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The Scottish had charged across the road in the morning, and hundreds had come to grief. They were lying everywhere, out on the fields, by the roadside, and in the roadway mixed up with the mud. The driver who had been killed a moment ago was so preoccupied with his task that he had no time for any other work but his own. We were all like him. We had one job to do and that job took up our whole attention until it was completed. That was why our party did not put down our stretcher on the road and raise the dead from the mud; we walked over them.
“It’s my heart,” Harry said. “I can’t stand up.”
“Very well,” said Paola, tossing the end of his cigarette through the open doorway. “We are prisoners of war. Peste! my dear Captain; how energetic your soldiers are!”
“Digby’s a fine place,” said the man. “Well, good day, Mr. Halloran. I’m glad to have met you.” He held out a round hand.
And if love is, what thing and witch is he? If love be good, from whennes cometh my woo? —Geoffrey Chaucer, Troilus and Criseydegossipgirl.co.u k 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! You know the saying, Today is the first day of the rest of your life? I always thought that sounded so lame and corny, but today it actually seems sort of profound. Plus, I'm beginning to think there's nothing wrong with corny. It's okay to tell the doorman to have a good day when he opens the door for you in the morning on the way to school. And, why not stop to smell the lilacs planted outside the apartment buildings along Fifth Avenue? While you're at it, go ahead and stick a bunch behind your ear. It's still only April, but you now have permission to wear those new mint green leather Coach flip-flops—you know, the ones with the little yellow roses embroidered on them that you've been wearing around the house for over a month?—outside. Of course you'll probably get into trouble at school for being out of uniform, but how else are you going to show off your new Brazilian pedicure? I know, I know. You probably think I'm crazy to sound so upbeat since this is the week we all find out whether or not we were accepted at the colleges we applied to. It's the most critical thing that's happened to us thus far. From now on we'll be branded by the school we choose, or rather, the school that chooses us: the smarty-pants who got into Yale, the lesbionic B-student volleyball player bound for Smith, the flaky heiress whose dad bought her into Brown. All I'm saying is, why not look on the bright side? The letters are in the mail, what's done is done, and I for one am eager to move on. That stupid game we all used to play (and secretly still do) With college admissions almost behind us, now's the time to devote our full attention to something equally important: our love lives. It's about time you and the boy of your dreams (please add the line "in bed" to each of the following): Drank Fuzzy Navels and stayed up until dawn Fed each other hot fudge sundaes Watched old movies Blew smoke rings Played Twister Gave each other temporary tattoos Named your children Cut gym Tried Bikram yoga Not that I'm advocating anything too illegal. Now is definitely not the time to screw up. You heard about that promising young actress who got into Harvard last year and then ran off to LA to hang out with her actor boyfriend for the month of May? Harvard acceptance . . . revoked!! The above list is simply the best way I know of to shed the pounds of stress that have been weighing us down. Talk about a diet I might actually stick to! simply the best way I know of to shed the pounds of stress that have been weighing us down. Talk about a diet I might actually stick to! Dear Gossip Girl, I just wanted to thank you for keeping my spirits up when I'm a total basket case. I don't know about you, but I applied to twelve schools and last night I dreamt I didn't get into one. Any advice on why I shouldn't run away to Mexico? Ur2cool. — rose Dear rose, Mexico sounds good, but twelve schools? Come on, you're bound to get into one, or even all twelve! And in case you feel like hurling yourself off a bridge before all twelve letters turn up stick close to your friends ... unless you're worried they might actually push you! This is a sensitive time for all of us. —GG Dear GG, So is that crazy drug rehab girl from Connecticut, like, gone from N's life? Because if he's single, I'm totally going to jump him. —reddy Dear reddy, Sorry, honey, but you'll have to wait in line—and no cutting, please! Unfortunately for us, someone got to him first. Actually, she's always been there and probably always will be. I think you know who I'm talking about. But don't be too jealous: her life is anything but perfect. —GG Sightings N waking and baking on the Met steps. I guess now that he's lax captain and is no longer hanging out with that fabulously insane drug rehab convict, he can relax and enjoy himself. B cutting assembly this morning to run home, on the off chance Yale was so eager to accept her they FedExed the letter for morning delivery. Talk about a basket case! B was also seen in Barneys' lingerie department trying on what can only be described as a "get lucky" ensemble. S biting her nails as she lay sunbathing in Sheep Meadow while scores of admiring boys looked on. What's she so worried about, anyway? D and V pretending not to notice each other as they waited on line to buy tickets to the new Ken Mogul film at the Angelika. J trying on a pair of wait-list-only python skin Manolos in Bergdorf Goodman. How exactly was she planning to pay for them, and where exactly is she planning to wear them? She may only be a freshman, but she's definitely ambitious. Just in case you want to relive these precious moments... V is making a documentary film about the whole getting-into-college thing. Think of it as an opportunity to vent and get four minutes in the limelight. For the next two weeks, she'll be filming near Bethesda Fountain in Central Park after school. My fingers and toes are all crossed. Good luck, everybody! You know I mean it, gossip girl
“Well,” said I, ”what about her?”
"If he can," supplemented Dick.
Arose a blossom —’
But bit by bit, the mischief dwindled, and she started talking more. Atfirst, I admit I was relieved, glad that my strange, silent wife was finallyacting normal, making nice with the neighbors instead of pranking themwith endless honks and fanny-kicks and squirt guns. We gave up thesteeplechase and she had the doglegs taken out, her fur removed, hereyes unsilvered to a hazel that was pretty and as fathomable as the silverhad been inscrutable.
A couple of minutes later, old Jaskett came up to relieve me. I gave him the course, and he repeated it.
2.Clematis viticella, var. venosa. — In this and the two following species the power of spirally twining is completely lost, and this seems due to the lessened flexibility of the internodes and to the interference caused by the large size of the leaves. But the revolving movement, though restricted, is not lost. In our present species a young internode, placed in front of a window, made three narrow ellipses, transversely to the direction of the light, at an average rate of 2 hrs. 40 m. When placed so that the movements were to and from the light, the rate was greatly accelerated in one half of the course, and retarded in the other, as with twining plants. The ellipses were small; the longer diameter, described by the apex of a shoot bearing a pair of not expanded leaves, was only 4.625 inches, and that by the apex of the penultimate internode only 1.125 inch. At the most favourable period of growth each leaf would hardly be carried to and fro by the movement of the internodes more than two or three inches, but, as above stated, it is probable that the leaves themselves move spontaneously. The movement of the whole shoot by the wind and by its rapid growth, would probably be almost equally efficient as these spontaneous movements, in bringing the petioles into contact with surrounding objects.>
The Last Chouan proved a success. It was criticised and its merit was admitted. L’Universel shows the tone of most of the articles devoted to it: “After all, the work is not without interest; if reduced to half its length, it would be amusing from one end to the other. In general, the style is pretentious in almost all of the descriptive parts, but the dialogue is not lacking in naturalness and frankness.”
May, 1918, as you will remember, was a very dark hour. We had come into the war, had been in for a year; but events had not yet taken us out of the well-nigh total eclipse flung upon our character by those blighting words, "there is such a thing as being too proud to fight." The British had been told by their General that they were fighting with their backs to the wall. Since March 23rd the tread of the Hun had been coming steadily nearer to Paris. Belleau Wood and Chateau-Thierry had not yet struck the true ring from our metal and put into the hands of Foch the one further weapon that he needed. French morale was burning very low and blue. Yet even in such an hour, people apparently American and apparently grown up, were talking against England, our ally. Then and thereafter, even as to-day, they talked against her as they had been talking since August, 1914, as I had heard them again and again, indoors and out, as I heard a man one forenoon in a crowd during the earlier years of the war, the miserable years before we waked from our trance of neutrality, while our chosen leaders were still misleading us.