United States or Micronesia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Well, yes, that is so," replies the manager. "I remember I did want a piece for him then, but he's gone and signed up with K. and Lee. What I wish you would do is to take this script and twist it to be a vehicle for Pansy Glucose." "Pansy Glucose?" moans the author. "The ingenue?" "Yes," says the manager. "It won't take long.
"It isn't in Feisul's handwriting," he said, holding the feathery Arab script up to the lamplight; "and it's no more like his phraseology than a camel resembles a locomotive.
For a life of lawlessness, rapine, and robbery, does not debar a man from keeping an oath sworn, out of honest gratitude, in cleaner, better days. Left alone, Mora passed on to the terrace and, in the clearer light, examined this soiled and much inscribed missive. To her amazement she recognised the well-known script of Symon, Bishop of Worcester.
The writing of Persepolis did not show any pictures at all. They consisted of v-shaped figures that were repeated endlessly and suggested nothing at all to the European eye. Nowadays, when the puzzle has been solved we know that the original script of the Sumerians had been a picture-language, quite as much as that of the Egyptians.
This habit is especially surprising in view of the Ambassador's enormous epistolary output. It must be remembered that the letters included in the present book are only a selection from the vast number that he wrote during his five years in England; many of these letters fill twenty and thirty pages of script; the labour involved in turning them out; day after day, seems fairly astounding.
"Not at all!" interrupted Talbot Potter, who had taken his seat at a small table near the trough where the footlights lay asleep, like the row of night-watchmen they were. "Not at all!" he repeated sharply, thumping the table with his knuckles. "That's all out. It's cut. Nippert doesn't come on in this scene at all. You've got the original script there, Packer. Good heavens!
He knew instinctively before he touched it that none but Maud Lindesay could have written that script small, clear, and distinct as a motto cut on a gem. "To our friends in France and Scotland," so it ran. "We are still safe this eve of the Blessed Saint Michael. Trust her who brings this letter. She is our saviour and our only hope in a dark and evil place.
He read the script through from beginning to end, and his heart went heavy in his chest. He did not want to change one scene of that Big Picture. Just as it stood it seemed to him perfect in its way. It had the bigness of the West when the West was young. It had the red blood of courage, the strength of achievement, the sweetness of a great love. It was, in short, Luck's biggest, best work.
He was saddened, less by homely pictures than by the unfamiliar script. He had always distrusted the written word. Why all these strange letterings so unnecessary, so dangerous to the life of an orthodox Christian? What one brother has to tell another why write it down? He saw the straw pallet destined for his nocturnal repose.
If at times she was unusually quiet, had spells of sitting very still with folded hands and far away dreams in her eyes, if she crept away by herself to read the long letters that came so often, from many addresses but always in the same bold, beautiful script and to pen long answers to these; if she read more poetry than was her wont and sang love songs with a new, exquisite, but rather heart breaking timbre in her lovely contralto voice, no one paid much attention to these signs except possibly Doctor Philip who saw most things.
Word Of The Day