Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                                              • 鈥楴ov. 22, 1881.
                                                                                ACT I.

                                                                                                                                                          • 鈥楾hough I posted a letter to your sweet Mother only yesterday, perhaps I had better tell you of my visit to the Zenana of 鈥斺€ whilst it is fresh in my mind. Dear C., Miss H., and myself went to-day to visit this Muhammadan house. It is a handsome one, in the midst of fine park-like grounds; and from the lofty verandah we had a better view of part of our city than I have seen before.
                                                                                                                                                            Over a period of forty years, since I began my manhood at a desk in the Post Office, I and my brother, Thomas Adolphus, have been fast friends. There have been hot words between us, for perfect friendship bears and allows hot words. Few brothers have had more of brotherhood. But in those schooldays he was, of all my foes, the worst. In accordance with the practice of the college, which submits, or did then submit, much of the tuition of the younger boys from the elder, he was my tutor; and in his capacity of teacher and ruler, he had studied the theories of Draco. I remember well how he used to exact obedience after the manner of that lawgiver. Hang a little boy for stealing apples, he used to say, and other little boys will not steal apples. The doctrine was already exploded elsewhere, but he stuck to it with conservative energy. The result was that, as a part of his daily exercise, he thrashed me with a big stick. That such thrashings should have been possible at a school as a continual part of one’s daily life, seems to me to argue a very ill condition of school discipline.
                                                                                                                                                            I was too sorrowful to discuss the question, which would possibly have been beyond me under any circumstances; and Mr. Omer took me back into the parlour, breathing with some difficulty on the way.
                                                                                                                                                            The excitement and the small exertion had caused Major Smythe to pant, and he felt the old pain across his chest lurking, ready to come at him. He put his feet down, and after driving his spear all the way through the fish, held it, still flapping desperately, out of the water. Then he slowly made his way back across the lagoon on foot and walked up the sand of his beach to the wooden bench under the sea-grape. Then he dropped the spear with its jerking quarry on the sand beside him and sat down to rest.
                                                                                                                                                            Leiter had tracked the jockey down to his rooming house and had flashed his private detective's licence at him. And then he had quite calmly blackmailed him into throwing the race. If Shy Smile won, Leiter would go to the Stewards, expose the ringer, and Tingaling Bell would never ride again. But there was one chance for the jockey to save himself. If he took it,


                                                                                                                                                            In print, Rorem comes across as being somewhat disillusioned with life and art. In person, however, he is a warm, sincere host. With a tendency toward shyness that does not come through in his books. Rorem makes all of his remarks so matter-of-factly that nothing he says seems vicious or outrageous.

                                                                                                                                                            I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks put to my eyes, and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and find a great puffy place bursting out on my upper lip, which swells immoderately. For three or four days I remain at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a green shade over my eyes; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is a sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and makes the time light and happy. Agnes has my confidence completely, always; I tell her all about the butcher, and the wrongs he has heaped upon me; she thinks I couldn't have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks and trembles at my having fought him.
                                                                                                                                                            And there was a movement in the row of seats behind Bond, and Leiter's face came forward alongside his and Leiter's mouth said into his ear, "It's done. It's cost three thousand bucks but he'll play the doublecross. Foul riding in the last furlong just as he's due to make his winning sprint. Oh Boy! See you in the morning." And the whisper ended, and Bond didn't look round but went on watching the sales for a while and then slowly walked home under the elms, feeling sorry for a jockey called Tingaling Bell who was playing such a desperately dangerous game, and for a big chestnut called Shy Smile who was' now not only a ringer but was going to be ridden foul into the bargain.
                                                                                                                                                            "No." The moment had passed. Would there be others? Bond measured the inches of the leap: noted that the jugular vein was in full view above the neck of the kimono.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      • "There'll be a long-barrel Colt in the other box," he said to his secretary. "Keep it until I get back. Then I'll take it down to the range and fire it in."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • 'You must not forget,' said Agnes, calmly changing the conversation as soon as I had concluded, 'that you are always to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood?'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              • Bond dropped back into his cabin and tore the sheets off his bed. The Blood Knot. That would be safest. But he would have to rip the sheets in half to get enough length. If he won, he would have to get some sheets from Aqg and leave their steward to puzzle out the loss. If he lost, nothing would matter.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          • 'That is so. You are indeed a genius, lieber Ernst. You have already established this place as a shrine to death for evermore. People read about such fantasies in the works of Poe, Lautreamont, de Sade, but no one has ever created such a fantasy in real life. It is as if one of the great fairy tales has come to life. A sort of Disneyland of Death. But of course,' she hastened to add, 'on an altogether grander, more poetic scale.'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      • Inattentively he skimmed through the remaining pages, ticked himself off the distribution slip, and threw the docket into his out-tray.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  • "Five clubs redoubled," said Basildon. "Your lead, Meyer."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              • 'For money which I paid him,' said Miss Dartle to me.