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Updated: May 16, 2025
Can you buy them back? or the decency, honesty, cleanliness, youth, I pawned, for filth and more filth? I am saturated with it. I reek with it. It embraces me with octopus arms. Every kopeck, every rouble, has gone to tighten that embrace. It is not to be loosened. I am hell-bound for eternity. And you speak to me of art! "Leave me, Ivan Gregoriev, to my own. You can never know me. I hate you now.
"Hello, old man!" he shouted, catching sight of Martin and running towards him with hands outstretched, "You are welcome" he grasped his hands and held them fast "you are welcome to this Glen, and to me welcome as Heaven to a Hell-bound soul." "Maclise," he cried, turning to the master, "this letter," waving it in his hand, "is like a reprieve to a man on the scaffold."
"You are my agent, my my promoter, son, and, as such, you hold a responsible position at at good pay!" "Thank you, sir. I understand that and I am anxious to carry out your wishes. I am eager to get this thing running, not for you, sir, alone, but my people. Crothers seems hell-bound just now in frightening them into signing contracts for themselves and their children for years to come.
"But," said the Spectator, "you said in your famous speech before the Society for the Prevention of the Protrusion of Nail Heads from Plank Sidewalks that Kings were blood-smeared oppressors and hell-bound loafers." "My dear sir," said the Distinguished Advocate of Republican Institutions, without removing his eyes from the horizon, "you wander away into the strangest irrelevancies!
“By the hell-spawned and hell-bound, trebly damned old blotch upon creation’s face, John McNeil, until recently by the grace of bayonets, Tom Fletcher, and the devil, sheriff of St. Louis county.” “Murdered!” “Shot to death!!” “There was our poor, handsome, gallant boyhood friend Tom Sidener—”
Damaris revelled in it all: the seagulls; the lighthouses; the ships that passed in the day and night; and the tail-end of a storm they hit up in the Bay, whilst Jane Coop invented new verses to the Litany as she tried, in her cabin, to solve the problem of two into one, and Wellington, somewhere under the water-line, daily gave a fine imitation of hell-bound to a circle of admiring seamen.
Spectrally through the glare, and in blundering frenzy, he strives and struggles and fumbles horribly on the anvil. Swaying, he seems to rush to right and to left, like a passenger on a hell-bound ferry. The more drunk he is, the more furiously he falls upon his iron and his fire. I return home. Just as I am about to enter a timid voice calls me "Simon!" It is Antonia. So much the worse for her.
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