United States or Botswana ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"What the devil are you talking about?" Archie looked at him, surprised. "Aren't I making it clear?" "No." "Well, you understand about the bathing suit, don't you? The jolly old bathing suit, you've grasped that, what?" "No." "Oh, I say," said Archie. "That's rather a nuisance. I mean to say, the bathing suit's what you might call the good old pivot of the whole dashed affair, you see.
"It's her right enough. It's the suit's done it," which was truer even than Mr. Hoopdriver thought. But now she was not waving her handkerchief, she was not even looking at him. She was wheeling her machine slowly along the road towards him, and admiring the pretty wooded hills towards Weybridge. She might have been unaware of his existence for all the recognition he got.
"Right!" he said; and slowly his great bulging figure lifted. Cautiously, the adventurer made through the watrari tree to the side facing away from the ranch. There, poising for a second, he manipulated the lateral direction-rod on the suit's chest, and, still very slowly, floated free from the shrouding leaves.
It wouldn't do any particular harm even to call in it, if the people were used to you. But " "I look dressed up?" "Like a fashion plate like a tailor like a society actor." "What shall I wear?" "Oh, just throw yourself together any old way. Business suit's good enough." "But I barely know these people socially. I never called there," I objected. "Then don't call," he advised.
Your correspondent must have got hold of a back number of the 'Sentinel." She felt a quick thrill of relief. "You mean it's over? He's lost his case?" There was a just perceptible delay in Boyne's reply. "The suit's been withdrawn that's all." But she persisted, as if to exonerate herself from the inward charge of being too easily put off. "Withdrawn because he saw he had no chance?"
But something was holding it. Something held it quietly and firmly, for all its plunging. It reared once more now, a gross, lumbering hugeness, and came crashing down to its knees. Then it went over on its side. The suit's beams flashed on. Trigger squeezed her eyes tight shut, blinded by the light that flashed back from black walls all around.
They sat there for half an hour; three-quarters; till the storm ceased with the rising of the moon. "I'm afraid the pretty frock's spoiled," he said. "That doesn't matter. Your poor suit's ruined." He laughed. "Whatever's been ruined," he said, "it was worth it." Hand in hand they went back together through the drenched fields. At the first gap he stopped. "It's settled?" he said.
There is, in that city of London there, some property of ours which is much at this day what Bleak House was then; I say property of ours, meaning of the suit's, but I ought to call it the property of costs, for costs is the only power on earth that will ever get anything out of it now or will ever know it for anything but an eyesore and a heartsore.
The suit bumped up gently against one huge bulk, and a six-inch pale blue eye looked at her for a moment as she went circling around it. "Eyes for what?" somebody in the back of her mind wondered briefly. She glanced into the suit's rear view screen and saw that the ones who had gone down were getting up again, mixed with the ones who came crowding after her. Thirty feet away!
The suit's light beams played over the massed, moving ranks: squat bodies and sinuous ones, immensities that scraped the ceiling, stalked limbs and gaping nutcracker jaws, blurs of motion her eyes couldn't step down to define into shapes. Some still blazed with her guns' white fire. The closest were thirty feet away. They stayed there. They didn't come any closer.
Word Of The Day