of Socialism should have an extraordinary appeal.
"The hen has feathers, but it does not fly," Retief said. "We have asked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man, a hint is enough."
of costume, a certain system of meals, a certain dietary, certain apparatus, a certain routine. They know their way about in life as it is. They would be lost in Utopia. Quite little alterations “put them out,” as they say—create a distressing feeling of inadequacy, make them “feel odd.” Whatever little enlargements they may contemplate in reverie, in practice they know they want nothing except, perhaps, a little more of all the things they like. That’s the way with most of us, anyhow. To make a fairly complete intimation of the nature of Socialism to an average, decent, middle-aged, middle-class person would be to arouse emotions of unspeakable terror, if the whole project didn’t also naturally clothe itself in a quality of incredibility. And you will find, as a matter of fact, that your middle-class Socialists belong to two classes; either they are amiable people who don’t understand a bit what Socialism is—and some of the most ardent and serviceable workers for Socialism are of this type—or they are people so unhappily
and set to work to learn enough Italian between Palermo and Campofranco to be able to make at least our most urgent wants known. For four hours he devoted himself industriously to the study of that beautiful and necessary language. It was a desperate case, and I think I am safe in saying that Doctor Park studied grammar more industriously during those four hours than he ever did before in his life. At any rate, by the time the train had crossed the rocky crest of the mountains which divide the north and south sides of Sicily, and before we disembarked at the lonesome little station of Campofranco, he could speak enough Italian, mixed with German, French, and English, to make himself understood. Perhaps another reason for Doctor Park's success was the fact that the Italians understand the sign language pretty well.
“I will make all clear. The Prime Minister was in his car, his secretary beside him. Suddenly a pad of chloroform is clapped on his face——”
“There are things, you see, Jack,” Amos was calling triumphantly, “that can strike terror to the heart of even a fanatical Turk. He can get used to meeting cold steel in the shape of bayonets, and even the flash of guns close at hand doesn’t faze him; but a shell, or a bursting bomb, makes him turn tail and run.”
candour. "Nobody in the world counts with me except George."
We had hardly put our heads through the hole in this wall, however, when we saw two or three men lying in the shade of a little straw-thatched hut, in which the guards sleep during the harvest season, to keep the thieves from carrying away the crops. As soon as these men saw us, one of them, who seemed to be the proprietor, arose and came toward us. We explained that we were from America and that we were interested in agriculture. As soon as this man learned that we were from
“We kept it up for hours, she argyfyin’ an’ me argyfyin’, she prayin’ an’ me prayin’. I tell you, Boss, she wus er speedy filly, an’ she had no noshun ob quittin’. We went round de fus’ quarter ob de last mile nose and nose—argyment ergin argyment, prayer ergin prayer. I thout sho’ she had me distanced onct when she fotch out de scriptures on me an’ turned to de twenty-second chapter ob Exerdust an’ sed: ‘Brer Washington, read fur yo’self: “Thou shalt not afflict any widder or fatherless chile.”’ But I turned over to Timerthy, de fifth chapter an’ de third verse, an’ sez I, ‘Sister Calline, whut you read am Ole Testament. It am anshunt histery. Heah am de New Testament, heah am de new doctrine: “Honor widders dat am widders, indeed.”’ Oh, I tell you, Boss,” laughed the old man, “I sho’ hung onto de sulky wheels ob her contenshun wid de wings ob my orthorteries—you gotter hab sum speed lef’ fur de home stretch ef you wants ter beat er widder home!
McCray thumbed down the transmitter button and gave a concise report of his situation and his guesses. "I don't know how I got here. I don't know how long I've been gone, since I was unconscious for a time. However, if the transmission lag is a reliable indication—" he swallowed and went on—"I'd estimate I am something more than five hundred light-years away from you at this moment. That's all I have to say, except for one more word: Help."
"Fire the moment you see him," Nef said. One of the officers had his Dardick-pistol drawn, his eyes traversing the canyon walls.
A whispered vow and a gentle kiss;详情 ➢
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