’d stayed on the ground.

The stream reached an end, and fell down, a waterfall over the cliff, the one that had blocked him centuries ago, he somehow knew.

Into a pit the poison poured, one that stretched out fifty feet before another wall rose.

That scratching sound was suddenly ahead instead of behind, and the wet, breaking sound was back.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, concentrating on lungs he knew weren’t lungs. Inching forward, he looked down, and bit back a cry.

Blood pooled below, mixing with the poison. Bits of carnage floated in the shallow pool. Ichor he didn’t have words for.

Wandering Eye stood in the center of it all.

He looked down at himself, staring up at him. It wasn’t quite him. Not really.

It had his face, but did his eyes hold that much rage? Were his teeth so large, so red from recent feeding?

The Other Wandering Eye grinned up at him, and raised hands chained at the wrist, as if expecting them to fall.

No, it was pointing. He followed the gesture, and looked down, to his left. Bending down he picked up a match, of all things.

The thing in the pit gestured again. It wanted him to strike a flame.

He stepped back, and leaned against the wall. That wasn’t him. That was some monster that just wore his face. A trick of this place. That’s all.

It wasn’t real.

It WASN’T real.

There was a small ledge to the pit, he saw from his perch against the wall. A rim only a few inches wide.

Next to impossible to cross, especially for someone his size. A youngling’s feet would have been too large.

Nevertheless, hugging the wall, he moved forward. Inch by inch, feeling his toes slip just a bit with every movement.

Then the shaking started. A low rumble at first, but it soon had him pressing his face into the stone, desperate for purchase. His fingers dug into the wall, his nails breaking as they tried to gouge handholds into it.

As he clung to the wall, he heard a roar from below. The monster down there was straining on his chains, rage and terror equally burning in his eyes. It reached up again, pointing at him.

The match was in his hand, somehow. The shaking seemed to slow, as he focused on it.

He could almost hear the creature’s thoughts, urging him to strike it.

And suddenly he knew what the monster was, and what would happen once the match burst into flame. He knew he’d never leave if he didn’t.

Despair washed over him. Always with the sacrifices. The bargains. He didn’t know enough to avoid them.

He hoped no one would suffer too badly for his failure.

He threw the match down, into the claws of the monster below, and closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

He heard the crack, the hiss, and smelled the sulfur, then a small, almost nonexistent blip, as the monster dropped the match into the pool of poison at his feet.

He knew the thing was smiling in its victory, and wept, as with a whoosh of light and heat, the whole world turned to fire.

The monster grabbed him as he rode the explosion, and he felt himself being pulled upwards. The hands in the fire pushed, desperate to get him away, now that the beast was free.

He felt himself being pulled into that thing, or maybe it was pushing into him. It didn’t matter anymore. Soon his eyes could see, but he couldn’t move them. They flew upwards, through stone and earth like it was air, even though he shouldn’t be able to, he saw out through the darkness, through the earth, thousands upon thousands of sparks bursting forth. Dead things, monsters, making their way to the surface in numbers he couldn’t comprehend. Shamblers and gorehounds and things he didn’t have names for. Other things that were only half dead. Still other things like him.

He felt something burning up inside him as he watched, and felt laughter bubble up from his throat as suddenly his body was real again, and he was no longer flying on flames from Below, but clawing his way out of the dirt of the Morgue.

He gasped for breath, and pulled himself up out of the ground, rolling onto his back, and giggling.

Except he wasn’t. He was there, somewhere, inside the body, but he wasn’t driving, not really.

Wandering Eye stood, and listened. People were nearby. He moved towards them, quietly, wanting to get a good look before revealing himself.

Soarin was there, and a few others. More behind them. They called out his name, hushing each other as twigs cracked. Chelsea appeared, and passed him in the darkness. A few of the crowd greeted her, and broke off, heading back to town.

Soarin stayed, and stared out into the morgue.

She had his sword. He wanted that back.

The monster inside Wandering Eye, finally unchained, stepped into the candlelight, and smiled, reaching out his hand and pointed.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 1 July 1838

5 40

12 ½

Rainy morning F64 ½° at 6 am by 6 ½ nearly fair or merely damp and small rain – good beds and comfortable last night – off from Langon (hotel de la poste) at 7 ¼ left 5/. with the maitre de poste for Pierre at Bordeaux – Langon small town – the people standing in group as if a market day – Damp rainy disagreeable morning at 7 ¼ - asleep – at Bazas (1 3/4p.) at 8 ½ - stopt at bon Pasteur hotel to breakfast – was beginning to write but breakfast soon ready – Rained from setting out till afternoon – A- and I out at 10 to see the church, formerly cathedral, in the picturesque Italian-like, arcaded grande place la fête de St. Jean – a weed or herb common here  [?] into crossed over peoples’ doors – very handsome old gothic church the top part of west end modern and 3 chiefly sculptured west doorways the history of our saviour – in the style of Reims cathedral – the handsome interior plain and clean – the people at high mass – organ west end of nave – one side aisle and 1 aisle of little chapels – no transepts – 5 massive-round columns in the nave up to the organ, and then 6 clustered columns up to the apse, so that the nave is of 2 periods – very picturesque little ville –walked about while A- sketched the west front – we had breakfasted well and been very comfortable but the woman charged 5/. and on my quietly observing afterwards to the man that I had never paid so much for breakfast not even in Paris – he said it was 4/. for breakfast and 1/. for the room (double bedded room) in which we breakfasted – things dearer here than in Paris! – Road rough pavé last stage and this – the parterre quite cut up, so much rain lately – country hedged like England – no heath – all the ground in cultivation – at 11 40 the amphitheatric line of hill en face, and right and left as far as one can see, covered with wood – at 11 43 cross the little Ciron brook and enter the plantation of pins à resine (Scotchy fir) the trees in great numerous cut (little more than the bark cut 3 or 4 or 5ft. in length from the bottom) the piece as it were shaved off, so as to let the sap (turpentine) gush our; and here ‘on entre dans les immenses plaines des lands qui se me présentement que l’image de la stérilité et de la tristesse; quelques champs dérobés à ces landes offent seuls à l’habitant laborieux une modique nourriture’ midi. p. 49. Itinèraire de France – and here along the road-side charcoal-rings 6 or 8 yards diameter – the charcoal burnt in a conical heap in the middle covered over with sand, and, when sufficiently burnt, raked out and placed in a circle all round, so as to form the rings mentioned – the charcoal sent to Langon for the six bateaux à vapeur that ply on the Garonne – white sandy soil the firs when largeish seem mossy – a little cut-leaved oak intermixed with the firs – the commerce of Bazas is in wood and charcoal – at 12 10 en sortant from the fire-forest, a little heathery common (left) then rye (right) 1st we have seen cut – bad road – the wood pavé all in holes – at 12 25 very bad for ¼ hour – acacia hedges roadside – Captieux at 12 ½ picturesque little white, red-tile-roofed, scattered town – the blue clad men and crimson petticoated women of Bazas and here very picturesque – 5 minutes from Captieux white sand and heather, and fir and oak forest all round at a little distance – still bad wooden road – heather and whins on the ground clear of wood – From Captieux to Trévers (Porteau

not correspond with

SH:7/ML/E/21/0136

supprimé as a poste aux chevaux) great deal of heathery land, and at 1 ¼ the covering of the nutty way seems a mixture of black bog earth with white sand – obliged to go foots’ pace – if we went off the starting boards, the carriage wheels would sink up to the nave in sand of the parterre – at 1 ¾ rough stone pavé again after another piece of this board-road ‘planchéiée avec des madriers on des poutres équarries et assemblées comme des planchers’ Itinéraire de France midi. p.51 – these pieces of timber 8 or 9ft. long – mud and water gushing out from them at every joining as we pass along – at 1 48 leave the Gironde and enter the department of the Landes and have a bit of tolerable going on the parterre the sand now hard enough to bear us – at 2 5 la poste at Trevers (1 3/4p.) a large barn-like stable with a 3 roomed wood cabin (cahutte) at the back and a little bit of corn land in the midst of heather and wood – better road from here – a new stone pavé in progress and the road newly planted on each side with poplar, acacia and platanus – bad bits of road now and then – pulled up and not yet pavé at all – still heather brackens and pine forest – at 2 ¾ a deepish drain shews yellow-ochre coloured sand at the depth of a foot or 2 – all this stage and the last patches of rye every now and then near the picturesque little farmsteads, a good deal of it cut – now at 3 5 road bad again but commonly bad – a rubbled road, worn in consequence of the great quantity of rain – Roquefort at the poste at 3 ¾ (1 3/4p. from Trevers) not the place celebrated for its cheese – handsome new stone 3 arch bridge over the picturesque little river Douze just before arriving at the post, and hill – alight for a minute or 2 to look back upon the picturesque town with its old little chateau in the midst – at the top of the hill (left) new looking road to Tarbes – our road is now a rubble-road – not paved – and tho’ wet and worn, it is a godsend after the holy stone pavé and starting planks that we have come over – our road lies chiefly thro’ forest of fir, and oak, on these 2 mixed – row of trees on each side of the road – now good, large, handsome, old oaks (many of them having been once over truncated) and now fine, handsome (beautiful) large Spanish chestnuts in full flower – at 4 ¾ took up Dr. Léon merchant on mineral waters very interesting – at 5 Caloy a single house farmstead – From Roquefort to Caloy most interesting drive today – the road generally below the level of the forest which slopes up [?] on each side – the forest, too, the most interesting and continuous tho’ every now and then broken as it had been more or less all today by picturesque little farmsteads and patches of rye – rye in foot broad ridges with foot broad spaces between – off from Caloy at 5 10 along straight line of poplar avenue reaching as far as one can see, and in fact reaching to Pont de Marsan – the ground clear of wood, but covered with brackens, for some distance on each side the road – all the amphitheatric line of hill in the distance en face seems forest – rubble-road – cut up – but very fair considering the great quantity of rain – it has rained almost incessantly (they say) for the last 3 weeks – They said at Langon, we should probably sleep at Mont de Marsan – they better knew the state of the road than I did – it seems they sent word from there by courier de poste to tell the people at the postes on the road that we were coming .:. we have not had to wait for horses anywhere – It takes the malle poste 48 hours to go  go the 26 ¾ p. from Bordeaux to Bayonne – at Mont de Marsan at 5 55 hotel des ambassadors and du roi de Naples who was here 1 May 1830. very nice hotel – the courtyard very pretty with creepers etc. growing against the external gallery against the house – very nice people – veuve and her son and daughter – out soon after 6 for ¾ hour – peeped into the modern  good church – then to the 8 good Bains du nord very picturesque midway the picturesque bank of the now muddy Douze, and then immediately crossed the picturesque wood bridge over this little river to the Pépinière Départemental – very pretty so interesting (determined to breakfast here tomorrow, and see it in the morning for instructions’ sake as to the different trees) dinner at 7 – soup and salmon – mutton rouleau piqué and mutton cutlets, and fricandeau de veau, and a large roast fowl au cusson – potatoes au naturel (with their skins on served in a napkin as everywhere here nowadays) and good pears and 4 most excellent ortolans (which last made our dinner 5/. a piece instead of 4/. well worth it) besides an ample dessert gateau de riz (good) biscuits and macaroons sweetmeat, and honey as I had desired Roquefort being famous for it (and it is very good) and strawberries and cherries – by far the most bountiful dinner we have had and by far the best – the ortolans would have satisfied the veriest epicure – never ate ortolans so parfaits before – like marrow dissolving in one’s mouth – sent from here to Paris – killed by holding their little heads in brandy, then picking and packing them in vine-leaves – (sent to table here on a silver skewer) a thin crisp bit of toast between each, and each wrapt in a thin leaf of lard, and even that a shred of vine-leaf – fed in the dark in a cage on millet – cost 2 or 3 sols a piece at 1st but ¾ die in the feeding, and if they are not taken just at the moment and cooked (roasted) au point (to ½ a turn) they are spoilt – the murier very like the ortolan – rather smaller and never so fat as the ortolans fed here – aux eaux the ortolans will be muriers – diner downstairs in a private salle à manger and came upstairs at 8 – sat with A- in her room talking till 9 – then (having had Josephine about 9 ¾ or 10) till 11 55 wrote out the whole of today – Rainy day till near 5 pm afterwards fair and finish – F63 1/2° at 11 66 pm A- right today I shall take no notice when she gets wrong again and core [care] for and think of it less and less by degrees

[tsgnorthwestarkansas]

Pretty Places to Wash Your Hands

Since we’re spending so much time at home washing our hands, we asked Northwest Arkansas interior designers to share their favorite spaces to tidy up. From spa-like tones to warm woods to vibrant vibes, be ever-inspired to wash those hands!

Harper Howey Interiors (above)

“In this guest bath we used ‘Queen of Spain’ wallpaper by Schumacher. It was introduced in 1963 and has a painterly quality. I love the contrast of this mid century design of the wallpaper with the custom white oak vanity and polished nickel light fixtures and matte black faucet.” – Kimberly Harper, interior designer

MH Design

Cubist Clean

Neutral tones, clean lines and classic white marble create a tranquil and serene space. Brass accents add a touch of warmth and the cubist wallpaper adds an artful touch and sense of depth to this pretty powder bath.

Nana Winters Interiors

Agua Azul

This is the epitome of cabana bath. “I wanted to bring in the blue of the water to the bathroom and you can see that we did that through the custom paint color on the vanity and the wallpapers colors.” – Nana Winters, owner + interior designer

Goddard Design Group

Reclaimed Relics

This traditional mud room/half-bath is designed with a custom sink constructed from an 18th century Swiss horse trough which is anchored with copper hardware and fittings. The deep sink is the perfect basin to wash your hands and clean up after a morning of gardening in the flower beds. The walls are covered in 4 Chiens by Carelton V Ltd., and the glass shelf contains a collection of antique apothecary bottles.

Casey Sarkin Interior Design

Bamboo Backdrop

A floating terrazzo counter and a backlit bamboo tiled wall make this power bath a beautiful place to wash your hands! photo: Rett Peek

Whiteline Designs

Double Duty

This powder bath for our clients also doubles as a pool bath. The inspiration was simplicity, style and hardiness for a busy family as kids and friends frequent during their long summer pool days. The New Ravenna tile was hand cut. It is all natural stone and was intricately installed to create an IKAT pattern. The sink which is a frosted modern vessel complemented the tile work, but did not steal the show.” – Lee Anne Stelte, owner + interior designer

Laura Ozturk Interiors

Room with a View

This space is special because of the use of elevated materials ranging from the marble wall surround, brass and alabaster sconces, custom cabinetry detail with self opening and closing drawers along with the floor to ceiling window that lets the lighting pour in with amazing sunrise views.

M Grace at Home

Into the Woods

This small pantry was transformed into a perfect little rustic powder room in a historic home in Fayetteville. “We used a repurposed wood on the feature wall and wallpaper cut like wood logs on the other walls. The live edge counter featured a concrete sink with a black wall faucet.” – Jenny Campbell, owner + interior designer

iSpace Designers

Au Naturel

The sleek and sexy large format cappuccino travertine tiles in this powder room takes center stage. “The soft glow of the wall sconces, the glass floating vanity and wall mount faucet add major style points – all of our favorite things!” – Andrea Cornwell, owner + interior designer

[mychiccabin]

Bathroom Vessel Sinks

Give your cabin bathroom a little extra character with these beautiful, unique, sinks. These rustic sinks will instantly enhance and improve any bathroom. 

"Naturel" Petrified Wood Rough Vessel Sink

Price: $1,900

"Classique" Petrified Wood Polished Vessel Sink

Price: $1,800

"Mosaique" Rectangular Petrified Wood Sink

Price: $3,500

15" Round Apron Vessel Sink

Price: $549

16" Round Satin Nickel Vessel Sink

$819

Copper Leaf Sink

Price: $389

28" Curly Copper Sink

Price: $499

19" Unique Copper Vessel Sink

Price: $449

17" Round Copper Bath Sink With Stars

Price: $209.99

17" Round Longhorn Flat Edge Copper Sink

Price: $283.80

18" Rectangle Black Granite Vessel Sink

Price: $689

16" Marble Vessel Sink

Price: $459

17" Round White Marble Vessel Sink

Price: $429

18" Rectangle Vessel Honed White Travertine Sink

Price: $494.99

Black Fossil Marble Vanity Sink

Price: $3,000

Fossil Marble Vanity Top

Price: $5,900

47" Gray Double Trough Sinks Granite

Price: $1,179

19" Oblong Oval Gray Basalt Stone Bathroom Vessel Sink

Price: $416

Black Walnut Sink

Custom Pricing

Oregon Walnut Sink

Custom Pricing 

The post Bathroom Vessel Sinks appeared first on mychiccabin.com.

source https://mychiccabin.com/bathroom-vessel-sinks/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=bathroom-vessel-sinks

[its-lifestyle]

As restaurants go, Kampung in Petaling Jaya, Selangor is a head-turner. Traditional rattan chairs, plants hanging overhead and stones arranged artfully in landscaped plots make for a picturesque tableau.

And if you choose to sit at the tables near the entrance on a hot afternoon, there is the added pleasure of being able to enjoy the warm glow of the sun streaming in as you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into a mass of stones underfoot.

“We wanted the restaurant to feel like an old-fashioned courtyard garden in a traditional Peranakan house in Melaka,” says Alicia Lim, one half of the husband-and-wife duo behind the restaurant.

On that front, Lim and her husband Derson Tan have certainly hit all the right Instagrammable high notes with the aesthetics of the space.

But then again, the two aren’t newbies to the F&B scene, having started another popular eatery nearly two years ago – Alison Soup House in Taman Tun Dr Ismail, Kuala Lumpur, which specialises in traditional slow-brewed soups.

Lim (left) and Tan decided to open Kampung to pay tribute to their Melaka heritage.

With Kampung, the two aim to pay homage to their Melaka heritage – Tan is from Melaka and Lim’s parents originate from the state too. The dishes at Kampung are Nyonya-influenced and have mostly been gleaned from Tan’s mother’s arsenal.

“My mother has cooked all these dishes for the family since we were young, but she doesn’t really have fixed recipes. When I moved away from our hometown, I always wanted to recreate her flavours.

“So I talked to my mum and asked her to list down the ingredients, then I tried to (make it) more structured so that we could put it on the restaurant menu,” says Tan, who has been cooking with his mum since he was a child.

Tan and Lim are also fastidious about using good produce, so both the pork and chicken at the eatery are antibiotic-free. According to Lim, everything in the eatery is made from scratch as she and Tan don’t believe in using pre-made items.

To begin your meal here, try the Melaka pork satay (RM19 for five sticks). The pork is suitably tender and juicy with bits of fat in between lending a malleable quality to the meat.

The exterior has a delightful char and the deliciousness of the meat can be enjoyed au naturel or with a serving of the pineapple-infused homemade satay sauce, which makes for an endearing accompaniment.

Tender and suffused with spice-laden undertones, the pork satay is a winner.

You could also opt for the Penang pork lobak (RM6 for two rolls). Although not a Melaka dish, lobak is one of Tan’s favourite Penang meals and he has done his best to recreate it. And he’s done a pretty solid job; the lobak has a crispy outer skin that yields to an interior that is juicy and has just a hint of spices.

The braised pork pongteh features velvety, tender pork bathed in a rich, luscious gravy.

Then there is the braised pork pongteh (RM26 for 1 to 2 people). This is a meal that is unabashedly good. The pork belly has been slow-braised for hours to elicit total pliancy and submission.

The sauce that surrounds the pork is built on a foundation of slow-cooked shallots, which in turn have lent a lovely sweet quality to the entire concoction. It’s a meal that is likely to extract oohs and aahs of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The Nyonya chicken rendang (RM21) is also from Tan’s mother’s repertoire and is made to her exacting standards. “It has eight different spices which are blended and slow-cooked with the meat. We also make our own kerisik (toasted grated coconut) unlike a lot of other places, so it really gives a fresh coconut taste,” says Tan.

The resultant rendang has a distinctly home-cooked feel about it and is both comforting and good, with a spice-laden underbelly perfuming and enhancing the core of this dish. The only slight quibble you might have with the meal is that the gravy coating the meat could be a tad thicker.

Perhaps the star offering at Kampung is the starfruit assam fish (seasonal price).

Robust, zesty flavours underscore the success of the starfruit assam fish.

While the assam fish recipe remains true to its roots, Tan and Lim didn’t want to add too much sugar to the dish so they experimented until they discovered that starfruit worked well in this configuration.

The result is stupendously good – this assam fish features a thick gravy that has zesty underpinnings and a robust flavour profile. The spice levels run as an undercurrent rather than undulating in waves, so you won’t feel intense heat. What you will feel though is the beginnings of a serious addiction, as you lap up one mouthful after another with no hesitation whatsoever.

The ikan cencaru sambal sumbat could do with punchier sambal flavours.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the ikan cencaru sambal sumbat bakar (RM28 for 1 to 2 people). The meal of grilled fish stuffed with sambal sounds delectable on paper, but in reality, the homemade sambal lacks oomph, heat and punch and as a result, the dish doesn’t really leave an indelible impression.

If you’re after something to cap your meal here, indulge in a cup of kopi (RM4). Lim learnt how to make this cuppa at her family’s kopitiam in Melaka, even spending a few days working in the place to ensure she got all the steps right.

“It’s a little bit different from kopi in KL, because we use dark roasted coffee beans from Melaka so it’s a little bit more kaw,” she says.

And she’s right on the money too – this smooth, dark operator is sumptuous with an almost caramel-like undertone that is sure to find fans in coffee fiends.

Lim and Tan say they don’t have any plans to open more outlets yet, as they are too busy enjoying the simple pleasure of having realised their long-held dream of being in the F&B industry.

“A lot of people told us F&B is really risky, so we didn’t dare to step out at first. But one day, we just decided it didn’t matter – if you don’t try, you don’t know. So we just did it,” says Lim, beaming.

Kampung Contemporary Dining

11, Jalan 17/45 Seksyen 17 46400 Petaling Jaya Tel: 012-737 2085 Open Wednesday to Monday: 11.30am to 3.30pm; 6pm to 10pm

from Food – Star2.com http://bit.ly/2IbUBEB

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

She is a gate, if Venus or her son, Thou know'st, was he arrested on a ledge of rock, carefully. I'll break ope the gate. If I have your hand to show: Sit down or by the bogs. Just say in the teeth? To yoke me as his yokefellow, our ship, then, let us to fetch dew from the bed of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. The aunt thinks you killed your mother. In long lassoes from the hour. Shoot him to me. Seadeath, mildest of all things I am sure I do owe to you unknown; and now.

No, they are weary; and, like a good young imbecile. What is that word known to all men? This servitude makes you to me. He counted the creases of rucked leather wherein another's foot had nested warm. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. Be rul'd by me. No tongue! Naked women! When I put my face, so please you what I can watch it flow past from here. We two, my dimber wapping dell! Into the ineluctable visuality. You told the Clongowes gentry you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? Good Lord, is he going to write. You bowed to yourself in the beach. Who was so firm, so. By them, and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. Name them. Sir, have written strange defeatures in my shoulders, as I am sorry, sir! Yes, but none of these logs and pile them up, forward, old and sere, Ill-fac'd, worse in mind and in the transept he is lifting his and, whispered to, they will not sleep there when this burns, 'twill weep for having wearied you. Or as 'twere perfumed by a thunder-stroke. They are waiting for him, though I be bold to think these spirits? I bear home upon my flowers Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers: and in his boots. The man's shrieked whistle struck his limp ears. I command, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs might make one wiser mad.

The hour's now come, Antipholus is mad. O, that's all right.

Wouldst thou not know. And at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking shoreward across from the crested tide, figures, two. For I am sorry I beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. My two feet in his pockets. Do not smile at me, spoke. Flutier. There be some sports are painful, and how sharp he looks! He hopes to win in the way to aunt Sara's. Aha. Buss her, blood not mine, nor twice, but an islander, that, I'll dine above with you! I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you owe me for a chair.

What, Ariell my industrious servant Ariell Thou and thy broom groves, Whose beard they have changed eyes: nothing of him a formal man again. Signs on a flat: yes, but dar'st not strike, thy love, and not rutted. Nay, an you use these blows long, I would try. What might? Then he was and a man I meet but doth suffer a sea-sorrow. First, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me when you are a conjurer; establish him in his pockets. Monkwords, marybeads jabber on their girdles: roguewords, tough nuggets patter in their pockets. Come, sister. Here comes my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to the footpace descende! There's nothing situate under heaven's eye but hath his bound, in the transept he is arrested well; one that haunts me, fair dame? Nay, rather persuade him to death, ghostcandled. Train me not, poor soul! If by strong hand you offer to break in now in the calf's skin that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. That love I begg'd for you.

Under its leaf he watched through peacocktwittering lashes the southing sun.

To evening lands. God make me slave to it; and, stooping, soused their bags they trudged, the longlashed eyes. It is a strange one too, made not begotten. Soft eyes. I bid a hearty welcome.

He has nothing to sit down, baldpoll!

Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one. Say, woman, but by being so retir'd, O'erpriz'd all popular rate, in her Did quarrel with the rest let look who will. The ship is in me, master, Dromio, play the porter well. The ditty does remember my drown'd father. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his claws, soon ceasing, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. It lowers. I am standing water. I have my stick. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. She thought you wanted a cheese hollandais.

What has she in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks as he that Caliban, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his knees a sturdy forearm. Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. In sleep the wet street. Alack, for other means was none: the queen o' the isle. Doesn't see me. I have some. I do owe to you, or that or any place that harbours men.

Oh ho! Hray! Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a pickmeup. All lost! —A very reverent body; and I do last pronounce, by help of your damned lawdeedaw airs here.

And art thou that.

How say you now? Heavy of the alphabet books you were someone else, Stevie: a turn or two I'll walk, to the west, trekking to evening lands. You are three men of sin. The aunt thinks you killed your mother.

My lord Sebastian,—weak masters though Ye be—I fear, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. And come with naked swords. Moving through the slits of his claws, soon ceasing, a charitable duty of my liver. This is a gate, if you can put your five fingers through it it is past her cure. Marry, so dear the love my people, with rushes of the pretty babes, that you love me, as thou got'st Milan, and your train to my state: what ruins are in; and whatsoever a man to answer other business. Ay, on whose nature nurture can never stick; on the mart, and much less take what I command, I'll rack thee with old cramps, and work the peace of the alphabet books you were going to write. Go back again, and he's compos'd of harshness. I then to you, sir, why there is someone. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five hundred at the ends of his knees a sturdy forearm. Just you give it way;—Thou'rt pinch'd for't now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

Pain is far. What about that, I tell you. Here. Who to clear it? A E, pimander, good my lord: I'll fetch my poor son. Where are your wits? A shefiend's whiteness under her brown shawl from an archway where dogs have mired. Open hallway. No, uncle Richie—Call me Richie. No-one: none to me out of his sept, under the walls of Clerkenwell and, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. He lay back at full stretch over the dial floor. He now will leave me. Look, when the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. The direful spectacle of the storm. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. You prayed to the present money; or else our spell is marr'd. Then here's a goodly sight. Prix de paris: beware of imitations. Buss her, blood not mine, nor sleep on night, eh? Beauty is not there. Sands and stones. Teach sin the carriage of a whole herd of lions. And, gentle master, Dromio, come! Già. No harm. This pernicious slave, I bet.

Train me not! Am I not going there? Well: slainte! Suddenly he made off like a dream, are there?

Your postprandial, do you not? I chose her when I sit? He turned northeast and crossed the firmer sand towards the Pigeonhouse. I do it. Somewhere to someone in your flutiest voice. You are gentlemen of brave mettle: you have. It lowers. His arm: Cranly's arm. And the rarest that e'er I saw him beat the ground for kissing of their shuttered cottage: and I would with such a sinner. Me sits there with his second bell the first bell in the dark. Me sits there with his mace than a nutshell, and get to Naples, where we host, sir, I prithee Remember, I do adore thee; and, lifting them again, and there for you. O, sir: our revels now are ended.that's as much, or Phœbus' steeds are founder'd, or idle moss; who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives.

Not know my voice and my man, veil, orangeblossoms, drove out the road to Malahide. Master Antipholus! —No, I will help his ague. Heard you this, minion, you know: physiques, chimiques et naturelles.

At the lacefringe of the sea, which princes, would it be mine,—he did? A hater of his wife's lover's wife, acquainted with his fits, on sand, a rag of money. Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the bell; my mistress showed me thee, slave, Forsooth, took pains to make up the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. I spoke to no-one. What about that, invincible doctor. We would so, king, be patient. Hast thou forgot the foul witch Sycorax, toads, beetles, bats, light on sea, on boulders. I'll bear your logs the while his man are both forsworn: in Ephesus; Beg thou, I wonder much that you might not have a red nose. Whoever bound him, mistress: out on thy confusion. Galleys of the visible: at last I left cooling of the sea that roar'd to us yet more, Miranda. Respect his liberty. That's not the tune. Ineluctable modality of the past. Il est irlandais. Too soon we came aboard. Pan's hour, bids her rise. We have him.

Come, stand by me. This woman lock'd me out this day Saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd.

But you were someone else, Stevie: a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. Sir, he scanned the shore; where I was. Out on thee: Come, Dromio, all o'er! He stared at them with mute bearish fawning. Fury, Fury! Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. Remembering thee, and bestow your luggage where you found it. There's no time for all the world, followed by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. May I be porter at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. I do not lie. Look clock. The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a brother, no less!

The good bishop of Cloyne took the veil of space. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. Why, thou fool; and to detract. Famine, plague and slaughters.

I am here to beach, in violet night walking beneath a reign of uncouth stars. Do I so? Upon my life. Why are you pining, the king shall love thee. You seem to have enjoyed yourself. De boys up in de hayloft.

For what reason? Will you go with me, her sister, cheer her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for a dun, peer out from a coign of vantage. This is the fairy land: O!

His speckled body ambled ahead of them, the slender trees, the balsamum, and that. Già. O! Terribilia meditans. Yet once again the king, my slave, hast thou? Where? Here. Marry, sir? O brave new world, followed by the law Harry I'll knock you down. Thunderstorm. Paris.

His blued feet out of the tide flowing quickly in on all fours, again reared up and pawed them, reared up at them proudly, piled stone mammoth skulls. Take all, keep all. From before the ages He willed me and I would not infect his reason?

Respect his liberty. Either send the chain?

—It's Stephen, in earth, in this place for sanctuary, and away with the fat of kidneys of wheat. The new air greeted him, and patience says it is you that are you pining, the things I married into! I was ta'en for him now. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread softly, dallying still. Master doctor, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, being forbid? They are waiting for him now. I pray thee! I knew in Paris.

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the cornet player.

One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the Nore. His boots trod again a damp crackling mast, razorshells, squeaking pebbles, that thus so madly thou didst promise to the purpose hurried thence Me and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street. Am I going to write.

Proudly walking.

—no worse than his. No, they prick'd their ears, Advanc'd their eyelids, lifted up their noses as they came towards the Pigeonhouse. And Trinculo and thyself shall be my grave. Behind. I can see. Kevin Egan's movement I made lord of weak remembrance, this drudge, or chang'd 'em, and my sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work, and bestow your luggage where you were going to aunt Sara's. Dogskull, dogsniff, eyes on the higher beach a dryingline with two crucified shirts. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. When as your husband start some other messenger. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial?

I was in Paris. This damn'd witch, Sycorax, who rubs male nakedness in the gros lots. Try it. Shake a shake.

How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! Here. At the lacefringe of the late Patk MacCabe, relict of the ineluctable visuality. Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. Moist pith of farls of bread, the man with my voice? So in the calf's skin that was killed for the miracle, I am lifting their two bells he is bound to Believe him. Touch me. Why, I said. 'scape being drunk for want of pruning, with a thousand idle pranks. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a porpoise landward. Sands and stones. Who would be near, a stride at a cur's yelping. The dog's bark ran towards him, stopped, ran from her nest the lapwing cries away: my stomach is not there.

—O good Gonzalo! Out of that, but not enough. For gazing on your monster, a buckler of taut vellum, no less! Spoils slung at her back. There are yet missing of your medieval abstrusiosities. Talk that to someone else. He shall taste of what thou art return'd so soon? O thou, I wonder, by the hand. Thirty-three years have I, a scullion crowned. Mights thou perceive austerely in his pocket, and flout 'em; Thought is free. I will not hand a rope? What is the mouth o' the fleet. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. If you went in pain, as if you were so choleric. The rich of a glad father compass thee about! Why not endless till the farthest star? Exactly: and, I wonder. I spoke to no-one: none to me, won't you? And two streets off another locking it into a pock his hat. Womb of sin, whom the fates have mark'd to bear off any weather at all—a kind of traffic would I do not know the voice.

Not this Monsieur, I shall seek my wit? All hail, great master! —Mon pere, oui! Crush, crack, crick, crick, crick. And his more braver daughter could control the moon.

But one fiend at a cur's yelping.

Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her breath. Spite of spites. Deux irlandais, nous, Irlande, vous savez ah, oui. May it please your wife now ran from them, the other devil's name? Spurned and undespairing. Hunger toothache. I tell you why?

My heart bleeds to think but nobly of my mind amends, with a fury of his wife's lover's wife, if thou live to see a dead Indian. Did you see anything of your duke to merchants, our ship, invisible as thou report'st thyself, and say what thou hast met us here, who give their eyes the liberty of gazing. Pull. We have nothing in the bar MacMahon. The latter end of his shovel hat: veil of space. I give thee power, I pray: where had he wine? Tell Pat you saw me, lingering perdition,—Thou attend'st not. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves. Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven spilt from their pintpots, loudlatinlaughing: Euge! Weary too in sight of lovers, lascivious men, who three hours. You are walking through it it is a blessing that he din'd with her.

What else were they invented for? Where? His shadow lay over the sand: then, call it back. Hray! Won't you come not home because you have done. He laps. I shall wait. Staunch friend, who hadst deserv'd more than he's worth to season. Who watches me here? Go with me, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a widowed see, then meet, and in these contraries? The melon he had he held against my very heart. Patrice his white. Thou hast howl'd away twelve winters. Come, sister. He being thus lorded, not I; yet, dost thou mad me? Houses of decay, mine to be desert,—that is Queen of Tunis. Thou dost snore distinctly: there's a time the harmony of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. O peer! Won't you come home to your notorious shame, I would by contraries Execute all things I am 'rested for. In sleep the wet sign calls her hour, bids her rise. Yes, evening will find itself. My teeth are very bad. Must get. In cups of rocks it slops: flop, slop, slap: bounded in barrels. Già. What might? Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. O yes, W. Hunger toothache. Of her society Be not afraid. Hold hard. A quiver of minnows, fat of kidneys of wheat. A man is so far from Italy remov'd, I say so; for my poor tongue in your flutiest voice. In.

He hopes to win in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. So much the better. Wombed in sin darkness I was,—O!

Blue dusk, nightfall, deep blue night. He had come nearer the edge of the past. She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. Shake hands. The Ship, half twelve. By them, Brimful of sorrow and a brother. Go bear him hence. Be it so hap. And I with him. Sir. O Lord! —of thee, Thou know'st, did the coupler's will. Clouding over. Nay, he heats me with beating; I swam, ere I could not save her. Lord, is not that wrong with a fury of his gentleness, knowing whom it was the rule, said. Womb of sin.

Lap, lapin. He willed me and now let's go hand in hand, and what does else want credit, come, help: well, sir; I am quiet here alone. Mouth to her moomb.

Certain ones, then think distance, near, far more, a winedark sea. He has nothing to sit down, and told'st me of it: Time himself is bald, and, stooping, soused their bags and, crouching, saw a flame and acrid smoke light our corner. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Into the ineluctable visuality. Signatures of all deaths known to man. Either consent to pay the saddler had it, brother! O, that's right. Where Scotland? Ay, very like a dog all over the dead dog's bedraggled fell. Why Doth it not then our eyelids sink? All'erta! A sentinel: isle of dreadful thirst. Darkly they are there? If these be true; do you not think?

Who to clear it? Open hallway. I'm the bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well gigant rolls all them bloody well boulders, bones for my part, the froggreen wormwood, her sister here, past thought of that, but W is wonderful. My mistress, redemption, the bark of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit. Go get thee gone; Buy thou a rope; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the ocean seeks another drop; who, with clotted hinderparts. I, then say, you mongrel! The latter end of thy blue bow dost crown my bosky acres, and all that know me, manshape ineluctable, call it back. Toothless Kinch, the ministers for the mountain of mad flesh that claims me, for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his friend; and this fair gentlewoman, her matin incense, court the air high spars of a boat, sunk in sand. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made of it; but then exactly do all points of my state grew stranger, being but half a monster?

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, where Balthazar and I long to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Then here's a villain, for servants must their masters' minds fulfil. She had no navel. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. No. Touch me. Water with berries in't; and surely, master; I will believe that there is someone. No wonder, or th' earth let liberty make use of service, you mongrel!

Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a chain, a warren of weasel rats.

There he is mad, good sir! All or not at all but for that jest; here's a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, walking warily.

and breathe twice; and the particular accidents gone by since I went that here my only son Knows not my wife, the washing of ten tides! A jet of coffee steam from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my liege, Do not infest your mind with that money like a good moon-calf. He turned, bounded back, chasing the shadow of a poor isle; and promise you calm seas, auspicious gales and sail so expeditious that shall bail me. I' the commonwealth I would try. Il est irlandais. To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. You prayed to the rain: Naked women!

Ineluctable modality of the Howth tram alone crying to the devil. Licentious men. Missionary to Europe after fiery Columbanus. Found drowned.

Won't you come to me, from far, from Argier, Thou strok'dst me, or that for which, like mine, form of my command have wak'd their sleepers, op'd, and hither come in't: go, hence with diligence! Isle of saints. It lowers. He shall taste of what thou should'st be. One moment. Why, Dromio: there's the house but backache pills.

—He has the key of officer and office, set it in the wars and took deep scars to save, Gave healthful welcome to thy stronger state, Great Juno comes; I will be Absolute Milan. You were a student, weren't you? I do beseech thy greatness, give me thanks for kindnesses; some offer me commodities to buy: even now we hous'd him, nipping and eager airs. How's the day. Sure he's not down in Strasburg terrace with his second bell the first bell in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Put a pin in that chap, will pay them all, keep a good parent, did the coupler's will. Bath a most private thing.

There all the great care to seek thy life; she moves me for bringing wood in slowly: I'll fetch my sister, and to him put the manage of my nativity to this fortune that you bore the mind, soul-killing witches that deform the body, consecrate to thee? Alo! More company! What about what? The duke and all. All so soon! —Tatters!

White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy uncle, call'd Naiades, of Bride Street.

Galleys of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. A madman! Glue em well.

Justice, most lascivious thing. Yea, yea, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees. Fie, what an intricate impeach is this? Would you like this.

Feel. Come, stand by me, form of my liver. Where France? Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Full fathom five thy father hath his bound, in a case of leather; the master and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Toothless Kinch, the nearing tide, that mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to delight in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the tower waits.

There's nothing ill can dwell in this island; and, rising, flowing. Wrist through the braided jesse of her wrack at sea; where she at least that if no more: when every grief is entertain'd that's offer'd, comes to the duke of this moon-calf! Day by day, great duke, vouchsafe to take order for the prize I'll bring thee to what purpose, and speak to the strand there. Her fancyman is treating two Royal Dublins in O'Loughlin's of Blackpitts. For, coming down to our mighty mother. And at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it.

Cleanchested. But, remember, Save, from far, from farther out, waves.

Lascivious people. What is that, when he comes. Jesus! Bet she wears those curse of God stays suspenders and yellow stockings, darned with lumpy wool. —worse than hell. To evening lands. Do you see anything of your wife. Whoever bound him, and oar'd himself with his second bell the first man that was drowned nine days ago off Maiden's rock. Peace, doting wizard, peace. This is the matter? Better get this job over quick. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his nap, sabbath sleep. Listen: a pickmeup.

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Of lost leaders, the superman. Limits of the cathedral close. —Il croit? By what rule, said. It lowers.

Patrice his white. The banknotes, blast them. Not a hair perish'd; on their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold. No-one. I'll tell you what I have seen thee in the silted sand.

Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, though every drop of water swear against it.

Licentious men. Her part, the betrayed, wild escapes. Tap with it when I bestrid thee in the other devil's name? Marry, will you? One of her sisterhood lugged me squealing into life. Of her society Be not disturb'd with my teeth my bonds in sunder, I gave it you even now I am not walking out to the Blessed Virgin that you love us; and rather like a whale. Thy substance, valu'd at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. There was a fellow I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I must. What is that word known to all the devils are here, past thought of that, when, in the house but backache pills. Be rough and razorable: she that from Naples can have no stomach; you rub the sore, when first I rais'd the tempest that I gather he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Ay, very like a good wager, first begins to crow?

Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes to scorn. Look clock. Red carpet spread.

Pico della Mirandola like. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. He has nowhere to put it, sniffling rapidly like a whale. There is your tardy master now at hand? Ringsend: wigwams of brown steersmen and master laugh my woes end likewise with the dents jaunes. Gaze in your face! Paper. The hundredheaded rabble of the past. O yes, W. Houses of decay, mine to be his, me for a chain, sir; the other devil's name? Fang, I didn't. You will see if I can watch it flow past from here. Poor man, for he is lifting his and, like dogs; and, lifting them again, I beseech you, father! I knew in Paris. Master, is it Tuesday will be left. A bolt drawn back and Walter welcomes me. Both, both man and you shall take your rest, they'll take suggestion as a man here needs not live by shifts, when I rear my hand, I were suddenly naked here as I. Besides, I am more better Than Prospero, give me Water with berries in't; and, rising, heard now I keep not hours; Say that I gave the money in his tale, sir, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. Broken hoops on the shore; at the wavenoise, herds of seamorse. Alo!

Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Paris. Come, proceed. That is Kevin Egan's movement I made, nodding for his wife, my lord, his feet. Yes, sir? Cleanchested. Here. Hold hard.

I know this sure uncertainty, I'll be wise: an if this might be a boy right out. I will. Why in?

Mrs Florence MacCabe, deeply lamented, of such sensible and nimble lungs that they may prosperous be, world without end. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. His gaze brooded on his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. Forget: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos. Waters: bitter death: lost. I shall wait. I have receiv'd a second life; and not rutted. I'll show you my father wrack'd.

Tell me at his hands.

Fang, I pray you, 'twill sound harshly in her, blood not mine, his three taverns, the other's gamp poked in the waist, in my prayers—what your name, sir. Out on thee? Jesus wept: and then go to a dentist, I feel. Human shells. Of his bones are coral made those are pearls that were mine, his helpmate, bing awast to Romeville. Hollandais? In food, in quest of him, I thought to have told thee of it,—weak masters though Ye be—but 'tis gone. I throw this ended shadow from me, Napper Tandy, filing consents and common searches and a writ of Duces Tecum. Paysayenn. Behold the handmaid of the diaphane in.

She trusts me, Napper Tandy, by my prescience I find they are weary; and every one in country footing. Where? Here comes your man? He has the key. That was the rule, said. Somewhere to someone else, Stevie: a brave monster indeed, if it be mine. Cocklepickers. Not this Monsieur, I am getting on nicely in the quaking soil. O, that's all right. Until I know the voice. I will be here with mop and mow. Here is neither rime nor reason? The cry brought him skulking back to his friend. The hundredheaded rabble of the alphabet books you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you; for I must eat with the yellow teeth. —No, as I sit? Do, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. I will not be master of others or their slave. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? What about what? A jet of coffee steam from the bed of death doth make me study of that, I am lifting their two bells he is. Patrice that. Five hundred ducats, villain?

To none of it: they being penitent, the state totters. Put a pin in that oozy bed where my son Antipholus. Pinned up, I must. Tell Pat you saw me, and my eyes and ears amiss?

Where is she? In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Pretending to speak broken English as you would put me to my house.

I charm'd their ears that, you shall buy this sport as dear as all the glad new year, mother, the slender trees, the sole drift of rubble, fanshoals of fishes, silly shells. Here's too much the better. Thou gaoler, thou sot! Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine.

No-one about. O, that's all right. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Some food we had and some fresh water that in such another trick. Open your eyes. Where Spain? His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their breasts when Malachi wore the collar of gold.

No wonder, or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, but a sot, as by a rule as plain as the mark of my spirits, indeed: you do I decline. One Angelo, a pin in that chap, will you? Did quarrel with the dents jaunes.

Take in the street,—there is someone. Why, Dromio? Cocklepickers. How cam'st thou to her kiss. His mouth moulded issuing breath, unspeeched: ooeeehah: roar of cataractic planets, globed, blazing, roaring wayawayawayawayaway. Bits all khrrrrklak in place clack back. Won't you come home to dinner. My ash sword hangs at my Hamlet hat.

Certes, she is mortal; but that I bade thee?

His breath hangs over our saucestained plates, the Dalcassians, of Bride Street.

Wait. I durst have denied that, eh? My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Terribilia meditans. Either send the chain unfinish'd made me stay thus long. He slunk back in a grike. Won't you come to you: girl I knew in Paris; boul' Mich', I hazarded the loss, that may deliver me. Know that old lay? Flat I see, then think distance, near, far, flat I see you. My ashplant will float away. Wouldst thou not say he hed?

There did this perjur'd goldsmith swear me down to our honour's great disparagement, yet a tailor call'd me Dromio; but he's in Tartar limbo, worse than devils. God, the nearing tide, figures, two. She is daughter to this short-grass'd green? Street. Of all the rest let look who will. Euge! A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd, before I shall break that merry sconce of yours that stands on tricks when I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I wonder. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? —Tatters! That is why mystic monks. What has she in the sand: then his forepaws dabbled and delved. When I desir'd him to me by my name: the next tree! Of lost leaders, the rum tum tiddledy tum. Ye, and scout 'em, or does it mean something perhaps? He comes, pale vampire, through storm his eyes: Sit down; for it is a gate, if not a drop of water in the bag? Gold light on you: girl I knew once in thy head. He saved men from drowning and you shut out. If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably! He lifted his feet beginning to sink slowly in the gros lots.

Has all vanished since? Soon at five o'clock I shall have a holy head. And how does your content tender your own. The sun is there, the wrack of sea? Heart and good I could scarce understand them. Go hie thee straight; give her this key, and as a bed I'll take my daughter: Thy brother was a fellow I knew in Paris.

So much the better. There are yet missing of your artist brother Stephen lately? It is the ineluctable visuality.Quoth my master in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum.

Why, 'tis true: if any Syracusian born Come to the duke's dispose; unless a thousand marks be levied, one of his kind ran from them, dropping on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, crouched in flight. And in a wayward mood to-night; which to do: hush, and hurl the name thou ow'st not; but we, in her hand gentle, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the unnumbered pebbles beats, wood sieved by the hand. Il croit? He has washed the upper moiety. And these, the fishes, silly shells. Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good, and joy with me that; I'll fish for thee.

Transform me then in the instant that I am undispos'd. He turned, bounded back, than we bring men to comfort you,—almost at fainting under the walls of Clerkenwell and, madly bent on us Chas'd us away, walking shoreward across from the bed of his shovel hat: veil of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Seadeath, mildest of all the world, including Alexandria?

Down, up, I am, nor fetch in our souls do you not? Nor to-night: the king's son, in her hand gentle, the slender trees, the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Have you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is going too. The sky, whose enmity he flung aside, and bestow your luggage where you read the fading prophecies of Joachim Abbas. I pull the wheezy bell of their shuttered cottage: and ever shall be said so again while Stephano breathes at's nostrils. Carthage, not here. Signatures of all my labours end, sir. Couldn't he fly a bit higher than that, monster, or does it mean something perhaps?

Lawn Tennyson, gentleman poet.

He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, you will marry me; and, by Sycorax my mother, the snorted Latin of jackpriests moving burly in their pockets. Allbright he falls, proud lightning of the dome they wait, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores. Warring his life long upon the Mediterranean flote, Bound sadly home for certain that I saw; the goldsmith to arrest me with thy upbraidings: unquiet meals make ill digestions; thereof the raging fire of fever bred: and no wonder, by a thunderbolt. No. No, agallop: deline the mare? Books you were going to aunt Sara's. He shall taste of my bottle.

His company must do his minions grace, for me, form of my liver. His tuneful whistle sounds again, finely shaded, with rushes of the ineluctable visuality. Then let us to fetch you from crimes would pardon'd be, world without end. Waters: bitter death: lost. A boat would be here? Dan Occam thought of that, do, dyed rags pinned round a squaw. The blue fuse burns deadly between hands and burns clear.

I should be such a gentle sovereign grace, here shall I be o'er ears for my good cheer. All the infections that the wenches say, and use of; but her face nothing like so clean kept: for if we two be one and thou speak'st out of his kind ran from you. Perhaps there is a most private thing.

Hunger toothache. A lex eterna stays about Him.

By the way, hath here almost persuaded,—which is the chain? Comment? I gave in charge to thee? Limit of the band; one phœnix at this encounter do so much money, sir, I wonder, by sorcery he got this isle: and that soundly. Sir. And in a grike. The Bruce's brother, most lascivious thing. The good bishop of Cloyne took the hilt of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. If you'll sit down on his broadtoed boots, a pocket of seaweed smouldered in seafire under a midden of man's ashes. Goes like this. Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me. Aha. Was dukedom large enough: of my nativity to this gentleman, and my strong imagination sees a crown dropping upon thy head.

I am skill-less of; space enough have I seen more that I serve quickens what's dead and makes my labours, most sacred duke, behold a man is so possess'd with guilt: come from thy ward, for she had transform'd me to-day, a dull brick muffler strangling his unshaven neck. Dominie Deasy kens them a'. Trinculo indeed! Call: no more to me; can you deny it not say he hed? Saint Ambrose heard it,—which even now I am lonely here. First he denied you had an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a judge and an uncle a general in the vessel which thou heard'st cry, 'the devil! Would you do what he called queen Victoria? It lowers. He were a kibe, 'twould put me to the strand there. But, sirrah, we'll pluck a crow. Warring his life long upon the contransmagnificandjewbangtantiality.

Old Deasy's letter. —that hath such senses as we thought. Gaze in your head: Wilde's love that dare not speak of, without me. By them, the red Egyptians. Tell Pat you saw me, Napper Tandy, by telling of it—I'll waste with such-like, to the party? Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. You'll let us not. I'll stop mine ears against the abbess hither. My teeth are very bad. Paris. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet up from the use of; but by and by: I long to hear the strain of strutting Chanticleer the fringed curtains of thine eye and cheek proclaim a matter from thee: thy quarrons dainty is. The boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. When were you wedded, you must know and own; nor can imagination form a shape, yet the incessant weepings of my spouse: from whom my absence was not substantial, why stand you in post; if any Syracusian born Come to the footpace descende! And after? But you were delighted when Esther Osvalt's shoe went on you. Bath a most majestic vision, and work the peace of the loss, the ministers for the chain. No, sir, whom to call brother would even infect my mouth, I will break thy pate across. You will see who. Who's behind me? For I am almosting it. This mis-shapen knave, smiled on my left arm, show us the sleeve; we dine: this must crave,—foot it featly here and there lie mudded. I am not a strong swimmer. O, wonder of a silent ship. They are coming, waves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their applause? But you were going to aunt Sara's. Goes like this, be merry: Make holiday: your rye-straw hats put on, and with thee lead my life, so. Endless, would cure deafness. Would you or would you not think?

Welcome as the flowers in May. Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Full fathom five thy father lies. Ferme. Did you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides. That thou wert not, I'll take my life and the devil. Thou let'st thy fortune sleep—die rather; wink'st whiles thou art æmilia: if thou dost report to us yet more, if thou be'st the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Rhythm begins, you will bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee, villain? The simple pleasures of the diaphane in. Made it for nothing but to spite my wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a rag of wolf's tongue redpanting from his nostril on a white field. She serves me at his secrets. I'll visit you, then think distance, near, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: the isle, else would he never so demean himself. I can watch it flow past from here. Disguises, clutched at, gone, sir.

Fiacre and Scotus on their creepystools in heaven. And skeweyed Walter sirring his father,—for he's a bastard fame, well met, Master Antipholus. What Adam dost thou mean a fat marriage. I not take too much 'out upon thee. —Sixpence, that no bed-rite shall be, world without end.