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Updated: May 18, 2025
There would be blue murder. It's out of the question. We must keep the actual secret to ourselves. What on earth is the man talking about? BURGE. The stuff. The powder. The bottle. The tabloid. Whatever it is. You said it wasnt lemons. CONRAD. My good sir: I have no powder, no bottle, no tabloid. I am not a quack: I am a biologist. This is a thing thats going to happen. Oh!
Besides, the pump was getting wearisomely heavy. I couldnt decide exactly what was unsatisfactory in my routine. The stuff had neither been used nor advertised, so there could be no prejudice against it; no one had yet allowed me to get so far as quoting price, so it wasnt too expensive. The process of elimination brought me to the absurd conclusion that the fault must lie in me.
Asked Mrs H whether or not it wasnt her function as a housekeeper to take care of such details. Mrs H very tart, said in normal times she was perfectly capable of handling the situation, but with everything going to pieces she didnt know whether to turn off K or the undergardener, or both, or neither.
"But what about meeting the discoverer of the Metamorphizer?" "Oh, that. Well, W R thinks we don't need him anymore. Not enough in that angle." I suspected he was bluffing; still it was possible he wasnt. In such a delicate situation there was nothing I could do but bluff in turn. If you are a good salesman, I always say, you must have psychology at your fingertips.
Since it takes all kinds to make a world and Josephine Spencer Francis was one of those kinds, wasnt it only reasonable to suppose there were other kinds who would buy the stuff she'd invented? The only way to sell something is first to sell yourself and I piously went over the virtues of the Metamorphizer in my mind. What if by its very nature there could be no repeat business?
There were riots at Clydeside and in South Wales and I feared the looting of my warehouses in view of the terrible scarcity of food. It wasnt only the immediate situation which was bad, but the longrange one. Oil reserves in the United Kingdom were practically exhausted. So were non-native metals. Vital machinery needed immediate replacement.
There wasnt a single bare spot visible in the whole lush, healthy expanse. And it was green. Green. Not just here and there, but over every inch of soft, undulating surface; a pale applegreen where the blades waved to expose its underparts and a rich, dazzling emerald on top. Even the runners, sinuously encroaching upon the sidewalk, were deeply virescent. The Metamorphizer worked.
It's all over the sidewalk looks like an enormous green woolly rug no, that's not quite right anyway, it's all over the sidewalk and it would be right out here in the street where I'm talking to you from if the firedepartment wasnt on the job constantly chopping off the creeping ends as they come over the curb.
My pleasant speculations and plans for this literary venture were interrupted, as was my convalescence, by the loss of the Sahara depots. When I got the news, my principal concern wasnt for the incalculable damage to Consolidated Pemmican. My initial reaction was amazement at the ability of the devilgrass to make its way so rapidly across a sterile and waterless waste.
Agitators were promptly jailed for saying the Soviet Union wasnt if it ever had been a socialist country; its imperialism stemming directly from its rejection of the socialist idea. As a great imperialist power bursting with natural resources it must inevitably conflict with the other great imperialist power.
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