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He left the presence too miserable to even feel revengeful toward Sid; and so the latter's prompt retreat through the back gate was unnecessary. He moped to school gloomy and sad, and took his flogging,
-118-along with Joe Harper, for playing hookey the day before, with the air of one whose heart was busy with heavier woes and wholly dead to trifles. Then he betook himself to his seat, rested his elbows on his desk and his jaws in his hands, and stared at the wall with the stony stare of suffering that has reached the limit and can no further go. His elbow was pressing against some hard substance. After a long time he slowly and sadly changed his position, and took up this object with a sigh. It was in a paper. He unrolled it. A long, lingering, colossal sigh followed, and his heart broke. It was his brass andiron knob!
This final feather broke the camel's back.the moonlight. It was Muff Potter. The boys' hearts had stood still, and their hopes too, when the man moved, but their fears passed away now. They

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CLOSE upon the hour of noon the whole village was suddenly electrified with the ghastly news. No need of the as yet undreamed-of telegraph; the tale flew from man to man, from group to group, from house to house, with little less than telegraphic speed. Of course the schoolmaster gave holiday for that afternoon; the town would have thought strangely of him if he had not.
A gory knife had been found close to the murdered man, and it had been recognized by somebody as belonging to Muff Potter -- so the story ran. And it was said that a belated citizen had come upon Potter washing himself in the "branch" about one or two o'clock in the morning, and that Potter had at once sneaked off -- suspicious circumstances, especially the washing which was not a habit with Potter. It was also said that the town had been ransacked for this "murderer" (the public are not slow in the matter of sifting evidence and arriving at a verdict), but that he could not be found. Horsemen had departed down all the roads in every direction, and the Sheriff "was confident" that he would be captured before night.

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All the town was drifting toward the graveyard. Tom's heartbreak vanished and he joined the procession, not because he would not a thousand times rather go anywhere else, but because an awful, unaccountable fascination drew him on. Arrived at the dreadful place, he wormed his small body through the crowd and saw the dismal spectacle. It seemed to him an age since he was there before. Somebody pinched his arm. He turned, and his eyes met Huckleberry's. Then both looked elsewhere at once, and wondered if anybody had noticed anything in their mutual glance. But everybody was talking, and intent upon the grisly spectacle before them.
"Poor fellow!" "Poor young fellow!" "This ought to be a lesson to grave robbers!" "Muff Potter'll hang for this if they catch him!" This was the drift of remark; and the minister said, "It was a judgment; His hand is here." Now Tom shivered from head to heel; for his eye fell upon the stolid face of Injun Joe. At this moment the crowd began to sway and struggle, and voices shouted, "It's him! it's him! he's coming himself!"

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Oh, that's good -- I tell you, Tom, I was most scared to death; I'd a bet anything it was a stray dog."
The dog howled again. The boys' hearts sank once more.
"Oh, my! that ain't no Bull Harbison!" whispered Huckleberry. " Do , Tom!"
Tom, quaking with fear, yielded, and put his eye to the crack. His whisper was hardly audible when he said:
"Oh, Huck, IT'S A STRAY DOG!"
"Quick, Tom, quick! Who does he mean?"
"Huck, he must mean us both -- we're right together."
"Oh, Tom, I reckon we're goners. I reckon there ain't no mistake 'bout where I'll go to. I been so wicked."
"Dad fetch it! This comes of playing hookey and doing everything a feller's told not to do. I might a been good, like Sid, if I'd a tried -- but no, I wouldn't, of course. But if ever I get off this time, I lay I'll just waller in Sunday-schools!" And Tom began to snuffle a little.

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"If anybody tells, let Muff Potter do it, if he's fool enough. He's generally drunk enough."
Tom said nothing -- went on thinking. Presently he whispered:
"Huck, Muff Potter don't know it. How can he tell?"
"What's the reason he don't know it?"
"Because he'd just got that whack when Injun Joe done it. D'you reckon he could see anything? D'you reckon he knowed anything?"
"By hokey, that's so, Tom!"
"And besides, look-a-here -- maybe that whack done for him!"
"No, 'taint likely, Tom. He had liquor in him; I could see that; and besides, he always has. Well, when pap's full, you might take and belt him over the head with a church and you couldn't phase him. He says so, his own self. So it's the same with
-111-Muff Potter, of course. But if a man was dead sober, I reckon maybe that whack might fetch him; I dono."

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Both seemed to try his patience sorely, for more than once I heard him say emphatically, "No, no, it is not so, you haf not attend to what I say," and once there was a loud rap, as if he struck the table with his book, followed by the despairing exclamation, "Prut! It all goes bad this day."
Poor man, I pitied him, and when the girls were gone, took just one more peep to see if he survived it. He seemed to have thrown himself back in his chair, tired out, and sat there with his eyes shut till the clock struck two, when he jumped up, put his books in his pocket, as if ready for another lesson, and taking little Tina who had fallen asleep on the sofa in his arms, he carried her quietly away. I fancy he has a hard life of it. Mrs. Kirke asked me if I wouldn't go down to the five o'clock dinner, and feeling a little bit homesick, I thought I would, just to see what sort of people are under the same roof with me. So I made myself respectable and tried to slip in behind Mrs. Kirke, but as she is short and I'm tall, my efforts at concealment

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As I went downstairs soon after, I saw something I liked. The flights are very long in this tall house, and as I stood waiting at the head of the third one for a little servant girl to lumber up, I saw a gentleman come along behind her, take the heavy hod of coal out of her hand, carry it all the way up, put it down at a door near by, and walk away, saying, with a kind nod and a foreign accent, "It goes better so. The little back is too young to haf such heaviness."
Wasn't it good of him? I like such things, for as Father says, trifles show character. When I mentioned it to Mrs. K., that evening, she laughed, and said, "That must have been Professor Bhaer, he's always doing things of that sort."
Mrs. K. told me he was from Berlin, very learned and good, but poor as a church mouse, and gives lessons to support himself and two little orphan nephews whom he is educating

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\
Yes, she owned she had a trouble, and promised to tell me by-and-by. I said no more, for I think I know it," And Jo told her little story.
Mrs. March shook her head, and did not take so romantic a view of the case, but looked grave, and repeated her opinion that for Laurie's sake Jo should go away for a time.
"Let us say nothing about it to him till the plan is settled, then I'll run away before he can collect his wits and be tragic. Beth must think I'm going to please myself, as I am, for I can't talk about Laurie to her. But she can pet and comfort him after I'm gone, and so cure him of this romantic notion. He's been through so many little trials of the sort, he's used to it, and will soon get over his lovelornity."
Jo spoke hopefully, but could not rid herself of the foreboding fear that this `little trial' would be harder than the others, and that Laurie would not get over his `lovelornity' as easily as heretofore.
The plan was talked over in a family council and agreed upon, for Mrs. Kirke gladly accepted Jo, and promised to make a pleasant home for her. The teaching would render her

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"Yes, Jo," after a long pause.
"Wouldn't it comfort you to tell me what it is?"
"Not now, not yet."
"Then I won't ask, but remember, Bethy, that Mother and Jo are always glad to hear and help you, if they can."
"I know it. I'll tell you by-and-by."
"Is the pain better now?"
"Oh, yes, much better, you are so comfortable, Jo."
"Go to sleep, dear. I'll stay with you."
So cheek to cheek they fell asleep, and on the morrow Beth seemed quite herself again, for at eighteen neither heads nor hearts ache long, and a loving word can medicine most ills.
But Jo had made up her mind, and after pondering over a project for some days, she confided it to her mother.
"You asked me the other day what my wishes were. I'll tell you one of them, Marmee," she began, as they sat along together. "I want to go away somewhere this winter for a change."
"Why, Jo?" And her mother looked up quickly, as if the words suggested a double meaning.

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Long may our paper prosper well, Our club unbroken be, And coming years their blessings pour On the useful, gay `P. C.'. A. SNODGRASS
THE MASKED MARRIAGE(A Tale Of Venice)
Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble steps, and left its lovely load to swell the brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks and flower girls, all mingled gaily in the dance. Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so with mirth and music the masquerade went on. "Has your Highness seen the Lady viola tonight?" asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who floated down the hall upon his arm.
"Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad! Her dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates

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"By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes, arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask. When that is off we shall see how he regards the fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour.
"Tis whispered that she loves the young English artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the old Count," said the lady, as they joined the dance.
The revel was at its height when a priest appeared, and withdrawing the young pair to an alcove, hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel. Instant silence fell on the gay throng, and not a sound, but he dash of fountains or the rustle of orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:
"My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of my daughter. Father, we wait your services."
All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a murmur of amazement went through the throng, for neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding an explanation.

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So they sat and chatted under the trees, and the more lively grew their conversation, the more loudly sang the birds overhead, as if wishing to take part in the children's gossip, which evidently pleased them. So the hours flew by and all at once, as it seemed, the evening had come with the returning Peter, who still scowled and looked angry.
"Good-night, Peter," called out Heidi, as she saw he had no intention of stopping to speak.
"Good-night, Peter," called out Clara in a friendly voice. Peter took no notice and went surlily on with his goats,
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As Clara saw the grandfather leading away Little Swan to milk her, she was suddenly taken with a longing for another bowlful of the fragrant milk, and waited impatiently for it. "Isn't it curious, Heidi," she said, astonished at herself, "as long as I can remember I have only eaten because I was obliged to, and everything used to seem to taste of cod liver oil, and I was always wishing there was no need to eat or drink; and now I am longing for grandfather to bring me the milk."

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"Yes, I know what it feels like," replied Heidi, who remembered the many days in Frankfurt when all her food used to seem to stick in her throat. Clara, however, could not understand it; the fact was that she had never in her life before spent a whole day in the open air, much less in such high, life-giving mountain air. When grandfather at last brought her the evening milk, she drank it up so quickly that she had emptied her bowl before Heidi, and then she asked for a little more. The grandfather went inside with both the children's bowls, and when he brought them out again full he had something else to add to their supper. He had walked over that afternoon to a herdsman's house where the sweetly-tasting butter was made, and had brought home a large pat, some of which he had now spread thickly on two good slices of bread. He stood and watched with pleasure while Clara and Heidi ate their appetising meal with childish hunger and enjoyment.
That night, when Clara lay down in her bed and prepared to watch the stars, her eyes would not keep

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open, and she fell asleep as soon as Heidi and slept soundly all night -- a thing she never remembered having done before. The following day and the day after passed in the same pleasant fashion, and the third day there came a surprise for the children. Two stout porters came up the mountain, each carrying a bed on his shoulders with bedding of all kinds and two beautiful new white coverlids. The men also had a letter with them from grandmamma, in which she said that these were for Clara and Heidi, and that Heidi in future was always to sleep in a proper bed, and when she went down to Dörfli in the winter she was to take one with her and leave the other at the hut, so that Clara might always know there was a bed ready for her when she paid a visit to the mountain. She went on to thank the children for their long letters and encouraged them to continue writing daily, so that she might be able to picture all they were doing.
So the grandfather went up and threw back the hay from Heidi's bed on to the great heap, and then with his help the beds were transported to the loft. He put them close to one another so that the children might still be able to see out of the window, for he knew what pleasure they had in the light from the sun and stars.

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Meanwhile grandmamma down at Ragatz was rejoicing at the excellent news of the invalid which reached her daily from the mountain. Clara found the life more charming each day and could not say enough of the kindness and care which the grandfather
-304-lavished upon her, nor of Heidi's lively and amusing companionship, for the latter was more entertaining even than when in Frankfurt with her, and Clara's first thought when she woke each morning was, "Oh, how glad I am to be here still."
Having such fresh assurances each day that all was going well with Clara, grandmamma thought she might put off her visit to the children a little longer, for the steep ride up and down was somewhat of a fatigue to her.
The grandfather seemed to feel an especial sympathy for this little invalid charge, for he tried to think of something fresh every day to help forward her recovery. He climbed up the

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FOR some days past Fräulein Rottenmeier had gone about rather silently and as if lost in thought. As twilight fell, and she passed from room to room, or along the long corridors, she was seen to look cautiously behind her, and into the dark corners, as if she thought some one was coming silently behind her and might unexpectedly give her dress a pull. Nor would she now go alone into some parts of the house. If she visited the upper floor where the grand guest-chambers were, or had to go down into the large mysterious council-chamber, where every footstep echoed, and the old senators with their big white collars looked down so solemnly and immovably from their frames, she regularly called Tinette to accompany her, in case, as she said, there might be something to carry up or down. Tinette on her side did exactly the same; if she had business upstairs or down, she called Sebastian to accompany her, and there was always something he must help her with which she could not carry alone. More curious still, Sebastian, also, if sent into one of the more distant rooms, always called John to go with him in case he should want his assistance in bringing what was required. And John readily
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The tutor looked at the lady in speechless astonishment. At last he spoke again. "It is indeed truly marvellous, not only because she never seemed able to learn her A B C even after all my full explanations, and after spending unusual pains upon her, but because now she has learnt it so rapidly, just after I had made up my mind to make no further attempts at the impossible but to put the letters as they were before her without any dissertation on their origin and meaning, and now she has as you might say learnt her letters over night, and started at once to read correctly, quite unlike most beginners. And it is almost as astonishing to me that you should have guessed such an unlikely thing."
"Many unlikely things happen in life," said Frau Sesemann with a pleased smile. "Two things coming together may produce a happy result, as for instance, a fresh zeal for learning and a new method of teaching, and neither does any harm. We can but rejoice that the child has made such a good start and hope for her future progress."

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longing to go home, for she would not for the world have given the grandmother, who was so kind to her, any reason for being as angry with her as Fräulein Rottenmeier had been. But the weight of trouble on the little heart grew heavier and heavier; she could no longer eat her food, and every day she grew a little paler. She lay awake for long hours at night, for as soon as she was alone and everything was still around her, the picture of the mountain with its sunshine and flowers rose vividly before her eyes; and when at last she fell asleep it was to dream of the rocks and the snow-field turning crimson in the evening light, and waking in the morning she would think herself back at the hut and prepare to run joyfully out into -- the sun -- and then -- there was her large bed, and here she was in Frankfurt far, far away from home. And Heidi would often lay her face down on the pillow and weep long and quietly so that no one might hear her.
Heidi's unhappiness did not escape the grandmother's notice. She let some days go by to see if the child grew brighter and lost her down-cast appearance. But as matters did not mend, and she saw that many mornings Heidi had evidently been

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When the Wicked Witch looked out again and saw all her crows lying in a heap, she got into a terrible rage, and blew three times upon her silver whistle.
Forthwith there was heard a great buzzing in the air, and a swarm of black bees came flying toward her.
"Go to the strangers and sting them to death!" commanded the Witch, and the bees turned and flew rapidly until they came to where Dorothy and her friends were walking. But the Woodman had seen them coming, and the Scarecrow had decided what to do.
"Take out my straw and scatter it over the little girl and the dog and the Lion," he said to the Woodman, "and the bees cannot sting them." This the Woodman did, and as Dorothy lay close beside the Lion and held Toto in her arms, the straw covered them entirely.

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They thanked him and bade him good-bye, and turned toward the West, walking over fields of soft grass dotted here and there with daisies and buttercups. Dorothy still wore the pretty silk dress she had put on in the palace, but now, to her surprise, she found it was no longer green, but pure white. The ribbon around Toto's neck had also lost its green color and was as white as Dorothy's dress.
The Emerald City was soon left far behind. As they advanced the ground became rougher and hillier, for there were no farms nor houses in this country of the West, and the ground was untilled. In the afternoon the sun shone hot in their faces, for there were no trees to offer them shade; so that before night Dorothy and Toto and the Lion were tired, and lay down upon the grass and fell asleep, with the Woodman and the Scarecrow keeping watch.
Now the Wicked Witch of the West had but one eye, yet that was as powerful as a telescope, and could see everywhere. So, as she sat in the door of her castle, she happened to look around and saw Dorothy lying asleep, with her friends all about her. They were a long distance off, but the Wicked Witch was angry to find them in her country; so she blew upon a silver whistle that hung around her neck.
At once there came running to her from all directions a pack of great wolves. They had long legs and fierce eyes and sharp teeth.

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They aren't straight,'" answered the other.
"`Never mind,'" said the farmer. "`They are ears just the same,'" which was true enough.
"`Now I'll make the eyes,'" said the farmer. So he painted my right eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my first glimpse of the world. That's a rather pretty eye,'" remarked the Munchkin who was watching the farmer. "`Blue paint is just the color for eyes.'
"`I think I'll make the other a little bigger,'" said the farmer. And when the second eye was done I could see much better than before. Then he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time I didn't know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make my body and my arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at last, I felt very proud, for I thought I was just as good a man as anyone.
"`This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,' said the farmer. `He looks just like a man.'
"`Why, he is a man,' said the other, and I quite agreed with him. The farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked away and left me alone.

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Hendon was touched. The water welled to his eyes, yet at the same time the grisly humor of the situation and circumstances so undermined his gravity that it was all he could do to keep some sign of his inward mirth from showing outside. To be suddenly hoisted, naked and gory, from the common stocks to the Alpine altitude and splendor of an earldom, seemed to him the last possibility in the line of the grotesque. He said to himself, "Now am I finely tinseled, indeed! The specter-knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows is become a specter-earl!-a dizzy flight for a callow wing! An this go on, I shall presently be hung like a very May-pole with fantastic gauds and make-believe honors. But I shall value them, all valueless as they are, for the love that doth bestow them. Better these poor mock dignities of mine, that come unasked from a clean hand and a right spirit, than real ones bought by servility from grudging and interested power."
The dreaded Sir Hugh wheeled his horse about, and, as he spurred away, the living wall divided silently to let him pass, and as silently closed together again. And so remained; nobody went so far as to venture a remark in favor of the prisoner, or in compliment to him; but no matter, the absence of abuse was a sufficient homage in itself. A late comer who was not posted as to the present circumstances, and who delivered a sneer at the "impostor" and was in the act of following it with a dead cat, was promptly knocked down and kicked out, without any words, and then the deep quiet resumed sway once more.

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"For shame! This is my servant-set him free! I am the-"
"Oh, peace!" exclaimed Hendon, in a panic, "thou"lt destroy thyself. Mind him not, officer, he is mad."
"Give thyself no trouble as to the matter of minding him, good man, I have small mind to mind him; but as to teaching him somewhat, to that I am well inclined." He turned to a subordinate and said, "Give the little fool a taste or two of the lash, to mend his manners."
"Half a dozen will better serve his turn," suggested Sir Hugh, who had ridden up a moment before to take a passing glance at the proceedings.
The king was seized. He did not even struggle, so paralyzed was he with the mere thought of the monstrous outrage that was proposed to be inflicted upon his sacred person. History was already defiled with the record of the scourging of an English king with whips-it was an intolerable reflection that he must furnish a duplicate of that shameful page. He was in the toils, there was no help for him; he must either take this punishment or beg for its remission. Hard conditions; he would take the stripes-a king might do that, but a king could not beg

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The third day of Tom Canty's kingship came and went much as the others had done, but there was a lifting of his cloud in one way-he felt less uncomfortable than at first; he was getting a little used to his circumstances and surroundings; his chains still galled, but not all the time; he found that the presence and homage of the great afflicted and embarrassed him less and less sharply with every hour that drifted over his head.
But for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth day approach without serious distress-the dining in public; it was to begin that day. There were greater matters in the program-for on that day he would have to preside at a council which would take his views and commands concerning the policy to be pursued toward various foreign nations scattered far and near over the great globe; on that day, too, Hertford would be formally chosen to the grand office of Lord Protector; other things of note were appointed for that fourth day also, but to Tom they were all insignificant compared with the ordeal of dining all by himself with a multitude of curious eyes fastened upon him and a multitude of mouths whispering comments upon his performance-and upon his mistakes, if he should be so unlucky as to make any.
Still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it came. It found poor Tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and this mood continued; he could not shake it off. The ordinary duties of the morning dragged upon his hands, and wearied him. Once more he felt the sense of captivity heavy upon him.

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"Daisy will be surprised to see you - not to say disappointed!" she observed, and she could not help laughing a little to herself at the thought. And when, at eleven, Bunting got up to go, she made him stay on a little longer. "There's no such great hurry as that," she said good-temperedly. "It'll do quite well if you're there by half-past twelve. I'll get dinner ready myself. Daisy needn't help with that. I expect Margaret has worked her pretty hard."
But at last there came the moment when Bunting had to start, and his wife went with him to the front door. It was still snowing, less heavily, but still snowing. There were very few people coming and going, and only just a few cabs and carts dragging cautiously along through the slush.
Mrs. Bunting was still in the kitchen when there came a ring and a knock at the door - a now very familiar ring and knock. "Joe thinks Daisy's home again by now!" she said, smiling to herself.
Before the door was well open, she heard Chandler's voice. "Don't be scared this time, Mrs. Bunting!" But though not exactly scared, she did give a gasp of surprise. For there stood Joe, made up to represent a public-house loafer; and he looked the part to perfection, with his hair combed down raggedly over his forehead, his seedy-looking, ill-fitting, dirty clothes, and greenish-black pot hat.

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I haven't a minute," he said a little breathlessly. "But I thought I'd just run in to know if Miss Daisy was safe home again. You got my telegram all right? I couldn't send no other kind of message."
"She's not back yet. Her father hasn't been gone long after her." Then, struck by a look in his eyes, "Joe, what's the matter?" she asked quickly.
There came a thrill of suspense in her voice, her face grew drawn, while what little colour there was in it receded, leaving it very pale.
"Well," he said. "Well, Mrs. Bunting, I've no business to say anything about it - but I will tell you !"
He walked in and shut the door of the sitting-room carefully behind him. "There's been another of 'em!" he whispered. "But this time no one is to know anything about it - not for the present, I mean," he corrected himself hastily. "The Yard thinks we've got a clue - and a good clue, too, this time."
"But where - and how?" faltered Mrs. Bunting

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Yes, I am. I've got a awk'ard job - to try and worm something out of the barmaid."
"Something out of the barmaid?" repeated Mrs. Bunting nervously. "Why, whatever for?"
He came and stood close to her. "They think 'twas a gentleman," he whispered.
"A gentleman?"
Mrs. Bunting stared at Chandler with a scared expression. "Whatever makes them think such a silly thing as that?"
"Well, just before closing-time a very peculiar-looking gent, with a leather bag in his hand, went into the bar and asked for a glass of milk. And what d'you think he did? Paid for it with a sovereign! He wouldn't take no change - just made the girl a present of it! That's why the young woman what served him seems quite unwilling to give him away. She won't tell now what he was like. She doesn't know what he's wanted for, and we don't want her to know just yet. That's one reason why nothing's being said public about it. But there! I really must be going now. My time'll be up at three o'clock. I thought of coming in on the way back, and asking you for a cup o' tea, Mrs. Bunting."
"Do," she said. "Do, Joe. You'll be welcome," but there was no welcome in her tired voice

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She let him go alone to the door, and then she went down to her kitchen, and began cooking Mr. Sleuth's breakfast.
The lodger would be sure to ring soon; and then any minute Bunting and Daisy might be home, and they'd want something, too. Margaret always had breakfast even when "the family" were away, unnaturally early.
As she bustled about Mrs. Bunting tried to empty her mind of all thought. But it is very difficult to do that when one is in a state of torturing uncertainty. She had not dared to ask Chandler what they supposed that man who had gone into the public-house was really like. It was fortunate, indeed, that the lodger and that inquisitive young chap had never met face to face.
At last Mr. Sleuth's bell rang - a quiet little tinkle. But when she went up with his breakfast the lodger was not in his sitting-room.
Supposing him to be still in his bedroom, Mrs. Bunting put the cloth on the table, and then she heard the sound of his footsteps coming down the stairs, and her quick ears detected the slight whirring sound which showed that the gas-stove was alight. Mr. Sleuth had already lit the stove; that meant that he would carry out some elaborate experiment this

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Well, 'twas just a bit of luck being able to keep it dark for the present" - he still spoke in that stifled, hoarse whisper. "The poor soul' was found dead on a bench on Primrose Hill. And just by chance 'twas one of our fellows saw the body first. He was on his way home, over Hampstead way. He knew where he'd be able to get an ambulance quick, and he made a very clever, secret job of it. I 'spect he'll get promotion for that!"
"What about the clue?" asked Mrs. Bunting, with dry lips. "You said there was a clue?"
"Well, I don't rightly understand about the clue myself. All I knows is it's got something to do with a public-house, 'The Hammer and Tongs,' which isn't far off there. They feels sure The Avenger was in the bar just on closing - time."
And then Mrs. Bunting sat down. She felt better now. It was natural the police should suspect a public-house loafer. "Then that's why you wasn't able to go and fetch Daisy, I suppose?"
He nodded. "Mum's the word, Mrs. Bunting! It'll all be in the last editions of the evening newspapers - it can't be kep' out. There'd be too much of a row if 'twas!"
"Are you going off to that public-house now?" she asked.

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As she came within sight of home, her spirit suddenly lightened. The narrow, drab-coloured little house, flanked each side by others exactly like it in every single particular, save that their front yards were not so well kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would, keep any secret closely hidden.
For a moment, at any rate, The Avenger's victims receded from her mind. She thought of them no more. All her thoughts were concentrated on Bunting - Bunting and Mr. Sleuth. She wondered what had happened during her absence - whether the lodger had rung his bell, and, if so, how he had got on with Bunting, and Bunting with him?
She walked up the little flagged path wearily, and yet with a pleasant feeling of home-coming. And then she saw that Bunting must have been watching for her behind the now closely drawn curtains, for before she could either knock or ring he had opened the door.
"I was getting quite anxious about you," he exclaimed. "Come in, Ellen, quick! You must be fair perished a day like now - and you out so little as you are. Well? I hope you found the doctor all right?" He looked at her with affectionate anxiety.

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One of Daisy's duties as companion to her great-aunt was that of reading the newspaper aloud, and she prided herself on her accomplishment.
Just as Joe had put his finger on his lip Daisy bad been asking, "Shall I read this, father?" And Bunting had answered quickly, "Aye, do, my dear."
He was absorbed in what he was hearing, and, on seeing Joe at the door, he had only just nodded his head. The young man was becoming so frequent a visitor as to be almost one of themselves.
Daisy read out:'
"The Avenger: A - "
And then she stopped short, for the next word puzzled her greatly. Bravely, however, she went on. "A the-o-ry."
"Go in - do!" whispered Mrs. Bunting to her visitor. "Why should we stay out here in the cold? It's ridiculous."
"I don't want to interrupt Miss Daisy," whispered Chandler back, rather hoarsely.
"Well, you'll hear it all the better in the room. Don't think she'll stop because of you, bless you! There's nothing shy about our Daisy!"

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The young man resented the tart, short tone. "Poor little girl!" he said to himself tenderly. "That's what it is having a stepmother, instead of a proper mother." But he obeyed Mrs. Bunting, and then he was pleased he had done so, for Daisy looked up, and a bright blush came over her pretty face.
"Joe begs you won't stop yet awhile. Go on with your reading," commanded Mrs. Bunting quickly. "Now, Joe, you can go and sit over there, close to Daisy, and then you won't miss a word."
There was a sarcastic inflection in her voice, even Chandler noticed that, but he obeyed her with alacrity, and crossing the room he went and sat on a chair just behind Daisy. From there he could note with reverent delight the charming way her fair hair grew upwards from the nape of her slender neck.
"The AVENGER: A THE-O-RY"
began Daisy again, clearing her throat.
"DEAR Sir - I have a suggestion to put forward for which I think there is a great deal to be said. It seems to me very probable that The Avenger - to give him the name by which he apparently wishes to be known - comprises in his own person the peculiarities of Jekyll and Hyde, Mr. Louis Stevenson's now famous hero.

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The culprit, according to my point of view, is a quiet, pleasant-looking gentleman who lives somewhere in the West End of London. He has, however, a tragedy in his past life. He is the husband of a dipsomaniac wife. She is, of course, under care, and is never mentioned in the house where he lives, maybe with his widowed mother and perhaps a maiden sister. They notice that he has become gloomy and brooding of late, but he lives his usual life, occupying himself each day with some harmless hobby. On foggy nights, once the quiet household is plunged in sleep, he creeps out of the house, maybe between one and two o'clock, and swiftly makes his way straight to what has become The Avenger's murder area. Picking out a likely victim, he approaches her with Judas-like gentleness, and having committed his awful crime, goes quietly home again. After a good bath and breakfast, he turns up happy, once more the quiet individual who is an excellent son, a kind brother, esteemed and even beloved by a large circle of friends and acquaintances. Meantime, the police are searching about the scene of the tragedy for what they regard as the usual type of criminal lunatic.
"I give this theory, Sir, for what it is worth, but I confess that I am amazed the police have so wholly confined their inquiries to the part of London where these murders have been actually committed. I am quite sure from all that has come out - and we must remember that full information is never given to the newspapers - The Avenger should be sought for in the West and not in the East End of London - Believe me to remain, Sir, yours very truly

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When they had first taken the house which had brought them, so they both thought, such bad luck, Bunting had encouraged the young chap to come often, for his tales were well worth listening to - quite exciting at times. But now poor Bunting didn't want to hear that sort of stories - stories of people being cleverly "nabbed," or stupidly allowed to escape the fate they always, from Chandler's point of view, richly deserved.
But Joe still came very faithfully once or twice a week, so timing his calls that neither host nor hostess need press food upon him - nay, more, he had done that which showed him to have a good and feeling heart. He had offered his father's old acquaintance a loan, and Bunting, at last, had taken 30s. Very little of that money now remained: Bunting still could jingle a few coppers in his pocket; and Mrs. Bunting had 2s. 9d.; that and the rent they would have to pay in five weeks, was all they had left. Everything of the light, portable sort that would fetch money had been said. Mrs. Bunting had a fierce horror of the pawnshop. She had never put her feet in such a place, and she declared she never would - she would rather starve first.

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But she had said nothing when there had occurred the gradual disappearance of various little possessions she knew that Bunting valued, notably of the old-fashioned gold watch-chain which had been given to him after the death of his first master, a master he had nursed faithfully and kindly through a long and terrible illness. There had also vanished a twisted gold tie-pin, and a large mourning ring, both gifts of former employers.
When people are living near that deep pit which divides the secure from the insecure - when they see themselves creeping closer and closer to its dread edge - they are apt, however loquacious by nature, to fall into long silences. Bunting had always been a talker, but now he talked no more. Neither did Mrs. Bunting, but then she had always been a silent woman, and that was perhaps one reason why Bunting had felt drawn to her from the very first moment he had seen her.
It had fallen out in this way. A lady had just engaged him as butler, and he had been shown, by the man whose place he was to take, into the dining-room. There, to use his own

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expression, he had discovered Ellen Green, carefully pouring out the glass of port wine which her then mistress always drank at 11.30 every morning. And as he, the new butler, had seen her engaged in this task, as he had watched her carefully stopper the decanter and put it back into the old wine-cooler, he had said to himself, "That is the woman for me!"
But now her stillness, her - her dumbness, had got on the unfortunate man's nerves. He no longer felt like going into the various little shops, close by, patronised by him in more prosperous days, and Mrs. Bunting also went afield to make the slender purchases which still had to be made every day or two, if they were to be saved from actually starving to death.
kept, looked as if it could, aye, and would, keep any se-
Suddenly, across the stillness of the dark November evening there came the muffled sounds of hurrying feet and of loud, shrill shouting outside - boys crying the late afternoon editions of the evening papers.

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Bunting turned uneasily in his chair. The giving up of a daily paper had been, after his tobacco, his bitterest deprivation. And the paper was an older habit than the tobacco, for servants are great readers of newspapers.
As the shouts came through the closed windows and the thick damask curtains, Bunting felt a sudden sense of mind hunger fall upon him.
It was a shame - a damned shame - that he shouldn't know what was happening in the world outside! Only criminals are kept from hearing news of what is going on beyond their prison walls. And those shouts, those hoarse, sharp cries must portend that something really exciting had happened, something warranted to make a man forget for the moment his own intimate, gnawing troubles.
He got up, and going towards the nearest window strained his eats to listen. There fell on them, emerging now and again from the confused babe1 of hoarse shouts, the one clear word "Murder!"

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obert Bunting and Ellen his wife sat before their dully burning, carefully-banked-up fire.
The room, especially when it be known that it was part of a house standing in a grimy, if not exactly sordid, London thoroughfare, was exceptionally clean and well-cared-for. A casual stranger, more particularly one of a Superior class to their own, on suddenly opening the door of that sitting-room; would have thought that Mr. and Mrs. Bunting presented a very pleasant cosy picture of comfortable married life. Bunting, who was leaning back in a deep leather arm-chair, was clean-shaven and dapper, still in appearance what he had been for many years of his life - a self-respecting man-servant.
On his wife, now sitting up in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, the marks of past servitude were less apparent; but they were there all the same - in her neat black stuff dress, and in her scrupulously clean, plain collar and cuffs. Mrs. Bunting, as a single woman, had been what is known as a useful maid.

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'He knows the chateau,' he said to me; 'he knows it well.'
"'He is a rather tall man - well-built,' I suggested.
"'He is as tall as he wants to be,' murmured Fred.
"'I understand,' I said; 'but how do you account for his red hair and beard?'
"'Too much beard - too much hair - false,' says Fred.
"'That's easily said. You are always thinking of Robert Darzac. You can't get rid of that idea? I am certain that he is innocent.'
"'So much the better. I hope so; but everything condemns him. Did you notice the marks on the carpet? - Come and look at them.'
"'I have seen them; they are the marks of the neat boots, the same as those we saw on the border of the lake.'
"'Can you deny that they belong to Robert Darzac?'
"'Of course, one may be mistaken.'
"'Have you noticed that those footprints only go in one direction? - that there are no return marks? When the man came from the chamber, pursued by all of us, his footsteps left no traces behind them.'

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ademoiselle Stangerson appeared at the door of her ante-room," continues Rouletabille's note-book. "We were near her door in the gallery where this incredible phenomenon had taken place. There are moments when one feels as if one's brain were about to burst. A bullet in the head, a fracture of the skull, the seat of reason shattered ?with only these can I compare the sensation which exhausted and left me void of sense.
"Happily, Mademoiselle Stangerson appeared on the threshold of her ante-room. I saw her, and that helped to relieve my chaotic state of mind. I breathed her ?I inhaled the perfume of the lady in black, whom I should never see again. I would have given ten years of my life ?half my life ?to see once more the lady in black! Alas! I no more meet her but from time to time, ?and yet! ?and yet! how the memory of that perfume ?felt by me alone ?carries me back to the days of my childhood.* It was this sharp reminder from my beloved perfume, of the lady in black, which made me go to her ?dressed wholly in white and so pale ?so pale

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and so beautiful! ?on the threshold of the inexplicable gallery. Her beautiful golden hair, gathered into a knot on the back of her neck, left visible the red star on her temple which had so nearly been the cause of her death. When I first got on the right track of the mystery of this case I had imagined that, on the night of the tragedy in The Yellow Room, Mademoiselle Stangerson had worn her hair in bands. But then, how could I have imagined otherwise when I had not been in The Yellow Room!
*When I wrote these lines, Joseph Rouletabille was eighteen years of age,梐nd he spoke of his "youth." I have kept the text of my friend, but I inform the reader here that the episode of the mystery of The Yellow Room has no connection with that of the perfume of the lady in black. It is not my fault if, in the document which I have cited, Rouletabille thought fit to refer to his childhood.
"But now, since the occurrence of the inexplicable gallery, I did not reason at all. I stood there, stupid, before the apparition - so pale and so beautiful - of Mademoiselle Stangerson. She was clad in a dressing-gown of dreamy white. One might have taken her to be

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I am again at the window-sill," continues Rouletabille, "and once more I raise my head above it. Through an opening in the curtains, the arrangement of which has not been changed, I am ready to look, anxious to note the position in which I am going to find the murderer, - whether his back will still be turned towards me! - whether he is still seated at the desk writing! But perhaps - perhaps - he is no longer there! - Yet how could he have fled? - Was I not in possession of his ladder? I force myself to be cool. I raise my head yet higher. I look - he is still there. I see his monstrous back, deformed by the shadow thrown by the candle. He is no longer writing now, and the candle is on the parquet, over which he is bending - a position which serves my purpose.
"I hold my breath. I mount the ladder. I am on the uppermost rung of it, and with my left hand seize hold of the window-sill. In this moment of approaching success, I feel my heart beating wildly. I put my revolver between my teeth. A quick spring, and I shall be on the window-ledge. But - the ladder! I had been obliged to press on it heavily, and my foot had scarcely left it, when I felt it swaying beneath me. It grated on the wall and fell. But, already, my knees were touching the window-sill, and, by a movement quick as lightning, I got on to it.

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He has done well not to come in here to-day!" he hissed.
"Who is that man?" asked Rouletabille, returning to his omelette.
"The Green Man," growled the innkeeper. "Don't you know him? Then all the better for you. He is not an acquaintance to make. - Well, he is Monsieur Stangerson's forest-keeper."
"You don't appear to like him very much?" asked the reporter, pouring his omelette into the frying-pan.
"Nobody likes him, monsieur. He's an upstart who must once have had a fortune of his own; and he forgives nobody because, in order to live, he has been compelled to become a servant. A keeper is as much a servant as any other, isn't he? Upon my word, one would say that he is the master of the Glandier, and that all the land and woods belong to him. He'll not let a poor creature eat a morsel of bread on the grass his grass!"

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I shall beat him!" he cried. "I shall beat the great Fred, clever as he is; I shall beat them all!"
And he danced a double shuffle. Suddenly he stopped. My eyes followed his gaze; they were fixed on Monsieur Robert Darzac, who was looking anxiously at the impression left by his feet side by side with the elegant footmarks. There was not a particle of difference between them!
We thought he was about to faint. His eyes, bulging with terror, avoided us, while his right hand, with a spasmodic movement, twitched at the beard that covered his honest, gentle, and now despairing face. At length regaining his self-possession, he bowed to us, and remarking, in a changed voice, that he was obliged to return to the chateau, left us.
"The deuce!" exclaimed Rouletabille

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misuse of logic the disposition of mind in some detectives which makes them, in perfect good faith, twist logic to the necessities of their preconceived ideas. You, already, have your idea about the murderer, Monsieur Fred. Don't deny it; and your theory demands that the murderer should not have been wounded in the hand, otherwise it comes to nothing. And you have searched, and have found something else. It's dangerous, very dangerous, Monsieur Fred, to go from a preconceived idea to find the proofs to fit it. That method may lead you far astray Beware of judicial error, Monsieur Fred, it will trip you up!"
And laughing a little, in a slightly bantering tone, his hands in his pockets, Rouletabille fixed his cunning eyes on the great Fred.
Frederic Larsan silently contemplated the young reporter who pretended to be as wise as himself. Shrugging his shoulders, he bowed to us and moved quickly away, hitting the stones on his path with his stout cane.
Rouletabille watched his retreat, and then turned toward us, his face joyous and triumphant.

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given me to take care of, and applied it to a very clear footmark behind the thicket. "Aha!" he said, rising.
I thought he was now going to trace back the track of the murderer's footmarks to the vestibule window; but he led us instead, far to the left, saying that it was useless ferreting in the mud, and that he was sure, now, of the road taken by the murderer.
"He went along the wall to the hedge and dry ditch, over which he jumped. See, just in front of the little path leading to the lake, that was his nearest way to get out."
"How do you know he went to the lake?" -
"Because Frederic Larsan has not quitted the borders of it since this morning. There must be some important marks there."
A few minutes later we reached the lake.
It was a little sheet of marshy water, surrounded by reeds, on which floated some dead water-lily leaves. The great Fred may have seen us approaching, but we probably interested him very little, for he took hardly any notice of us and continued to be stirring with his cane something which we could not see.

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hesitated to furnish the reader with all these retrospective details, known to me through my business relations with Monsieur Robert Darzac. On crossing the threshold of The Yellow Room he was as well posted as I was. equally to rejoice, it seemed to him, for another cause. Mademoiselle Stangerson was, at the time when her father returned from America and bought the Glandier estate, twenty years of age. She was exceedingly pretty, having at once the Parisian grace of her mother, who had died in giving her birth, and all the splendour, all Stangerson. When he bought the estate, fifteen years before the tragedy with which we are engaged occurred, the Chateau du Glandier had for a long time been unoccupied. Another old chateau in the neighbourhood, built in the fourteenth century by Jean de Belmont, was also abandoned, so that that part of the country was very little seventeenth century, Georges Philibert de Sequigny, Lord of the Glandier, Maisons-Neuves

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on their hopes, but the aged stones and grand old oaks. The Glandier - ancient Glandierum - was so called from the quantity of glands (acorns) which, in all times, had been gathered in that neighbourhood. This land, of present mournful interest, had fallen back, owing to the negligence or abandonment of its owners, into the wild character of primitive nature. The buildings alone, which were hidden there, had preserved traces of their strange metamorphoses. Every age had left on them its imprint; a bit of architecture with which was bound up the remembrance of some terrible event, some bloody adventure. Such was the chateau in which science had taken refuge - a place seemingly designed to be the theatre of mysteries, terror, and death.
Having explained so far, I cannot refrain from making one further reflection. If I have lingered a little over this description of the Glandier, it is not because I have reached the right moment for creating the necessary atmosphere for the unfolding of the tragedy before the eyes of the reader. Indeed, in all this

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Pinocchio finally ceases to be a Marionette and becomes a boy
"My dear Father, we are saved!" cried the Marionette. "All we have to do now is to get to the shore, and that is easy."
Without another word, he swam swiftly away in an effort to reach land as soon as possible. All at once he noticed that Geppetto was shivering and shaking as if with a high fever.
Was he shivering from fear or from cold? Who knows? Perhaps a little of both. But Pinocchio, thinking his father was frightened, tried to comfort him by saying:
"Courage, Father! In a few moments we shall be safe on land."
"But where is that blessed shore?" asked the little old man, more and more worried as he tried to pierce the faraway shadows. "Here I am searching on all sides and I see nothing but sea and sky."
"I see the shore," said the Marionette. "Remember, Father, that I am like a cat. I see better at night than by day."
Poor Pinocchio pretended to be peaceful and contented, but he was far from that. He was beginning to feel discouraged, his strength was leaving him, and his breathing was becoming more and more labored. He felt he could not go on much longer, and the shore was still far away.
He swam a few more strokes. Then he turned to Geppetto and cried out weakly:
"Help me, Father! Help, for I am dying!"

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Pinocchio is thrown into the sea, eaten by fishes, and becomes a Marionette once more. As he swims to land, he is swallowed by the Terrible Shark
Down into the sea, deeper and deeper, sank Pinocchio, and finally, after fifty minutes of waiting, the man on the cliff said to himself:
"By this time my poor little lame Donkey must be drowned. Up with him and then I can get to work on my beautiful drum."
He pulled the rope which he had tied to Pinocchio's leg--pulled and pulled and pulled and, at last, he saw appear on the surface of the water--Can you guess what? Instead of a dead donkey, he saw a very much alive Marionette, wriggling and squirming like an eel.
Seeing that wooden Marionette, the poor man thought he was dreaming and sat there with his mouth wide open and his eyes popping out of his head.
Gathering his wits together, he said:
"And the Donkey I threw into the sea?"
"I am that Donkey," answered the Marionette laughing.
"You?"
"I."
"Ah, you little cheat! Are you poking fun at me?"
"Poking fun at you? Not at all, dear Master. I am talking seriously."
"But, then, how is it that you, who a few minutes ago were a donkey, are now standing before me a wooden Marionette?"
"It may be the effect of salt water. The sea is fond of playing these tricks."
"Be careful, Marionette, be careful! Don't laugh at me! Woe be to you, if I lose my patience!"

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seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,' said the Editor of a well-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.
The Psychologist was the only person besides the Doctor and myself who had attended the previous dinner. The other men were Blank, the Editor aforementioned, a certain journalist, and another--a quiet, shy man with a beard--whom I didn't know, and who, as far as my observation went, never opened his mouth all the evening. There was some speculation at the dinner-table about the Time Traveller's absence, and I suggested time travelling, in a half-jocular spirit. The Editor wanted that explained to him, and the Psychologist volunteered a wooden account of the `ingenious paradox and trick' we had witnessed that day week. He was in the midst of his exposition when the door from the corridor opened slowly and without noise. I was facing the door, and saw it first. `Hallo!' I said. `At last!' And the door opened wider, and the Time Traveller stood before us. I gave a cry of surprise. `Good heavens! man, what's the matter?' cried the Medical Man, who saw him next. And the whole tableful turned towards the door

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simply an anxiety, nameless for the moment and therefore the more menacing. It was not merely the prospect of the hike. Exhaustion had just made him vulnerable to a million shaky, anonymous fears—fears which he might have resisted had he felt strong and refreshed, or younger. His age was showing badly. All this would have been easy at twenty-three. But he was thirty, and seventy-two virtually sleepless hours had left him feeling bushed and defeated. And there was another subtle difference he felt about his advanced age—a new awakening, an awareness—and therein lay the reason for his fears.
It was simply that after six years of an ordered and sympathetic life—made the more placid by the fact that he had assumed he had put war forever behind him—it was a shock almost mystically horrifying, in its unreality, to find himself in this new world of frigid nights and blazing noons, of disorder and movement and fanciful pursuit. He was insecure and uprooted and the prey of many fears. Not for days but for weeks, it seemed, the battalion had been on the trail of an invisible enemy who always eluded

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reflecting an almost theatrical disharmony: the Colonel's fleeting grin sculpted cleanly and prettily in the unshadowed air above the Captain's darkened, downcast face where, for a flicker of a second, something outraged and agonized was swiftly graven and swiftly scratched out. The Colonel's smile was not complacent or unfriendly. It was not so much as if he had achieved a triumph but merely equilibrium, had returned once more to that devout, ordered state of communion which the Captain's words had ever so briefly disturbed. At that moment Culver almost liked the Colonel, in some negative way which had nothing to do with affection, but to which "respect," though he hated the word, was the nearest approach. At least it was an honest smile, no matter how faint. It was the expression of a man who might be fatuous and a ham of sorts, but was not himself evil or unjust—a man who would like to overhear some sergeant say, "He keeps a tight outfit, but he's straight." In men like Templeton all emotions—all smiles, all anger—emanated from a priestlike, religious fervor, throbbing inwardly with the cadence of parades and booted footfalls. By that passion rebels are ordered into quick damnation but simple doubters sometimes find indulgence— depending upon the priest, who may be one inclined toward mercy, or who is one ever rapt in some litany of punishment and court-martial. The Colonel was devout but inclined toward mercy. He was not a tyrant, and his smile was a sign that the Captain's doubts were forgiven, probably even forgotten. But only Culver had seen the Captain's face: a quick look of both fury and suffering, like the tragic Greek mask, or a shackled slave. Then Mannix flushed. "Yes, sir," he said.

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"No, sir," Mannix said. He had recovered quickly. He peered up at the Colonel from his camp stool, expressionless. "No, sir," he repeated, "I don't think it's too long, but it's certainly going to be some hike."
The Colonel did something with his lips. It seemed to be a smile. He said nothing—bemused and mystifying—wearing the enigma of the moment like a cape. In the silence the tempestuous little lamp boiled and raged; far off in the swamp somewhere a mortar flare flew up with a short, sharp crack. O'Leary broke the quietness in the tent with a loud sneeze, followed, almost like a prolongation of the sneeze, by a chuckle, and said: "Oh boy, Colonel, there're gonna be some sore feet Saturday morning."
The Colonel didn't answer. He hooked his thumbs in his belt. He turned to the Major, who was brooding upward from the field desk, cheeks propped against his hands. "I was sitting in my tent a while ago, Billy," the Colonel said, "and I got to thinking. I got to thinking about a lot of things. I got to thinking about the Battalion. I said to myself, 'How's the Battalion doing?' I mean, 'What kind of an outfit do I have here? Is it in good combat shape? If we were to meet an Aggressor enemy tomorrow would we come out all right?' Those were the queries I posed to myself. Then I tried to formulate an answer." He paused, his eyes luminous and his lips twisted in a wry, contemplative smile as if he were indeed, again, struggling with the weight of the questions to which he had addressed himself. The Major was absorbed; he looked up at Templeton with an intent baby-blue gaze and parted mouth, upon which, against a pink cleft of the lower lip

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greatest embarrassment would be a show of emotion, and to whom, because of this quality, had been given, in the midst of some strained and violent combat situation long ago, the name "Old Rocky." He was not yet forty-five, yet the adjective "old" applied, for there was a gray sheen in his hair and a bemused, unshakable look in his tranquil eyes that made him seem, like certain young ecclesiastics, prematurely aged and perhaps even wise. Culver saw him put the headset down and get up, walking off toward the operations tent with a springy, slim-hipped, boyish stride, calling out over his shoulder as he went: "Mannix." Simply that: Mannix. A voice neither harsh nor peremptory nor, on the other hand, particularly gentle. It was merely a voice which expected to be obeyed, and Culver felt Mannix's big weight against him as the Captain put a hand on his shoulder and pried himself up from the ground, muttering, "Jesus, lemme digest a bit, Jack."
Mannix despised the Colonel. Yet, Culver thought, as the Captain hulked stiff-kneed behind the Colonel and disappeared after him into the operations tent, Mannix despised everything about the Marine Corps. In this attitude he was like nearly all the reserves, it was true, but Mannix was more noisily frank in regard to his position. He detested

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唱歌的小童凑到跟前，冲我挤了挤眼，道：“哎，知不知道，你已经睡了三天了，要是今天再不醒的话，那你就是这太湖里的鱼食了。”
　　“是你们救了我？”我呻吟道。
　　“哼，要不是我阿姐医术无双，又慈悲为怀的话，你呀小命早完完了！”小童撇了撇嘴，骄傲的仰起头道，就好象是他救了我一般。
　　见我犹自不信，小童瞪圆了眼睛，道：“我阿姐可是于神仙收的唯一女弟子，除了活神仙外，在这江东一带最漂亮的最有能耐的医师就是我阿姐了，我要是骗你，我就是小狗狗！”
　　“小绩，别在这里胡闹，快到厨房让小仪把熬好的膏胶端来！”那女子轻嗔了一眼，小童朝我做了一个鬼脸，蹦蹦跳跳着跑了出去。claude monet paintings
　　“高宠多谢姑娘救命之恩！”我挣扎着欲施礼道谢。
　　“哎，你五脏六腑俱遭了极重的伤，不能有丝毫的震动，快点躺下！”女子忙喝止道。
　　我道：“不知姑娘能否告知在下芳名，日后我也能寻着报答今番恩情？”

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在我胸中有一团火在升腾，我知道那是绝不屈服的斗志在重又燃烧。我虽已是千创百孔之身，但我仍然能用自已的方式告诉陈武，轻视我是一个错误。我嘶喊着高举起手中刀，催马向着陈武冲了过去。
　　“铮锵——”两刀相交，我手中的腰刀直飞向半空，然后斜落下来，半截插入黄土之中，可惜重创之下的我，竟挡不下陈武的一招。
　　陈武收起大刀，沉声道：“失败了就得认命，拾起你的刀，自已了断去吧！”
　　我心念忽然一闪，如今孙策主力尽追太史慈而去，留在这一带的只剩下了打扫战场的老卒。而最大的劲敌——陈武的心思一定也是放到了追杀太史慈的那边，这对于在死亡边缘挣扎的我来说，他的自负和轻视也许是一个逃脱的机会。
　　逃——。
　　想到此处，我不假思索，拔马向着神亭岭方向疾奔下去，深山密林正是躲藏的好地方，只要我能甩开陈武一段距离，脱困就有希望。
　　陈武显然没有料想到先前能够舍身赴死、英雄气概十足的我也会逃跑，盛怒之余催马紧追，这一路斜刺狂奔，我只顾着往敌人少的地方而去，渐渐的两人两骑已然脱离了战场。

contemporary abstract painting

此时，孙策一臂夹着长矟，一手持枪横扫，面对我两败俱伤的招法，他已无法闪避。
　　方才的一掷一矟都只是吸引孙策注意的虚招，现在的一刀才是我蓄谋已久的绝杀！
　　刀下——。
　　刀下应是锋口撕裂战甲的声音，然后是敌人的鲜血迸现。
　　然而，我听到的只是“铮——”的一声金铁交鸣，我这势在必得的一刀被另一把大刀所格挡住，持刀之将身长七尺，面黄睛赤，形容甚是古怪之至。
　　但听此人大喝道：“陈武在此，鼠辈休得猖狂！”
　　面对我倏然而起的发难，留守在孙策身旁护卫的大将陈武及时杀到，而我所有的努力也因为陈武这一刀而丧送。
　　“卟——”又一口鲜血喷射而出！
　　孙策的枪重重的扫到我的腰际，我本已受创的内脏再也无法承受这盛怒的一击，剧烈的胶痛翻卷着我脆弱的神经，这一口血将披在我身上的暗红大麾染得更加鲜红！
　　“鼠辈安敢欺吾？”孙策目睚尽裂，似欲喷出火来。
　　我用手擦去胸口的点点血迹，厉声笑道：“有什么敢不敢的，我高宠的命就只这一条，你若要的话，尽管来拿去好了。”

thomas kinkade painting

我手指着身后追随的三骑，惨然道：“宠出身卑微，至今日亦不过一什长耳！我们这些个卑微的生命，在那些达官显要眼中，不过是如草荠一般，想扔就扔，想弃就弃。而在我眼中，任何一个人的生命都是一样的珍贵，没有贵贱高低之分，这些个与我同生共死的弟兄，在我高宠的心里，比那些一上阵就腿打哆嗦的官吏要强过一千倍、一万倍，在这一仗前，我答应过他们，一定要带他们活着出去，而现在，听见我的话的，只剩下了他们三个。子义将军，今日，我就将他们托付给你了。”
　　听到此处，太史慈双目通红，道：“少冲——。”
　　我扬戟割断马缰，仰天大笑道：“我以负创之躯，若能战死在孙策的霸王枪下，也算是一种光荣了，子义将军，你我来生再一起并肩而战吧！”
　　说罢，我猛催战马，朝着黑暗无路的敌阵而去，暗红的披风勒在我的胸襟上，犹如一朵盛放在夕阳下的血莲花。
　　这一刻，我义无返顾，而在我身后，七十四双江东健儿的眼睛已然湿润。

leonardo da vinci last supper painting

北风吹动孙策军的旗帜，猎猎作响。我瞧着敌方“孙”字的帅旗，灵机一动，道：“子义将军，可曾听说摧其坚、夺其魁，可解其体之理。”
　　太史慈不解，问道：“危急之时，少冲请明言，我太史慈一定言听计从。”
　　若是平时，以我什长的身份谏言，太史慈当不至于如此说话，不过现在我两人遭孙策重兵所困，力战不得脱。昨日岭上一战，我尽显勇气，今日又舍命与他并肩搏杀，在太史慈眼里，我早已不是普通的一名小卒，而是一个可以信赖的挚友。
　　我压低声音，道：“方才孙策之言，似有收伏子义之心，如此则必不伤汝，而孙军上下皆惧将军之能，我等要杀得出去，莫如……。”
　　太史慈闻言眼睛一亮，但随后又道：“擒贼擒王，少冲之计好是好，只可惜方才我上岭博杀甚急，意图已为孙策所知，此番再施恐孙策手下诸将有所防备。”
　　我摇头答道：“子义将军，擒贼的确势不可能，不过你我可以做出虚攻的假象，掩护主力突围。适才战事初起，孙策军上下士气高昂，戒备必紧，故将军截杀孙策无功而返矣。今孙策取胜在望，又以重兵围困，难免会心中骄满，我若遣一支军全力猛冲，可杀它个措手不及，如此则敌必混乱。”

Gustav Klimt The Kiss

说实在的对韩国我的态度还不如对待日本.感觉和日本打仗,我豁出去了.和韩国,我只能把大拇指朝下对着棒子们说句"你们不配做对手".一条狗永远只是一条狗,想当时美国人要把军事指挥权还给韩国,韩国人是多么的痛哭流涕好一派"军民情".可以预见韩国人将是世界遭到唾弃最多的民族.
俗话说不想做将军的士兵不是好兵,我看韩国人就得这样说"不愿自主的狗,没资格做好狗."韩国人就配这句话.泡菜国的奴性自古有之，从古至今，一点没变，只是换了个主人而已，先是中国，后来是日本，现在是美国，泡菜国就是奴才的命，现在以为攀上美国这棵高枝，就可以对原来的老大指手画脚，真是不自量力，从脚底开始鄙视这个国家！！！大家全体抵制泡菜国的所以东西，那他就死翘翘了！哈哈我们有理由相信胡哥!回顾下他在位的这些年,默默地做了多少事啊,从来不大呼小叫的,不声不响却能让大家感到痛快!这是第一次出拳，也是最后一次！如果韩国人还不把搬起来的石头给自己放下，那就等着进骨科吧！这块大石头可是韩国人自己挑选的！
　　坚决拥护胡哥！！
　　太振奋了，赶紧来发帖，让大家都知道！有兴趣的话，可以搜索一下今天晚上的《新闻联播》！

Famous artist painting

奥运圣火传递的时候韩国不是闹得凶吗？就让他们在一边凉快去吧。
日本镇压得还可以，没出大乱子。就顺势同意访日了。
其实脏毒幕后黑手是美国，日本是亚洲头号反华国家，都心知肚明的。访谁不访谁的，只是为了传递一个信号。
背地里对中国搞鬼拿你们没办法，对公然挑战中国尊严的国家不会有好脸色的领导人有他的打算,毕竟要搞外交吗,有个国际形象的问题.可我们该说还继续说,该骂还继续骂,想抵制也可以继续,这就是民主.国家利益吗！也没有你们说的那么夸张了！日本手机进不来的，这是对他们的惩罚，这种惩罚应该是永远的。在那儿升五星红旗的时候，胡哥会去的；属国南韩一看胡哥访日，也想邀请胡哥顺便去看看，可能吗？你李明博赶紧来朝拜胡哥吧！来进贡的时候可别带泡菜，胡哥不希罕那玩意。 记得当年对越反击战的之前，邓公也访过日本，还流传出一段佳话。这一次胡总访日非比寻常，自有稳定东亚局势之意。这几个月来全世界都在关注中国，世界人民都在谈论中国，现在的中国是处于“漩涡”之中，以中国人的行为方式，现在最需要的是稳定。南朝鲜（以后我的笔下只有朝鲜和南朝鲜）实在是不足为患，而日本的态度在东亚确有很朋变数，更何况，相对来说日本比南朝鲜智商要高一点，是一个可以有限制的进行一些民事活动的国家，而南朝鲜则还不具备民事活动能力。什么时候等南朝鲜可以真正“独立”了再和我们说事儿吧。另外我不禁要问一下，是谁请那个李命薄来参加奥运开幕式的？我实在是消息闭塞，怎么没听说请过他呢？还是有哪国元首要带着“儿子”来参加？实在搞不懂。南朝鲜不是说没有人权，没有奥运吗？你还不快回弄人权去，来奥运干嘛？虽然奥运与人权无关，但毕竟这是一次人类的盛会，没有听说奥运什么时候增设了犬类比赛项目啊，大家有谁听说吗？

contemporary abstract painting

南朝鲜本来没有必要跟中国过不去！理由很简单，在伟大的中国崛起过程中，南朝鲜是可以分一杯羹的，甚至是吃肉的，中国从地缘政治的关系上来说，也愿意拉这位小兄弟一把，所以在东亚局势中，在中国的抬举下，南朝鲜似乎才有了更多的发言权，比如朝核问题六方谈判、比如联合国秘书长潘基文是靠中国的力量才可以取得的，似乎在国际舞台的地位，南朝鲜一度超越了日本。甚至在中国的支持下，美国准备将南朝鲜半岛军事指挥权交给南朝鲜当局手中，终于南朝鲜狗一样的待遇，现在像人了。　
　　　　
　　但是，狗终究是狗，黄金侠指出：　狗性难改，即狗改不了吃屎！！！　
[ 转自铁血社区 http://bbs.tiexue.net/ ]
　　　　　
　　狗为什么改不了吃屎哪？　因为狗是自卑的动物。你看他每天张牙舞爪旺旺狂吠，实际上是内心焦虑、恐惧、烦躁的表现，黄金侠虽然没有学过动物心理学，可是黄金侠最善于观察狗的行为。　
　南朝鲜国民素质为什么普遍自卑哪？看一看历史就不难理解。日本人侵占朝鲜半岛，对于南朝鲜来说，可能并不是坏事，相反他却可以脱离中国独立了，这是2000年以来一直做中国的儿子属国却是开天辟地的大事。虽然儿子做不成了，做了日本人的狗，但是狗也只是做了37年，地位是叟叟的见涨，即便做了美国的狗，但毕竟更日本地位也是相同的。即原来是狗、现在也是狗，但原来做主人的也变成了狗，虽然饶舌，但这却是现状。

thomas kinkade painting

在距色当不到5公里的一处牧场，我们的车停了下来，紧靠路边就是一处钢筋混凝土筑成的碉堡，它曾是当年构成马其诺防线5600多个永久性工事当中的一个。如今在经历了60年的风吹日晒后，它的表面已经斑驳不堪，但厚达足足3米用水泥筑成的堡顶和围墙，哪怕今天也足以抵住重型炮弹的轰击。从前面看去，它的位置相当隐蔽，只能观察到两个深邃的机枪口，封锁着前方数十平方公里的开阔地。等绕到后面，才发现还有一个能容纳七八人的坑道工事与之紧紧相连，弹药和补给都可以放在这里。如今这座碉堡已经成为农场的一部分，被废弃在荒郊野外，不时几头体格健硕的奶牛会慢吞吞地爬上堡顶，啃食那里长出来的青草，历史就是这样和法国人开了一个巨大的玩笑。
马其诺防线曾被认为“固若金汤”
马其诺防线曾被认为是“固若金汤”的。地上堡垒林立，地下筑有坚固工事，还有地下铁路、隧道公路和各种生活设施。
在一战中通过防御战打败德军的法国人对马其诺防线推崇备至，甚至认为它给法国带来的庇佑就像英吉利海峡给英国带来的庇佑一样。一战英雄贝当元帅在视察完马其诺防线后曾说：“这一扇形地区没有危险。”然而法国人却忽略了马其诺防线给他们带来的心理上的危险，在这种普遍的虚假安全感的笼罩下，一旦防御工事被突破，法国军队的战斗力也会随之崩溃，丝毫不可能组织起野外机动战的可能。
离开色当，我们驱车前往弗蒙特要塞，那里是现在保存最完好的马其诺防线的遗迹，现在也依然属于军事用地。1940年7月21日，弗蒙特要塞被德军炮火击毁，驻守在这里的法国列兵弗洛里安·皮顿也在此牺牲了他年轻的生命。当年皮顿做梦也没有想到德国人会绕到他们的身后，而他只能像躲在一个巨大的乌龟壳里一样被动挨打。

leonardo da vinci last supper painting

夸张了,以当时的情形,吴三桂要么不见永历,要么见了之后也不至于被一个逃跑皇帝吓成那样,吴三桂是什么人?久经战阵 又反复无常,怎么可能被永历这个懦弱的皇帝吓得魂飞魄散的样子. 十二月初九,吴三桂班师,永历及剩余的家属由满洲兵严密看守.
　　1662年(康熙元年)三月十二日,清庭以擒获永历诏告天下.同日,永历与眷属被押抵昆明. 吴三桂等人认为如果押解赴京献俘，路途遥远，恐怕发生意外，建议就地处决，得到清廷核准。
　　四月二十五日，朱由榔、朱慈烺和国戚王维恭的儿子被处死。据记载，行刑前吴三挂主张拖出去砍头，满洲将领不赞成，爱星阿说：“永历尝为中国之君，今若 斩首，未免太惨，仍当赐以自尽，始为得体”；安南将军卓罗也说：“一死而已，彼亦曾为君，全其首领可也。”于是，把朱由榔父子和王维恭子抬到门首小庙内， 用弓弦勒死。随即命昆明知县聂联甲带领员役搬运柴薪把三人棺木焚化于北门外。次日，清兵至火化处拾取大骨携回作证。云南人民不忘故主，以出城上坟为借口， 寻得未烬小骨葬于太华山。南明最后一帝至此烟消云散。

art work painting

2012年一季度印度GDP初估244799.9亿卢比，同比增5.6%，2011年增速下修为7.0%印度中央统计局5月31日发布的2011-12财年四季度（2012年一季度）GDP估算报告显示，自2011年二季度以来，印度经济增速持续下降，按可比市场价格计算，实际GDP（MP）同比增长5.6%，增幅较上季回落0.6个百分点，比去年同期低0.6个百分点。



　　初步估算，2012年一季度，按当前市场价格计算，印度名义GDP为244799.9亿卢比，同比增长12.2%;按2004-05财年市场价格计算，实际GDP为152961.8亿卢比，同比增长5.6%;GDP平减指数为160.04（2004-05=100），同比变化6.3%。



　　按当前要素成本计算，一季度名义GDP为223213.1亿卢比，同比增长12.0%;按2004-05财年要素成本计算，实际GDP为139507.1亿卢比，同比增长5.3%;GDP平减指数为160.0，同比变化6.4%。



　　按季度平均汇率计算，2012年一季度，印度名义GDP（MP）折合4865.5亿美元，较上年同期的4819.6亿美元增长1.0%;名义GDP（FC）折合4436.4亿美元，同比增长0.8%。

african art painting

好样的黑牛，我没有看错你，不过你想到哪里招兵呢？”
　　赵刚听了黑牛的话，大声喝彩
　　黑牛听得之后想了想，高兴的问道：
　　“赵巡检，那我马上去呼伦河那里招他个一万两万的，那里的人多地少，人人都是好汉，打起仗来都不怕死。”
　　“黑牛，看来你也是个有心人，去哪找人我不管，你自己判断。不过怎么招兵的事情，你可能还不知道，我教给你一些，也方便你以后招兵训练。”
　　黑牛点点头，仔细听赵刚的话
　　“招兵，第一看五官。以双目神不外散，鼻梁直，嘴唇厚为最好。第二看皮肤，以肤色粗黑，双手茧多为最好。第三看说话。以木讷寡言为最好。另外绝对不允许又抽大烟者加入。一旦发现有抽大烟，立刻开除。”
　　合了这几条，其他并不重要，即算是差一些的日后也必定会成为精兵。”
　　黑牛听得连连点头，赵刚又说了下去：
　　“招兵之后，必赏罚清楚。奋勇前进者得金帛，怯弱后退者得斧鞭，刑罚不可一日懈怠，奖赏不可一日而停。军中刑罚要简单明了，不可模棱两可。军队之中，最重军法，切记。触犯军法者，必罚！
　　“然天理即是人情，赏罚之后，必使众人口服心服，这就是将之“德”，有德才有威。所以，做事首先要明察秋毫，不是下人蒙蔽，自然立身处事就不偏不倚，也就不会出现偏差。”

The Singing Butler

社会记录》主持人阿丘在接受上海《新闻午报》采访时，提出了栏目被撤销的一个说法，是因为“时效性不够强，和新闻频道的定位不符”。
颇具讽刺意味的是，《社会记录》在新闻频道消失的一个月后，同样是上海的媒体，2月底出版的《新闻记者》杂志刊登了一篇名为《社会记录，真在记录社会》的文章。文章说：“不管是硬新闻还是软新闻，远的像衡阳大火、佘祥林案，近的如肖志军拒绝签字、陕西华南虎照片真假，《社会记录》往往抢在CCTV所有栏目之前甚至在CCTV独家报道。”
[ 转自铁血社区 http://bbs.tiexue.net/ ]
作者感叹：“它的LOGO，只是一块小小的拼图。当我面对凤凰卫视和报刊的同行还有非同行观众，亏得这块拼图，减轻了一点点我内心的恐慌。”
这篇文章甚至比较了同属央视新闻评论部的《社会记录》和《焦点访谈》两档节目，觉得“《焦点访谈》是文，《社会记录》是笔。有韵为文、无韵为笔，《焦点访谈》韵文居多，有人觉得专事歌颂；《社会记录》是笔记、是小说，编辑、记者和阿丘都有些蒲松龄、纪晓岚的神韵。理想状态，《焦点访谈》监督政府，《社会记录》价值重估。”

Van Gogh Sunflower

西方人眼里就是一个没有进化的猴子，而在中国人眼里则是一个上天入地，敢于反抗一切压迫的战神，通过这个小说人物要让外国人明白，中国人的艺术想象力也是非常强悍的，不比他们的什么《指环王》、《纳尼亚传奇》、《哈里.波特》差到哪里去，甚至更精彩，我想达到这一点就足够了！
呵呵，所以看完电影我就认为《功夫之王》就是一部给西方人看的《西游记》电影魔幻版。 怎么感觉这部《功夫之王》除了体现两位巨星的打斗，再无任何看点。
说齐天大圣没了金箍棒什么也干不了（成了木头人），说做人的道理，不要轻信别人（玉疆战神将孙悟空骗了），说善恶有报（最后杀死了这个骗子）。
说白了，我忽然觉得好像是说另一位香港明星周XX,他拍了《月光宝盒》（演的也是孙悟空）、《功夫》。。。是不是说周XX如果没有什么什么，就不能如何如何？没有功夫就不要拍功夫。
再有就是主楼说的，那两个女星好像真没什么用处。 我个人感觉来看，刘亦菲的演技并不好，甚至可以用很差来形容。她在很多场景的表现都很不好，比如在说她和玉疆战神的仇的时候，她说的一点感情都没有，除了流泪以外好像跟她没关系。她根本就不会融入角色，这点很多演员都比她做的好，虽然她们不比他有名。