John William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus painting

John William Waterhouse Echo and Narcissus paintingJohn William Waterhouse The Lady of Shalott paintingLeonardo da Vinci The Last Supper painting
matters of our twinship and paternity while I listened from the doorway, and gently then introduce the facts of our acquaintance and my presence in the proper. If Miss Hector found the news too distressing, I could present myself another time; if not, Anastasia would summon and introduce me. I stationed myself outside the door, and Anastasia knocked.
"Come in, please? Oh, it's you, dear."
I closed my eyes; her voice had still the querulous resolve in it that had fetched me in kiddish fury once at the fence, and soothed my adolescent stormings in the hemlock. Anastasia greeted her with a cheeriness perhaps exaggerated by the situation, declaring that she had a few daughterly matters to discuss, and that it had anyhow been too long since they'd last chatted.
"Oh. Well. Yes. Well. All this commotion lately. . ." Lady Creamhair clucked and fussed, not incordially, but as if permanently rattled. She seemed indeed in less possession of her faculties than formerly, and with rue I wondered how much hurt my ignorant assault might have done her. The two women exchanged commonplaces

Caravaggio The Supper at Emmaus painting

Caravaggio The Supper at Emmaus paintingCaravaggio Taking of Christ paintingCaravaggio The Incredulity of Saint Thomas painting
with a stress-gauge on, for Volume Nine. I show you the readings. . ."
"Right there, sir," I said, shaking my head at the invitation; "that kind of thing, and the night-glass and all. . ." My point, which I tried to make tactfully, was that if he believed passèdness to be the sort of rationality that WESCAC (at least in pre-"noctic" terms) exemplified, then he was by no means a Graduate, or even a Candidate, so long as he indulged even vicariously such Croakerish appetites as I had seen signs of. Nor could Croaker, on the other hand, be said to be passed by the standards ofhis Certification, it seemed to me: what beast of the woods would so obligingly fetch and carry, not to mention taking scientific measurements?
"He always gets them wrong," Dr. Eierkopf said hopefully.
"But hegets them. And he cleans up messes --"
"His own."
"What beast of the woods does that? Not even a goat can cook pablum, or chew designs on a stick, or focus lenses. . ."
Eierkopf sniffed. "He busts as many as he focuses."
The point was, I insisted, that neither of them met strictly the terms of their

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema In the Tepidarium painting

Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema In the Tepidarium paintingGeorges Seurat Sunday Afternoon on the Island of la Grande Jatte paintingWilliam Blake Songs of Innocence painting
anyway," he said. "The old fool can't wait till we Shaft him." He summoned the hall-guard and gave him instructions, pinching Georgina as he passed behind her. She pursed her mouth; Peter Greene snickered. I went out with the guard, first offering condolence to the young woman for her bereavement, and Stoker closed the door behind us.
We passed along a balcony overlooking the exercise-court, where the Procrastinators and C-students appeared to be playing some sort of tag or chasing-under the supervision of their guards; thence to a small empty room divided by steel screens into three parallel sections: in the first was a row of stools, on one of which I sat; the guard then entered the middle one to see that nothing except conversation passed between me and Max, whom another guard presently escorted into the third. A small bleat of pity escaped me at sight of him: thin to begin with, he had lost more weight overnight, and in the ill-fitting garb of detention looked frail as straw. Yet his face, so troubled all the previous day, was tranquil, even serene. He ignored my inquiries after his condition and commended me for having passed successfully through the Turnstile and Scrapegoat Grate. His tone was more polite than truly interested; he asked what courses I

Francois Boucher Adoration of the Shepherds painting

Francois Boucher Adoration of the Shepherds paintingJohannes Vermeer The Concert paintingGustave Courbet The Origin of the World painting
That's very curious," I said. "Do you enjoy it, too?"
Dr. Sear had seemed bored by her recital, but here he laughed aloud. "There you are, Hed! She claims I've corrupted her, George, but she's as tired as I am of the usual tricks. You put your finger right on it."
"I wish he would," said Hedwig. She was bored with sophistication, she maintained, and yearned to be climbed in the exordinary way by a simple brute like Croaker; but catering to her husband's pleasures had so defeminized her that her effect on men was anaphrodisiac, as I had seen.
"Hedwig exaggerates," her husband said patiently. "It's true we've done everything in the book, but nobody forced her. She likes women and won't admit it."
I could have wished to hear more on this remarkable head; also perhaps to question Croaker's alleged simplicity, which his art-work on my stick belied, and compare Dr. Sear's optical pleasures with those of Eblis Eierkopf, to learn how prevalent such tastes

Peter Paul Rubens Landscape with a Rainbow painting

Peter Paul Rubens Landscape with a Rainbow paintingPeter Paul Rubens Hippopotamus and Crocodile Hunt paintingJohn William Waterhouse In the Peristyle painting
they'd come more and more to depend on each other as terms went by. Eierkopf's affliction worsened; he took to a wheelchair and gave up sleeping; Croaker delivered him to and from laboratories, even learned to take dictation and type out reports -- except during seizures like the one that had lately fetched him to George's Gorge. As for the Frumentian, he had got along previously by a kind of instinct, which, when he saw how better he fared with Eierkopf's assistance, he either put by or clean forgot.
Again tears welled into Eierkopf's eyes, whether of affection or chagrin I could not decide. "I even learned the art of football for his sake, and lectured him between matches on his specialty, the Belly Series! All which, my friend, the athletic directors, the student boys and girls, and my colleagues came to accept, grudgingly or not: to get Croaker they had to take me; to get me" -- he chuckled or sobbed -- "who had my own kind of fame, you know -- they must put up with Croaker."
Did his face fall in despair, or did he kiss the grinning giant's pate?
"It was apackage deal, not so? And still is; it still is. Croaker and Eierkopf -- we are inseparable as two old faggots, or ancient spouses!"

Bernhard Gutmann Study of a Woman in Black painting

Bernhard Gutmann Study of a Woman in Black paintingBernhard Gutmann Nude with Drapery paintingAlbert Bierstadt Valley of the Yosemite painting
what he had in his lunch-pail. I said, "Stew."
That's what he usually ate. He said, "Heck, no.
I got a kid for sale, pal, and I'll go
halfies with you if you'll fence him for me. . ."

AGENORA: That dirty doublecrosser!

MAILMAN: Well, he swore he
couldn't feed some flunking crow or eagle
perfectly good merchandise, illegal
or not.

TALIPED: How tenderhearted.

MAILMAN: What I did,
since he was anxious to unload the kid,
I bought him then and there at the wholesale price.
I'd looked him over quick; he seemed in nice
enough condition --maybe not too handsome,
but I could get my money back and then some,
I was sure, because the Dean was sterile
and in the baby market. Man, I swear I'll
break that swindling shepherd's neck if ever
I lay eyes on him again! The clever
bastard had the kid wrapped in a sheet,
and when I took it off, I saw his feet
were pegged together, and he was almost dead.
Well, you can imagine what I said!
But it served me right: I'd bought a kid-in-a-poke.
I pulled the peg, and figuring the kid would croak
by morning, sold him to the Dean that night
at cost. Turned out the kid survived, and right
after that I got this job as mailman.
Neither dark of night nor sleet nor hail can

Georges Seurat The Island of La Grande Jatte painting

Georges Seurat The Island of La Grande Jatte paintingWilliam Blake The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with Sun paintingWilliam Blake The Descent of Christ painting
Founder and then in himself -- in his ability to pass, as it were, with neither syllabus nor Grand Tutor to aid him, and to Commence himself without believing in Commencement. It was presently the season for his annual inventory and report: for paying his debts, collecting his dividends, assessing the solvency of his various concerns, and establishing policy for the year ahead; but he had found himself unable to address the task. Moreover, he was plagued of late by headaches that made his eye water (I'd observed that he dosed himself with pills and liquids as he talked); his own newspapers were critical of his "deteriorating image," as they called it, unaware that he was hampered by his thing about mirrors; his neighbors declared he ought either to marry O.B.G.'s daughter or leave her alone, unaware that she was the best-treated darky in the Quad; his children were embarrassed by him and swore they would make themselves into his opposite, whateverthat might be.
Then a day had come when Miss Sally Ann told him calmly that in a short time she would be ready to leave the Rest House and come home, but not to the

Frederic Edwin Church Autumn painting

Frederic Edwin Church Autumn paintingTitian Sacred and Profane Love [detail] paintingTitian Bacchus and Ariadne painting
evenly as I could before the revelation I said to Anastasia, "Do you believe?"
"Hind to," Stoker directed the Sears, who having loosed her half-reluctant grip upon the robe and removed the garment entirely, to the pleasure of the assemblage, were gently pressing her upon the bier. "He's a goat-boy, remember." They turned her about -- lightly, with constant caresses -- until, pliant and full of doubt, she knelt on the bier's end, facing away. Only as they drew down to the cushion her head and shoulders, stroking her all the while, she wondered, "George. . ."
A light fell on us; the rose, could not imaginably soar higher. Upon the screen glowed a larger image of the column, its base ringed now by torches. The crowd took the hymn up, mighty, mighty, as I leaned my stick against the bier, raised my wrap, and steadied myself with a hand upon the perfect rump that swam in my tears.
"In the name of the Founder,"I declared,"and of the sun --"
"Olé!"they cried behind me.

Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice painting

Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice paintingJohn Singer Sargent El Jaleo paintingRembrandt Susanna and the Elders painting
marked aid station, and grinning at the high-voiced cries and oaths that issued forth, beckoned me in. Standing in the middle of the room (a small one, better lit than the Furnace Room and much quieter once the door closed) was the victim of his recent prank; shirt off and trousers down, she had been being ministered to by three other women, brawny workers all, who had smeared white ointment on her soot-grimed bosoms and husky posteriors. One of the women who had come wrathfully forward now smiled and said, "Oh flunk, it's the Chief! You sure fixed Madge."Quite striking," I agreed. And in truth, for all her sweat and dishevelment, the naked laborer was not without a hefty beauty: her short black hair was bound by a grease-stained rag, under which her wide, coarse-featured face beamed mischievously; her arms and waist were thick, her hips ample, her thighs well-muscled, her legs unshaved. Aware she was being made of, she nonetheless exhibited herself with pride and petulance, hands
"She had it coming," Stoker said cheerily.
Upon our entry Madge had spun from us and snatched up her breeches; seeing who we were now she let them fall and grumbled, "Sonofabitch, all I done was goose you. Look whatyou done!" She thrust towards us her injured hams. "Like to took the skin off!"
"No! Let's have a look, Madgie." He pretended to examine her closely, turning her around by the hips and frowning at the blisters. "Striking effect, George, isn't

Guido Reni Baptism of Christ painting

Guido Reni Baptism of Christ paintingGuido Reni reni Aurora paintingFrancois Boucher The Toilet of Venus painting
know whether she had wed of her free will or been abducted like the captive brides of old, in which latter case I intended by some means to slay her captor and set her at liberty.
"Oh, you couldn't dothat !" she said -- amused, alarmed, and pleased at once, as it seemed to me. "I mean, I guess youcould, if you're a Grand Tutor, but --"
"It's not your to start slaying people," Max told me; "what you want to do is keep them from slaying each other. Besides, you got no kind of weapons, thank the Founder, and Maurice Stoker's got his own private Riot Squad."
It occurred to me to point out to him that my stick had once been deadly tool enough, and to argue that it was not without good precedent I contemplated using it again: Enos Enoch Himself had flung Administration concessionaires bodily from Founder's Hall, and had declared to His protégés that He came to them not with diplomas but with a birch-rod, armed Tutors always prevailing where unarmed ones failed. But Anastasia forestalled me by protesting that while she had not exactlyvolunteered to marry

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres The Grande Odalisque painting

Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres The Grande Odalisque paintingPeter Paul Rubens The Judgment of Paris paintingJohn William Godward Dolce far niente painting
pal's murder, turned me round a corner of . The very white-ash staff I chucked the new kid's beard with, and hobbled upon out to my lesson; this walking-cane that supports me as I speak these words, and will to the hilltop where I shall want no more supporting: you have guessed it was the same I laid about with in my dream. Will you not cluck tongue to learn further, then, that I had whittled this same stick from a broken herdsman's crook which once lay out in the pens? Dark ties; thing twined to thing!
"Self-knowledge," Max repeated to begin our lesson, "is always bad news." But he paused a moment. "You sure there wasn't something else in the dream?"
Not prepared to bring up Creamhair's name, and unable to recall anything else, I shook my head.
"So, well," he said pleasantly. "You thought you couldn't wish a flunkèd wish; now you know you can. There is a piece of knowledge about yourself,ja?" He began then

John Singer Sargent Oyster Gatherers of Cancale painting

John Singer Sargent Oyster Gatherers of Cancale paintingJohn Singer Sargent Nude Egyptian Girl paintingJohn Singer Sargent Lady Agnew painting
into some readily disseminable canon, a standard and authority for the fast-swelling ranks of its adherents. By the time Stoker Giles had reached young manhood his father's original pupils were already divided into factions; the son's first thought had been to compile as a source-book their reminiscences of the great man's tenure, but so many discrepancies, even contradictions, were made manifest in the collation, he abandoned that project. In its early stages, however, he had gone so far as to read the several texts into an automaticable classicists are fond of doing nowadays, to speed the work of comparing them -- and here, gentle editors and publishers, your credulity like mine must flex its muscles for a considerable stretch.
This remarkable computer, I was told (a gadget called WESCAC), not only pointed out in accordance with its program the hopeless disagreement of the texts; on its own hook, or by some prior instruction, it volunteered further that there was in its Storage "considerable original matter" read in fragmentarily by George Giles himself in the years of his flourishing: taped lecture-notes, recorded conferences with protégés

Gustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I) painting

Gustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I) paintingGustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square) painting
little girls playing on the sunny grass waved to him, were gone, pursued by a shower of uncap-turable sounds. Mannix's resigned silence fed his loneliness. Suddenly he felt, like Mannix, upturned drunkenly above the abyss, blood rushing to his head, in terror clutching at the substanceless night. . . .
In the noonday light Sergeant O'Leary, his face brightly pink, was still talking. Culver snapped awake with a start. O'Leary grinned down at him—"Damn, Lieutenant, you're gonna crap out tonight if you're that tired now"—and Culver struggled for speech; time seemed to have unspooled past him in a great spiral, and for an instant—his mind still grappling with the memory of a hurried, chaotic nightmare—he was unable to tell where he was. He had the feeling that it should be the night before, and that he was still in the tent. "Did I go to sleep, O'Leary?" he said, blinking upward.
"Yes, sir," O'Leary said, and chuckled, "you sure did."
"How long?"
"Oh, just a second."

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon painting

Pablo Picasso Les Demoiselles dAvignon paintingPablo Picasso Large Nude in Red Armchair painting
Fine bed. A poncho in a pile of poison ivy. My ass looks like a chessboard from chigger bites. Jesus, if Mimi could see me now." He paused and pawed at his red-rimmed eyes. "Yeah," he said, blinking at his watch, "I think I will." He slapped Culver on the back, without much heartiness. "I'll see you tomorrow, sport. Stay loose." Then he lumbered from the tent, mumbling something: be in for fifty years.
Culver turned away from the lamp. He sat down at the field desk, strapping a black garland of wires and earphones around his skull. The wild, lost wail of the radio signal struck his ears, mingling with the roar, much closer now, of the lamp; alone as he was, the chill and cramped universe of the tent seemed made for no one more competent than a blind midget, and was on the verge of bursting with a swollen obbligato of demented sounds. He felt almost sick with the need for sleep and, with the earphones still around his head, he thrust his face into his arms on the field des

Thomas Kinkade Evening Glow painting

Thomas Kinkade Evening Glow paintingThomas Kinkade CHRISTMAS MEMORIES painting
work. Them earlier days I used a quit the jobs. You got a wife with money, a good job. You forget how it is bein broke all the time. You ever hear a child support? I been payin out for years and got more to go. Let me tell you, I can’t quit this one. And I can’t get the time off. It was tough gettin this time—some a them late heifers is still calvin. You don’t leave then. You don’t. Stoutamire is a hell-raiser and he raised hell about me takin the week. I don’t blame him. He probly ain’t got a night’s sleep since I left. The tradeoff was August. You got a better idea?”
“I did once.” The tone was bitter and accusatory. Ennis said nothing, straightened up slowly, rubbed at his forehead; a horse stamped inside the trailer. He walked to his truck, put his hand on the trailer, said something that only the horses could hear, turned and walked back at a deliberate pace.
“You been a Mexico, Jack?” Mexico was the place. He’d heard. He was cutting fence now, trespassing in the shoot-em zone. “Hell yes, I been. Where’s the f*ckin problem?” Braced for it all these years and here it came, late and unexpected. “I got a say this to you one time, Jack, and I ain’t foolin. What I don’t know,” said Ennis, “all them things I don’t know could get you killed if I should come to know them.”

Claude Monet Apple Trees In Blossom painting

Claude Monet Apple Trees In Blossom paintingClaude Monet Girls In A Boat paintingPietro Perugino Madonna with Child painting
you. A little Consideration, a little Thought for Others, makes all the difference." As soon as he had finished his lunch Christopher Robin whispered to Rabbit, and Rabbit said "Yes, yes, of course," and they walked a little way up the stream together. "I didn't want the others to hear," said Christopher Robin. "Quite so," said Rabbit, looking important. "It's--I wondered--It's only--Rabbit, I suppose you don't know, What does the North Pole look like?" "Well," said Rabbit, stroking his whiskersSure to be a pole," said Rabbit, "because of calling it a pole, and if it's a pole, well, I should think it would be sticking in the ground, shouldn't you, because there'd be nowhere else to stick it." "Yes, that's what I thought." "The only thing," said Rabbit, "is, where is it sticking?" "That's what we're looking for," said Christopher . "Now you're asking me." "I did know once, only I've sort of forgotten," said Christopher Robin carelessly. "It's a funny thing," said Rabbit, "but I've sort of forgotten too, although I did know once." "I suppose it's just a pole stuck in the ground?"

Leonardo da Vinci St John in the Wilderness painting

Leonardo da Vinci St John in the Wilderness paintingLeonardo da Vinci Madonna with the Yarnwinder paintingLeonardo da Vinci Portrait of Ginevra Benci painting
loyalties. I have only magic." His voice was hard and sad.
"Really?" she asked, rocking dreamily in her terror, watching the brightness flowing by. "That's awful." She was very impressed. "Are you really like that?"
"No," he said, then or later. "No, it's not true. How could I be like that, and still have all these troubles?" Then he said, "Molly, you have to walk now. He's there. He's there."struck bitterly through hands and eyelids to the back of her mind. She saw Prince Lir and the Lady Amalthea standing before the horns, while the fire flourished on the walls of the cavern and soared up into the roofless dark. Prince Lir had drawn his sword, but it blazed up in his hand, and he let it fall, and it broke like ice. The Red Bull stamped his foot, and everyone fell down.
Molly saw the horns first. The light made her cover her face, but the pale horns

Thomas Kinkade The Night Before Christmas painting

Thomas Kinkade The Night Before Christmas paintingThomas Kinkade The Heart of San Francisco paintingThomas Kinkade The Garden of Prayer painting
The girl turned from them and looked away at the castle that stooped over the valley. She could see no movement at any window or among the tottering turrets, or any sign of the Red Bull. Yet she knew that he was there, brooding at the castle's roots till night should fall again: strong beyond strength, invincible as the night itself. For a second time she touched the place HE SENTINELS saw them coming a little before sunset, when the sea was flat and blinding. The sentinels were pacing the second tallest of the many wry towers that sprouted up from the castle and made it resemble one of those odd trees that grow with their roots in the air. From where they stood, the two men could survey the entire valley of Hagsgate as far as the town and the sharp hills beyond, as well as the road that ran from the rim of the valley to the great, though sagging, front gate of King Haggard's castle.on her forehead where her horn had been.
When she turned again, they were asleep where they sat, the man and the woman. Their heads were pillowed on air, and their mouths hung open. She stood by them, watching them breathe, one hand holding the black cloak closed at her throat. Very faintly, for the first time, the smell of the sea came to her.

Claude Monet The Waterloo Bridge The Fog painting

Claude Monet The Waterloo Bridge The Fog paintingClaude Monet The Tuileries paintingClaude Monet The Seine at Rouen I painting
noise bees might make buzzing on the moon.
The cage began to grow smaller. The unicorn could not see the bars moving, but each time Schmendrick said, "Ah, nol" she had less room in which to stand. Already she could not turn around. The bars were drawing in, pitiless as the tide or the morning, and they would shear through her until they surrounded her heart, which they would keep a prisoner forever. She had not cried out when the creature Schmendrick had summoned came, grinning, toward her, but now she made a sound. It was small and despairing, but not yet yielding.
Schmendrick stopped the bars, though she never knew how. If he spoke any magic, she had not heard it; but the cage stopped shrinking a breath before the bars touched her body. She could feel them all the same, each one like a little cold wind, miaowing with hunger. But they could not reach her.
The magician's arms fell to his sides. "I dare no more," he said heavily. "The next time, I might not be able . . ." His voice trailed miserably away, and his eyes were as defeated as his hands. "The witch made no mistake in me," he said.
"Try again," the unicorn said. "You are my friend. Try again."

Thomas Kinkade Besides Still Waters painting

Thomas Kinkade Besides Still Waters paintingThomas Kinkade Abundant Harvest paintingThomas Kinkade A Holiday Gathering painting
He nodded. He saw nothing to discuss, in all this. He \with gauze gloves, seeing the world through a mesh veil. That .
The storekeeper told me that you could walk to the village in a day and showed me the path. My dispirited landlady packed me a lunch. I set out next morning, attended at first by thin, persistent swarms of flies. It was a dull walk across a low, dafnp landscape, but the sun was mild and pleasant, and the flies finally gave up. To my surprise, I got to the village before I was even hungry for lunch. The islanders must walk slowly and seldom. It had to be the right village, though, because they spoke only of one, "the village," again no name.
It was small and poor and sad: six or seven wooden huts, rather like Russian izbas, stilted up a bit to keep them from the mud. Poultry, something like guinea fowl but mud-brown, scuttled about everywhere, making soft, raucous noises. A couple of children ran away and hid as I approached.

John Singer Sargent View of Capri painting

John Singer Sargent View of Capri paintingJohn Singer Sargent The Simplon paintingJohn Singer Sargent Rio dei Mendicanti painting
preventive precautions or rituals, accepting it as truly random. Failure may come on the first flight or the thousandth. No cause has been found for it—heredity, age, inexperience, fatigue, diet, emotion, physical condition. Every time a flier goes up, the chance of wing failure is the same.
Some survive the fall. But they never fall again, because they can never fly again. Once the wings have failed, they are useless. They remain paralysed, dragging along beside and behind their owner like a huge, heavy feather cape.
Foreigners ask why fliers don't carry parachutes in case of wing failure. No doubt they could. It is a question of temperament. Winged people who fly are those willing to take the risk of wing failure. Those who do not want the risk, do not fly. Or perhaps those who consider it a risk do not fly, and those who fly do not consider it a risk.

John Singleton Copley Brook Watson And The Shark painting

John Singleton Copley Brook Watson And The Shark paintingTheodore Robinson On the Housatonic River paintingTheodore Robinson The Red Gown painting
Sita continues to investigate the Great Joy Corporation and its plane.

HAVING WRITTEN THIS MUCH, I decided to put the piece away until I had heard from Sita again. It was nearly a year before she got in touch and brought me up to date.
Soon after we talked, Sita decided to notify the Interpla-nary Agency of the operations of the Great Joy Plane™"—which turned out to have been known for centuries to the Agency. It is described (in its original state) and listed in the Encyclopedia Planaria as Musu Sum.
The Agency, as may be imagined, is overloaded with the tasks of registering and investigating newly discovered planes, installing and inspecting transfer points, hostels, and tourist facilities, regulating interplanar relations, and a thousand such responsibilities. But when they learned that a plane had been closed to free entry and exit and was being operated as a sort of prison

Amedeo Modigliani Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne painting

Amedeo Modigliani Portrait of Jeanne Hebuterne paintingAmedeo Modigliani Nude Sdraiato paintingAmedeo Modigliani Nu couche de dos painting
These fugitives went to other cities, where they lived in AfFastasa enclaves and Sosasta or Astasosa ghettos, and brought up their children to prostrate themselves to Af, or to whirl in the fetish dance. The Affastasa did both, on different holy days. The Sosasta performed whirling dances to a wild whining before the altar of Af, and the Astasosa prostrated themselves to little fetishes.
The Sosa, the unadulterated Sosa who worshiped Af in the ancestral and who mostly lived on farms not in the cities, were instructed by their priests that their God wished them to bear sons in His honor; so they had large families. Many priests had four or five wives and twenty or thirty children. Devout Sosa women prayed to Father Af for a twelfth, a fifteenth baby. In contrast, an Astasa woman bore a child only when she had been told, in trance, by her own body fetish, that it was a good time to conceive; and so she seldom had more than two or three children. Thus the Sosa came to outnumber the Astasa.

Guan zeju paintings

Guan zeju paintings
Gustav Klimt paintings
Georgia O'Keeffe paintings
He is a wonderful dancer. Dancing with him on the grass in the late evening of early spring, Shuku feels that she is flying on a great wind, and she closes her eyes, her hands float out from her sides as if on that wind, and meet his hands...
Her parents will live together in the house by the meadow; they will have no more children, for that time is over for them, but they will make love as often as ever they did when they first were married. Shuku will choose one of her suitors, the new one, in fact. She goes to live with him and make love with him in the house they finish building together. Their building, their dancing, ing, eating, sleeping, everything they do, turns into making love. And in due course Shuku is pregnant; and in due course she bears two babies. Each is born in a tough, white membrane or shell. Both parents tear this protective covering open with hands and beaks, freeing the tiny curled-up newborn, who lifts its infinitesimal beaklet and peeps blindly, already gaping, greedy for food, for .
The second baby, smaller, is not greedy, does not

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze painting

Gustav Klimt Beethoven Frieze paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree II paintingGustav Klimt Apple Tree I painting
There are those in whom these glands work with more than usual power and if the energy thus received takes the direction of the genitals for an outlet, such a one feels a tremendous need of an orgasm, and, if he has it, he feels it relieves and benefits him, and if his glands are excited by the sexual embrace they may rush more energy into the vacuum, even an increased amount, making repetitions possible until the pressure is lowered. During this the contagion of his emotions may excite the glands of the woman and she also may have multiple orgasms, or may have them anyhow because of her own endocrine flow.
On the other hand a man in whom the flow of endocrines, or hormones, is only normal may feel quite spent after an orgasm, demagnetized, and must rest before a repetition. If his glandular
p. 62
flow is weak and a surplus only slowly accumulates, then, if he repeats too soon, he may spend not only his too scanty surplus, but may draw on his reserves to a degree that may cause uncomfortable or even alarming symptoms.
But must the nervous sexual surplus find

Claude Monet Regatta At Argenteuil painting

Claude Monet Regatta At Argenteuil paintingClaude Monet Apple Trees In Blossom paintingClaude Monet Girls In A Boat painting
It is assumed therefore that ordinarily the male is positive
p. 17
to the female, who is negative to him, and the masculine organs are positive to the feminine organs. This may be called the normal or usual relation, but it is possible to voluntarily or involuntarily reverse this, and in most cases, between lovers in close contact, certain parts in each are negative to the contacting parts of the other, which may be positive to them. This fact, that the entire personality, in all its parts, is not necessarily positive or negative at the same time, is one important to remember, for it explains much and is like a key to the whole art of Karezza. Thus a woman may be very positive and even dominant in her love, while her body remains most alluringly passive. Or she may open her eyes and make them positive while the rest remains negative. Or she may put positiveness into the caress of her hands alone, or will it into some other part of her being, or entirely assume and play the masculine, positive part, while the man assumes the feminine. Of this more will be said later.

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I painting

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I paintingSalvador Dali Tiger paintingSalvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies) painting
Harry. 'But 1 can't ... we can't ... I've got things to do alone now.'
She did not cry, she simply looked at him,
'Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to. He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you.'
'What if I don't care?' said Ginny fiercely.
'I care,' said Harry. 'How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral ... and it was my fault ...'
She looked away from him, over the lake.
T never really gave up on you,' she said. 'Not really. I always hoped ... Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more - myself.'
'Smart girl, that Hermione,' said Harry, trying to smile. 'I just wish I'd asked you

Edward Hopper Corn Hill Truro Cape Cod painting

Edward Hopper Corn Hill Truro Cape Cod paintingEdward Hopper Cape Cod Morning paintingAmedeo Modigliani the Reclining Nude painting
Harry looked back at the water. The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass: The ripples had vanished unnaturally fast; Harry's heart, however, was still pounding.
"Did you think that would happen, sir?"
"I thought something would happen if we made an obvious at-tempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry; much the simplest way of finding out what we are facing."
"But we don't know what the thing was," said Harry, looking at the sinisterly smooth water.
"What the things are, you mean," said Dumbledore. "I doubt very much that there is only one of them. Shall we walk on?"
"Professor?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Do you think we're going to have to go into the lake?"

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Edward Hopper Room in Brooklyn paintingEdward Hopper Western Motel painting
Wow," said Ron, when Harry had finally finished telling them everything; Ron was waving his wand very vaguely in the direction of the ceiling without paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing. "Wow. You're actually going to go with Dumbledore . . . and try and destroy . . . wow."
"Ron, you're making it snow," said Hermione patiently, grabbing his wrist and redirecting his wand away from the ceiling from which, sure enough, large white flakes had started to fall. Lavender Brown, Harry noticed, glared at Hermione from a neighboring table through very red eyes, and Hermione immediately let go of Rons arm.
"Oh yeah," said Ron, looking down at his shoulders in vague surprise. "Sorry... looks like we've all got horrible dandruff now. ..."
He brushed some of the fake snow off Hermiones shoulder Lavender burst into tears. Ron looked immensely guilty and turned his back on her.
"We split up," he told Harry out of the corner of his

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Lord Frederick Leighton The Garden of the Hesperides paintingLord Frederick Leighton The Fisherman and the Syren painting
hand was blackened and dead-looking once more.
"Why?" said Harry at once, looking up into Dumbledore's face. "Why did he come back? Did you ever find out?"
"I have ideas," said Dumbledore, "but no more than that."
"What ideas, sir?"
"I shall tell you, Harry, when you have retrieved that memory from Professor Slughorn," said Dumbledore.
"When you have that last piece of the jigsaw, everything will, I hope, be clear ... to both of us."
Harry was still burning with curiosity and even though Dumbledore had walked to the door and was holding it open for him, he did not move at once.

Caravaggio Alof de Wignacourt painting

Caravaggio Alof de Wignacourt paintingBartolome Esteban Murillo Annunciation painting
hand, they were supposed to be friends, Ron had not been himself when he had attacked, and Harry- thought that he would deserve another punching if he permitted Ron to declare undying love for Romilda Vane.
'Yeah, I'll introduce you,' said Harry, thinking fast. 'I'm going to let you down now, OK?'
He sent Ron crashing back to the floor (his ear did hurt quite a lot), but Ron simply bounded to his feet again, grinning.
'She'll be in Slughorn's office, 1 said Harry confidently, leading the way to the door.
'Why will she be in there?' asked Ron anxiously, hurrying to keep up.
'Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him,' said Harry, inventing wildly.
'Maybe 1 could ask if 1 can have them with her?' said Ron eagerly.
'Great idea,' said Harry. Lavender was waiting beside the portrait hole, a complication Harry had not foreseen.

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Albert Bierstadt Beach at Nassau paintingAlbert Bierstadt Fishing from a Canoe painting
There was a moment's painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, "Merry Christmas, Mother."
"Oh, Percy!" said Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms.
Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walk-ing stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.
"You must forgive this intrusion," he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. "Percy and I were in the vicinity — working, you know — and he couldn't re-sist dropping in and seeing you all."
But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced.
"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. Have a little purkey, or some tooding. ... 1 '. mean —"

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Michelangelo Buonarroti Crucifix paintingMichelangelo Buonarroti Creation of Adam detail paintingPierre Auguste Renoir The First Outing painting
You were going to ask me?" asked Ron, in a completely differ-ent voice.
"Yes," said Hermione angrily. "But obviously if you'd rather 1 hooked up with McLaggen ..."
There was a pause while Harry continued to pound the resilient pod with a trowel.
"No, I wouldn't," said Ron, in a very quiet voice.
Harry missed the pod, hit the bowl, and shattered it.
‘"Reparo,"' he said hastily, poking the pieces with his wand, and the bowl sprang back together again. The crash, however, appeared to have awoken Ron and Hermione to Harry's presence. Hermione looked flustered and immediately started fussing about for her copy of “Flesh-Eating Trees of the World” to find out the correct way to juice Snargaluff pods; Ron, on the other hand, looked sheepish but also rather pleased with himself.
"Hand that over, Harry," said Hermione hurriedly. "It says we're supposed to puncture them with something sharp. . . ."