Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                  And then, in the sniperscope, Bond saw the head of Trigger-the purity of the profile, the golden bell of hair-all laid out along the stock of the Kalashnikov! She was dead, a sitting duck! Bond's fingers flashed down to the screws, inched them round, and as yellow flame fluttered at the snout of the submachinegun, squeezed the trigger.
                                                  'Oh, I know you are not!' said I, 'because if you had been you would have told me. Or at least' - for I saw a faint blush in her face, 'you would have let me find it out for myself. But there is no one that I know of, who deserves to love you, Agnes. Someone of a nobler character, and more worthy altogether than anyone I have ever seen here, must rise up, before I give my consent. In the time to come, I shall have a wary eye on all admirers; and shall exact a great deal from the successful one, I assure you.'


                                                                                                "I have always been a rebel," she proclaims regally, dressed in a stylish Edwardian outfit with padded shoulders at her midtown office. Quite heavily made up, with hot pink lipstick and a Cleopatra hairdo, she looks considerably younger than her age. The strident quality of her voice is reminiscent of a Broadway chorus girl's, yet is delivered in a crisp, businesslike manner. During the interview she rarely smiles or strays from the question being asked. For some reason, she declines to say much about her new book, How to Look 10 Years Younger, which is scheduled for publication in April. Instead, she stresses the simple, common-sense rules about beauty that have guided her career from the beginning.
                                                                                                Krebs came up with a silver tray with four full glasses and a frosted shaker. The Martini was excellent and Bond said so.
                                                                                                There was a soft burr from the intercom, on M.'s desk and a ruby light winked on and off. M. picked up the single earphone and leant towards it. "Yes?" he said. There was a pause. "I'll take it on the Cabinet line." He picked up the white receiver from the bank of four telephones.


                                                                                                He felt thoroughly dispirited and weak in resolve as well as in his body. He had had to take too much in the past twenty-four hours and now this last stroke by the enemy seemed almost too final. This time there could be no miracles. No one knew where he was and no one would miss him until well on into the morning. The wreck of his car would be found before very long, but it would take hours to trace the ownership to him.

                                                                                                On Friday morning, the day after the consultation, Miss Tucker woke very early, and asked to have her desk, that she might write. This of course could not be allowed. Later in the same day Mr. Weitbrecht went in to see her, just after an interview with Dr. Clark, and she inquired, 鈥榃hat does the doctor say?鈥橖br>
                                                                                                "God," she whispered. "What are you saying? You're mad." She looked at him through eyes wide with horror.

                                                                                                                                              Beauty, he believes, "is an advantage to everything — man, woman, child, flower, state. I mean, everything. Beauty is the most fabulous thing in the world. I hate ugliness." His advice to amateur photographers: "Get a Polaroid. It is a very flattering camera to use, because it washes everything out." He couldn't resist adding: "If you can't be photographed by Scavullo, have your picture taken with a Polaroid."

                                                                                                                                                                                            In the imperial system the great majority of human beings were practically serfs, while in the free system all shared equally in the frugal prosperity of the whole federation, and there was ample individual freedom. The one was a gigantic police state, the other a co-operative venture of free men. In the one there was strict censorship, in the other complete freedom of expression. In the one the dominant mood was apathy, mutual suspicion, and neurotic vindictiveness; in the other buoyant confidence and unfailing mutual friendliness prevailed in spite of the constant external danger. It might have been expected that the need for watchfulness and unity would have forced the Tibetans to sacrifice freedom to military dictatorship, and would set up the kind of deterioration which external danger had long ago caused in revolutionary Russia. But the Tibetans were by now too sure of themselves and of each other to feel the need to restrict freedom. Their discipline was at bottom a thorough self-discipline, which, though it permitted unlimited discussion and criticism, freely and fervently accepted in the last resort the decision of the government. And treason was by now unthinkable.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          'Dirt,' I said.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      51Smaller GesturesHand gestures are also part of the vocabulary of bodylanguage. They, too, can be divided into open gestures(positive responses) and closed or concealed gestures(negative responses), except that their range is far moreintricate and expressive. I should point out that individualgestures, just like the individual words on this page,don't say much. Only when you're presented with morethan one gesture, perhaps combined with an expressionand topped off with some overall body language, canyou deduce that a particular clenched fist means "Wow,my horse came in first!" and not "I'm so mad I want toslap him!"A similar set of differences occurs in body languageabove the neck. The open face smiles, makes eye contact,gives feedback, shows curiosity and raises the eyebrowsto show interest. In a casual encounter, a quicklook and a lowering of the eyes says, "I trust you. I'm notafraid of you." A prolonged look strengthens the positivesignal. In conversation, we may use a nod of the head atthe end of a statement to indicate that an answer isexpected.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    It was an adequate ball which went bouncing on between Ruby and Violet, and Bond kept it in play while their food came and proved delicious. Poulet Gloria was spatchcocked, with a mustard-and-cream sauce. The girls fell silent over their dishes, consuming them with polite but concentrated greed. There was a similar pause in the chatter at the other tables. Bond made conversation about the decor of the room and this gave him a chance to have a good look at the waiters. There were twelve of them in sight. It was not difficult to sum them up as three Corsicans, three Germans, three vaguely Balkan faces, Turks, Bulgars, or Yugoslavs, and three obvious Slavs. There would probably be three Frenchmen in the kitchen. Was this the old pattern of SPECTRE? The well-tried communist-cell pattern of three men from each of the great gangster and secret-service organizations in Europe? Were the three Slavs ex-Smersh men? The whole lot of them looked tough enough, had that quiet smell of the pro. The man at the airport was one of them. Bond recognized others as the reception steward and the man who had come to his room about the table. He heard the girls calling them Fritz, Joseph, Ivan, Achmed. And some of them were ski guides during the day. Well, it was a nice little set-up if Bond was right.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Wide as was the circle of family acquaintances, the girls possessed few intimate outside friends. Mr. Tucker rather discouraged such intimacies, considering that his five daughters ought to be content with the close companionship of one another. Charlotte had above all her Laura, whom she devotedly loved; and so satisfying was this friendship that she probably cared little for others by comparison.