无敌神马在线观看 睿峰影院 骚虎高清影院
时间：2020-12-05 04:58:05 作者：词典重新解释女人 浏览量：84183
show-and-tel l "This is Yale in the baby blanket I got her at Hermes. And this is her and Kitty Minky watching Breakfast at Tiffany's with me in the rocking chair. See, she even has on kitten socks with tiny ears and whiskers!" Friday senior homeroom was the sacred half hour during which the Constance Billard seniors sat on the floor in the senior lounge—a tiny, empty fifth-floor classroom—drinking cappuccinos, trading gossip, and exchanging personal opinions about their new clothing purchases. This Friday was Blair's first day back at school since The Baby, so the half hour was given over to show-and-tell. "And here she is sleeping in her little Moses basket." "Aw," thirty girls chorused together. "And where did she get that fantastic silver cow-jumping-over-the-moon mobile?" Laura Salmon demanded. "It's from Tiffany. It was a gift." From Nate, Serena added silently from where she sat on the outer edge of the group. Nate had even called her from Tiffany so she could help him pick something out. "The basket she's sleeping in is so precious," added Isabel Coates. "I love the way the pink ribbon is woven into the handles." Thanks, Serena thought to herself. She'd ordered tin basket from a baby boutique in southern France and had it flown over especially. "It was hand woven by Alsatian monks from the branches of willow trees," Serena blurted out. "It's supposed to stay in the family and become an heirloom." Meaning that it was a gift to Blair, too. Blair looked up from her digital camera. She and Serena hadn't spoken since their unfortunate college-acceptance-letter opening party, and it was pretty obvious that the generous baby gifts Serena and Nate had sent to her mom were meant as peace offerings. But Blair had never been one to forgive and forget easily. The first bell rang and the tightly packed group of girls moaned and began to dissipate, collecting their books and pens and gum and hairbrushes and whatever else they'd need to make it through the day, while still hanging around to listen to Serena and Blair face off. Serena stayed where she was, hugging her knees and watching Blair rearrange her school stuff in her too-small-for-hooks baby blue Fendi backpack. "She's beautiful," Serena told Blair earnestly. Blair allowed her a smug half-smile. Yes, Yale was beautiful. "How'd last weekend go?" she demanded. "Where do you think you want to go?" It was a trick question. If Serena said Yale, Blair would shoot fire out of her eyeballs and burn her to the ground. If she said another school, she'd be lying, since she still hadn't made up her mind. But Yale was closest to the city, and it had Lars and the Whiffenpoofs, and that uptight New Englandness that reminded her of home. Plus, how much fun would it be if she and Nate and Blair were friends again and all went there together? She scooted her butt across the plush red carpet towards I (lair and began to explain. "Actually I fell in love. With all of them. Every school." She blushed as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I fell in love with my tour guides. They were all boys and I hey were so— Blair held up her hand and rolled her eyes. Did anyone or anything ever change? "I don't want to know." Actually, she did, but she knew Serena would eventually tell her anyway. "And what about you?" Serena asked curiously. "How'd it go at Georgetown?" Blair rolled her eyes again and touched her hair selfconsciously. "You don't want to know." Serena shrugged her shoulders. "It doesn't matter. You're going to get into Yale anyway," she stated confidently. The second bell rang but the other girls dawdled, watching Serena and Blair out of the corners of their eyes as they pretended to drink out of empty cappuccino cups. "I heard Serena got a huge modeling contract for next year so she's going to give Blair her spot at Yale. Blair just has to pretend to be her," Kati Farkas whispered to Isabel Coates. Yale. Blair just has to pretend to be her," Kati Farkas whispered to Isabel Coates. "I heard she and Blair are going to take their babies to Yale with them and start a lesbos-with-babies support group," Isabel hissed back. "Oh my God. I totally saw Serena at my mom's gyno yesterday," Laura Salmon volunteered. "I'm waiting for my mom, and then I hear Serena telling him how she'd gotten all these diseases from the guys she slept with this weekend. Ew!" "Wait, I thought they were fighting," Kati pointed out. "Look, they're hugging." Each girl turned to gape over her shoulder as Serena and Blair took hold of each other. "Nate's been calling, like, ten times a day every day to ask about you," Serena murmured as she pressed her cheek against Blair's. Blair bit her lower lip. "He sent Yale some really cute stuff." "You know he loves you," Serena said, even though she didn't need to. "And we're all so much happier when we're not fighting." "Yeah," Blair admitted. But Nate was going to have in prove it to her on his own. Not that she'd be that hard to win over. glinda the good witch and her munchkin helper "Can I sit here?" Elise asked Jenny at lunchtime on Friday. "I don't know why you'd want to," Jenny grumbled. Ever since her ghastly picture had appeared in that magazine, she'd been creeping around with her head down, avoiding public places at all costs. Just being in school at all was excruciating. But her father had forced her to go, and now she was parked at her usual beside-the-mirror table, glaring at her reflection. "I brought you an ice cream sandwich." Elise sat down across from her and pushed the ice cream toward Jenny. Jenny pushed it away. She was on a food strike. "I'm not hungry. Actually, I was about to leave," she added grouchily. So Elise was making an effort to be friends again? Honestly— she wasn't in the mood. Elise drizzled honey from a plastic packet into a teacup, beginning the little tea ceremony she'd had with herself every day at lunchtime since she and Jenny started fighting. "Just sit with me a little while," she begged in a voice verging on desperate. Jenny knitted her eyebrows together. "Why should I?" Elise stirred her tea and took a careful sip. "I don't know." She glanced around the room, as if looking for someone. "Because I asked you to?" Jenny sighed heavily and stood up. "Look, I'm going up to the computer lab, okay?" At least up there she could hide from everyone's vicious stares while she pretended to send e-mails to all the friends she didn't have. "See you later." Elise grabbed her arm. "Wait. Sit down. Just one more minute." Jenny pulled her arm away. "What's your problem?" Elise's freckled face turned beet red. "I just—" Then Serena plunked her beautiful ass down at their table and Elise let out a huge sigh of relief. "I thought I was going to have to sit on her to keep her down here," she grumbled. "What's going on?" Jenny demanded. So now Elise and Serena were, like, working together to sabotage her life even worse than it had already been sabotaged? That was just peachy. Serena pulled a stack of magazines from out of her bag, "Before you say anything, can I just show you the stuff Jonathan Joyce has done?" She rifled through the magazines, and started pointing out pictures. "There. And there. And how cool is this? Jenny stared glassy-eyed at the photos. Models frolicking on a bed wearing little or no makeup, old T-shirts, and baggy men's trousers. A girl with her legs tucked up underneath her, drinking a glass of milk. A man kissing his dog. A stewardess asleep in an airport lounge with a pilot's coat draped over her. There was nothing provocative about the pictures. They were just plain good. her. There was nothing provocative about the pictures. They were just plain good. Jenny didn't know what to say. Sure, it sounded exciting, and the keeping-the-clothes thing was definitely a plus, but how did she know it wasn't just another degrading look-at-the-girl-with-the-big-boobs stunt? "I have a birthday party to go to in Williamsburg on Saturday," she protested lamely. "But that's not till nighttime," Elise countered. "I could come with you to the shoot, and I could shout or blow a whistle if I think your integrity is being compromised." Leave it to Elise to put it into the type of clinical terms she'd read in one of her mom's self-help books. Jenny crossed her arms over the part of her integrity that was most often compromised. "I made him promise not to shoot us in anything too revealing," Serena added. "He's really only interested in our faces anyway." Jenny examined her reflection in the mirrored wall in front of her. She had a good face, and this famous guy wanted to take a picture of it. What was the big deal? She took a deep breath. "Okay. I'll do it." "Yippee!" Serena hugged her tightly. "It's going to be awesome, you'll see!" The other girls eating in the lunchroom looked on curiously. "Maybe Jenny's agreed to donate the fat tissue from her boobs for Serena's implants," Mary Goldberg hazarded. Or maybe Serena had found the perfect way to avoid the gang of Ivy League suitors coming to the city to see her on Saturday! gossipgirl.co.uk topics previous next post a question reply Disclaimer: All the real names of places, people, and events have been altered or abbreviated to protect the innocent. Namely, me. HEY, PEOPLE! What's this about a party? So it's in Brooklyn and the people throwing it are basically not the type of people we see socially, but there's not much else going on this weekend, and a party isn't made by the people who throw it: it's made by the people who go. So I say, let's go, and get everyone we know to go, and make it rock. You dig? Your e-mail Dear GG, I go to Georgetown and I heard that so many people used Georgetown as their safety this year that the school is doing all this stuff to get people to come there. Like they're sending this group of girls up to New York this weekend to recruit all the kids that got in. —gshock Dear gshock, Does this particular group of girls happen to have dyed blond hair and shaving scars on their legs? —GG Dear GG, I am in the ROTC program at Yale, which means my tenure here is sponsored by the army, and I'm in basic training at the same time. The officer in charge of my program got a letter from this girl who said she was wait-listed at Yale, but she would join the program if they promised her a spot. So the program officer decides to send me down to NYC to meet her. She wrote on this weird stationery with shoes all over it and put a picture of her baby sister in the letter. Her baby sister's name is Yale. Sounds like a nutjob, huh? —armygurl Dear armygurl, You don't know what you're in for. My advice: Wear your helmet. —GG Sightings N in FAO Schwarz, trying to decide between a life-size stuffed horse and a crib entertainment center that plays DVDs and MP3s. It's nice that he's so generous and all, but this is getting ridiculous. S and J in Bendel's, shopping to their hearts' content while J's friend E dutifully schlepped the bags. B introducing her new baby sister to Barneys' shoe department, where everybody knows her name. Ten handsome boys on the New Haven line singing a song from West Side Story. That ferret-toting friend of V's buying a duffel bag full of booze in a Williamsburg liquor store. Guess someone's getting ready to party hardy? D sitting alone in a Williamsburg diner late at night, writing. A birthday poem for V, perhaps? Don't forget, and don't forget to tell everyone you know not to forget—tomorrow night is all about behaving badly in Brooklyn. See you there! You know you love me, gossip girl
Our hero's next step was to seek provisions and water. The district, however, yielded him nothing, and he was forced to rest satisfied with the lading of a couple of small vessels, which he captured. One of them he fitted out as a long-boat, and called her the Dragon. They were now in the Gulf of Nicoya and at anchor close to Middle Island, as Funnell terms it; and here it was they careened their ship, all hands going ashore and building tents for the cooper and sailmaker, and for the storage [Pg 128] of goods and provisions. Whilst this was doing Dampier sent his mate, John Clipperton, and twenty men armed to the teeth for a cruise in the Dragon. He found his account in this little expedition, for at the end of six days the Dragon returned with a Spanish craft of forty tons freighted with brandy, wine, and sugar. Amongst her people were six carpenters and caulkers, who had been shipped by the owner for the purpose of repairing her, and these men Dampier immediately set to work upon his own ship. The bottom of the St. George, after she had been careened, is described as resembling a honeycomb. Nowhere was the plank much thicker than an old sixpence; so sodden and rotten was the wood that Funnell declares in some places he could easily have thrust his thumb through it. They were without timber to sheath her, and all that could be done was to stop the leaks with nails and oakum.
“My friends,” said he, “it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty- seven minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric spark on the wire which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad. At that precise moment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus we still have twenty-seven minutes to remain on the earth.”
The written language mentioned above you will see often in the Northland. Whenever an Indian band camps, it blazes a tree and leaves, as record for those who may follow, a message written in the phonetic character. I do not understand exactly the philosophy of it, but I gather that each sound has a symbol of its own, like shorthand, and that therefore even totally different languages--such as Ojibway, the Wood Cree, or the Hudson Bay Eskimos--may all be written in the same character. It was invented nearly a hundred years ago by a priest. So simple is it, and so needed a method of intercommunication, that its use is now practically universal. Even the youngsters understand it, for they are early instructed in its mysteries during the long winter evenings. On the preceding page is a message I copied from a spruce tree two hundred miles from anywhere on the Mattagami River.
The Gouernour answered him, that because he did not find him in that towne, hee was incensed against him, thinking he had absented himselfe, as others had done: But seeing he now knew his loyaltie and loue, he would alwaies hold him as a brother, and fauour him in all his affaires. The Cacique went with him to the towne where he resided, which was a daies iournie from thence. Salt made of salt springs of water. They passed through a smal town, where there was a lake, where the Indians made salt: and the Christians made some one day while they rested there, of a brackish water, which sprang neere the towne in ponds like fountaines. The Gouernour staied in Chaguate sixe daies. There he was informed of the habitation that was toward the West. They told him, that three daies iournie from thence was a Prouince called Aguacay. The day that he departed from Chaguate, a Christian, called Francisco de Guzman, the base sonne of a Gentleman of Siuill, staied behind, and went to the Indians, with an Indian woman which he kept as his concubine, for feare he should be punished for gaming debts, that he did owe. The Gouernor had trauelled two daies before he missed him; hee sent the Cacique word to seeke him vp, and to send him to Aguacay, whither he trauelled: which hee did not performe. From the Cacique of Aguacay, before they came into the Countrie, there met him on the way 15. Indians with a present of skinnes, fish and rosted venison. The Gouernour came to his towne on Wednesday, the fourth of Iulie. He found the towne without people, and lodged in it: he staied there about a day; during which, he made some roades, and tooke many men and women. There they had knowledge of the South Sea. Here there was great store of salt made of sand, which they gather in a vaine of ground like peeble stones. And it was made as they make salt in Cayas.
Two or three days later we left Dunkirk for St. Omer, where I at last received my orders. I was to return secretly to Dunkirk and there take passage in a swift sailing cutter, lately captured from the English, and carry a sum of three thousand guineas, together with important despatches and letters for the Prince.