Inspirasi Kediri Bertutur

                                                • A certain little incident of this period may be mentioned. With a new Principal, naturally new plans were adopted in the training of the boys; and Miss Tucker did not always at first take kindly to fresh ideas. She was now of an age to prefer the old to the new, simply because it was the old. Dr. Weitbrecht writes:鈥擖br> CHAPTER LIII.

                                                                                                • Bond said carelessly, "Miss Michel here was telling me the motel hadn't been doing so well. I gather the place hasn't been accepted for membership in Quality Courts or Holiday Inns or Congress. Difficult to do much trade without one of those affiliations. And all this trouble to send up you fellows to count the spoons and turn off the electric light and so on." James Bond looked sympathetic. "Just crossed my mind that the business might be on the rocks. Too bad if it is. Nice set-up here, and a fine site."
                                                                                                  Ham was quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would have said much more about her, if they had not been abashed by the unexpected coming in of Steerforth, who, seeing me in a corner speaking with two strangers, stopped in a song he was singing, and said: 'I didn't know you were here, young Copperfield!' (for it was not the usual visiting room) and crossed by us on his way out.

                                                                                                  How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers; or their talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth dipped a match into a phosphorus-box, when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was gone directly! A certain mysterious feeling, consequent on the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in which everything was said, steals over me again, and I listen to all they tell me with a vague feeling of solemnity and awe, which makes me glad that they are all so near, and frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when Traddles pretends to see a ghost in the corner.
                                                                                                  It was a biggish man. His face had the glistening, pasty appearance of a spat-out bullseye. Small, cold dark eyes were looking towards the auctioneer's platform through motionless bifocals. All the man's neck seemed to be at the back of his head.


                                                                                                  'Please let me hold the pens,' said Dora. 'I want to have something to do with all those many hours when you are so industrious. May I hold the pens?'
                                                                                                  "I don't think you've met my assistant, Mr. Travis."
                                                                                                  "Yes," said Bond. He looked levelly at the great red face across the desk. "It's a remarkable case-history. Galloping paranoia. Delusions of jealousy and persecution. Megalomaniac hatred and desire for revenge. Curiously enough," he went on conversationally, "it may have something to do with your teeth. Diastema, they call it. Comes from sucking your thumb when you're a child. Yes. I expect that's what the psychologists will say when they get you into the lunatic asylum. 'Ogre's teeth.' Being bullied at school and so on. Extraordinary the effect it has on a child. Then Nazism helped to fan the flames and then came the crack on your ugly head. The crack you engineered yourself. I expect that settled it. From then on you were really mad. Same sort of thing as people who think they're God. Extraordinary what tenacity they have. Absolute fanatics. You're almost a genius. Lombroso would have been delighted with you. As it is you're just a mad dog that'll have to be shot. Or else you'll commit suicide. Paranoiacs generally do. Too bad. Sad business."

                                                                                                  'Dear boy!' said the gentleman. 'I cannot wonder at his devotion!'

                                                                                                                                                • She nodded. 'I know this. And then you are going to kill this man and perhaps his wife. You are the man who we believe was to come to Kuro from across the sea and do these things.' She continued to gaze out to sea. She said dully, 'But why have you been chosen? Why should it not be another, a Japanese?'

                                                                                                                                                                                                • 'Mother,' he said, with an impatient bite at the handkerchief in which his hand was wrapped, 'you had better take and fire a loaded gun at me.'

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • Major Townsend picked up the green receiver and was put through to the laboratory. "Major Townsend speaking. Any comment?" He listened, carefully, said thank you, and got through to the Chief Security Officer at Headquarters. "Well, sir, I think it must be 007. Bit thinner than his photographs. I'll be giving you his prints as soon as he's gone. Wearing his usual rig-dark-blue single-breasted suit, white shirt, thin black knitted silk tie, black casuals- but they all look brand-new. Raincoat bought yesterday from Burberry's. Got the Freudenstadt question right, but says he won't say anything about himself except to M. personally. But whoever he is, I don't like it much. He fluffed on his special cigarettes. He's got an odd sort of glazed, sort of faraway look, and the 'scope' shows that he's carrying a gun inhis right-hand coat pocket-curious sort of contraption, doesn't seem to have got a butt to it. I'd say he's a sick man. I wouldn't personally recommend that M. should see him, but I wouldn't know how we're to get him to talk unless he does." He paused. "Very good, sir. I'll stay by the telephone. I'm on Mr. Robson's extension."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • 'Well, well!' said Miss Betsey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • She smiled uncertainly. The blue eyes searched his face for reassurance. "You're not worried about what's going to happen to us?" She nodded at the room. "Don't you think this is all a trap?"

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                • 鈥楾his is a splendid room of mine ... about twenty-four feet each way, and so lofty. I am surprised at the elegance of these Indian bungalows. Please put from your mind all idea of hardship.[31] I have now lived in four bungalows, and all have elegant rooms, and there is such an air of refinement that I have great doubts whether it would be the correct thing to put out my hand and take a slice of bread off a plate. Mrs. Elmslie is a lovely lady, tall, slight, fair; but however tall, a lady every inch of her; she might be a Countess with her meek dignity....鈥橖/p>