Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                    • 'Fifty would be good. A hundred would be wonderful. But above all, you must row well and not let me drown. And you must be kind to David.'
                                      ‘Read me some poetry,’ said Zina?da in an undertone, and she propped herself on her elbow; ‘I like your reading poetry. You read it in sing-song, but that’s no matter, that comes of being young. Read me “On the Hills of Georgia.” Only sit down first.’

                                                                        • And then, on September the fifteenth, I drew a thousand dollars in American Express travelers' checks from my small bank balance, scientifically packed my saddlebags with what I thought would be a minimum wardrobe, kissed Aunt Florence good-by, and set off down the Saint Lawrence on Route 2.
                                                                          Scaramanga snorted. "Hell, no! And should I care? I eat one of their famous secret agents for breakfast from time to time. Only ten days ago, I disposed of one of them who came nosing after me. Man called Ross. His body is now very slowly sinking to the bottom of a pitch lake in Eastern Trinidad-place called La Brea. The oil company, the Trinidad Lake Asphalt people, will obtain an interesting barrel of crude one of these days. Next question, please, Mr. Hendriks."
                                                                          our body language, which includes your posture,X your expressions and your gestures, accounts formore than one-half of what other people respond to andmake assumptions about.
                                                                          "Don't be silly," said Gala. "Policewomen aren't made of gossamer." She gave a reluctant smile at Bond's ironically respectful 'Of course not', and they turned towards the distant tower of the South Foreland lighthouse and set off through the shingle.


                                                                          Horatia. Believe then these tears, this agony of apprehension in which you see me. This moment the soldiers may be mounting the staircase—cutting off all hope ...

                                                                          Thus, Madam, I rubb'd on, in the midst of Noise and Bustle, which is every where to be found in London; but Quiet and Retreat scarce any where. At last I found out a Closet in my Landlady's Back-Garret which I crept into, as if it had been a Cave on the Top of Parnassus; the Habitation of some unfortunate Muse, that had inspir'd Cowley, Butler, Otway, or Orinda, with Notions different from the rest of Mankind; and for that Fault, were there made Prisoners. Here I thought I found my own poor despicable Muse given to Orinda as her Waiting-maid; and it was, perhaps, some of the worst Part of that great Lady's Punishment, to be constrain'd to a daily Correspondence with so dull a Creature. However, this Hole was to me a kind of Paradise; where I thought I met with my old Acquaintance as we hope to do in the other World. Here I tumbled over Harvey and Willis at Pleasure: My impertinent Muse here found me; and here we renew'd our old Acquaintance. Sometimes I wou'd repel her Insinuations; and sometimes again accept her Caresses; as appears by the following Invocation.
                                                                          She tuned the dial a hair's breadth and tried again. Her watch said six-twenty-nine. She began to worry. In a matter of seconds, London would be coming in. Suddenly she thought, God, what could she do if Strangways wasn't on time! It was useless for her to acknowledge London and pretend she was him-useless and dangerous. Radio Security would be monitoring the call, as they monitored every call from an agent. Those instruments which measured the minute peculiarities in an operator's 'fist' would at once detect it wasn't Strangways at the key. Mary Trueblood had been shown the forest of dials in the quiet room on the top floor at headquarters, had watched as the dancing hands registered the weight of each pulse, the speed of each cipher group, the stumble over a particular letter. The Controller had explained it all to her when she had joined the Caribbean station five years before-how a buzzer would sound and the contact be automatically broken if the wrong operator had come on the air. It was the basic protection against a Secret Service'transmitter falling into enemy hands. And, if an agent had been captured and was being forced to contact London under torture, he had only to add a few hairbreadth peculiarities to his usual 'fist' and they would tell the story of his capture as clearly as if he had announced it en clair.

                                                                                                            • Drax glanced again up and down the empty road. Then, looking carefully into the suddenly aware blue eyes, he drew the leather driving gauntlet off his left hand and with his right whipped her as hard as he could across the face with it.

                                                                                                                                                • I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, which lasted five days. If I could have seen my mother alone, I should have gone down on my knees to her and besought her forgiveness; but I saw no one, Miss Murdstone excepted, during the whole time - except at evening prayers in the parlour; to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after everybody else was placed; where I was stationed, a young outlaw, all alone by myself near the door; and whence I was solemnly conducted by my jailer, before any one arose from the devotional posture. I only observed that my mother was as far off from me as she could be, and kept her face another way so that I never saw it; and that Mr. Murdstone's hand was bound up in a large linen wrapper.

                                                                                                                                                                                    • Sophia. What, what?

                                                                                                                                                                                                                        • "You might have a spare chair for visitors," said Bond with a grin which she defined as impertinent, "and something better to read than reference books."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            • Drax grumbled on.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • "And," Sister Rose smiled politely in the direction of Honeychile, "your wife? Is'she also interested in birds?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    • The girl hadn't wanted the question. "Maybe I just settled for the inhuman," she said shortly. "And who in hell do you think I should have married? Shady Tree?"