Five acres or so of these stupid trees had been cleared to build the motel, which is all that this place really was. "Motel" isn't a good word any longer. It has become smart to use "Motor Court" or "Ranch Cabins" ever since motels became associated with prostitution, gangsters, and murders, for all of which their anonymity and lack of supervision is a convenience. The site, touristwise, in the lingo of the trade, was a good one. There was this wandering secondary road through the forest, which was a pleasant alternative route between Lake George and Glen Falls to the south, and halfway along it was a small lake, cutely called Dreamy Waters, that was a traditional favorite with picnickers. It was on the southern shore of this lake that the motel had been built, its reception lobby facing the road, with, behind this main building, the rooms fanning out in a semicircle. There were forty rooms with kitchen, shower, and lavatory, and they all had some kind of view of the lake behind them. The whole construction and design was the latest thing-glazed pitch-pine frontages and pretty timber roofs all over knobbles, air-conditioning, television in every cabin, children's playground, swimming pool, golf range out over the lake with floating balls (fifty balls, one dollar)-all the gimmicks. Food? Cafeteria in the lobby, and grocery and liquor deliveries twice a day from Lake George. All this for ten dollars single and sixteen double. No wonder that, with around two hundred thousand dollars' capital outlay and a season lasting only from July the first to the beginning of October, or, so far as the NO VACANCY sign was concerned, from July fourteenth to Labor Day, the owners were finding the going hard. Or so those dreadful Phanceys had told me when they'd taken me on as receptionist for only thirty dollars a week plus keep. Thank heavens they were out of my hair! Song in my heart? There had been the whole heavenly choir at six o'clock that morning when their shiny station-wagon had disappeared down the road on their way to Glens Falls and then to Troy where the monsters came from. Mr. Phancey had made a last grab at me, and I hadn't been quick enough. His free hand had run like a fast lizard over my body before I had crunched my heel into his instep. He had let go then. When his contorted face had cleared, he said softly, "All right, sex-box. Just see that you mind camp good until the boss comes to take over the keys tomorrow noon. Happy dreams tonight." Then he had grinned a grin I hadn't understood, and had gone over to the station-wagon, where his wife had been watching from the driver's seat. "Come on, Jed," she had said sharply. "You can work off those urges on West Street tonight." She put the car in gear and called over to me sweetly, " 'By now, cutie-pie. Write us every day." Then she had wiped the crooked smile off her face and I caught a last glimpse of her withered hatchet profile as the car turned out onto the road. Phew! What a couple! Right out of a book-and what a book! Dear Diary! Well, people couldn't come much Worse, and now they'd gone. From now on, on my travels, the human race must improve!
Are emblems, love, of you,
'No,' said Steerforth, before I could reply. 'Nothing of the sort. On the contrary, Mr. Copperfield used - or I am much mistaken - to have a great admiration for her.'
‘Thank God, I haven’t!’
“That’s the eternal question,” Dr. Davis replied.
Find out what you're getting.
Over the previous few years, Vigil had become convinced that the next leap forward in humanendurance would come from a dimension he dreaded getting into: character. Not the “character”