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Updated: July 9, 2025
In three years she thrilled to more blood-curdling adventure than all the Bad Men in all the West could have furnished had they lived to be old and worked hard at being bad all their lives. For in that third year she worked her way enthusiastically through a sixteen-episode movie serial called "The Terror of the Range." She was past mistress of romance by that time. She knew her West.
Nickel! as if that was my job." "A thousand apologies!" contritely. "And don't make it any worse by suggesting a movie after supper. My mother never lets me go out after dark." "I rather fancy she's quite sensible. Still, you seem able to take care of yourself. I might suggest " "With that black eye? Nay, nay! I'll bet somebody's brother gave it to you."
"Why, she's had her picture published more times than a movie queen. She's the youngest daughter of Cyrus Wrightington, the multi-millionaire philanthropist. Now did you see anything of that kind on the train?" "What does she look like?" asked the cautious Banneker. "She looks like a million dollars!" declared the other with enthusiasm. "She's a killer!
The saloon-keeper and a select coterie of farmers asked Father questions about San Francisco, Kansas, rainy seasons, the foot-and-mouth disease, irrigation, Western movie studios, and the extent of Mormonism.
That's really using movie technique for all it's worth." "Rear-screen projection?" Scotty queried. "Sure. Movies and TV use it all the time. When the hero is supposed to be watching dinosaurs fighting it out, he's actually standing in front of a big screen of special plastic or ground glass, with the picture projected on it from behind.
If we feel the need of an extra sitting-room that is, three beaus a night we draw cuts to see who has to resort to the park, or a movie, or the ice-cream parlor, or the kitchenette. Our time is up next week and we shall return modestly to our boarding-houses. It is great fun, but it is expensive, and we are so busy. "We have lovely times. The girls are not like me.
Gratton, who was astute enough to keep tactfully in the background, hurt her mother's feelings, and alarmed her father by a wild and for the instant perfectly heartfelt determination to go and be a "movie" actress. There was no dancing that night. Gloria, when they thought her upstairs, sat alone out in the gloaming, a wistful, drooping little girl surrendering sweepingly to youthful melancholia.
"Why it's nothing, really. Feeling kind of seedy, that's all. Didn't have much sleep." "Jimsy! You didn't you weren't out with Carter?" "Just for a little while. We went to a Movie. Coach told us to keep our minds off the game. But I was home and in the house at nine-thirty. It was Dad. He came in about midnight. I I didn't go to bed at all." "Oh...." Her eyes yearned over him, over them both.
She could not make head or tail of "the party of the first part" and the terms exacted of movie actors. She understood nothing but the salary. One hundred dollars a week! That bloomed like a rose in the crabbed text. She would have signed almost anything for that. The deed was finally done. Her hundred-odd pounds of flesh belonged to the Hyperfilm Company.
It was often nine o'clock before the last straggling diner, sprawling on the parlour davenport with his evening paper and cigar, departed, leaving Maxine to pick up the scattered newspapers, cigarette butts, ashes; straighten chairs, lock doors. Then the dishes. The dishes! When Arnold Hatch asked her to go to a movie she shook her head, usually. "I'm too tired. I'm going to read, in bed."
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