手游电脑板平台|kediribertutur

Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                  • First encountered as a displaced person, inmate of Dachau DP camp in the US Zone of Germany, June 1945. Apparently suffering from amnesia and paralysis of vocal chords (? both feigned). Dumbness succumbed to therapy, but subject continued to claim total loss of memory except associations with Alsace-Lorraine and Strasbourg whither he was transferred in September 1945, on Stateless Passport No 304-596. Adopted the name 'Le Chiffre' ('since I am only a number on a passport'). No Christian names.
                                                    To the interrogation cell! That could mean only one thing, under modern methods, total confession! How long would Campbell hold out for? How many hours had Bond got left?

                                                                                                    • At this time, and thenceforth, a great proportion of all my letters (including many which found their way into the newspapers12 ) were not written by me but by my daughter; at first merely from her willingness to help in disposing of a mass of letters greater than I could get through without assistance, but afterwards because I thought the letters she wrote superior to mine, and more so in proportion to the difficulty and importance of the occasion. Even those which I wrote myself were generally much improved by her, as is also the case with all the more recent of my prepared speeches, of which, and of some of my published writings, not a few passages, and those the most successful, were hers.
                                                                                                      In his column, Wicker has never been told what to write, never had an article killed or edited, and never been urged to conform to the Times editorial policy.
                                                                                                      Scaramanga thrust out an inside wrist and looked at a thin gold watch on a two-coloured gold bracelet. He said, "Six thirty-two. My car'll be outside." He got up. "Let's go. But don't forget one thing, mister whoosis. I rile mighty easy. Get me?"
                                                                                                      Goldfinger pressed Bond's hand briefly and pushed it away from him. It was another mannerism of the millionaire subconsciously afraid of'the touch'. He looked hard at Bond. He said enigmatically, 'I shouldn't be at all surprised, Mr Bond.'
                                                                                                      Ten days later, the little room was crowded. James Bond, propped up among extra pillows, was amused by the galaxy of officialdom that had been assembled. On his left was the Commissioner of Police, resplendent in his black uniform with silver insignia. On his right was a justice of the Supreme Court in full regalia, accompanied by a deferential clerk. A massive figure, to whom Felix Leiter, on crutches, was fairly respectful, had been introduced as "Colonel Bannister" from Washington. Head of Station C, a quiet civil servant called Alec Hill, who had been flown out from London, stood near the door and kept his appraising eyes unwaveringly on Bond. Mary Goodnight, who was to take notes of the proceedings but also, on the matron's strict instructions, watch for any sign of fatigue in James Bond and have absolute authority to close the meeting if he showed strain, sat demurely beside the bed with a shorthand pad on her knees. But James Bond felt no strain. He was delighted to see all these people and know that at last he was back in the great world again. The only matters that worried him were that he had not been allowed to see Felix Leiter before the meeting to agree their stories and that he had been rather curtly advised by the High Commissioner's Office that legal representation would not be necessary.

                                                                                                       

                                                                                                      'I think that would be a mistake, Sair Hilary. And surely you will need all the time you have to complete your duties for the Count. No' - it was an order - 'I am afraid, with many apologies, that what you ask is out of the question.' She glanced at her watch and clapped her hands. 'And now, girls,' she called, 'it is time for the supper. Come along! Come along!'


                                                                                                      Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. He said Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of which he (Mr. Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he thanked Heaven, he could admire. He feelingly alluded to the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles had honoured with his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection by honouring and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, with a simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite charmed with, 'I am very much obliged to you indeed. And I do assure you, she's the dearest girl! -'
                                                                                                      'It's horrible,' she said. 'The things they did to you. And it was all my fault. If only . . .'

                                                                                                                                                      • Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket-handkerchief, and held it before her eyes.

                                                                                                                                                                                                        • The Elfin suddenness with which she pounced upon me with this question, and a searching look, quite disconcerted me for a moment.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          •   “Big surprise,” the sports-medicine literature sneers. Not exactly like that, though. More like this:

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            • Some more company coming in, among whom were the two masters and Adams, the talk became general; and it naturally turned on Mr. Jack Maldon, and his voyage, and the country he was going to, and his various plans and prospects. He was to leave that night, after supper, in a post-chaise, for Gravesend; where the ship, in which he was to make the voyage, lay; and was to be gone - unless he came home on leave, or for his health - I don't know how many years. I recollect it was settled by general consent that India was quite a misrepresented country, and had nothing objectionable in it, but a tiger or two, and a little heat in the warm part of the day. For my own part, I looked on Mr. Jack Maldon as a modern Sindbad, and pictured him the bosom friend of all the Rajahs in the East, sitting under canopies, smoking curly golden pipes - a mile long, if they could be straightened out.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              • 'The new boy,' said the Master.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 'Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear!' she answered, assuming an air of sprightliness.