传奇私服玉兔版本wanfa|kediribertutur

Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                    • I knew well - better perhaps than he thought, as far as my poor mother was concerned - and I obeyed him to the letter. I retreated to my own room no more; I took refuge with Peggotty no more; but sat wearily in the parlour day after day, looking forward to night, and bedtime.
                                      Bond gave his order to the steward. He lit a cigarette and turned back to her. "Somebody who can make Sauce Bйarnaise as well as love," he said.

                                                                        • "Well, anyway we're rich," said Major Smythe. "But promise me you won't breathe a word, or we'll have all the burglars in Jamaica around our ears. Promise?"
                                                                          Bond ordered a double gin and tonic and one whole green lime. When the drink came he cut the lime in half, dropped the two squeezed halves into the long glass, almost filled the glass with ice cubes and then poured in the tonic. He took the drink out on to the balcony, and sat and looked out across the spectacular view. He thought how wonderful it was to be away from headquarters, and from London, and from hospitals, and to be here, at this moment, doing what he was doing and knowing, as all his senses told him, that he was on a good tough case again.

                                                                          His face was quite impassive. He flattened out his left hand on the table and then withdrew it, leaving the two pink cards face down before him, their secret unrevealed.
                                                                          In writing a novel the author soon becomes aware that a burden of many pages is before him. Circumstances require that he should cover a certain and generally not a very confined space. Short novels are not popular with readers generally. Critics often complain of the ordinary length of novels — of the three volumes to which they are subjected; but few novels which have attained great success in England have been told in fewer pages. The novel-writer who sticks to novel-writing as his profession will certainly find that this burden of length is incumbent on him. How shall he carry his burden to the end? How shall he cover his space? Many great artists have by their practice opposed the doctrine which I now propose to preach — but they have succeeded I think in spite of their fault and by dint of their greatness. There should be no episodes in a novel. Every sentence, every word, through all those pages, should tend to the telling of the story. Such episodes distract the attention of the reader, and always do so disagreeably. Who has not felt this to be the case even with The Curious Impertinent and with the History of the Man of the Hill. And if it be so with Cervantes and Fielding, who can hope to succeed? Though the novel which you have to write must be long, let it be all one. And this exclusion of episodes should be carried down into the smallest details. Every sentence and every word used should tend to the telling of the story. “But,” the young novelist will say, “with so many pages before me to be filled, how shall I succeed if I thus confine myself — how am I to know beforehand what space this story of mine will require? There must be the three volumes, or the certain number of magazine pages which I have contracted to supply. If I may not be discursive should occasion require, how shall I complete my task? The painter suits the size of his canvas to his subject, and must I in my art stretch my subject to my canas?” This undoubtedly must be done by the novelist; and if he will learn his business, may be done without injury to his effect. He may not paint different pictures on the same canvas, which he will do if he allow himself to wander away to matters outside his own story; but by studying proportion in his work, he may teach himself so to tell his story that it shall naturally fall into the required length. Though his story should be all one, yet it may have many parts. Though the plot itself may require but few characters, it may be so enlarged as to find its full development in many. There may be subsidiary plots, which shall all tend to the elucidation of the main story, and which will take their places as part of one and the same work — as there may be many figures on a canvas which shall not to the spectator seem to form themselves into separate pictures.

                                                                           

                                                                          M's quiet eyes were fixed on Bond. He puffed at his pipe, listening.
                                                                          During all this while, James Bond had been glancing from time to time at the roof of the lobby building that we could just see over the tops of the flaming cabins. Now he said casually, "They've set it going. I'll have to get after them. How are you feeling, Viv? Any stuffing left? How's the head?"

                                                                          'And pray, what did you mean by that, sir?' demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant.

                                                                                                            • "Good evening. Could I have a Red Stripe?"

                                                                                                                                                • 鈥楳any thanks, love, for the two copies of the nice work on Prophecies in the Old Testament. It ought to convince any candid mind.... It might be valuable to English-reading Muhammadans. But it is not at all necessary with them to avoid the Blessed Saviour鈥檚 Name. Yesterday, in a Zenana a bright-looking young woman[323] exclaimed, not particularly apropos to anything that I was saying: 鈥淛esus Christ is the Son of God.鈥 鈥淏eshakh!鈥 (Without doubt!) instantly rejoined an older Bibi.

                                                                                                                                                                                    • Bond shot a quick glance towards the bank of cameramen. Yes, the M.I.5 photographer was on his toes. He had also seen the movement. He lifted his camera deliberately and there was the quick glare of a flash. Bond got back to his seat and whispered to Snowman, "Got him. Be in touch with you tomorrow. Thanks a lot." Mr. Snowman only nodded. His eyes remained glued on the auctioneer.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        • 'Yes, I thank you, sir!' said Uriah Heep, looking in that direction. 'Far more comfortable here, than ever I was outside. I see my follies, now, sir. That's what makes me comfortable.'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            •   I tried not to stare, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off a guy as good-looking as Arnulfo. He wasbrown as polished leather, with whimsical dark eyes that glinted with bemused self-confidencefrom under the bangs of his black bowl-cut. He reminded me of the early Beatles; all the earlyBeatles, rolled into one shrewd, amused, quietly handsome composite of raw strength. He wasdressed in typical Tarahumara garb, a thigh-length skirt and a fiery red tunic as billowy as apirate’s blouse. Every time he moved, the muscles in his legs shifted and re-formed like moltenmetal.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • The A.D.C. at his side was less comfortable. He was nervous at R.U.M.I.D. being pinned down in this way, and without a full departmental briefing. He scoured his brain clear and sharpened his ears to catch every word.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    • While Kerim was fitting one into a long nicotine-stained ivory holder, Bond took the opportunity to glance round the room, which smelled strongly of paint and varnish as if it had just been redecorated.