Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                              “Yeah?” Caballo snarled. “We’ll see, amigo.” He turned and stalked down the trail.

                                                          Bond woke on time and there was a wonderful freshness in the air as he followed the limping figure of Leiter through the half light that filtered through the elms among the waking stables. In the east, the sky was pearly grey and iridescent, like a toy balloon filled with cigarette smoke, and among the shrubs the mocking birds were beginning their first song. Blue smoke rose straight up in the air from the fires in the camps behind the stables and there was a smell of coffee and wood-smoke and dew. There was the clank of pails and the other small noises of men and horses in the early morning and as they moved out from under the trees to the white wooden rail that bordered the track, a file of blanketed horses came by with a boy at each head, holding the leading rein right up close to the bit and talking with soft roughness to their charges. "Hey, lazybones, pick yo feet up. Giddap. You sho ain't no Man-O-War dis mornin'."
                                                          Bond turned towards Goldfinger and the caddies, his eyes fierce. Goldfinger was straightening up. He met Bond's eyes indifferently. 'Sorry. Dropped my driver.'
                                                          The croupier's voice rang out. A silence built itself up round the table.

                                                          'That was most enjoyable, my dear James. You really ought to go on the halls. Now about that little problem of yours, this business of not knowing good men from bad men and villains from heroes, and so forth. It is, of course, a difficult problem in the abstract. The secret lies in personal experience, whether you're a Chinaman or an Englishman.'


                                                          Bond hunted for clues. "Would it really be so valuable to him, this place? What do you suppose it's worth?"
                                                          THE AWAKENING of the Tibetans caused a stir throughout the world. For a while it seemed that at last the light would win. Bold young Tibetans, ‘itinerant servants of the light’, left their frugal and crag-bound ‘incipient Utopia’ to spread the gospel across the high passes of the Karakorum Range into Sinkiang and far into the Russian plain. Others, still more daring, penetrated eastward to the upper reaches of the Hwang Ho. Evading the efficient Chinese police, they carried the word even to Shanghai, and thence to Japan. Yet others, crossing the more difficult and neglected of the Himalayan passes, percolated like an invisible ferment into the peoples of India; while others again crept along the gorges of Kashmir, seeking Europe. Thousands were caught, and tortured with all the cunning of medical and psychological science. In China these tortures were often carried out in public to entertain the people and warn those who had any leanings towards the light. But few of the missionaries were extirpated before they had infected with their message many who were ripe to receive it. Meanwhile in Lhasa and the other great centres of the new-old truth swarms of young men and women were being trained to carry on the great task.
                                                          "I'm sorry," said Gala. "I was dreaming. No," she answered his question. "I think you're right. I've been down here since the beginning and although there've been odd little things from time to time, and of course the shooting, I've seen absolutely nothing wrong. Every one of the team, from Sir Hugo down, is heart and soul behind the rocket. It's all they live for and it's been wonderful to see the whole thing grow. The Germans are terrific workers-and I can quite believe that Bartsch broke under the strain-and they love being driven by Sir Hugo and he loves driving them. They worship him. And as for security, the place is solid with it and I'm sure that anyone who tried to get near the Moonraker would be torn to pieces. I agree with you about Krebs and that he was probably working under Drax's orders. It was because I believed that, that I didn't bother to report him when he went through my things. There was nothing for him to find, of course. Just private letters and so on. It would be typical of Sir Hugo to make absolutely sure. And I must say," she said candidly, "that I admire him for it. He's a ruthless man with deplorable manners and not a very nice face under all that red hair, but I love working for him and I'm longing for the Moonraker to be a success. Living with it for so long has made me feel just like his men do about it."
                                                          The girls had gone home, when my name burst into bloom on Traddles's door; and the sharp boy looked, all day, as if he had never heard of Sophy, shut up in a back room, glancing down from her work into a sooty little strip of garden with a pump in it. But there I always found her, the same bright housewife; often humming her Devonshire ballads when no strange foot was coming up the stairs, and blunting the sharp boy in his official closet with melody.

                                                                                      In the morning, nothing remained of his aches except the soreness of the hands, and Kissy gave him the rare treat of an egg beaten up in his rice and bean curd and he apologized for his bad manners of the night before. She said, 'Todoroki-san, you have the spirit of ten samurai, but you have the body of only one. I should have known that I had asked too much of that single body. It was the pleasure of the day. It made me forget everything else. So it is I who apologize, and today we will not go so far. Instead, we will keep close to the cliffs of the island and see what we can find. I will do the rowing, for it is a small distance, but you will be able to do more diving because the place that I know of, which I haven't visited for many weeks, is inshore and the water is, at the most, twenty feet deep.'

                                                                                                                  鈥楽he was reading the sermon (Spurgeon鈥檚) on Christ鈥檚 first miracle at Cana. She read there that our duty was to fill the jars to the brim; and it was Christ鈥檚 work to turn them into wine. This led to the self-examining question, 鈥淎m I filling the jars to the brim? Can I not work a little more for Christ than I have hitherto done?鈥 This gave her strength in her feebleness; and from that day she spent an hour more in the zenanas than she used to do. Considering the various discouragements she met in her Missionary work, it was no small matter to take this step,鈥攁nd this too at a time when it was an effort to walk, not to speak of ascending perpendicular flights of stairs in the zenanas....

                                                                                                                                              Fitz-Ullin, as the wreaths of smoke from time to time blew aside on her deck, could discern the figure of Edmund, now here, now there, busily engaged, encouraging and directing his men in all quarters.

                                                                                                                                                                          'That's just what I would have chosen for dinner. How thoughtful of you, Tiger.'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              I kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry then; but not sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was there, and the parting was there, every day. And it is not so much the embrace she gave me, that lives in my mind, though it was as fervent as could be, as what followed the embrace.